The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11 (Studies in Biblical Literature) [New ed.] 9781433143366, 9781433143373, 9781433143380, 9781433143397, 1433143364

Citation preview

169

YIL SO NG

This book pays special attention to the hermeneutical location where the figand his “Temple incident” in Mark 11. The fig-tree story plays a pivotal role in understanding the stories immediatlely preceding and following it. It reverses

Song

tree story appears in Mark 11; it is situated between Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem

the mode of Jesus’ entry from being triumphal to untriumphal, and convincTemple. The way in which Jesus entered Jerusalem contradicts the common description of the entry as a triumphant one. Additionally, the story finds a proper solution to the problem of Jesus’ actions in the Temple being shockingly in contrast to his overall character as revealed through the Markan Gospel.

Yil Song is Professor of New Testament at Bethesda University, Anaheim, CA. He received his Ph.D. in Religion (New Testament) from Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA. He currently serves as lead pastor at Shepherd Christian Church in Cypress, CA.

Cover image: © istockphoto.com/joangomez

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

PETER LANG

www.peterlang.com

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

es the first Markan readers to feel at ease in confronting Jesus’ outrage in the

studies in biblical literature | 169

169

YIL SO NG

This book pays special attention to the hermeneutical location where the figand his “Temple incident” in Mark 11. The fig-tree story plays a pivotal role in understanding the stories immediatlely preceding and following it. It reverses

Song

tree story appears in Mark 11; it is situated between Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem

the mode of Jesus’ entry from being triumphal to untriumphal, and convincTemple. The way in which Jesus entered Jerusalem contradicts the common description of the entry as a triumphant one. Additionally, the story finds a proper solution to the problem of Jesus’ actions in the Temple being shockingly in contrast to his overall character as revealed through the Markan Gospel.

Yil Song is Professor of New Testament at Bethesda University, Anaheim, CA. He received his Ph.D. in Religion (New Testament) from Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA. He currently serves as lead pastor at Shepherd Christian Church in Cypress, CA.

Cover image: © istockphoto.com/joangomez

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

PETER LANG

www.peterlang.com

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

es the first Markan readers to feel at ease in confronting Jesus’ outrage in the

studies in biblical literature | 169

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

Studies in Biblical Literature

Hemchand Gossai General Editor Vol. 169

The Studies in Biblical Literature series is part of the Peter Lang Humanities list. Every volume is peer reviewed and meets the highest quality standards for content and production.

PETER LANG

New York  Bern  Berlin Brussels  Vienna  Oxford  Warsaw

Yil Song

The Pivotal Role of the Fig-Tree Story in the Gospel of Mark 11

PETER LANG

New York  Bern  Berlin Brussels  Vienna  Oxford  Warsaw

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Song, Yil, author. Title: The pivotal role of the fig-tree story in the gospel of Mark 11 / Yil Song. Description: New York: Peter Lang, 2018. Series: Studies in biblical literature; vol. 169 | ISSN 1089-0645 Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017056658 | ISBN 978-1-4331-4336-6 (hardback: alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-4331-4337-3 (ebook pdf) | ISBN 978-1-4331-4338-0 (epub) ISBN 978-1-4331-4339-7 (mobi) Subjects: LCSH: Barren fig tree (Parable) | Bible. Mark, XI— Criticism, interpretation, etc. Classification: LCC BT378.B2 S66 2018 | DDC 226.3/06—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017056658 DOI 10.3726/b13250

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

© 2018 Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York 29 Broadway, 18th floor, New York, NY 10006 www.peterlang.com All rights reserved. Reprint or reproduction, even partially, in all forms such as microfilm, xerography, microfiche, microcard, and offset strictly prohibited.

table of contents

Acknowledgments Abbreviations Introduction I. Statement of Purpose
 II. Thesis
 III. Methodology of Study
 A. Credibility of Methodology 1. Critiques and defense Works Cited

ix xi 1 1 2 2 3 3 10

Chapter 1. History of Interpretations and Problems I. Triumphal Entry? A. Biblical Reading 1. Allusions: The Mount of Olives and an ass 2. Citations: “Hosanna and Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” B. Historical Reading 1. Not a Triumphal Entry 1.1. Counterargument 1: Shortsighted application of the Hebrew Bible

13 13 14 14 15 16 18 18

vi

the pivotal role of the fig-tree story 1.2. Counterargument 2: Shortsighted application of Greco-Roman Entry C. Problem Unsolved II. Jesus’ “Vindictive Fury” on the Fig Tree? A. Symbolic Reading B. Problem Unsolved III. The Temple Story: Its Purification A. The Intercalated Temple Story B. Biblical Reading 1. Isa 56:7c and Jer 7:11 C. Symbolic Reading D. Problem Unsolved IV. Summary Works Cited

22 23 25 26 28 28 28 29 29 33 34 35 44

Chapter 2. The First Markan Readers 49 I. Implied Author and Reader 49 A. Significance of the Markan Gospel as Literature 51 1. The written Gospel in the oral world 51 1.1. Suggested sources for the Gospel of Mark 57 B. Conclusion 64 II. The Markan Community: Readers and Audience 65 A. The Time of Existence 66 1. Pre 70 C.E. 67 1.1. Adela Y. Collins 67 1.2. John S. Kloppenborg 68 2. Post 70 C.E. 69 2.1. S. G. F. Brandon 69 2.2. Werner Kelber 70 2.3. Gerd Theissen 71 2.4. Brian Incigneri 72 B. Conclusion 72 III. The Provenance 72 A. Rome 73 1. Evidence 1: Latinism 73 1.1. Insufficiency of evidence 1 74 2. Evidence 2: Topographical errors 76 2.1. Insufficiency of Evidence 2  76



table of contents 3. Evidence 3: Jewish customs and Aramaic words 3.1. Insufficiency of evidence 3 4. Evidence 4: Persecution of Mark 13:9–13 4.1. Insufficiency of evidence 4 5. Conclusion B. Syria 1. Evidence 1: Palestinian-Syrian village lifestyle 1.1. Agriculture 1.2. Housing 1.3. Land-Ownership 2. Evidence 2: Mark 7:31 3. Evidence 3: Semitic expression Graecized 4. Critique of evidence of Syria C. Galilee 1. Evidence 1: Interests in Galilee 1.1. Critique of evidence 1 2. Evidence 2: Exact geographical description of Galilean vicinities 2.1. Critique of evidence 2 D. Syria or Galilee? E. Conclusion IV. The Readership of the Gospel A. For all Christians? B. Critique of Richard Bauckham’s Hypothesis 1. Joel Marcus 2. David Sim 3. Philip F. Esler 4. Margaret Mitchell 5. Ernest Van Eck C. Conclusion Works Cited

Chapter 3. Homeric Influence on The Greco-Roman World I. Greco-Roman Education A. Enkyklios Paideia B. Use of Homeric Texts II. Conclusion Works Cited

vii 79 80 81 81 83 83 84 84 85 85 86 86 86 87 88 88 88 89 90 91 91 92 95 95 97 98 102 104 105 122 127 128 128 132 141 146

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Chapter 4. Two-Fold Roles of The Fig-Tree Story 149 149 I. The First Role A. Analysis of Mark 11:1–14 150 1. The English translation 150 152 2. Structure of the passage B. Mimetic Reading of Jesus’ Entry 152 C. Justifying Jesus’ Act 156 D. The Fig-Tree Story and Jesus’ Untriumphal Entry 157 E. The Untriumphal Messiah 158 F. Summary 159 II. The Second Role 161 A. Analysis of Mark 11:12–20 161 1. The English translation 161 2. The structure 162 B. Understanding Jesus’ Act 162 1. Interpretation 1: The fig-tree story (11:12–14, 20) 163 1.1. Symbolic Fig Free: The Temple 163 1.2. Jesus, the Messiah with God’s authority 165 2. Interpretation 2: The Temple story (11:15–19)165 2.1. Defensible violence of Jesus 165 2.2. Actual target of Jesus’ violence 168 C. Significance of Mimetic Reading 169 III. Summary 171 Works Cited 174 Conclusion Index

175 179

acknowledgments

Since this work is a modified version of my doctoral dissertation, it is appropriate to start by extending gratitude to the team of the professors consisting of my dissertation committee. First of all, Dr. Dennis R. MacDonald, my academic advisor and friend, has been the source of inspiration for my study. I must also mention Dr. Karen Jo Torjesen, who is a good example of how to be gentle while clearly delivering a powerful speech, and I know that her outward tenderness is a token of her inward sturdiness. I am glad to have had Dr. Christopher Chinn as one of the committee members, whose swift and appropriate response to me on the questions related to the dissertation contributed, I believe, to the better quality of the dissertation. Next, I would like to express indebtedness to those who are in Korea. Dr. Ky-Chun So is the first one who occurs to me. It is he who stirred up my interest in studying the New Testament in more depth when I was one of his students at Presbyterian University and Theological Seminary in Seoul, Korea. I also give thanks to the congregation of Ok-Dong church in Inchon, Korea for their unceasing prayers and financial support through which the survival of my family in the U.S. so far has been possible. Now, I direct my gratitude toward my family. First of all, it is my parents, Rev. In-Sub Song and Bok-Nam Lee, who always support and trust me with

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everything they have. Thinking of their prayers and love for me reminds me of how I am much blessed. I do wish I will be a parent like them. I am also grateful to my parents-in-law, Seung-Ho Namkung and Ok-Koo Yeo, for keeping me in their prayers every day and for their steady trust in me. Furthermore, my sister, Jin Song, is another blessing that I have. I do not know what to say whenever I feel her lavishing love for me, which makes my heart warm. Then, I cannot help confessing how much I am grateful and delighted to have Victoria, my little daughter. She is the invaluable present to me from God. The days that I have spent with her so far are consecutive moments of wonder of the mystery of life. The fact that there lies before Victoria and me many more days to come makes me look forward to seeing how she will grow up and deal with her special gift. Finally, very special thanks to Sujin, my better half. Even though there are numerous things that I need to be thankful for to her, I just want to say this succinctly: She is the perfect one for me. She does not have to do anything in particular to make me happy or smile since she herself is already my happy smile. I feel so blessed to have her as a loving and reliable partner in my life journey. Ultimately, I am humbly grateful to God for what He has done through my life so far and am eagerly anticipating the next phase of my life that He will lead me to. Μόνῳ Θεῷ Δόξα

abbreviations

AB Anchor Bible AncSoc Ancient Society APB Acta Patristica et Byzantina BDAG A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature BibInt Biblical Interpretation BNTC Black’s New Testament Commentary BTB Biblical Theological Review BZ Biblische Zeitschrift BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrif für die Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde und die Kunde der ältern Kirche CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CCS Cambridge Classical Studies CW The Classical World DBI Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation ETL Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses EuroJTh European Journal of Theology Expository Times ExpTim Int Interpretation

xii JAAR JBL JJS JR JSNT JTS NovT NTS RevExp SBLSP SCJR SJT TynBul ZNW

the pivotal role of the fig-tree story Journal of the American Academy of Religion Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Religion Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal of Theological Studies Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies Review & Expositor Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Studies in Christian-Jewish Relations Scottish Journal of Theology Tyndale Bulletin Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde

introduction

I. Statement of Purpose Who would not be surprised with the description of Jesus who curses and kills the barren fig tree being out of season simply for his unsatisfied hunger? Such bewildering descriptions are found in Mark 11:12–13 and 20. Of course, there have been attempts to justify Jesus’ unusual act regardless of its historicity. However, they do not seem that satisfying. Thus, this study first seeks to comprehend the fig-tree story to find a more convincing way to salvage Jesus from the accusation of being absurd. However, the investigation of the meaning of the fig-tree story is not the end, but rather leads to the main arguments of this study. In other words, the understanding of this story serves as the key factor to interpret its two adjacent stories which are Jesus’ entry (11:1–11) and the Temple incident (11:15–20). These two stories contain issues debatable in Markan scholarship: First, concerning Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem of Mark 11:1–11, its most popular title might be “the Triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.” However, is it not strange to call Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem as triumphal or victorious while he is apparently aware of the awaiting suffering and death that is about to happen to him in that city? Is it not too contradictory to both regard Jesus of the entry story as victor and see this victor suffer to death wretchedly? The term

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“triumphal” that designates the nature of Jesus’ entry does not seem harmonious with the description of Jesus in the passion narrative of Mark 14–16. Thus, for the thematic consistency in presenting Jesus, the need for another interpretational approach to the Markan entry story which replaces the so-called “Triumphal Entry” ensues; Second, even though it is widely admitted that Jesus’ act in the Temple has symbolic meanings, a few arguments provide the obvious need or the convincing reason for its symbolic interpretation. This study aims to correctly understand the two stories of Jesus’ entry and the Temple incident of Mark 11 by dint of the legitimate interpretation of their adjacent story of the fig tree.

II. Thesis The following is the central thesis of this study: a proper understanding of the Markan fig-tree story serves as two hermeneutical grounds to better understand the other two Markan stories of Jesus’ entry and the Temple incident by solving their interpretational problems noted above. What is more, the demonstration of the thesis will be done from the perspective of the first Markan readers. Their right understanding of anything in the Gospel must have been the primary concern to the Evangelist. Thus, the approach to the Markan issues of this study through the eyes of his pristine readers will provide his modern readers with the two benefits: (1) more fundamental and thus reliable answers to the relevant issues; (2) a better way to grasp the dynamic interaction between Mark and his original readers, which was mediated by the written Gospel. Therefore, this study is an effort to answer the question of how the understanding of the first Markan readers on the fig-tree story would have helped with the comprehension of its two neighboring, but esoteric stories.

III. Methodology of Study Mimesis Criticism, pioneered by Dennis R. MacDonald, is the methodological tool that regulates the relationship between two texts in which one serves as the literary model for the other by becoming the antetext. Concerning the Gospel of Mark, Mimesis Criticism suggests the Homeric epics as Mark’s primary literary models over the Hebrew Bible,1 which, however, does not mean to downplay the role of the latter in Mark’s creation.

introduction

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MacDonald suggests six criteria of Mimesis Criticism, which function as theoretical grounds that make this methodology valid. The followings are such criteria: (1) Accessibility (probability that the author of the hypertext had the chance to read its hypotext); (2) Analogy (evaluates popularity of the antetext, enough to be imitated in other literary works by other authors); (3) Density (the more the parallels exist between the two texts, the stronger the possibility is that they are in a literary relationship); (4) Order (the more similar the order of the parallels between the two texts, the clearer their literary connections); (5) Distinctive Trait (if something unusual is found in both texts, it serves as a clue to their particular relationship); (6) Interpretability (something interpretable resulting from viewing the relationship between the two texts as mimetic).2

Application of mimesis criticism to the Gospel of Mark (hypertext) and the Homeric epics (hypotexts) led MacDonald to detect many cases where the two texts are mimetically associated with each other.3 This Mimesis Criticism is the methodology used for the task of this study, that how the interpretation of the fig-tree story of Mark 11 attributes to the understanding of its two adjacent stories, Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and cleansing of the Temple. Thus, the way this methodology practically works will be demonstrated later in this study. However, no matter how Mimesis Criticism may seem to work well, the outcomes resulting from its engagement would not be convincing unless this criticism can stand attacks on its value as a methodology for criticism. Of course, the credibility of mimesis criticism does not go without being questioned. Thus, the question of how it is tested and defended is an outstanding issue to answer before closing this chapter.

A. Credibility of Methodology This section first looks into the arguments against mimesis criticism, and then the response to them by MacDonald. After all, the validity of mimesis criticism as a methodology is dependent on how convincingly MacDonald disproves such arguments against it. 1. Critiques and defense There are two primary attacks on mimesis criticism: one by Margaret M. Mitchell4 and the other by Karl Olav Sandnes.5 This section will analyze

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what they advertise as the weak aspects of this methodology and demonstrate how successfully MacDonald disarms these claims. Mitchell and Sandnes raise questions about mimesis criticism proposed by MacDonald; they can be summarized as follows: First, Mitchell, disqualifying mimesis criticism as a credible methodology, argues that it uses, as the direct influence of the Homeric epics on the Markan Gospel, both similarities and differences in parallels between the two literary works: “[t]his means, in essence, that MacDonald’s thesis, once propounded, is theoretically incapable of invalidation.”6

However, MacDonald calls such disqualification “nonsense”7 since I [MacDonald] never use transvaluations exclusively to link two texts, which must have asufficient number of other parallels, perhaps in a recognizable sequence, and with sufficiently unusual traits to bind them together into a hermeneutically useful paring. Each of my parallels thus is theoretically vulnerable to invalidation by failing these criteria.8 Thus, MacDonald tries to explain that these differences or transvaluations between hypotexts and hypertexts do not come out of the blue merely to suggest their mimetic relationship, but come to be detected and be valid based on the satisfaction of other criteria of mimesis criticism. Taking the two comparisons as examples between Sleeping Ugly, the children’s book, with Sleeping Beauty, the folktale, and Odyssey 10.1–69 and Mark 4:1–2, 35–41,9 MacDonald appears successful in disproving Mitchell’s disqualification of mimesis criticism. Second, Mitchell also cries out against the inconsistent identity of Markan Jesus sometimes with Odysseus or other times with Telemachus: This disjointed quality of MacDonald’s allegorical typecasting through bricolage isparticularly serious in regard to his inconsistency about whether Jesus is father or son (Odysseus or Telemachus), given that the father-son relationship is the linchpin of Mark’s Gospel. Even if one accepts in principle MacDonald’s argument that Mark’s retelling of the Homeric epics is not meant to be merely mimetic but also transvaluative (i.e., Jesus always outperforms his prototype), this shifting of typological costumes would surely undermine and obfuscate readerly comprehension of what appears to be the main point of Mark’s narrative exposition.10

Sandnes notes another inconsistency of MacDonald’s mimetic reading of the Gospel concerning the Markan motif of returning home: “Home is partly the Temple, his hometown Nazareth, and also Jesus’ eschatological return. If the key theme of returning home is so slippery in Mark’s Gospel, it

introduction

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is hard to think that it was part of an intentional imitation in all the passages mentioned.”11 In his critical response to these issues of inconsistency, MacDonald responds to the two opponents respectively. Concerning Mitchell’s argument, he effectively presents, while saying that “switching of roles characterizes much ancient literary imitation,”12 Aeneas of Vergil’s Aeneid as another example, who mimetically assumes many characters such as “Achilles, Hector, Odysseus, Jason, and other heroes.”13 Sandnes’ argument, next, is convincingly refuted by MacDonald as follows: the fact that there appear in the Markan Gospel various references to places as home could rather lead one to “easily argue that repeated use of a motif [returning home] reinforces the author’s investment in it.”14 Third, MacDonald, according to Mitchell, does not give the due importance that the Hebrew Bible deserves in its influences like the allusions of the Markan Gospel: In his reading of the stilling of the storm in Mark 4:35–41 as “an apparent imitation of Homer’s story of Aeolus’ bag of winds” (p. 174), MacDonald notes only in a footnote (p. 221, n. 16) the extensive verbal and thematic commonalities this passage has with the Septuagintal account of Jonah, lexical and syntactical similarities that actually go far beyond any of the parallels with Homeric texts listed in this book. … Instead, MacDonald relentlessly pushes his case for the Homeric “hypotext,” completely overriding the Johan story in the competition he sets up for some primary textual influence.15

Under a similar context, Sandnes also finds faults with MacDonald for the negligence of “the OT intertextuality that is broadcasted in this literature [the Markan Gospel].”16 MacDonald agrees that the Homeric epics take priority in the influence on the creation of the Gospel over the Hebrew Bible only if there is evidence of a clearer association of a story of the Gospel with the former than with the latter. In other words, MacDonald “by no means denied the influence Jewish writings”17 where its impact is applied in the Gospel of Mark. Even though Mitchell (maybe Sandnes, too) knows about MacDonald’s attitude towards the influence of the Septuagint on the Gospel, she seems to pretend not to be aware of it because of her conviction of the “exclusive restriction of Mark’s antetexts to the Septuagint and my [MacDonald’s] inclusion of the Homeric.”18 Fourth, against MacDonald’s argument for the mimetic reliance of both the Markan story of Jesus’ death on the story of Hector’s burial (Iliad 24) and

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another story of Elpenor’s burial (Odyssey 11), Mitchell claims that the burial similarities shared among those three texts reflect “a certain set of motifs— hence rendering quite dubious such claims of direct literary patterning on a single textual progenitor.”19 In his defense against this point, MacDonald argues that even similarities between the Markan Gospel and the Homeric epics resulting from their common exposure to the same Greek culture cannot annul the fact as follows: [B]ut it also is true that many ancient authors consciously imitated the epics; after all, they learned to do so in school. Furthermore, ancient narrative is rife with examples of obvious and subtle imitations of the epics as texts.20

The criteria of mimesis criticism, especially from the criterion 3 to 6, distinguish whether textual similarities between texts are due to sharing common cultural influence or authors’ mimetic hands.21 Fifth, it is unreasonable according to Mitchell, to think that Mark takes “wily, ironic Odysseus, a figure of much debated character flaws,”22 as the model character of his hero, that is, Jesus. Furthermore, no evidence, she argues, exists that any theme or story of the Gospels of the New Testament has been deemed as “a suitable biblical subject for a Homeric-styled epic.”23 Concerning Mitchell’s first argument for no reason to connect Odysseus with moral flaws to Jesus, MacDonald reveals the contradiction that she reveals: But she herself cites Basil of Caesarea’s use of Odysseus as a positive moral example for reading Homer. She also compares the epithet polytropos, “man of many turns,” used of Odysseus in the first line of the Odyssey, with Paul’s claim to be all things to all people (1 Cor 9:22), and then cites Gregory of Nazianzus in support, who compared Paul with Proteus, a trickster god, an even less attractive ethical model.24

Sixth, MacDonald, according to Mitchell, overestimates both the capacity of Mark as an author or a composer and of the members of the Markan community as readers: (1) Mark seems not capable enough to fill the Gospel with the much-sophisticated mixture of what was historical and what was fictional, which then turns into a one, big story of Jesus with the natural stream of its development; (2) The reader appears not capable of differentiating what was historical and what was fictional in the Gospel. Mitchell shows such doubt with the following questions: “If there was such material [historical information] in Mark, what did it consist in, and from where did Mark get it? And could he have expected his audience to have known it?”25 However, this doubt

introduction

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that Mark and his reader were all that smart, rather encourages MacDonald to take this statement as compliment to him: “By claiming that I [MacDonald] view ‘the Evangelist as a bookish, self-conscious crafter,’ she puts me in venerable company with other interpreters of the Gospel.”26 Seventh, Mitchell blames MacDonald for irresponsibility in elucidating the ultimate aim of Mark’s mimetic use of the Homeric epics: Hence MacDonald’s book ends without engaging the central question of ancient (and even much modern) literary criticism: what, finally, is the σκοπός (goal) of this composite literary work for its intended historical audience of conceived as a transvaluation of Homeric epic? What does the Odysseus-Hector-Jesus parallel do for Mark’s theological program?27

Mitchell’s such argument seems supported by Sandnes who also says that MacDonald “fails to demonstrate authorial intention.”28 However, it seems weird for those two critics to suggest such an argument on the vagueness of the goal of the mimetic reading of the Markan Gospel since the goal is clearly explained in the conclusion part of the Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark.29 To help the reader understand the goal more clearly, MacDonald summarizes it succinctly: “Mark sought to embed traditions about Jesus within a narrative that would present him as superior to heroes of Greek religious literature, just as he presented him as superior to Moses, Jonah, and Elijah.”30 Eighth, the perception that there is no evidence so far of an association of the Markan Gospel with the Homeric epics makes Mitchell regard Mimesis Criticism as unconvincing: “we have no text that corroborates a Homeric reading of Mark.”31 Against this critique, MacDonald shows parallels that can serve as examples of the earlier recognition of mimetic reading of the Markan Gospel: (1) The parallel between Iliad 22.25–89 and Luke 23:27–31 shows their mimetic relationship which might not have been possible for Luke to intend without his being aware of that “Mark already had imitated other aspects of Hector’s death”;32 (2) The parallels between Iliad and the Gospel of Nicodemus33 prevent one from concluding that “no one recognized the similarities between the deaths of Jesus and Hector that ultimately trace back to Mark.”34 Ninth, Sandnes criticizes MacDonald’s argument for cases of emulation found in the mimetic reading of the Markan Gospel. He contends that since the Markan emulation is modest or subtle, it is crucial for the Gospel itself to betray or advertise its hypotext just like ancient rhetoric does to avoid the difficulty in telling whether a detected emulation of the Gospel is the author’s

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intention or not.35 However, the Gospel of Mark does not suggest any clear hint of its association with the Homeric epics, and this is “the Achilles’ heel of MacDonald’s interpretation.”36 Thus, Sandnes concludes that the emulations that MacDonald claims as the outcome of the mimetic reading of the Gospel in association with the Homeric epics are not analogous, and therefore not convincing at all. MacDonald, however, claims that it is wrong of Sandnes to take the Aeneid and the True Story as the general ancient examples characterizing the “emulation either as modest tinkering without emulation or drastic rewriting.”37 In other words, emulations found in those two imitators are so exceptional that there are many others that exclude any explicit reference to or hint of their hypotexts and thus are subtle: for instance, “imitations of epic … in Herodotus, the tragedians, the Hellenistic romances, and even other works by Vergil and Lucian”38 along with “the Book of Tobit, the Hellenistic Jewish poets, and even the Jewish historian Josephus whose ostensible topics were Jewish yet who imitated Homer, sometimes quite clearly.”39 After all, as seen above, MacDonald successfully defends mimesis criticism as a reliable methodology against the attacks of Mitchell and Sandnes. Their silence since MacDonald’s response to them seems to indicate that Mitchell and Sandnes at least admit the value of Mimesis Criticism as the ground of the literary connections between relevant texts.

Notes 1. Among many instances proposed by Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 194–200, the most significant evidence of the epics primary role in the creation of the Gospel seems those similarities that the beginning and the ending of the Gospel share with the Odyssey (for the beginning) and the Iliad (for the ending). First, concerning the similarity of the beginning between the Gospel and the Odyssey, both of their beginnings start with particular expressions that introduce each of them “as a narrative about an individual”: “the title ἡ Ὀδύσσεια, ‘concerning Odysseus’” of Odyssey, and “‘[b]eginning of the good news about Jesus Christ, Son of God [Ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ [υἱοῦ θεοῦ],’” both of which “notify the reader that the narrative will concern the careers of these individuals.” There is also one common word in the beginning of the two literary works, according to MacDonald, that might lead to help the reader to suspect that the careers of the two protagonists would be described from the perspective of a journey to the destination: the word is ὁδός which means “journey” or “way,” and thus refers to Odyssey as the story of Odysseus’ journey to netherworld and to the Gospel of Mark the story of Jesus’ journey to death. Furthermore, “[t]he journeys of Odysseus and Jesus both involve suffering and

introduction

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death, and the comrades of both heroes prove themselves unreliable ‘on the way.’ Both heroes return from death unscathed and victorious.” MacDonald goes on to claim that the next thing commonly found in each beginning part of the epic and Mark is “a young man learning of his paternity by means of a flying messenger”: for Telemachus, Athena in the form of a bird (Odyssey I.105–324), and for Jesus, God in a form of a dove (Mark 1:10–11). Furthermore, after the identity confirmation, these two heroes commonly get courageous enough to fight against their enemies: “Telemachus confronted the suitors [Odyssey IV. 840], and Jesus withstood Satan [Mark 1:12–13].” The similarity between Telemachus and Jesus at the first portion of each work’s beginning narratives continues in that “both Telemachus and Jesus, endangered by the powers-that-be but emboldened by heavenly messengers, staked out their claims to kingdoms as only sons of their royal fathers.” Based on such similarities as between the Markan Gospel and Odyssey, one can say that they serve as the effective ground to compare the two literary works. Secondly, the ending of the Gospel reminds of the one of the Iliad. The first phenomenon, MacDonald argues, commonly noticed in both endings of both texts is their finish with “the death and burial of a hero”: Hector and Jesus. This common factor, esp. their death is further associated with anticipation to future events while Homer and Mark scatter clues to them throughout their works rather than directly mention such clues in detail; due to their open-endedness, they are followed by sequels to extend and complete them such as for Iliad, “Aithiopis, Sack of Troy (Iliou Persis), Little Iliad, and Stesichorus’s Iliou Persis and Nostoi … Vergil’s Aeneid and Quintus Smyrnaeus’s Posthomerica. … Euripides … his Hecuba, Andromache, and Trojan Women,” and for the Gospel of Mark, particularly the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles. Finally, one might be led to the conclusion proposed by MacDonald as follows: “These correlations between the Iliad and Mark surely are no accident. Both works end with the death of a hero that symbolized the fall of a city [Ithaca and Jerusalem]. Even though the conclusions of both works concern the fates of the heroes, the reader is able to anticipate several events that transpire thereafter, including the deaths of the cities that buried the heroes. The open-endedness of each work encouraged to complete the story.” Like the case of the Mark’s mimetic use of the beginning of Odyssey for his own, it quite appears that there is a strong literary connection between the endings of the Markan Gospel and Odyssey. 2. Dennis R. MacDonald, ed., Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity, Studies in Antiquity and Christianity (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 2–3. 3. More than 20 cases appear in MacDonald’s Homeric Epics. 4. Margaret M. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” JR 83 (2003): 244–60. 5. Karl O. Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri? An Appraisal of Dennis R. MacDonald’s ‘Mimesis Criticism,’” JBL 124 (2005): 715–32. 6. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 252. 7. Dennis R. MacDonald, My Turn: A Critique of Critics of “Mimesis Criticism” (Claremont, CA: Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, 2009), 6. 8. MacDonald, My Turn, 6. 9. MacDonald, My Turn, 7. 10. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 250. 11. Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?” 722. 12. MacDonald, My Turn, 6.

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13. MacDonald, My Turn, 6. 14. MacDonald, My Turn, 6. 15. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 253. On the same place, Mitchell also argues that MacDonald’s mimetic reading of the transfiguration story of Mark 9:2–10 is problematic on the similar basis. 16. Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?” 732. 17. MacDonald, My Turn, 4. 18. MacDonald, My Turn, 4. 19. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 254. 20. MacDonald, My Turn, 4. 21. MacDonald, My Turn, 4. 22. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 254. 23. MacDonald, My Turn, 251. 24. MacDonald, My Turn, 5–6. Sandnes even provides a counterevidence against Mitchell’s argument: according to MacDonald (My Turn, 6), Sandnes “cites a text of Clement of Alexandria who urges his readers to avoid Greek custom as Odysseus avoided the Sirens.” 25. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 255. She (“Homer in the New Testament?” 250–51) also accuses MacDonald of (1) describing Mark as the author “who appears strikingly akin to himself in method, acuity, and disposition” and (2) concluding that Mark expected the Markan reader to understand his authorial intention (esp., “transvaluation of Homer”) complicatedly melted down in his work. 26. MacDonald, My Turn, 8. 27. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 255. 28. Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?” 732. 29. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 119. 30. MacDonald, My Turn, 9. 31. Mitchell, “Homer in the New Testament?” 251. 32. MacDonald, My Turn, 13. 33. MacDonald, My Turn, 13–17. 34. MacDonald, My Turn, 17. 35. Sandnes (“Imitatio Homeri?” 731) takes Vergil’s Aeneid Lucian’s True Story as the representative examples of the ancient rhetoric concerning imitation. 36. Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?” 718. 37. MacDonald, My Turn, 9. 38. MacDonald, My Turn, 10. 39. MacDonald, My Turn, 10.

Works Cited MacDonald, Dennis R. The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000. ———., ed. Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001.

introduction

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———. My Turn: A Critique of Critics of “Mimesis Criticism.” Claremont, CA: Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, 2009. Mitchell, Margaret M. “Homer in the New Testament?” Journal of Religion 83 (2003): 244–60. Sandnes, Karl O. “Imitatio Homeri? An Appraisal of Dennis R MacDonald’s ‘Mimesis Criticism.’” Journal of Biblical Literature 124 (2005): 715–32.

·1· history of interpretations and problems

This chapter focuses on the currently existing interpretations of and their difficulties with the three consecutively following stories of Mark 11 which focus on Jesus’ deed: his entry, the fig tree, and the Temple stories. In this regard, the arguments made so far by some Markan scholars will be critically investigated in an orderly manner in the following three sections: how each story benefits from them and what shortcomings remain in them.

I. Triumphal Entry? This section will both consider the arguments that have led to the naming of Mark 11:1–11 as “the triumphal entry” and will seek to prove that it does not deserve to be called Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. In this regard, the reasons for such a title will be first addressed; and then I will argue that these ideas actually do not support the triumphal nature of Jesus’ entry by reviewing the relevant counterarguments. Furthermore, it will be suggested that even these counterarguments are incapable of satisfactorily elucidating the nature of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Therefore, the proof which shows not only the irrelevance of the Markan Jesus’ entry with triumphalism but also reveals the incapability

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with the identification of its proper nature, will serve as the reason for the emergence of another hermeneutical need to understand the concerning Markan pericope from a different perspective.

A. Biblical Reading1 1. Allusions: The Mount of Olives and an ass James G. Williams argues about the characteristics of the Markan allusion as follows: As a narrative theologian, Mark’s style is one that leaves much unspoken, and even that which is expressed is frequently put in the form of allusion. Moreover, these silences of the narrative are not simply what are not expressed; they often reside in deliberate gaps, in outright interferences with the text.2

With this argument by Williams in mind, the following Markan allusions of “the Mount of Olives” (v. 1) and “ass” (vv. 2, 4, 5, and 7) will be addressed in an orderly manner. First, the Mount of Olives as the “hill of oil” insinuates “anointing,” which Mark appears to mention for the reader’s relation of it to the advent of the anointed one, the Messiah, prophesied in Zech 14. Furthermore, Zech 14:4 describes this mountain as the place where “God’s triumphant battle will occur.”3 More specifically, “[t]he so-called ‘apocalypse of Zech’ describes the coming day of the Lord when the feet of the Lord shall ‘stand on the Mount of Olives’ (Zech 14:4)”4 Since the event of the coming of the divine warrior in Zech 14 takes place on the Mount of Olives toward which Jesus, in Mark 11, is coming while sitting on an ass, this mount seems to serve as a flag that indicates the allusive relation between Zechariah’s Messiah and Jesus. In this case, Jesus could be identified with the divine warrior of Zech 14:13, as the strong military Messiah defeating all the enemies against Jerusalem. This identification of Jesus with the triumphal warrior that the prophet Zech prophesies may attribute Jesus’ entry in Mark 11:1–11 to be called “triumphal.” Next, “ass” seems to allude to Zech 9:9–10.5 The ass of Zech 9:9 is a symbol of messianic entry. David R. Catchpole argues: “No doubt precedent can genuinely be found in Zech. 9:9 where an era of universal peace is inaugurated by the arrival of the king in procession, and riding upon an ass, an arrival which is to be greeted with shouts of joy.”6 Also, Rikki E. Watts, while paying attention to Mark’s use of the Hebrew Bible for the description of the crowd’s acclamation (11:9b),7 suggests various



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parts of the Hebrew Bible as possible antecedents of the Markan Jesus’ entry. Among them are particularly noteworthy 1 Kgs 1 and 2 Kgs 9 which lead to the reading of Jesus’ entry in view of the “royal” arrival.8 Concerning the royal characteristic of Jesus’ arrival at Jerusalem, Watts argues that the reference to the kingdom language of Mark 11:10 along with the emphasis on “Son of David” in the preceding Bartimaeus story of Mark 10:46–52, points out “its ‘regal’ nature.”9 Furthermore, Jesus’ riding on an animal, instead of walking, alludes to 1 Kgs 1:33;10 the crowd’s hail to Jesus as king alludes to 1 Kgs 1:34; and the crowd’s act of spreading garments on the road alludes to Jehu, the newly appointed king of 2 Kgs 9:12–13.11 In addition, Lawrence M. Wills asserts that “[t]he laying of garments and branches on Jesus’ path indicates a joyous celebration of victory (compare 1 Macc 13:51; 2 Macc 10:7).”12 Then, according to the “ass” allusion to these antecedents, Jesus sitting on an ass into Jerusalem could be thought to project the triumphant king of Zech 9:9, who also rides on an ass into the same city. Besides, an ass which has never been ridden before may allude to Numbers 19:2; Deuteronomy 21:3; and 1 Samuel 6:7, in which unyoked beasts are “consecrated for God.”13 Thus, this allusion could have been granted Jesus the divine authority of God since Jesus claims to use the “unyoked” ass for himself. After all, allusions of all these scriptural texts appear to indicate Jesus as a triumphant king with divine authority over not only his subjects but also his enemies. 2. C  itations: “Hosanna and Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” These two Markan expressions of the 11:9–10, “Hosanna” and the acclamation of the “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” appear to come directly from respectively Ps 118:25 (MT) and 117:26 (LXX).14 According to Joel Marcus, Ps 118 (Ps 117 of LXX), “pictures Jerusalem surrounded by its pagan enemies but saved by the exalted right hand of the Lord (Ps 118:10–16)” and this eschatological and messianic interpretation already existed in the first century C.E. Judaism.15 Thus, Joel Marcus, based on the literary reliance of Mark 11:9–10 on Ps 118, concludes: The messianic significance of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is further underlined by the following, climatic verses. In 11:9a the crowds greet Jesus with a cry of “Hosanna,” the transliteration of a Hebrew word that means “Save, please!” and is addressed to God in its OT source. In 11:9b-10a, moreover, they pair a blessing on the one “who comes in the name of the Lord” with a benediction on “the coming dominion of our father David.” For the reader of Mark, the clear implication is that Jesus is “the

16

the pivotal role of the fig-tree story coming one” (cf. Matt 11:3//Luke 7:19), the scion of David who will reestablish his ancestor’s earthly dominion through the mighty power of the God who dwells “in the highest places.” The concluding cry, “Hosanna in the highest places!” (11:10b), then, becomes similar in import to the final invocation of the Jewish Kaddish prayer: “He who makes peace in his high places, may he make peace upon us and on all Israel.”16

Therefore, the Hosanna, being proclaimed by the crowd in this Markan scene, serves as a token that Jesus is welcomed as the victorious figure. After all, the application of these citations to Jesus’ entry of Mark 11 appears to strengthen the claim that the way Jesus enters in Jerusalem is triumphal.

B. Historical Reading Catchpole claims that the entry pattern shown in Mark 11:1–11 is compatible with the typical pattern of the Greco-Roman world’s triumphal entry. The following is Catchpole’s very concise summary of the examples that reflect such a pattern: (1) Alexander travels from Gaza to Jerusalem (Josephus, AJ 11:325–39) where his previously achieved authority is recognized without conflict. He is ceremonially met outside Jerusalem, greeted, and escorted into the city and then to the Temple where he is involved in a cultic activity. (2) Alexander again is invited to enter Shechem (Josephus, AJ 11:342–5), having been met “with splendour and a great show of eagerness on his behalf … when he was hardly out of Jerusalem”, a proposed visit which would have reached its climax in the Temple (342). (3) Apollonius is welcomed to Jerusalem (2 Macc. 4:21f). He is ushered in with a blaze of torches and with shouts, and the welcome is said to be magnificent (μεγαλομερῶς). (4) Judas Maccabaeus returns home (1 Macc. 4:19–25; Josephus, AJ 12:312) after victory over Gorgias, with his associates echoing the language of the Ps as “they sang hymns and praises to heaven, for he is good and his mercy endures forever” (4:24; cp. 4:33). Similarly Judas returns from a military campaign (1 Macc. 5:45–54; Josephus, AJ (5)  12:348f), passing through Judaea (5:45) to mount Zion with singing and finally undertaking a sacrificial activity. In Josephus’s words, “they came to Judaea, playing harps and singing songs of praise and observing such forms of merrymaking as are customary at celebrations of a victory” (12:349), while 1 Macc. 4:55 puts it thus: “All the people fell on their faces and worshiped and blessed heaven who had prospered them.” (6) Jonathan Maccabaeus is welcomed in Askalon (1 Macc. 10:86; cp. 11:60) without the expected struggle, so the emergence of the men of the city “to meet him with great pomp (ἐν δόξῃ μεγάλῃ)” clearly implies their acceptance of his authority.



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(7) Simon Maccabaeus enters Gaza (1 Macc. 13:43–8), having already had his status and authority defined (verse 42). Conflict having given way to peace, Simon expels idolatrous inhabitants (verses 47b, 48), cleanses idolatrous houses (verse 47b) and enters the city “with hymns and praise ὑμνῶν καὶ εὐλογῶν).” In a similar vein, (8) Simon enters Jerusalem (1 Macc. 13:49–51), peace having again replaced conflict. The pattern of expulsion of inhabitants (verse 50b), cleansing away pollution (verse 50b), and triumphal entry is repeated, though the celebrations are described in unusual detail: “they entered with praise and palm branches, and with harps and cymbals and stringed instruments and with hymns and songs” (verse 51). The situation in (7) and (8) is summarised later in 1 Macc. 14:7 as an activation of lordship (ἐκυρίευσεν) which is unopposed, as well as involving a removal of uncleanness. (9) Antigonus returns form a campaign (BJ 1:74f; AJ 13:304–6) with glory, accompanied by soldiers and clothed splendidly, to such an extent that his going to the Temple becomes the occasion for criticism: “out of keeping with the behavior of a private person … his actions had the indications of one who imagined himself a king” (306). (10) Marcus Agrippa is welcomed in Jerusalem (Josephus, AJ 16:12–15), having been met by Herod and brought to the city; the people at large meet him and welcome him with acclamations prior to his entry and his offering of sacrifice. (11) Archelaus, having been provisionally appointed king by Herod (Josephus, AJ 17:194–239) and the Temple in procession. The initial acclamation is combined with an invocation of God as helper (195; cp. BJ 1:570). In the Temple he offers sacrifice and acts in a manner sufficiently regal to provoke later accusations that he had taken power and unduly infringed upon Caesar’s authority to bestow the kingship. Specifically he had sat upon a throne and “had danced and sung as over a fallen enemy” (235), as well as quelling riots in kingly style. (12) Alexander’s “double” claims kingship (BJ 2:101–10; AJ 17:324–8) and is given a formal welcome by the Jewish population in Rome, of all places. They go to meet him and surround him, shouting good wishes, while he is said to have “all the trappings of a king” (331).17

The pattern of the Greco-Roman triumphal procession commonly found in these examples includes the following elements: (a) A victory already achieved and a status already recognised for the central person. (b) A formal and ceremonial entry. (c) Greetings and/or acclamations together with invocations of God. (d) Entry to the city climaxed by entry to Temple, if the city in question has one. (e) Cultic activity, either positive (e.g. offering of sacrifice), or negative (e.g. expulsion of objectionable persons and the cleansing away of uncleanness).18

According to Catchpole, the Markan story of Jesus’ entry into the city of Jerusalem contains all of these elements, which makes it another example of the triumphal entry of the Greco-Roman world.

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story

1. Not a Triumphal Entry This section aims to demonstrate that regarding the mode of the Markan Jesus’ entry as triumphal is false. For this, two counterarguments will be suggested. However, these counterarguments only serve to indicate that the Markan Jesus does not enter Jerusalem in a victorious way. Therefore, their limitations of identifying the nature of Jesus’ entry needs to be mentioned too, which serves as another clear reason for the necessity of a complete argument that is not only contradictory to the title of the triumphal entry of Jesus but also gives a convincing appreciation of the entry’s nature. 1.1. Counterargument 1: Shortsighted application of the Hebrew Bible. As noted earlier, the influence of the Hebrew Bible, especially Zech 9 and 1419 on Mark 11:1–11 in the form of echo, allusion, and citation appears to signify the triumphal feature of the Markan pericope. However, the resulting interpretation from this way of application of the Hebrew Bible to a particular part of the Markan Gospel apart from the latter’s context becomes vulnerable to the test of its validity: Such interpretation is likely to be incompatible with central themes of the Gospel, especially in the cases of the so-called “messianic secret” and the suffering messiah consistently described in the Markan Gospel. Thus, the credibility of the interpretation based on this shortsighted use of the Hebrew Bible cannot help but be reconsidered since this interpretative analysis results in an inharmonious interpretation with the Markan major themes. In this section, the need for the reconsideration of the nature of the Markan Jesus’ entry as not being triumphal will be claimed regarding the two Markan motifs of the messianic secret and the suffering messiah. Among many themes debated among Markan scholars so far, there is the messianic secret motif that emerges throughout the Markan Jesus’ ministry. This theme becomes particularly of significance concerning the interpretation of the so-called “triumphal” entry of Jesus of Mark 11:1–11: Mark’s overall description of Jesus who generally keeps hiding his identity as the messiah particularly from those who are outside his group seems to be in conflict with the interpretational approach to Jesus of the Markan entry story, which reveals him as the victor. Furthermore, the image of Markan Jesus as the suffering messiah appears to make it harder to call Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem the triumphal one. Therefore, this section will also demonstrate in detail how the understanding of Mark 11:1–11 as the publicly victorious Jesus is directly contradictory to



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the two motifs of the Gospel of Mark: the messianic secret and the suffering messiah. For these demonstrations, investigations of how the messianic secret and the suffering messiah are described in the Gospel will be made first. Then, the reason will be followed why Jesus’ entry story of Mark 11:1–11 should not be called at least triumphal one. 1.1.1. The messianic secret. The messianic secret motif of the Markan Gospel was first proposed by the German scholar, William Wrede in Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangeliums,20 which served “as the harbinger of twentieth-century Gospel criticism.”21 While reading the Markan Gospel, noticed the repeated theme of silence in 1:23–25, 34, 43–45; 3:11–12; 5:43; 7:36; 8:27–30; 9:9; et al. and called this theme Messiasgeheimnis (“messianic secret”).22 Wrede understood this messianic secret, “not as actual events in the life of Jesus, but as a theological construct used by Mark to reconcile the primitive view of Jesus as a human with the messianic view of Jesus’ life and person after resurrection.”23 However, this section does not pay attention to Wrede’s such understanding of the messianic secret motif: it does not matter whether the historical Jesus actually did try to prevent his messianic identity from being revealed or not since the Gospel has the messianic secret motif in it either way. Furthermore, all the suggested Markan verses above by Wrede in association with the secrecy motif appear not to be directly related to Jesus’ messianic identity except for 9:9.24 About this, J. D. G. Dunn argues as follows: Wrede has narrowed the scope of the secrecy motif too much. I strongly question whether the silences commanded by Jesus in connection with the healing miracles can adequately be brought under the category of Messianic secret. What is there about the healings that cannot be understood before the cross and resurrection which is not publicly demonstrated in, for example, the healing of the paralytic before the scribes in chapter 2, or the healing of the man with the withered arm in the synagogue in chapter 3? What is there about the healing miracles which particularly marks out Jesus as Messiah? According to Mark not one of the miracles performed publicly led the spectators to conclude that Jesus was the Messiah, while several passages indicate that their reaction was often completely different. The people of Nazareth saw only the carpenter, the member of a well-known local family, despite the public knowledge of His miracles (6:1–6). Herod and other thought He might be John the Baptist resurrected, or Elijah or another prophet (6:14f.; 8:28). The Pharisees judged Him to be possessed by Beelzebub (3:22). Moreover, the only recipient of Jesus’ healing who hails Him in Messianic terms (10:46ff.) is not silenced by Jesus. So just what secret was being safeguarded by those commands to silence?25

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story

Even though Dunn’s argument is convincing, there remains the indirect connection between Jesus’ messianic identity and his miracles as Mark A. Powell argues: Mark portrays Jesus as commending silence regarding certain miracles because he does not want Jesus to be known primarily as a miracle worker. The point is not that the miracles are or should be a secret. The point is that people who go around proclaiming Christ as [a wonder worker] are preaching an inadequate Christology. The Roman world knew many stories of [divine men] who were gifted by the gods with extraordinary powers, or who learned magical arts that enabled them to do amazing things. Mark does not want Jesus to be grouped with such persons.26

Despite some problems noted by Dunn above with Wrede’s argument, what Wrede attributes to the task of this section might be the detection and proposal of the issue of the messianic secret27 which anyhow provides the general impression of Jesus as the figure reluctant to disclose his messiahship or his supernatural deeds so as to prevent the wrong concept of the messiah from being delivered under the situation as follows: During the massive popular uprising following the death of Herod and during the first great revolt against Rome in 66–70, the social-political circumstances provided the occasion for the revival of the popular tradition of kingship for which David provided the principal historical prototype.28

From the perspective of the reader-response criticism, the messianic secret might have meant an ironical tension arising from the hermeneutical gap between the reader who already regards Jesus as the Messiah and the Jesus who hides, or other Markan characters who misunderstand, his messianic identity. Therefore, Robert M. Fowler argues as follows: [T]he Messianic Secret is the reader’s experience of irony as he or she reads a story about a messiah whose messiahship is virtually always hidden or misunderstood. So, I claim that the Messianic Secret is fundamentally a matter of a reader perceiving the irony of a hidden misunderstood messiah.29

The first Markan readers, then, must have known from the very beginning of the Gospel that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God (1:1), who had the capability to work various kinds of miracles. However, the Markan Jesus’ consistent and persistent order to be reticent concerning anything about his messiahship particularly in relation to miraculous acts at least leads the reader to have this impression:30 Jesus usually refrains from being known as the



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Messiah especially in response to his miracles including healings and exorcisms. In other words, Jesus himself does not enjoy being the object of the public attention for fear of fostering the misconception of the Messiah.31 That is why the Markan Jesus keeps silencing those who are ready to proclaim him as a messiah who only cares about healing the sick, exorcising the evil spirits, and even defeating the Roman powers with such miraculous power, not as the Messiah that must suffer and die as predicted in the Hebrew Bible. Thus, it seems highly unlikely that Jesus would have done something that might cause the characters around him to misunderstand him as the messianic figure who has nothing to do with the suffering and death on the cross. 1.1.2. The suffering messiah. As hinted in the previous section, the messianic secret motif of the Markan Gospel could be connected with Jesus’ aspiration to prevent his true identity as the Messiah doomed to suffering and death. This notion of the so-called “suffering Messiah” becomes of much significance when it comes to the argument against the triumphalism of Mark 11:1–11. Thus, this subsection focuses on how Mark describes Jesus in view of the suffering Messiah. It is in the passion narrative of Mark 14–16 that Jesus is clearly described as the suffering Messiah.32 The Markan motif of the suffering messiah is an intriguing one: there exist only some hints of Hebrew Bible’s influence in it.33 Furthermore, the mainstream Judaism in the first century C.E. Palestine did not contain “atoning suffering as a necessary part of the messianic idea, and that even if one can show the existence of the concept of a suffering Messiah, it was at best marginal and weak.”34 This unpopular concept of the suffering Messiah in the first century C.E. Palestine leads to the thought that when Mark wrote his Gospel, the general image of the Messiah even among his first readers who were (near) Palestine Christians35 might have been the opposite one to the suffering Messiah.36 Even though the first Markan readers knew that Jesus was the Messiah, Mark would have felt the need to introduce the earthly Jesus to them as the suffering Messiah, not as the political-military figure like King David until the Parousia. In this respect, Georges Minette de Tillesse claims that Mark’s interest lies in justifying the cause of the sufferings and death that Jesus went through as the Messiah for human salvation, not in demonstrating who Jesus is as the Messiah. It is because of the incapability to understand this cause that even Jesus’ own disciples keep failing to believe their master as the suffering and dying Messiah.37

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story

Thus, the Markan Jesus needs to be described as being much careful in preventing the spread of the rumor of him as the Messiah (the messianic secret motif)38 since for now he is not the one who meets the concept of the Messiah prevalent in the first century C.E. (near) Palestine areas: The Markan Jesus is an uncommon version of the Messiah who has to suffer and die; in this regard, in the Gospel of Mark, “‘Messiah’ does not define Jesus; to the contrary, Jesus redefines the term ‘Messiah.’”39 In the meantime, the messianic secret motif appears to serve as the safety device to gradually prepare the reader to minimize the aftermath of the shock that results from the reading of such a Markan version of the Messiah. Thus, it seems unlikely that Mark, who needs to present Jesus as the suffering Messiah in his Gospel consistently, intends to make Jesus of Mark 11:1–10 appear as a triumphal figure who enters Jerusalem even right before the beginning of his passion. After all, the Markan Jesus “sees messiahship and sonship as involving suffering”40 and this suggests “a different kind of messiah—a messiah who is not triumphalistic or conquering, but a messiah who is willing to be crucified and rejected.”41 1.2. Counterargument 2: Shortsighted application of Greco-Roman Entry. Paul B. Duff, in “The March of the Divine Warrior and the Advent of the GrecoRoman King: Mark’s Account of Jesus’ Entry into Jerusalem,”42 explains how triumphal entries looked like in the Greco-Roman world and puts an emphasis on an offering of a sacrifice by a conqueror in the conquered Temple as the most significant constituent of a triumphal entry. While suggesting the ample examples43 of the typical Greco-Roman triumphal processions, Duff argues as follows: (1) The conqueror/ruler is escorted into the city by the citizenry or the army of the conqueror. (2) The procession is accompanied by hymns and/or acclamations. (3) The Roman triumph has shown us that various elements in the procession—for example, fasces, the painted face of the general, and so on—symbolically depict the authority of the ruler. (4) The entrance is followed by a ritual of appropriation, such as sacrifice, which takes place in the Temple, whereby the ruler symbolically appropriates the city.44

In other words, they consisted of two units: entry and the rite of sacrifice.45 Thus, when the latter one was not satisfied, the entry itself could not be counted as the triumphal one. Duff’s demonstration, then, criticizes that Catchpole’s argument for Jesus’ triumphal entry of Mark 11:1–11 as false since it is based on the examples focusing solely on the first unit of the common triumphal



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entry. The Markan Jesus does not even enter the Temple until the next day of his arrival at Jerusalem, and there is no description of Jesus’ act of sacrifice in the following story of Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple. Therefore, Catchpole’s assertion that Jesus’ entry of the Markan Gospel belongs to the genre of the Greco-Roman triumphal entry and thus must be triumphal is questionable. Meanwhile, how does Duff understand Jesus’ entry in the Markan Gospel? He says: “Mark, throughout his entry narrative, alludes to Zech 14 and further fleshes out his narrative by appealing to his audience’s knowledge and/or experience of Greco-Roman entry processions.”46 That is, there are, according to Duff, two common allusions to the divine warrior47 interacting each other in Mark 11:1–11. Then, what does Duff think is the point of this interaction? He answers: In short, the Evangelist teases his readers with what seem to be triumphal allusions but never satisfies their expectations which might have been built up by those allusions. In fact, by his careful arrangement of the text and by the insertion of the fig tree episodes, Mark subverts those triumphal allusions. Why? As David Hawkin has explained, “Mark’s task as a writer is to introduce his readership to a new scheme of things, in which ordinary values are reversed and reasonable judgments disqualified.” Consequently, those readers who have not really grasped the significance of Jesus’ suffering messiahship and the true nature of the kingdom—that is, those readers who expect Jesus to inaugurate the kingdom of God in a manner resembling that of a warriorking—will, like the characters of the disciples in Mark’s Gospel, have to revise their expectations.48

Duff convincingly proves the fallacy of Catchpole’s argument for the triumphal nature of the Markan Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. This fallacy is due to the incomplete application of the examples of Greco-Roman triumphal entry processions to the Markan story as previously described.

C. Problem Unsolved As demonstrated above, the counterarguments 1 and 2 successfully point out that the nature of the Markan Jesus’ entry is not triumphal. Even though they deserve credit for this, they have their shortcomings: counterargument 1 fails further to identify the real nature of which Jesus’ entry assumes, and counterargument 2 is unsuccessful in dealing with the triumphal features in Jesus’ entry, which allude to the Hebrew Bible, specifically Zech 14. First, counterargument 1 ends with the conclusion that the mere application of the Hebrew Bible to the reading of the Markan entry pericope results

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in calling Jesus’ entry the triumphal one, which is clearly incompatible with the Markan two motifs of the messianic secret and the suffering Messiah. Now one can say that the argument for Jesus’ triumphal entry based on the Hebrew Bible is problematic. However, there remains the fundamental problem that counterargument 1 cannot address: what, then, is the nature of Jesus’ entry? Next, the counterargument 2 which is heavily dependent on Duff also appears insufficient to convince the reader to regard the Markan entry as the “nontriumphal ‘triumphal entry.’”49 This lack of conviction embedded in his argument might originate from a hermeneutical problem with the process through which Duff decides Mark 11:1–11 as the story of Jesus’ nontriumphal entry. That is, he emphasizes the two allusions of the Markan story (1) to the divine warrior of Zech 14 and (2) to the various examples of Greco-Roman triumphal entries. If there were no allusive flags in Mark 11:1–11 to Zech 14, which leaves only the Greco-Roman entry genre to compare with, Duff’s argument for Jesus’ nontriumphal entry into Jerusalem would be a valid one. However, Duff demonstrates in detail that Jesus of Mark 11:1–11 faithfully reflects the divine and thus triumphal warrior of Zech 14 to the point of fulfilling, in the story of the cleansing of the Temple, the last sentence of Zech 14: “And there will shall no longer be traders in the house of the Lord of hosts on that day” (NRSV). It, then, seems just odd to say that while completely ignoring this clear scriptural allusion, the nature of Jesus’ entry is nontriumphal based solely on the typical patterns of the triumphal entry of the Greco-Roman world. Therefore, Duff’s argument, on one hand, is sufficient to refute Catchpole’s incomplete use of the examples of ancient triumphal processions for the case for the Markan triumphal entry, but on the contrary, is insufficient to persuade those who, especially aware of the influence of Zech 14, argue for Jesus’ triumphal manner to change their view. Duff could not easily answer the following question: should all the relevant allusions indicating Jesus’ triumphalism, then, be ignored? One could find an alternative interpretation of the Markan entry story suggested by W. Barnes Tatum: the mock triumphal entry. He argues in “Jesus’ So-Called Triumphal Entry.”50 that there are three factors that let Mark 11:1–11 make fun of the Romans: (1) Gentiles’ understanding of an ass; (2) Jesus’ saying of Mark 12:17 on paying tax to Caesar; and (3) the Roman entry processions.51 In other words, according to Tatum, while pretending a typical Roman triumphal entrance, the Markan Jesus rode into Jerusalem on an ass which Gentiles of the first century C.E. of the Greco-Roman world regarded as the animal worshiped



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by the Jews. However, Jesus’ entry of the Markan Gospel, Tatum keeps arguing, actually was not triumphal, but just pretended to be triumphal; Markan Jesus’ such pretension of the Roman triumphal entrance, riding on an ass scorned by the Romans, was not meant to make “a messianic statement about himself but a statement about God’s rule over against Caesar’s rule” both of which rules are in a conflicting relationship in Mark 12:17. Tatum, thus, concludes that “Jesus was using an ass to make an ass out of … the Romans.”52 However, there are two problems with Tatum’s argument. First, he pays attention only to the influence of Zech 9:9 on the Markan story of Jesus’ entry to make his case while overlooking Zech 14. It seems that Tatum, for the sake of his argument that Jesus’ entry is a mockery of the Roman triumphal entry, intentionally thinks light of the coming Messiah of Zech 14 alluded in the concerning Markan pericope. However, as noted earlier, Mark 11:1–11 clearly has the literary dependence on Zech 9 and 14 about the Messiah of the future, which does not allow the interpretation of the pericope with no association with Jesus’ messiahship. One should take all the evidence into consideration to make an argument and should not leave out or ignore some of them just because they do not support his argument; the exact address of all relevant clues results in the enhancement of the credibility of an argument. In that regard, Tatum’s conclusion, however it may look attractive, is far from reliable. After all, based on the problems with counterarguments 1 and 2, and Tatum’s argument, it seems that a new interpretational approach is required for the identification of the nature of the Markan Jesus’ entry, which is capable of both being compatible with the Markan motifs of the messianic secret and suffering messiah and appropriately handling the influences of Zech 9 and 14 as well as other relevant passages of the Hebrew Bible. Again, what is needed for the better approach to the interpretation of Jesus’ entry of the Markan Gospel seems to be an alternative argument which could expound how the first Markan readers might have understood the nature of the Markan Jesus’ entry while also dealing with the authorial intention of using the Hebrew Bible as a secondary literature to compare with.

II. Jesus’ “Vindictive Fury”53 on the Fig Tree? It is not an exaggeration at all to claim that most interpretational attempts having been made on the fig-tree story of Mark 11 focus on rendering the seemingly unreasonable Jesus’ act in the story look reasonable. In other words,

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the hermeneutical crux of the Markan fig-tree story would be to offer a sensible explanation to Jesus’ immoral, destructive54 and the even cruel act of cursing of the fig tree “for (γὰρ) it was not the season for figs” (Mark 11:13).55 Peter M. Scott even describes Jesus of the fig-tree story as follows: [T]he narcissist Christ condemns the seasonally unproductive nature. “Why are you not ready for me now? Should not the humble fig tree bend to my desires?” Even the curse—“May no one ever eat fruit from you again”—is more anthropocentric in this version than in the Matthean.56

Markan scholars, therefore, have been trying to save Jesus from the accusation of such absurdity in particular through the symbolic approach to the story57 Among them, William R. Telford58 might be the most exceptional one who “has produced the most detailed and well—argued analysis.”59 concerning this issue. Especially, his investigation of the numerous suggested solutions and their shortcomings is made so minutely in a chronological order that it seems unnecessary to repeat them here60 Not satisfied with these previous solutions before him, Telford convincingly concludes: the problem with the exegesis of the previous arguments is that it “focused, we believe, too much on the historicity of the story. It has been guided over-much by the dogmatic concern to remove the story’s apparent blot on Jesus’ character.”61 Then, as an alternative approach, he suggests a symbolic reading of the fig-tree story62 Along with the credible demonstration of the flaws of the earlier solutions strictly based on the historicity of the story, Telford’s solution offered on a symbolic level encourages its investigation. Therefore, this section will be divided into two parts: (1) investigation of Telford’s symbolic reading of the Markan fig-tree story, and (2) evaluation of its validity.

A. Symbolic Reading For the symbolic understanding of Jesus’ unfair act to the innocent fig tree, Telford suggests the five primary biblical passages as the background of the Markan story:63 (1) “When I wanted to gather them, says the Lord, there are no grapes on the vine, nor figs on the fig tree; even the leaves are withered, and what I gave them has passed away from them” (Jer 8:13 NRSV). (2) “Trampled under foot will be the proud garland of the drunkards of Ephraim. And the fading flower of its glorious beauty, which is on the head of those bloated



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with rich food, will be like a first-ripe fig before the summer; whoever sees it, eats it up as soon as it comes to hand” (Isa 28:3–4 NRSV). (3) “Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on the fig tree, in its first season, I saw your ancestors. But they came to Baal-peor, and consecrated themselves to a thing they loved. Ephraim is stricken, their root is dried up, they shall bear no fruit. Even though they give birth, I will kill the cherished offspring of their womb” (Hos 9:10, 16 NRSV). (4) “Woe is me! For I have become like one who, after the summer fruit has been gathered, after the vintage has been gleaned, finds no cluster to eat; there is no first-ripe fig for which I hunger” (Mic 7:1 NRSV). (5) “It has laid waste my vines, and splintered my fig trees; it has stripped off their bark and thrown it down; their branches have turned white. The vine withers, the fig tree droops. Pomegranate, palm, and apple—all the trees of the field are dried up; surely, joy withers away among the people” (Joel 1:7, 12 NRSV).

From these scriptural passages, according to Telford, are commonly found the dual motifs as follows: The blossoming of the fig-tree and its giving of its fruits is a descriptive element in passages which depict Yahweh’s visiting his people with blessing, while the withering of the fig-tree, the destruction or withholding of its fruit, figures in imagery describing Yahweh’s judgment upon his people or their enemies. The theme of judgment is, if anything, more pronounced in the prophetic books. Very often the reason given for God’s wrathful visitation is cultic aberration on the part of Israel, her condemnation for a corrupt Temple cultus and sacrificial system.64

From this argument, it can be concluded that (1) the fig tree represents Israel, (2) its bareness stands for Israel’s act unworthy of God’s blessing, and (3) the withering of the fig tree as a punishment for bearing no figs symbolizes the upcoming judgment of the wrathful God for Israel’s such wickedness.65 Then, what does Jesus’ hunger for figs represent when it is not the season for them? About this question, Telford gives an answer which reflects Heinz Giesen’s argument:66 “the ‘hunger’ datum of Mark.11.12 contains an allusion to Jer.8.13 and … Jesus’ hungering for figs is to be seen as metaphorical in the same ways as God’s search for figs is understood here.”67 Telford seems right in contending that the Markan fig-tree story should be symbolically interpreted: Jesus’ hunger for figs even in the barren fig tree stands for his desperate aspiration to find a right act in corrupt Israel or the Temple, which deserves God’s blessing. However, his failure to find them leads to the cursing of the fruitless fig tree, that is, Israel or the Temple. Now Jesus’ questionable morality is kept intact with Telford’s argument for the symbolic reading of the fig-tree story.

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B. Problem Unsolved In spite of the success of saving Jesus’ morality, Telford’s argument has two significant weaknesses. First, the enigmatic clause of “for it was not the season for figs” remains unanswered. Without addressing this clause appropriately in view of the symbolisms of the remaining parts of the verses, Telford’s argument should stay as being incomplete, which makes its credibility less secure. Second, he argues well for the need for the symbolic understanding of this pericope (except the clause mentioned right above), but his argument does not or maybe cannot provide the reason for the need; Telford just assumes that the need probably comes out of the conviction that Jesus should not be that absurd.68 Such argument initiated by a conjecture, not an explainable reason for some need, no matter how right it may be, shall become unconvincing; what would Telford say if those whom he is criticizing for their historical approach to the story ask him about how to explain the need for its symbolic comprehension? Probably he would not have much to say.

III. The Temple Story: Its Purification This section seeks to figure out how the Markan Temple story is generally interpreted especially concerning Jesus’ act of purifying the Temple. Preliminary to the beginning of this task, the need to take the fig-tree story and the Temple one as one interpretational unit will be briefly addressed since there are few arguments which do not hermeneutically associate the latter with the former. Then, the task of comprehending the popular understandings of Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple will follow. Furthermore, I will point out that such understandings are problematic.

A. The Intercalated Temple Story One can see the withered fig-tree story only in the Markan and the Matthean Gospels.69 However, there is a notable structural difference between them. While, in the former, the fig-tree story embraces the Temple story, that is, the fig tree (Mark 11:12–14)—the Temple (Mark 11:15–19)—the fig tree (Mark 11:20), in the latter, it follows the Temple story as a separate unit, that is, the Temple (Matthew 21:10–17)—the fig tree (Matthew 21:18–19). The reason of the notability of this difference is the fact that whereas in the Markan case,



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the fig-tree story is directly related to the understanding of the Temple one, whereas in the Matthean case, the fig-tree story is not. According to Ulrich Luz, the Matthean story of the withered fig tree is understood only “as a symbolic act that speaks of judgment on Israel,”70 which suggests no explicit hermeneutical relationship with the Temple story. Then, what is the foundation of the assertion that this so-called sandwiched arrangement of the stories as the fig tree—the Temple—the fig tree requires considering the two stories as a single interpretative unit? To answer this question, it is necessary first, to begin with the explanation of the unique literary device that Mark enjoys using in his Gospel: “a literary technique in which one Markan story is begun but is then interrupted by another.”71 Concerning these interrupting stories, James R. Edwards explains how variously they are designated: “interpolations, insertions, framing, or, in German as Schiebringen or Ineinanderschachtelungen. A more graphic description and one I prefer is to refer to Mark’s A-B-A literary convention as a sandwich technique.”72 And this is a way through which “the Evangelist makes a theological statement.”73 According to Tom Shepherd, there are at least six intercalations in the Markan Gospel and “the cursing of the fig tree and the clearing of the Temple” is one of them.74 Thus one can find a good ground to treat the fig-tree and the Temple cleansing stories as a single interpretational unit.

B. Biblical Reading As noted above, the interpretational association of the Temple story with its surrounding story of the fig tree naturally induces the figurative approach to the former whose meanings shall be understood in accordance with the symbolisms of the latter. However, this symbolic reading between the two stories needs to be reserved until the biblical traces in the Temple story (Mark 11:15–19, specifically 17) are addressed first: Isa 56:7c and Jer 7:11.75 The comprehension of the authorial intent reflected in these two biblical verses will lead to a better comparative reading between the Temple and the fig-tree stories. 1. Isa 56:7c and Jer 7:11 In v. 17, Mark puts Isa 56:7c on Jesus’ lips. The original context of Isa 56:7 is about “a general exhortation to avoid evildoing and to the particular advocacy

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of Sabbath observance.”76 Furthermore, considering its original context, the predictive declaration of Isa 56:7.76 “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples,” seems concerned with the future affiliation of the Gentiles to the Israelites, God’s chosen people, through their abandonment of evil deeds and their observance of the Sabbath. Thus, it appears that Isa 56:7 does not primarily emphasize the admission itself of Gentiles to the Temple: they should first be worshipers of God before they are called into his house, the Temple (Isa 56:6). Then, does Mark intend the cited biblical verse to be understood in terms of affiliation of the Gentiles with Israel? It seems not. In the concerning Markan story, Isa 56:7 appears after the turmoil in which an upset Jesus violently expels those who ruined the Temple with their commercial transactions. Mark seems to use Isa 56:7c to defend Jesus’ violence at the Temple by putting an emphasis on “the house of prayer,” not on “for all people.” Given this, Mark might not have used this scriptural verse from the perspective of Gentiles’ attachment to Israel; the banishment of the money-exchangers and the dove-sellers from the Temple has nothing to do with turning Gentiles into God’s people since their absence there would just cause inconvenience of those who need them for the purchase of sacrifice for the moment. Thus, the need arises to investigate what Isa 56:7c means in its new Markan context. Considering that those who were driven away by Jesus are all relevant to sacrifices at the Temple, Jesus’ reference to Isa 56:7c seems to point out that no sacrifice is needed any longer, and the prayer is the only requirement there: “The Markan context implies a shift of emphasis from sacrifice to prayer.”77 This stress on prayer also seems to introduce Jesus’ teaching about prayer in Mark 11:24–5. After all, what Mark wants to mean through the use of Isa 56:7c might be to blame Jewish religious leaders for not keeping the Temple as the place to pray to God. In this regard, Gray argues as follows: “the assertion from the prophecy of Deutero-Isaiah that God’s house is to be a house of prayer for all nations must be seriously questioned in light of the Temple leaders’ policies.”78 The assertion that Jesus is attacking Jewish leaders through his cleansing of the Temple is supported by Ernst Bammel who argues as for the reason of Jesus’ arrest by Sanhedrin whose members were priests, elders, and scribes:79 “the high-priestly party, infuriated because of Jesus’ Temple action and somehow regarding him as a menace to the peace, got hold him in a surprise action.”80 The next biblical verse to look into is Jer 7:11. The phrase “den of robbers” in Mark 11:17 is allusive to this verse of Hebrew Bible that belongs to



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the part of an oracle to Jeremiah about the Temple (7:8–11).81 Jer 7:8 refers to Israel’s failure to ignore deceptive words regarding “the Temple of the Lord” in 7:4. According to William L. Holladay, these misleading words are “the deceptive ‘slogans of the security’82 that foster false belief that those who are in the Temple will be safe despite their sinful deeds since it will never be destroyed. Due to the “incongruity between ‘unholy behavior and assumed protection in the holy sanctuary,’”83 that is, the misuse of the Temple, Jeremiah predicts the inevitable destruction of the Temple. In this context, the Markan phrase of “den of robbers” needs to be metaphorically understood as the prophetic expression about the Temple’s fall because of its misuse by “robbers.” Then, how do the “robbers” of Mark 11:17 put the Temple to wrong use? Paul F. Qualls presents a noteworthy account of the general notion of a “robber” in the Hebrew Bible, which could be of help to answer this question: The “den of robbers” in this verse is not a reference to persons who steal. In the Old Testament, a “den” or “cave” is a place of refuge for animals or persons, and a “robber” (paratz) can be understood as “a brigand, not a thief but a person of violence who will kill to rob.” Jeremiah is describing the Temple as the refuge for violent persons. “Den of robbers” is imagery of moral and ethical bankruptcy. It is the place where those who go commit such terrible acts against covenants as described in 7:9. Holladay emphasizes the impact of these words, affirming that the place bearing the name of Yahweh should accommodate those who exhibit appropriate conduct.84

Therefore, even though the object that this term refers to is different in each book (those who are commercially related to the Temple cultus in Mark and escaped criminals in the Book of Jeremiah), it is possibly assumed that the Markan “robbers” like Jeremiah’s are immoral and unethical in their deeds. In other words, it appears that commercial transactions between the sellers and buyers in the Temple are problematic morally and ethically, which serve as signs of their misuse of the Temple as the place for gaining monetary profits and not praying to God. After all, such signs become the reason for its inevitable destruction. However, one needs to be cautious when identifying who these sinners were. At first glance, they seem to be the characters of Mark 11:15 who simply engaged in the commercial acts: the moneychangers, the sellers of doves, and those who were buying and selling. According to Richard Bauckham, all those who were subject to Jesus’ violent accusation were the religious leaders of the Temple treasury.85

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story First, concerning the moneychangers argues he as follows: [T]he moneychanging was not a piece of private enterprise going on in the Temple court, but a facility organized by the Temple treasury. In all probability the moneychangers were priests or Levites on the Temple staff. … His [Jesus’ protest] was a radical objection to the tax itself, and … he now confronted the machinery of tax collecting operated by the Temple officials themselves in the Temple. His “demonstration” was therefore aimed directly, and could be seen to be aimed directly, at those who managed the Temple finances in God’s name.86

Second, Bauckham asserts this about the dove sellers: For two reasons it is not without significance that, among the animals used for sacrifice, the Markan account mentions only doves. In the first place, it is very probable that the Temple treasury had a monopoly in the sale of doves for sacrifice, where as this is less likely to have been the case for cattle, sheep and goats. … The Temple monopoly could no doubt be justified as the only way of ensuring that ritually acceptable birds were available to the public, but only because the halakic requirements in this respect had been so stringently defined. … Why he [Jesus] should have wished to object to it [the system of selling doves in the Temple] becomes clear when we consider the Temple monopoly in the sale of doves in conjunction with a second aspect of the doves which distinguishes them from the other sacrificial animal: doves were the sacrifices of the poor (cf. m. Keritot 6:8; Josephus, Ant. 3:230). … Consequently, if the Temple monopoly in the sale of doves operated to keep the price high, it would make the sacrificial system a burden to the poor in the same way that the Temple tax did. Jesus would object, as he did to the Temple tax, that the God in whose name the Temple authorities acted does not burden his people with oppressive financial demands.87

Third, those who were doing commercial acts of buying and selling, according to Bauckham, were also religious leaders of the Temple: Mark’s general reference to those who bought and those who sold in the Temple is best understood as a reference to all kinds of commercial transactions in which the Temple treasurers and their staff were engaged. Those who were buying could scarcely be worshippers buying materials or animals for sacrifice, whom Jesus would not have driven out. But they could include Temple staff buying in supplies for the Temple and merchants purchasing valuable items which people had donated to the Temple (m. Šeqalim 5:6).88

Finally, he concludes that “Jesus was protesting against the way in which the Temple treasury had turned the sacrificial system into a profit-making business.”89



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When following Bauckham’s argument, one can realize that it is not the private merchants doing commercial transactions and the personal worshippers purchasing sacrifices in the Temple, but the Jewish religious leaders, specifically the Temple treasury, whom Jesus is attacking as the primary target for their commercial acts of corrupting the Temple for their monetary benefits.90 The following argument by Wolfgang Roth on the Markan religious authorities’ love for money makes their misuse of the Temple not a surprise to us: “2 Kgs 12:5–17 also provides the motif of Jesus’ warning against the greed of the religious leaders of his time and of his commendation of the poor widow who had put all she had into the offering box.”91 After all, Jesus blames them for the corruption of the Temple and symbolically reveals its subsequent destruction. Again, considering Mark 11:18 describing that Jesus’ act in the Temple makes the chief priests feel angry and even feared, it becomes more convincing that considering Jesus’ violence in the Temple, the real target in Mark’s mind to attack is the priests of the Temple treasury as in the case of the allusion to Isa 56:7c above. In summary, the influence of Isa 56:7c and Jer 7:11 on Mark 11:17 represents Mark’s intent to accuse the Jewish religious leaders, that is, the priests, in charge of preserving and enforcing the proper Temple cultus (1) of having turned it, God’s house of prayer, into the den of robbers, that is, the safe zone of business to increase their wealth, and (2) of resultantly being the primary reason to put the Temple to an end.

C. Symbolic Reading As noted earlier, since the Temple story is an intercalated narrative, one also needs to consider its embracing story of the fig tree for the proper interpretation. What has been argued so far is that (1) the barren and withered fig tree symbolizes the corrupt Temple doomed to destruction, and (2) from the reading based on the Hebrew Bible, Jesus purifies the Temple since it has lost its designated role as God’s house of prayer by being corrupted by Jewish religious leaders’ monetary greed. When one applies the interpretational outcome of the fig-tree story, that is, the barren and cursed fig tree stands for the corrupt and doomed Temple to the understanding of the actual meaning implied in Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple, its results come as follows: Jesus’ violent act is meant neither to literally cleanse the Temple nor to blame merely the religious authorities of the Temple treasury for the corruption:

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story [T]he commercial activities occurring in the Temple were necessary for the sacrificial cult to function and the payment of the Temple tax; impending the commercial activity would therefore hinder the offering of prescribed sacrifices and the purpose of Temple worship.92

Instead, Jesus’act of purifying the Temple symbolizes its actual destruction since the degree of the depravity of the Temple does not allow it to serve again as the place of prayer.93 In this regard, Telford makes an inaccurate argument about the subject who corrupted the Temple and ultimately served as the reason for its destruction while referring to “a corrupt Temple cultus and sacrificial system.”94 He claims that it is the whole Israel who should be blamed for everything wrong about the Temple like its debasement and devastation, which has now turned out to be not correct. In summary, the best conclusion that one can make seems that the main topic of the Markan Temple pericope is the destruction of the Temple corrupted by Jewish leaders. To be more specific, the real target of Jesus’ damnation is not the Temple itself, but its leaders who abused it for their benefits. Gray’s argument of the Jewish leaders of that time makes this understanding more convincing: “the corruption and self-serving leadership is poignantly judged by bringing the Temple institution to an end.”95

D. Problem Unsolved As shown above, the comparative reading of the Temple incident along with the fig-tree story leads to a credible understanding of the implication of Jesus’ act in the Temple: like the barren fig tree that will ultimately wither away to its roots, the functionless Temple because of its degenerate religious leaders will completely perish. However, this interpretation appears to have two problems. First, there seems no convincing argument that explains why the fig-tree story needs to be understood symbolically. In other words, if its symbolic reading cannot be justified, such interpretation that the barren and withered fig tree stands for the corrupt Temple and its destruction only has the unstable ground to support its credibility. In this regard, an explanation is required. Second, it has difficulty in addressing adequately the violence that Jesus shows in the Temple. Even though one might think that Jesus is not happy with the Temple leaders who triggers the destruction of the Temple, this is not enough for the reader to accept Jesus’ such violence with no discomfort; this description of the ferocious Jesus might



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be actually quite a shock particularly when one knows that this is the only place in the Markan Gospel where Jesus acts so. Furthermore, inasmuch as this issue is concerned, there seem few arguments except for the one by MacDonald that satisfactorily try to alleviate the intensity of the reader’s discomfort about this strange description of Mark on Jesus as a man of senseless violence.96 After all, the first Markan readers must have needed a more sensible explanation as much as Markan readers these days do, which could absorb such shock from witnessing the unexpected violent Jesus.

IV. Summary This chapter has investigated how the three stories of Mark 11 (i.e., Jesus’ entry, the fig-tree story, and the Temple incident) have been understood and what hermeneutical problems remain despite the attempts to understand them. First, why Mark 11:1–11 has been called triumphal entry was argued based on the two different sources: (1) Hebrew Bible—the allusions to and citations of Zech 9, 14; 1 Kgs 1; Num 19:2; Deut 21; 1 Sam 6; and Ps 117 (LXX) generally lead to finding triumphalism in this Markan pericope; (2) the ancient records—all the elements of triumphal entry of the Greco-Roman world of the first century C.E. commonly noticed in A. J. and J. W. by Josephus, 1 and 2 Macc are also found in the Markan entry story. Against such arguments for regarding the mode of Jesus’ entry as being triumphal, two cases were suggested: (1) First argument criticizes the incomplete application of the relevant verses of the Hebrew Bible. It is no problem to interpret a particular Markan passage based on the scriptural verses as long as their use brings out interpretational outcomes which are harmonious with the overarching themes or motifs of the Gospel. However, simply taking the signs of the Hebrew Bible as the hard evidence to designate the nature of Jesus’ entry as triumphal, which is not compatible with Mark’s two significant motifs of messianic secret and suffering messiah, is not right; (2) Second argument also points out the incomplete research of Catchpole on the references to the ancient triumphal entry which clearly demonstrate that the Markan entry lacks in the elements of triumphal entry such as the entry into the Temple right after the arrival of a conquered city and the sacrificial rite to the deity of the Temple. However, even though these two counterarguments are enough to prove that it is not right to call the Markan entry pericope the triumphal entry, they, unfortunately, are not able to distinguish the nature of the way Jesus enters the holy city. Thus, arises the need for a new argument that can define it.

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Second, the attempts were investigated which have been made to save Jesus of the fig-tree story from accusations of being absurd in killing the innocent fig tree. Among such attempts, Telford’s is most comprehensive and notable: his symbolic reading of the fig-tree story is compelling in making Jesus’ esoteric act understandable. However, there is also a critical weak point in Telford’s argument for the symbolic reading of the fig-tree pericope: he provides no convincing reason for the need to read it symbolically. The assertion that fig trees are often mentioned on a symbolic level in the Hebrew Bible is simply not enough. Thus, a more convincing explanation for the need of the figurative reading of this Markan story is required. Lastly, concerning the Temple incident (Mark 11:15–19), the need to consider it along with the fig-tree story (Mark 11:12–14, 20) as a single interpretative unit was first explained: Mark’s literary device of inserting a story between another one. Then, the biblical reading of the Temple incident based on Isa 56:7 (“a house of prayer”) and Jer 7:11 (“den of robbers”) indicates that Jesus’ purification of the Temple stands for its destruction due to the corrupt Temple cultus for which priests of the Temple are blamed. Furthermore, considering the interpretational relationship between the fig tree story and the Temple incident, it can be said that the death of the barren fig tree refers to the destruction of the corrupted Temple due to its treasury. However, this dominant interpretation of the Temple incident has two defects: (1) In addition to the sandwich structure, this interpretation needs a more convincing ground for the symbolic application of the fig-tree story to the Temple incident. This point is also related to the question why the figtree story should be read from the figurative perspective; (2) This interpretation does not afford the reasonable explanation for the ferocity that Jesus shows while purifying the Temple, which serves as the need for an argument that can explain it. This study, therefore, will deal with all these problems suggested while demonstrating how the fig-tree story serves as the key factor to understand its two adjacent narratives through the eyes of the first Markan readers.

Notes 1. Hebrew Bible as one of the literary sources of the Markan Gospel will be addressed in detail later. 2. James G. Williams, Gospel against Parable: Mark’s Language of Mystery (Decatur, GA: Almond Press, 1985), 65, in Robert L. Humphrey, Narrative Structure and Message in Mark: A Rhetorical Analysis (New York: The Edwin Mellen, 2003), 133.



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3. Lawrence M. Wills, The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John, and the Origins of the Gospel Genre (London: Routledge, 1997), 108. 4. Humphrey, Narrative Structure and Message in Mark, 133. Here Humphrey also argues that the Mount of Olives alludes to “an Egyptian false prophet” mentioned in Flavius Josephus’ A. J. 20.8, 6 and J. W. 2.13, 5. 5. G. K. Beale, and D. A. Carson, eds., Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2007), 206. See also Ben Witherington, The Gospel of Mark: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 310; N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK, 1996), 490; Robert Walter Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar, eds., The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1996), 97. 6. David R. Catchpole, “The ‘Triumphal’ Entry,” in Jesus and the Politics of His Day, ed. Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 319–34, here 319. 7. In the next page, it will be addressed how the Hebrew Bible might have given an influence on Mark 11:9b-10a. 8. Rikki E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2000), 305. 9. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus, 305. 10. Joel Marcus argues that Jesus’ seating on an ass symbolizes his royal status since it echoes 1 Kgs 1:38, 44 where Solomon is seated on David’s donkey to be anointed as king replacing his father. Mark 8–16 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009), 779. 11. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus, 305–6. 12. Wills, The Quest, 108. 13. C. Clifton Black, Mark (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2011), 236. 14. Beale and Carson, Commentary, 206. 15. Marcus, Mark 8–16, 780. 16. Marcus, Mark 8–16, 779–80. 17. Catchpole, “The ‘Triumphal’ Entry,” 319–21. 18. Catchpole, “The ‘Triumphal’ Entry,” 321. 19. When considering the argument of Edward Adams in “The Coming of the Son of Man in Mark’s Gospel,” TynBul 56 (2005): 39–61, one can see a fundamental difference between Jesus of Mark 11:1–11 and the Messiah of Zech 14: Adams argues that “Zech 14 envisions God’s end-time coming from heaven to earth with his angelic forces to rescue his people from their enemies (v. 5). The scene is thoroughly eschatological; as MacKenzie writes, the main event ‘is as clearly final as the author could make it.’ In Zech’s vision, God’s advent is followed by ‘fundamental alterations in the natural world’ (vv. 6–10) well as the institution of his worldwide reign (v. 9).” Based on Adam’s argument, the fact that no angelic being nor even a hint of it appears in Mark 11:1–11, which Zechariah mentions as the Messiah’s assistants in defeating the enemy nations, bringing about universal peace, and bringing back the scattered diaspora, makes it suspicious to call the Markan story Jesus’ triumphal entry. This argument pointing out this difference between Zech 14 and Mark 11:1–11 could serve as a counterevidence of Jesus’ triumphal entry, which is based on the similarities between the two texts. However, this argument can do nothing about the fact that there still remain allusions of the Markan pericope to Zech 14. Thus, this section chooses to take another counterevidence for the better argument.

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20. William Wrede, Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangeliums (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901); William Wrede, The Messianic Secret, trans. J. C. G. Greig (Cambridge: James Clarke, 1971). The English version will be referred to in the following. 21. Robert Morgan and John Barton, Biblical Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 107. 22. The silence that the Markan Jesus commands is generally related to Jesus’ intention not to disclose his identity as Messiah to the public outside. 23. H. Rollman, “Wrede, Friedrich Georg Eduard William,” DBI 2:660, in Gregg S. Morrison, “The Turning Point in the Gospel of Mark: A Study of Markan Christology” (PhD diss., The Catholic University of America, 2008), 232. Cf. James. D. G. Dunn, “The Messianic Secret in Mark,” TynBul 21 (1970): 92–117, esp. 93. 24. Even in Mark 9:9, however, Jesus who, in 9:7 just got the confirmation as the Messiah through God’s voice in the presence of Peter, James, and John, still designates himself as the low Christology term of “the Son of Man” in predicting his future death and resurrection. This could be understood as Jesus’ cautious unwillingness to reveal his messianic identity with his own mouth even to his own disciples: the Markan Jesus not only keeps who he really is from the public, but also does not refer to himself as the Messiah until the end of the Gospel. For the irrelevance of the Markan phrase “the Son of the Man” with a messianic title, see Walter Wink, The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2002), 276 and John W. Bowker, The Religious Imagination and the Sense of God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), 157–8. 25. Dunn, “The Messianic Secret in Mark,” 93–94. For the summary of Ulich Luz’s argument for the irrelevance of the Markan Jesus’ miracles with the messianic secret, see Morrison, “The Turning Point in the Gospel of Mark,” 235–6. 26. Mark A. Powell, Fortress Introduction to the Gospels (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1998), 54. For Jesus’ concern about the misconception of his identity as the Messiah, see Oscar Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament, trans. Shirley C. Guthrie (Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1963), 125. 27. Arland J. Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus: A Commentary [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000], 459) summarizes the characteristics of the messianic secret as follows: (1) “the messianic secret is explicitly christological in intent”; (2) “the messianic secret has to do with the disciples’ own lack of understanding of Jesus’ identity”; and (3) “the messianic secret is kerygmatic.” 28. Karin Hender, and Magnus Zetterholm, “Elijah and the Messiah as Spokesman of Rabbinic Ideology,” in The Messiah: In Early Judaism and Christianity, ed. Magnus Zetterholm (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2007), 56–78, here 60. 29. Robert M. Fowler, “Irony and the Messianic Secret in the Gospel of Mark,” Proceedings 1 (1981): 26–36, here 27. 30. The sense of this impression would have made the first Markan readers or the Mrkan community under suffering or persecution feel comforted and encouraged when they read the Gospel: what Jesus intended to hide concerning himself was revealed to those who mostly lived socially despised lives, but had the faith in him, such as “a woman with a chronic



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illness, a Gentile woman with a demonised daughter, children brought to Jesus, a blind beggar by the roadside, and the like,” in Stephen C. Barton, “Many Gospels, One Jesus?” in The Cambridge Companion to Jesus, ed. Markus Bockmuehl (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 170–83, here 175. 31. While emphasizing Jesus’ resurrection motif, Hans Conzelmann (The Theology of St. Luke [trans. Geoffrey Buswell; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1982], 64) makes an argument as follows about this misconception of the true nature of the Messiah resulting from the focus on his miraculous deeds: “Miraculous proof has significance of course only in relation to Messiahship as such; it cannot prove the necessity of suffering. Proof is provided by the Resurrection and by Scripture, but only subsequently, after Easter.” 32. The persecution or suffering motif is not confined to the passion narrative. Thus, Helen R. Graham (“A Passion Prediction for Mark’s Community: Mark 13:9–13,” BTB 16 [986]: 18–22, here 18) argues that “[t]he possibility of persecution is alluded to in other parts of the Gospel (see 4:17; 8:34–38; 10:29–30, 38–39).” Cf. Lynn M. Jordan (“Elijah Transfigured: A Study of the Narrative of the Transfiguration in the Gospel of Mark” [PhD diss., The Duke University, 1981], 77–81) provides a noteworthy argument on the Markan transfiguration story in view of the suffering Messiah. 33. Wills, in The Quest, 145, argues that Jesus’ cry of dereliction on the cross of Mark 15:36 quotes Ps 22:1 and alludes to Ps 69:21. For the similar argument, see Bart D. Ehrman, Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 235 and The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 77 in which Ehrman adds Isa 53. Gerald O’Collins (Christology: A Biblical, Historical, and Systematic Study of Jesus [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995], 29) claims that “[o]ne of the Ps speaks of a taunting of the anointed, Davidic king (Ps. 89:50–5). The final chapters of Zech, which were written in the fourth and third centuries BC and hence years after the career of Zech himself in the late sixth century, promise a messianic prince of peace (Zech. 9:9–10) and speak of God’s shepherd who will be killed for his sheep (Zech. 13:7).” 34. Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament, 60. For more explanations of the exclusion of the suffering Messiah conception from official Judaism at Jesus’ time, refer to Peter Flint, “Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Historical Jesus in Context, ed. Amy-Jill Levine, Dale Allison Jr, and John D. Crossan (Princeton, PA: Princeton University Press, 2006), 110–31, here 126; O’Collins, Christology, 79. However, Israel Knohl (The Messiah before Jesus: The Suffering Servant of the Dead Sea Scrolls, [trans. David Maisel; Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2000], 48–49) has proved that even though the suffering Messiah was not generally conceivable to the thoughts of the first century C. E. Jews, there was a group of people at Qumran, who harbored the notion of the suffering Messiah. According to Knohl, there is similarity between the Messiah of Qumran and the one of the Markan Gospel in that they are all described as the suffering figure: “The members [of Qumran] believed that the suffering, death, and resurrection of the Messiah were a necessary basis for the process of redemption. During his lifetime the Messiah of Qumran had described himself as a combination of the ‘son of man,’ who sits in heaven on a mighty throne, and the ‘suffering servant,’ who bears upon himself all sorrows. As we have seen, this Messiah called upon himself the words of Isa 53: ‘despised and rejected by men.’ We

40

35. 36.

37. 38.

the pivotal role of the fig-tree story have here clear evidence that the idea of a suffering Messiah already existed one generation before Jesus. According to Hystaspes, the resurrection of the great prophet whom we have identified as the Messiah of Qumran took place ‘after the third day. As we have noted, the belief in the Messiah’s resurrection after three days was bound up with the fact that for three days the Romans forbade burial of his body, which was left in the street for all to see. Jesus expected the fate of the ‘son of man’ to be similar to that of the Messiah of Qumran. He predicted that the ‘son of man’ would be killed, just as the Qumranic Messiah had been killed by the Roman soldiers. And he expected that the ‘son of man’ would rise after three days, just as it was believed that the Messiah of Qumran had been resurrected ‘after the third day.’” For more details of how the first century C.E. Qumran community related Isaiah’s Fourth Servant Song to the thought of the suffering Messiah, see Margaret Barker, “The High Priest and the Worship of Jesus,” in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus, ed. Carey C. Newman et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 93–111, here 106. However, this Qumranic suffering Messiah based on the reading of Isa does not guarantee its influence on the description of the Markan Jesus as the suffering Messiah. Upper Galilee or southern Syria as the provenance of the Gospel of Mark and its community will be demonstrated later in this study. Among many Jewish concepts of the Messiah, the most popular one to the people in the first century C. E. Palestine under the Roman rule might have been of such a figure with an invincible military power as found in the Targum. For this, see Ira Brent Driggers, “Disciples at the Mercy of God: The Tension of Markan Theology” (PhD diss., The Princeton Theological Seminary, 2004), 153; John M. Perry, Exploring the Transfiguration Story (Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1993), 21; Ehrman (The New Testament, 77) particularly compares this military messianic figure to “a warrior-king like David.” Caetano Minette de Tillese, Le Secret Messianique Dans L’évangile de Marc (Paris: Cerf, 1968), 3–9. Jesus’ such sensitiveness appears to make sense when one reads what F. F. Bruce (“The Date and Character of Mark,” in Jesus and the Politics of His Day [ed. Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988], 69–90, here 82) argues as follows: But it [the Messiah] was so regularly interpreted in a political and military sense that he [Jesus] preferred not to use it and discouraged its application to him by others. Even when Peter, at Caesarea Phillip, confessed him to be the messiah, he showed that his understanding of Jesus’ messianic mission was far from adequate and had to be sharply rebuked for trying to dissuade his Master from thinking in terms of impending suffering. During the ministry of Jesus its messianic character was not at all obvious.

39. Black, Mark, 194. 40. Morna D. Hooker, “Good News about Jesus Christ, The Son of God,” in Mark as Story: Retrospect and Prospect (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 165–80, here 178. 41. R. S. Sugirtharajah, “Men, Trees and Walking: A Conjectural Solution to Mk 8:24,” ExpTim 103 (1992): 172–74, here 173. In addition to these two messianic motifs, the



42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

53.

54.

55.

56.

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argument of John R. Donahue (“Windows and Mirrors: The Setting of Mark’s Gospel,” CBQ 57 [1995]: 1–26, here 25) also can be used against calling the Markan entry as triumphal: “Jesus’ prediction of family breakdown at the time of persecution and Peter’s craven apostasy before a maidservant and a mocking crowd are a virtual ‘antimyth’ of martyrdom, even though in the Gospel Jesus summons people to bear their crosses and give their lives in following him (8:34–38). There is little place for subtle domination or triumphalism in Mark’s world.” Paul B. Duff, “The March of the Divine Warrior and the Advent of the Greco-Roman King: Mark’s Account of Jesus’ Entry into Jerusalem,” JBL 111 (1992): 55–71. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 58–64. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 66. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 61. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 64. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 56. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 70–71. Duff, “March of the Divine Warrior,” 55–56. W. Barnes Tatum, “Jesus’ So-Called Triumphal Entry: On Making an Ass of the Romans,” Forum 1 (1998): 129–44. Tatum, “Jesus’ So-Called Triumphal Entry,” 140. Tatum, “Jesus’ So-Called Triumphal Entry,” 141. Black also concludes that Jesus of the Markan entry story is satirizing a “triumphal entry,” in Mark, 238. And the ground of this conclusion is Mark 11:11 in which Jesus just looks around the outer building of the Temple instead of offering a sacrifice in it as the symbolic act of the appropriation of the city. Black’s conclusion appears to make sense since it comes from the consideration of both influences of the Hebrew Bible and the genre of the Greco-Roman entry processions on this entry pericope. However, this conclusion does not explain why the nature of Jesus’ entry is untriumphal. The “vindictive fury” is the term that Bertrand Russell uses in Why I Am Not a Christian: And Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects, ed. Paul Edwards (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1957), 17, so as to blame Jesus for various things attributed by the Gospels to him. The Markan fig-tree story is one of them, and Russel (Why I Am Not a Christian, 19) says about it as follows: “This is a very curious story, because it was not the right time of year for figs, and you really could not blame the tree. I cannot myself feel that either in the matter of wisdom or in the matter of virtue Christ stands quite as high as some other people known to history.” Philip F. Esler (“The Incident of the Withered Fig Tree in Mark 11: A New Source and Redactional Explanation,” JSNT 28 [2005]: 41–67, here 47) says that this fig-tree incident is the only place where the Markan Jesus “uses his miraculous powers directly to effect harm.” C. H. Bird (“Some Γὰρ Clauses in St. Mark’s Gospel,” JTS 4 [1953]: 171–87) argues that Mark frequently uses γὰρ-clauses as a signal that requires the reader’s attention for profound meanings in them. Peter M. Scott, “Seasons of Grace? Christ’s Cursing of a Fig Tree,” in Christology and Scripture: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, ed. Andrew T. Lincoln and Angus Paddison (London: Continuum International, 2008), 188–206, here 190.

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57. Those scholars are Ernst Lohmeyer, Heinz Giesen, Willam R. Telford, James R. Edwards, and Christopher D. Marshall in Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2007), 524. 58. William R. Telford, The Barren Temple and the Withered Tree: A Redaction-Critical Analysis of the Cursing of the Fig-Tree Pericope in Mark’s Gospel and Its Relation to the Cleansing of the Temple Tradition (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980). 59. Esler, “Incident,” 48. 60. Telford, Barren Temple, 1–25. 61. Telford, Barren Temple, 25. 62. Esler (“Incident,” 47) also emphasizes the need for a symbolic approach to this fig-tree story: The statement at Mk 11.13b (‘when he came to it, he found nothing but leaves, for it was not the season for figs’) shows, however, that Mark or his source or both were interested in the main harvest in the autumn. Accordingly, Jesus’ action, against a valuable natural resource that would (in the matter typical of fig trees) have provided a large supply of food a few months later has the appearance of an alarming fit of pique. 63. Telford, Barren Temple, 142–53. Morna D. Hooker (The Gospel According To Saint Mark [BNTC 2; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991], 261) also refers to these scriptural passages as the background of the Markan fig-tree story except for Isa 28:3–4 and Joel 1:7, 12. 64. Telford, Barren Temple, 162. 65. Hooker (Saint Mark, 261 and 265) also comes to the similar conclusion. 66. Heinz Giesen, “Der Verdorrte Feigenbaum—Eine Symbolische Aussage: Zu Mk 11,12–14, 20f,” BZ 20 (1976): 95–111. 67. Telford, Barren Temple, 144. See also Incigneri (The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel [Leiden: Brill, 2003], 140) who argues that the term “hungry” (ἐπείνασεν) of Mark 11:12 is “often used to mean a deep desire or yearning (cf. Matt 5:6; John 6:35).” 68. As for the origin of the fig-tree episode, Telford (Barren Temple, 163) simply says as follows: “For Mark and his readers the scenario had already been written in the pages of the Old Testament.” However, this remark is a mere assumption which is too subjective to be proved. 69. Luke changes in 13:6–9 the fig tree miracle to a fig tree parable. For this, see James R. Edwards, “Markan Sandwiches: The Significance of Interpolations in Markan Narratives,” NovT 31 (1989): 193–216, esp. 206–7. 70. Ulich Luz, Matthew 21–28 (trans. James E. Crouch; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1989), 22. 71. Tom Shepherd, “The Narrative Function of Markan Intercalation,” NTS 41 (1995): 522–40. Shepherd (“The Narrative Function of Markan Intercalation,” 522) also offers a comprehensive list of the scholars and their works on this Markan feature. Telford (Barren Temple, 48) calls this “dovetailed” or “sandwiched narrative.” 72. Edwards, “Markan Sandwiches,” 192–3. 73. Graham, “Passion Prediction,” 19. See Edwards (“Markan Sandwiches,” 95) who also supports this view by arguing that “Mark sandwiches one passage into the middle of another



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with an intentional and discernible theological purpose.” Cf. Hooker, Saint Mark, 265 and Christfried Böttrich, “Jesus und der Feigenbaum Mk 11:12–14, 20–25 in der Diskussion,” NovT 39 (1997): 328–59, esp. 352–53. 74. Shepherd, “Narrative Function,” 522. Cf. Edward (“Markan Sandwiches,” 196–97) who finds nine interpolations in Mark 3:20–35; 4:1–20; 5:21–43; 6:7–30; 11:12–21; 14:1–11; 14:17–31; 14:53–72; and 15:40–16:8. 75. Timothy C. Gray, The Temple in the Gospel of Mark: A Study in Its Narrative Role (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010), 30. 76. Gray (Temple, 30) points out that Isa 56:7c is “an assertion,” but Mark modifies it as “a question.” To the contrary, when Mark cites σπήλαιον λῃστῶν from Jer 7:11 which is an interrogative sentence, he poses it as “an assertion.” Concerning these changes by Mark, Gray (The Temple in the Gospel of Mark, 30) concludes that “[t]his rhetorical reversal highlights how the Temple establishment has likewise reversed the order of things that God, according to Isaiah 56, has set down.” 77. Collins, Mark, 532. 78. Gray, Temple, 31. For the detailed explanations of the corruption in the first-century Temple, see Craig A. Evans, “Jesus’ Action in the Temple and Evidence of Corruption in the First-Century Temple,” SBLSP (1989): 522–39. 79. Donald Senior, “‘With Swords and Clubs’—The Setting of Mark’s Community and His Critique of Abusive Power,” BTB (1987), 10–20, here 12. 80. Ernst Bammel, “The Revolution Theory from Reimarus to Brandon,” in Jesus and the Politics of His Day, ed. Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 11–68, here 44. 81. Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 21 A; New York: Doubleday, 1999), 453. 82. William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1986), 242. 83. Collins, Mark, 531. 84. Paula F. Qualls, “Mark 11:15–18: A Prophetic Challenge,” RevExp 93 (1996): 395–402, here 400. 85. Richard Bauckham, “Demonstration,” in Law and Religion: Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity, ed. Barnabas Lindars (Cambridge: James Clarke, 1988), 72–89. 86. Bauckham, “Demonstration,” 75–76. 87. Bauckham, “Demonstration,” 76–77. 88. Bauckham, “Demonstration,” 78. 89. Bauckham, “Demonstration,” 78. 90. Bauckham (“Demonstration,” 79) presents b. Pesahim 57a as an example of the monetary corruption of “the priestly aristocracy who controlled the Temple hierarchy.” 91. Wolfgang Roth, Hebrew Gospel: Cracking the Code of Mark (Oak Park, IL: Meyer & Stone, 1988), 61. 92. Brian C. Dennert, “Mark 11:16: A Status Quaestionis,” SCJR 5 (2010): 1–7, here 4. According to Steven M. Bryan (Jesus and Israel’s Traditions of Judgment and Restoration [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002], 2200), originally “the purpose of the Temple comer was the efficient operation of the Temple.”

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93. The state of the Temple of Mark 11:17 not as a place of prayer, but as a den of robbers is “evidenced by the fact that the verb here πεποιήκατε, ‘have made,’ is stative,” in Gray, Temple, 31. 94. Telford, Barren Temple, 135. 95. Gray, The Temple in the Gospel of Mark, 34. Wolfgang Roth (Gospel, 61) discloses in his interpretation of Mark 12:38–44 the greed of the religious leaders of Jesus’ time. Cf. Donald Juel (Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark [Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1977], 127–42) who pays attention to many conflicts of the Markan Jesus with the Temple cult. 96. MacDonald’s argument about this issue will be investigated later. As far as I know, in addition to MacDonald’s argument, there is only one noteworthy defense of Jesus for his violent act of overturning the tables in the Temple. This defensive argument is proposed by Marc Huys (“Turning the Tables: Jesus’ Temple Cleansing and the Story of Lycaon,” ETL 86 [2010]: 136–61, here 140) who claims that “[o]bviously no extraordinary violence was needed to overturn such a dining table, and this implies that it could even be caused accidentally.” However, Huys’ argument for Jesus’ overturning tables as an unintentional act fails to be convincing since Mark clearly describes in 11:15 Jesus as the subject of the verb κατέστρεψεν, which suggests Jesus’ intentionality of the act. In addition, if Jesus had turned over the tables by accident, why would the Evangelist report this accident which would give the reader a bad impression on Jesus as a man of violence?

Works Cited Bammel, Ernst. “The Revolution Theory from Reimarus to Brandon.” In Jesus and the Politics of His Day, edited by Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, 11–68. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Barker, Margaret. “The High Priest and the Worship of Jesus.” In The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus, edited by Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis, 93–111. Boston: Brill, 1999. Barton, Stephen C. “Many Gospels, One Jesus?” In The Cambridge Companion to Jesus, edited by Markus Bockmuehl, 170–83. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Bauckham, Richard. “Jesus’ Demonstration in the Temple.” In Law and Religion: Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity, edited by Barnabas Lindars, 72–89. Cambridge: James Clarke, 1988. Beale, G. K., and D. A. Carson, eds. Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic Press, 2007. Bird, C. H. “Some Γὰρ Clauses in St. Mark’s Gospel.” Journal of Theological Studies 4 (1953): 171–87. Black, C. Clifton. Mark. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2011. Bowker, John W. The Religious Imagination and the Sense of God. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978.



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Böttrich, Christfried. “Jesus und der Feigenbaum Mk 11:12–14, 20–25 in der Diskussion.” Novum Testamentum 39 (1997): 328–59. Bruce, F. F. “The Date and Character of Mark.” In Jesus and the Politics of His Day, edited by Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, 69–90. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Bryan, Steven M. Jesus and Israel’s Traditions of Judgement and Restoration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Catchpole, David R. “The ‘Triumphal’ Entry.” In Jesus and the Politics of His Day, edited by Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, 319–34. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Collins, Adela Yarbro. Mark: A Commentary. Hermeneia. Minneapolis. MN: Fortress Press, 2007. Conzelmann, Hans. The Theology of St. Luke. Translated by Geoffrey Buswell. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1982. Cullmann, Oscar. The Christology of the New Testament. Translated by Shirley C. Guthrie. Philadelphia, PA: Westminster Press, 1963. Dennert, Brian C. “Mark 11:16: A Status Quaestionis.” Studies in Christian-Jewish Relations 5 (2010): 1–7. Donahue, John R. “Windows and Mirrors: The Setting of Mark’s Gospel.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 57 (1995): 1–26. Driggers, Ira Brent. “Disciples at the Mercy of God: The Tension of Markan Theology.” Ph.D. diss., The Princeton Theological Seminary, 2004. Dunn, James. D. G. “The Messianic Secret in Mark.” Tyndale Bulletin 21 (1970): 92–117. Duff, Paul B. “The March of the Divine Warrior and the Advent of the Greco-Roman King: Mark’s Account of Jesus’ Entry into Jerusalem.” Journal of Biblical Literature 111 (1992): 55–71. Edwards, James R. “Markan Sandwiches: The Significance of Interpolations in Markan Narratives.” Novum Testamentum 31 (1989): 193–216. Ehrman, Bart D. Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Esler, Philip F. “The Incident of the Withered Fig Tree in Mark 11: A New Source and Redactional Explanation.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 28 (2005): 41–67. Evans, Craig A. “Jesus’ Action in the Temple and Evidence of Corruption in the First-Century Temple.” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 28 (1989): 522–39. Flint, Peter. “Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls.” In The Historical Jesus in Context, edited by Amy-Jill Levine, Dale Allison Jr., and John D. Crossan, 110–31. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006. Fowler, Robert M. “Irony and the Messianic Secret in the Gospel of Mark.” Proceedings 1 (1981): 26–36. Funk, Robert Walter, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar. The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus. New York: Macmillan, 1996. Giesen, Heinz. “Der Verdorrte Feigenbaum—eine Symbolische Aussage: Zu Mk 11, 12–14, 20f.” Biblische Zeitschrift 20 (1976): 95–111. Graham, Helen R. “A Passion Prediction for Mark’s Community: Mark 13:9–13.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 16 (1986): 18–22.

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Gray, Timothy C. The Temple in the Gospel of Mark: A Study in Its Narrative Role. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010. Hender, Karin, and Magnus Zetterholm. “Elijah and the Messiah as Spokesman of Rabbinic Ideology.” In The Messiah: In Early Judaism and Christianity, edited by Magnus Zetterholm, 56–78. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007. Holladay, William L. Jeremiah 1. Hermeneia. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Publishers, 1986. Homer. Translated by A. T. Murray and Geroge E. Dimock. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924–1994. Hooker, Morna D. “Good News about Jesus Christ, The Son of God.” In Mark as Story: Retrospect and Prospect, edited by David M. Rhoads, 165–80. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011. Hultgren, Arland J. The Parables of Jesus: A Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000. Humphrey, Robert L. Narrative Structure and Message in Mark: A Rhetorical Analysis. New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 2003. Huys, Marc. “Turning the Tables: Jesus’ Temple Cleansing and the Story of Lycaon.” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 86 (2010): 136–61. Incigneri, Brian. The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Jordan, Lynn M. “Elijah Transfigured: A Study of the Narrative of the Transfiguration in the Gospel of Mark.” Ph.D. diss., The Duke University, 1981. Josephus. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray et al. 10 vols. LCL. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926–1965. Juel, Donald. Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1977. Knohl, Israel. The Messiah before Jesus: The Suffering Servant of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Translated by David Maisel. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Lundbom, Jack R. Jeremiah 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 21A. New York: Doubleday, 1999. Luz, Ulich. Matthew 1–7. Matthew 21–28. Hermeneia. Translated by James E. Crouch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989. Marcus, Joel. Mark. 2 vols. Anchor Bible 27–27A. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000–2009. Minette de Tillese, Caetano. Le Secret Messianique dans L’évangile de Marc. Paris: les Éditions du Cerf, 1968. Morgan, Robert, and John Barton. Biblical Interpretation. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Morrison, Gregg S. “The Turning Point in the Gospel of Mark: A Study of Markan Christology.” Ph.D. diss., The Catholic University of America, 2008. O’Collins, Gerald. Christology: A Biblical, Historical, and Systematic Study of Jesus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Perry, John M. Exploring the Transfiguration Story. Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1993. Powell, Mark A. Fortress Introduction to the Gospels. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1998.



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Qualls, Paula F. “Mark 11:15–18: A Prophetic Challenge.” Review & Expositor 93 (1996): 395–402. Rollman, H. “Wrede, Friedrich Georg Eduard William.” In Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation, edited by John H. Hayes, 2:660. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1999. Roth, Wolfgang. Hebrew Gospel: Cracking the Code of Mark. Oak Park, IL: Meyer-Stone Books, 1988. Russell, Bertrand. Why I Am Not a Christian: And Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects. Edited by Paul Edwards. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1957. Scott, Peter M. “Seasons of Grace? Christ’s Cursing of a Fig Tree.” In Christology and Scripture: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, edited by Andrew T. Lincoln and Angus Paddison, 188–206. London: Continuum International Publishing, 2008. Senior, Donald. “‘With Swords and Clubs …’—The Setting of Mark’s Community and His Critique of Abusive Power.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 17 (1987): 10–20. Shepherd, Tom. “The Narrative Function of Markan Intercalation.” New Testament Studies 41 (1995): 522–40. Sugirtharajah, R. S. “Men, Trees and Walking: A Conjectural Solution to Mk 8:24.” Expository Times 103 (1992): 172–74. Tatum, W. Barnes. “Jesus’ So-Called Triumphal Entry: On Making an Ass of the Romans.” Forum 1 (1998): 129–44. Telford, William R. The Barren Temple and the Withered Tree: A Redaction-Critical Analysis of the Cursing of the Fig-Tree Pericope in Mark’s Gospel and Its Relation to the Cleansing of the Temple Tradition. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980. Watts, Rikki E. Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 2000. Williams, James G. Gospel against Parable: Mark’s Language of Mystery. Decatur, GA: Almond Press, 1985. Wills, Lawrence M. The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John, and the Origins of the Gospel Genre. London: Routledge, 1997. Wink, Walter. The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2002. Witherington, Ben. The Gospel of Mark: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001. Wrede, William. Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien: Zugleich ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des Markusevangeliums. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901. ———. The Messianic Secret. Translated by J. C. G. Greig. Cambridge: James Clarke, 1971. Wright, N. T. Jesus and the Victory of God. London: SPCK, 1996.

·2· the first markan readers

It is of no doubt that Mark’s primary concern was to communicate with his first readers through the Gospel. In other words, Mark needed the readers to understand what he had to say in the Gospel correctly. Furthermore, this understanding of the first Markan readers might be the best way to understand Mark’s authorial intent reflected in the Gospel. In this regard, this chapter seeks to investigate the identity of the first Markan readers while playing particular attention to the following issues: (1) The relationship between Mark, the author, and his readers; (2) The significance of the emergence of the good news of Jesus in the written form; (3) The supposed literary sources for the Gospel; (4) The date and provenance of the Markan community; and (5) The targeted, not universal, readership of the Markan Gospel.

I. Implied Author and Reader In his article, Dennis L. Stamps says: Literary texts are a product of a composition process in which the written text is a form of communication through which a message is passed from the author to the reader(s). In terms of the reading process, a reader encounters a text in sequential

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story order, and generally understands the narrative as a unified whole, connecting the parts to a larger narrative scheme.1

According to Stamps, Mark would have desired to communicate with his first readers through his Gospel which thus might have served as the medium where Mark revealed his own view of Jesus. This could also mean that the Gospel reveals who the first Markan readers were since it seems highly unlikely that an author delivers his message without considering its receiver, a reader. Thus, James L. Resseguie argues that “[t]he reader is inscribed or encoded in the text, is a property of the text, and is the part of the text’s meaning; the critic’s function is to interpret the signals transmitted to the inscribed reader of the text.”2 However, it is unfortunate that while reading the Markan Gospel, one cannot meet or know in person the real author and reader of the Gospel, who lived as flesh-and-blood beings in the first-century C. E. Greco-Roman world; instead, one meets “the author’s second self [and the reader’s], which was created for purposes of telling this tale.”3 Therefore, the best way to know about the real author and real readers of the Markan Gospel would be to reconstruct their second selves based on the information inferable from the Gospel’s narrative text. Fortunately, this reconstruction would be rather easy since “with the Gospel of Mark the roles of the narrator and narratee are covert and effaced and therefore virtually identical with the roles of the implied author and implied reader, respectively.”4 Critics of the narrative or reader-response criticism call these second selves of the real author and the reader respectively implied author and reader. Peter G. Bolt explains these terms as follows: “the implied author and reader are textual constructs, that is, their portraits are painted by the text itself. The implied reader, therefore, ‘amounts to the textual elements that invite the actual reader to respond to the text in certain ways.’”5 Even though there is no consensus of the character of implied author and reader because of their intrinsic ambiguity, the investigation, from the perspective of this implied author and reader, of who the first Markan readers as well as Mark were, and its result appear to be reasonable enough to consider.6 Furthermore, since Mark kept silent about himself and his original readers, the Markan text itself remains as the best source to mirror through the medium of implied author and readers. Therefore, the following journey of this section to figure out the supposed first Markan readers will be primarily based on the Markan text itself.



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However, this does not mean at all that the investigation will exclude any relevant evidence such as the Markan reader’s social or political situations only because they are outside the text. Rather in collaboration with such external evidence, focusing on the Markan text as internal evidence will strengthen the credibility of the task of identifying the first Markan readers.

A. Significance of the Markan Gospel as Literature It should be of no doubt that the Gospel of Mark in its written form was brought into the ancient world to be read by its pristine readers. Along with the question about the identification of these first readers, two other interesting questions arise: (1) Why did the Evangelist decide to write down the narratives of Jesus despite the reality of his world where the oral communication was far more prevalent than and preferred to the written one? and (2) In what way did he fashion his writing? Thus, it seems helpful for the better understanding of the Gospel’s first readers to address these two questions first. 1. The written Gospel in the oral world Considering the small portion of the people who could read and write in the Markan community, it becomes intriguing why Mark decided to create the Gospel in the literary form for the readers who occupied only a small faction of the community. In other words, the majority of the community was illiterate having no choice but to be the audience of the Gospel. For the proper address of Mark’s intention to write, instead of just telling the story of Jesus to his community, it seems necessary to look at how the story of Jesus was delivered to the Christians in the first century C.E when the Markan Gospel was created.7 It has been a widely known fact that the communication in the GrecoRoman world was mainly performed in oral form. In other words, oral cultures were prevalent in the Greco-Roman period. Bart D. Ehrman says: [M]ost people in the Greco-Roman world could not read, let alone write. Estimates of the level of literacy vary, but several important studies have concluded that in the best of times (e.g., Athens in the days of Socrates), only 10 to 15 percent of the population (the vast majority of them males) could read and write at an elementary level.8

Perhaps, literary texts of the Greco-Roman world, perhaps due to the low literacy level, showed a tendency to be written for public reading by a reader

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for the aural audience. In this world, according to Paul J. Achtemeier,9 people read aloud, and through this way, literary works were performed to the public. In other words, this was also applied both to group reading (a person reading to the gathered audiences like early Christian communities) and to an individual reading (a person reading to only one audience who could be the reader him/herself). In this regard, Achtemeier says: “Reading was therefore oral performance whenever it occurred and in whatever circumstances. Late antiquity knew nothing of the ‘silent, solitary reader.’”10 However, it seems seriously problematic to exclude any possibility of silent, solitary reading in the Greco-Roman world especially considering the argument by Frank D. Gilliard. In his article, Gilliard successfully argues against Achtemeier that there are instances where silent readings were done in the Greco-Roman period by proposing examples such as Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and “‘some unnamed Roman senators under Augustus.’”11 Thus, the argument for no reading at all that was silent in the Greco-Roman world seems to be wrong since there were largely two types of literary works whose reason for being written was different from each other: One that was written for and was read to the public, and the other that was written for the private person and was read privately or silently. After all, one needs to be cautious when it comes to “the predominance of orality in the ancient world” since “the predominance of orality does not mean exclusivity, either in writing or in reading.”12 In addition, one interesting phenomenon identified in the contemporary societies or groups developing and depending on literal texts was that “they did not promote literacy for the masses. Instead, those who were literate began to hire out their services to those who were not.”13 When considering the research shown above, one can suppose as follows: (1) The Gospel of Mark was written in the oral-dominant world to be vocalized to the people14 most of whom were illiterate, with the chance of being privately read or silently meditated by its readers; and (2) Despite the existence of the story of Jesus in the literary form, the majority of its audience just remained illiterate. In other words, they had no choice but to resort to the oral transmission for the delivery of the Gospel. The first question that naturally ensues, then, involves why Mark bothered to write in the world where the oral communication was far more prevalent and favored than the literal one. What is more intriguing is that it is almost certain that Mark himself was aware that his work would be primarily encountered by the people orally and aurally, rather than optically.



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Concerning this question, Werner H. Kelber argues that the Gospel of Mark serves as a keen break with the orality since “[t]here is a deep logic connecting Mark’s textual accomplishment with his indictment of oral process and authorities 15:” the written Gospel was a scribal counterform to the orality of Jesus tradition. According to Joanna Dewey, Kelber in an effort to defend his own claim, suggests three arguments: (1) Mark’s rejection of those individuals whom Christian communities respected as oral authorities, namely the disciples, the family of Jesus, and prophets/Christ; (2) Mark’s silencing of the oral teachings found in the sayings material; and, (3) the Gospel’s emphasis on death and absence rather than life and presence, which is a major christological shift.16

However, these three arguments are under attack from Joanna Dewey. First, regarding the defect in Kelber’s first argument, she points out the coexistence of the positive and negative descriptions of the disciples.17 According to Kelber, Mark has “the twelve personify the principal, oral representatives of Jesus”18 and the way that Mark presents them is very negative since their discipleship keeps failing in the Gospel. In other words, they do not deserve to be “the guarantors of tradition.”19 Thus, Kelber concludes that “[i]f the foremost oral authorities are depicted as failing to perceive the message and mission of Jesus, the conclusion is inevitable that, as far as Mark is concerned, mimesis malfunctioned and did so at a crucial juncture.”20 Furthermore, Kelber argues that (1) Jesus’ family is hostile to Jesus in Mark 3:20–35; (2) 6:1–6 and the prophets that are in conflict with Jesus in Mark 13 demonstrate another malfunction of mimesis that is characteristic to orality.21 In Dewey’s opinion, however, Kelber’s conclusion that the Gospel of Mark was meant to replace the orality due to the problems with the three oral authorities is not correct. Unlike Kelber, Dewey suggests that “the portrait of the disciples in the Gospel of Mark is ambiguous”:22 they should be interpreted both positively and negatively. As the most significant instance of their positive description, she refers to the ending of the Gospel where the anticipation of the disciples’ restoration appears: [T]he disciples stress that the disciples are promised a reward for following (10:29), that they do finally understand and accept that following Jesus and the kingdom of God entails persecution by the powers of this age (10:35–40; 14:29–31), and that the repeated pattern of prophecy and fulfillment throughout the narrative suggests the fulfillment of the prophecy that the disciples will see Jesus in Galilee (14:28; 16:7) in spite of the women’s silence at the end (16:8).23

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Dewey’s claim above, however, seems invalid since the fact that the disciples are failures all through the Gospel cannot change even though their restoration might be expected at the end of the Gospel. Even if one would accept the possibility of such restoration of the disciples, it appears only to reaffirm the fact that the disciples need to be restored from the current situation of the failing discipleship to the future one of the successful discipleship by meeting the resurrected Jesus, which is not explicitly mentioned at all in the Gospel. After all, the disciples of the Markan Gospel are the flat characters whose negative nature does not change to the end: the mode of Mark’s description of the disciples is not ambivalent. Dewey, then, turns to Kelber’s other issue of Mark’s constant hostility toward Jesus’ family. According to her, the reason for the negative description of Jesus’ own family lies not in Mark’s intention to disavow the oral authority of the household, but in the following statement: Yet the narrative [of Mark 3:20–35 and 6:1–6] does not group the family of Jesus with the disciples as leaders to be rejected. Rather, to become a disciple requires one to leave one’s family in order to join the kingdom of God. In the Markan call stories, specific disciples leave their occupations, which in antiquity were typically family business— James and John explicitly leave their father as well as his business (Mark 1:16–20; 2:14–15). The disciples (and other followers) who have left families are promised new families, houses, and fields (10:29–30). Finally, Jesus instructs, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (8:34). … The parallelism of denying kin and taking up one’s cross—that is, risking persecution, even execution—suggests that both are understood at costs of discipleship.24

In other words, Mark’s negative presentation of Jesus’ family has nothing to do with the authorial intent to ignore it as the reliable oral source for Jesus’ life; Jesus’ family has no choice but to be described negatively as the result of Jesus’ keeping his own word of denying oneself (Mark 8:34).25 However, if Dewey wants to maintain the validity of her own argument, she needs to explain the three Markan narratives: (1) Mark 1:29–31 which presents, through Jesus’ healing of Peter’s mother-in-law upon his request, a familial care as something to be necessary, not to be denied; (2) Mark 7:26–30 in which a mother’s desperate request for her seriously sick daughter is not being denied, but being taken care of by Jesus; and (3) Mark 5:22–24, 35–43 where Jesus does not deny but accepts earnest adjuration of Jairus whose sick and later dead daughter is being raised back to the life. Therefore, Dewey’s argument that the reason of the hostile description of Jesus’ family derives from Mark 8:34 (to deny oneself) seems unconvincing.



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In other words, she fails to successfully undermine Kelber’s claim that Mark intends Jesus’ family to be considered as the unreliable oral source. The last argument of Kelber that Dewey criticizes is that Mark warns about the false Christ and prophets of 13:21–22 as unworthy to be the leaders of the community. She further says: On the basis of 13:5–6, Kelber understands these false prophets specifically as Christian leaders. He understands them as speaking in the name of Jesus, “continuing the present authority of Jesus, the living Lord. It is this oral metaphysics of presence” that Mark is objecting to, in favor of a future return of the Son of Humanity who is not absent (Kelber 1983, 99). I would argue, however, that Mark is simply separating the expectation of the return of the Son of Humanity from the events of the Roman-Jewish war. The future coming of the Son of Humanity was already part of the oral tradition—it is found specifically in Q, the sayings material common to Matthew and Luke (Luke 17:23–37; Matt 24:26–39). One does not need to posit a rejection of oral presence to explain the warning against false Christs.26

Again, Dewey’s argument against Kelber on the function of false Christs and false prophets of Mark 13 seems to be reconsidered. First, she asserts without suggesting any evidence that these false characters have nothing to do with Jesus’ future return since the Parousia has nothing to do with the Jewish war. The problem with this assertion is simply clear in seeing that Mark 13 has long been widely advocated as the chapter of eschatology that is directly related to Jesus’ second coming. It is much strange why she claims that false Christs and false prophets of the eschatological chapter of Mark should not be understood in association with the return of the Son of Man. Second, she simply assumes, but again without any explanation, that Mark wanted the reader not to think of the return of the Son of Man in terms of the Jewish war. It is hard to believe that she makes such a claim when there is an explicit reference in Mark 13 to the destruction of the Temple that was the direct outcome of the war. Third, Dewey may misunderstand the point of Kelber’s argument on the oral role of those false figures: what Kelber has to say is that they kept abusing the authority of Jesus for their own interests by speaking in his name even though he did not exist in the world anymore. Therefore, according to Kelber, Mark warns against resorting to the oral tradition of Jesus by these false characters as the reliable source. However, Dewey, missing this point, unduly criticizes Kelber, saying that since the oral tradition and Q already talked about Jesus’ return before Mark did, there was no need for Mark “to posit a rejection of oral presence to explain the warning against false Christs.”27 Unfortunately, this does not have something to do

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with Kelber’s claim since the latter focuses on the negative impact orally done by the false Messiahs, not on the validity of the tradition itself of the upcoming return of the Son of Man. After all, Dewey appears not to be successful in demonstrating how defective Kelber’s argument is for Mark’s rejection of the orality that is reflected in the Evangelist’s negative descriptions of Jesus’ family, the disciples, and false Christs and prophets. To put it another way, the author of the Gospel of Mark “imposed his writing authority upon an unorganized oral lore” by rejecting the group of people who were considered the primary oral authorities at that time.28 That said, what problems of the oral transmission of Jesus led Mark to create Jesus’ story in the written form? Kelber answers: Those voices and stories which were incorporated into textuality are destined to survive. Whatever their interpretation, they are guaranteed longevity, if not perpetuity. Oral fragility has been overcome by “the secret of making the immortal.” A particular rendition of Jesus’ life and death is made “safe,” fortified against oral decay, variability, amnesia, or floating. It is now fixed in place to be studied, interpreted, copied, and disseminated. With writing a beginning has been made in the synoptic tradition for a manuscript mentality that deals with original form, copies, and textual accuracy—all notions foreign to the oral medium.29

In the meantime, Walter J. Ong takes account of the features of the written Gospel that came into existence as a response to the following problems with the orality: What Mark undertook to do was to produce something that could never exist as such before, though its elements existed. He undertook to produce and did produce a unified narrative, with some items thoughtfully and programmatically subordinated to others, … Mark’s organization was not so tight as a writer might produce today, but it clearly had a beginning, a middle, and an end.30

In summary, the Gospel of Mark in its written form served to compensate for the defects of the orality in transmitting the tradition of Jesus. As a result, the Gospel became the earliest literature among the synoptic Gospels, which consists of the well-organized narratives of Jesus.31 Therefore, when one makes an interpretational approach to the Gospel of Mark, it would be helpful to keep in mind Mark’s wish of the Gospel to serve as a more authoritative and reliable source by replacing various and incompatible versions of oral traditions. However, caution is needed: It seems not the case that there are no oral traditions at all in the Markan Gospel; rather, Mark appears to



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have selectively and creatively narrativized them so that they could embody the consistent theological frame of the Gospel. That said, the next question should be how and with what Mark composed the narratives for his Gospel to render them more reliable than the oral traditions vulnerable to misuse or abuse. 1.1. Suggested sources for the Gospel of Mark. The aim of this section is to elucidate how Mark might have formed his Gospel as a reaction against the problematic oral transmissions of Jesus’ stories. This task can also be put this way: Since Mark was fed up with false oral traditions of what Jesus did, he preferred to use more invariable and thus reliable sources for his Gospel such as the Hebrew Bible, the Logoi of Jesus (Q+), the Greek Classic, and so on, rather than solely gather and rearrange oral traditions around him. Caution is needed not to misunderstand that this statement does not exclude the inclusion of these oral traditions into the Gospel: Undoubtedly, it contains oral traditions that Mark might have regarded authentic. However, the focus should be directed to Mark’s use of such written sources, not to such oral traditions when considering Mark’s skepticism on the orality and also his interest in presenting alternatively what Jesus did in a more reliable way. Thus, it is imperative to see how those literary works might have affected Mark in the creation of his Gospel. 1.1.1. The Hebrew Bible (LXX). No one could deny the literary influence of the Hebrew Bible on the Gospel of Mark, which appears in various forms such as citations, readactions, allusions, echoes, and so on.32 The three Markan events concerning this study, that is, the so-called triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the cursing of the fig tree, and the so-called cleansing of the Temple, are all happening centering on Jesus, which triggers curiosity about how Jesus might be understood in association with the character(s) of the Hebrew Bible. Thus, instead of enumerating all the instances of the influence of the Hebrew Bible on the Gospel of Mark according to each form, which is beyond the scope of this study, this section focuses on how Jesus alludes to the prominent ones of the Hebrew Bible: Moses and Elijah in particular.33 1.1.1.1. Moses and Elijah in Jesus. The clearest instance of Mark’s allusive use of the Hebrew Bible might be the story of Jesus’ transfiguration on a mountain since in it are explicitly mentioned the two heroic names of the Hebrew Bible, that is, Moses and Elijah.34 This subsection, thus, aims to investigate how Jesus

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alludes to Moses and Elijah in the transfiguration story, critically referring to the the arguments by four relevant scholars. The first one to look at is Margaret Pamment. She, in “Moses and Elijah in the Story of the Transfiguration,”35 while putting an emphasis on “the experiences of Moses and Elijah before they died”36 pays attention to the need to consider these two figures as suffering prophets on the ground of the following verses of the Hebrew Bible: concerning Moses, Exodus 14:11ff, 16:2ff, 17:2ff, 32:1ff, and Numbers 11:1ff, 14:1ff, 16:1ff, 20:2ff; and concerning Elijah, 1 Kgs 18:7ff and 19:2ff.37 In those scriptural verses, the two Jewish heroes have something in common in what they experienced: rejection and persecution from their contemporary Israel people. Furthermore, they share another experience that is also found in the Hebrew Bible: each is vindicated by God: not only is Moses’ life saved (Ex 17:4ff and 32:32f), but he talks with God (Ex 34:29ff) and is allowed to see the promised land (Dt 34:1ff), Elijah’s life is saved (1 Kg 19:2ff), and he is taken into heaven (2 Kg 2:1ff).38

Pamment, therefore, argues that Mark intentionally lets Jesus allude to Moses and Elijah so as to convince the reader that Jesus’ rejection and persecution from his contemporary Israelites will finally end up with God’s vindication just like what happened to Moses and Elijah: “God had allowed both Moses and Elijah to suffer before their vindication and Jesus’ fate would be no different.”39 It seems that Pamment makes her case successfully by noting the analogous streams of Jesus’ story to those of Moses and Elijah: God’s vindication only after rejection and persecution. In other words, this allusive way of reading Jesus of Mk 9:2–8 to the relevant figures of the Hebrew Bible could lead the reader to think that Jesus also needed to be first rejected and suffer in order to be vindicated. Howard Clark Kee is the second scholar to refer to. While Pamment pays attention only to the similarity between Mark’s Jesus in the transfiguration narrative and Moses and the Elijah of Hebrew Bible, Kee, in “The Transfiguration in Mark: Epiphany or Apocalyptic Vision?”40 focuses not merely on similarity, but also on the dissimilarity between them. In reference to the similarities, he first admits there is a connection between Moses of Exodus 24 who receives from God the Law on Mount Sinai on the seventh day after waiting six days and Jesus of Mark 9 who gets confirmed by God as His Son on the unnamed mountain on the seventh day (“after six days” in Mark 9:2). Kee also presents “mountains” as the second similarity among Jesus, Moses, Elijah since they get confirmed on mountains as God’s Son or agents (Moses in Exodus 24:15, Elijah in 1 Kgs 19:11, and Jesus in Mark 9:2).



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However, Kee refuses to apply the significance of Moses as the law-giver to Jesus of Mark 9. Mark’s transfiguration narrative, he argues, has “no hint of Moses as law-giver”41 but rather, one needs to realize the allusion of ἀκούετε αὐτοῦ of Mark 9:7 to αὐτοῦ ἀκούσεσθε of Deuteronomy 18:15 (LXX, cf. ‫ִש ָמ ֽעו ּן‬ ְׁ ‫ ּת‬of the Hebrew Bible) as follows: From it one can only conclude that Mark wants to present Jesus as the eschatological prophet whose coming Moses had announced. … Jesus is a second Moses for Mark, … as fulfiller of the promise of the Prophet.42

Clark’s claim of the allusion of Jesus to the predicted prophet by Moses of Deuteronomy is a good observation. However, his other claim of no trace of Jesus as law-giver like Moses in the narrative of transfiguration cannot be misled to the conclusion that there is no description of Jesus as law-giver in the entire Gospel. The reader apparently sees Jesus issuing, not just delivering, the new law of loving one’s own neighbors in Mark 12:31 and this Jesus appears not irrelevant with Moses, the first law-giver. Moses and Jesus receive something from God: the commandments to the former, and to the latter, the authority of Son of God to whom all should listen. After all, even though there is no explicit mention of any law in the Markan transfiguration story, a reader can detect in it the suggestion of Jesus as a/the law-giver, which alludes to Moses who was also the law-giver. Furthermore, in addition to such similarities, one can also notice the fundamental difference in the two law-givers: whereas Moses gives (delivers) the Law that he receives from God, Jesus himself gives (issues) the new Law. In other words, Jesus emulates Moses in the matter of giving the Law, but He is the superior law-giver than Moses. Thus, instead of negating the hint of Jesus as law-giver like (and better than) Moses, it might be better to say as follows: such hint is also one of the meanings that the Markan transfiguration pericope contains, which might ultimately prepare the reader not to be surprised to see Jesus of Mark 12:31 who decrees the brand-new Law on his own authority as Son of God. However, despite such a defect, Kee’s argument attributes the intertextual relation of Markan Jesus to Moses and Elijah of the Hebrew Bible in view of “mountains”: Jesus alludes to both Moses and Elijah in that God sets up the personal relationship with each of them on a mountain, and Jesus here especially emulates and exceeds Moses as law-giver. Such allusions and emulations, therefore, appear to serve well as the proof of Mark’s use of the Hebrew Bible.

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Lynn M. Jordan is basically on Kee’s side concerning the argument on the allusion of the Markan Jesus of the transfiguration story to Moses but provides more detailed explanations of the argument. In an effort to strengthen her own case, she pays attention to the connection of the wilderness motif with the mountain motif in Mark 1:35, 45, and 6:31–33, and also agrees with Ulich Mauser43 in the following: “the wilderness areas and the mountain have the same redactional function in Mark’s Gospel ” as the special place of “retreat from public (3:13; 6:46)” and for “ultimate revelation (9:2; 13:3).”44 Furthermore, she claims that such a particular association of the wilderness with the mountain is influenced by the Hebrew Bible in which the same association is found: Mountain Sinai or Horeb, the “wilderness mountain of the Old Testament, is the hallowed ground for the giving of the Law (Ex. 20), the establishment of the covenant (Ex. 24), and theophanies to Moses (Ex. 24:15ff.) and Elijah (1 Kings 19:9ff.). Without being the sole place of revelation, it is the place associated with the basic revelatory event in the history of the Israelites.”45

Based on such a connection through the common motives of “wilderness” and “mountain” between the Gospel of Mark and Exodus (and 1 Kgs), Jordan begins her arguments of the allusion of Mark’s transfiguration narrative to what Moses undergoes and says in either Exodus or Deuteronomy: (1) “After six days” of Mark 9:2, that is, seventh day, has the same role as “the seventh day” of Exodus 24:16 does as the preparation period before a revelation: for Mark, a revelation of Jesus’ upcoming suffering while for Moses, a revelation of God’s ten commandments; (2) Just like Moses is either alone or only with Joshua while being separated from his own people in Exodus 24:1, 9, 13, Jesus separates himself from his own disciples except for Peter, James, and John who are only allowed to accompany him up to the mountain; (3) Like Moses and his assistant Joshua in Exodus 24:13 go up “into the mountain of God”, so Jesus and his entourage in Mark 9:2 climb “a high mountain”; (4) Moses’ face is transfigured into the illuminating one due to his witnessing God’s glory in Exodus 34:29. Jesus is transformed, and his clothes become radiant in Mark 9:3; (5) As a tent is mentioned as the place where God meets with Moses in Exodus 27:21, Mark 9:5 of the transfiguration story also refers through Peter’s lips to tents for the worship of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. The word σκηνή is being used for the word “tent” in both verses; (6) There is an echo of Deuteronomy 18:15 in Mark 9:7: the heavenly voice of the latter confirms Jesus as the second Moses prophesied by Moses himself in the former; and (7)



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The wilderness as the starting place of Jesus’ ministry reinforces his connection with Moses who is the man of the wilderness.46 What Jordan has to say finally is this: Moses in the wilderness tradition of the Hebrew Bible that is closely related to the mountain allusively serves as the interpretational key to the understanding of Mark’s Jesus on the mountain in his transfigured form. In other words, Moses uncovers “the character of Jesus as the one in whom the prediction of the second Exodus is realized.”47 Jordan’s argument for Jesus of the transfiguration narrative who delivers Israel again as the second Moses makes sense from the perspective of the Jesus’ allusion to Moses based on the hermeneutical relation of the wilderness to the mountain in the Hebrew Bible. However, this claim seems not enough to offer the complete understanding of the Markan story of Jesus’ transfiguration. For instance, this way of interpretation appears not to be capable of why Peter suggests building tents for the three heroes out of sudden, which definitely needs more explanations than just pointing to the appearance of the word “tent” in both Exodus 27:21 and Mark 9:5 as the proof of allusion of Jesus to Moses. In spite of this, however, what Jordan attributes through her argument might be the validity of the use of Hebrew Bible for the understanding of the Markan Gospel (in this case, especially, the transfiguration pericope). As the last one to refer to for the allusion of the Markan Jesus to the Hebrew Bible, George William Ssebadduka, in his doctoral dissertation,48 shows a different approach to the concerning issue from those who are mentioned above: for example, the cloud of Mark 9:7 has the symbolic meaning of God’s presence (the place of theophany), which is supported by Exodus 16:10; 24:15–18; 40:34 and all of these biblical verses except for the last one are related to Moses.49 Ssebadduka’s claim of the cloud of the Gospel as the evidence of theophany in association with its appearance in Exodus does not seem reasonable since no one sees God himself in both the Markan account and suggested parts of Exodus. However, this does not deny the allusive relationship between Jesus and Moses based on the word “cloud,” but rather seems to confirm it judging by the possible comparison between the Markan cloud (9:7) and the cloud of Exodus (16:10; 24:15–18). That is, it is Ssebadduka’s conclusion from, not his way of approach to the interpretation of the word “cloud” in association with Hebrew Bible, that is problematic. 1.1.2. The Logoi of Jesus (Q+). The Logoi of Jesus or Q+ refers to the lost Gospel reconstructed by Dennis R. MacDonald, which is the double length of the traditional Q. One distinctive attribution that MacDonald makes through

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such reconstruction is found in his following statement: unlike Q, “the Logoi of Jesus was not a loose assortment of traditional sayings clumsily gathered into speeches: it was a strategic rewriting of Deuteronomy with a coherent and compelling structure and plot.”50 Another one, which is significantly important as long as this study concerns, is the newly discovered literary relationship between the Gospel of Mark and the Logoi of Jesus: Mark’s indebtedness to the Logoi of Jesus for the creation of his Gospel.51 For instance, MacDonald suggests Mark’s redactional use of the Logoi of Jesus by listing parallels between the two texts52 Based on these potential parallels between Logoi and the Markan Gospel, MacDonald comes to a conclusion as follows: It would appear that a major motivation of Mark’s rewriting of the lost Gospel was its exclusion of a mission to Gentiles, but even more significant may have been its predictions that Jesus soon would return to destroy the Jerusalem Temple and build another. Mark, writing after the fall of Jerusalem, knew better.53

Thus, Mark’s use of the lost Gospel as the written source for his Gospel is compatible with the following argument: because of the problems of various and thus confusing, or wrong stories of Jesus, which resulted from their oral transmission with no reliable source to be referred to, Mark felt the need for a dependable text, the written Gospel considerably influenced by written sources, which could serve as the norm of Jesus’ deeds to prevent such problems from happening. 1.1.3. Classical Greek poetry. According to MacDonald, the literary connection of the Markan Gospel with classical Greek poetry is explained as follows: [Mark] repeatedly and strategically imitated characters, episodes and motifs from classical Greek poetry especially Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, … Mark’s imitation of Homer was not merely a literary adjustment to Christian tradition; it was a seismic cultural shift. The world of the Logoi of Jesus, though Hellenized, “was Palestinian and Jewish; its intertexts were almost exclusively biblical. By imitating classical Greek poetry, Mark transformed his protagonist into a rival of Greek heroes and gods.”54

Since it has been already noted about what Mimesis Criticism is and how it relates the Markan Gospel to the Homeric epics, this section pays attention to how the Markan Jesus is considered from the perspective of his mimetic relationship with “Greek heroes and gods”55 of the Homeric epics: (1) Hermes in Jesus56—there are “dense and sequential” parallels between Illiad 24 and Mark 6:45–52, in which the Markan Jesus emulates



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Hermes with the same power to walk on water, but is superior to the Olympian in showing this miraculous power “without the assistance of magical sandals.”57 In addition, this Markan Jesus is suggested as having the better sincerity than Hermes in that the latter “lied when he first encountered Priam and his servant, and only later disclosed his actual identity. Jesus, on the other hand, told the disciples immediately who he was: ‘It is I.’”58 (2) Aeolus in Jesus59—Mark 4:35–41 show a mimetic association with Odyssey 10.1–69.60 Here the Markan Jesus is similar to Odysseus in that  [l]ike Odysseus, who told stories to Aeolus while floating on an island, Jesus told his stories floating on a boat. Only in this voyage among all the Gospels does Jesus sail “with other ships,” a detail that points to Odysseus’s twelve ships.61

However, despite such similarity between the two heroes, the Markan one with the same power to control the storm as Aeolus, the king of winds, is described as being superior to the helpless Homeric one in the middle of the storm: “Surely someone greater than Odysseus is here.”62 (3) Odysseus in Jesus63—Mark 5:1–20 can also be considered in light of Mimesis Criticism in its literary connection with Odyssey 9.101–565.64 The dense parallels between the two texts demonstrate that Jesus imitates, emulates Odysseus, and turns out to be superior to Odysseus:  Odysseus overcame Polyphemus by lying about his name, blinding the giant, and outwitting him. He left the giant far worse off than he found him: blinded and deprived of his sheep. Jesus, on the other hand, used no deceit or violence, only divine power. The victims of violence were demons, not the demoniac, whom Jesus left better off than he found him, “clothed and in his right mind.” Polyphemus’s bad news—“Say Odysseus, raider of cities, gouged out your eye” —has become good news—“[T]ell … how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.”65

(4) Hector in Jesus66—The Markan Jesus’ death can mimetically be compared with Hector’s.67 MacDonald suggests intertextual evidence of the mimetic tie between the two:  Mark’s account retains distinctive traits from Homer, such as the abandonment of the hero by his protecting deity, the summoning and nonappearance of a mortal ally, the linkage between the death of a hero and the destruction

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story of a city “from top to bottom,” and the laments of women watching from a distance. These usual characteristics should have been sufficient to prompt the reader to compare Jesus with Hector.68

Furthermore, as in other cases above, Mark has Jesus emulate Hector by describing the former as facing the death while the latter cries for the help of Deiphobus to save him from the death; Mark also has Jesus resurrect from the death while Hector stays dead with his soul in Hades.69 After all, concerning the issue of Mark’s preference to the fixed and thus more reliable source of Jesus’ story, the literary connection of the Markan Gospel with the Homeric epics might reflect one of Mark’s authorial intents: to make the reader compare the two written texts side by side for their correct/ accurate understanding of the Gospel (though not its entire parts) and such comparison appears easier and less confusing to make than the one between the Gospel and the oral tradition of Jesus, which is very variable.

B. Conclusion Paying attention to the fact that the Markan Gospel came to exist in its written form, this chapter provides one of the reasons why Mark decided to write about Jesus’ stories in the world of oral communication. The suggested answer is that Mark might have wanted something that could substitute for the Jesus tradition which was scattered around via many mouths, and thus were unreliable due to their tendency to change easily. With such a reason in mind, Mark might also have wanted to add more reliability to his Gospel through the use of written sources, more reliable than the oral traditions, as the base of its creation. Such literary sources are the Hebrew Bible (the Septuagint), the Logoi of Jesus (Q+), and the Homeric epics and their literary effects on the Gospel of Mark might well represent Mark’s aspiration to minimize shortcomings resulting from the oral tradition of Jesus. However, caution is needed not to misunderstand Mark’s antipathy against oral traditions of Jesus as their absolute exclusion from the Gospel; it must not have been possible for Mark to ignore all the traditions of Jesus which had been forming the Christian faith for decades. Kelber who emphasizes the literary characteristics of the Markan Gospel rather than its oral features even admits the influence of the oral tradition on the Gospel as follows: “… it remains valid that the Gospel is composed by frequent recourse to orality. …”70 Furthermore, the Evangelist must have been aware of its oral



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(aural) reach to his audience as well as its being read by his readers since the chances are that there were more illiterate people than literate in the Markan community.71 Thus, it seems all the more convincing to argue that the influence of those three main written sources on the Markan Gospel represents the Evangelist’s effort to minimize the problems stemming from Jesus’ stories based on orality. In other words, from now on, one could decrease the chances to be the victims of the wrong (at least to Mark’s eyes), confusing or sometimes conflicting stories of Jesus since he or she could refer to the written Gospel along with its three written sources to discern those problematic ones. No more need to be swayed between the right and wrong stories of Jesus. The ensuing question, then, is whether the first reader of the Gospel could have noticed and understood Mark’s use of those literary antecedents or not. This question becomes of importance especially when it comes to the statement of Clement of Alexandria: “The oral teacher is better able to test his students, but the writer can better test himself by checking his motivation for teaching.”72 When this statement is applied to the Markan author, it can be said that the Gospel of Mark was produced according to the author’s careful desire to both suggest and reveal the reliable or the new stories of Jesus to the reader. What else, then, would make Mark happier than the reader’s proper appreciation of the Gospel, which is based on the recognition of those literary sources embedded in the Gospel? The following section, thus, will look into who the first Markan readers were, and whether they could have been qualified enough to detect traces of such literary works in their reading of the Gospel. Meanwhile, it does not have to prove their notice of Mark’s engagement of the Hebrew Bible (LXX) and the Logoi of Jesus: as the Christian literate, the first Markan readers could have easily accessed these two works which were undoubtedly crucial sources to know about Jesus. Therefore, the question to address narrows down to the possibility of the access of the first Markan readers to and understanding of the Homeric epics which were not of Christian literature.

II. The Markan Community: Readers and Audience Considering the argument in the previous section that Mark’s preference of the letters to the oral words in transmitting stories of Jesus despite the prevalence of the oral communication at that time, Mark appears to have believed that the success of his enterprise of writing the Gospel decisively depended

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on the first readers rather than on the audience who were illiterate: some audience of the Markan community, anyhow, needed to first hear the Gospel from the reader if they wanted verbally to reproduce it to the other audience.73 Even in this process of oral reproduction of the Gospel, the mistakes of the deliverer in its contents might be corrected by resorting to the text with the help of those who could read it. From the perspective of reader-response criticism, the role of the reader of the Gospel of Mark might have been to find “the rhetorical directives inscribed in texts” when reading them privately before their public reading in a loud voice.74 Mark might not also have wanted his Gospel to be met with various interpretations since otherwise he himself would have produced the same problem that accompanies the oral tradition. In this regard, it could be concluded that Mark expected the readers to understand the authorial intent embedded in each narrative of the Gospel, and thus to serve as the guide for the audience so that they might also have the same understanding of the Gospel as the readers did. Mark seems to have intended to induce through his Gospel and readers the common and unified interpretational or theological responses from the audience, called the Markan community. It might be Mark’s ultimate goal, then, to consolidate the unity of the community through the shared faith based on the common understanding of Jesus, which results from the written fixed text. It is beyond the scope of this study to investigate whether Mark’s aspiration was accomplished or not even though one can easily assume that it seems not to have been successfully met considering so many various interpretations on the Markan issues. After all, it seems that for Mark, the Gospel and its readers were indispensable to form and secure his community. To put it another way, the Markan readers cannot be discussed without mentioning the Markan community to investigate the latter would help to identify the former. Thus, the relevant issues of the comprehension of the Markan community such as when, where, for whom the Gospel was written shall provide helpful answers or hints to the questions of the readers’ identity and their capability of the comparative reading of the Gospel with the Homeric epics.

A. The Time of Existence One could easily infer that the inquiry of when the Markan community was in active is equivalent to the question of the date of the Markan Gospel. Unfortunately, the question of when the Gospel of Mark was written has been one



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of the most notorious issues concerning the Gospel, which has reached no consensus yet. However, this should not justify ceasing to make any attempt to figure out its date. Admittedly, nobody appears to be able to pinpoint the specific year of the Gospel’s creation, but one nevertheless would make valid arguments over this agenda especially when it comes to the matter of putting its creation date before or after 70 C.E. To be more specific, the period between 65 C.E. and 75 C.E. seems to be generally admitted as Mark’s creation among scholars.75 However, one cannot just be satisfied with this estimated interval since this presumptive period is divisible into two opposite sides: the one arguing for pre 70 C.E. as the Gospel’s date, and the other for post 70 C.E.76 Such division mainly arises from relating the timing when Jesus’ prediction was made of the Temple destruction of Mark 13:2 (οὐ μὴ ἀφεθῇ ὧδε λίθος ἐπὶ λίθον ὃς οὐ μὴ καταλυθῇ) to either before or after 70 C.E. when the Temple actually began to collapse. Thus, in the following sections, it will be investigated how the scholars of each side make their cases based on Mark 13:2, and during the process of the investigation, it will also be demonstrated post-70 C.E. date is a more convincing candidate for the Gospel’s creation than pre-70 C.E. 1. Pre 70 C.E. This section first lists arguments for the creation of the Markan Gospel before 70 C.E. by the two selected scholars considered to be the most noteworthy and then disproves their arguments. 1.1. Adela Y. Collins. Collins is admitting Mark 13:1–2 as the key for the figuration of the Gospel’s date by saying that “[t]he most difficult question regarding Mark 13:1–2 is whether this anecdote, as formulated by Mark, presupposes the destruction of the Temple that occurred in 70 C.E.”77 While pointing out the major trend of seeing the Markan verses as “ex eventu prophecy,” she argues about the problem with such a trend: it excludes the possibility that Jesus’ prediction of the Temple’s destruction of Mark 13:2 is authentic.78 Unlike those who are in favor of post-70 C.E. as the Gospel’s date, Collins finds no close similarity between “Mark’s ‘no stone upon another’ and Josephus’s account [of the Temple’s destruction by Titus in Jewish War 7.1–4],”79 and therefore, she argues, “Mark’s phrase may be seen as a dramatic, even hyperbolic, prediction of destruction that need not be taken as an allusion to a historical event.”80

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However, it seems so naïve to accept her argument for the authenticity of Jesus’ prophecy on the Temple’s doom of Mark 13:2 only because of the difference in the descriptions of the Temple’s destruction by Jesus and Josephus. In Mark 14:58, Jesus gives another prediction of the Temple’s destruction which, according to MacDonald, comes before 70 C.E. from the Logoi of Jesus 7:22 as probably Jesus’ authentic words and has been redacted into Mark 13:1–2.81 From such a viewpoint, one might think that since Mark was convinced of the validity of Jesus’ authentic prophecy on the Temple’s destruction of Mark 14:58 cited from the Logoi after having experienced the beginning of its destruction on 70 C.E., Mark is giving his own anticipation of the complete destruction of the Temple, that is, the fulfillment of Jesus’ prophecy of the Logoi 7:22 (Mark 14:58). Even though Mark’s anticipation shows difference from Josephus’ report of what really happened to the Temple some of which structures still survived after the Jewish war (Jewish War 7.1–4), it seems to make more sense to think that the initiation of the Temple’s destruction in 70 C.E. by Titus led Mark to redact for Mark 13:2 Jesus’ genuine prophecy on the Temple of Mark 14:58. After all, Mark was encouraged to have Jesus utter a more detailed prediction than the one of Mark 14:58 after witnessing the beginning of the Temple’s destruction, which favors post-, not pre-, 70 C.E. as the date of the Markan Gospel. 1.2. John S. Kloppenborg. Kloppenborg asks: “Does Mark 13:2 betray knowledge of the destruction of the Temple by Titus?”82 The answer, to him, is “no” since the Temple’s destruction has to do with the Roman siege practice of evocatio deorum—the “calling out” of the tutelary deity or deities of a city prior to its destruction, the “devoting” of its inhabitants to death or, more usually, slavery, and the razing of its buildings and Temples.83

Kloppenborg argues that since the ancient people, when hearing the destruction of a Temple, regarded it as the abandonment of the city by its deity, “the prediction of Mark 13:2, then, is not a statement about real estate or architecture, nor is it merely an expression of divine judgment, although it is that too.”84 The siege of the city of Jerusalem in the period of 66–69 CE. by the Roman soldiers led by Titus, he argues, serves as the sufficient clue that leads to the supposition of the upcoming destruction of the Temple: it might have been difficult for Mark to write after 70 CE, a prediction whose fulfillment seemed out of question. However, there is a major flaw in Kloppenborg’s argument for a pre-70 date for the Gospel when one notices that there is no record of the practice of evocatio by Titus at the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem.



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He also knows this problem and in an effort to solve it refers to Jewish War of Josephus, which he claims shows hints of the ritual practice of evocatio by Titus. Unfortunately, his effort seems to fail. Why would Josephus not refer explicitly to evocatio deorum practiced by Titus before destroying the Temple if that ritual had really happened? Besides, if that ritual practice, a great interest to the Romans, had actually taken place, why would Josephus who was supposed to show favoritism to Rome omit it? It, therefore, appears that Kloppenborg’s argument for the Gospel’s date before 70 CE fails to be convincing. 2. Post 70 C.E. As in the previous section, the following section first will list and critique the arguments for post-70 C.E. as the Gospel’s date by four notable scholars. 2.1. S. G. F. Brandon. Brandon begins his article, “The Date of Markan Gospel,” with the Sitz im Leben of the Markan community to determine the date of Mark’s creation. He claims that the task to figure it out significantly relies on the Gospel’s provenance. Based on the text itself of the Gospel, he is quite confident in believing that it “was written for a Greek-speaking Christian community which needed to have Aramaic words and Jewish customs explained to it.”85 With such conviction, Brandon asserts the place of its composition was Rome and claims that a new situation facing this community at Rome could have given birth to the Gospel. According to him, the new situation is found in the triumphal procession that happened in 71 C.E. in Rome to celebrate the new emperor Vespasian and his elder son Titus, that is, the new Flavian dynasty for the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. According to Brandon, Christians of Rome must have noticed this procession in which, symbolizing the destruction of both Israel and its religion, “the spoils of the Temple at Jerusalem, including the golden table of shewbread, the sevenbranched lampstand, the trumpets, and a copy of the Jewish Law.”86 Thus, it would never be difficult to imagine the degree of the shock that the Roman Christians might have experienced from this scene: “the Christian Urgemeinde” of Jerusalem, the exclusive source from which the Roman Christian community had derived their religious tradition and faith just ceased to exist.87 In addition to the eradication of the mother church of Jerusalem, the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple also served as another significant “incentive to a new form of literary activity”88 to “such an infant church as that of Rome at this time.”89 Brandon’s argument like the above, however, has one critical flaw of identifying Rome as the provenance of the Gospel on the wrong ground: even

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though he takes the Markan explanation of the meanings of the Aramaic words as the proof of the Roman provenance, these Aramaic words can also refer to other places like Syria90 and even Palestine.91 In this regard, the argument that starts from the wrong premise cannot be free from the doubt of its credibility no matter how persuasive it might look. Therefore, Brandon’s argument for post-70 C.E. as the Gospel’s date is not reliable. 2.2. Werner Kelber. Kelber in The Kingdom in Mark: A New Place and a New Time expresses the purpose of his study as follows: “It is the contention of this study that the Gospel came into existence sometime after A.D. 70 under the impact of the city’s devastation.”92 He approaches Mark 13:2 in light of the apocalypse. In other words, the apocalypse of Mark 13 heavily relies on Mark 13:2, and thus Mark fills the remaining part of the chapter after v. 2 with the responses to Jesus’ prophecy of the Temple’s destruction (v. 2). With this observation argues Kelber: It is reasonable to assume that Mark introduces the apocalypse in this way because the disaster of the Temple was in his experience a fait accompli. His concern is to provide an answer to the problems triggered off by the catastrophe, and he does this by initiating Jesus’ speech with a forecast of the very event upon which he and the Christians are already looking back.93

Kelber’s conviction of the date of the Gospel after 70 C.E., more specifically, after the destruction of the Jewish Temple, derives from his observation that Mark in chapter 13, the so-called apocalyptic one, has no choice but to refer to the unforgettable and shocking event, that is, the Temple’s destruction in the form of Jesus’ prediction; the following apocalyptic verses of Mark 13 are present in order to take account of the meaning of the historical event. Kelber’s argument seems to make sense as long as he can prove Mark’s no use of any literary work for the chapter 13. However, it seems that he cannot when one looks at the Logoi of Jesus which might have served as a literary source for Mark to write chapter 13. Here he seems to have much relied on the Logoi of Jesus except for vv. 3–8 which might have reflected the current situations at the time of the Gospel’s composition. According to MacDonald, Mark not only cited the Logoi 7:22 in Mark 14:58, but also redacted the same part of the Logoi or Mark 14:58 for 13:1–2.94 Furthermore, Mark redacted or cited the Logoi of Jesus for the most remaining verses of the chapter.95 Considering the influence of the Logoi of Jesus on Mark 13, it seems that Mark 13 was composed by Mark’s redactional hand,



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rather than was come up with by Mark himself as Kelber claims, in order to explain the Temple’s destruction to the Markan readers from the apocalyptic perspective. After all, other than the overlook of Mark’s use of the the Logoi of Jesus for the composition of chapter 13, Kelber seems right in assuming the Gospel’s date after the Temple’s destruction and in his observation on the necessity for Mark to address this historically significant incident for his readers. 2.3. Gerd Theissen. Theissen’s argument for post-70 C.E. derives from his insightful understanding of Jesus’ two prophecies on the Temple: Mark 13:2 and Mark 14:58. In the latter, Jesus talks about the restoration of the Temple after its destruction, but in the former, he does not. Such difference serves as the key point for Theissen to tell which one of the two prophecies came from the tradition while the other one was added to the Gospel after 70 C.E. He says: It seems to me that this kind of detachment from the Temple prophecy [Mark 14:58] would be hard to imagine in the years after 70 C.E. If Jesus was accused on that basis, his judges would have been proved wrong by the destruction of the Temple, and Jesus would have been vindicated by the fulfillment of his prophecy. After 70 there were good reasons to identify with the Temple prophecy. The detachment from Jesus’ saying about the Temple, apparent in Mk 14:55ff., thus points us to an earlier time. The author of Mark could include it, however, because for him Jesus’ words in Mk 13:2 were the “authentic prophecy.” There the destruction of the Temple is not attributed to Jesus, and nothing is said about a miraculous rebuilding. Mark 13:2 thus corresponds to the historical events of the year 70 C. E. Thus, for historical-critical exegesis, in contrast to the author of Mark, it is Mk 14:58 that is more likely to be the authentic version of Jesus’ saying, while Mk 13:2 represents its adaptation to the events that have unfolded in the meantime.96

Theissen’s claim above is based on the assumption that Jesus’ prophecy of Mark 13:1–2 on the Temple was Mark’s reaction to the real event of its destruction that actually happened in 70 CE. What Theissen is doing here through the comparison of Mark 13:2 with Mark 14:58 is to make such assumption more probable: Mark 13:1–2 set the clock of the Gospel’s creation after 70 CE. However, it is of doubt that Mark, as Theissen claims, thought Jesus’ prediction of Mark 13:2 on the Temple’s destruction as the authentic one, which led him to contain in the Gospel Jesus’ another prediction of Mark 14:58 on the Temple’s destruction and restoration. As noted already, the influence of the Logoi of Jesus on Mark 13:2 and 14:58 seems to justify such doubt.

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2.4. Brian Incigneri. Proposing both fulfillments of the Markan Jesus’ predictions (including especially ones of Mark 13) except those of his return, and the reader’s awareness of them, Incigneri argues that “it should be expected that the event described in 13:2 has already occurred.”97 He also claims that there is no reason for Mark to risk losing the credibility of the Gospel by including the prediction—unfulfilled yet at the time of the Gospel’s creation—no matter how he might have been confident about it.98 Even though Incigneri’s conclusion of post-70 C.E. as the Gospel’s date appears to be right, he makes a critical mistake in the process of reaching it: the mistake is his incomplete reading of Josephus’ Jewish War which refers not only to Titus’ command to raze the Temple to the ground, but also to the remaining structures of the Temple even after the command. However, Incigneri pays attention only to the former, overlooking whether intentionally or not the latter. This mistake then leads him to the false conviction that when Mark was writing the Gospel, the Temple had been already destroyed as is described in Mark 13:2. Such a mistake embedded in Incigneri’s argument seems to serve as the lethal factor that weakens the credibility of his conclusion given as the result of the argument.

B. Conclusion Simply speaking, based on all the arguments above of the Gospel’s date, it seems better to assert that Jesus’ prediction of Mark 13:2 reflects the real event of the Temple’s destruction, which serves as the evidence of post-70 C.E. of the Gospel’s date. Furthermore, this evidence is well compatible with Mark’s use of the Logoi of Jesus in the manner of citation (Mark 14:58) and redaction (Mark 13:2). Therefore, concerning the first Markan readers (or the Markan community), one can at least conclude that they must have been familiar with the Temple’s destruction as the historical event.

III. The Provenance Identifying the place where the Markan community existed would be the same task of figuring out the birthplace of the Markan Gospel. However, it is obviously difficult to determine the location where the Markan Gospel might have been born and this difficulty is well reflected on the statements of Hooker99 and Dieter Lührmann,100 which are cited by Francis J. Moloney: Hooker—“‘All we can say with certainty, therefore, is that the Gospel was composed somewhere



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in the Roman Empire—a conclusion that scarcely narrows the field at all!’” 101 Lührmann—“Mark and his reader may have lived anywhere in a region close to or distant from Palestine, perhaps in Syria. However, this cannot be proved. It may have been anywhere from the Mediterranean as far into the East as the Iran and Iraq of today.”102 In spite of such difficulty in locating the Markan Gospel’s composition, this chapter will aim to demonstrate that narrowing down the scope of the provenance of the Gospel from the entire Empire to a “location, region, or city”103 is possible. There are three major candidates that have been advocated by scholars as the provenance of the Gospel of Mark: Rome, Syria, and Galilee104 The following sections will investigate these three places to investigate which one would be the best candidate for the Gospel’s and thus its community’s provenance.

A. Rome This section does not address external evidence (outside the Markan Gospel) because of its clear lack of reliability but does internal evidence (inside the Markan text itself) of Rome as the Gospel’s provenance.105 1. Evidence 1: Latinism It is true that the Gospel of Mark includes “most Latinisms of all the Gospels.”106 Among with many words with Latin influence,107 there are specially two Latin terms in the Gospel, which have been primarily referred to for the main arguments for Rome as the supposed place where it was written: χοδράντης (12:42) and πραιτώριον (15:16) which are claimed to be present to explain the meanings of their Greek counterparts, that is, λεπτὰ (12:42) and αὐλῆς (15:16) respectively.108 In addition, Hengel, in Studies in the Gospel of Mark, pays attention to another Latinism: Συροφοινίκισσα. First, according to Hengel, Συροφοινίκισσα τῷ γένει of 7:26 is being used to designate the nationality of the Greek woman specifically. In Hengel’s view, it would have been just fine to write the term Φοινίκισσα instead of Συροφοινίκισσα if the Markan community had lived in a place where people were not sensitive to the distinction of Greeks according to their native places. In other words, based on Mark’s such distinction of the Greek woman as Συροφοινίκισσα, the provenance of the Gospel best fits in with the situation of Rome: the citizens of Rome told Λιβυφοίνιξ (the Greek people living in Carthage) from Συροφοίνιξ (the ones living in Syria).

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Hence, this observation leads Hengel to conclude that this distinction would be senseless when the Gospel’s origin is said to be Syria.109 1.1. Insufficiency of evidence 1. The appearance of the two Latin terms, that is, χοδράντης and πραιτώριον, in the Gospel of Mark seems insufficient as the clues to lead to a conclusion that the Gospel was written in Rome. Even Incigneri, who holds the Roman provenance, refuses to take these words as evidence of Rome as the Gospel’s origin since they “are all military or economic terms, and are more likely to have been employed in an area under Roman occupation.”110 Furthermore, concerning many cases of Mark’s use of Latin-related words in the Gospel, Adela Yarbro Collins argues that they should not be regarded as the evidence of the Gospel’s Roman provenance for the following two reasons: First of all, many of the expressions taken over directly from Latin occur in Matthew,111 Luke, or John, often independently of Mark. Were those Gospels also written in Rome? Second, “Many of these loanwords are shown general usage by their frequent appearance elsewhere in every type of Hellenistic literature.”112

Therefore, the assertion of Rome as the Markan Gospel’s provenance seems hard to be supported by the presence of the Latin words in it. Meanwhile, Marcus approaches the two Markan phrases: λεπτὰ δύο, ὅ ἐστιν κοδράντης (12:42) and ἒσω τῆς αὐλῆς, ὅ ἐστιν πραιτώριον (15:16) from an unusual perspective. That is, instead of thinking that these two Greek words λεπτὰ and αὐλῆς are meant to be understood with the descriptive Latin words κοδράντης and πραιτώριον for the Latin speaking reader (in Rome), Marcus, argues in the opposite way as follows: K. Butcher, while acknowledging that the Roman denomination quadrans did not circulate in the eastern part of the empire, adds that the use of the word quadrans in an ancient text may simply refer to a local denomination such as the Greek χαλχοῦς and that Greek and Roman monetary terms were probably interchangeable, even though the currencies were not. Mark’s translation of two λεπτά as one quadrans, Butcher concludes, does not necessarily point to Roman usage. “All it implies is that the term λεπτόν might have been unspecific or unfamiliar to the writer or his audience.” This is especially likely because λεπτόν does not seem to have been an official denomination but a general term for the lightweight bronze coinage of little value, much like the Elizabethan word “mite” used in the KJV of this passage. It seems likely, then, that the note in Mark 12:42 about the λεπτόν and the χοδράντης should be interpreted not as the conversion of an eastern term into its westernequivalent but as the clarification of an imprecise term by a precise one. Similarly, Mark’s



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comment in 15:16, ἒσω τῆς αὐλῆς, ὅ ἐστιν πραιτώριον (“inside the palace, that is, the praetorium”), is probably a specification rather than a definition. Mark’s readers would certainly have known what an αὐλη was. This was a common Greek word for a courtyard; by extension, the term came denote the “court” of a prince and hence his palace. Mark’s clause “which is the praetorium,” hence, is not a definition of an unknown word but a clarification that here the ambiguous term αὐλή means “palace,” more specifically the prefect’s palace. This sort of specification would probably be even more necessary for an audience in Syro-Palestine than it would be for audiences elsewhere, since residents of Syro-Palestine might have known that there were several palaces in Jerusalem and might have needed the specification of precisely which palace was meant.113 In other words, in those two phrases in issue, Mark attempted to help his readers clearly understand the meanings of the two unfamiliar Greek words through the employment of their corresponding Latin words which were more familiar or acknowledged throughout the Greco-Roman world of the first-century C.E.114

Besides, the argument for Συροφοινίκισσα as the evidence of the Roman provenance of the Gospel appears to be compromised by Theissen and Marcus. Theissen’s counterargument115 is well summarized by John R. Donahue as follows: From his [Theissen’s] independent examination of its use in Diodorus of Sicily (20,55,4), in the Satires of Lucilius, and in the Natural History of Pliny (esp. 7,192–201), he makes two claims: first, that “Syrophoenix” was originally used by Romans in a pejorative, not geographical sense, and secondly, that the shift from “Phoenices” to “Syrophoenices” is not conditioned by a desire to distinguish the West and East, but as a designation for the southern part of Syrophoenicia. The term is thus evidence for a provenance of Mark in or near Syria. Given the relative paucity of source material on this term and the difficulty of dating linguistic usage simply on the basis of literary remains, “Syrophoenix” may be of dubious help in determining the setting of Mark.116

While agreeing with Theissen’s argument, Marcus adds a complementary account to the interpretation of the concerning term: [T]he designation of the woman in 7:26 as a “Syrophoenician” may not be meant to specify that she is a particular kind of Phoenician but that she is a particular kind of Syrian, one who either has married a Phoenician or is from the Phoenician part of the province of Syria. (The Province consisted of two main sections, the Phoenician portion, i.e. the Palestinian coast, and Coele-Syria, which corresponded roughly to modern Syria.) In either case, the subtlety of the distinction would make more sense in a Syrian context than elsewhere, including Rome.117

Not only do Theissen and Marcus as seen above provide a good case of doubting the assertion for the Roman provenance based on Συροφοινίκισσα,

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but they also persuasively suggest Syria or its near area as a likely origin of the Markan Gospel. 2. Evidence 2: Topographical errors One of the internal evidences of the Markan text that are most frequently claimed to be in favor of the Gospel’s provenance is Mark’s incorrect descriptions of the Palestinian geography found in two places: (1) “They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Gerasenes” (5:1 NRSV). (2) “Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went through Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis” (7:31 NRSV). Concerning the geographical imprecision of Mark 5:1 on the Transjordanian area, Marcus, even though he does not agree on the Gospel’s Roman origin, admits the difficulty implied in this verse:  Gerasa, on the site of modern Jerash in Jordan, was one of the Decapolis cities, … and it was situated thirty-seven miles southeast of the Sea of Galilee. This is a difficult setting for our story, in which the pigs run over the cliff and fall into the sea.118

Next, Mark 7:31 also becomes problematic when it comes to the Evangelist’s geographical knowledge. Thus, argues as follows: “The route taken by Jesus in 7:31 is ridiculously roundabout. As one commentator notes (Achtemeier 1978, 27), it is like traveling from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C., by way of New York City and central Pennsylvania.”119 After all, it is of no wonder why Mark 5:1 and 7:31 have been much appealing to the advocates of Rome as the Gospel’s provenance. These two verses disclose such geographical errors straightforward and clear. 2.1. Insufficiency of Evidence 2. It has been the burden of the opponents of Rome as the Markan Gospel’s origin to prove these geographical mistakes do not have to signal Rome. This burden must be a hard one to carry since the evidence of Mark 5:1 and 7:31 against the Gospel’s Palestinian provenance seems very convincing. Even though it is admittedly a difficult burden, it does not mean that it is impossible as there are scholarly hard works to invalidate Mark 5:1 and 7:31 as the proof of the Roman origin. However, a special caution is required since there exist the two different ways of addressing this burden: the one is to simply admit that those errors



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are not impossible at all considering the poor quality of the geography-related technology like mapping, and the other is to figure out the authorial intention hidden in those seemingly absurd, but intended mistakes. Therefore, prior to proving that those topographical oddities do not attribute to the Roman provenance of the Gospel, one needs to decide on which way between the two might be better for their solution. The way to look at first is the exertions made by Theissen (concerning 5:1)120 and R. Steven Notley (concerning 7:31)121 both of whom remarkably try to persuade one into believing that those errors do happen not because of Mark’s ignorance, but because of his carefully planned intention; Theissen’s argument precedes first, followed by Notley’s. Theissen, while trying to get rid of absurdity out of the travel route that Jesus and his entourage take in Mark 5:1, views this relevant verse not as a single, separate one from its context, but along with its following verses which altogether make one pericope: the Gerasene demoniac (5:1–20). Although admitting the absurdity that Jesus’ itinerary of Mark 5:1, Theissen argues that the pericope of Mark 5:1–20 describes the right tensions between the Decapolis and its Jewish vicinities; these tensions between Jewish people and the Hellenistic people of the Decapolis, he claims, are rooted in the historical fact. In other words, the Decapolis was once under Jewish rule, but Pompey liberated them from the Jews in 63 B.C.E. That is how tensions arose between the people of the ten Hellenistic cities and Jewish people: the former trying to keep their own right to govern their cities, but the latter desiring to restore their lost autonomy. According to Theissen, this Markan pericope could be understood in light of these tensions: The Gentile man possessed by the unclean spirits called a “legion” stands for such tensions, since the unclean spirits enter the swine, which Jews regarded as disgusting. “A herd of swine was unimaginable except in a gentile region.”122 Furthermore, the word “legion” specifically refers to the tenth legion of Fretensis of the Roman army which used the image of a boar for their standards and seals, had stationed in Syria since 6 C.E., and later partook in the Jewish war; what the demon, that is “legion,” wants is to stay in that region and this is exactly what the Roman army wanted for the control of that region. However, unlike the demon legion’s wish, Jesus allows it to enter a herd of swine nearby and be drowned in the sea, which politically symbolizes Mark’s aspiration to “chase a whole legion [of the Roman army, especially the tenth legion] into the sea.”123 Given these arguments, Theissen concludes that [w]herever the tenth legion was known, the story of the exorcism at the lake must have awakened associations with the Roman occupation, and in the Syro-Palestinian

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story region it would have had more overtones and undertones than anywhere else. That is the place where it probably was told.124

Theissen’s argument on the association of the legion, the demon’s name, with the tenth legion of the Roman force is a brilliant observation through which he tries to solve the geographical mistake of Mark 5:1: the itinerary of Mark 5:1 should be read in a way that symbolizes the tension between the Decapolis and its adjacent Jewish areas. Concerning another topographical error of Mark 7:31.125 Notley tries to provide an explanation for the irrationality of the itinerary. He claims that the expression “θάλασσα τῆς Γαλιλαίας” is the Christian toponym as found in the Gospels of Mark, ‫ יָם‬Matthew, and John;126 this toponym derives from Isa 8:23 of LXX that translates ‫ יָם‬and ‫ ָג ּלִיל‬of Isa 8:23 of the Hebrew Bible into “sea” and “Galilee” respectively.127 However, Notely argues that this toponym is the innovative product resulting from the mistranslation of ‫ גליל‬in Isa 8:23 into “Galilee” not “region”: The name ‫ גליל הגוים‬designates the same area as Harosheth Haggoyim (‫ )חרשת הגוים‬in Judges 4, “from Harosheth Haggoyim to the Kishon River” (4:13; cf. 4:2, 16). In other words, Gelil Haggoyim refers to the arable lands (likely in the possession of nonIsraelites) in the southern portions of the Jezreel Valley. The tripartite topographical combination by Isa, “Way to the Sea,” “Gelil Haggoyim,” and “Beyond the Jordan,” was intended by the prophet to define the frontiers of Israelite settlement in the north that stood in imminent danger of before the Assyrian threat. Thus understood, the lands in ‫ עבר הירדן‬marked the eastern frontier in the Transjordan, and ‫גליל הגוים‬, the southern boundaries of these northern settlements. Along the same lines, Rainey suggests that Isa intended ‫ הים דרך‬not to identify with the international route from Egypt to Damascus but to mark the northern boundary of Israelite settlement with the trunk route from Tyre to the area near the biblical city of Dan. Isa’s intentions notwithstanding, the LXX’s translation of ‫ גליל‬with Γαλιλαία in Isa 8:23 signals that by the Greco-Roman period the Jewish community understood Isiah to mean Galilee. It is this postbiblical interpretation that provided a necessary component for the primitive Christian community’s toponymic innovation. They collapsed the three widely divergent geographical points of reference in Isa 8:23 to a single topos—the region around Capernaum that served as the area for Jesus’ ministry. So compelling was the ingenuity of this early Christian midrash that the original sense of Isa’s ‫ דרך הים‬was eclipsed. For subsequent generations of readers, it was mistakenly assumed that Isa’s “Way to the Sea” traversed the region of Galilee near Capernaum.128

Thus, the geographical strangeness of Mark 7:31 signals, not only the author’s exposure to the toponym of “Sea of Galilee,” but also his uncanny recognition of the three geographical names, the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, and Galilee of the nations, of the Septuagintal Isa 8:23:



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[A]ccording to Mark, Jesus returned from Phoenicia on Isa’s way to sea—the trunk road from Tyre to the region of Caesarea Philippi—and then continued on the Transjordanian heights of the Hauran, which Mark identified with the region of the Decapolis. Jesus’ circuitous journey concluded on the shores of the Sea of Galilee.129

Given Notley’s argument, it appears to make sense to say that the so-called “Mark’s topographical error” of Mark 7:31 is an intentional one by the author who focuses on the fulfillment of the prophecy of Isa 8:23 (LXX) through Jesus. After all, both Theissen’s symbolic reading of Mark 5:1 and Notley’s reading of Mark 7:31 in view of Jesus’ fulfillment of Isa 8:23 seem to provide insightful reasons for the absurdity of Jesus’ itineraries. Therefore, these two readings would well serve to disprove that the geographical errors of the Markan Gospel point to its Roman provenance in which such misconceptions about the Palestinian geography is imaginable. In the meantime, there remains another way to consider which prevents the Markan mistakes in the description of the Palestinian geography from being used in favor of the Roman origin: this kind of geographical imprecision was common at the time of Mark.130 This statement, however, is in direct opposition to the readings according to Theissen and Notley who claim that those errors were intended even though Mark was aware of the real locations of the places. Thus, the decision needs to be made about which of the two is a more plausible answer for the questionable mistakes. And this decisionmaking does not have to be difficult at all. Considering the Evangelist “who is educated enough to produce a Gospel such as Mark”131 reflecting the creative and sophisticated use of the literary works, Mark’s geographical ignorance seems more unlikely than his intended mistakes in locating places, which secretly convey significant meanings.132 In summary, Mark appears to willingly take the risk of being blamed for the erroneous description of the Palestinian geography to emphasize his theological point of view. In this regard, the arguments of Theissen and Notley effectively serve to stop exclusively using Mark 5:1 and 7:31 as the ground for the Roman provenance of the Gospel. 3. Evidence 3: Jewish customs and Aramaic words It is true that the Markan Gospel contains explanations of Jewish customs (7:3–4; 11:13; 12:42) and translations of Aramaic words133 such as βοανηργές (3:17), ταλιθα κουμ (5:41), κορβᾶν (7:11), εφφαθα (7:34), αββα (14:36),134 and Γολγοθᾶν (15:22), ελωι ελωι λεμα σαβαχθανι (15:34).135 Those who pick up these explanations and translations as the evidence of the Gospel’s Roman provenance commonly argue that such explanations of

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Jewish customs and translations of Aramaic words reflect the Markan readership as Greek-speaking Gentile Christians in Rome who were unfamiliar with “the Scriptures and history of Israel and value both.”136 3.1. Insufficiency of evidence 3. Among the Markan examples of explanations on Jewish customs, Mark 7:3–4 needs to be addressed first since it is criticized for being inaccurate in expounding upon one of the Jewish customs, that is, about washing one’s hand. In his article, Kurt Niederwimmer argues that the explanation of Mark 7:3–4 is wrong since hand washing was the Jewish custom applicable not to all, but to some groups of Jews.137 Concerning the accusation of Mark’s misunderstanding or ignorance of Jewish customs, Marcus proposes, in Mark 1–8, the following counterargument: On “the Pharisees, and all the Jews” in 7:3, the phrase places the primary emphasis on the Pharisees. Although the “all” is something of an exaggeration, it is the sort of hyperbole that ancient Jews themselves made; there is a close parallel in a Jewish document, Epistle of Aristeas. Nor is the exaggeration entirely unjustified; Deines (Steingefässe) has recently argued from archaeological evidence that Pharisaic purity rules were widely observed by first-century Palestinian Jews.138

As such, there seems no reason to accuse Mark 7:3–4 of the Evangelist’s ignorance to Jewish traditions, which serves to refute the possibility of the Gospel’s Palestinian origin. Next, Roskam argues against the claim that the rest of the Jewish customs and the translated Aramaic words indicate the Roman provenance. He also contends that there is the reason for Mark’s explanation of Jewish customs despite the Gospel’s Palestinian provenance, along with the necessity to translate Aramaic words: The fact that the author translates Hebrew and Aramaic phrases and explains Jewish customs indicates merely that he reckoned with the possibility that his readers included non-Jewish Christians, as well as people who did not know Hebrew or Aramaic. In a Christian community in Galilee, this possibility was certainly not imaginary. It must be remembered that in first-century Galilee Greek was the lingua franca among both Jews and non-Jews. … In Galilee Greek was pervasive especially in the area of the Galilean Sea, and in Hellenized cities like Tiberias and Sepphoris. But Greek ostraca and inscriptions found in geographically isolated village areas in Upper Galilee indicate that people had at least some knowledge of Greek even there. … The dominance of Greek compared to Hebrew and Aramaic accounts sufficiently for the Greek translations of Hebrew and Aramaic phrases in Mark’s Gospel. … The fact that Mark translates Hebrew and Aramaic phrases in the Gospel is not a valid argument, therefore, against locating the Markan community in Galilee. The explanations Mark gives of some Jewish traditions are also not a valid objection to locating



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Mark and his audience in Galilee. The population of Galilee in the first century AD was certainly not exclusively Jewish. First-Century Galilee is now generally believed to have had a mixed population of Jews and non-Jews. In any case, first-century Christian communities in Galilee certainly included non-Jewish members. Some of these Gentile Christians may not have had any great knowledge of Jewish religious traditions. It is very possible that the presence of such less informed Gentile Christians among his addresses induced Mark to clarify certain Jewish traditions in his Gospel.139

Thus, the suggested parts of the Gospel of Mark about Jewish customs and Aramaic terms cannot be simply employed as the final lead to Rome as the Gospel’s composition place. Rather, the arguments of Marcus and Roskam above demonstrate that the relevant Markan verses are no obstacles in locating the Gospel’s creation in not Rome, but Palestine. 4. Evidence 4: Persecution of Mark 13:9–13 Some scholars argue that the reference to the persecution of Mark 13:9–13 indicates the Roman provenance of the Gospel:140 While no such persecution as described in these verses happened in Palestine before or at the time of the Gospel’s creation, this persecution in the form of prediction by Jesus reminds the modern readers of the one that the Christians in Rome already suffered under Nero in 64 C.E. (Tacitus, Annals 15.44.).141 As an example of such arguments, Schalk W. Cronjé concisely summarizes how Hengel identifies this Markan tribulation with “severe affliction in Rome after the persecution of Nero”:142 Hengel for his part, has spared no point to argue a case for a Post-Nero pre-70 Roman setting (CE 68–69), following the massive persecution of the Christians under Nero, the shock it caused that community after his suicide and the almost instant origin of legends about his return during one of the most chaotic years in the history of the Empire that claimed the lives of three of its emperors (Galba, Otho and Vitellius), who met their death either by suicide or by assassination.143

4.1. Insufficiency of evidence 4. An objection to the argument that Nero’s persecution is the background of Mark 13:9–13 is proposed by Thomas R. W. Longstaff.144 Quoting Bo Reicke,145 Longstaff argues as follows: Bo Reicke has noted, however, that “although the Neronian persecution inflicted heavy losses upon the Christian community in Rome, it remained to this particular city and time.” Since the references to persecution under consideration here are found in all three Gospels and since … the persecution is presented in Mark as

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story characteristic of the period in which the Gospel is preached to all the nations, it seems unlikely that the relatively short-lived and localized persecution under Nero forms the background for these verses.146

Longstaff appears to be right about the irrelevance of Nero’s persecution to Mark 13:9–13 since the rather temporary and spatially confined persecution of Christians in Rome by Nero147 might not have been a good cause enough for the envisage of the worldwide phenomenon such as the Gospel’s proclamation to all nations of Mark 13:10. Marcus also persuasively contends that Tacitus’ description of the persecution under Nero in Annals 15.44 cannot be the background of Mark 13:9– 13, which leads to the Roman provenance of the Gospel: Indeed, it may even be questioned how Mark 13 well fits the circumstances of the Roman persecution described by Tacitus. If this chapter reflected those events, in which Nero was such a dominating presence, would we not expect a Nero-like figure to be prominently featured in the Markan “prophecies”? Tacitus makes it clear that the persecution of 64 C.E. was instigated by Nero himself and that he played a central role in it, even using his private gardens for the slaughter of Christians. This information intrinsically credible, since Nero would have had a plausible motive (scapegoating the Christians for a crime of which he himself was suspected) and since Tacitus himself had no love for the Christians and thus would probably not have invented the charge merely to slander Nero. But Mark 13 does not concentrate disproportionately on the wickedness of a Nero-like pagan king; there is only an incidental reference to hearings before rulers in 13:9, not the sort of preoccupation with regal wickedness that we see, for example, in the descriptions of the “beasts” in Daniel 7 and Revelation 13. … If Mark 13 came out of the Neronian persecution, would we not expect it to focus more, as Daniel and Revelation do, on a bestial, antiGod figure?148

In the end, what Longstaff and Marcus argue finally results in the demonstration of Rome as an inappropriate place for the Markan Gospel’s origin. It should be noted that their arguments especially become more convincing with the help of the fact that Rome was not the only place where persecutions of Christians happened.149 Suggesting Galilee as one of those places of such persecution as in Mark 13:9, Roskam argues that the Markan community in Galilee was actually under persecution from secular authorities like governors and kings.150 Thus, he claims as follows: When Mark wrote his Gospel, the region of Galilee was divided into two parts. The eastern part of Galilee, that is, the whole western coast of the Sea of Galilee including Tiberias and Tarichaeae with their surrounding districts, belonged to the realm



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of King Agrippa II. It had been added to Agrippa’s kingdom by Emperor Nero in 61 AD, and thus came under the same rule as the areas east of the Galilean Sea, inter alia Batanaea, Trachonitis, and Gaulanitis. Eastern Galilee remained part of Agrippa’s kingdom until his death in 92 or 93 AD. The western part of Galilee, i.e. Upper Galilee, however, was administered by Roman governors. Until the end of the Jewish Revolt, western Galilee together with Judea was administered by a Roman governor (procurator) of equestrian rank who was subordinate to the Roman legate of Syria. After the end of the war, western Galilee became part of the new Roman province of Judea. This new province was administered by a Roman legate (legatus), who was also the general of the Tenth Legion. … In brief, when Mark wrote his Gospel, the eastern part of Galilee was administered by a king (βασιλεύς), the western part by the Roman legate (ἡγεμών) of Judea. Mark’s designation of the civil authorities in Mk 13:9 as “governors and kings” (ἡεγεμόνες καί βασιλεῖς) correspond perfectly with the actual administrative situation in Galilee. Mark’s depiction of the Christians being tried by “governors and kings,” then, fits a readership based in Galilee.151

Therefore, the claim of the Markan Gospel’s Roman origin, which relies on the attempt to associate the Neronian persecution with Mark 13:9–13 appears unconvincing when considering its counterarguments shown above. 5. Conclusion As noted above, even though evidence such as Latinism, explained Jewish customs and Aramaic words, and the persecution of Christians have been favored by the scholars to support the Roman origin of the Markan Gospel, they are also applicable to the arguments that suggest other places like Galilee or Syria as the Gospel’s provenance. In other words, such evidence should not be exclusively used in support of the Roman provenance of the Markan Gospel. However, it seems still too difficult to determine which place might be the best among those three candidates based solely on these evidences and that is why the arguments for the Galilean or Syrian provenance in the following chapters (or sections) become more significant.

B. Syria Since it has been argued that Rome seems not to be the only setting of the composition of the Gospel of Mark, Syria and Galilee deserve to get attention as the two most contended alternatives for its possible provenance.152 Thus, it is likely that the place which is argued with more convincing evidence will be where Mark created the Gospel. The current chapter will deal with

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the arguments for Syria and the next one the arguments for Galilee. Meanwhile, since it is Howard Clark Kee who, in Community of the New Age, most comprehensively argues for Syria as the Gospel’s provenance,153 this chapter focuses on the evidence that he uses to make his case. 1. Evidence 1: Palestinian-Syrian village lifestyle The Markan Gospel contains details about Palestinian-Syrian village life such as “agriculture, housing, employment, and land-ownership and taxation.”154 1.1. Agriculture. The agricultural feature applicable to both Galilee and Syria, not to Rome, is reflected in the parable of the sower of Mark 4:3–8 and for this argument, Kee entirely depends on Joachim Jeremias. However, since Kee mentions only the title of his work, it seems required here to look at how Jeremias argues about this agricultural matter. Jeremias, in The Parables of Jesus, pays attention to the description of the sower of the Markan parable who just wastes a lot of the seed and offers the reason for such wastefulness: the farmers in Palestine at that time first sowed seeds and then plowed soils.155 With this solution, he helps to comprehend the parable as follows: Hence, in the parable the sower is depicted as striding over the unploughed stubble, and this enables us to understand why he sows “on the path”: he sows intentionally on the path which the villagers have trodden over the stubble, since he intends to plough the seed in when he ploughs up the path. He sows intentionally among the thorns standing withered in the fallow because they, too, will be ploughed up. Nor need it surprise us that some grains should fall upon the rocky ground; the underlying limestone, thinly covered with soil, barely shows above the surface until the ploughshare jars against it. What appears to the western mind as bad farming is simply customary usage under Palestinian conditions.156

There seems to remain another problem with this parable, namely, the size of the field. The parable gives the impression of a field size small enough for the sower to scatter the seed on its fringe like the path. Is this kind of small-sized field also one of the characteristics of the Palestinian agriculture? Luise Schottroff answers this question as follows: There are also archaeological findings of such miniature fields in first-century Palestine. The thorns at the edge or as islands in the field (there is evidence of both) and the sowing of patches with a rocky base also point to the shortage of plowland. The parable thus documents not an uneconomical method of planting, but the critical economic situation of the people in Palestine at this time, who had to cultivate the tiniest bits of ground, even when they contained rocky areas.157



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Thus, this parable might have been written for the Markan reader in Palestine who probably understood its meaning easily, rather than for the one outside Palestine like Rome hardly possessing the knowledge of both the Palestinian unique order of sowing and plowing, and the Palestinian field of tiny size which was in a coarse condition to till. 1.2. Housing. Mark 2:4158 describes the typical Palestinian housing of the first century C.E., whose roofs people could perforate without much difficulty. According to Ehrman, this form of housing especially belonged to the low class of the society: “The housing [of Palestine] was primitive: hovels and peasant homes built over small caves, made of hewn field stones piled on one another, insulated with mud, clay, and dung mixed with straw, with roughly thatched roofs and dirt floors.”159 Besides, the parable of Mark 4:21160 makes more sense when considered in view of a Palestinian house usually with only one room. Therefore, it seems that the form of housing of Mark 2:4 hints at Palestine as the place where the Markan episode happens, and Mark has in mind the reader in Palestine who can understand both the easy removal of a house roof and a housing structure that a single lamp entirely lights up.161 1.3. Land-Ownership. Kee takes the relationship between the tenants and the landlord of the vineyard parable of Mark 12:1–10 as the evidence of the Gospel’s Palestinian setting. Again, he bases his argument on Jeremias162 who explains the Palestinian background of the parable as follows: It is necessary to realize that not only the whole of the upper Jordan valley, and probably the north and north-west shores of the Lake of Gennesaret as well, but also a large part of the Galilean uplands, at that time bore the character of latifundia, and were in the hands of foreign landlords. In order to understand the parable it is essential to realize that the landlord is evidently living abroad (Mark 12.1: καὶ ἀπεδήμησεν) perhaps, indeed, regarded as a foreigner. The tenants can take such liberties with the messengers only if their master is living abroad. If that is the case, he must, after his messengers have been driven out with insults, look out for a messenger whom the rebels will respect. If he is living in a distant foreign country we have, then, the simplest explanation of the otherwise incredibly foolish assumption of the tenants that, after the removal of the sole heir, they will be able to take unhindered possession of the property (Mark 12.7); they evidently have in mind the law that under specified circumstances an inheritance may be regarded as ownerless property, which may be claimed by any one, with the proviso that the prior right belongs to the claimant who comes first. The arrival of the son allows them to assume that the owner is dead and that the son has come to take up his inheritance. If they kill him, the vineyard becomes ownerless property which they can claim as being first on the spot.163

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According to Jeremias, the vineyard parable reflects the particular reality of the first century Palestine, the reality of latifundia that the Palestinian author/reader could have well known:164 The parable is “set in the concrete life of Palestinian agricultural production.”165 Thus, one might say that Mark 12:1–10 serves as the clue to the Palestinian provenance of the Markan Gospel. 2. Evidence 2: Mark 7:31 Kee claims that the awkward itinerary of Mark 7:31 makes sense only under the consideration of the Syrian provenance: Since it [the problematic travel route of Mark 7:31] appears in an editorial introduction to a miracle periscope, and since it corresponds to another editorial passage (3.7f.) in which Mark is apparently seeking to show the sweep of Jewish and Gentile territory from which persons responded to Jesus with faith, 7.31 should be considered as filling the same role for Mark. But that implies that the writer does not know Galilean topography accurately, even though he is acquainted with place names.166

3. Evidence 3: Semitic expression Graecized According to Kee, εἰ δοθήσεται τῇ γενεᾷ ταύτῃ σημεῖον of Mark 8:12 is the “Semitic form of the refusal”167 which is Graecized by Mark for his readers in Syria, “where Greek was the common language, but where a substratum of Aramaic seems to have survived.”168 After these arguments based on the the evidence above, Kee concludes that the Gospel of Mark was written in southern Syria. 4. Critique of evidence of Syria Even though the evidence that Kee suggests above for southern Syria as the provenance of the Markan Gospel seems to be fair except for evidence 2. As noted earlier in this study, the topographical mistake of Mark 7:31 had better be attributed to the author’s theological intention to fulfill the prophecy of Isaiah through Jesus, not to his ignorance of Palestinian geography. Thus, evidence 2 is disqualified from being the convincing one in designating Syria as the Markan Gospel’s composition place. However, there seems to be the need to be hesitant about saying with confidence that the other two pieces of evidence clearly point out Syria as the Gospel’s provenance since both of them are also applicable to Galilee. Since Kee, of course, is aware of that they cannot exclude Galilee as the Gospel’s setting169 he argues as follows so as to make Syria the only proper place:



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[T]he way in which Mark refers to Galilee and the surrounding cities and territories tells decisively against the Gospel’s having been written in Galilee proper. The place names are known and their general relative positions are understood, as for example that the Decapolis lies east of the Jordan and the Sea of Galilee. But the specific details of the locations are not accurately perceived by the author, who represents Jesus as traveling back and forth in Galilee and adjacent territories in a puzzling fashion.170

This way of argument causes Kee to falsely come up with evidence 2 and indiscreetly eliminate Galilee from the list of the Markan Gospel’s possible creation places. Again, Mark’s mistakes in locating Palestinian areas do not suffice to choose Syria over Galilee, since such errors are more likely to be intentional than to result from the ignorance due to his residence out of Galilee. Despite such weakness, the attribution of Kee’s arguments is to enhance the unlikeliness of the Roman setting of the Markan Gospel. Furthermore, except his argument of Mark’s geographical ignorance of Palestine, Kee can maintain the validity of his arguments by admitting Galilee as well as Syria as the Gospel’s origin. In addition, but unlike Kee, Marcus appears to well prove Syria as a more proper place than Galilee: (1) the reference of “Syrophoenician” to the woman in 7:26 might be employed to “distinguish her home from the Coele-Syrian part of the province”; (2) Jesus’ order in 13:14–15 to flee to the hills reflects what Markan community experienced in the past, which is historically supported by Eusebius (Church History 3.5.3) and Epiphanius (Panarion 29.7.7–8; 30.2.7); and (3) Mark’s emphasis on the motif of persecution in his Gospel signals the Syrian provenance “since the war in Palestine spilled over into Syria, and there were frequent massacres there of Jews by Gentiles and vice versa.”171 With Marcus’ arguments considered together with Kee’s, the decision needs to be postponed until the investigation of Galilee is done in the next chapter, and the key element to the decision will hinge upon the result of the competition for the better credibility between the Syria-limited evidence and the Galilee-limited evidence.

C. Galilee The foundational and common argument for the Galilean setting for the Markan Gospel is based on Mark’s favorable description of Galilee against Jerusalem.172 However, such argument has a critical defect of assuming only

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the two possible places for the Gospel’s composition: Galilee and Jerusalem.173 Therefore, Mark’s preference for the former over the latter does not simply suffice for the argument on the Gospel’s origin. Then, because of this glaring flaw, the evidence of Galilee based on the Galilee “versus” Jerusalem structure of the Markan Gospel is ruled out here. Rather, the evidence suggested in the following is mainly indebted to Roskam whose work The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context appears to provide most, noteworthy arguments for Galilee. 1. Evidence 1: Interests in Galilee According to Roskam, there are special interests in Galilee in the stories of Mark 1–10 and 14–16. In the center of this evidence, there are three Galilean women, at least one of them (called Mary, the mother of James the younger and Joses of Mark 15:40) is specifically known to the Markan community, whom the author in Mark 15 introduces as witnesses of the empty tomb for its credibility; “Mark’s choice of witnesses from Galilee is, …, best explained by supposing that the Evangelist lived there.”174 1.1. Critique of evidence 1. Roskam’s observation that the Gospel was written in Galilee because of the appearance of the three women in the Gospel, who were from Galilee and thus were recognizable to the Markan reader in Galilee, appears convincing at first glance. However, the Gospel of Matthew, whose written place is widely acknowledged as Syria175 shows the names of women (though not the same as the Markan ones) from Galilee in 27:55–6. Thus, the women from Galilee in Mark cannot be the decisive evidence of the Galilean provenance. 2. Evidence 2: Exact geographical description of Galilean vicinities Roskam also argues that the description of the itinerary of Jesus’ travel in Mark 1:16–4:1 between the area of Capernaum and the Sea of Galilee is correct. Concerning this evidence of the accurate geographical knowledge of Galilee, Roskam supposes that Mark who was in Galilee at the Gospel’s composition and therefore had no geographical errors about it176 could make mistakes in locating other Palestinian places. To validate such supposition that Mark is impeccable in locating Galilee, she has no choice but to deal with Jesus’ weird travel route in Mark 7:24–31 which has been used by scholars as the evidence of the Evangelist’s ignorance of Galilee’s location and the following is how she addresses this issue:



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But far from being an indication that Mark did not know the situation in Galilee, Mk 7:31 shows rather that he was not aware of the location of Sidon. In Mk 7:31 the Evangelist has Jesus go “from the region of Tyre, ... by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, to the middle of the Decapolis.” For someone traveling from the coastal area—where Jesus went in Mk 7:24—“up to the middle of the area of Decapolis” (Mk 7:31), a route via the Galilean Sea is by no means unlikely. The only reason why the route mentioned in Mk 7:31 seems awkward is that it includes Sidon, which was situated much further north than the Evangelist seems to realize. Jesus’ awkward route in Mk 7:31, then, is not due to any lack of knowledge on Mark’s part as to where the Galilean Sea was situated, but solely to his not knowing exactly how Sidon was situated in relation to Tyre and the Sea of Galilee.177

Therefore, it seems likely that the nonsensical route that Jesus takes for his travel in Mark 7:24–31 should serve as the proof of the author’s unfamiliarity with Sidon’s location, not with Galilee’s. Additionally, Roskam pays attention to the two words, Μαγδαληνή of Mark 15:40, 47; 16:1 and Δαλμανουθά of Mark 8:10 as the ground indicating how detailed Mark’s knowledge of Galilee is. Defining the meaning of Μαγδαληνή as “from Magdala” which according to most scholars “lay between Tiberias and Gennesaret on the west coast of the Sea of Galilee.”178 She finds no appearance of the concerning word in any other texts than the Markan Gospel; she also observes the three references to the derivative of Μαγδαληνή, which is leading her to the conclusion that Magdala was not an important place, or at least that the word Magdala was not wellknown as the name of a village, … he [Mark] also does not deem it necessary ever to clarify the word. Obviously, Mark was familiar with the region in question and supposed his readers to be so as well.179

Roskam’s understanding of the word Δαλμανουθά shows the similar conclusion: Δαλμανουθά as the name of a place can be found only in the Markan Gospel and was situated somewhere on the west coast of the Sea of Galilee. … Although Dalmanoutha was obviously not generally known, Mark does nothing to clarify its situation. Apparently, he presumes that his readers will know which place he had in mind.180

2.1. Critique of evidence 2. Evidence 2 can be summarized as follows: the internal evidence of the Markan Gospel suggests that the Evangelist knows accurately and in detail the geography of Galilee even though he makes some mistakes in locating other areas outside Galilee which are acceptable considering the Greco-Roman world of the first century C.E. that could not enjoy

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geographical information as comprehensive and precise as these days.181 Also, Magdala and Dalmanoutha, which refer to places in Galilee, also serve as the evidence of Mark’s minute knowledge of the Galilean geography. However, there seems a problem with Roskam’s claim that Mark’s topographical mistake in 7:31 strengthens the argument for Galilee when the two points are considered: (1) The itinerant error of 7:31 results from the ignorance of Sidon’s location, not from Galilee and (2) 1:16–4:1 shows Mark’s precise description of Galilean areas. That is, it appears not plausible that Mark who possessed such detailed geographical knowledge of a big area like Galilee did not know where Sidon was, which as another big area was not too far from Galilee. Again, as noted earlier, the mistake of Mark 7:31 had better be understood as the intended one due to the author’s theological need, not as his inevitable error. Except for this problematic address of Mark 7:31, Roskam’s observation of Mark’s detailed awareness of the geography of Galilee demonstrated in 1:16–4:1, however, contributes to the enhancement of the strength of the argument for Galilee. Concerning Magdala and Dalmanoutha, only the latter seems to add strength to the argument for the Galilean provenance. Since the term Μαγδαληνή also appears three times in the Matthean Gospel (27:56; 27:61; 28:1), whose composition place generally known as Syria, it seems hard to be used as the indication of the Gospel’s setting in Galilee. On the other hand, Roskam appears right about Dalmanoutha: its only one appearance without any explanation of its location in the Markan Gospel as a part of Galilee seems to prove that Mark mentioned this place since his readers in Galilee obviously knew it.

D. Syria or Galilee? Now one needs to determine whether the Markan Gospel’s setting for composition is Syria or Galilee. As noted earlier, Kee’s arguments on the lifestyle of Palestinian-Syrian village, to his disappointment, are not convincing enough to serve as the sole evidence of the Gospel’s Syrian setting. They merely affirm the possibility that Galilee, as well as Syria could be the Gospel’s spatial origin. Hence, the decision falls on the evaluation of who suggests harder evidence between Marcus and Roskam. However, it seems difficult to discard and choose one over the other, even though Marcus offers more evidences of Syria than Roskam does of Galilee: each evidence suggested by both of them is hardly deniable. Therefore, concerning the issue of the Markan Gospel’s provenance, it would be best to say for now that the Gospel was written in a place close to



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both Galilee and Syria such as upper Galilee or southern Syria, which could embrace, though not perfectly, both of the evidence by Marcus and Roskam.182

E. Conclusion While demonstrating the inappropriateness of Rome as the Markan Gospel’s provenance, this chapter has argued that either upper Galilee or southern Syria would be the most likely setting for the Markan Gospel’s composition. In other words, the Markan community could be said to have been located in Palestine, including southern Syria. In this respect, there is a scholar to notice: Richard L. Rohrbaugh.183 Locating the Gospel’s provenance in either upper Galilee or southern Syria, Rohrbaugh concisely describes what features the member of the Markan community has: “the Markan audience must then be located among largely nonliterate peasants in a village or small town context.”184 This illiteracy of the majority of the community does not annul the validity of studying the Gospel in view of an interaction between the Gospel as literature and its readers. Again, the Markan community majorly consisting of the illiterate rather confirms the essential role of the literate in it, though very few in comparison with the illiterate, on whom Mark’s purpose relies, the purpose to come up with a written Gospel to replace various and thus confusing oral traditions of Jesus: the readers, the minority of the community in numbers, took the responsibility to deliver exactly what was written in the Gospel to the audience, the majority of the community, so that the audience could redeliver correctly what they heard to the other (illiterate) audience in the community. That is why Mark requires the attention from the reader, not from the audience in Mark 13:14: “let the reader understand.”185

IV. The Readership of the Gospel The preceding section has demonstrated that the Gospel of Mark might have been written in a place which is either upper Galilee or southern Syria. Since this demonstration has been done primarily based on the internal evidence of the Markan text itself, it is much likely that the Gospel was written by a local author and for his local community. In this sense, Christopher M. Tuckett even asserts that the author of the Gospel of Mark should be regarded as a member of “an individual community, working in that community and (to a certain extent) writing for that community.”186 From this claim follows a

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natural conclusion: the second Evangelist and his community should not be separated from each other in studying the Gospel since it was influenced by and also reflects the so-called Markan community. However, directly opposing Tuckett, Richard Bauckham has proposed a hypothesis that the four Gospels of the New Testament were written not only for each relevant community but also for the unknown Christian readers beyond the direct reach of the Evangelists: Each Gospel was written for all Christians.187 Bauckham’s argument needs to be addressed in details for its validity since there are hard evidences, as noted in the previous chapter, of the Markan text such as “Syrophoenician” of 7:26 and “Dalmanoutha” of 8:10 comprehensible only to the reader in the area between Galilee and Syria. When these evidences are considered, it seems problematic to say that the Gospel of Mark was meant for Mark’s whole contemporary Christian readers. That is, Bauckham’s argument tends to make the Markan author look unreasonable, who even expects readers incapable of noticing the implied or unexplained meaning of the words like the ones above to read and thus be influenced by his Gospel. It seems highly unlikely that Mark who wants to protect his own endangered community is such an author of recklessness.188 Furthermore, like all Christians in so many groups in so many areas of the Roman Empire of the first century C.E., the Evangelist of the Markan Gospel “may not have been able to address at length other house-churches scattered throughout his city or district, and his views may not even have been welcome in some.”189 In the following, therefore, Bauckham’s hypothesis will be explored in detail, and then critiques of it will be addressed. At the end of this task, it will have been demonstrated that the Gospel of Mark might have been created to be read by a particular reader rather than by all its contemporary Christians. In addition, since the interest of this study mainly lies in the Gospel of Mark, it is appropriate to see if Bauckham’s assertion is true especially to it; this also means that the arguments irrelevant to the Gospel of Mark will be excluded from consideration.

A. For all Christians? In his article included in The Gospels for All Christians (GAC), Bauckham along with other contributors to GAC raises a provocative question to the current consensus among most Gospel scholars that each Gospel was created for a specific community.190 The primary importance that Bauckham’s



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argument bears over others’ in GAC is recognized by David Sim, the opponent of Bauckham’s thesis of the Gospels for all Christians: “Without doubt the most important contribution in this volume is the first essay, ‘For Whom Were Gospels Written?’ by Richard Bauckham himself,”191 which implies that Bauckham is the first one who insists that each Gospel author had in mind every Christian group in the Roman Empire of the late first century C.E. as targeted readers even though they composed them in different places at different times.192 The task of this section is to figure out how Bauckham gets to such conclusion while elucidating his points made in his article. The first reason that Bauckham suggests for his argument derives from the probability that the author of the Gospel of Mark “would have envisaged the kind of general Christian audience”193 anticipating the Gospel’s circular reading in other Christian groups. Bauckham’s confidence of such circular reading comes from his speculation about the two authors of the Matthean and the Lukan Gospels: Matthew’s and Luke’s model for what a Gospel was must have been Mark as it was actually circulated and used in the churches. They must have expected their Gospels to circulate at least as widely as Mark’s had already done. They must have envisaged an audience at least as broad as Mark’s Gospel had already achieved. Most likely Matthew and Luke each expected his own Gospel to replace Mark’s. To suppose that Matthew and Luke, knowing that Mark’s Gospel had in fact circulated to many churches, nevertheless each addressed his own Gospel to the much more restricted audience of his own community, seems prima facie very improbable.194

Furthermore, in an attempt to make more persuasive his argument for the circular reading of the Gospel around the scattered churches, Bauckham pays attention to the difference between the Gospel and Pauline epistles. It is because of this difference, according to him, that the Markan Gospel should not be treated like Paul’s letters from which one could reconstruct “the specific church context in which they originated.”195 Then what is this difference? Bauckham proposes two considerations for its appreciation. The first one is the genre of the Gospel that is not a letter, but a bios: It is a special quality of the letter genre that it enables a writer to address specified addresses in all the particularity of their circumstances. Even if other people read 1 Corinthians (as they fairly soon did), the genre encourages them to read it as a letter addressed to the Corinthians. This is not the case with the Gospels. … Of course, the genre of the Gospels is debated, but recent discussion has very much strengthened the case … that contemporaries would have recognized them as a special category of the Greco-Roman bios … it seems unlikely that anyone would expect a bios to

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story address the very specific circumstances of a small community of people. A bios certainly aimed at relevance to its readers. … But its relevance would be pitched in relatively broad terms for any competent reader.196

The next consideration is another difference of the Gospel from the apostolic letters, which is decisively due to whether an author is present with his readers or not. Bauckham starts his argument on this difference with a question: Why should anyone put this down in writing? In the case of 1 Corinthians, for example, the answer is clear: Paul could not or preferred not to visit Corinth. Paul seems only to have written anything when distance required him to communicate in writing what he would otherwise have spoken orally to one of his churches. It was the distance that required writing, where as orality sufficed for presence. So the more Gospels scholarship envisages the Gospels in terms approximating to a Pauline letter, addressing the specific situation of one community, the odder it seems that the Evangelist is supposed to be writing for the community in which he lives. An Evangelist writing his Gospel is like Paul writing 1 Corinthians while permanently resident in Corinth. Anyone who wrote a Gospel must have had the opportunity of teaching his community orally. … Why should he go to the considerable trouble of writing a Gospel for a community to which he was regularly preaching? Indeed, why should he go to such trouble to freeze in writing his response to a specific local situation which was liable to change and to which he could respond much more flexibly and therefore appropriately in oral preaching? The obvious function of writing [like a written Gospel] was its capacity to communicate widely with readers unable to be present at its author’s oral teaching. … That small circle to which the author might initially read it or those friends to whom he might initially give copies were merely the first step to wider circulation.197

Along with such comparison between the Markan Gospel and Pauline epistles, Bauckham, then, pays attention to the characteristics of the early Christian movement which, according to him, strengthens “the likelihood that Gospels would have been written for general circulation.”198 He argues that the interconnectivity among the early Christian communities leads to the conclusion that “the idea of writing a Gospel purely for one’s own community is unlikely to have occurred to anyone.”199 This interconnectivity, according to Bauckham, was fostered by high “mobility and communication in the first-century Roman world”200 which were due to “unprecedentedly good roads and unprecedentedly safe travel by both land and sea”201; thus, Christians of one church were unavoidably exposed to the contact with other ones of different churches. Additionally, Bauckham suggests two more factors as what maintained such interrelationship among Christian groups: (1) the



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newly formed identity of Christians as “brothers and sisters throughout the world”202 and (2) the active locomotion to other places by the Christian leaders such as “Paul and those missionary colleagues.”203 After all, he concludes: We must, therefore, reckon very seriously with the chance that some, if not all, of the Evangelists were people whose own experience was far from limited to a single Christian community or even to the churches of a particular geographical region. Such a person would not naturally confine his attention, when composing a Gospel, to the local needs and problems of a single, homogeneous community but could well have in view the variety of different contexts he had experienced in several churches he knew well. His own experience could give him the means of writing relevantly for a wide variety of churches in which his Gospel might be read, were it to circulate generally around the churches of the late-first-century Roman world.204

Following the interconnectivity are “conflict and diversity in early Christianity”205 as the next feature of the early Christian movement. For fear of the possible impression from his description of interconnected, constant relationship among various churches, the impression of “entirely harmonious and homogeneous”206 early Christianity, Bauckham argues as follows: Churches take an intense interest in conflicts happening elsewhere. Leaders and teachers actively promote their versions of the Gospel anywhere and everywhere in the Christian world. These are not the introverted communities and teachers who would produce written Gospels purely for home consumption.207

In summary, with those reasons suggested so far such as the nature of the Gospel of Mark, a bios for the circular reading, the author’s presence in his own community, and not only interrelationship, but also dissension among churches, Bauckham is convinced that Mark wrote his Gospel for all his contemporary Christians of the Greco-Roman world of the first century C.E.

B. Critique of Richard Bauckham’s Hypothesis This section investigates how scholars in opposition to Bauckham criticize his argument for the Gospels for all Christian readers. 1. Joel Marcus Joel Marcus is a prominent scholar who opposes Bauckham’s argument for the Gospels for all Christians. Even though he, in Mark 1–8, proposes quite convincing arguments, he, unfortunately, tries to disprove Bauckham’s argument

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with a wrong understanding of its genre.208 This partial flaw of Marcus’ assertion, however, does not harm the credibility of his other arguments that follow below. Marcus challenges Bauckham’s argument for the general readership of the Gospels: the latter claims that the Gospels were meant for circular reading since writings of ancient time were required only to compensate the absence of a speaker. Below are the arguments that Marcus is making against Bauckham: (1) Even though writing of that time sometimes substituted for presence, “it could have other functions such as to preserve precious memories in the face of the potential decease of their bearers through old age (cf. Mark 9:1) or through violence (cf. Mark 13:9–13 etc.).”209 (2) Both similarities and divergences among the Synoptic Gospels suggest that they were primarily for their own communities:  If both Matthew and Luke hoped to provide an authoritative replacement for Mark … and if Mark nevertheless survived, these hopes and this survival are best explained by the hypothesis of local support for the individual Gospels and the distance of their target communities from each other …210

(3) There exist several literary works by ancient Jewish Christians, which respectively addressed specific problems of a particular community: The Epistle of Aristeas, Joseph and Aseneth, the Qumran scrolls211 and The Teaching of Addai.212 Such counterevidence suggested as above by Marcus seems to effectively invalidate the argument that the Evangelists intended the Gospels to be read widely among Christian communities where they could not be present. Bauckham’s hypothesis of circular reading of the Gospels is confronted with Marcus’ another objection based on specific texts of the Gospel of Mark:  The [Markan] Gospel, for example, contains a number of cryptic passages (e.g. 4:10–12; 8:14–21; 14:51–52; the possible ending at 16:8) that have had to be heavily edited and/or removed by Matthew and Luke and that would make it problematic as an encyclical. And Bauckham experiences real problems with the reference to Rufus and Alexander in Mark 15:21, … He first suggests that Matthew and Luke may have omitted the reference simply because of their habit of abbreviating Mark (but why did they both abbreviate at precisely the same point?). In the next sentence, however, he admits that the omission of the names might indicate that Matthew and Luke “were less confident than Mark that readers of their Gospels would



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know of Alexander and Rufus,” but this, he asserts, might merely mean that “Alexander and Rufus were well known in some, but only some of the churches to which Mark could expect his Gospel to circulate” (but apparently not in any of the churches to which Matthew and Luke expected their Gospels to circulate—and again one must why). Finally, he speculates that Alexander and Rufus might have been alive when Mark wrote but dead when Matthew and Luke wrote. But should not such figures, who according to Bauckham were so well known, have been mentioned even if—in fact, even more, if—they had recently died?213

As seen above, Marcus’ argument against Bauckham on the interpretation of Mark’s reference to Alexander and Rufus appears more logical and thus persuasive in that these two names serve as a proof of the existence of the Markan community to which Rufus and Alexander were well known.214 2. David Sim Appealing to deliberate efforts of the Evangelists to create the four Gospels in the New Testament, David Sim argues that it is “a perfectly justifiable assumption” that the Gospels were come up with for their own communities:215 [G]iven that the production of a Gospel was a difficult and painstaking activity requiring space, comfort and plenty of time for writing and reflection, then the physical act of composing such a document would most probably have been done solely in their home communities. Since these churches were the permanent bases of the four Evangelists, there should be no problem identifying them according to the standard terminology, the Matthean community, the Markan community and so on.216

Sim seems right about this claim in that the Gospels as fruits of each Evangelist’s hard work might have been intended exclusively for their communities. Again, it is possible that one Gospel might have been circulated in another group or other groups as seen in the case of the use of the Gospel of Mark by Matthew and Luke. However, acknowledging this possibility should not be misunderstood as Mark’s intention for his Gospel to be circulated for reading in other Christian groups such as the Matthean and Lukan communities. Sim also rhetorically suggests the theological disctinctions that the respective Gospel reflects as another proof of their readership for each relevant community: “Why does Mark in particular highlight the themes of suffering and persecution? Why does Matthew so sharply and consistently criticise the scribes and Pharisees?”217

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Therefore, it appears contradictory to say that the Gospel of Mark colored with its unique theological features was originally written in anticipation of being read beyond its own community. 3. Philip F. Esler In “Community and Gospel in Early Christianity: A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Gospels for All Christians,”218 Esler, one of the major critics against Bauckham, finds fault with the argument for the circular reading of the Gospel of Mark. Esler attacks the argument for the circular reading of the Markan Gospel based on the observation that the Markan Gospel was available to Matthew and Luke who in the two different Christian communities “must have envisaged an audience at least as broad as Mark’s Gospel had already achieved.”219 The following is how such attack is launched: The problem with this view is that Bauckham pays insufficient attention to what flows from Matthean and Luke having significantly altered, radically amplified and even, in Luke’s case, considerably abridged Mark. As far as they were concerned, in many respects Mark had got it wrong, or he had not said or at least stressed things which needed saying or stressing, or he had included material best excluded. What they would have learned from the arrival of Mark, in their congregations was not just the prospect that their Gospels might circulate as widely as Mark’s, or that their Gospels would replace Mark’s, but rather that anything they wrote was just as likely to be savaged in congregations it finally reached as Mark had been when it fell into their hands. In other words, what they had done to Mark would have altered them to the futility of attempting to reach a general audience.220

As Esler argues above, it seems problematic to regard the acquisition and the use of the Markan Gospel by Matthew and Luke as the ground for the argument for its general readership: why would Matthew and Luke want their Gospels to be read by all Christians while significantly redacting the Markan Gospel which results in their own unique traits, the so-called “Matthean theology” and “Lukan theology”? In other words, the fact that Matthew and Luke came up with their own theologies both distinctive from each other and from the Markan one rather explains that the two later Evangelists needed to change some contents of the Markan Gospel (for the Markan community under its peculiar circumstance) so that they could be correctly applied to and well understood in the particular situations of their own communities. In such case, it would make no sense for Matthew and Luke to expect their Gospels to be read by other Christians in other unknown situations, which were modified



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from the Markan Gospel221 for and thus confined in their contents to each of their own communities. Therefore, it seems better to say that Synoptic Gospels were written for the three different groups of Christian readers, not all Christians of the period. After all, Bauckham’s argument relying on the use of the Markan Gospel by Matthew and Luke is “an argument about intention based on the text’s ultimate use,”222 which thus cannot prove the general readership of the Markan Gospel. In the next, Esler’s redactional criticism counters Bauckham’s argument that the Gospels as biographies were meant for the general readers: In Mark 7.24–30, after a discussion of clean and unclean food (7.14–23), Jesus travels to the region of Tyre and enters a house there, in due course casting out the demon from the daughter of a gentile woman who comes to him. Yet Matthew radically alters Mark. His Jesus does not enter a house and the woman comes up to him in the open air (Matt. 15.21–28). Moreover, Matthew removes the image in Mark 7.28 of the children (= Israelites) and dogs (= gentiles) eating the same food (15.27). It is difficult to see how such alterations by Matthew could not have some connection with his local community, whether he was attacking his community’s practice of mixed table-fellowship, or seeking to confirm their opposition to it. Either way, we see how effortlessly what is allegedly a bios can be shaped in community-oriented ways.223

As seen above, Esler’s redcational-critical approach seems successful since the way Matthew redacts the Markan Gospel in the suggested example might both result from and reflect a different theological understanding not only of Matthew but also of his community. In this sense, one may say that the Gospel of Mark was written for his own community that had a different theological perspective or understanding of how Jesus did what from the Matthean community. Esler launches his second attack on the argument for the Gospels for all Christians, which is based on the genre bios. This time the target is Richard A. Burridge who in “About People, by People, for People: Gospel Genre and Audiences”224 tries to affirm such argument. To demonstrate the validity of the statement that the Gospels were for a certain type of individuals, called Christians just as biographies of that period were for certain types of persons, he makes an analogy of the Gospels with bios225 Naming various literary works known as βίοι in the Greco-Roman world such as Agricola of Tacitus, the Lives of the Caesars of Suetonius and Cato Minor of Plutarch, Burridge argues for the Gospels as a kind of bios:

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The content of Greco-Roman biographies also has similarities with the Gospels. They begin with a brief mention of the hero’s ancestry, family, or city, followed by his birth and an occasional anecdote about his upbringing; usually, we move rapidly on to his public debut later in life. Accounts of generals, politicians, or statesmen are much more chronologically ordered when recounting their great deeds and virtues, while lives of philosophers, writers, or thinkers tend to be more anecdotal, arranged around collections of material displaying information about his subject, often his underlying aims may include apology (to defend the subject’s memory against others attacks), polemic (to attack his rivals), or didactic (to teach his followers about him). Similarly, the Gospels concentrate on Jesus’ teaching and great deeds to explain the faith of the early Christians. As for the climax, the Evangelists devote between 15 and 20 percent of the Gospels to the last week of Jesus’ life, his death, and the resurrection; similar amounts are given over to their subject’s death in biographies by Plutarch, Tacitus, Nepos, and Philostratus, since in this crisis the hero reveals his true character, gives his definitive teaching, or does his greatest deed. Therefore, marked similarities of form and content can be demonstrated between the Gospels and ancient biographies.226

Burridge seems to argue that the Gospels’ genre is bios rightly. Then is his further argument also right that the Gospels, therefore, had a targeted readership, that is, all Christians just as ancient biographies considered all the relevant people as their readers? Esler seems to provide a proper answer to this question. Since bioi (biographies) like the Lives of the Caesars of Suetonius and Cato Minor of Plutarch were about far famous foundation figures such as Tacitus and Plutarch, it is out of question that when these two Greco-Roman authors “wrote they no doubt had in mind reaching wide stretches of this primary reference group [the elite one] or at least particular sections within it.”227 However, the situations of the Gospels were different. Unlike the authors of bioi who did not have to be afraid of spreading out the life story of widely praised celebrities throughout the Greco-Roman world, the authors of the Gospels must have minded publicly circulating their works to all Christians. It had to be highly dangerous both to write and to read about a human being, called Jesus Christ and proclaimed as a divine being under the regime of so-called godly Roman emperors. Thus, it rather seems more sensible to think that the Gospels’ writers desired their works; that is, biographies of Jesus which were carefully customized from different perspectives according to the need of each community, to be accessible only to their mainly intended readers or communities that confessed their faith in Jesus as the divine savior.228 Lastly, Esler critiques Bauckham’s hypothesis from the perspective of “cultural distance”; He expresses his regret for the failure of Bauckham to recognize the unavoidable cultural gap between him (Bauckham) now living in



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“the modern North Atlantic cultural zone” and “the first century members of the Christ-movement” in the Mediterranean region.229 On account of being insensitive to such a distance, Esler claims, Bauckham was led wrongly to detach each Gospel from a particular community. In other words, Bauckham’s anachronism and ethnocentrism were exclusively and unsuitably reflected on his taking all Christians as the readers of the Gospels. Esler’s critique is based on the “social-scientific research” that has demonstrated that [M]ost cultures in the world, including those of the Mediterranean, are group-oriented, with their members finding personal meaning, value (such as honour) and identity within vital reference groups like the family, while only a few, mainly those in the North Atlantic cultural zone, are individualistic (where people are much more given to finding meaning in life as individuals). … Paying proper attention to the importance of group-belonging in the ancient Mediterranean renders it more probable than not that an Evangelist would have been engaged with his local community.230

Esler’s argument with the Sitz im Leben of the people in the Greco-Roman world, rooted in each society they belonged to, seems convincing enough to invalidate Bauckham’s hypothesis that ignores such Sitz im Leben. Esler’s contention against Bauckham’s thesis succeeded in catching Bauckham’s attention. In his response to Esler, Bauckham agrees that each Gospel’s author well reflected in their texts the theology and the understanding of the respective local community of which he or she was a part, but points out that this fact never excludes the possibility that the Gospels were written for all Christians231 Stating that the influence of the local community on the composition of the Gospels does not confine their expected readers to a locally designated community, Bauckham claims that the respective Gospel was created not only for readers of the local community but also for readers of all Christian communities. Unfortunately, this counterattack posed by Bauckham does not sustain its logical power to rescind Esler’s hypothesis on the Gospels for specific readers: there is no evidence demonstrated by Bauckham for the possibility that the Gospels were primarily for specific Christian groups and secondly for general Christian ones. He just depends on the probability of his argument based on speculation. Meanwhile, Michael F. Bird, on Bauckham’s side on this matter, made an attempt, though not convincing either, to nullify Esler’s sociolinguistic instinct to relate the Gospels to local communities by citing the words of Robin Lane Fox: “Christians spread and increased: no other cult in the Empire grew at anything like the same speed, and even as a minority, the Christians’ success raises serious questions about the blind spots in pagan culture and society.”232

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Bird, however, just assumed, not proved, that it was the Gospels for all Christians scattered throughout the Empire that attributed to the growth of Christians with unprecedented pace. His assertion, thus, appears to have no choice but to remain a flimsy assumption until he demonstrates that such a massive expansion of the Christian movement was possible much due to the Gospels for all Christians, not for targeted, confined groups of Christians. One needs to tell apart the question that the Gospels were for intended communities from the scratch from the possibility that they could have been used for or by other groups of Christians regardless of the authors’ intentions, which then might have led to the fast growth of Christians. Bauckham and Bird seem to identify this question with this possibility and thus mistakenly argue that the latter is the answer to the former: The Gospels were for all Christians because of the unproven potential. Sadly, this seems not the case, and for the sake of this study, it can be explicitly said that the Gospel of Mark did not originally come into existence for all Christians. 4. Margaret Mitchell Mitchell in “Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim That ‘the Gospels Were Written for All Christians’”233 approaches the issue of the Gospels’ readership in a different way from those of the scholars mentioned above. Her argument starts against Bauckham’s claim that the first instance of the view that the Gospels were written for their own communities “is in H. B. Swete’s commentary on Mark (first edition, 1898), a major commentary in its time.”234 She thus suggests what she finds in the works of patristic authors such as Papias, Irenaeus, Clement, Origen, and Eusebius whose remarks or works serve as evidence of such view far earlier than Swete’s: (1) Papias testifies, in H.E. 3.39.15, about “the preaching of Peter with Mark set down in written form: ὅς πρὸς τὰς χρείας ἐποιεῖτο τὰς διδασκαλίας, ‘who constructed his teaching with a view to what was needed’”;235 (2) Irenaeus, in Adv. Haer. 3.11.7, enunciates as heretics those who claim that the Gospels were only for the intended, limited groups of people. Thus, Irenaeus here “gives proof that circumscription of audience was being used in the second century as an interpretive principle”;236 (3) Clement of Alexandria, according to Eusebius, H. E. 6.14.5–7, says that Christians in Rome asked Mark to jot down Jesus’ stories that resulted in the Gospel of Mark. In Frag. 9.4–20, Clement also testifies that this Gospel was come up with above all for the benefit of Roman Christians. “[T]his testimony contradicts the assumption that those who have the oral word do not require a



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written text, such that an Evangelist would not write a Gospel to address a community where he was present”;237 and (4) Origen, in Comm. in Jo. 1.4.22, observes that Matthew composed his Gospel, especially for the Hebrews expecting the Messiah as the descendant of Abraham and David.238 In such manner, Mitchell tries to prove her thesis that the Gospels were written for their own communities or targeted readers. However, Mitchell’s argument appears to have a limit, since Bauckham’s evidence of the too-late reference to the reading of the Gospels in view of specific communities is not the essence of his argument: the proof of the invalidity of this evidence might not force him to withdraw the basic hypothesis of the universal readership of the Gospels. Bauckham could still stick to his argument in spite of Mitchell’s counter evidence presented above saying as follows: Okay, now I know that there exists earlier evidence of reading the Gospel of Mark as a literary work for the Markan community. But no change happens to my position on the readership of the Gospels because that earlier readings are wrong.

That is, the argument against Bauckham’s evidence of Swete, even if it is convincing as Mitchell’s is, has no choice but to have limitations to changing the direction of the mainstream of Bauckham’s premise of the Gospels for all Christians. Besides, Mitchell makes another mistake while she quotes a part of Gregory of Nazianzus’ poem so as to strengthen her argument for the Gospels for specified groups of people. What follows is Mitchell’s translation of Carmina dogmatica 1.12.6–9: “Matthew wrote the marvels of Christ for the Hebrews, Mark for Italy, Luke for Achaia, but John, the great herald, the heavenwanderer, wrote for all.”239 The problematic part of the quotation is about John who wrote his Gospel for all Christians. This definitely detracts from the credibility of her argument. In the same context, Bauckham contends that [s]o it is clear that a patristic writer [Gregory of Nazianzus] could think of an apostle [John] writing a Gospel ‘for all’, not for a local or in any way restricted audience, but for general circulation to everyone it could reach.240

Despite these faults, Mitchell also makes some effective claims that are noteworthy. Mentioning the need not to confine the range of this investigation of the particular or indefinite community for each Gospel to canonical narratives, she suggests including extra-canonical Gospels that designate specific communities like Gospel of the Hebrews, Gospel of the Egyptians, and Gospel of the Nazarenes, etc.241 Thomas Kazen adds strength to Mitchell’s suggestion

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by arguing that (1) those gospels outside the canon are factional as much as the canonical Gospels are and (2) both canonical and non-canonical Gospels were used for liturgical purposes within a group of churches holding the same or similar theological views.242 This point is definitely an obstacle that both Bauckham and those who are on his side need to overcome if they wish to make their claim of the Gospels for all Christians sound more convincing, which seems not that easy though. Mitchell finally indicates what the problem is with Bauckham who both declares “a pan-Christian movement”243 and admits types of Christianity such as Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians, types to which Gospels were tailored.244 This problem also seems a hard one for Bauckham to address. 5. Ernest Van Eck What Ernest Van Eck argues against Bauckham is that even if it was indeed the case that high mobility and easy and safe traveling of the time of the Gospels enabled the leaders of the Christian movement to wander around many other Christian groups, this does not seem to justify the assertion of the Gospels for all Christians.245 In this regard, Eck asks: [I]f the leaders of the Christian communities did travel a lot (since it was so safe and easy), and were received in a quite welcome fashion in each community they visited (since the Christian movement was so close-knit), why did orality not suffice in such a situation? Was it then really necessary to put the Gospel down in writing? Or are we to suppose that only four leaders of the early Christian community were not able to travel as much and where they wanted to, and therefore put down their Gospels in writing?246

Even though Eck’s argument along with Sim’s against the comfortable and safe traveling of the first and second century C.E. Greco-Roman world is compelling, his question of orality above is not especially concerning the Markan Gospel. As noted earlier, Mark composed the Gospel in its written form desiring it to be the reliable source unlike oral traditions for εὐαγγέλιον of Jesus. The implication of the question “Was it then really necessary to put the Gospel down in writing?” is that Mark did not have to bother writing down the Gospel when he could easily and frequently access remote Christian communities. This implication, however, contradicts Eck’s own argument for the Markan Gospel for the specific community where Mark belonged: Why would Mark have written down the Gospel while he could directly address his community whenever he wanted to? And “Why did orality not suffice in such a situation?” Thus, the question of the distance among Christian communities whether they



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were distant or close does not seem to have anything to do with Mark’s motif of creating the Gospel in its written form. After all, it would have been better for Eck to stop at his argument against the easy and safe traveling of the first century C.E. since without such problematic questions it is already enough to make Bauckham’s argument unconvincing. Despite this flaw, Eck’s demonstration of the unfavorable conditions of ancient traveling effectively serves to invalidate the legitimacy of the assertion for the Markan Gospel for all Christians, the assertion based on the wrong conception of being easy and safe in the ancient mobility.

C. Conclusion Keeping in mind the internal evidence of the Gospel of Mark that postulates the relationship between the Gospel and its specified reader, this chapter focused on invalidating Bauckham’s argument for the general readership of the Gospels (especially the Markan Gospel). The primary arguments against Bauckham are as follows: (1) The Markan Gospel was not meant for the circular reading by general Christians. (2) The Markan Gospel could not have been circulated as widely as Bauckham thinks due to the unfavorable circumstances of travel in that period. (3) Even though the Markan Gospel’s genre belongs to the Greco-Roman bios, Mark could not write his Gospel while expecting all Christians to read it since a wide circulation of the Gospel might have put them in too much danger. These arguments based on the credible evidence from many scholars convincingly demonstrate that the Gospel of Mark might have been written for its specific readers rather than general ones. Thus, the need to study the Gospel of Mark in association with its community is still sustained: especially the reading of the Gospel through the eyes of the readers of the Markan community insomuch as this study is concerned. Now one could say that the Markan Gospel was written specifically for the Markan community which was located in either upper Galilee or southern Syria in the first century C.E. Then, a question ensues: how can one know whether the readers of this community could have known Homeric epics well enough to do a comparative reading? The answer could be a very simple one: Homeric epics were one of the most famous literary works of the Greco-Roman world. However, a detailed investigation of how they became so popular will help to show the plausibility of the reader’s approach to the Gospel in association with Homeric epics. This is the task for the next chapter.

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Notes 1. Dennis L. Stamps, “Rhetorical and Narratological Criticism,” in Handbook to Exegesis of the New Testament, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 219–40, here 230. 2. James L. Resseguie, “Reader-Response Criticism and the Synoptic Gospels,” JAAR 52 (1984): 307–24, here 307. 3. Robert M. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1991), 32. 4. Fowler, Reader, 33. 5. Peter G. Bolt, Jesus’ Defeat of Death: Persuading Mark’s Early Readers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 4. 6. Fowler, Reader, 33–36. 7. Even though scholars are divided into two groups of opinions about when the Gospel was written, that is before or after 70 CE, they all seem to agree that it was the product of the first century C. E. A detailed investigation on this issue will be done in the later part of this study. 8. Ehrman, The New Testament, 61. Cf. Antoinette Clark Wire in The Case for Mark Composed in Performance. Kindle Edition. Print ed. Antoinette Clark Wire, The Case for Mark Composed in Performance (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2011); Thomas E. Boomershin, “Jesus of Nazareth and the Watershed of Ancient Orality and Literacy,” in Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature, ed. Joanna Dewey (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1995), 7–36. Christopher Bryan (A Preface to Mark: Notes on the Gospel in Its Literary and Cultural Settings [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993], 68) extends the highest level of literacy to 20 percent which is still too small to change the fact that the Greco-Roman world was largely illiterate. 9. Paul J. Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” JBL 109 (1990): 3–27. 10. Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 17. Ehrman (The New Testament, 61) also agrees with Achtemeier on the orality embedded in the literary works of the Greco-Roman world. 11. Frank D. Gilliard, “More Silent Reading in Antiquity: Non Omne Verbum Sonabat,” JBL 112 (1993): 689–94. 12. Gilliard, “Silent Reading,” 694. 13. Ehrman, The New Testament, 61. 14. It will be argued later whether these people were the so-called Markan community or the all unspecified Christians. 15. Werner H. Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel: The Hermeneutics of Speaking and Writing in the Synoptic Tradition, Mark, Paul, and Q (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1983), 98. 16. Joanna Dewey, “The Gospel of Mark as Oral Hermeneutic,” in Jesus, the Voice, and the Text: Beyond The Oral and the Written Gospel, ed. Tom Thatcher (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008), 71–87, here, 72. 17. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 74. 18. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 97. 19. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 97.



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20. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 97. 21. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 97. 22. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 74. 23. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 74. 24. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 76. 25. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 76. Here Dewey asserts that the meaning of “oneself” implies one’s kin. 26. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 77. 27. Dewey, “Oral Hermeneutic,” 77. 28. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 79. 29. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 79. 30. Walter J. Ong, “Text as Interpretation: Mark and After,” in Orality, Aurality and Biblical Narrative, ed. Lou H. Silberman (Decatur, GA: Scholars, 1987), 7–26, here 13. 31. According to Ong (“Text as Interpretation,” 15), undoubtedly there was Q which preceded the Gospel of Mark, but the former “would appear to lie on the margin between orality and fully textuality. Q was apparently an agglomeration of disjunct sayings and incidents rather than an organized narrative.” However, Logoi of Jesus (Q+), an alternative version of Q by Dennis R. MacDonald, serves as the counterevidence of Ong’s this argument: the earliest Gospel with the organized contents of Jesus is not the Markan Gospel, but Logoi of Jesus or Q+. For the detailed argument of Q as an organized literary work, see Dennis R. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels: The Logoi of Jesus and Papias’s Exposition of Logia about the Lord (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012), 505–20. 32. Significantly ample instances of the influence of the Hebrew Bible on the Markan Gospel in such forms are demonstrated by Rikki E. Watts in “Mark,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (eds. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2007), 111–250. 33. One can simply get the sense of how many instances are there throughout the Markan Gospel, of its reliance of the Hebrew Bible, with the help of Howard C. Kee (Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel [Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983], 45): while referring to Mark’s heavy dependence on the Hebrew Bible for the prophetic tradition, he argues that “in Mark 11–16 alone [italicized for emphasis] there are more than 57 quotations. … An analysis of the allusions to scripture and related sacred writings gives the same general picture: of 160 such allusions, half are from the prophets.” 34. There are, of course, other instances in the Gospel of Jesus’ allusion to Moses and Elijah: for example, according to Burton L. Mack (A Myth of Innocence [Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006], 92), the two miracle stories in Mark 8 of feeding the huge crowd and healing the blind man allude to “the activities of Moses and Elijah. The Exodus story appears to be in mind because each set begins with a sea-crossing miracle and ends with a miracle of feeing in the wilderness. The miracles of healing that are framed by these epic allusions remind one, however, of the Elisha-Elijah cycle of miracles.” 35. Margaret Pamment, “Moses and Elijah in the Story of the Transfiguration,” ExpTim 92 (1981): 338–39. 36. Margaret Pamment, “Moses and Elijah,” 338. 37. Margaret Pamment, “Moses and Elijah,” 339.

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38. Margaret Pamment, “Moses and Elijah,” 339. 39. Margaret Pamment, “Moses and Elijah,” 339. 40. Howard Clark Kee, “The Transfiguration in Mark: Epiphany or Apocalyptic Vision?” in Understanding the Sacred Text, ed. J. H. Reumann (Valley Forge, PA: Judson, 1972), 135–52. 41. Kee, “The Transfiguration in Mark: Epiphany or Apocalyptic Vision?” 146. 42. Kee, “The Transfiguration in Mark: Epiphany or Apocalyptic Vision?” 146. 43. Ulrich W. Mauser, Christ in the Wilderness: The Wilderness Theme in the Second Gospel and Its Basis in the Biblical Tradition (London: SCM, 1963), 105. 44. Jordan, “Elijah Transfigured,” 76. 45. Jordan, “Elijah Transfigured,” 76–77. 46. Jordan, “Elijah Transfigured,” 78. Jordan’s six features of allusion except for the last one are also supported by Candida R. Moss, “The Transfiguration: An Exercise in Markan Accommodation,” BibInt 12 (2004): 69–89. 47. Jordan, “Elijah Transfigured,” 79. 48. George William Ssebadduka, “‘Rabbi, It Is Good That We Are Here’: Moses, Elijah, and John in Mark’s Transfiguration Story (9:2–8)” (PhD diss., The Marquette University, 1995). The thesis of this dissertation is that both Moses and Elijah in Mark’s transfiguration account represent John the Baptist in order to stress Jesus as the superior being to him. Ssebadduka, therefore, argues against Jesus’ allusion to Moses in this story. 49. Ssebadduka, “‘Rabbi,’” 14. 50. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 512. 51. Such relationship is based on the Q+/Papias hypothesis of which MacDonald takes account in Two Shipwrecked Gospels, xv and 88. For the whole text and its translation of the Logoi of Jesus, see MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 561–620. 52. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 537–40. 53. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 540. 54. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 540–41. See also MacDonald, Homeric Epics for the complete demonstration of Mark’s mimetic use of the Homeric epics. 55. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 541. 56. MacDonald, Homeric, 148–53. 57. MacDonald, Homeric, 153. 58. MacDonald, Homeric, 153. 59. MacDonald, Homeric, 61. 60. MacDonald, Homeric, 59–60. 61. MacDonald, Homeric, 62. 62. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 62. 63. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 63–74. There other examples of the Markan Jesus imitating and/or emulating Odysseus and the example suggested here is merely one of them. 64. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 73. 65. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 74. 66. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 139–47. 67. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 144–45. 68. MacDonald, Homeric, 145.



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  69. MacDonald, Homeric, 145. For the detailed explanation of how Jesus rivals Hector in the matter of death, see ibid., 185–87 where the Markan Jesus’ burial is compared with Hector’s.   70. Kelber, Oral and the Written, 95.   71. According to Dewey (“Textuality in an Oral Culture: A Survey of the Pauline Traditions,” in Dewey, Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature, 37–66, here 57–58), when the time the Markan Gospel was written, it “may still have been in the service of orality, as a script for storytelling, … Later, when authorized readings had to be taken from a collection of written Gospels, then manuscripts had become primary.” This argument implies Mark’s awareness of how the Gospel would be mainly delivered to his contemporary readers.  72. Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.1.9 in Whitney Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel: FirstCentury Performance of Mark (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003), 18.   73. According to Kelber (“Jesus and Tradition: Words in Time, Words in Space” in Dewey, Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature, 139–68, here 153), the reader here means those who could at least read letters, which is distinguished from the ancient term of a reader who “was a speaker or a hearer, and not necessarily a writer at all.”   74. Kelber, “Jesus and Tradition,” 159.   75. S. G. F. Brandon, “Date of the Markan Gospel,” NTS 7 (1961): 126–41, here 126.   76. John S. Kloppenborg, “Evocatio Deorum and the Date of Mark,” JBL 124 (2005): 419–50.   77. Adela Yarbro Collins, Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2001), 75.   78. Collins, Beginning, 75.   79. Collins, Beginning, 76.   80. Collins, Beginning, 76.   81. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 295, 539.   82. Kloppenborg, “Evocatio Deorum,” 429.   83. Kloppenborg, “Evocatio Deorum,” 434.   84. Kloppenborg, “Evocatio Deorum,” 441.   85. Brandon, “Date,” 123.   86. Josephus, J. W. 7.150, in Brandon, “Date,” 123.   87. Brandon, “Date,” 131.   88. Brandon, “Date,”128.   89. Brandon, “Date,”128.   90. Eck, “Sitz?” 981.   91. L. D. Vander Broek (“The Markan ‘Sitz Im Leben’: A Critical Investigation into the Possibility of a Palestinian Setting for the Gospel” [PhD diss., The Drew University, 1983], 31) claims that “Mark’s use of Aramaic words … actually point more to Palestinian than Syria as a possible setting of the Gospel,” in Eck, “Sitz?” 981. The detailed argument against Rome as the Markan provenance will be addressed later in association with the Markan Aramaic words.   92. Werner H. Kelber, The Kingdom in Mark: A New Place and a New Time (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1974), 1.   93. Kelber, Kingdom, 112.

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  94. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 539.   95. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 539–40.   96. Gerd Theissen, The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1991), 194. This is an English translation of Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien (Freiburg: Universitatsverlag, 1989).   97. Incigneri, Romans, 119.   98. Incigneri, Romans, 120.   99. Hooker, Saint Mark, 8. 100. Dieter Lührmann, Das Markusevangelium (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987), 7. 101. Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2012), 15. 102. Moloney, Mark, 15. 103. Moloney, Mark, 15. 104. Eck, “Sitz?” 974. 105. Benjamin Bacon, Is Mark a Roman Gospel? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919), 15, argues that the first testimony of Rome as the Markan Gospel’s provenance should be attributed to Papias who, according to Eusebius, E. H. 3.29.15, confirms that John Mark wrote down what he heard from Peter supposedly imprisoned in Rome, which was later known as the Gospel of Mark. However, against that idea, Marcus (“The Jewish War and the Sitz Im Leben of Mark,” JBL 111 [1992]: 441–62, here 442) successfully argues that “Papias’s account is probably a reflection not of historical information but of two other factors: (1) a knowledge of the association of the names of Mark and Peter 1 Pet 5:13, and (2) a desire on the part of second-century ‘orthodox’ church leaders to link the four Gospels with known disciples as a weapon against the Gnostics . … This Mark who wrote the Gospel, however, was probably not, as Papias seems to have assumed him to be, John Mark, the native of Jerusalem who became a companion of Paul. ‘Mark’ was one of the commonest names in the Roman Empire, … Papias’s tradition about Mark, then, a tradition that implies a Roman provenance for the Gospel, does not seem to be historically reliable.” See also idem, Mark 1–8 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 21–24. Besides, this external evidence of the Roman provenance in relation to Peter imprisoned in Rome seems incompatible with Mark’s negative description of Peter. About this incompatibility, Garry Wills (What the Gospels Meant [New York: Viking, 2008], 22) argues as follows: “[t]the older view was that the Gospel was written in Rome, but that was based on the view that Peter had dictated the Gospel to Mark, and Peter died in the Neronian persecution in Rome (64 CE). If that view were a sound one, the Gospel would hardly show such a lack of sympathy with Peter.” 106. Eck, “Sitz?” 976. 107. Van Bas M. Iersel, Mark: A Reader-Response Commentary (trans. W. H. Bisscheroux; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 33–4, categorizes the Latinisms of the Markan Gospel into three groups: (1) “Greek transcriptions of current Latin words, such as caesar, modius, speculator, denarius, sextarius, census, fragellare, centurio, quadrans, praetorium, legio, grabatus and vae”; (2) “Literal translation of Latin words, such as συμβούλιον (consilium, 3.6) and πυγμῇ (pugno or pugillo, 7.3); and (3) “Greek words that are given a meaning known



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in Latin but not in Greek, for instance, ἔχω (habere in the sense of ‘regard as,’ 11:32).” Iersel provides more examples concerning the third category such as “τὸ ἱκανὸν ποιέω (satisfacere, 15:15), ῥαπίσμασιν λαμβάνω (verberibus accipere, 14:65), ὁδὸν ποιεῖν (viam facere, 2:23), ἐσχάτως ἔχω (ultimum habere, 5:23), τίθημι τὰ γόνατα (genua ponere, 15:19), κατάκρίνω θανάτῳ (capite damnare, 10:33)” However, Iersel admits that these Latinisms are not enough to indicate Rome as the provenance of Mark: the cited terms and expressions above are also detected “in contemporary payri of diverse origin” since it seems not difficult to imagine their usages throughout the Roman empire. 108. The followings are those who are in favor of Roman provenance due to these two Latin terms or one of them: Iersel, Mark, 34; Martin Hengel, Studies in the Gospel of Mark (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1985), 29–30; Frank J. Matera, What Are They Saying About Mark? (New York: Paulist, 1987), 15. Here Matera mentions only χοδράντης and λεπτὰ (12:42); Adolf Jülicher, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Tuebingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1906), 279–80; Werner G. Kümmel, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (trans. Howard C. Clark; Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1981), 97–98; Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium (Freiburg: Herder, 1976), 12–15; Willi Marxsen, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1964), 128; Lührmann, Das Markusevangelium, 5–6; Hans Conzelmann and Andreas Lindemann, Arbeitsbuch zum Neuen Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 318–9. Not only those cited German scholars here but more ones are also referred to concerning this issue by Hendrika N. Roskam, The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 94. 109. Hengel, Studies in the Gospel of Mark, 29–30. For similar arguments to Hengel’s, see also Senior, “‘With Swords and Clubs …’—The Setting of Mark’s Community and his Critique of Abusive Power,” esp. 12; Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to The New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 161–2. 110. Incigneri, Romans, 100–1. This argument is supported by Helmut Koester, Introduction to the New Testament (Vol. 2: History and Literature of Early Christianity; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1987), 167; Marcus, “The Jewish War and the Sitz Im Leben of Mark,” 444; Myers, Strong Man, 95; Kelber, Kingdom, 129; Roskam, Purpose, 94–5. 111. Marcus (“The Jewish War,” 444) mentions the appearance of χοδράντης in Matt 5:26 while Rome has not been thought as the Matthean Gospel’s provenance. 112. Collins, Mark, 101. 113. Marcus, “The Jewish War,” 444–5. 114. Theissen, Context, 247–8. 115. Theissen, Context, 245–49. 116. John R. Donahue, “The Quest for the Community of Mark’s Gospel,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck, ed. Frans van Segbroeck (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1992), 817–38, esp. 833–5. 117. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 32. 118. Marcus, Mark 1–8. 119. Black, Mark, 177. 120. Theissen, Context, 109–11. 121. R. Steven Notley, “The Sea of Galilee: Development of an Early Christian Toponym,” JBL 128 (2009): 183–88.

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122. Theissen, Context, 110. 123. Theissen, Context, 110. 124. Theissen, The Gospels in Context, 109–10. 125. Collins, in Mark, 9–10, concisely describes this error as follows: The geographical problem lies in in the fact that Mark has Jesus going north toward Sidon first of all, that is, apparently away from the Decapolis, and then to the Sea of Galilee through the midst of the Decapolis, a region south of the direct route from Sidon to the lake. Such a journey would be like going from Chicago to Indiana by going north through Wisconsin and then east and south through Michigan to Indiana. 126. Notley, “Sea of Galilee,” 185. 127. Notley, “Sea of Galilee,” 186. 128. Notley, “Sea of Galilee,” 186. 129. Notley, “Sea of Galilee,” 187. 130. Roskam, Purpose, 108; Collins, Mark, 9; Marcus, “The Jewish War,” 443; et al. 131. Winn, “Purpose,” 130. 132. Instead of attributing Mark’s such errors to his ignorance, Eck (“Sitz?” 977) asserts that they were “part of the traditions used by the Evangelist, or as part of the oral tradition.” However, such approach seems too naïve to be convincing esp. when Mark’s much critical attitude towards the oral tradition. 133. According to Marcus (The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark [Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1992], 17), Hengel appreciate the presence of Aramaic words in the Markan Gospel as follows: “‘I do not know any other work in Greek which has as many Aramaic or Hebrew words and formulae in so narrow a space as does the second Gospel. They are too numerous and too exact to be explained as the conventional barbarisms (ῥῆσις βαρβαρχή) of the miracle worker and magician. … Most of these foreign-sounding words are omitted by Matthew and Luke’ (Studies in the Gospel of Mark [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985]).” 134. Donahue (“The Quest,” 820) proposes to exclude αββα from the examples of translations of Aramaic because “it [αββα ὁ πατήρ] is a liturgical formula, see Galatians 4:6, Romans 8:15.” 135. For those who suggest such examples the Gospel’s Roman origin, see Brandon, “Date of the Markan Gospel,” 127; Bacon, Roman Gospel? 48–59; William R. Telford, “Mark,” in The Synoptic Gospels, ed. Riches, John, William R. Telford, and Christopher M. Tuckett (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 128–244, esp. 139. 136. Gray, Temple, 70. Those who are of the same opinion about this matter are Brandon, “Date of the Markan Gospel,” 127; John Riches, William R. Telford, and Christopher M. Tuckett, The Synoptic Gospels: With an Introduction by Scot McKnight (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press), 136; John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 39, 398; Incigneri, Romans, 99; Ralph P. Martin, Mark: Evangelist and Theologian (Sydney: The Paternoster Press, 1972), 59; Hugh Humphrey, From Q to “Secret” Mark: A Composition History of the Earliest Narrative Theology (New York: T & T Clark International, 2006), 9; Lee Martin McDonald and Stanley E. Porter, Early Christianity and Its Sacred Literature (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2000), 286; Black, Mark, 172; Brown, An Introduction, 7; et al.



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137. Kurt Niederwimmer, “Johannes Markus Und Die Frage Nach Dem Verfasser Des Zwelten Evangeliums,” ZNW 58 (1967): 172–88. Marcus (Mark 1–8, 19) also mentions Niederwimmer regarding this issue. 138. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 20. Samuel Byrskog (Story as History—History as Story: The Gospel Tradition in the Context of Ancient Oral History [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000], 281) tries to solve the faulty explanations of 7:3–4 in a different way: they are Mark’s simple mistakes since he was not a historian. This proposed solution seems rather disappointing in that it so easily degrades Mark to an author vulnerable to mistakes, which might lead his Gospel to be regarded as a work of mistakes. For this reason, Marcus’ one appears better. 139. Roskam, Purpose, 111–2. Considering the Gospel’s oral performance, Bryan (A Preface to Mark, 58–9) also gives an interesting argument that those explanations of Jewish customs did not bother the Jewish members of the Markan community: effective speakers or storytellers will try to carry along their whole audience—and that may well mean inserting explanatory asides if even a few of those present will be helped by them. Provided this is done briefly (and Mark’s asides are always brief) it will not adversely affect the attention of the better-informed: indeed, being made thus aware that one is better informed than others is not necessarily unpleasant. Thus, it would be of no surprise to say that the Gospel was written for the Christian community in Palestine where Gentiles, as well as Jews, were likely to be familiar with Jewish customs. Therefore, again there seems no reason to regard Mark’s explanations of the meanings of Hebrew and Aramaic words as the clue to the Roman provenance. For the members of the Markan community mixed with Jews and Gentiles, see Pieter J. J. Botha, “The Historical Setting of Mark’s Gospel: Problems and Possibilities,” JSNT (1993): 27–55, esp. 47. 140. Brandon, “Date,” 130; Incigneri, Romans, 31, 116; Brown, An Introduction, 163; Senior, “‘Swords and Clubs …,’” 13–9; Black, Mark, 29; Bas M. F. Van Iersel, “Failed Followers in Mark: Mark 13:12 as a Key for the Identification of the Intended Readers,” CBQ 58 (1996): 244–63, esp. 245–6; John Dominic Crossan, “Form for Absence: The Markan Creation of Gospel,” Semeia 12 (1978):41–55, esp. 42–43; Humphrey, “Secret” Mark, 24–5, 37; Hengel, Studies, 22; Schalk W. Cronjé, “The False Christs of Mark 13: The Theios Anēr (‘divine Man’) Contention. Can It Be That in Refutation of Such a Heresy Mark Wrote His Gospel? If Not, What Then?” APB 13 (2002): 66–96, esp. 85. 141. Tacitus in Annals 15.44 says: “Igitur primum correpti qui fatebantur, deinde indicio eorum multitudo ingens haud proinde in crimine incendii quam odio humani generis convicti sunt.” John R. Donahue (“Windows and Mirrors,” 22) argues how Tacitus in Annals 15.44 serves to relate the persecution by Nero to Mark 13:9–13: This section of Tacitus contains elements in common with the tribulations of the end time described in Mark 13:9–13. These verses in Mark envisage a situation of persecution where people will be ‘delivered up’ (13:9). This happens in the context of preaching the Gospel in a predominantly gentile context (13:10, εἰς πάντα τὰ ἔθνη). Most importantly, Mark states that members of the community will be responsible for delivering up others, even family members. … Finally,

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story the Marcan Jesus says that ‘you will be hated by all for my name’s sake’ (13:13). Tacitus mentions explicitly that Christians take their name from Christus. …

142. Hengel, Studies, 30. 143. Cronjé, “The False Christs of Mark 13,” 75. 144. Thomas R. W. Longstaff, “Crisis and Christology: The Theology of the Gospel of Mark,” PSTJ 33 (1980): 28–40. 145. Reicke, The New Testament Era (trans. David E. Green; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1968), 250. 146. Longstaff, “Crisis and Christology,” 35–36. 147. Wills, What the Gospels Meant, 22. Concerning the Neronian persecution as a local event, refer to the following scholars: Theissen (The Gospels in Context, 8) who argues that [i]t is striking that in early Christian texts stemming from the first century of our era we hear nothing specific about the Neronian persecution of Christians, although most primitive Christian texts were written after those events. If Tacitus had not reported them (Ann. 15.44) it would be very audacious to postulate their existence on the basis of early Christian texts Bammel, “The revolution theory from Reimarus to Brandon,” in Bammel and Moule, Jesus and the Politics of His Day, 11–68, esp. 29; Helmut Koester (Introduction to the New Testament, 350) who also claims that “[t]he Neronian persecution of the Christians in Rome was a local phenomenon and must not be considered as typical for the attitude of the Roman authorities toward the Christians.” 148. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 33. 149. Eck (“Sitz?” 977) asserts that suffering and persecution did occur in several places in the Christian church in the 60’s and early 70’s, not only in Rome. Taking into account the reaction from Yavneh in the early 70’s, and the emergence of formative Judaism as a result of the reorganization of Judaism taken up by Yavneh, the persecution of Christians could well have been coming from Jews. Michael F. Bird (“The Markan Community, Myth or Maze? Bauckham’s The Gospel for All Christians Revisited,” JTS 57 (2006): 474–86, esp. 484) also suggests other possible places other than Rome where persecution or suffering might have happened such as Jerusalem (Acts 7:57–60; 12:2; Josephus, Ant. 20.000), Syria (Acts 9:1–3; 22:4–5; 26:11–12), and several locations of the Mediterranean (Gal 5:11; 1 Cor 4:12; 2 Cor 4:9; 11:24–26; 1 Thess 2:14–15). Cf. H. C. Waetjen (A Reordering of Power: A Socio-Political Reading of Mark’s Gospel [Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1989], 1–26) who in explains from the perspective of the social science why Syria is the best place that one can think of as the Markan Gospel’s origin. 150. Eck, “Sitz?” 112. 151. Roskam, Purpose, 112–13. 152. Eck, “Sitz?” 974.



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153. Eck, “Sitz?” 982. 154. Kee, Community, 102. However, Kee does not explain anything about how employment and taxation reflected in the Markan Gospel support the Palestinian-Syrian provenance. 155. Joachim Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1963), 11. 156. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 11–12. 157. Luise Schottroff, The Parables of Jesus (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006), 73. 158. “When they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay.” (NRSV) 159. Ehrman, The New Testament, 256. 160. “He said to them, ‘Is a lamp brought in to be put under the bushel basket, or under the bed, and not on the lampstand?’” 161. This conclusion can also find its support in W. R. F. Browning, A Dictionary of the Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 25. 162. Kee, Community, 201. 163. Jeremias, Parables, 75–76. 164. A good assertion has also been proposed that there were also indigenous landlords in ancient Palestine, which enhances the credibility of argument for the Palestinian provenance through the vineyard parable. In her PhD dissertation, Judith Anne Jones (“Building on the Rejected Stone: The Metaphorical Construals of Psalm 118:22 in the New Testament” [PhD diss., The Emory University, 1999], 115–6) claims that “[t]he evidence [from Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine During the Early Hellenistic Period (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia, PA: 1974), 1.48–55] suggests that wealthy natives of Palestine also owned estates farmed by tenants. Furthermore, the Zenon papyri from the middle of the third century BCE indicate that tenant farming had been a part of life in Palestine for several centuries at the least. … Such comparative evidence suggests that nothing in Jesus’ description of the landlord’s expectations and manner of dealing with the tenants would necessarily have raised the suspicions of his hearers. For the argument of latifundia in ancient Palestine, see also Martin Goodman, “The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt,” JJS 33 (1982): 417–27, esp. 421. 165. Myers, Strong Man, 308. 166. Kee, Community, 103. 167. Kee, Community, 149. 168. Kee, Community, 149. 169. Kee, Community, 153. 170. Kee, Community, 102–3. 171. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 36. Cf. Marcus, “The Jewish War,” 441–62. 172. Ernst Lohmeyer, Galiläd und Jerusalem (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1936), 162; Robert H. Lightfoot, Locality and Doctrine in the Gospels (New York: Harper, 1938), 1–48, 132–59; Willi Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Evangeliums (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1959), 62–92; et al. 173. For the comprehensive summary of this argument by various scholars, see Eck, “Sitz?” 982–7. 174. Roskam, Purpose, 103.

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175. Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7 (trans. James E. Crouch; Hermeneia; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007), 57–59. 176. Mark’s exact geographical description of Galilee is supported by Cilliers Breytenbach, “Current Research on the Gospel according to Mark: A Report on Monographs Published from 2000- 2009,” in Comparative Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in Their First-Century Settings, ed. Eve-Marie Becker and Anders Runesson (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 13–32, esp. 24–25. 177. Roskam, Purpose, 108. 178. Roskam, Purpose, 109. 179. Roskam, Purpose, 109. 180. Roskam, Purpose, 110. The awareness of the first Markan readers on the location of Dalmanoutha is supported by MacDonald (The Gospels and Classical Greek Poetry [Claremont, CA: Unpublished, 2011], n.p.) who gives an etymological explanation of Dalmanoutha as follows: “It [Dalmanoutha] seems to derive from the Aramaic particle ‫ד‬, ‘of,’ ‫למן‬, ‘the harbor,’ a loan word from the Greek word for harbor λιμήν, and ‫ותא‬, an Aramaic ending for place names. Mark’s reader thus may have understood 8:10 to mean that Jesus and his disciples sailed ‘into the region Of-the-harbor.’” 181. Dean W. Chapman, “Locating the Gospel of Mark: A Model of Agrarian Biography,” BTB 25 (1995): 24–36, raises a rhetorical question that indicates Galilee as the Gospel’s provenance: “how does one account for the abundance, accurate placement, and even correct sequence of geographical data in Mark’s Gospel” 24. Concerning the ancient world geography, Collins (Mark, 9) says as follows: The problem … is the assumption that anyone living near a region would be precisely informed about its geography. Such an assumption is dubious. Modern New Testament exegetes with scholarly maps and atlases are better informed about the geography of the ancient world than many of its inhabitants were. Lack of knowledge of even relatively nearby regions would be likely if the author had not actually visited them in person. Even modern Americans are ignorant of parts of our country, including some that are quite nearby! 182. Similarly, M. Eugene Boring (Mark: A Commentary [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2006], 15–20) argues that the Markan Gospel’s provenance is open for either Galilee or Syria. 183. Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “The Social Location of the Markan Audience,” Int 47 (1993): 380–95. 184. Rohrbaugh, “Social Location,” 380. 185. Collins (“Composition and Performance in Mark 13,” in A Wandering Galilean: Essays in Honor of Seán Freyne [eds. Zuleika Rodgers, Margaret Daly-Denton, and Anne Fitzpatrick McKinley; Leiden: Brill, 2009], 539–60, here 558) argues concerning the function of the ‘reader’ as follows: “The reference to the ‘reader’ also informed the audience that the literate public reader was sufficiently informed about this phrase to be able to explain to them when the reading was completed.” In this regard, it seems entirely plausible that such role of the Markan reader was expected so as to help the audience to understand any part of the Gospel which needed extra explanations just like Mark 13:14. This also demonstrates



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that even though the Markan Gospel was written to be heard in public, the success of its delivery to the audience was significantly up to the reader. 186. Christopher M. Tuckett, “Gospels and Communities: Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community?” in Jesus, Paul, and Early Christianity, eds. Rieuwerd Buitenwerf, Harm W. Hollander, and Johannes Tromp (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 377–96, here 378. 187. Richard Bauckham, “For Whom Were Gospels Written?” in The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences, ed. Richard Bauckham (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998), 9–48. 188. Rohrbaugh, “The Social Location of the Markan Audience,” 392. Rohrbaugh argues in the same place on the two struggles that the endangered Markan community faces as follows: On the one hand, the reconciliation of Jew with Gentile was opposed by Pharisees for reasons of purity; on the other hand, it was encouraged by Romans on imperialistic grounds. Consequently, Christians who reconciled themselves with Jews, but on pointedly nonimperialistic grounds, incurred the wrath of both sides. 189. Incigneri, Romans, 33. 190. Bauckham, “For Whom?” in The Gospels for All Christians, 9–48. 191. David C. Sim, “The Gospels for All Christians? A Response to Richard Bauckham,” JSNT 84 (2001): 3–27, here 5. 192. However, Bauckham actually is not the first one who argues for the general audience of the Gospels. For those who made the same argument earlier than Bauckham, refer to Michael F. Bird, “Bauckham’s The Gospel for All Christians Revisited,” EuroJTh 15 (2006): 5–13, esp. 12. 193. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 26. 194. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 12–13. 195. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 27. 196. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 28. Bauckham (“For Whom Were Gospels Written?” 29) also claims that “anyone in the first century who wrote a book such as a bios expected it to circulate to readers unknown to its author.” 197. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 29. 198. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 30. 199. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 30. 200. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 32. 201. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 32. 202. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 33. 203. Bauckham, “For Whom Were Gospels Written?” 33. Bauckham (“For Whom Were Gospels Written?” 38–39) also argues that the practices of correspondence via letters among churches of the first century C.E. “establish more than literary connections between churches” because of messengers (or carriers of letters) who “were one way in which personal links between churches were created, which must have given even the most untraveled Christian a strong sense of participation in something much broader than his or her local church.” 204. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 37–8.

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205. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 43. 206. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 43. 207. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 43. 208. Unlike Esler who while admitting the Markan Gospel’s genre as bios launches an attack against Bauckham with an insightful explanation of the intrinsic difference between the Gospel, a bios, and other biographies of that period (see the previous section), Marcus (Mark 1–8, 69) just does not agree with Bauckham that the Markan Gospel’s genre is bios since Mark may very well be a dramatization of the good news that was originally staged in the context of a Christian worship service. … While this dramatization may borrow generic features from known forms such as dramas, biographies, and biblical histories, it is also a new creation because of its close link with the Christian liturgical setting. It is euangelion, a proclamation of good news: a redemptive story reenacted and re-experienced in the church’s celebration of the compassionate, suffering, risen Lord who not only has gone before it in the way of suffering and death but is also present in its midst, traveling with it “on the way.” It is true that some literary features from some literary works seem to be mingled into the Markan Gospel, and also true that proclamation of good news is the essential aim of the Gospel. However, it appears difficult to put euangelion before Jesus himself in the matter of priority, which otherwise renders Jesus a mere tool for it. This is not the case since Mark 1:1 states that Jesus himself is the Gospel (Ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ), which plainly reveals the author’s intention to develop the Gospel’s narrative centered on Jesus. Thus, it might be better to understand the Markan Gospel mainly as a biography of Jesus. In it, the author dramatized Jesus, and narrativized him like the Hebrew Bible does (“and it came to pass in those days” (1:9), “answered and said” (3:33; 6:37, etc.), and “and immediately,” Mark 1–8, 65) for the better appeal to his readers: the former adds more realism to and the latter provides more historicity with the events, especially concerning Jesus, of the Gospel. In other words, all these features might converge into the apt description of Jesus, the main character, which then confirms again the Gospel as a bios of him. 209. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 26. Marcus makes this argument in response to Bauckham’s assertion that the four Evangelists were motivated to write the Gospels for unknown Christian communities they could not visit in person because of distance. Bauckham, “For Whom Were Gospels Written?” in Richard Bauckham, The Gospels for All Christians, 28–30. 210. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 26. 211. The argument for the Qumran documents for a local community is supported by Adele Reinhartz, “Gospel Audiences: Variations on a Theme” in Audience of the Gospels, 134–52, here 139. 212. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 27. 213. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 27–28. In particular, Marcus’ argument based on Mark’s inclusion in his Gospel and Matthew’s and Luke’s omission from their Gospels, of the names, Alexander and Rufus is supported by Collins in Mark, 97. 214. The similar arguments are also found in the following scholars: Senior, “‘With Swords and Clubs …’—The Setting of Mark’s Community and His Critique of Abusive Power,” 10–20, esp. 12; Roskam (Purpose, 15, 20–1). Roskam refers to other human names and geographical



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ones as evidence of this argument: James the younger and Joses (Mark 15:40), Magdala (Mark 15:40, 47; 16:1) and Dalmanutha (Mark 8:10); Brown, An Introduction, 163; Black, Mark, 322; Kloppenborg, “Evocatio Deorum,” 421. Here Kloppenborg argues that Mark’s unelaborated references to ‘the high priest’ (14:53) and Pilate (15:2), in contrast to Matthew and Luke, who identify the high priest as Caiaphas (Matt 26:3, 57; Luke 3:2) and Pilate as ‘the governor’ (Matt 27:11; Luke 3:1), presupposes an audience that does not need explanations for these persons. Wills, What the Gospels Meant, 15. Here Wills even suspects that Alexander and Rufus and their father were present or former members of the Markan community; Bacon, Roman Gospel?, 65–66; Hengel, Studies in the Gospel of Mark, 9; Incigneri, The Gospel to the Romans, 100; Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 441; L. W. Hurtado, “The Gospel of Mark: Evolutionary or Revolutionary Document?,” JSNT 40 (1990): 15–32, esp. 26; et al. 215. Sim, “All Christians?” 21. 216. Sim, “All Christians?” 21. 217. Sim, “All Christians?” 26. 218. Philip F. Esler, “Community and Gospel in Early Christianity: A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Gospels for All Christians,” SJT 51 (1998): 235–48. 219. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 13. 220. Esler, “Community,” 241. 221. According to the Logoi of Jesus, Luke uses the Gospel of Matthew in the same way he does the Gospel of Mark, and this suggests that the Lukan theology distinct from the Matthean one is a real evidence of the existence of the Lukan community distinct from the Matthean one. 222. Incigneri, Romans, 32. Roskam (Purpose,18) also accounts in more details for the problems with Bauckham’s argument in view of the literary reliance of the Matthean and the Lukan Gospels on the Makan one: This argument [of Bauckham] is, however, rather unconvincing. First, the fact that Mark’s Gospel circulated among several churches does not mean that its author wrote it with this specific intention. Second, Luke and Matthew may have realized that in the future their Gospels might be circulated in the same way as Mark’s Gospel did, but this does not mean that they intended their Gospels to circulate; in writing their Gospels they may still have aimed at addressing the issues and concerns of their own communities. 223. Esler, “Community,” 243. 224. Richard A. Burridge, “About People, by People, for People: Gospel Genre and Audiences,” in The Gospels for All Christians, 113–45. 225. Burridge, “About People,” 133. 226. Burridge, “About People,” 122. However, three common differences of the Gospels as bioi from the general works of bioi of the Greco-Roman world are proposed by Bryan, A Preface to Mark, 38:

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the pivotal role of the fig-tree story [F]irst, the Gospels’ interest in eschatology; second, the Gospels’ Jewishness (by contrast, Philostratus’s Apollonius regards even the land of Israel as polluted because of the acts and sufferings of its people [5.27]: a fascinating mirror image of Israel’s self-perception); and third, the Gospels’ comparative lack of interest in asceticism, particularly as regards diet (thus, in contrast to Philostratus’s Apollonius, who claims that eating meat is unclean, the disciples of Jesus are told bluntly that ‘there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile’ [see Life of Apollonius 1.8; compare Porphry’s life of Pythagoras 7.34–35; contrast Mark 7:15]).

After all, the comparisons between the Markan Gospel and the common bioi of the Greco—roman world of Burridge and Bryan indicate that the Gospel’s genre is bios of that period, but has the contents thar are not found in bioi. In other words, the Markan Gospel belongs in its genre to bios of the Greco-Roman world, but at the same time is different in its contents from bios. In the next page, this issue is addressed in details. 227. Esler, “Community,” 244. Roskam (Purpose,19) asserts that the Gospels even should not be compared to these biographies by Plutarch and Suetonius for the argument for the universal readership since these Greco-Roman biographies do not apply to this argument: Graeco-Roman biographers, such as Plutarch or Suetonius, may have aimed at a broad readership, but not at an indefinite one. These authors belonged to the higher echelons of society and were certainly writing with an upper-class audience in mind. In short, if the Gospels are to be categorized as ancient biographies, it is still easily possible that the Evangelists used this literary form with a specific and limited readership in mind. 228. This conclusion also renders the argument of Justin M. Smith pointless which reaffirms Burridge’s point of the Gospels, as bioi, for the targeted readers, all Christians in “About Friends, by Friends, for Others: Author-Subject Relationships in Contemporary Greco-Roman Biographies,” in Audience of the Gospels: The Origin and Function of the Gospels in Early Christianity, ed. Edward W. Klink III (London: T&T Clark International, 2010), 49–67, esp. 66–67. 229. All citations from Esler, “Community,” 237. 230. Esler, “Community,” 238. 231. Richard Bauckham, “Response to Philip Esler,” SJT 51 (1998): 249–53. 232. Robin L. Fox, Pagans and Christians in the Mediterranean World from the Second Century A.D. to the Conversion of Constantine (London: Penguin, 1986), 271, in Bird, “Bauckham’s The Gospel for All Christians Revisited,” 6. 233. Margaret M. Mitchell, “Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim That ‘the Gospels Were Written for All Christians,’” NTS 51 (2005): 36–79. 234. Bauckham, “For Whom?” 13. 235. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 62. 236. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 63. 237. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 51. 238. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 72.



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239. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 67. 240. Bauckham, “Is there Patristic Counter-Evidence? A Response to Margaret Mitchell,” in Klink III, The Audience of the Gospels, 68–110, here 88. 241. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 39. 242. Thomas Kazen, “Sectarian Gospels for Some Christians? Intention and Mirror Reading in the Light of Extra-Canonical Texts,” NTS 51 (2005): 561–78, here 577, in Bird, “Bauckham’s,” 10. 243. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 39. Burton L. Mack (A Myth of Innocence [Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006]) is one of those who deny defining the early Christian movement as the single, common phenomenon with no difference from one community to another. Mack proposes the earliest five different Jesus movements that were active prior to the creation of the Gospel of Mark: (1) one by the itinerants in Galilee, the so-called Q community who as Cynic-type preachers tried to proclaim Jesus’ special identity as a Jewish prophet (Myth, 86); (2) one by the “pillars” in Jerusalem, to whom Jesus might have been remembered and asserted as “a popular reformer of some kind whose message about the kingdom of God now had to be taken even more seriously” (Myth, 89); (3) one by the family of Jesus, who possibly founded a sect called Nazareans and who attempted to draw Jewish conclusions about Jesus like Jesus’ legitimate lineage from King David and so on (Myth, 91); (4) one by the congregation of Israel, which compared Jesus to Moses and Elijah from the perspective of miracles(Myth, 92); (5) synagogue reform movement which claimed Jesus as “the master of every challenging situation” while exaggerating the degree of Jesus’ authority (Myth, 94). While these five Jesus movements above were related to Jewish Christianity, there also existed Hellenized forms of Jesus movements that became a Christ cult. (Myth, 98, 101, Mack asserts that the decisive difference of Christ cults by Hellenistic Christians from Jesus movements on the side of Jewish Christianity lies in the former’s deification of Jesus who resurrected while there is no such deification in the latter.) As in the five Jesus movements by Jewish Christians, Hellenistic Jesus movements which Mack calls “the congregations of the Christ” also had different opinions among themselves. For example, concerning the resurrection of Jesus, whereas some Christ cults had no interest in it, but others did by relating the Hellenistic myth of Jesus’ death (like the one of martyr) to the Jewish one on the resurrection (like the one as the reward for a righteous life), and others looked at it only in light of one’s salvation (Myth, 100–13). Therefore, as seen above, these various Jesus movements of both sides, Jewish and Hellenistic, had different voices about Jesus from the different groups of people who had to defend their own “emerging social practices” since they were influenced by “different constituencies clustered around the memory of Jesus” and also saw themselves “in different social circumstances, addressing different configurations of the world outside” (Myth, 125). Furthermore, as Eck (“Sitz?” 996) rightly says, all these movements vied with one another in their own arguments so as to be Jesus’ genuine followers. Based on this conclusion, it seems more reasonable than not, to think that under the dual influence of Jewish and Hellenistic factors, the Gospel of Mark as one branch of the early Christian movement was too created first for its community due to the special necessity brought by its distinct social circumstance. This point directly refuses Bauckham’s assertion of the Gospel for all Christians at that period. Cf. Roskam, The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context, 20–21; Sim, “All Christians?” 11–15.

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244. Mitchell, “Counter-Evidence,” 40. 245. Eck, “Sitz?” 1000–1, disproves both the easy and safe traveling and frequent visits of Christian leaders to other Christian groups in the Greco-Roman world of first century C.E.: Above all, Bauckham’s theory on the mobility and the frequent moving around of Christian leaders in the early Christian movement is based on highly suspectable evidence. Bauckham … in substantiating his thesis that the early Christian leaders moved around quite often, quotes in almost all cases texts from the Acts of the Apostles to give a base for his argument. It is, however, more or less consensus in New Testament scholarship that Acts is highly tendentious in character, in that Acts (as part of Luke-Acts) wants to give an irenic picture of the way the Gospel of Jesus the Christ spread, first from Galilee to Jerusalem (Luke), and then from Jerusalem to Rome (Acts). This tendentious aspect of Acts becomes clear when, for example, a comparison is made between Acts 15 and Galatians 2. Moreover, from the letters of Paul (see 2 Cor 6:4–6; 11:23–28) a different picture of what travel in the first century entailed, can be drawn. See also Sim, “The Gospels for All Christians?” 21–22. Here Sim argues against incessant communication and frequent travel among early Christian groups. 246. Eck, “Sitz?” 1000.

Works Cited Achtemeier, Paul J. “Omne Verbum Sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity.” Journal of Biblical Literature 109 (1990): 3–27. Bacon, Benjamin. Is Mark a Roman Gospel? Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919. Bammel, Ernst. “The Revolution Theory from Reimarus to Brandon.” In Jesus and the Politics of His Day, edited by Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, 11–68. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Bauckham, Richard. “For Whom Were Gospels Written?” In The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences, edited by Richard Bauckham, 9–48. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998. ———. “Response to Philip Esler.” Scottish Journal of Theology 51 (1998): 249–53. ———., ed. The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998. Bird, Michael F. “Bauckham’s the Gospel for All Christians Revisited.” European Journal of Theology 15 (2006): 5–13. ———. “The Markan Community, Myth or Maze? Bauckham’s the Gospel for All Christians Revisited.” Journal of Theological Studies 57 (2006): 474–86. Bolt, Peter G. Jesus’ Defeat of Death: Persuading Mark’s Early Readers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Boring, M. Eugene. Mark: A Commentary. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006. Botha, Pieter J. J. “The Historical Setting of Mark’s Gospel: Problems and Possibilities.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 51 (1993), 27–55.



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Brandon, S. G. F. “Date of the Markan Gospel.” New Testament Studies 7 (1961): 126–41. Breytenbach, Cilliers. “Current Research on the Gospel according to Mark: A Report on Monographs Published from 2000–2009.” In Comparative Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in Their First-Century Settings, edited by Eve-Marie Becker and Anders Runesson, 13–32. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Broek, L. D. Vander. “The Markan ‘Sitz Im Leben’: A Critical Investigation into the Possibility of a Palestinian Setting for the Gospel.” PhD diss., The Drew University, 1983. Brown, Raymond E. An Introduction to The New Testament. New York: Doubleday, 1997. Browning, W. R. F. A Dictionary of the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Bryan, Christopher. A Preface to Mark: Notes on the Gospel in Its Literary and Cultural Settings. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Byrskog, Samuel. Story as History—History as Story: The Gospel Tradition in the Context of Ancient Oral History. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000. Chapman, Dean W. “Locating the Gospel of Mark: A Model of Agrarian Biography.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 25 (1995): 24–36. Collins, Adela Yarbro. Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2001. ———. “Composition and Performance in Mark 13.” In A Wandering Galilean: Essays in Honor of Seán Freyne, edited by Zuleika Rodgers, Margaret Daly-Denton, and Anne Fitzpatrick McKinley, 539–60. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Conzelmann, Hans, and Andreas Lindemann. Arbeitsbuch Zum Neuen Testament. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995. Cronjé, Schalk W. “The False Christs of Mark 13: The Theios Anēr (‘divine Man’) Contention. Can It Be That in Refutation of Such a Heresy Mark Wrote His Gospel? If Not, What Then?” APB 13 (2002): 66–96. Crossan, John Dominic. “Form for Absence: The Markan Creation of Gospel.” Semeia 12 (1978): 41–55. Dewey, Joanna., ed. Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1995. ———. “The Gospel of Mark as Oral Hermeneutic.” In Jesus, the Voice, and the Text: Beyond The Oral and the Written Gospel, edited by Tom Thatcher, 71–87. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008. Donahue, John R. “The Quest for the Community of Mark’s Gospel.” In The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck, edited by Frans van Segbroeck, 817–38. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1992. ———. “Windows and Mirrors: The Setting of Mark’s Gospel.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 57 (1995): 1–26. Donahue, John R., and Daniel J. Harrington. The Gospel of Mark. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002. Esler, Philip F. “Community and Gospel in Early Christianity: A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Gospels for All Christians.” Scottish Journal of Theology 51 (1998): 235–48. Fowler, Robert M. Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991.

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Fox, Robin L. Pagans and Christians in the Mediterranean World from the Second Century A.D. to the Conversion of Constantine. London: Penguin, 1986. Gilliard, Frank D. “More Silent Reading in Antiquity: Non Omne Verbum Sonabat.” Journal of Biblical Literature 112 (1993): 689–94. Goodman, Martin. “The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt.” Journal of Jewish Studies 33 (1982): 417–27. Gray, Timothy C. The Temple in the Gospel of Mark: A Study in Its Narrative Role. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010. Hengel, Martin. Studies in the Gospel of Mark. Translated by John Bowden. London: SCM Press, 1985. Hooker, Morna D. The Gospel According To Saint Mark. Black’s New Testament Commentary. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991. Humphrey, Hugh. From Q to “Secret” Mark: A Composition History of the Earliest Narrative Theology. New York: T & T Clark International, 2006. Hurtado, L. W. “The Gospel of Mark: Evolutionary or Revolutionary Document?” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 40 (1990): 15–32. Iersel, Van Bas M. “Failed Followers in Mark: Mark 13:12 as a Key for the Identification of the Intended Readers.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 58 (1996): 244–63. ———. Mark: A Reader-Response Commentary. Translated by W. H. Bisscheroux. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998. Incigneri, Brian. The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Jeremias, Joachim. The Parables of Jesus. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1963. Jones, Judith Anne. “Building on the Rejected Stone: The Metaphorical Construals of Psalm 118:22 in the New Testament.” PhD diss., The Emory University, 1999. Jordan, Lynn M. “Elijah Transfigured: A Study of the Narrative of the Transfiguration in the Gospel of Mark.” PhD diss., The Duke University, 1981. Jülicher, Adolf. Einleitung in Das Neue Testament. Tuebingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1906. Kazen, Thomas. “Sectarian Gospels for Some Christians? Intention and Mirror Reading in the Light of Extra-Canonical Texts.” New Testament Studies 51 (2005): 561–78. Kee, Howard C. Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983. Kelber, Werner H. The Kingdom in Mark: A New Place and a New Time. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1974. ———. The Oral and the Written Gospel: The Hermeneutics of Speaking and Writing in the Synoptic Tradition, Mark, Paul, and Q. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1983. Klink III, Edward W., ed. Audience of the Gospels: The Origin and Function of the Gospels in Early Christianity. London: T&T Clark International, 2010. Kloppenborg, John S. “Evocatio Deorum and the Date of Mark.” Journal of Biblical Literature 124 (2005): 419–50. Koester, Helmut. Introduction to the New Testament. Vol. 2: History and Literature of Early Christianity. New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1987. Kümmel, Werner Georg. Einleitung in das Neue Testament. Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1980.



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Lightfoot, Robert H. Locality and Doctrine in the Gospels. New York: Harper, 1938. Liturgical Press, 2002. Lohmeyer, Ernst. Galiläad Und Jerusalem. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1936. Longstaff, Thomas R. W. “Crisis and Christology: The Theology of the Gospel of Mark.” Perkins Journal 33 (1980): 28–40. Lührmann, Dieter. Das Markusevangelium. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987. Luz, Ulrich. Matthew 1–7. Hermeneia. Translated by James E. Crouch. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2007. MacDonald, Dennis R. The Gospels and Classical Greek Poetry Claremont, CA: Unpublished. ———. Two Shipwrecked Gospels: The Logoi of Jesus and Papias’s Exposition of Logia about the Lord. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. Mack, Burton L. A Myth of Innocence. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2006. Marcus, Joel. “The Jewish War and the Sitz Im Leben of Mark.” Journal of Biblical Literature 111 (1992): 441–62. ———. The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992. Martin, Ralph P. Mark: Evangelist and Theologian. Sydney: The Paternoster Press, 1972. Marxsen, Willi. Der Evangelist Markus: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Evangeliums. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1959. Marxsen, Willi. Einleitung in das Neue Testament. Guetersloh: Mohn, 1964. Matera, Frank J. What Are They Saying About Mark? New York: Paulist Press, 1987. Mauser, Ulrich W. Christ in the Wilderness: The Wilderness Theme in the Second Gospel and Its Basis in the Biblical Tradition. London: SCM Press, 1963. McDonald, Lee Martin, and Stanley E. Porter. Early Christianity and Its Sacred Literature. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2000. Mitchell, Margaret M. “Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim That ‘the Gospels Were Written for All Christians.’” New Testament Studies 51 (2005): 36–79. Moloney, Francis J. The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2012. Moss, Candida R. “The Transfiguration: An Exercise in Markan Accommodation.” Biblical Interpretation 12 (2004): 69–89. Myers, Ched. Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus. New York: Orbis Books, 2011. Niederwimmer, Kurt. “Johannes Markus und die Frage nach dem Verfasser des Zwelten Evangeliums.” Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der Älteren Kirche 58 (1967): 172–88. Notley, R. Steven. “The Sea of Galilee: Development of an Early Christian Toponym.” JBL 128 (2009): 183–88. Ong, Walter J. “Text as Interpretation: Mark and After.” In Orality, Aurality and Biblical Narrative, edited by Lou H. Silberman, 7–26. Decatur, GA: Scholars Press, 1987. Pamment, Margaret. “Moses and Elijah in the Story of the Transfiguration.” Expository Times 92 (1981): 338–39. Pesch, Rudolf. Das Markusevangelium. Freiburg: Herder, 1976.

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Plato. Plato: Phaedrus, Ion, Gorgias, and Symposium, with Passages from the Republic and Laws, edited by Lane Cooper. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1938. Reicke, Bo. The New Testament Era. Translated by David E. Green. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1968. Resseguie, James L. “Reader-Response Criticism and the Synoptic Gospels.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 52 (1984): 307–24. Rohrbaugh, Richard L. “The Social Location of the Markan Audience.” Interpretation 47 (1993): 380–95. Roskam, Hendrika N. The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context. Boston: Brill, 2004. Schottroff, Luise. The Parables of Jesus. Translated by Linda M. Maloney. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2006. Senior, Donald. “‘With Swords and Clubs …’—The Setting of Mark’s Community and His Critique of Abusive Power.” Biblical Theology Bulletin 17 (1987): 10–20. Shiner, Whitney. Proclaiming the Gospel: First-Century Performance of Mark. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003. Sim, David C. “The Gospels for All Christians? A Response to Richard Bauckham.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 84 (2001): 3–27. Ssebadduka, George William. “‘Rabbi, It Is Good That We Are Here’: Moses, Elijah, and John in Mark’s Transfiguration Story (9:2–8).” PhD diss., The Marquette University. Stamps, Dennis L. “Rhetorical and Narratological Criticism.” In Handbook to Exegesis of the New Testament, edited by Stanley E. Porter, 219–40. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Telford, William R. “Mark.” In The Synoptic Gospels, edited by Riches, John, William R. Telford, and Christopher M. Tuckett, 128–244. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001. Theissen, Gerd. The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition. Translated by Linda M. Maloney. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1991. Tuckett, Christopher M. “Gospels and Communities: Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community?” In Jesus, Paul, and Early Christianity, edited by Rieuwerd Buitenwerf, Harm W. Hollander, and Johannes Tromp, 377–96. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Van Eck, Ernest. “A Sitz for the Gospel of Mark? A Critical Reaction to Bauckham’s Theory on the Universality of the Gospels.” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 56 (2000): 973–1008. Waetjen, Herman C. A Reordering of Power: A Socio-Political Reading of Mark’s Gospel. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989. Watts, Rikki E. “Mark.” In Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, edited by G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson, 111–250. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2007. Wills, Garry. What the Gospels Meant. New York: Viking, 2008. Winn, Adam. “The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel: An Early Christian Response to Roman Imperial Propaganda.” PhD diss., The Fuller Theological Seminary, 2007. Wire, Antoinette Clark. The Case for Mark Composed in Performance. Biblical Performance Criticism 3. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2010.

·3· homeric influence on the greco - roman world

This chapter will investigate how significant Homer and his poems were to the Greco-Roman world, especially from the perspective of the education and the recognition of Homer by ancient people. It is out of doubt that one needs to learn before he or she can read and write and thus a good educational system of teaching how to read and write makes people good readers and writers. This also applied to the Greco-Roman world which had its education system starting with teaching how to read and write.1 The first Markan readers living in the Greco-Roman world of the first century C.E., therefore, could be said to be the beneficiary of GrecoRoman education. Considering that Greek texts of that time did have no space between words in them, the readers must have privately practiced reading those reader-unfriendly texts to understand the texts before their public readings and this practice was not thinkable without the help of the education.2 Therefore, if one can demonstrate that Homer and his works exerted influence on Greco-Roman education, the possibility of the mimetic reading of the first Markan readers will be enhanced. In addition, another demonstration of Homer’s effect on the general population of the ancient world will also contribute to the more plausibility of the interactive reading of between Homeric epics and the Markan Gospel.

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In this regard, there will be first the investigation of the features of Greco-Roman education. Then, the analysis of three steps of education and how Homer exerted his influence on each step will follow.

I. Greco-Roman Education A. Enkyklios Paideia3 The Gospel of Mark is supposed to be written after 70 C.E. (more specifically 75–80 C.E.)4 and its contemporary Christians could not have read the Gospel without some education. Then a question arises concerning the features of education that influenced the Makran first readers as well as Mark. Thus, the following investigation will answer this question by proving that the first century C.E. Christian readers in the Greco-Roman world were considerably exposed to ancient Greek education of which curriculum in general consisted of common subjects such as writing and composition. To begin with, the following question is proposed: does the New Testament refer to Greek education of the first century C.E. Greco-Roman area? Despite the lack of plain indication of Greek education in the New Testament, it has several places in it that give some hint of Greek education. It is Paul, the apotsle, whose letters occupy a considerable part of the New Testament, who helps assume the possible influence of Greek education on him and his recipients. For instance, Gal 3:24 reads “Thus, the law has become our teacher until Christ” (ὥστε ὁ νόμος παιδαγωγὸς ἡμῶν γέγονεν εἰς Χριστόν).5 According to Karl Olav Sandnes, παιδαγωγός frequently appears in texts about the upbringing and teaching of children. In Paul’s text it does not refer to the teacher, but to the person who took care of the children. The word can be translated in various ways. The παιδαγωγός was a slave assigned to take care of the children. This implied taking them to their teachers. At the teacher’s the paidagogues probably listened to the teaching and thus picked up knowledge conveyed there. Accordingly, the παιδαγωγός often appears as persons of some training, and they were expected to behave well, speak well, and to have skills in teaching. In this way, many παιδαγωγοί played an intermediary role between the parents and the children.6

Paul’s theological point of using παιδαγωγός is that the law cannot lead to the ultimate truth or salvation just as παιδαγωγὸς cannot play the vital role in resulting in the peak of education.7



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In another place, Paul demonstrates the dependence of early Christians’ teaching and upbringing on Greek education: 1 Cor 4:14–17 reflects Greek educational literature with the use of the words such as “admonish”, “remind you of my ways”, “teach”, “imitate”, “παιδαγωγοί.”8 In addition, in 1 Corinthians 3:1–2, the congregation of the church of Corinth is reprimanded by Paul for not having advanced to the next upper level from the lowest one of sucking milk.9 Here the word γάλα (milk) is the keyword that relates 1 Corinthians 3:2 to Greek elementary education. Milk and solid food were the popular images in ancient time: for instances, (1) Epictetus says that “‘Are you not willing, at this late date, like children, to be weaned and to partake of more solid food, and not to cry for mammies and nurses—old wives’ lamentations?’”10 and (2) according to Philo’s De Agricultra 9, milk is the food for suckling babies while fully grown men eat wheaten bread, which indicates that Greek education first offers milk and later soft food, but cannot afford hard one like meat for babies.11 Given the cited parts of Pauline epistles from the New Testament above, early Christian leaders such as Paul and his recipients who were capable of reading and writing Greek must have benefited from Hellenistic education where students became literate and which was still being put into effect in the first century C.E. Greco-Roman world. Since the first century C.E. Christians’ accessibility to Greek education could be assumed possible through the investigation of some of Paul’s letters, it seems appropriate to move to the next question: why is Greek education also called as enkyklios paideia? It appears that the answer to this issue needs to begin with what consisted of Greek education. According to Teresa Morgan, Hellenistic and Roman literate education began with learning to read and write and progressed through the reading of Greek and Latin authors, grammar, literary criticism, arithmetic, geometry, and algebra to music, rhetoric, philosophy and astronomy. From the Hellenistic period onwards, the whole collection commonly went under the name enkyklios paideia.12

Even though the meaning of the adjective enkyklios might usually be “circular,” “complete,” “recurrent,” “commonly,” or “ordinary,” it often implies the notion of being complete.13 In other words, to say that Greek education (paideia) is enkyklios is the way to emphasize the completeness of its system that encircles students with everything they need to learn.14

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The most detailed explanation that takes accout of what the Greeks meant by enkyklios paideia is found in Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria 1.10.1; The Latin phrase that Quitilian used here as an equivalent to the Greek enkyklios paideia is orbis doctrinae, translated as the circuit of education. Thus, it can be said that the concept of “completeness” is implied in the word orbis (circuit) as in enkyklios, which leads Quintilian to define it as teaching how to read and write, grammar, literature, geometry, astronomy, music, and logic.15 However, in addition to the meaning of completeness, it also, Cribiore says, “hinted at the multiplicity of the educational circles involved and at the cyclic revisiting of the same texts.”16 In other words, the systems of enkyklios paideia keep depending on the same literary sources: among these texts, Morgan says, are included ones by Homer, Euripides, Menander, Isocrates, and so on.17 Then, it would be helpful for the better understanding of enkyklios paideia from the perspective of this definition to figure out under what kind of systems of Greek education did teachers and students revisit the same texts. In his global study A History of Education in Antiquity,18 Henri-Iréné Marrou seems to have received an authority on this topic.19 The most remarkable achievement of Marrou might be that he made possible a simple and easy understanding of the ancient education with the concept of the standard tripartite picture of it. What the tripartite picture means is that literary teaching consisted of three different stages: primary, secondary and higher education, each of which was overseen by a different tutor. Students took the three educational courses one after another in a sequential order.20 The time for the primary and public education to begin was at about the age of 7, and then the secondary one proceeded at the time of learning one’s alphabet. To read and write were the main goals of primary education, which were naturally stressed the most: this is supported by the fact that γραμματιστής meant the elementary teacher whose work was closely related to τὰ γράμματα, the letters: he focused on teaching his students to read them aloud.21 When looking at wooden wax tablets, pieces of broken pots or papyri which were used as notebooks in ancient times, one can see how each letter was taught. According to Cribiore, they comprise “the writing of single letters of the alphabet practiced several times, and letters that are joined without following an alphabetical order.”22 Once again, this first level of the tripartite education ultimately intended to equip students with the ability to read some important parts of classical texts with the basic knowledge of letters.



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After students had satisfied the requirements of the first level of education, they advanced to the second stage. On this level, the teachers taught students who already acquired skills in both reading and writing style, language and morals found in selective texts which were religious poems; students were supposed to memorize and recite pieces from those poems which often referred to the pagan gods (from the perspective of Jews and Christians) who, in the stories of poems, guided and intervened in human affairs. Meanwhile, the topics addressed at the first and second stages had encyclical characteristics since the two educational stages shared the same traditional texts for their curriculum: the second stage revisited texts that were also used by teachers and students at the primary level of education. With the completion of the two first levels, students proceeded to the third level. However, unlike the prior two, this stage offered various optional fields for students to learn: medicine law,23 rhetoric or philosophy.24 Since most of young Greeks chose to study rhetoric among those various types of higher education, the third level of Greek education “usually centered in the study of rhetoric.”25 Therefore, Quintilian claimed that the goal of education was to foster reading master (in the first level), grammarian (in the second level), and rhetor (in the third level). However, there is one significant point that should not be overlooked in this claim of Quintilian: even for rhetoric, the ultimate goal of education, Homer’s literary works still continued to be used. Sandnes, thus, contends that “[t]he texts books, progymnasmata, used for the purpose of rhetoric, demonstrate the continuing use of Homer at this advanced level of education.”26 In summary, as is seen above, the education of the Greco-Roman period can be called enkyklios paideia which is characterized with its circular nature in its use of same literary materials such as Homer and Vergil for each step of education. The Greco-Roman education as enkyklios paideia, thus, can suggest two things: (1) This world had great authors like Homer and Vergil especially that the people of the Mediterranean world, which was so vast in its size of territory, could trust wholly for such a significant matter as education27 and (2) many different peoples scattered throughout the Mediterranean areas could be categorized as the people of Greco-Roman world: it was partially due to the attribution of this kind of education that equipped them with similar knowledge and thoughts employing the common teaching system and texts. After all, the statement of John Halverson turns out to be right: Yet it remains true, as Burkert has said (and many others agree) that “the foundation of all education was Homer.” There is no paradox here, for the meaning of the

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statement is simply that the text of Homer was basic required reading for the classical period. As literacy spread and literate education became institutionalized, young readers learned their letters in Homer.28

B. Use of Homeric Texts In the previous section, I mentioned, but not specifically, that Homer’s literary works were used for all the three stages of enkyklios paideia of the Greco-Roman world. The current section, then, aims to see in details how the educatoin of Greco-Roman period might have benefited from Homer. The question of how Homeric epics were utilized in Greco-Roman education might be effectively addressed in association with the three steps of Greco-Roman education: that is, how its particular step used Homer’s works to fulfill their own goals. Since it has already been demonstrated above that what the three levels of Greek education were, which were also applied to the system of the Greco-Roman education, there seems no reason to reiterate the full account of them here, rather it might be fine to freely and directly get to the point of the question: how was each step connected with Homeric texts? or what roles did the epics play in each phase? First of all, the first step or the primary level was the first moment for students to run into Homeric texts. At this stage, students were usually supposed to learn how to read and write words that usually consisted of one or up to five syllables: for instance, λύγξ (lynx), στράγξ (drop), χλάγξ (howl), χλώψ (thief), χνάξ (meaning unknown) that are enlisted in the Mime of Herodas.29 In the Mime, Kottalos, a young genius student at the first level, had difficulties in telling ΜΑΡΩΝ from ΣΙΜΩΝ.30 In spite of his clumsiness at reading, he provides an important list that serves as an evidence of the use of Homeric epics: the list mentions Μάρων of Odyssey (9.197) among other proper names in it. When perusing Herodas’ work of collection and analysis of the available lists of words, it seems hard to deny that Homer’s role in the primary stage was substantially huge. In addition, there are two notebooks containing the lists that especially reflect Homer’s significant influence. The first notebook is called P. Chester Beatty, written in a papyrus book in the third or early fourth century.31 A sequence of alphabetized lists of words was originally included in this notebook, but unfortunately, not all the words in the lists currently exist: Among them remain only 216 words, and the number of proper names is 127 out of 216 words, and among these proper names are 49 names Homeric.32



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The second notebook is the one called P. Sorbonne 826. The lists of the words of one through four syllables, along with simple sentences for beginners, in this text serve as the proof that it was used for the primary stage of education. As in the notebook of P. Chester Beatty, this one also includes the lists of proper names among which the ones from Homer is most prevalent. In other words, when it come to an attributor to the proper names of the lists, Homer was the best source that was most frequently referred to: Of the 160 proper names 65 derive from Homer, including Μάρων again (line 28) as well as the name of the poet himself (1. 98: Ὁμηρος). The selection of names ranges, as in the Chester Beatty papyrus, from likes of Αἴας (1.6) … to such obscure personages as Ἴψις, a captive whom Achilles gave to Patroclus (1.28; cf. Iliad 9.667); Μέντωρ, the father of a fallen Trojan (1.31; cf. Iliad 13.171); Βιήνωρ, a Trojan slain by Agamemnon (1.64; cf. Iliad 11.92); and Φέρεκλος again (1. 113; cf. Iliad 5.59).33

These names of the lists are thought to have two functions: (1) practice at writing and pronouncing words properly, and (2) introduction of cores of Greek history and culture. The second function is especially championed by Debut who argues that the γραμματιστής must have taken account of the important meanings that the names by Homer contain such as the identity and character along with the ones from mythology and history.34 One noticeable thing that happened to the students at the primary stage of education was their less exposure to Homeric texts in other curricula of that level using other literary materials than in the curriculum that used the lists of proper names: the other curricula included reading and writing short passages and sentences instead of famous human or divine names,35 and for short passages were used a wide variety of poetic materials and for sentences, Menandrian monostichoi and chreiai.36 However this does not mean that Homeric texts were not used at all as the source for these sentences and short passages: for example, there is one Oxyrhynchus papyrus that proves the Homeric epics as the source for sentences, in which the first words of the first line of the Iliad are contained.37 As for short passages, Homer’s influence remains, though less distinctive than in the learning of proper names above, as seen in twentyfour texts that “contain one or more lines from ‘the poet,’ nearly all from the Iliad.”38 In addition, there are two other texts to be noticed, which emphasize the importance of Homer concerning how to read and write sentences and short passages: that is, a waxed tablet and an ostrakon (C 209) that along with the lines from Iliad include the sentence: Θεός οὐδ ̓ἄνθρωπος Ὃμηρος (“Homer was a god, not a man”).39

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After all, Homeric epics played essential roles in the primary stage of education in which students learned how to read and write words like proper names, sentences, and short passages. After the first stage of education follows the next one; at this stage as the secondary curriculum γραμματικός helps students to learn grammar and literature. At first glance, this stage looks very similar to the primary one in that it deals in order with letters, syllables, words and poetic works. However, this similarity between the two is restricted only to their external form of education since the second stage aims at teaching more complicated ones than the ones taught at the first stage: Thus instead of merely learning the names and shapes of the letters, students began to classify them, distinguishing consonants from vowels and classifying both according to various subcategories, such as vowels into short and long. Likewise, instead of merely pronouncing lengthy lists of syllables, they started to learn the metric values of syllables they would find in their reading. Again, instead of merely reading lists of words of one, two, or more syllables, they began to classify words according to one of the eight parts of speech and to divide them—nouns, verbs, participles, articles, and so forth—into various subcategories. Finally, instead of merely reading sentences or short passages of poetry, they started to read and interpret lengthy literary works, always Homer and principally the Iliad. …40

As seen above, the fame of Homeric epics as an educational source of the secondary curriculum seems evident. Even though it appears improbable for the students at this stage of education to read Homer’s two literary works from cover to cover,41 nevertheless, there is no doubt that their familiarity to and knowledge of Homer was significantly augmented with the help of γραμματικός who “was in charge of teaching language and literature, the study of Homer, the poets, and, beginning in the first century AD, grammar.”42 Students at this second stage learned some lines by heart on a daily basis with the help of scholia minora, glosses on words and phrases.43 Almost all existing scholia minora gloss particularly Books 1 and 2 of the Iliad.44 One papyrus among them assumed to be written in the late first or early second century, translates the first nine lines of Book 1 verbatim: μῆνιν χόλον ὀργήν θυμόν ἄειδε ὕμνει θεά Μοῦσα Πηληιάδεω Πηλέως υἱοῦ λέγει τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως45



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The way students could improve their ability to understand and appreciate Homer’s works was to paraphrase each book of the Iliad or to refer to catechisms with questions and answers about characters and their relationships in the epic. A notebook written on a wooden tablet in third century C.E. paraphrases Iliad 1.1–21 in prose which is four times longer than the original one.46 A kind of catechism of questions by γραμματικός to students answering is found in Epictetus: Q: Who was the father of Hector? A: Priam Q: Who were his brothers? A: Alexander and Deiphobos. Q: Who was their mother? A: Hecuba (Epictetus, 2.19.7)47

The benefit that the second stage of education received from Homer was not limited only to reading and interpreting Homeric epics; Homer was also used in the form of illustration for the facility of instruction of grammar. For example, when one sees the explanation of grammar of Dionysius Thrax48 and texts about grammar written on papyri,49 it becomes evident that Homer contributed to the teaching of grammar: as far as grammar was concerned, the main focus of Dionysius was on “the classification of the Greek language into eight parts of speech such as noun (ὄνομα), verb (ῥῆμα), participle (μετοχή), article (ἄρθρον), pronoun (ἀντωνυμία), preposition (πρόθεσις), adverb (ἐπίρρημα), and conjunction (σύνδεσμος).”50 Noticing Dionysius’s focus, an ancient commentator engages Homer to illustrate the eight parts of speech: referring to πρὸς δ ̓ἐμὲ τὸν δύστηνον ἔτι φρονέοντ ́έλέησον (Iliad 22.59; “Have sympathy on me, the wretched one, while I still live”), the commentator explains πρός is a preposition, δ’ a conjunction, ἐμὲ a pronoun, τὸν an article, δύστηνον a noun, ἔτι an adverb, φρονέοντ ́ a participle, and ἐλέησον a verb.51 After all, just like the first phase of education, the second one is also related to Homer whose literary works serve as the source for reading, memorization, and interpretation, and also the tool to illustrate components of grammar. What is more, the fact of Homer’s involvement with the instruction of grammar reaffirms his significant role according to Morgan’s description of the social functions of grammar in the Greco-Roman world: In studying grammar, Quintilian’s pupil undergoes a kind of educational rebirth. He has already learned the elements of language once. Now he learns them as grammar

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and is told that only by relenting them will he be able, not only to understand what he reads but even to speak properly. Grammar, Quintilian seems to be implying, is where education begins. All those people who learned to read and write but did not proceed to learn grammar, let alone all those who can speak but not read, might as well have done nothing. Grammar, in this interpretation, is not only another way of defining the educated as a group in opposition to the uneducated: it just as firmly separates the better from, the less well educated, and it does so in radical terms, which devalue the speech as well as the reading of the less privileged.52

Furthermore, an acquaintance of Homer based on good grammatical facility served as a way to get better of one’s social superior: [I]n a schoolroom chreia in which Alexander rebuked a sleeping Diogenes with a Homeric line: “To sleep all night ill-suits a counselor” (Iliad 2.24), to which the Cynic philosopher turned the rebuke around by quoting the next line when barely awake: “On whom the folk relies whose cares are many” (Iliad 2.25). Now that’s grammatical facility, to have Homer on one’s lips on awakening!53

Therefore, one can see the gradual increase of Homer’s influence by moving from the first stage to the second one of education: the use of simple and short Homeric words, sentences, and paragraphs at stage one and then the use of more complicated and longer ones for the improvement of understanding of students, and illustrations of grammar which served as a social marker as what Morgan claims above. After students complete the curricula of the second stage of education under the guidance of γραμματικός, they come to equip themselves with increased and profound knowledge of Homer’s works. It is, then, time for them to advance to the last stage of education, the third one, whose major concern is about rhetoric or philosophy. However, despite the attention mainly paid to rhetoric or philosophy at this level, students were encouraged to keep studying literature due to the benefits that the familiarity with citations from famous poets like Homer and Vergil would bring about in making speeches.54 Students had to choose between the two options as their subject to study further: rhetoric and philosophy. Most of them overwhelmingly selected rhetoric over philosophy and learned from to a ῥήτωρ or σοφιστής about how to compose and deliver the three types of public speech55; the three speeches are “the judicial speech (δικανικός), the advisory speech (συμβουλευτικός), and the celebratory speech (ἐπιδεικτικός).”56 Competence at delivering the three types of public speeches was valued since this was thought to be essential in training them to be ready for various adult responsibilities like leading households and governing cities.57



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According to Theon, beginning to learn how to compose these three speeches is compared to learning the potter’s craft beginning with a πίθος, or huge storage jar.58 As the comparison might mean, it was better for the students to begin to learn with shorter, simpler compositions which nevertheless address the essential elements of rhetorical arguments and styles. Concerning the learning of rhetoric, there were textbooks called progymnasmata59 that were used for the purpose of teaching rhetoric to students; it, thus, seems appropriate to look at progymnasmata first to find out Homer’s influence on this advanced level of education. There are four surviving progymnasmata, written from the late first to the fifth century, by or attributed to Aelius Theon of Alexandria,60 Hermogenes of Tarsus,61 Aphthonius of Antioch,62 and Nicolaus of Myra.63 Among them, progymnasmata by Aphthonius became the standard text with fourteen exercises, arranged in a graded series of increasing length, complexity, and difficulty Students began with the easiest progymnasmata, the μῦθος, the διήγημα, the χρεία, and γνώμη. But even here students were already learning explicitly rhetorical lessons. As John Doxapatres, in a Byzantine commentary on Aphthonius, says, the various progymnasmata provide preliminary instruction in the three types of speech. Specifically, he says that the skills learned in composing μῦθοι or chreia elaborations will be useful later when writing advisory speeches; the skills learned in composing an ἀνασκευή, or κατασευἠ will be helpful when writing judicial speeches; and the skills learned in composing an ἐγκώμιον, ψόγος, or κοινὸς will aid in writing celebratory speeches. Likewise, the progymnasmata prepare students to compose the four parts of speech. For example, Doxapatres says: “Just as the task of the introduction is to make the audience attentive to what will be said in the narrative, so the tasks of (composing) a μῦθος is to prepare the audience for accepting the ἐπιμύθιον, or moral, of the μῦθος.”64 It is out of question that one of the fundamental goals of this level of education reflected in the use of the progymnasmata was to render the students good at rhetoric. Meanwhile, it should be also noticed that espeically Homer among many other poets was referred to in the progymnasmata, which means his works continued to be used for a higher education like rhetoric.65 Three particular progymnasmata, that is, the διήγημα (“narrative”), the γνώμη (“maxim”), and the ήθοποιία (“personification”) show how students especially used Homer.66 First, in the chapter of διήγημα, they often used Homer to explain the difference between διήγημα and διήγησις. Just as they had already developed the ability to recognize the difference between the two words, “they knew that a ποίημα is a portion of ποίησις, or a larger poetic work, so that the preparation of Achilles’ weapons in Iliad 18 is a ποίημα of a larger poetic work,

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or ποίησις, namely the Iliad. Accordingly, a διήγημα is a specific incident and διήγησις the entire narrative.”67 Theon’s progymnasmata while discussing the διήγμα also refers to Homer as a right example of the narrative style: he suggests the rule for a speaker, of delivering distressing or shocking events to an audience as short as possible just as Homer does in narrating the tragic incident of Patroculus’ death. Homer says briefly “Patroclus lies dead (κεῖται Πάτροκλος)” (Iliad 18.20) and that is how Achilles encounters his death.68 To the contrary, when it comes to delivering a joyful or encouraging event, Theon asserts, one should do the opposite of the case of a distressing one. He takes Homer’s Odysseus as an example for this rule: from Odyssey 7 through 13, talks in a great detail Odysseus to the Phaecians about his dramatic adventure so far which starts from the departure from Troy.69 In addition, Theon, again reflecting Homer’s practice in Odyssey, claims that the order of a narrative does not always have to be chronological: a speaker starts his speech with the middle part of the story, then moves back to the beginning part and then forward to the end.70 The second progymnasmata, the γνώμη, is the place where Homer’s eminent influence is found: here Homer is frequently referred to illustrate various kinds of proverbs. For instance, according to Hock, Aphthonius employes Homer’s expressions in order to explicate five maxims: Protreptic (προτρεπτικόν): “One should welcome a stranger when he arrives and send him on when he wishes to go” (Odyssey 15.74). Aptotreptic (ἀποτρεπτικόν): “To sleep all night ill-suits a counselor) (Iliad 2.24). Simple (ἁπλοῦν): “The one best omen is to fight for one’s country” (Iliad 12.243). Compound (συνεζευγμένον): “Many kings is not a good thing; let there be one king” (Iliad 2.204). Hyperbolic (ὑπερβολικόν): “The earth nourishes nothing weaker than a human” (Odyssey 18.130).71

In similar fashion, Hermogenes cites Iliad 2.24 to express his opinion about ἀποτρεπτικόν (“self-restrain”) and in the process of making his point he uses Homer again by referring to Hector who refuses to go to sleep while Dolon is spying out the Greek ships (Iliad 10.299–336).72 After all, it is clear that Homer’s writings served as the significant material for students to classify and illustrate various kinds of γνῶμαι. Next, ἠθοποιία, the last and developed progymnasmata, provided students with a kind of play ground where they could freely play with their knowledge of Homer. One thing that they were supposed to do here was to write a speech that could have been uttered by someone on a certain circumstance. According



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to Theon, Homer was the source from which students could get diverse topics to write about.73 Some examples of Homeric topics by other extant progymnasmata prove that Theon is right on this claim: what Andromache might want to say to Hector, her husband, who was about to go out for a lethal fight with Achilles and what Achilles might want to say to Deidamia as he was about to go out to war;74 what Hecuba might want to say when she sees the ruined Troy and what Achilles might want to say when he sees a dead body of Patroclus;75 and what Agamemnon might want to say the moment he sees Troy completely ruined and what Andromache might want to say when she watches Hector dying, and so on.76 As demonstrated so far, students who learned rhetoric with progymnasmata consisting of three sections “needed to have a broad and detailed knowledge of Homer, for the temporal structure of an an ἠθοποιία required knowledge not only of the immediate circumstances that prompted the speech, but also of the events that preceded it and the consequences that might follow from it.”77 Furthermore, students might have had the ability to utilize some passages from Homer to connect them with other passages from other literary sources. Let’s take one example to verify the need of students to be well acquainted with the Homeric epics to write an ἠθοποιία. However, one needs to notice that Homer’s trace is not found everywhere in the progymnasmata, which means that Homer should not be regarded as being ubiquitous in every section of progymnasmata; even some of its chapters on the μῦθος, ἀνασκευή, κατασκευή, and νόμου εἰσφαρά never mention anything about Homer.78 Thus, what needs to be claimed about Homer’s influence in the education of rhetoric given its application to progymnasmata is that Homer plays a significant role in the contents of progymnasmata even though he does not entirely cover their all chapters. It has been seen that as the preliminary step to speeches, the progymnasmata focused on enhancing the compositional skills of the students which were then vitally used for the composition of speech. In other words, the students learned how to compose well using the progymnasmata some parts of which use Homeric epics as the source for sentences to cite or subjects to address. With the completion of learning from the progymnasmata, students moved to another learning of composing and delivering the three kinds of speeches. When one looks at the rhetorical handbooks, one can know that students were supposed to have “familiarity with, and admiration of, Homer.”79 since Homer was the best of orators as well as the best of poets.80

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However, there is one thing to be admitted: It was not Homer, but Demosthenes who was most frequently mentioned in rhetorical handbooks, which means Demosthenes’s writing styles and topics in his works were more favored than Homer’s.81 For example, While Homer is not found at all in the rhetorical handbook of Rufus of Perinthus written in late second century C.E., the name of Demosthenes is referred to for citations 20 times.82 The reason for the dominance of Demosthenes over Homer could be answered through an investigation of the subjects for speech among Philostratus’s sophists who preferred historical topics to heroic ones.83 An example of such preference is suggested by Hock: Polemo is reported to have declaimed on a number of themes, all historical, as Demades had alleged; the Greeks should take down their τρόπαια after the Peloponnesian war; Xenophon decides to die after the execution of Socrates; and Demosthenes advises the Athenians to flee on their triremes at the approach of Phillip.84

But one should be cautious about thinking the role of Homer in rhetorical speeches since Homer’s trace of influence was still there enough not to be ignored. To cite Hock again: Thus when Smyrna needed to send an ambassador, and the city’s leading sophist Scoperian was too old to go, a young Polemo was elected. The latter prayed that the persuasion of scopelian might become his, then hugged Scopelian before the assembly, and aptly added two lines comparing himself to Patroclus’s going to fight in place of Achilles: “Allow me to put your armor on my shoulders, so that the Trojans may take me for you” (Iliad 16.40–41). Years later, when the sophist Herodes Atticus was asked by Marcus Aurelius what he thought of the now mature Polemo, Herodes quoted Homer: “The sound of swift-footed horses strikes me on both ears (Iliad 10.535),” indicating thereby now resonant and far-echoing were Polemo’s speeches. Finally, long after Polemo had died, the sophist Hippodromus, when he was being raised and even being compared to Polemo, recoiled from the comparison with a Homeric line: “Why do you compare me with the immortals?” (Odyssey 16.187). In other words, whether it was his self-concept, his oratory, or his subsequent reputation, Polemo presented himself or was regarded by others in Homeric terms. What is more, Hippodromus expanded the Homeric mantle to all sophists when he, after some sophist had said that the mother of sophists was tragedy, corrected him by saying that Homer was their father.85

In summary, while Homer was not the most dominant one among poets that were cited for compositions for or provided appropriate subjects for speeches, it is also true that Homeric epics were well used at the third level



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of education as the source materials for the progymnasmata and rhetorical handbooks. After all, it seems that the relation of Homer to the Greco-Roman education which consisted of three phases is clear. In other words, Homer’s writings were a source for simple and short words, sentences, and passages with which students learned how to read and write at the first level of education. Students at the second step of education learned to understand more complicated and longer words, sentences, and paragraphs to deepen the depth of their thought, and also learned grammar as the basis for the persuasive composition. Homer proved useful for these curricula: many examples of longer and complexed words, sentences, and passages were cited from Homeric epics and to illustrate grammatical components, parts of the two epics were employed. Finally, Homer’s educational significance is evident at the last stage of education where students both cited many Homeric lines for their writings and found many useful topics for their speeches: Homer’s epics “enjoyed an inviolable position in the school curriculum which put them in a class apart from all other poetry.”86

II. Conclusion What has been demonstrated so far converges into one name: Homer. In other words, Homer was the principal source for the Greco-Roman education, also called enkyklios paideia, where Homeric epics were repeatedly referred to throughout the whole process of teaching consisting of three steps: primary, secondary and higher.

Notes 1. For the emphasis of Greco-Roman education on the reading and writing skills, see Marietta Horster, “Primary Education,” in The Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World, ed. Michael Peachin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 98. 2. Antoinette C. Wire, The Case for Mark Composed in Performance. Kindle Edition. 2011. n.p. 3. This chapter is much indebted to Karl Olav Sandnes, The Challenge of Homer: School, Pagan Poets, and Early Christianity (London: T&T Clark, 2009). However, in spite of ample demonstrations of Homer’s influence on the education and daily lives of the Greco-Roman world, Sandnes argues against Mimesis Criticism that “[MacDonald’s] reading of both Mark’s Gospel and Acts assumes a readership with an in-depth as well as extensive familiarity with the Homeric epics. This implies that the curriculum of encyclical studies had penetrated into the Christian movement to an extent which the present study

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has not confirmed. Ancient education was designed for the upper strata of the population” (249). In the response to Sandnes’ such objection, MacDonald convincingly disproves it with the three arguments: (1) the Homeric epics were accessible even to the illiterate, (2) Mark and Luke along with their readers might have had a rhetorical education, and (3) Sandnes appears not to how to explain the literary relationship between the Markan Gospel and the Homeric epics which is based on their noticeable parallels. The Gospels, n.p. After all, regardless of Sandnes’ conclusion, it seems not to be problematic to use his examples of Homer’s significance in the Greco-Roman world as supporting evidence of the mimetic reading of the Markan Gospel. 4. MacDonald, Two Shipwrecked Gospels, xv. 5. Sandnes, Challenge, 8. 6. Sandnes, Challenge, 8. John T. Townsend (“Ancient Education in the Time of the Early Roman Empire,” 144, in The Catacombs and the Colosseum; the Roman Empire as the Setting of Primitive Christianity [eds. Stephen Benko and John J. O’Rourke; Valley Forge, PA: Judson, 1971], 139–64, here 144) also supports Sandnes’s view on this matter: “Both Greek and Roman school children were accompanied to school by a slave known as a paedagogus. He acted as a kind of male nursemaid whose job was to accompany a student to school and see that he kept out of trouble.” 7. Townsend (“Ancient Education,” 144) also concludes that “[i]t is to this custodian [παιδαγωγός], not to a school teacher, that the apostle Paul has compared the law in Galatians 3:24.” Cf. Brown, An Introduction, 472. However, according to Raffaella Cribiore (Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001], 8), a school teacher also could and did what custodian did, and not the vice versa. 8. Sandnes, Challenge, 9. 9. Sandnes, Challenge, 9. 10. Epictetus, Discourses 2.16.39, in Robert S. Dutch, The Educated Elite in 1 Corinthians: Education and Community Conflict in Graeco-Roman Context (London: T&T Clark International, 2005), 250. 11. Sandnes, Challenge, 9. 12. Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (CCS; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 33. The first exact reference to this term is found in Ps.-Plutarch’s De liberis educandis 7c of the first century C.E., in Cribiore, Gymnastics, 3; Pliny mentions enkyklios paideia in Praefatio 14; and Philo, a Hellenistic Jewish philosopher of the first century C.E. confesses his learning under the system of enkyklios paideia both in De Congressu Quærendæ Eruditionis Gratia, 74–80 and in De Vita Mosis, 1.5.21–24. Furthermore, De Vita Mosis presupposes enkyklios paideia of Philo’s Jewish readers as Alan Mendelson (Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria [Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union College Press, 1982], 64) argues: Esp. if we assume that De Vita Mosis is an apologetic work, there is every reason for Philo to elaborate any points of contact between the experience of his audience and that of his protagonist. One of these points would be encyclical education. 13. Morgan, Literate Education, 33. For how enkyklios paideia expanded its educational boundary, see Edward A. Lippman, The Philosophy & Aesthetics of Music (Lincoln, NE: University



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of Nebraska Press, 1999), 90. According to George A. Kennedy (A New History of Classical Rhetoric [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994], 278), this concept of enkyklios paideia (comprehensive education) first derives from “Isocrates and the early Greek sophists.” 14. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 129. 15. See also Rudolf Bultmann, What Is Theology? (ed. Eberhard Jüngel and Klaus W. Müller; trans. Roy A. Harrisville; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1997), 23; John E. Sandys, ed., A Companion to Latin Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913), 234. 16. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 129. 17. Morgan, Literate Education, 313. 18. Henri Irénée Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity (trans. George Lamb; New York: Sheed & Ward, 1956). 19. This is supported by Yun Lee Too (Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity [Leiden: Brill, 2001], 1) who claims that “Marrou’s work has come to occupy a position as the authoritative history of ancient education.” She (Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity, 2) also says as follows: “Its subject is ancient education from 1000 BC to AD 500, and it offers a ‘general treatment of the whole subject, integrating all that is treasured in the new acquisitions into a total synthesis.’” 20. According to Raffaella Cribiore (Writing, Teachers, and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt [Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1996], 31), the traditional order followed in teaching writing and reading in the Greco-Roman period is: (1) Letters of Alphabet; (2) Alphabets; (3) Syllabaries; (4) Lists of Words; (5) Writing Exercises; (6) Short Passages: Maxims, Sayings, and Limited Amount of Verses; (7) Longer Passages: Copies or Dictations; (8) Scholia Minora; (9) Compositions, Paraphrases, Summaries. 21. Townsend, “Ancient Education,” 144. 22. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 31. 23. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 145. 24. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 38. 25. Townsend, “Ancient Education,” 151. 26. Sandnes, Challenge, 23. The evidence of the influence of Homeric epics on every level of Greco-Roman education until the late fourth century C.E., see Raffaella Cribiore, The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007), 165. 27. In the process of Greco-Roman education, Homeric epics, in particular, were studied in minute detail, which naturally led to the familiarity of the students with their stories, in The Oxford Classical Dictionary (eds. Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth; New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 508. 28. John Halverson, “Havelock on Greek Orality and Literacy,” JHI 53 (1992): 148–63, here, 156, in Kevin Robb, Literacy and Paideia in Ancient Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 177. 29. As the third-century B.C.E. poet, Herodas’ activity range included both southeastern Aegean and Alexandria. 30. Herodas, Mime 3.24–26. See also F. A. Wright, Greek Social Life (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1925), 231. 31. P. Chester Beatty (=390), in Willy Clarysse and Alfons Wouters, “A Schoolboy’s Exercise in the Chester Beatty Library,” AncSoc 1 (1970): 201–35 (text: 210–17).

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32. Ronald F. Hock, “Homer in Greco-Roman Education,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity (ed. Dennis R. MacDonald; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 56–77, here 60–61. Hock mentions here Homeric names in the notebook: Ἡκάβη (line 56), Καλυψώ (1.95), Ὀδυσσευς (1.128), Σαρπηδών (1.148), Χρυσηίς; (1.173), and Χάρυβδις; (1.176). Other names also figure prominently but are not exclusive to Homer, such as Ἡρακλῆς (1.76), Ὀρέστης (1.130), and Ποσειδῶν (1.132), while others are obscure Homeric names, sometimes appearing only once, such as Φέρεκλος, a Trojan slain by Meriones (1.165; Iliad 5.59), or Φαέθουσσα, a nymph herder of Helios’s flocks (1.188; Odyssey 12.132). 33. Hock, “Homer,” 61. 34. Janie Debut, “De l’usage des listes de mots comme fondement de la pédagogie dans l’antiquité,” REA 85 (1983): 261–74. See also Morgan’s Literate Education, 77, 101–2. 35. Cribiore, Gymnastics 131. 36. Hock, “Homer,” 62. 37. Hock, “Homer,” 63. 38. Hock, “Homer,” 63. 39. T.Bodl.Ms.Gr.class.dI59 (=200), published by D. C. Hesseling, “On Waxen Tablets with Fables of Babrius,” IHS 13 (1892–1893): 293–314, esp. 296, and P.Mich.inv. 9353 (=C 209), published in Papyri and Ostraca from Karanis, Herbert Chayyim Youtie and John Garrett Winter, eds., Michigan Papyri 8 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1951), 206–7. 40. Hock, “Homer,” 64. 41. Raffaella Cribiore, “A Homeric Writing Exercise and Reading Homer in School,” Tyche 9 (1994): 1–8, esp. 4. 42. Cribiore, Writing, 13. According to Donald Russell (“Literary Criticism,” in The Edinburgh Companion to Ancient Greece and Rome [ed. Edward Bispham, Thomas Harrison, and Brian A. Sparkes; Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010], 353), it was one of the main tasks of γραμματικός to explain difficult words in Homeric epics. 43. Hock, “Homer,” 64. Refer also to Cribiore, Gymnastics, 142. For the detailed explanations on scholia minora, the largest collection of Homeric scholia, refer to Eleanor Dickey, Ancient Greek Scholarship: A Guide to Finding, Reading, and Understanding Scholia, Commentaries, Lexica, and Grammatical Treatises, from Their Beginnings to the Byzantine Period (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 20–21. 44. One can find ample examples in Cribiore, Writing, 253–8. Dickey (Ancient Greek Scholarship, 2) argues as follows about the reason why there exist far more scholia to the Iliad than those to the Odyssey: This distinction goes back to antiquity when the Iliad was considered the superior work and so was read and copied much more often than the Odyssey. Nevertheless, it is clear that the Alexandrians produced texts and commentaries on both poems, and that ancient scholars discussed the interpretation of the Odyssey as well as that of the Iliad. 45. Hock, “Homer,” 65.



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46. T.Bodl.Gr.Inser. 3019 (=C 388), in P. J. Parsons, “A School-Book from the Sayee Collection,” ZPE 6 (1970): 133–49, esp., 135–8. 47. Hock, “Homer,” 65. 48. Alan Kemp, “The Tekhne Grammatike of Dionysius Thrax: English Translation with Introduction and Notes,” in The History of Linguistics in the Classical period, ed. Daniel J. Taylor (Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins, 1987), 169–89. For the profound influence of the name ‘Dionysius Thrax’ and the ‘Tekhne Grammatik,’ on the history of Western grammar, see Roy Harris and Talbot J. Taylor, The Western Tradition from Socrates to Saussure (London: Routledge, 1997), 54–55. 49. Alfons Wouters, The Grammatical Papyri from Graeco-Roman Egypt: Contributions to the Study of the ‘Ars Grammatica’ in Antiquity (Brussels: Paleis der Academiën, 1979). 50. Hock, “Homer,” 66. For the instance of how each component of speech was used, see Dickey, Ancient Greek Scholarship, 126–8. 51. Robert H. Robins, The Byzantine Grammarians: Their Place in History (New York: de Gruyter, 1993), 59. 52. Morgan, Literate Education, 170–1. 53. Hock, “Homer,” 69. 54. For this reason, Quintilian (Inst. 1.8.5) claims in confidence that a boy will read these poets more than once. Sandnes (“Imitatio Homeri?” 717 and The Gospel “according to Homer and Virgil”: Cento and Canon [Leiden: Brill, 2011], 44) also mentions Inst. 1.8.5 to emphasize the primary importance of Homer in Greco-Roman education. 55. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, 194–6. 56. Hock, “Homer,” 69. 57. The ultimate goal of rhetoric education was to directly connect citizens through speech with politics as Joy Connolly argues in “Problems of the Past in Imperial Greek Education,” in Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity (ed. Yun Lee Too; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 342. 58. Theon, Progymnasmata 1 (ed. Christian Walz; Rhetores graeci; Tübingen: Cottae, 1832–6), 1.146, 3–6. 59. For more information about progymnasmata, see Tor Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen. Schule und Bildung des Paulus (BZNW 134, Berlin: de Gruyter), 121–38. 60. For the text, see Walz, ed., Rhetores Graeci, 1. 145–257. 61. For the text, Hermogenis Opera (ed. Hugo Rabe; Stuttgart: Teubner, 1913), 1–27. For the succinct summary of the features of Hermogenes’ progymnasmata, see Wesley H. Wachob, The Voice of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 62. 62. For the text, see Aphthonii Progymnasmata (ed. Hugo Rabe; Leipzig: Teubner, 1926), 1–51. 63. For the text, see Nicolai Progymnasmata (ed. Joseph Felten; Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), 1–79. 64. Hock, “Homer,” 70. 65. A brief look at the four present progymnasmata demonstrates the significance of Homer’s use for illustarations, models, and subject matter. 66. For Aphthonius’ description of these three exercises plus the eleven other ones, look at Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric. 203–7. 67. Hock, “Homer,” 71. 68. Hock, “Homer,” 71. 69. Hock, “Homer,” 71.

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70. Hock, “Homer,” 71. See also Ruth Webb, “The Progymnasmata as Practice,” in Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity, ed. Yun Lee Too (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 289–316, esp. 299. 71. Hock, “Homer,” 72. 72. Hock, “Homer,” 72. 73. Hock, “Homer,” 72. 74. Hock, “Homer,” 73. 75. Hock, “Homer,” 73. 76. Hock, “Homer,” 73. 77. Hock, “Homer,” 74. 78. Hock, “Homer,” 75. 79. Hock, “Homer,” 76. 80. Hock, “Homer,” 76. 81. For the concise explanation of the significant influence of Demosthenes’ works on Greek grammar and rhetoric, see Percival R. Cole, A History of Educational Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1931), 212. If the comprehensive one is needed, refer to Charles D. Adams, Demosthenes and His Influence (New York: Longmans, 1927). 82. Walter Ameling, “Der Sophist Rufus,” EA 6 (1985): 27–33. 83. For more detailed information on sophistic speech, see D. A. Russell, Greek Declamation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 84. Hock, “Homer,” 76. 85. Hock, “Homer,” 77. 86. L. D. Reynolds, Scribes, and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 55.

Works Cited Adams, Charles D. Demosthenes and His Influence. New York: Longmans, Green & Company, 1927. Benko, Stephen, and John J. O’Rourke, eds. The Catacombs and the Colosseum; the Roman Empire as the Setting of Primitive Christianity. Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 1971. Bultmann, Rudolf. What Is Theology? edited by Eberhard Jüngel and Klaus W. Müller. Translated by Roy A. Harrisville. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997. Clarysse, Willy, and Alfons Wouters. “A Schoolboy’s Exercise in the Chester Beatty Library.” Ancient Society 1 (1970): 201–35. Cole, Percival R. A History of Educational Thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1931. Cribiore, Raffaella. Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001. Dickey, Eleanor. Ancient Greek Scholarship: A Guide to Finding, Reading, and Understanding Scholia, Commentaries, Lexica, and Grammatical Treatises, from Their Beginnings to the Byzantine Period. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Dutch, Robert S. The Educated Elite in 1 Corinthians: Education and Community Conflict in Graeco-Roman Context. London: T&T Clark International, 2005.



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H. Robins, Robert. The Byzantine Grammarians: Their Place in History. New York: de Gruyter, 1993. Halverson, John. “Havelock on Greek Orality and Literacy.” Journal of the History of Ideas 53 (1992): 148–63. Harris, Roy, and Talbot J. Taylor. The Western Tradition from Socrates to Saussure. London: Routledge, 1997. Hock, Ronald F. “Homer in Greco-Roman Education.” In Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity, edited by Dennis R. MacDonald, 56–77. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001. Hornblower, Simon, and Antony Spawforth, eds. The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Kennedy, George A. A New History of Classical Rhetoric. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994. Lippman, Edward A. The Philosophy & Aesthetics of Music. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1999. MacDonald, Dennis R. Two Shipwrecked Gospels: The Logoi of Jesus and Papias’s Exposition of Logia about the Lord. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. Marrou, Henri Irénée. A History of Education in Antiquity. Translated by George Lamb. New York: Sheed and Ward, Mentor, 1956. Morgan, Teresa. Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds. Cambridge Classical Studies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Reynolds, L. D. Scribes, and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature. Oxford: Caledon, 1968. Robb, Kevin. Literacy and Paideia in Ancient Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Russell, D. A. Greek Declamation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Russell, Donald. “Literary Criticism.” In The Edinburgh Companion to Ancient Greece and Rome, edited by Edward Bispham, Thomas Harrison, and Brian A. Sparkes, 353. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010. Sandnes, Karl O. The Challenge of Homer: School, Pagan Poets, and Early Christianity. London: T & T Clark, 2009. Sandys, John E., ed. A Companion to Latin Studies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913. Vegge, Tor. Paulus und das antike Schulwesen. Schule und Bildung des Paulus. Beihefte zur Zeitschrif für die Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde und die Kunde der Ältern Kirche 134. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006. Wachob, Wesley H. The Voice of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Webb, Ruth. “The Progymnasmata as Practice.” In Education in Greek and Roman Antiquity, edited by Yun Lee Too, 289–316. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Wire, Antoinette Clark. The Case for Mark Composed in Performance. Biblical Performance Criticism 3. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2010. Wright, F. A. Greek Social Life. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1925.

·4· two - fold roles of the fig - tree story

The aim of this chapter is as follows: how the first Markan readers might have mimetically used the fig-tree story (Mark 11:12–14 and 20) to interpret its adjacent two episodes (Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem of 11:1–11; Jesus’ act in the Temple of 11:15–19). This chapter primarily consists of two parts: (1) the fig-tree story within Jesus’ entry, and (2) the fig-tree story as a part of Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple. While the first part will prove the function of the fig-tree story in reinforcing the literary connection between Odyssey 6 and 7 and Mark 11:1–14, while the second one will manifest how a comparative reading of the figtree episode attributes to the understanding of the symbolic meaning of Jesus’ Temple cleansing.

I. The First Role It is appropriate to note that the starting point of this study is the question of how the first Markan readers dealt with the enigmatic Markan story of the fig tree, especially Jesus’ unfair and unreasonable act toward the plant. This question along with that of the first role of the fig-tree story will be answered

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in this chapter during the process of the comparative reading between the Markan entry story (including the fig-tree narrative)1 and Odyssey 6 and 7. This comparative reading of the Markan entry story will also provide the answers to the following issues: As noted in the earlier part of this study, Mark 11:1–11 is generally known as the so-called Jesus’ triumphal entry and this title is wrong because of its incompatibility with the Markan motifs such as the messianic secret and the suffering messiah. In addition, as noted earlier, the first Markan readers who lived in the first-century C.E. Greco-Roman world could have noticed the different pattern of the Markan Jesus’ entry from the typical one of Greco-Roman entrance processions, and thus concluded that the Markan pericope was far from Jesus’ triumphal entry. That being said, what was it about to the first Markan readers? If the nature of the entry story was not triumphal to them, how could they have addressed the triumphal traces of The Hebrew Bible?2

A. Analysis of Mark 11:1–14 1. The English translation Καὶ ὅτε ἐγγίζουσιν εἰς Mark 11:1And when they came near Ἱεροσόλυμα εἰς Βηθφαγὴ καὶ Jerusalem, Bethphage, and Bethany, Βηθανίαν πρὸς τὸ ὄρος τῶν ἐλαιῶν, and toward the Mountain of Olives, ἀποστέλλει δύο τῶν μαθητῶν αὐτοῦ he sent two of his disciples

Mark

11:1

καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖς· ὑπάγετε εἰς τὴν κώμην τὴν κατέναντι ὑμῶν, καὶ εὐθὺς εἰσπορευόμενοι εἰς αὐτὴν εὑρήσετε πῶλον δεδεμένον ἐφ᾿ ὃν οὐδεὶς οὔπω ἀνθρώπων ἐκάθισεν· λύσατε αὐτὸν καὶ φέρετε. 2

And he told them, “Go into the town before you, and when you go in it, immediately you will find a young donkey tied there that no one sits on yet and you loose and bring it. 2

καὶ ἐάν τις ὑμῖν εἴπῃ· τί ποιεῖτε 3And if anyone says to you, ‘Why are τοῦτο; εἴπατε· ὁ κύριος αὐτοῦ χρείαν you doing this?’ then say, ‘The Lord ἔχει, καὶ εὐθὺς αὐτὸν ἀποστέλλει has the need of it, and immediately πάλιν ὧδε. he will send it back here.’” 3

καὶ ἀπῆλθον καὶ εὗρον πῶλον 4And they departed and found a δεδεμένον πρὸς θύραν ἔξω ἐπὶ τοῦ young donkey beside a door outside ἀμφόδου καὶ λύουσιν αὐτόν. in the street and they were loosing it. 4



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καί τινες τῶν ἐκεῖ ἑστηκότων 5And some of those standing there ἔλεγον αὐτοῖς· τί ποιεῖτε λύοντες told them, “Why are you loosening τὸν πῶλον; the young donkey?”

5

οἱ δὲ εἶπαν αὐτοῖς καθὼς εἶπεν ὁ 6They told them as Jesus had told; and they allowed them. Ἰησοῦς, καὶ ἀφῆκαν αὐτούς. 6

καὶ φέρουσιν τὸν πῶλον πρὸς τὸν 7Then they brought the young donἸησοῦν καὶ ἐπιβάλλουσιν αὐτῷ key to Jesus and threw their coats on τὰ ἱμάτια αὐτῶν, καὶ ἐκάθισεν ἐπ᾿ it; and he sat on it. αὐτόν.

7

καὶ πολλοὶ τὰ ἱμάτια αὐτῶν 8Many spread their coats on the road, ἔστρωσαν εἰς τὴν ὁδόν, ἄλλοι δὲ and others spread leafy branches στιβάδας κόψαντες ἐκ τῶν ἀγρῶν. that they had cut from the fields 8

καὶ οἱ προάγοντες καὶ οἱ 9And those going ahead and those ἀκολουθοῦντες ἔκραζον· following were calling out, ὡσαννά· “Hosanna! εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν Blessed is the one coming in the ὀνόματι κυρίου· name of the Lord!

9

εὐλογημένη ἡ ἐρχομένη βασιλεία 10Blessed is the coming kingdom of τοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῶν Δαυίδ· our father David! ὡσαννὰ ἐν τοῖς ὑψίστοις. Hosanna in the highest heaven!” 10

Καὶ εἰσῆλθεν εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα εἰς τὸ 11And he went into Jerusalem and ἱερὸν καὶ περιβλεψάμενος πάντα, went into the Temple and after lookὀψίας ἤδη οὔσης τῆς ὥρας, ἐξῆλθεν ing around at all things, he went out εἰς Βηθανίαν μετὰ τῶν δώδεκα. into Bethany with the twelve since it was already of evening hour. 12 Καὶ τῇ ἐπαύριον ἐξελθόντων αὐτῶν 12On next day, when they came from Bethany, he was hungry. ἀπὸ Βηθανίας ἐπείνασεν. 13 καὶ ἰδὼν συκῆν ἀπὸ μακρόθεν 13Seeing in the distance a fig tree in ἔχουσαν φύλλα ἦλθεν, εἰ ἄρα τι leaf, he went to see if he could find εὑρήσει ἐν αὐτῇ, καὶ ἐλθὼν ἐπ᾿ anything on it. When he came to it, αὐτὴν οὐδὲν εὗρεν εἰ μὴ φύλλα· ὁ he found nothing but leaves, for it γὰρ καιρὸς οὐκ ἦν σύκων. was not the season for figs. 14 καὶ ἀποκριθεὶς εἶπεν αὐτῇ· μηκέτι 14 He said to it, “May no one ever eat εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα ἐκ σοῦ μηδεὶς καρπὸν fruit from you again.” And his disciφάγοι. καὶ ἤκουον οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ. ples heard it. 11

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2. Structure of the passage Mark 11:1–14 starts and ends with reference to the geographical location where Jesus and his entourage are. Furthermore, there is one more pair of parallel which leaves Jesus sitting on an ass as the key event of this pericope: the two responses to Jesus from his two disciples and the crowd around him. This could be outlined as follows: A  Geographical note 1: Whereabouts of Jesus and his disciples (11:1) B  Response to Jesus 1: Two disciples obey Jesus (11:2–7a)    C  Jesus sits on an ass (11:7b) B´  Response to Jesus 2: Crowd hails Jesus (11:8–10) A´  Geographical note 2: whereabouts of Jesus and his disciples (11:11–14)3

B. Mimetic Reading of Jesus’ Entry As noted earlier, MacDonald’s six criteria of Mimesis Criticism will be engaged to demonstrate that Odyssey 6 and 7 serve as the primary source for the Markan story of Jesus’ entry. For a quick reminder, the six criteria are as follows: (1) Accessibility (probability that the author of the hypertext had the chance to read its hypotext); (2) Analogy (evaluates popularity of the antetext, enough to be imitated in other literary works by other authors); (3) Density (the more the parallels exist between the two texts, the stronger the possibility is that they are in a literary relationship); (4) Order (the more similar the order of the parallels between the two texts, the more obvious their literary connections); (5) Distinctive Trait (if something unusual is found in both texts, it serves as a clue to their special relationship); and (6) Interpretability (something interpretable resulting from viewing the relationship of the two texts as mimetic).4 Applying mimesis criteria by MacDonald to Odyssey 6 and 7 and Mark 11:1–14, one can see how MacDonald judges whether the two texts are mimetically linked: (1) Accessibility: Did the author of the Gospel of Mark know the Homeric epics? Yes, he clearly did. At the time of the writing of the Gospel of Mark, the Homeric epics were the best-known literary works in the Greco-Roman period throughout the Mediterranean world. Furthermore, as argued already, the ancient literate including the author of the Markan Gospel learned how to read and write through the use of the Homeric epics as one of their primary literary sources.



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(2) Analogy: Can we find other literary works that imitated Odyssey 6 and 7? Yes, we can. They are Apollonius’s Argonautica, the Story of Apollonius King of Tyre, and Vergil’s Aeneid. The story of Odysseus’ arrival at the island of the Phaeacians was used for the creations of these three ancient novels. The heroes of these novels have three factors in common, all of which are also found in Odyssey 6 and 7: (1) they visit strange places, (2) marvel at what they see there such as architectures and gardens, and (3) request favors by the governors of those foreign territories. For this matter, MacDonald offers very clear and succinct explanations of how each of these ancient stories was modeled after Odyssey 6 and 7: The Argonauts beached their ship at the shores of Colchis, where Jason and a few comrades proceeded secretly to the palace of Aeetes to ask for the golden fleece. Hera covered them in a mist, as Athena covered Odysseus. When the mist dissipated, “they stood at the entrance [of the palace], marveling at the king’s courts and the wide gates and columns.” Then they saw Aeete’s garden. “[V]ines covered with green foliage were in full bloom,” and in the garden were four springs, one flowing with milk, one with wine, one with oil, and one with water that alternated warm and cold. Clearly Apollonius “draws heavily … Odysseus” walk to Alcinous’ city’ when narrating the walk of the Argonauts to the palace of Aeetes. Vergil has Aeneas and his comrade Achates, after near shipwreck, going to the palace of Dido, the queen of Carthage. On the way, they saw “marvelous buildings, gateways, cobbled ways,” causing Aeneas to say, “How fortunate these are/Whose city walls are rising here and now!” In addition he saw a beautiful shaded grove and a temple to Juno … The Trojan heroes told the queen of their ordeals at Troy and on the sea and sought hospitality. They received it, as had Odysseus … [T]he story of Apollonius King of Tyre tells how this young king survived a ferocious storm at sea by riding a plank to the shores of Pentapolis. Naked, like Odysseus, Apollonius sought help from an old fisherman, who covered the king’s nakedness with his cloak and directed him to the town, thus playing a role like Nausicaa’s. The king in a tattered garment made his way toward the city, where he chanced on meeting King Archistrates, who invited him to dinner at the palace and even provided him clothing suitable for the feast. The meal was sumptuous, but Apollonius could not eat; instead, he marveled at the elegant gold and silver of the palace. The king’s daughter, yet another imitation of Nausicaa, showed interest in the stranger and asked him who he was. He responded much as Odysseus had to Alcinous. “If you want to know my name, it’s Apollonius; if you want to know my fortune, I lost it at sea.” In the end, King Archistrates gave the stranger conveyance home. This scence clearly imitates Odyssey 6 and 7.5

(3) Density and (4) Order: Are the parallels between the two texts dense and listed in an orderly fashion? Yes, they are. The following columns illustrate this point.6

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Od. 6 and 7 (imit. [A])

Mark 11:1–14

• Odysseus arrived on the island of the Phaeacians bereft.

Jesus arrived in Judea without money or a host.

• Athena told Nausicaa to ask her father for mules and a wagon.

Jesus told two of his disciples to find a colt and bring it to him.

The disciples told those with the colt, • Nausicaa told her father she needed the wagon to do her wash. “The Lord has need of it.” • Her father granted Nausicaa the mules.

Those responsible for the colt allowed them to take it.

• Nausicaa went to the shore to “They brought the colt to Jesus and wash clothing and there found put their clothes [ἱμάτια] over it; and Odysseus. “She folded the clothes he sat on it.” [εἵματια] and put them on the beautiful wagon, / yoked the strong-hoofed mules, and mounted herself.” • Odysseus, though a king, entered the city wearing someone else’s clothing, behind a mule wagon carrying laundry.

Jesus, though the Son of God, entered the city in humility, riding on someone else’s beast of burden with clothing for a saddle.

• Nausicaa thought Odysseus’s com- The crowds shouted, “Blessed is the ing was according to the will of the one who comes in the name of the gods, and the Phaeacians thought Lord.” he was divine. • He entered the city late in the day, “Odysseus just stood there gawking. / And when he had gawked at everything [πάντα] ...”

On entering the Temple late in the day, Jesus “looked around at everything [πάντα].”

• Among the marvels was the The next day, he cursed a fig tree for garden of Alcinous with its fig trees bearing no fruit, even though “it was that bore even out of season. not the season for figs.” (5) Distinctive Traits: Are there distinctive traits commonly noticed in both texts? Yes, there are. MacDonald says, The garments (ἱμάτια) used as a saddle resemble the garments (εἵματια) on Nausicaa’s wagon. Homer repeatedly makes a point of Odysseus’s amazement as he looked about



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Alcinous’s fabulous palace. The motif is organic and motivated in the epic, but not in Mark, where Jesus’ looking around at everything in the Temple seems strange and anticlimactic. Matthew and Luke may have thought so, too; they omitted it. The most obvious flag is the phrase “it was not the season for figs.” The Evangelist’s model—at precisely this point in the story, after the procession to the city and before entering the palace—had spoken of an orchard with fig trees that bore fruit year round. More subtle but no less distinctive is the use of irony. Odysseus and Jesus, though worthy of honor, enter new environments destitute, humble, and vulnerable. Had the Phaeacians known who the stranger was, they surely would have welcomed him immediately to their feast and offered to send him home. Instead, he entered the city dressed in borrowed clothing, walking behind a cart of laundry in a parade of handmaids. Similarly, the Jewish authorities should have welcomed the Son of God into Jerusalem and the Temple, his “home.” Instead, he entered on a borrowed, unridden colt, two cloaks for his saddle. His host in Bethany was Simon the leper, hardly a suitable host for a king.7

(6) Interpretability: Is there something interpretable due to the mimetic relationship of the two texts? Yes, there is. Mark shows Jesus’ superiority over Odysseus in two points: the courage and the ability to predict. Odysseus, the hero of the Greco-Roman world, disguises himself in someone else’s clothing for fear of getting noticed and killed while he enters the palace of Alcinous in which his fate will be decided. However, Jesus enters Jerusalem as what he is in which his doomed fate awaits. Whereas Odysseus is described in his supplication speech to Nausicaa (Odyssey 6.148–85) as a coward who flatters her with “a honeyed word”8 and arouses “her pity (through allusions to his sorrows)”9 to save his life while entering the palace, Mark’s description of Jesus shows no such coward while entering Jerusalem where sufferings and death are prepared for him. Here, this Markan Jesus appears to refute the recognition of death of the Greco-Roman world, which is revealed through Odysseus: a hero can even be a coward to save his life since the life is what matters most. However, what the Markan Jesus speaks about seems to be that a real hero should not be a coward even in the face of the death, but should be brave enough to take it. That is, the emergence of the new, positive notion of death. Thus, Jesus can even say: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the Gospel, will save it” (Mark 8:35). Concerning the prediction ability, whereas Odysseus has no idea of what will happen to him on the island of the Phaeacians, Jesus “predicts the future: where the disciples would find the colt and how its owners would respond to Jesus’ request for it.”10 In this regard, Jesus appears to emulate Athena who also instructs Nausicaa on “how to get the mule wagon from her father.”11 both Jesus’ two disciples and Nausicaa get what they want by following what each divine tells them to do. However, unlike Athena who, in an attempt to make Nausicaa

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act as she planned, transforms herself into a friend of the princess’ and falsely “implants the idea of impending marriage: ‘you[Nausicaa] shall not long remain a virgin.’”12 Jesus uses no false way to convince his disciples to follow his order and even the way he instructs them to bring an ass has no ethical problem at all. Jesus does not tell them to steal it or to deceive the owner into giving it to them, but to get the permission to borrow it with the promise to return it. As seen so far, the analysis between Odyssey 6 and 7 and Mark 11:1–14 satisfactorily meets the six criteria of Mimesis Criticism. Furthermore, it could be asserted that following Odysseus’s untriumphal entry into the palace of the Phaeacians, the nature of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is also untriumphal, not triumphal. However, there also exists a significant contrast between Odysseus and Jesus: the former’s untrimphal entry to the palace describes Odysseus as a deceitful, thus, false hero afraid to die, but the later renders Jesus a brave, thus, real hero. Jesus also emulates Athena as a divine being with the ability to predict, but he shows contrasts with the goddess in the way to use such divine power: while Athena’s use of divine capability is characterized by the wrong message and camouflage, Jesus’ not by such negative elements, but by a straightforward honest command with no disguise involved. In other words, Jesus has a divine power like Athena does, but unlike the latter who in her metamorphic form exerts the supernatural capability through the infusion of the vain expectation of marriage, the former is not reluctant to manifest his mysterious ability in his own shape with no falseness in what he says. In this regard, Jesus is the better and more trustworthy heroic or divine being than Athena. The first Markan readers would also have noticed these interpretable features through the mimetic reading of Mark 11:1–11 and Odyssey 6 and 7.

C. Justifying Jesus’ Act The first Markan readers might have enjoyed another benefit from this comparative reading of the Markan fig-tree episode, the benefit of saving Jesus from the accusation of his unreasonable curse on the fig tree: the hungry Jesus blames the plant for its being barren even though he knows that it is out of the bearing season. Too much hunger seems to make him lose his temper even to the damnation of the innocent fig tree to the death. Of course, there have been many scholars who try to justify what Jesus did to the fig tree. Among them, William R. Telford might be the most remarkable one who appears to have done the most comprehensive research on this Markan fig-tree story.13 The problem with the exegesis of the earlier arguments,



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according to him, is that it “focused, we believe, too much on the historicity of the story. It has been guided over-much by the dogmatic concern to remove the story’s apparent blot on Jesus’ character.”14 This problem seems to be a fair one to point out in light of mimetic reading of the Markan fig-tree story which plainly leads to a symbolic understanding: as the fig trees in Alcinous’ garden which are always bearing figs regardless of a season, Jesus desires the fig tree in front of him to be so. The first Markan readers would have also noticed the need to figure out the symbolic meanings of Jesus’ hunger, his cursing of the barren fig tree. Telford also argues for the need for a symbolic understanding of this Markan pericope, but he does not or maybe cannot provide the reason for this need; rather, he assumes the need. His argument built on his own assumption, however right it may be, renders his argument less unconvincing.15 What would he say if the scholars whom he is criticizing for their understandings of the Markan fig-tree story ask him about how to prove the need for its symbolic comprehension? However, it might be Mimesis Criticism that provides Telford an answer for such a question. Whether he agrees or not with its application to the reading of the concerning episode, the best support that he can use for the need to interpret it might come from Mimesis Criticism symbolically. Nevertheless, it is another thing to investigate how the mimetic reading agrees with what Telford says about the symbolic meanings of the Markan fig-tree story. Since it is enough in this section to demonstrate the role of the fig-tree episode in association with the elucidation of the nature of Jesus’ entry, the symbolic meanings contained in this episode does not have to be addressed here in detail, but will be in the following section about Jesus’ act in the temple.

D. The Fig-Tree Story and Jesus’ Untriumphal Entry As MacDonald says above about the distinctive traits between the Markan entry story (including the fig-tree episode) and Odyssey 6 and 7, the Markan fig tree that is not in the season for figs serves as the most decisive clue that mimetically connects Odyssey 6 and 7 with Mark 11:1–14. Because of the great familiarity with Homeric epics, it would not have been difficult for the first Markan readers to associate this tree of no figs with the all-time-fig-bearing trees in the garden of Alcinous in Odyssey 7. Therefore, the first Markan readers could also have been convinced more of comparing the Gospel with the concerning Homeric epic, which led them to conclude that the nature of Jesus’ entry was untriumphal.

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E. The Untriumphal Messiah It appears that there is no problem with applying only the Hebrew Bible to the interpretation of Mark 11:1–14. However, as noted already, when one applies Odyssey 6 and 7 which take the first position of the place when it comes to the literary comparison with Mark 11:1–14, one can gain a better understanding of the actual nature of Jesus’ entry, which is untriumphal. The first Markan readers might also have been aware of this and thus used the two Greek and Hebrew texts for the right understanding of the Markan passage. Then, the task given to them was to combine harmoniously the two seemingly contradictory texts about the mode of Jesus’ entry of Mark 11:1–14: Odyssey 6 and 7 are untriumphal, but the Hebrew Bible triumphal. Insofar as Odyssey is the primary literature to compare with the Markan Gospel, the traces of the secondary text, the Hebrew Bible, needs to be interpreted under the frame of Odyssey: what meanings the relevant scriptural verses have in the untriumphal entry pericope. The first Markan readers, then, would have dealt with the obscure allusions to Zechariah 9 and 14, and the citations from Ps118 (117 of LXX) that were pointing out Jesus as the victorious messiah or the conquering divine warrior. However, considering Mark’s more comprehensive intention to describe the nature of Jesus’ entry as untriumphal, expressed through the parallels with the Odyssey 6 and 7, it might have been hard for them to believe that Mark really wanted Jesus, through such allusions and citations, to be understood as the triumphal messiah or divine warrior: they might have thought that Mark intended these references to these Hebrew texts to be understood in light of Jesus’ untriumphal entry. Thus, although the image of the divine warrior or the victorious king lingers in the use of “the Mount of Olives” and “ass,” for the first Markan readers Jesus in the entry procession of Mark did not take that image; these two biblical terms might have been thought to be employed to nullify the prevalent expectation of the readers’ time about the political messiah, who, after destroying the Roman enemy, would liberate the Israelites. Therefore, they paradoxically pointed out that Jesus in such a untriumphal or even humiliating entry mode could not be that kind of a messianic figure with an invincible and victorious political power as expected, but was the opposite, the suffering messiah who was supposed to be murdered on the cross. The two quotations from the same part of the Psalm about the victorious messiah, “Hosanna” and “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” might have been understood by the first Markan readers in the same way as the two allusions might. The crowd, in spite of witnessing Jesus’ untriumphal



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way of entry, ironically shouted these quoted words at him; this irony dramatically reflected Mark’s response to the wrong (from his point of view) popular aspiration of his time for the advent of a politically powerful messianic figure. After all, the first Markan readers who read Jesus’ entry pericope in view of untriumphalism could also confirm the identity of the Markan Jesus through these biblical allusions and citations as a Messiah who was humble enough to accept humility coming from such as the untriumphal entry, the suffering and even death. Furthermore, this understanding of Jesus’ messianic identity, in return, sheds new light on what Mark would have intended in alluding to Zechariah 9:9: humbleness or humility.16 The Messiah of humbleness and humility implied in Jesus’ untriumphal entry appears not to be contradictory to the other Markan motifs of the messianic secret and suffering messiah. First, such messiahship rather explains why the Markan Jesus keeps in silence those who would say anything about him, which might have nothing to do with his real identity as the humble Messiah. Jesus, at last, discloses, not verbally, but with an act, the secret of his identity in Mark 11:1–14: the humble Messiah of humility. Second, this understanding of Jesus’ messianic identity is also well compatible with the motif of the suffering messiah in the Markan passion narrative. The first Markan readers would not have hesitated to accept the description of the narrative on what Jesus had to go through in spite of his being the Messiah since they already knew the nature of Jesus’ messiahship: humbleness and humility which befit more suffering and death than political dignity and victory.

F. Summary This section has investigated the following findings from the perspective of the first Markan readers: Against the common title of Mark 11:1–11 as the triumphal entry of Jesus, it has been argued that the nature of Jesus’ entry is untriumphal. The basis of the argument is the comparative reading between the Markan pericope and Odyssey 6 and 7. One of the distinguished features from this mimetic reading is the relationship between the fig trees of Alcinous’ garden of Odyssey 7, which are always bearing figs and the cursed, barren fig tree of Mark 11:12–14. This mimetic connection between the Homeric and Markan fig trees, thus, invites one to add the fig-tree story to Jesus’ entry pericope: the newly set pericope of Jesus’ entry is Mark 11:1–14. This mimetic connection also leads to the hermeneutical role of the Markan fig-tree incident in understanding its preceding story of Jesus’ entry which is usually modified with the adjective “triumphal”: against such title, the fig-tree story serves decisively as the clue to suggest the mode of how Jesus enters Jerusalem as rather untriumphal.

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Such linkage between the Markan story and Odyssey also leads to the wonderful solution to the difficulty in defending Jesus’ unethical or unreasonable curse to the innocent fig tree: it not until the introduction of the fig trees of Alcinous’ garden which always bear fruits regardless of seasons that Jesus is blamed for holding a grudge against and finally killing the fig tree seemingly out of unsatisfied hunger. The symbolic approach to the Markan fig tree and Jesus’ act toward it moves Jesus to the safe zone from such blame. This sort of the comparative reading between the Markan entry and Odyssey 6 and 7 develops further significant arguments as follows: Mark 11:1–14 has two important literary sources to compare in its understanding, Odyssey 6 and 7 as the primary one, and the Hebrew Bible as the secondary, specifically 1 Kgs 1; 2 Kgs 9; Ps 118 (117 of LXX); Zech 9 and 14; Numbers 19; Deuteronomy 21; and 1 Samuel 6. Each of the two literary antecedents is called the primary and the secondary literature respectively according to the degree of their literary effect on the Markan entry pericope. That is, Odyssey 6 and 7 is the primary one and the Hebrew Bible secondary. Then arises the need to reinterpret the allusions and the citations, the trace of the Hebrew Bible’s literary influence on Mark 11:1–14, which of course, should be done within the overarching theme of the Markan pericope, which is the untriumphalism of Jesus’ entry. On the premise of Jesus’ untriumphal entry, Mark’s intention in using the Hebrew Bible would be to refute the anticipation of his pristine readers on the Messiah who had to be politically strong and victorious. Instead of such a Messiah, Mark might have desired them to relate the humble (or humiliated) Messiah riding on an ass of Zechariah 9:9 to Jesus of Mark 11:7 who also rode on an ass and was humble enough to undergo humiliation like the sufferings including even the death on the cross as seen in the Markan passion narrative. Accordingly, the first Markan readers would have regarded Jesus of Mark 11:1–14 as the untriumphal Messiah due to the combinational interpretation of the story between Odyssey 6 and 7, and the relevant parts of the Hebrew Bible. In other words, it is likely that this Markan pericope was understood as a literary hybrid between the most famous Greek literature, the Homeric epic, and the most popular Jewish literature, the Hebrew Bible. Furthermore, the conclusion of Jesus’ untriumphal entry into Jerusalem as the untriumphal Messiah was more convincing to the first Markan readers for its compatibility with the two significant Markan motifs of Jesus: the messianic secret and the suffering Messiah.



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II. The Second Role The aim of this section is to investigate in view of the first Markan readers how the fig-tree story of Mark 11:12–14, 20–21 attributed to the understanding of what the Markan pericope popularly known as “the Cleansing of the Temple” was really about.17 As the initial step of the investigation, Odyssey 22 and the Hebrew Bible (Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:8) will be suggested as the main comparative literature of the Temple story. Also, will be discussed how the two literary works would hermeneutically operate in their Markan context. Finally, this section will look at the mutually interpretative linkage between the fig-tree story and the cleansing of the Temple, and this will lead to the overall understanding of the first Markan readers on the so-called Cleansing of the Temple.

A. Analysis of Mark 11:12–20 1. The English translation Καὶ τῇ ἐπαύριον ἐξελθόντων Mark 11:12 And the next day, when they αὐτῶν ἀπὸ Βηθανίας ἐπείνασεν. came from Bethany, he was hungry. Mark 11:12

καὶ ἰδὼν συκῆν ἀπὸ μακρόθεν ἔχουσαν φύλλα ἦλθεν, εἰ ἄρα τι εὑρήσει ἐν αὐτῇ, καὶ ἐλθὼν ἐπ᾿ αὐτὴν οὐδὲν εὗρεν εἰ μὴ φύλλα· ὁ γὰρ καιρὸς οὐκ ἦν σύκων. 13

And seeing a fig tree from afar that had leaves, he went to see if perhaps he would find anything on it, and after coming to it, he found nothing but leaves since the season was not for figs. 13

καὶ ἀποκριθεὶς εἶπεν αὐτῇ· μηκέτι 14 And he said to it, “May no one εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα ἐκ σοῦ μηδεὶς καρπὸν eat fruit from you eternally. And the φάγοι. καὶ ἤκουον οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ. disciples heard it.” 14

Καὶ ἔρχονται εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα. Καὶ εἰσελθὼν εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν ἤρξατο ἐκβάλλειν τοὺς πωλοῦντας καὶ τοὺς ἀγοράζοντας ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ, καὶ τὰς τραπέζας τῶν κολλυβιστῶν καὶ τὰς καθέδρας τῶν πωλούντων τὰς περιστερὰς κατέστρεψεν, 15

And they came into Jerusalem. And entering the Temple, he began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying at it, and he overthrew the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who were selling doves, 15

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καὶ οὐκ ἤφιεν ἵνα τις διενέγκῃ 16 and he did not permit anyone σκεῦος διὰ τοῦ ἱεροῦ. to carry even a vessel through the Temple. 16

17

καὶ ἐδίδασκεν καὶ ἔλεγεν αὐτοῖς· οὐ γέγραπται ὅτι ὁ οἶκός μου οἶκος προσευχῆς κληθήσεται πᾶσιν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν; ὑμεῖς δὲ πεποιήκατε αὐτὸν σπήλαιον λῃστῶν.

And he was teaching and saying to them, “Is it not written that ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the peoples’? But you have made it a den of robbers.”

Καὶ ἤκουσαν οἱ ἀρχιερεῖς καὶ οἱ γραμματεῖς καὶ ἐζήτουν πῶς αὐτὸν ἀπολέσωσιν· ἐφοβοῦντο γὰρ αὐτόν, πᾶς γὰρ ὁ ὄχλος ἐξεπλήσσετο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ.

And the chief priests and the scribes heard, and they sought how they destroyed him for they feared him, since the entire crowd was amazed by his teaching.

18

17

18

Καὶ ὅταν ὀψὲ ἐγένετο, 19 And when evening came, they ἐξεπορεύοντο ἔξω τῆς πόλεως. went out of the city. 19

Καὶ παραπορευόμενοι πρωῒ εἶδον 20 In the morning when they passed τὴν συκῆν ἐξηραμμένην ἐκ ῥιζῶν. by, they saw the fig tree dried up from the roots. 20

2. The structure The structure of the pericope can be simply put in the following chiasm: A The cursed fig tree (11:12–3) B  The purified temple (11:14–19)       A´ The withered fig tree (11:20)

This simple structure proves that the temple cleansing story is an intercalation narrative whose focus is on the meaning of Jesus’ act in the Temple.

B. Understanding Jesus’ Act Since the cleansing of the temple story of the Markan Gospel consists of the two stories which interactively affect the other’s understanding, one needs two interpretations for a complete understanding of the concerning Markan



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pericope. Thus, this chapter will interpret the fig-tree story first and then Jesus’ act in the temple. Finally, how the fig-tree story contributes to the understanding of the implied meaning of what Jesus does in the temple will be argued. 1. Interpretation 1: The fig-tree story (11:12–14, 20) This section aims to figure out how the first Markan readers might have understood the symbolic meanings of the fig-tree story including Jesus’ act, especially in this case, from a Christological perspective. 1.1. Symbolic Fig Free: The Temple. As noted earlier, since the first Markan readers understood that the fig-tree story (Mark 11:12–14, 20–21) had Odyssey 7 as its basic literature with which to compare, the story needs to be interpreted on a figurative level; that is, the fig tree of the Markan Gospel is symbolically compared with the fig tree in the garden of King Alcinous’ palace. However, unlike its model, Mark’s fig tree is fruitless, and this leads the hungry Jesus to curse it. If the plant does not bear its fruit in its season, there may be no room for the symbolic interpretation of Jesus’ curse on it as motivated by hunger. However, Mark’s clear mention about the seasonal condition preventing the plant from bearing a fruit serves as a firm clue that causes the story to be approached in a symbolic way. Although one now knows the need for the figurative interpretation of the fig-tree episode, still left unaddressed are its symbolic meanings. These meanings appear to be uncovered with the echoes of the Hebrew Bible in the pericope. This also means that the first Markan readers would have added his biblical knowledge to this Homeric understanding of the Markan fig-tree story. As noted, concerning the application of the Hebrew Bible to the symbolic understanding of the Markan fig-tree’s barrenness and curse, Telford suggests five biblical passages as the background of the Markan Temple story: Jeremiah 8:13; Isaiah 28:3; Hosea 9:10, 16; Micah 7:1; and Joel 1:1–12. According to the mimetic reading, his following argument of these five “fig” passages is incorrect: It is not inconceivable, in fact, that the story [of the fig tree] was formed out of separate but interrelated OT passages, for all its elements appear there, but it is unlikely that it was a pure composition on the part of Mark.18

In other words, Telford mistakenly thinks that the Markan fig-tree story was solely related to Mark’s combinational use of the Hebrew Bible and the

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pre-Markan tradition. However, despite such a flaw, the mimetic reading appears to be agreeable to Telford’s attempt to interpret the fig-tree story symbolically or metaphorically based on those five suggested passages from the Hebrew Bible to which Mark either alludes his story or finds its motifs or echoes in.19 From these passages, according to Telford, one can find the dual motifs as follows: The blossoming of the fig-tree and its giving of its fruits is a descriptive element in passages which depict Yahweh’s visiting his people with blessing, while the withering of the fig-tree, the destruction or withholding of its fruit, figures in imagery describing Yahweh’s judgment upon his people or their enemies. The theme of judgment is, if anything, more pronounced in the prophetic books. Very often the reason given for God’s wrathful visitation is the cultic aberration on the part of Israel, her condemnation for a corrupt Temple cultus and sacrificial system.20

Based on this argument, it can be inferred that (1) the barrenness of the fig tree represents Israel’s act unworthy of God’s blessing, and (2) its withering as a result of bearing no figs symbolizes the upcoming judgment of the wrathful God for Israel’s wickedness. Besides, Telford makes the general and vague notion of the wrongful deed on Israel’s side more specific by relating it to the Jerusalem temple: “a corrupt Temple cultus and sacrificial system.”21 Thus, the Markan barren fig tree appears to mean in particular the temple depraved by the Jewish religious authorities and the cursing of the fig tree to be withered specifically stands for the destruction of this corrupt Temple because of the corrupt temple authorities. Considering that the narrative sandwiched by the fig-tree story is Jesus’ cleansing of the temple, what Telford argues here seems convincing. And one can be expected to find in the following temple episode how the situation of the temple is problematic. Now it seems proper to ask about what Jesus’ hunger for figs represents when it is not the season for them. About this question, Telford answers relying on the view of Heinz Giesen:22 “the ‘hunger’ datum of Mark.11.12 contains an allusion to Jer.8.13 and that Jesus’ hungering for figs is to be seen as metaphorical in the same ways as God’s search for figs understood here.”23 This answer can be complemented with the mimetic reading of the fig tree: just like Alcinous’ fig trees of Odyssey 7, which bear their fruits always regardless of seasons, the Jerusalem temple which the Markan fig tree represents also needs to bear its fruits always, especially all the more in the Messianic age24 initiated by Jesus. Therefore, it seems that Jesus’ hunger25 means his desperate aspiration



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to see the temple in its right function deserving God’s blessings and his frustration from the unrealized aspiration results in the temple’s destruction. 1.2. Jesus, the Messiah with God’s authority. In view of Christology, this symbolic interpretation of the fig-tree story describes Jesus as the Messiah with God’s authority. Just as God, after searching for figs only to find nothing except for the withered leaves (Jeremiah 8:13), appears “in wrath to curse the land and blast the trees”26 (commonly found in the contexts of Jeremiah 8; Isaiah 28; Hosea 9; Micah 7; and Joel 1), Jesus, after finding no figs, wrathfully curses the fig tree and it dies. One might see a glimpse of Jesus sharing the divine power with God. This higher Christology of Jesus as the Messiah with God’s divine authority seems to be in the stark contrast with the lower Christology of Jesus as the humiliated Messiah at first glance. However, this contrast would not have caused any confusion to the Markan first reader, but rather, the reader could have had a more profound comprehension of Jesus’ humiliating messiahship. His humiliations from the untriumphal entry into Jerusalem, the sufferings, and death, were nothing to be ashamed of since nevertheless, he was still the Messiah with God’s supreme authority, which made the Markan accounts of his resurrection and second coming more promising. 2. Interpretation 2: The Temple story (11:15–19) It has been already demonstrated that one needs to read Jesus’ act symbolically in the Temple and the first Markan readers would have done so. However, this symbolic reading still leaves the unsolved problem, namely, Jesus’ somewhat serious violence which he shows while purifying the Temple. This section, therefore, engages another mimetic reading in order to figure out how the first Markan readers might have addressed such a violent Jesus. Before beginning this task, a brief review of the symbolic interpretation of the Temple pericope would be helpful in locating the context in which Jesus’ violence appears. 2.1. Defensible violence of Jesus. Mark’s depiction of Jesus possessed by violent fury that appears to trigger his death (v 18) could be used as an argument for its historicity; that is, it could be argued that if this episode was not about what actually happened, the Evangelist would not bother to present Jesus in such a way at the risk of impairing his character; thus, there is no need to consider an antetext that engenders the story.27 Such a claim about the historicity

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of the story is based on the contextual conjecture from the Markan text itself and may be plausible. However, one might hesitate to embrace what the claim says due to “intriguing parallels” between the Markan story and Odysseus’ Mnesterophonia, “The Slaying of the Suitors” of Odyssey 22.28 At least these parallels serve as the ground to read the cleansing of the temple story in comparison with Odyssey 22, and further provide the readers with a clue to accept Jesus’ fury which would be hardly expected from him. Even though the application of the mimetic reading to this Markan pericope is not as plain as Jesus’ untriumphal entry part including the first part of the fig-tree story, it is not impossible due to echoes of Odyssey 22 in the temple episode. After “entering his house from Eumaeus’s hut.”29 Odysseus shows his violent reaction to the suitors; he murders them for what they did at his house. This violent deed of Odysseus, however, could be understandable because of his identity; he is the king who has the right to do anything to retrieve his ruined house. But Odysseus took aim, and struck him with an arrow in the throat, and clean out through the tender neck passed the point; he sank to one side, and the cup fell from his hand as he was struck, and at once up through his nostrils there came a thick jet of the blood of man; and quickly he thrust the table [τραπέζαν] from him with a kick of his foot, and spilled all the food on the floor, and the bread and roast meat were befouled. Then into uproar broke the suitors through the halls, as they saw the man fallen, and from their high seats they sprang, driven in fear through the hall, looking everywhere along the well-built walls; but nowhere was there a shield or stout spear to seize (Odyssey 22.15–25).30 In Mark 11, like Odysseus, Jesus, after entering “the temple, his ‘house,’ from Bethany,”31 also shows a violent reaction32 to the moneychangers and the sellers of doves at the temple; he overturns their tables and seats. In addition, just as Odysseus’ violent deed was based on his sense of identity as the owner of his house and was thus justifiable, so was Jesus’ action as the owner of the temple. This is supported by Jesus’ reference in v 17 to Isaiah 56:7, where he proclaims the temple as “his house,” and to Jer 7:11 to justify his action at the temple; “Mark went out of his way to justify Jesus’ action, as Homer had justified Odysseus’s: his enemies had devastated his home.”33 And they came into Jerusalem. After entering the temple, he began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying at it, and he overthrew the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who were selling doves, and he did not permit anyone to carry even a vessel through the



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temple. And he was teaching and saying to them, “Is it not written that ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the peoples’? But you have made it a den of robbers.” And the chief priests and the scribes heard, and they sought how they destroyed him for they feared him, since the entire crowd was amazed by his teaching (Mark 11:15–8). Besides, Jesus’ overturning of “tables” against those who ruined the temple appears to reverberate with Odysseus’s overturning of “tables” of Odyssey 22.84–86 against the suitors who ruined his house. The two stories of the violent actions by the two heroes also share a common plot, which indicates the literary tie between the two texts. In both [stories] the hero denounces those who had ruined his house, and in both the robbers are afraid: the suitors because of Odysseus’s threat to kill them, and the Jewish leaders because of Jesus’ popularity with the masses. The suitors promptly armed themselves to kill Odysseus and Telemachus; the Jewish authorities “kept looking for a way to kill” Jesus.34 Thus, it can be said that what Jesus of Mark 11 does at/for the temple echoes what the King of Ithaca of Odyssey 22 does at/for his own house. Furthermore, these echoes would have led the Markan first reader to think that Odyssey 22 literarily influenced Mark’s cleansing of the temple incident. What follows is the mimetic comparison based on such echoes between parts of the temple story (Mark 11:17–18) and their corresponding parts of Odyssey 22 (22.34–36, 42–43). MacDonald presents the parallels between the Mark 11 and Odyssey 22 as follows:35 Odyssey 22.34–36 and 42–43 Odysseus answered them: “You dogs, you thought that I should never again come home [οἴκαδ᾽] from the land of the Trojans, seeing that you wasted my house [μοι…οἶκον].”… So he spoke, and at his words

Mark 11:17–18 He was teaching and saying, “Is it not written,

‘My house [οἶκός μου] shall be called a house [οἶκος] of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers.” And when the chief pale fear seized them all. priests and the scribes heard it, they [The suitors sought to slay Odysseus.] kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him. Even though the length of the parallels above is short, it should not be an obstacle to engaging in Mimesis Criticism. Just as Mark could have accessed

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Odyssey 6 and 7 for Jesus’ entry pericope, so could the Evangelist have used Odyssey 22 for Jesus’ speech at the temple (Accessibility). The parallels are also dense and listed in an orderly fashion (Density and Order). Furthermore, “my house,” described as under abuse by villains, serves as a unique feature to both stories (Distinctive Trait). Finally, Jesus, on the one hand, emulates Odysseus in that he has the power to intimidate the Jewish religious authorities as Odysseus does. Jesus, on the contrary, is not ruthless like Odysseus in that while Odysseus’ intimidation ends up with the murder of the suitors, Jesus’ intimidation does not continue with the killing of anyone, but will lead to the temple destruction (Interpretability). After all, since the comparison between the two short speeches meets all mimesis criteria except for Analogy, now it would not be problematic to insist upon a mimetic tie between them, which enhances the possibility of Mark’s intent to compare them with each other. However, it needs to be mentioned that since this clear mimetic tie is partially applied to the pericope, it is difficult to generalize the mimetic influence of Odyssey 22 on the entire story of the Temple incident. This can also mean the relatively greater role of the Hebrew Bible in interpreting the temple episode than in interpreting its preceding two stories, that is, Jesus’ untriumphal entry and the cursing of the fig tree. Although the first Markan readers might also have realized a more dominant role of the Hebrew Bible than of Odyssey in understanding the Temple incident, they could not have missed or overlooked what Odyssey 22 contributed as an explanation of Jesus’ erratic, shocking behavior of violence: who would not be upset to the degree of much violence like Odysseus if someone wretchedly usurps their own households? Jesus was not an exception. 2.2. Actual target of Jesus’ violence. What has been argued above is that (1) from the mimetic reading, the barren and withered fig tree symbolizes the corrupt Temple by Jewish leaders, thus to be destroyed and (2) from the biblical reading, Jesus purifies the Temple depraved by the tradesmen, that is, the priests of the Temple treasury,36 for the purpose of restoring it to its expected role as a house of prayer. When considered separately, each interpretation would not be enough to provide satisfying answers to the following two questions: Regarding the fig tree, how have Jewish leaders corrupted the Temple, which brings about its destruction?; and regarding the Temple, is it actually what Jesus intends to do to purify the huge Temple by himself with the expulsion of relatively a small number of priests?



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As noted earlier, the intercalated narrative of Jesus’ temple story needs to be dealt with its embracing story of the fig tree for the proper interpretation. Thanks to this observation, such shortcomings could be simply set off by comparing the interpretational results of each: (1) the interpretation of the Temple incident helps to identify the barren and then withered fig tree with the malfunctioning and thus doomed Temple because of the corrupt acts of the priests of the Temple treasury; and (2) the one of the fig-tree episode demonstrates that the real intention of Jesus is not to cleanse the Temple simply by expelling from it some priests involved with commercial transactions. Instead, Jesus’ act of purification stands for its complete destruction while blaming all the corrupt priests of the Temple treasury for having turned the Temple (a house of prayer) into a marketplace (a den of robbers). In this way, the hermeneutically reciprocal relationship is proven between the curse against the fig tree as the outer story and the Temple incident as the inner story.

C. Significance of Mimetic Reading Numerous scholars have voiced their opinions on the relationship between the two stories. However, there seems to be no one who tries to compare it with the Odyssey. Their ignorance or exclusion of the literary relation of the Homeric epic to the two stories usually forces them to stick to Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11 as the only literary sources to be considered influential. As a result, there are various assertions about the relationship of the two stories, which have nothing to do with the Odyssey. For instance, (1) Ernst von Dobschütz claims that the two stories were originally unrelated, but put together by Mark for the dramatic presentation of the effect of the curse on the fig tree.37 This claim may be plausible insofar as Odyssey is out of the scene, but one defective aspect of it would be its silence about the origin of the stories; (2) Ernst Lohmeyer argues that originally, there were non-symbolic meanings of the cursing of the fig tree, but Mark equipped it with symbolic significance by positioning it right before Jesus’ temple action story; the cursing of the plant symbolizes the judgment of the temple.38 However, Lohmeyer’s premise that the fig-tree story has no symbolic elements looks controversial. Even when one sees the story irrespective of its connection with the cleansing of the temple story, it is hard to think that the story needs to be interpreted literally, not figuratively. Its literal interpretation would just end up with the description of a Jesus who irrationally and selfishly curses the innocent fig tree out of his hunger; (3) Claiming a “mutually

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interpretative relationship between the dovetailed episodes.”39 Marshall argues that “the blasting of the fig tree could only be a token of eschatological judgment against the nation, directed in this case … specifically against the corrupt temple cultus.”40 However, Marshall also fails to suggest a persuasive reason why Jesus’ curse on the plant should have a symbolic meaning; (4) William R. Telford is also in favor of a symbolic interpretation of Jesus’ curse on the unfruitful tree, which connotes the destruction of the temple cultus.41 However, his argument about the literary source of Mark’s fig-tree story proves unconvincing itself; even though he suggests several verses of the Hebrew Bible as the source for Mark’s fig tree, he confesses that his “examination has uncovered no firm evidence that any one verse may have been the starting-point for the [fig-tree] story” and thus says his “ultimate concern is not with the question of origin [of the story].”42 Furthermore, MacDonald proves the weakness of his other argument about the literary influence on the all-time-fruitful fig tree: Unfortunately, Telford’s best evidence for perpetually bearing trees comes from writings much later than Mark, and he identifies no single biblical or other pre-rabbinic text as a close parallel or possible source. Dating rabbinical is notoriously difficult, so one ought not to insist too strictly on a proper chronology here. But even if the notion of perpetually bearing trees were current among Jews in the first century, it is by no means certain that Mark’s intended readers—Gentiles for whom even basic Jewish customs required explanation—would have known this haggadic tradition.43

After all, it turns out that the present interpretation of the two stories, rooted in the Odyssey as the primary literature to consider for comparison, can provide the clue that the fig tree of the Markan Gospel should bear fruit all year round in a figurative sense. Thus, the Odyssey-based interpretation can save Jesus from being criticized as a man of irrational character. Then, the symbolic meanings of the fig-tree story can be explained in the following story of the cleansing of the temple, and in return, the following story’s interpretation is affected by the symbolic meanings of the preceding story. The application of the Odyssey to the interpretation of the fig-tree story makes all such processes go smoothly and invalidates Paul J. Achtemeier’s assertion that the placement of the two stories one after another “is more likely to belong to the oral nature of the material than to anything like manipulation of the written text in the form of ‘interpolations.’”44 In addition, Jesus’ violent act in the Temple becomes excusable when read through the Homeric lens, which juxtaposes this ferocious Jesus with Odysseus who is so upset to murder the



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suitors brutally for their ruining his house. However, the readers including the first Markan ones notice Jesus’ superior morality in inflicting no lethal attack on those who deserve it even in the more extreme circumstance.45

III. Summary This section has demonstrated that the fig-tree story that is significantly indebted to Odyssey 7 should be interpreted symbolically; like the perpetual fig tree always bearing fruits at the garden of King Alcinous, Mark’s fig tree should also bear fruits, even out of season. This relationship points out the need to take symbolically Jesus’ seemingly unjustifiable curse on the fig tree due to the absurd reason of his hunger. Then, the following story of the cleansing of the temple emerges for the clarification of the symbolic meanings of the fig-tree story. The cleansing of the temple story has two main antetexts: Odyssey 22 and the Hebrew Bible, specifically Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11. From the primary influence of Odyssey 22, one can see Jesus’ superior morality and emulation of Odysseus. While like Homer’s hero, Jesus feels outraged at the ruin of his house (the Temple) by the enemies, Jesus’ superior morality to Odysseus’s prevents him from murdering those who destroyed his house (the Temple). In Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11, one can find the justification of Jesus’ violent action at the temple since the temple has lost its identity as “a house of prayer” and turned into “a den of robbers.” Now it becomes clear that Jesus’ hunger means Jesus’ anticipation to see the temple serve as a “house of prayer.” However, just as the fruitless fig tree cannot satisfy Jesus’ hunger and thus is cursed to be withered, the temple that is now “a den of robbers” fails Jesus and is cursed through his understandable violent action to be destroyed. In the end, when it comes to Mark’s so-called Cleansing of the Temple, one needs to remember that the story’s focus is on the temple’s destruction, not its cleansing.

Notes 1. The reason for the inclusion of the fig-tree story will be naturally revealed while attempting to compare it with the concerning stories of the Markan Gospel and Odyssey. 2. The triumphal traces from the Hebrew Bible in the Markan entry story were already mentioned in the earlier part of this study. 3. Even though Mark 11:11–14 has a significant story of Jesus’ curse against the fig tree, Mark also gives information of the location where it happens: on the way back from Bethany

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(v. 12). Thus, concerning the whereabouts of Jesus, the fig tree episode can be grouped like the outline. 4. Dennis R. MacDonald, ed. Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 2–3. 5. Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 104–5. 6. Dennis R. MacDonald, The Gospel of Mark: An Intertextual Commentary (Claremont, CA: Unpublished, 2009), n.p. 7. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 109–10. 8. W. J. Woodhouse, The Composition of Homer’s Odyssey (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930), 57. 9. Irene J. F. De Jong, A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 159. 10. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 110. 11. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 110. 12. Stephen Minta, “Homer and Joyce: The Case of Nausicaa,” in Homer in the Twentieth Century: Between World Literature and the Western Canon, ed. Barbara Graziosi and Emily Greenwood (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 102. For the similar argument, see also Jong, A Narratological Commentary, 151. Meanwhile, Nicolas P. Gross (“Nausicaa: A Feminine Threat,” CW 69 [1976]: 311–17, here 312) pays attention to Nausicaa’s marriage motif which is related to her sexuality incited by Athena: Not only is Odysseus naked, but the princess is present on the beach because Athene, having left her acutely aware of her sexual potential (6.33), had instructed her to wash clothing for an imminent marriage to a provocatively unidentified groom. 13. For the chronological investigation of scholarly arguments of this story, see Telford, Barren Temple, 1–25. 14. Telford, Barren Temple, 25. 15. As for the origin of the fig-tree episode, Telford, in The Barren Temple, 163, simply assumes as follows: “For Mark and his readers the scenario had already been written in the pages of the Old Testament.” 16. The Greek word of Zech 9:9 for “humble” is πραΰς, and πραΰτης of its noun form has the meaning of “humility.” (BDAG, electronic text by Oak Tree Software, Inc.). Thus, Zech’s description of the humble Messiah on an ass was probably revisualized in Mark 11:1–11 where Jesus humbly sat on an ass and was ready for humility. 17. It has been already demonstrated earlier why the fig-tree story and Jesus’ Temple act should be considered together. 18. Telford, Barren Temple, 156. 19. Telford, Barren Temple, 142–54. 20. Telford, Barren Temple, 162. 21. Telford, Barren Temple, 162. 22. Giesen, “Der Verdorte Feigenbaum,” 104.



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23. Telford, Barren Temple, 144. 24. Mark’s use of the term καιρός, not χρόνος for “the season (for figs)” of Mark 11:13 reveals that the time Jesus looking for figs figuratively means a very special one, in this case, the messianic age, in that according to Black (Mark, 65), “[u]nlike chronos, measured by calendar, or clock, kairos in biblical literature refers to ‘critical time’ or ‘opportune season’; not the quotidian every, but D-Day; not just any hour, but the time come for a mother’s deliverance.” Cf. Edwards (“Markan Sandwiches,” 207) who argues that “the season” of Mark 11:13 “has less to do with horticulture than theology” since kairos connotates “a special, critical moment” as it does in Jesus’ proclamation of Mark 1:14: “‘The time (kairos) has been completed, and the kingdom of God has come near.’” 25. Incigneri (Romans, 140) explains that the term “hungry” (ἐπείνασεν) of Mark 11:12 is “often used to mean a deep desire or yearning (cf. Matt 5:6; John 6:35).” 26. Telford, Barren Temple, 155. 27. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 34. 28. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 34. 29. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 35. 30. Homer, Odyssey: Books 13–24 (trans. A. T. Murray and Geroge E. Dimock; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 345, 347. 31. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 35. 32. Jesus’ violence is not as extreme as Odysseus’ but still could have been intense enough to shock the first Markan readers; Jesus’ character that Mark presented right before this Temple scene was that of humbleness and humiliation. Such preceding image of Jesus might have been enough to cause the reader feel a dramatic conflict with Jesus’ violent act. 33. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 35. 34. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 35–36. 35. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 35. 36. For the identification of the tradesmen of the Temple, refer to 3.2.1 of this study. 37. Ernst von Dobschütz, “Zur Erzählerkunst Des Markus,” ZNW 27 (1928): 193–98. 38. Ernst Lohmeyer, Das Evangelium Des Markus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1937), 235. 39. Christopher D. Marshall, Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 160. 40. Marshall, Faith, 160. 41. Telford, Barren Temple, 238. 42. Telford, The Barren Temple, 161. 43. MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 107. 44. Achtemeier, “Omne Verbum Sonat,” 21. 45. Jesus must be more desperate than Odysseus in that while the latter’s brutal killings are done in the hope of the purification of his house, which at last comes true (Odyssey 23.39–57), the former has no choice but to abandon his house (the Temple) in its unrecoverable status. According to MacDonald (Two Shipwrecked Gospels, 295), the hopeless situation of the Temple is confirmed by Mark’s description of the rending of the Temple curtain (15:38) at Jesus’ death on the cross: “When he [Jesus] expired, the veil of the temple was rent from top to bottom, an apparent portent of its eventual devastation.” In this regard,

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Jesus’ no direct harm such as torture and murder to those who leave no option but the utter destruction of the Temple poses a stark contrast with the ruthless acts of Odysseus against the suitors.

Works Cited Achtemeier, Paul J. “Omne Verbum Sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity.” Journal of Biblical Literature 109 (1990): 3–27. Dobschütz, Ernst von. “Zur Erzählerkunst Des Markus.” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde 27 (1928): 193–98. Edwards, James R. “Markan Sandwiches: The Significance of Interpolations in Markan Narratives.” Novum Testamentum 31 (1989): 193–216. Giesen, Heinz. “Der Verdorrte Feigenbaum—eine Symbolische Aussage: Zu Mk 11,12–14, 20f.” Biblische Zeitschrift 20 (1976): 95–111. Gross, Nicolas P. “Nausicaa: A Feminine Threat.” The Classical World 69 (1976): 311–17. Homer. Translated by A. T. Murray and Geroge E. Dimock. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924–94. Incigneri, Brian. The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Jong, Irene J. F. De. A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. MacDonald, Dennis R., ed. Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001. ———. The Gospel of Mark: An Intertextual Commentary. Claremont, CA: Unpublished, 2009. ———. The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000. ———. Two Shipwrecked Gospels: The Logoi of Jesus and Papias’s Exposition of Logia about the Lord. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012. Marshall, Christopher D. Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Minta, Stephen. “Homer and Joyce: The Case of Nausicaa.” In Homer in the Twentieth Century: Between World Literature and the Western Canon, edited by Barbara Graziosi and Emily Greenwood. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Telford, William R. The Barren Temple and the Withered Tree: A Redaction-Critical Analysis of the Cursing of the Fig-Tree Pericope in Mark’s Gospel and Its Relation to the Cleansing. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980. Woodhouse, W. J. The Composition of Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930.

conclusion

What triggers the inception of this study is the curiosity about how the first Markan readers might have addressed the fig-tree story of Mark 11:12–14, 20 which exposes Jesus to the accusations of being nonsensical in killing the innocent fig tree in view of the law of nature: it is out of season for figs. Before attempting to deal with such curiosity, the following as preliminary works are done: (1) how scholars have been trying to explain this debatable fig-tree story and its two adjacent stories (i.e., Jesus’ entry and the Temple incident); (2) what shortcomings of such explanations are still remaining, such as the lack of conviction for the need to symbolically approach the figtree story, the problematic title of the triumphal entry, and the exact symbolic meaning of Jesus’ purification of the temple; (3) the identification of the Markan readers which includes the investigation of the Gospel’s date (post-70 C.E., provenance (either upper Galilee or Southern Syria, or somewhere else between these two areas) and the argument for its creation for specific readers, not universal Christians. As an attempt to salvage Jesus from such accusations, Mimesis criticism based on the Homeric epics, especially the Odyssey, is employed to read it in the context of its preceding story, Jesus’ entry. During this mimetic reading, the solution for the problematic act of Jesus toward the fig tree is proposed: (1) the Markan fig tree stands for the fig trees of Alcinous’ garden which are

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always filled with figs; (2) thus, Jesus’ hunger and his curse on the fig tree which results in death need to be understood on a symbolic level. As a result, the burden to account for Jesus’ enigmatic deed of killing the fig tree out of season for not bearing figs is removed with the help of the symbolic approach to it. As for the two unsolved problems with (1) the nature of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and (2) what Jesus’ purification act stands for, the fig-tree story plays two hermeneutical roles in solving such problems. As is demonstrated already, the fig-tree story of Mark 11:12–14, 20 though relatively shorter in its length than its two neighboring stories, properly accomplishes its dual role in interpreting its preceding and following stories to both of which it belongs as a hermeneutical unit: (1) As a part of the pericope of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (Mark 11:1–14), the fig-tree story makes more convincing its literary dependence on Odyssey 6 and 7 as its primary literature to compare with over the Hebrew Bible, which leads to the revelation of the nature of Jesus’ entry mode as “untriumphal,” not “triumphal.” Calling Jesus untriumphal messiah is also more compatible with the Markan motifs of messianic secret and suffering messiah. Considering the triumphal traces of the Hebrew Bible in the Markan entry pericope, this also paradoxically emphasizes the humility and humbleness of Jesus’ messianic nature; (2) Also as a part of the story of Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple, the fig-tree episode, which has a symbolic meaning based on the fig tree in the garden of Alcinous of Odyssey 7, provides the ground for thinking the implied meaning of Jesus’ act of purifying the Temple as a symbol of the Temple’s total destruction like the fig-tree withered away to its roots, for which the priests of the Temple treasury are totally blamed. Furthermore, another mimetic reading based on Odyssey 22 sheds light on the more comfortable acceptance of Jesus’ violence in the Temple toward the people ruining it: when compared to Odysseus who is angry to the degree of murdering the suitors for devastating his own house, Jesus’ violent anger over the devastation of his own father’s house is understandable. However, Jesus is the better hero to trust than Odysseus in that he does not go as far as killing those Temple devastators even though Jesus has the reason and power to do so. Then, it is suggested that the understanding, through the eyes of the first Markan readers, of the dual roles of the Markan fig-tree story, based on the appropriately mixed engagement of the mimetic and biblical readings, led them to the right interpretations of its two adjacent pericopae: (1) Jesus entered Jerusalem as the untriumphal Messiah open to the humiliation and humbleness from suffering and death; (2) The corruption of the Temple by

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its leaders was serious enough to make even this humble Jesus act violently since the Temple had no other way to survive other than being destroyed thoroughly like its symbolic counterpart of the withered fig tree. After all, Mark 11 which begins with Jesus’ untriumphal entry, the cursing of the fig tree, and the Temple incident serves not only as a prelude to Jesus’ passion, but also as a preparatory stage for the Markan readers of all periods to carefully ponder the significance of Jesus’ life ending up with death along with the actual destruction of the Temple: Jesus, the untriumphal and humble Messiah who was not even welcomed to his father’s house and what is worse was forced to leave it as well as himself devastated.

index

A Achtemeier, Paul J., 52, 76, 106, 122, 170, 173 Alexander, 16–17, 52, 96–97, 118–119, 135–136 allusion(s), 5, 14–15, 18, 23–24, 27, 33, 35, 37, 57, 59–61, 67, 107–108, 155, 158–160, 164 Annals, 81–82, 113 antecedent(s), 15, 65, 160 antetext(s), 2–3, 5, 152, 165, 171 Antigonus, 17 apocalypse, 14, 70 Apollonius, 16, 120, 153 Aramaic terms, 81 words, 69–70, 79–80, 83, 109, 112–113 Archelaus, 17 audience, 6–7, 23, 51–52, 65–66, 74–75, 81, 91, 93, 98–99, 102–103, 113, 116–122, 124–126, 137–138, 142

authority, 15–17, 22, 54–56, 59, 121, 130, 165

B Bacon, Benjamin, 110, 112, 119, 122 Bammel, Ernst, 30, 37, 40, 43–45, 114, 122 Bartimaeus, 15 Bauckham, Richard, 31–33, 43–44, 92–105, 114, 117–123, 126 bioi, 100, 119–120 bios, 93–95, 99–100, 105, 117–118 Bird, Michael F., 9, 32, 41, 44, 101–102, 114, 117, 120–122 Black, C. Clifton, 37, 40–41, 44, 111–113, 119, 124, 173 Bolt, Peter G., 50, 106, 122 Book of Tobit, 8 Brandon, S. G. F., 43–44, 70, 109, 112–114, 122–123 Burridge, Richard A., 99–100, 119–120

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C Caesar, 6, 17, 24–25, 40, 52, 79, 99–100, 110 Catchpole, David R., 14, 16–17, 22–24, 35, 37, 45 Christian movement, 94–95, 102, 104, 121–122, 141 Christology, 20, 38–39, 41, 45–47, 114, 125, 165 Clement, 10, 65, 102, 109 Collins, Adela Yarbro, 39, 42–43, 45–46, 67, 74, 109, 111–112, 116, 118, 123 Cribiore, Raffaella, 130, 143–144, 146

D Dalmanoutha, 89–90, 92, 116 Decapolis, 76–79, 87, 89, 112 Demosthenes, 140, 146 den of robbers, 30–31, 33, 36, 44, 162, 167, 169, 171 Dewey, Joanna, 53–56, 106–107, 109, 123 divine authority, 15, 165 warrior, 14, 22–24, 41, 45, 158 Donahue, John R., 41, 45, 75, 111–113, 119, 123 Duff, Paul B., 22–24, 41, 45 Dunn, J.D.G., 19–20, 38, 45 dying Messiah, 21

Enkyklios Paideia, 128–132, 141–143 entry triumphal, 1–2, 13, 16–18, 22–25, 35, 37, 41, 47, 57, 150, 156–160, 165–166, 168, 175, 177 untriumphal, 156–160, 165–166, 168, 177 Epiphanius, 87 eschatology, 55, 120 Esler, Philip F., 41–42, 45, 99–101, 119–120, 122–123 Eusebius, 87, 102, 110 evidence external, 51, 73, 110 internal, 51, 73, 76, 89, 91, 105

F fig tree barren, 1, 27, 34, 36, 157, 159, 164 cursing of the, 26, 29, 57, 164, 168–169 withered, 19, 26, 28–29, 33–34, 41–42, 45, 47, 84, 162, 164–165, 168–169, 171, 174, 176–177 fig-tree story, 1–3, 25–29, 33–36, 41–42, 149, 156–157, 159, 161, 163–166, 169–172, 175–176 first Markan readers, 2, 20–21, 25, 35–36, 38, 49–51, 65, 72, 116, 127, 149–150, 156–161, 163–165, 168, 173, 175–176 flat character, 54 Fowler, Robert M., 20, 38, 45, 106, 123 Fox, Robin Lane, 101, 120, 124

E Eck, Ernst Van, 104–105, 109–110, 112, 114–115, 121–122, 126 Edwards, James R., 29, 41–42, 45, 47, 173–174 Ehrman, Bart D., 39–40, 45, 51, 85, 106, 115 Elijah, 7, 19, 38–39, 46, 57–60, 107–108, 121, 124–126 emulation, 7–8, 59, 171

G Galilee, 40, 53, 73, 76, 78–84, 86–92, 105, 111–112, 116, 121–122, 125, 175 Gentiles, 24, 30, 62, 87, 99, 113, 170 Giesen, Heinz, 27, 42, 45, 164, 172, 174 Gilliard, Frank D., 52, 106, 124 Gospel of Nicodemus, 7 Gray, Timothy C, 30, 34, 43–44, 46, 112, 124



index 181

Greco-Roman education, 127–128, 131–132, 141, 143–145, 147 entry processions, 23, 41 triumphal procession, 17 world, 16, 17, 22, 24, 35, 50–52, 75, 89, 95, 99–101, 104–106, 119–120, 122, 127–129, 131–133, 135, 137, 139, 141–143, 145, 147, 150, 155 Greek education, 128–132, 142, 145–146

H Halverson, John, 131, 143, 147 Hebrew Bible, 2, 5, 14–15, 18, 21, 23–25, 30–31, 33, 35–37, 41, 57–61, 64–65, 78, 107, 118, 150, 158, 160–161, 163–164, 168, 170–171, 176 Hengel, Martin, 73–74, 81, 111–115, 119, 124 Herodotus, 8 Hock, Ronald F., 22, 35, 69–70, 81, 138, 140, 144–147, 168, 173 Homer, 2–11, 46, 62–66, 105, 108–109, 127–147, 152, 154, 157, 159–160, 163, 166, 169–175 Homeric epic(s), 2–10, 62, 64–66, 105, 108, 127, 132–135, 139–144, 152, 157, 160, 169, 172–174 Hooker, Morna D., 40, 42–43, 46, 72, 110, 124 Hosanna, 15–16, 151, 158 house of prayer, 30, 33, 36, 162, 167–169, 171 hunger, 1, 27, 156–157, 160, 163–164, 169, 171, 176 hypertext, 3–4, 152 hypotext, 3–5, 7–8, 152

I Iliad, 5, 7–9, 62, 133–138, 140, 144 implied author, 49–50 reader, 50

Incigneri, Brian, 42, 46, 72, 74, 110, 111–113, 117, 119, 124, 173–174 interpolation, 29, 42–43, 45, 170, 174 Irenaeus, 102

J Jeremias, Joachim, 84–86, 115, 124 Jesus’ entry, 1–3, 13–19, 22–25, 35, 41, 45, 149–152, 156–160, 168, 175–176 family, 53–56 transfiguration, 57, 61 Jewish customs, 69, 79–81, 83, 113, 170 war, 55, 67–69, 72, 77, 110–112, 115, 125 Jonah, 5, 7 Josephus, 8, 16–17, 32, 35, 37, 46, 67–69, 72, 109, 114 Joshua, 60 Judaism, 15, 21, 38–39, 46, 114–115 judgment, 23, 27, 29, 43, 68, 164, 169–170

K Kazen, Thomas, 103, 121, 124 Kee, Howard Clark, 54, 58–60, 84–87, 90, 107–108, 115, 124 Kelber, Werner H., 53–56, 64, 70–71, 106–107, 109, 111, 124 Kloppenborg, John S., 68, 109, 119, 124

L latifundia, 85–86, 115 Latinism, 73, 83, 110–111 law, 43–44, 58, 60, 69, 85, 128, 131, 142, 175 law-giver, 59 Wills, Lawrence M., 15, 37, 39, 47 legion, 77–78, 83

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Logoi of Jesus, 57, 61–62, 64–65, 68, 70–72, 107–108, 119, 125, 147, 174 Lohmeyer, Ernst, 42, 115, 125, 169, 173 Longstaff, Thomas R. W., 81–82, 114, 125 Lucian, 8–10 Lührmann, Dieter, 72–73, 110–111, 125 LXX, 15, 35, 57, 59, 65, 78–79, 158, 160 Jordan, Lynn M., 39, 46, 60–61, 108, 124

miracle worker, 20, 112 Mitchell, Margaret M., 3–11, 102–104, 120–122, 125 Moloney, Francis J., 72, 110, 125 Morgan, Robert, 38, 46 Morgan, Teresa, 129–130, 135–136, 142–145, 147 Mount of Olives, 14, 37, 158

M

N

Maccabaeus Jonathan, 16 Simon, 17 MacDonald, Dennis R., 2–11, 35, 44, 61–63, 68, 70, 107–110, 116, 125, 141–142, 144, 147, 152–154, 157, 167, 170, 172–174 Magdala, 89–90, 119 Marcus, Joel, 15–17, 37, 46, 74–76, 80–82, 87, 90–91, 95–97, 110–115, 118, 125, 140 Markan motifs, 18, 25, 150, 159–160, 176 Marrou, Henri-Iréné, 130, 143, 145, 147 Marshall, Christopher D., 42, 170, 173–174 Matera, Frank J., 111, 125 Mauser, Ulich W., 60, 108, 125 Messiah suffering, 18–19, 21–25, 35, 39–40, 150, 158–160, 176 untriumphal, 158, 160, 176 messiahship, 20–23, 25, 39, 159, 165 messianic identity, 19–20, 38, 159 secret, 18–25, 35, 38, 45, 47, 150, 159–160, 176 methodology, 2–4, 8 mimesis criticism, 2–4, 6–9, 11, 62–63, 141, 152, 156–157, 167, 175 mimetic reading, 4, 7–8, 10, 127, 142, 152, 156–157, 159, 163–166, 168–169, 175–176 relationship, 4, 7, 62, 155

Nero, 81–83, 110, 113–114 Niederwimmer, Kurt, 80, 113, 125 Notley, Steven, 77–79, 111–112, 125

O Odyssey, 4, 6, 8–9, 62–63, 132, 138, 140, 144, 149–150, 152–153, 155–161, 163–164, 166–176 oral communication, 51–52, 64–65 source, 54–55 tradition(s), 7, 20, 42–43, 45, 47, 53, 55–57, 61–62, 64, 66, 69, 71, 80–81, 91, 104, 106–110, 112–113, 123–126, 131, 143, 145, 147, 164, 170 transmission, 52, 56–57, 62, 146–147 orality, 27–28, 52–53, 56–57, 64–65, 94, 104, 106–107, 109, 123, 125, 143, 147, 171 orbis doctrinae, 130 Origen, 102–103

P P. Chester Beatty, 132–133, 143 P. Sorbonne 133 Pamment, Margaret, 58, 107–108, 125 Papias, 102, 107–108, 110, 125, 147, 174 Parousia, 21, 55 Pauline epistles, 93–94, 129



index 183

persecution, 38–39, 41, 53–54, 58, 81–83, 87, 97, 110, 113–114 Pharisees, 19, 80, 97, 117 Philo, 100, 120, 129, 131, 136, 140, 142, 147 Plutarch, 99–100, 120, 142 prayer, 16, 30, 33–34, 36, 44, 162, 167–169, 171 procession, 14, 17, 23–24, 41, 69, 150, 155, 158 progymnasmata, 131, 137–139, 141, 145–147 prophecy, 30, 53, 67–68, 70–71, 79, 86 prophet, 14, 19, 27, 31, 37, 39–40, 43, 45, 47, 53, 55–56, 58–59, 78, 107, 121, 164 povenance Galilean, 88, 90 Palestinian, 76, 80, 86, 115 Syrian, 83, 86–87, 115

Sandnes, Karl Olav, 3–5, 7–11, 128, 131, 141–143, 145, 147 sandwich technique, 29 Sanhedrin, 30 Scott, Peter M., 26, 41, 47 second coming, 55, 165 Sim, David, 97, 104, 117, 119, 121–122, 126 Sitz im Leben, 69, 101, 109–111, 123, 125 Son of David, 15 God, 8, 20, 40, 46, 59, 154–155 Ssebadduka, William, 61, 108 Stamps, Dennis L., 49–50, 106, 126 Swete, H. B., 102–103 symbolic reading, 26–27, 29, 33–34, 36, 79, 165 synoptic Gospels, 56, 96, 99, 106, 112, 126 Syrophoenician, 75, 87, 92

Q

T

Q+, 57, 61, 64, 107–108 Qualls, Paul
F., 31, 43, 47 Qumran scrolls, 96

Tacitus, 81–82, 99–100, 113–114 Tatum, W. Barnes, 24–25, 41, 47 Telford, William R., 26–28, 34, 36, 42, 44, 47, 112, 126, 156–157, 163–164, 170, 172–174 Temple cleansing of the, 3, 23–24, 28, 30, 33, 42, 47, 57, 149, 161–162, 164, 166–167, 169–171, 176 cultus, 27, 31, 33–34, 36, 164, 170 incident, 1, 34–36, 167–169, 175, 177 ’s destruction, 67–68, 70–72, 165, 171 treasury, 31–33, 168–169, 176 textuality, 5, 9–10, 56, 106–107, 109, 123, 144, 147, 172, 174 Theissen, Gerd, 71, 75, 77–79, 110–112, 114, 126 Tillesse, Georges Minette de, 21 Titus, 67–69, 72 toponym, 78, 111, 125 transfiguration, 10, 39–40, 46, 57–61, 107–108, 124–126

R Reicke, Bo, 81, 114, 126 religious leaders, 30–34, 44 Resseguie, James L., 50, 106, 126 resurrection, 19, 38–40, 100, 121, 165 Rohrbaugh, Richard L., 91, 116–117, 126 Roman Empire, 73, 92–93, 110–111, 142 Roskam, Hendrika N., 80–82, 88–91, 111–116, 118–119, 120–121, 126 Roth, Wolfgang, 33, 43–44, 47

S Sabbath, 30 sacrifice, 17, 22–23, 30, 32–34, 41

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triumphalism, 13, 21, 24, 35, 41, 159–160 Tuckett, Christopher M., 91–92, 112, 117, 126

U untriumphalism, 159–160

V Vergil, 5, 8–10, 131, 136, 153 vineyard parable, 85–86, 115 violence, 30–31, 33–35, 44, 63, 96, 165, 168, 173, 176

W Ong, Walter J., 56, 107, 125 Watts, Rikki E., 14–15, 37, 47, 107, 126 Wilderness, 27, 60–61, 107–108, 125 Williams, James G., 14, 36, 47

Studies in Biblical Literature This series invites manuscripts from scholars in any area of biblical literature. Both established and innovative methodologies, covering general and particular areas in biblical study, are welcome. The series seeks to make available studies that will make a significant contribution to the ongoing biblical discourse. Scholars who have interests in gender and sociocultural hermeneutics are particularly encouraged to consider this series. For further information about the series and for the submission of manuscripts, contact: Peter Lang Publishing Acquisitions Department 29 Broadway, 18th floor New York, NY 10006 To order other books in this series, please contact our Customer Service Department: (800) 770-LANG (within the U.S.) (212) 647-7706 (outside the U.S.) (212) 647-7707 FAX or browse online by series at: WWW.PETERLANG.COM

Studies in Biblical Literature This series invites manuscripts from scholars in any area of biblical literature. Both established and innovative methodologies, covering general and particular areas in biblical study, are welcome. The series seeks to make available studies that will make a significant contribution to the ongoing biblical discourse. Scholars who have interests in gender and sociocultural hermeneutics are particularly encouraged to consider this series. For further information about the series and for the submission of manuscripts, contact: Peter Lang Publishing Acquisitions Department 29 Broadway, 18th floor New York, NY 10006 To order other books in this series, please contact our Customer Service Department: (800) 770-LANG (within the U.S.) (212) 647-7706 (outside the U.S.) (212) 647-7707 FAX or browse online by series at: WWW.PETERLANG.COM