From the Sayings to the Gospels (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161532887, 9783161532894, 3161532880

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg)

328

Christopher Tuckett

From the Sayings to the Gospels

Mohr Siebeck

Christopher Tuckett, born 1948; studied Theology at Cambridge and Lancaster; 1979 PhD (Lancaster); 1979–91 Lecturer, 1991–96 Rylands Professor of Biblical Criticism and Exegesis at the University of Manchester; 1996–2000 Lecturer, 2000–13 Professor of New Testament Studies at University of Oxford; 2002–13 Fellow of Pembroke College; currently Emeritus Professor of New Testament Studies, University of Oxford.

e-ISBN 978-3-16-153289-4 ISBN 978-3-16-153288-7 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2014  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic s­ ystems. The book was printed by Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buch­binderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

For David Catchpole

Table of Contents Preface.................................................................................................... XI Abbreviations ...................................................................................... XIX

Part One

Synoptic Problem I. Arguments from Order. Definition and Evaluation ..................... 3 II. Mark and Q .............................................................................. 23 III. The Existence of Q ................................................................... 51 IV. The Current State of the Synoptic Problem ............................... 77

Part Two

The Sayings Source Q V. A Cynic Q?............................................................................. 119 VI. On the Stratification of Q ....................................................... 143 VII. The Temptation Narrative in Q ............................................... 153 VIII. Feminine Wisdom in Q? ......................................................... 182 IX. Scripture and Q ...................................................................... 196 X. Q and the ‘Church’. The Role of the Christian Community within Judaism according to Q ............................ 219 XI. Q 12.8 Once Again – ‘Son of Man’ or ‘I’?.............................. 232

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XII. Q 22.28–30............................................................................. 250 XIII. The Son of Man and Daniel 7. Q and Jesus............................. 266 XIV. Q, Jesus and Aramaic. Some Methodological Reflections....... 290

Part Three

Paul and Synoptic Tradition XV. Paul and the Synoptic Mission Discourse?.............................. 309 XVI. Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians .................................... 316 XVII. Paul and Jesus Tradition. The Evidence of 1 Corinthians 2.9 and Gospel of Thomas 17 .............................................................. 340

Part Four

The Gospel of Thomas XVIII. Thomas and the Synoptics ...................................................... 359 XIX. Q and Thomas – Evidence of a Primitive ‘Wisdom Gospel’? A Response to H. Koester....................................................... 383

Part Five

Historical Jesus XX. The Gospel of Thomas – Evidence for Jesus? ......................... 403 XXI. The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology ..................... 421 XXII. Q and the Historical Jesus....................................................... 447

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Part Six

The Canonical Gospels XXIII. Matthew. The Social and Historical Context – Jewish Christian and/or Gentile? ............................................ 475 XXIV. The Present Son of Man ......................................................... 505 XXV. The Disciples and the Messianic Secret in Mark ..................... 524 XXVI. Gospels and Communities. Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community? ..................... 541 XXVII. The Lukan Son of Man ........................................................... 557 XXVIII. The Christology of Luke-Acts ................................................ 574

List of Initial Publications..................................................................... 607 Index of Sources ................................................................................... 611 Index of Modern Authors ...................................................................... 629

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Preface The essays reproduced in this volume represent a number of studies published over a period of 30 years: the first was published in 1981 (no. 24 here) and the most recent in 2011 (no. 4 here). When I was first approached about the possibility of re-publishing a number of my earlier essays and articles, I was more than a little hesitant. For many of the subjects covered here, the scholarly debates have moved on considerably since the time of the original publications and it seemed perhaps a little odd to be re-publishing material that was in some respects rather out of date. A feature of some examples of the ‘genre’ of the present publication is to print an Appendix to each essay, noting developments and the most significant publications on the topic since the time of the original publication of the essay in question. For better or worse, I decided not to do that: the time and work required would be enormous and any such updating would almost inevitably be incomplete as I am not aware of everything that has been written on the various topics here since the studies here were initially published. Hence the essays here are reproduced in their original form and (mostly) with their original wording. I am very grateful to the editors of the WUNT series, especially Professor Jörg Frey and Professor Tobias Nicklas, for their very strong encouragement to produce this volume (and in overcoming my initial diffidence!), and also to Dr Henning Ziebritzki of Mohr Siebeck for his enthusiasm and commitment to the project. The essays collected here all focus in some way on the origins, use and development of Jesus traditions in early Christianity, looking mostly at the traditions found in the New Testament, but also considering some aspects of the Gospel of Thomas and the Jesus tradition contained there. They are grouped here in six parts, each with a particular focus. On the other hand, a number of the essays could easily overlap and/or be included in more than one part (e.g. no. 13 is about Q, but also about the historical Jesus; no. 17 is about Jesus tradition in Paul, but also in the Gospel of Thomas). It seemed however better to try to order the essays thematically (rather than, for example, simply give them in chronological order of their initial publications), even though any division into separate parts is somewhat artificial. My interest in the history and development of traditions about Jesus in early Christianity date back to the start of my time as a research student in

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1976, when I embarked on a PhD thesis focusing on the Synoptic Problem, in particular on the revival of the Griesbach hypothesis which was then much to the fore in scholarly discussions due to the enthusiasm and work of its main proponent, W. R. Farmer. My doctoral supervisor initiated me into the fascinating world of observing, and seeing if one could make sense of, the developments of early Jesus traditions from earlier stages to later stages. That specific interest in the Synoptic Problem has stayed with me over the course of the years and it is directly reflected in the four essays in the first part here. Thus the first essay addresses the issue of ‘the argument from order’, which has always played an important role in discussions of the Synoptic Problem (though there may well be more than one such argument in discussions of the Synoptic Problem). The Griesbach hypothesis, especially as it has been revived in recent debates by Farmer and others, focuses a great deal on the position of the Gospel of Mark in relation to the other two gospels, arguing that Mark is dependent on the other two gospels, rather than being their common source; however, the problem of how to explain the agreements between Matthew and Luke alone is also part of the general ‘problem’ which requires explanation. In this the existence or otherwise of ‘Q’, the source believed by many to underlie Matthew and Luke, is a critical issue for discussion. The general line taken in this volume is that Q did indeed exist and its existence explains the Matthew-Luke agreements in the ‘double tradition’ better than the alternative theory of Luke’s dependence on Matthew. Thus another essay in this part (no. 3, ‘The Existence of Q’) seeks to provide some argumentation to defend this overall theory. For those who advocate some form of the Q hypothesis along with a theory of Markan priority, it is almost universally agreed that Mark and Q may have overlapped, which raises the question of whether there might be a relationship between Mark and Q, or whether they are independent of each other. This issue is addressed in a third essay here (no. 2, ‘Mark and Q’), which argues against any theory of a direct relationship between Mark and Q. The final essay in this part (no. 4, ‘The Current State of the Synoptic Problem’) is the most recent of all the essays: it was a paper, originally given at a conference (in Oxford) and trying to provide a survey of the current state of Synoptic Problem studies, looking at the main theories currently defended, viz. some form of Two Source Theory, the Griesbach (or ‘Two Gospel’) hypothesis, and the ‘Farrer’ hypothesis (arguing for Markan priority and Luke’s use of Matthew and Mark). Although the essay does seek to defend the Two Source Theory in general terms, consideration of the methodological issues raised in recent debates makes it clear that certainty in this area is an impossible goal: we can only propose theories with greater of lesser degrees of plausibility. In my own studies, work on the Synoptic Problem led me very quickly into study of the possible Sayings Source Q and the issues and problems it

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raises. Certainly in the last 30–40 years, there has been an ever-increasing developing scholarly interest in Q, looking especially at its particular distinctive or characteristic features, its leading ideas, its possible social context etc. For some this is rather verging on the height of folly since we do not know for sure whether Q even existed! On the other hand, if it can be shown that the Q material exhibits some distinctive features, this can be a legitimate part of the argument that this material existed as a unified source prior to its use by Matthew and Luke. Hence discussions about a possible ‘theology’ of Q are by no means irrelevant to the issue of whether Q existed. Certainly in my own studies, work on Q, its possible distinctive ideas and the location of the Christians who preserved it and handed this material on, grew out of, and alongside, studies of the Synoptic Problem and considerations of whether Q existed. The second part of the volume here is the largest part and contains a number of studies about Q. The topics vary. One feature of the modern debate has been the theory that one can identify clear stages in the development of Q: John Kloppenborg’s work here, arguing for three clear stages (a Q1, a Q2 and a Q3), has been seminal and has persuaded many. I seek to address this issue in essay 6 (‘On the Stratification of Q’) here, arguing that while it may well be possible to identify a ‘redactional’ reworking of material at a ‘final’ stage of Q, it is rather harder to be so confident that any earlier stages in the development of the document Q (e.g. a ‘Q 1’) can be so easily identified: the tradition may have been more amorphous and disparate. Also attempts to posit a later set of small-scale additions (a ‘Q 3’) may also be difficult to sustain. In any case, one cannot drive too much of a wedge between the various alleged strata since the supposed later editor(s)/redactor(s) evidently agreed enough with the earlier material to decide to include it. Another key issue of recent debates has been the suggestion that Q and its tradents might display significant similarities with Cynics and Cynic teaching. This issue is addressed in essay 5 here (‘A Cynic Q?’), where the whole problem of seeking to evaluate parallels is addressed. A key issue in past discussions of Q has been its possible language; if it existed, was it a Greek text or might it be a translation from an Aramaic Vorlage? Essay 14 (‘Q, Jesus and Aramaic’) here takes up the theories proposed by Maurice Casey, propounding the view that Q represents a translation into Greek of an Aramaic text, and offers a critical evaluation. The other essays in this part take up a number of individual passages or texts within Q. Thus essay 7 discusses the Temptation narrative: the passage has sometimes been regarded as a slightly alien element within Q, though the argument here is that it may fit with the rest of the Q material very closely. Essays 10 and 11 take up individual Q texts, viz. Q 12.8 and Q 22.28–30 respectively. Essay 9 (‘Scripture and Q’) considers the possible

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use of Jewish scripture within Q: although there are few explicit quotations, nevertheless the Q material may show a very deep influence from Jewish scriptural traditions. The tradition in Q 12.8 is famous for being one of the Q passages using the term ‘Son of Man’, and this phrase appears to be an important christological ‘title’ used in Q to refer to Jesus. (The terms ‘Messiah’ and ‘Lord’ do not seem to be used.) Essay 13 (‘The Son of Man and Daniel 7’) takes up this theme in a more general way, looking at the use of ‘Son of Man’ in Q traditions, as well as raising issues about how far any of this might be traced back to the figure of Jesus himself. Another prominent theme in modern discussions of Q has been the focus on the figure of ‘Wisdom’ as a quasi-personified being. Such an idea is reflected, directly or indirectly, in a number of Q texts. It is then perhaps noteworthy that the word for ‘Wisdom’, in both Greek and Hebrew, is a grammatically feminine noun. This raises the issue of whether there is any significance seen in the use of potentially genderised language, possibly referring to Wisdom as a feminine figure. This issue is addressed in essay 8 (‘Feminine Wisdom in Q?’), though with perhaps slightly negative results: the possibly feminine nature of the figure of Wisdom does not seem to be an issue, at least for Q (and for a number of other writers). It is well known that traditions ascribed to Jesus are not the sole preserve of the canonical gospels! Such traditions appear in a number of other texts in early Christianity. These include the letters of Paul (which sometimes refer, or perhaps allude, to Jesus traditions), texts from the so-called ‘Apostolic Fathers’ (e.g. 1 Clement, 2 Clement, the Didache etc.), and also a number of texts from the Nag Hammadi library, above all the Gospel of Thomas, whose full text is now available (in Coptic) from there. It has always been a fascinating area of study to see how perhaps any history and development in the use of Jesus traditions outside the gospels might relate to the phenomenon of such traditions in the canonical gospels. For example, might these other texts provide evidence for the existence and/or use of gospel sources (e.g. Q) used by the canonical evangelists? Might these other texts give us independent access to the figure of Jesus himself, possibly providing more reliable information about Jesus than the canonical gospels do? It was with such questions in mind that I have undertaken over the years various studies of Jesus traditions in texts outside the canonical gospels. These have included analysis of Pauline traditions, traditions in the Gospel of Thomas as well as in other Nag Hammadi texts, traditions in the Didache, 2 Clement and various other texts. In one way the overall results here might appear slightly negative, in that as often as not, the other texts frequently seem to presuppose the development of the Jesus tradition as it has gone through the stage of the finished synoptic gospels. There does not appear to be any evidence, for example, for the existence of sources behind our gospels (e.g. Q) in these other texts. Nevertheless, such

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study is of great interest in that it shows how early Christians used the Jesus traditions for their own purposes to address their own situations. One exception to any such general ‘result’ is of course the evidence of Paul. On conventional datings, Paul cannot possibly presuppose the finished New Testament gospels since his letters pre-date the writing of those gospels by some time. Paul then is clearly a witness to the use and development of Jesus traditions prior to the stage of the canonical gospels. How much Paul can shed light on the phenomenon of the use of Jesus traditions is always a puzzle. A significant part of the issue here is that, while there are a number of parallels between what Paul says and what is ascribed to Jesus in the gospels, there are relatively few explicit quotations. It has always then been a problem to determine how far the parallels indicate that Paul was (consciously) alluding to Jesus traditions, or how far any agreements in language are coincidental, or whether perhaps similar language was subsequently ascribed to Jesus in the later developing Christian tradition but was not so ascribed at the time of Paul. These various issues are taken up in different ways in the three essays in Part Three. Essay 15 (‘Paul and the Synoptic Mission Discourse’) discusses the parallels between some of what Paul says in 1 Corinthians and the synoptic mission discourse in the gospels. There are some parallels, some more striking than others, and there is at least one case of Paul actually alluding to (or at least summarising) a saying of Jesus (1 Cor 9.14, cf. Q 10.7). It is argued here that the other parallels are rather too general and imprecise to justify any far-reaching conclusions, but the general topic remains of perennial interest. Essay 16 (‘Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians?’) takes up the parallels with (and possible citations of) Jesus traditions in 1 Thessalonians. Again there is a wealth of potential evidence, though it is argued again here that any dependence on Jesus traditions is relatively minimal. A third essay (no. 17, ‘Paul and Jesus Tradition. The Evidence of 1 Corinthians 2.9 and Gospel of Thomas 17’) takes up the notorious crux of the saying in 1 Cor 2.9, where Paul appears to give an explicit quotation: however, he does not say what he is quoting, and the same (or very similar) tradition turns up in the Gospel of Thomas (though not in the canonical gospels) as a saying attributed to Jesus. Again this may not be a case of Paul actually using Jesus tradition: and the appearance of the saying in Thomas may show the way in which traditions were subsequently ascribed to Jesus in the developing Christian tradition. Among the non-canonical texts containing Jesus tradition, the Gospel of Thomas has always aroused intense interest. Ever since its discovery there have been debates about the relationship between this text and the canonical gospels. This issue is taken up in the two essays in Part Four here. No. 18 (‘Thomas and the Synoptics’) addresses primarily the issue of the relationship between Thomas and the synoptics, arguing that at least at

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some points, Thomas presupposes the final, redacted versions of the synoptic gospels; hence it must be dependent (at however many stages removed) on the canonical gospels. No. 19 (‘Q and Thomas – Evidence of a Primitive “Wisdom Gospel”?’) discusses the suggestions put forward by H. Koester that Q and Thomas might represent different branches of a tradition of the Sayings Source and might together provide evidence of a common ‘wisdom’ gospel. In all the essays so far, the focus of attention has been on the ways in which early Christians used and formulated the traditions about Jesus to get their message across in the way they thought most appropriate. One must not lose sight of the fact that all these are Jesus traditions, and purport to be records of things said or done by Jesus himself. How far they can all be traced back to Jesus is of course a well-known standing problem with all modern gospel study. Moving back from our written texts to the historical figure of Jesus is an extraordinarily complex business with no clear unambiguous answers to the many questions posed. The three essays in Part Five take up some aspects of this general problem. Essay 20 (‘The Gospel of Thomas – Evidence for Jesus?’) discusses the possible contribution which the Gospel of Thomas might have for our understanding of Jesus: does this gospel provide with potentially valuable information about the historical Jesus, or is it more a witness to later developments within one group of early Christians? The answer suggested here is the latter, but that will not stop the discussions on this continuing! Essay 21 (‘The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology’) seeks to engage at the level of methodology with the very significant work of J. D. Crossan, whose work on the historical Jesus has been widely read and much discussed. Some difficulties with Crossan’s overall approach, with possibly significant implications for the resulting reconstruction of the figure of Jesus which emerges, are suggested here. Finally essay 22 (‘Q and the Historical Jesus’) addresses the issue of the value of the Sayings Source Q as a source for the historical Jesus. We have all become accustomed to the idea that even our earliest gospel, Mark, may well be heavily influenced by post-Easter Christian ideas and beliefs; perhaps then the same is the case with Q and we should certainly not expect that we can use Q, despite its very early date, as a direct window giving us access to Jesus himself. The final part of the book focuses on the individual gospels themselves, and particular themes and topics raised there. The focus in many of them is particularly in the area of Christology, especially the use of the term ‘Son of Man’. Essay 24 (‘The Present Son of Man’) looks at the Son of Man sayings in Mark and Q about the present activity of Jesus, arguing that in both traditions the focus is, implicitly or even explicitly, more about Jesus’ suffering: hence arguments that the ‘suffering Son of Man’ sayings are confined to Mark (and hence are unlikely to be authentic) are questioned

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here. Essays 28 and 29 look at the Lukan writings, no. 28 (‘The Lukan Son of Man’) focusing on Luke’s use of the term ‘Son of Man’ (arguing that Luke is quite ‘conservative’ in his usage), and no. 29 (‘The Christology of Luke-Acts’) addressing questions about Lukan Christology more generally. The other essays look at other aspects of the gospels. Essay 23 (‘Matthew. The Social and Historical Context’) seeks to address the old question of how far the Gospel of Matthew comes from, and/or addresses, a Jewish context, with a case being argued that in significant ways, Matthew’s readers probably did not function as part of the Jewish communities where they lived. Essay 25 (‘The Disciples and the Messianic Secret in Mark’) focuses on how the disciples are presented in Mark and to what extent their portrayal should be seen as part of the well-known ‘secrecy’ complex in that gospel. Finally, essay 26 (‘Gospels and Communities. Was Mark written for a Suffering Community?’) seeks to address some broader questions about how far gospels can or should be taken as coming from, or addressed to, specific Christian groups or communities, and how far they should be seen as general communications addressed to ‘all Christians’. A case is made for the (by now traditional) view of them as related to specific communities. With this in mind, the issue of Mark’s possible community is addressed in the rest of the essay, seeking to raise some questions against the widespread view that Mark was written for a community that was suffering persecution: whilst not denying that gospels may be integrally related to individual communities, it may be that gospel texts were intended to speak to communities, seeking to address them and encourage them to change, rather than speaking for communities and simply reflecting their current situations without any critique. I hope that the re-publication of these essays will encourage all others engaged in similar work on the gospels (and not simply be a vehicle for self-congratulation). Thirty years of study has not diminished my enthusiasm and excitement with this work which remains as great now as it was when I started as a research student in 1976. The only slightly disillusioning aspect of the passing of time is that, the longer one works on the material, the more one realises how little one knows and how much more there is to do! But if the re-publication of these essays serves to inspire others to do more work in this field, to show perhaps where I have been wrong in my own suggestions, and to grapple further with the issues raised here, then the volume will have served its purpose. Many people have helped me over the years and inspired me. Some I have only known as names in print and have rarely met. Others I have been privileged to meet and to engage with in dialogue. Some sadly are no longer alive, but their memory will remain for me a treasure and a cause of great thankfulness. Colleagues, in both Manchester and Oxford over a lifetime’s teaching and research, have provided a stimulating environment

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in which to work and I have learnt an enormous amount from them. Particularly valuable for me has been the experience of having as working colleagues Martin De Boer, Christopher Rowland and Bob Morgan, none of whom has necessarily shared my detailed research interests but whose breadth of vision, coupled with friendship, have opened my eyes to take in broader perspectives. Research seminars in both Manchester and Oxford have been very enriching for me, as well as the work of the Society for New Testament Studies, especially its seminar programme which has always provided a very special forum for focused scholarly discussions in a context of supportive and encouraging collegiality. I would also like here to pay tribute to the work of the Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense and its organisers, especially (in the past) Professor Frans Neirynck, and more recently Jos Verheyden for whose friendship and encouragement I have been especially grateful. A number of the essays here originated as papers at a meeting of the Colloquium in Leuven which has always provided a unique opportunity for detailed engagement with a particular topic, often in the past to do with synoptic studies. Academic and personal links established at that Colloquium, as well as the stimulation which its work has inspired, have been enormously valuable to me over many years. My wife has been a constant source of support and encouragement over all the years of my studies, and without her nothing would have been achieved. She has stood by me through ups and downs, highs and lows, and provided me with more than I could possibly deserve. My debt to her is enormous and far more than I can ever repay. The volume is dedicated to one who took me under his wing and started me on the road of detailed synoptic studies when I was somewhat ‘lost’ and not sure of my way academically – as a research student in search of a topic. His gentle but sure guidance as a doctoral supervisor has developed over the years, providing rock-like support in so many ways as mentor, guide, dialogue partner and above all friend. I owe him more than I can say. Oxford, March 2014

Christopher Tuckett

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Abbreviations AB AnBib ANRW ATANT BBB BET BETL BHT Bib BJRL BTZ BZ BZNW CBQ CBQMS CG DownRev DSD EHS EKKNT ETL ExpT FRLANT FS FzB GCS GTA HDB HNT HTKNT HTR IBS ICC IDB Int JAC JBL JETS

The Anchor Bible Analecta biblica Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Bonner biblische Beiträge Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum Lovaniensium Beiträge zur historischen Theologie Biblica Bulletin of the John Rylands Library Berliner theologische Zeitschrift Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Corpus Gnosticum Downside Review Dead Sea Discoveries Europäische Hochschulschriften Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Ephemerides theologicae Lovanienses Expository Times Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Festschrift Forschung zur Bibel Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten (drei) Jahrhunderte Göttinger theologische Arbeiten Harvard Divinity Bulletin Handbuch zum Neuen Testament Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review Irish Biblical Studies International Critical Commentary The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible Interpretation Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Jounal of Biblical Literature Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society

XX JSJ JSNT JSNTSup JSP JTS LD LTP NHMS NHS NovT NovTSup NRSV NRT NTAbh NTD NTOA NTS NTT ÖTKNT P. Oxy. QD RevQ RSR RTL SANT SBL SBLDS SBLMS SBLSCS SBS SC ScripBull SJT SNTA SNTSMS SNTU SNTU B ST Str-B TB TBT ThR TLZ TRE TSAJ TSK TTZ

Abbreviations Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal of Theological Studies Lectio divina Laval théologique et philosophique Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies Nag Hammadi Studies Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum Supplements New Revised Standard Version La nouvelle revue théologique Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen Das Neue Testament Deutsch Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus New Testament Studies Norsk Teologisk Tidsskrift Ökumenischer Taschenbuchkommentar zum Neuen Testament Papyrus Oxyrhynchus Quaestiones disputatae Revue de Qumran Recherches de science religieuse Revue théologique de Louvain Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Series Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Sources chrétiennes Scripture Bulletin Scottish Journal of Theology Studiorum Novi Testamenti Auxilia Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt. Serie A: Aufsätze Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt. Serie B Studia theologica Strack, H. L., & Billerbeck, P., Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch (6 vols.; München: Beck, 1922–1961) Theologische Beiträge Theologische Bibliothek Töpelmann Theologische Rundschau Theologische Literaturzeitung Theologische Realenzyklopädie Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum/Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Theologische Studien und Kritiken Trierer theologische Zeitschrift

Abbreviations TU TWNT TZ VC WBC WMANT ZBK ZNW ZST ZTK

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Texte und Untersuchungen Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament Theologische Zeitschrift Vigiliae christianae Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Zürcher Bibelkommentare Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für systematische Theologie Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

Part One: Synoptic Problem

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I Arguments from Order Definition and Evaluation 1. Determining (Dis)agreements in Order The virtual certainty of the early twentieth century scholarship that Mark came before Matthew and Luke rested very largely on the argument from order.1

Farmer’s claim illustrates the important place which the phenomenon of order is believed to have in the study of the Synoptic Problem. Before discussing arguments based on the order of events in the gospels one should define one’s terms as far as possible. Such an exercise is useful in any discussion, but especially so in the present context. For study of the history of research into the Synoptic Problem shows that there have been at least two arguments from order, and hence, before criticising ‘the argument from order’, one must be quite clear which argument one is discussing. It may be worthwhile to go one stage further and consider first whether it is possible to define the ‘order’ in question more precisely. At one level there is no problem: the sequence of the pericopes in each synoptic gospel is as well defined as the canonical text.2 For all practical purposes this order is quite stable, and unaffected by any detailed disagreements between textual critics.3 However, whilst the order of each gospel is a welldefined entity, it is by no means so clear that the differences in order between the gospels comprise so unambiguous a phenomenon and can be defined in a neutral way. Now it is quite clear that there can be, and are, better and worse attempts to give a neutral description of the phenomenon of order and of the pattern of agreement and disagreement in order between the gospels. One example of what could be a called a ‘worse’ attempt would be Streeter’s:

1

W. R. Farmer, ‘The Lachmann Fallacy’, NTS 14 (1968), 441–443, on p. 442. I realise that the division of the text into pericopes is in itself in part an arbitrary process, and that any such division is non-unique. See D. L. Dungan, ‘Theory of Synopsis Construction’, Bib 61 (1980) 305–329, esp. pp. 314–315, 322–323. 3 The situation is, of course, quite different with regard to the detailed wording of the text. 2

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Wherever Matthew departs from Mark’s order, Luke supports Mark; and whenever Luke departs from Mark, Matthew agrees with Mark.4

The sentence is clearly formulated under the presupposition of Markan priority (MP) and can hardly be said to be an unbiased statement of the facts.5 Now in this case one might ‘improve’ Streeter’s formulation to produce a more impartial account of the facts concerned, e.g. Whenever Matthew’s order and Mark’s order differ, Mark’s order and Luke’s order agree; and whenever Luke’s order and Mark’s order differ, Matthew’s order and Mark’s order agree.

This sentence does not, on its own, make any assumptions about which gospel is prior. However, a closer analysis suggests that differences in order may never be definable in a neutral way. Certainly it does appear to be the case that any description of the differences in order is not unique and this non-uniqueness goes far deeper than simply the use of synonymous phraseology. How does one define a disagreement in order? An agreement in order is relatively easy to define: if two writers X and Y have two units of tradition a and b, then if a precedes b in X and Y, there is agreement in order. A disagreement is, at one level, a failure to agree, i.e. if one writer has a b and the other has b a. But can one be more precise beyond making the negative statement that there is failure to agree? Suppose that X and Y have four pericopes a b c d in the order X: a b c d; Y: a c b d. Clearly there is failure to agree in order. Further, most would agree that a and d are in the same order in the two texts. But which element, or elements, is, or are, out of order? There are at least three ways of illustrating the parallels diagrammatically: (i) X Y a —— a b c —— c b d —— d

(ii) X Y a —— a c b —— b c d —— d

(iii) X Y a —— a b c c b d —— d

According to (i), b is out of order; according to (ii), c is out of order; according to (iii), both b and c are out of order. At the purely formal level there appears to be no way of claiming in absolute terms which of these 4

B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels (London: Macmillan, 1924), 161. See J. B. Tyson, ‘Sequential Parallelism in the Synoptic Gospels’, NTS 22 (1976) 276–308, on p. 276; D. L. Dungan, ‘Mark – The Abridgement of Matthew and Luke’, in D. G. Buttrick (ed.), Jesus and Man’s Hope (2 vols.; Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, 1970), 1.51–97, on p. 60, says that Streeter’s formulation was ‘stated in an inexcusably prejudicial manner’. 5

Arguments from Order

5

three is the most preferable way of describing the pattern of agreement and disagreement between X and Y. The way in which the parallels are initially set up inevitably affects in a significant way the description of the differences in order. A different set of parallelization produces a quite different set of non-parallels.6 This assertion runs counter to the general tenor of the article by Tyson7 who claimed to be giving a totally neutral description of the phenomenon of order. However, his methodology is not totally convincing. He focuses attention solely on cases of what is called ‘sequential parallelism’, i.e. cases where two pericopes (using Aland’s division) follow each other immediately in two gospels, and he enumerates all examples of this phenomenon in the three synoptic gospels. However the method is not wholly satisfactory for two reasons. First, it fails to allow for the possibility of added/deleted material leaving one pericope in a similar position in two gospels but not in sequential parallelism. For example, if X and Y have the following order of pericopes: X: a b c d f g Y: a b d e f g most would argue that X and Y agree in their ordering of d. However, Tyson’s method would only count sequential parallelism and thus would only include (a b) and (f g) as agreements in order. A concrete illustration of this is the parable of the mustard seed in Matt 13.31–32 and Mark 4.30– 32. Most would claim that Matthew and Mark agree in order here, yet Tyson’s method fails to include the pericope as an agreement in order between Matthew and Mark.8 Let us, however, suppose a slightly different situation: X: a b c d f g e Y: a b d e f g

6

A similar point is made in more general terms by A. D. Jacobson, ‘The Literary Unity of Q’, JBL 101 (1982) 365–389, on p. 367: ‘It would appear that the data to be explained by a source hypothesis (i.e., the agreements and disagreements of various kinds) are generated by the hypothesis itself’, though it is not clear if he has in mind the fact that the data itself is not uniquely specifiable (as claimed here), or if he is simply referring to the fact that the same data can often be adequately explained by different source hypotheses. 7 Tyson, ‘Sequential Parallelism’. 8 Tyson explicitly states that this is a ‘relocation’ (Tyson, ‘Sequential Parallelism’, 296), He does not allow for the possibility of added/deleted material (e.g. Matt 13.24–30 and Mark 4.26–29) as breaking the sequential nature of the parallelism but preserving the common order.

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It is now debatable whether f and g are still in the same order in X and Y. (Is it e, or f and g, whose order has been altered?) Perhaps the situation would be clearer if we had: X: a b c d f g e Y: a b d e ……… f g where the dots indicate a large separation between e and f g in Y. Most would argue here that the double unit (f g) has been moved as a whole by one writer. Yet in both these latter cases, Tyson’s method of quantifying the agreements in order would count both (a b) and (f g) as agreements between X and Y. This therefore leads to the second criticism of Tyson’s method, viz. it does not allow for the possibility of one writer having changed the order of two sequential pericopes together.9 A concrete illustration of this is the case of the parables of the mustard seed and the leaven in Matt 13.31–33 and Luke 13.18–21. By Tyson’s method this counts as an example of two pericopes in sequential parallelism; yet on almost any source hypothesis it is clear that one evangelist has changed the position of these two parables. It is therefore doubtful how satisfactory Tyson’s method is for describing and quantifying the pattern of agreement and disagreement in order between the synoptic gospels. The inherent ambiguity in any description of the disagreements in order gives some support to the part of the claims made recently that any synopsis cannot really be neutral.10 Whilst I am totally unconvinced that the way in which one assigns the gospels to the columns on the printed page affects things at all,11 Orchard’s claim that the decisions made regarding what is to be put parallel to what in a synopsis cannot be neutral does seem to be well founded. Whether these decisions are determined specifically by a presupposed solution to the Synoptic Problem is perhaps more doubtful. For example, the arrangement in Huck’s synopsis, and the decisions made about what to set in parallel, do not seem to be based on MP as such: rather the principle seems to be to maximize the amount of parallelization in the tradition.12 It is arguable that Aland’s synopsis is more dependent on an 9

Although such a possibility is observable from Tyson’s tables, as two sequences each involving two pericopes, his final analysis simply adds the numbers of pericopes in sequential parallelism together indiscriminately. Thus Tyson’s statistical results do not distinguish between the examples given above, and the possibility of two texts having the four pericopes a b f g in immediate sequential parallelism. 10 See Dungan, ‘Synopsis Construction’; B. Orchard, ‘Are All Gospel Synopses Biased?’, TZ 34 (1978) 149–162. 11 Contra Orchard, ‘Gospel Synopses Biased?’, 150–152. 12 Dungan, ‘Synopsis Construction’, 326–327, points to a number of places where some bias towards MP might be suspected, e.g. in Huck’s decision to invert the order of Luke 6.12–16 and 17–19, thus following the order of Mark as basic. In an earlier draft of

Arguments from Order

7

aspect of a solution to the Synoptic Problem, viz. the Q hypothesis. For his arrangement appears to be seeking to maximize the parallelization in the order of the double tradition in Matthew and Luke. (However, his decision not to print the two great sermons, Matt 5–7 and Luke 6.20 ff., in parallel is rather strange.) Orchard’s own arrangement of the material is selfconfessedly based on his theories about Luke’s redactional procedure in using Matthew.13 Thus although the ‘order’ of the pericopes in any one gospel can be precisely and uniquely defined, and whilst the existence of some agreement in order between the three gospels is clearly recognisable, the precise nature of the disagreements in order (beyond the negative statement that they are failures to agree) cannot be uniquely specified. It will be important to bear this inherent indeterminacy in mind at various points in the following discussion.

2. M. Lowe’s Argument from Order What now is a/the ‘argument from order’? In a recent article, Farmer stated that ‘there are actually three arguments from order that have played an important role in the history of synoptic criticism’.14 Since Farmer wrote, evidently a fourth should be added in view of the recent article by M. Lowe.15 Perhaps one can deal with the latter first. Lowe formulates the argument from order which he wishes to discuss as follows: It was claimed … that the observed coincidences of the orders of Matthew and Luke with the order of Mark suggest that the latter’s gospel was the basis for the other two authors.16

this article, in a paper submitted to the Synoptic Problem seminar at the SNTS meeting in Durham, 1979, Dungan also referred to Huck’s decision not to print the parallel to Matt 10.17–22 from Mark 13 in the text opposite Matt 10, but only as a footnote at the bottom of the page. These criticisms are justified, but they relate more to the issue of how frequently a text should be printed in a synopsis and where some abbreviations might be acceptable, rather than to the more fundamental principle of how the parallels should be initially set up. 13 Orchard, ‘Gospel Synopses Biased?’, 156–157, 162; also his Matthew, Luke & Mark (Manchester: Koinonia, 1976), 39–68, and his A Synopsis of the Four Gospels (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983). 14 W. R. Farmer, ‘Modern Developments of Griesbach’s Hypothesis’, NTS 23 (1977) 275–295, on p. 293. 15 M. Lowe, ‘The Demise of Arguments from Order for Markan Priority’, NovT 24 (1982) 27–36. 16 Lowe, ‘Demise’, 27. Although Lowe refers to ‘arguments’ (plural) in his title, he seems to have in mind only one argument (perhaps as used by several people).

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However, this is quite unrelated to any argument based on the order of events in the gospels which has been used by previous scholars: the widespread agreement in order has never by itself been the sole basis for an argument about synoptic interrelationships. What has been used as a basis for argument has been the pattern of agreements and disagreements in order. Lowe constructs a complicated edifice of logical theory to show that the argument as he formulates it cannot prove MP, and is just as consistent with the claim of the Griesbach hypothesis (GH) about Mark, viz. Mark was the last gospel to be written and represents a conflation of Matthew and Luke. Further, he claims that any feature which ‘contradicts’ MP with regard to order does not necessarily ‘contradict’ the GH. Thus he concludes that the argument from order cannot prove MP against the GH’s theories about Mark. Lowe’s logical theory is certainly correct in relation to the argument he has constructed. But the theory he seeks to question is simply a figment of his imagination. He seeks to discredit any proof from order that Matthew and Luke have always followed Mark’s order. However, no one has ever suggested that Matthew and Luke did this. In at least one version of ‘the argument from order’, the argument has proceeded from observations about the ways in which Matthew’s and Luke’s orders differ from Mark’s, i.e. from the fact that Matthew and Luke never agree with each other against Mark in order. The fact that Matthew and Luke do not both agree in toto with Mark’s order has never been seen as a problem in itself for MP; certainly it has never been felt to ‘contradict’ MP. To use Lowe’s own logical terms, this argument from order does not proceed from the abstract claim If xMky, then xMty and xLky, 17

but from the observed fact that, in the gospels, If xMky, then xMty or xLky. 18

Lowe’s article is thus of little value to the contemporary debate since it is not related to any argument from order that has actually been used.

17 Following Lowe’s own abbreviated language. ‘xMky’ means ‘x comes before y in Mark’. 18 This is exactly the same as what Lowe regards as the claim of the GH about Mark. This simply illustrates what I shall argue in section IV of this essay: that the argument from order used to advocate the GH appeals to exactly the same facts as at least one argument from order used to advocate MP.

Arguments from Order

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3. The ‘Lachmann Fallacy’ and Markan Priority This leads on to the argument which, many have assumed, is ‘the’ argument from order to support MP. This is the argument which states that, given that there is no case in which Matthew and Luke agree in order against Mark, Mark’s order must be the basis of the other two. Further, if one surrenders any idea of an Ur-gospel, the theory that Mark’s order is basic swiftly becomes the theory that Mark’s Gospel is the basis for Matthew and Luke. It is this argument which has been dubbed the ‘Lachmann fallacy’, a description which appears to derive from the chapter in B. C. Butler’s book where the argument was analysed.19 Whether this is an apt description is perhaps debatable. Lachmann himself never committed the logical fallacy in question.20 Further, one must be quite clear about what in fact is fallacious. The term ‘fallacy’ is perhaps a misleading one, for it suggests an illogical argument leading to a (patently) false conclusion. (Cf. mathematical ‘fallacies’ which ‘prove’ the patently false conclusion 0 = 1.) Now it is universally recognised that Butler’s analysis of the argument does not render it fallacious in the sense that the conclusion drawn, MP, is necessarily false. All that Butler showed was that, given the initial premises in the argument, the conclusion was not unique: various other solutions would explain the facts equally well. Indeed any solution where Mark is in a ‘medial’ position in the tree of interrelationships satisfies the conditions. The false element in the conclusion lies simply in the claim that MP is the only possible solution.21 Whether anyone ever committed this logical ‘fallacy’ is in fact doubtful. It is very questionable whether any scholar in the past thought that this argument, in and of itself, ‘proved’ the priority of Mark to the exclusion of every other possibility.22 Further, it is also very questionable how import-

19 B. C. Butler, The Originality of St. Matthew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951), 62–71. 20 This is explicitly acknowledged by Butler, Originality, 63; Farmer, ‘Lachmann Fallacy’, 442. 21 See, on the side of modern advocates of MP, G. Styler, Excursus IV in C. F. D. Moule, The Birth of the New Testament (London: A&C Black, 31981), 290; F. Neirynck, ‘The Argument from Order and St. Luke’s Transpositions’, ETL 49 (1973) 784–815, repr. in his The Minor Agreements of Matthew and Luke against Mark (BETL 37; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1974), 290–322 (all page references to the latter), on pp. 302–303. 22 I have tried to demonstrate this in my article ‘The Argument from Order and the Synoptic Problem’, TZ 36 (1980) 338–354.

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Part One: Synoptic Problem

ant this argument ever was in the establishing of the theory of MP.23 But that is a matter of history. Far more important for the contemporary debate has been the criticism brought against the argument by advocates of the GH. This claims that the failure of Matthew and Luke to agree in changing the order of any Markan pericope is too much of a coincidence to be credible. Farmer describes Streeter’s statement of the facts as A tour de force, by which a serious problem for the Marcan hypothesis was converted into an argument in behalf of the priority of Mark.24

This he explains as follows: It is as if Matthew and Luke each knew what the other was doing, and that each had agreed to support Mark whenever the other departed from Mark … Since both frequently desert Mark, either by departing from his order or by omitting his material, and since neither knows that the other is doing, why do not their desertions of Mark coincide more frequently? … This fact of alternating support suggests some kind of conscious intention for which the Marcan hypothesis offers no ready explanation.25

Or, in more picturesque language, Dungan says Just when Luke goes off into a special passage, there appears at Mark’s side faithful Matthew, as if by magic, and just when Matthew suddenly departs on an errand of his own, in the nick of time back comes Luke, as if in response to a providential bath qol. How is this possible?26 23 Farmer’s claim to this effect (n. 1 above) is due to his confusing different arguments from order in the history of research. See Tuckett, ‘Argument from Order’, 339 ff. 24 W. R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem (Dillsboro, N.C.: Western North Carolina Press, 21976), 213. 25 Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 213, 214. 26 Dungan, ‘Mark – The Abridgement’, 63. However, it should be noted that Farmer and Dungan both appear to be confusing two separate phenomena, i.e. changes in order by Matthew/Luke and omissions of Markan material. The ‘argument from order’ under consideration here has always been confined in the past to changes in order. Some attempt to interrelate the two is also made in E. P. Sanders, ‘The Argument from Order and the Relationship between Matthew and Luke’, NTS 15 (1969) 249–261, who points to places where Matthew re-orders, and Luke omits, the same material in Mark, as some contributory evidence that Matthew and Luke are not independent (though Sanders never suggests that this should prejudice belief in MP). However, Neirynck, ‘Argument from Order’, 295, points out that the Lukan omissions are in each case much more extensive than the one element re-ordered by Matthew, and probably cannot be used in the way Sanders suggests. With regard to the omissions made by Matthew and Luke, assuming MP, it is not the case that these never coincide: e.g. Mark 3.20–21; 4.26–29; 7.31–37; 8.22–26 are omitted by both Matthew and Luke. Thus there is no conspiracy to support Mark alternately. It has been argued that, in fact, the number of common omissions is slightly higher than the expected number if such omissions were being made randomly; but this is not surprising since the fact that a pericope is omitted by one writer suggests that it might be unacceptable to some, and hence there may be an increased probability

Arguments from Order

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Thus for these critics, it would appear that MP should expect some (but how much?) agreement between Matthew and Luke against Mark in order. (It is ironic that the occasions where Matthew and Luke do agree against Mark in wording, i.e. the minor agreements, are often fastened on by opponents of the two-document hypothesis [2DH] as the points where the theory is weakest. Yet in this case, the absence of such agreement is felt to be a problem. Within what limits should the number of Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark lie to be neither too high nor too low? Or is this a case of ‘heads I win, tails you lose’?) In abstract terms this criticism of this argument from order might be compelling. However, the facts are less surprising when the actual texts themselves are considered. In fact it is not at all certain whether it is the case that Matthew and Luke never agree in rearranging the order of a Markan pericope. According to one highly plausible paralleling of pericopes, the parallels to Mark 3.13–19 (the call of the twelve) occur in different contexts in Matthew (10.2–4) and Luke (6.12–16).27 There is thus at least one pericope where Matthew and Luke both rearrange Mark’s order.28 The coincidence whereby Matthew and Luke both avoid the other’s changes of Mark is thus not quite so absolute as appears at first sight. Even with this exception to the general rule, the failure of Matthew and Luke to agree in changing Mark’s order is less surprising when the actual differences between the gospels are observed. The number of disagreements is relatively small. Thus Neirynck writes: Emphasis on the alternating support seems to imply that agreements and disagreements with the relative order of Mark are treated as comparable quantities. In fact, the disagreement against Mark is the exception and the absence of concurrence between Matthew and Luke is less surprising than the somewhat misleading formulation ‘whenever the other departs’ may suggest.29

If one restricts attention to strict changes in order of the same material (i.e. excluding the cases of replacement of a pericope by parallel material), then the number of changes made by Matthew and Luke, assuming MP, is relathat the same pericope may be omitted by another writer. See S. McLoughlin, ‘A Reply’ [to H. Meynell, ‘A Note on the Synoptic Problem’], DownRev 90 (1972) 201–206, on pp. 201–202. 27 Noted by Sanders, ‘Argument from Order’, 256. Sanders’s other alleged examples of this phenomenon are, however, unconvincing: see the critique by Neirynck, ‘Argument from Order’, 296–297, though Neirynck perhaps glosses over this pericope too quickly (he calls Luke’s version ‘only an inversion within the same section of Mk III’ [my italics]). 28 Although, due to the inherent ambiguity in describing changes in order, one could say that Luke has rearranged Mark 3.7–12. 29 Neirynck, ‘Argument from Order’, 299, referring to Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 213–214.

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tively small. Luke changes the order of Mark 6.1–6 (//Luke 4.16–30), 1.16– 20 (//Luke 5.1–11), 3.13–19 or 3.7–12 (//Luke 6.12–19), and 3.31–35 (//Luke 8.19–21).30 Matthew, assuming one particular scheme of parallelization between Matthew and Mark,31 changes the order of Mark 1.40–45 (//Matt 8.1–4), 3.13–19 (//Matt 10.2–4), 4.35–5.43 (//Matt 8.23–34; 9.18–26), and 13.9–13 (//Matt 10.17–22). Thus Luke changes the order of four Markan pericopes, Matthew changes the order of six. These changes perhaps coincide once (Mark 3.13–19). If one takes the range of the compass of Mark prior to the passion, this covers 80 Markan pericopes (using Huck’s divisions).32 The probability of two authors independently choosing 4 and 6 pericopes respectively out of 80, and coinciding once is 0.246. The probability of their never coinciding is 0.726.33 This is perfectly acceptable in statistical terms. (It is usually assumed that a probability has to be at least as small as 0.05 before being considered statistically significant.) There is thus nothing surprising in these figures, and nothing to suggest that the initial assumption, viz. the independence of Matthew and Luke, should be questioned. In fact, a relatively high probability is not at all surprising: the non-coincidence of the changes in order may be simply due to the fact that Matthew and Luke have different redactional aims in their alterations of Mark.34 There is thus no reason for thinking that the phenomenon of order poses a positive problem for MP, as Farmer and Dungan have suggested. MP remains quite consistent with the facts, and thus remains a viable solution 30

Some of these are arguably cases where Luke is not using Mark at all but is dependent on independent traditions. I have excluded texts such as Luke 7.36–50; 10.25–28; 13.18–19, for this reason. For at least the latter two as representing non-Markan traditions, see my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 81, 126. 31 See below. 32 The passion narrative is perhaps a special case since there is uncertainty about the extent to which Luke had access to independent traditions. 33 I.e. 4 x 6/80 x 74/79 x 73/78 x 72/77, and 74/80 x 73/79 x 72/78 x 71/77 respectively. 34 Cf. G. D. Fee, ‘A Text-Critical Look at the Synoptic Problem’, NovT 22 (1980) 12– 28, on pp. 14–15. Also Styler, ‘Excursus’, 310. Styler makes the valid point that not all Matthew’s changes are random: some may be for the same reason, and hence the number of independent changes may be effectively rather smaller. Styler limits attention to Mark 1.16–6.44, and calculates the chances of Matthew and Luke not agreeing to re-order as ‘about 10:1’. I cannot see how this figure is arrived at, and it is uncertain whether one should limit attention to this smaller section of Mark. It is a feature of the work of J. C. O’Neill, ‘The Synoptic Problem’, NTS 21 (1975) 273–285, that he seems to dismiss the possibility of any change in order as being due to conscious redactional activity by a secondary writer (see esp. pp. 275–276): thus all differences in order have to be explained in the pre-redactional tradition-history. But placing such severe restrictions on the possible redactional activity of the evangelists seems unnecessary, if not misleading.

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to the Synoptic Problem. Butler’s analysis shows that it is not the only possible explanation of the phenomenon of the non-existence of MatthewLuke agreements against Mark. Additional arguments are necessary in order to exclude other possible explanations of the phenomenon of order, by MP still provides a feasible explanation of the facts concerned. 4

4. The ‘Lachmann Fallacy’ and the Griesbach Hypothesis It has been a feature of the modern discussion that the same phenomenon of order has been used to advocate the GH. According to Farmer, this is a separate argument from the ‘Lachmann fallacy’, 35 and the GH’s ability to explain the phenomenon of order is the hypthesis’ ‘central and essential strength’.36 Farmer says that this argument from order is based on the observation that whenever the order of Mark is not the same as that of Matthew, it follows the order of Luke, i.e. that Mark has no independent chronology … This seems explicable only by a conscious effort of Mark to follow the order of Matthew and Luke. Neither Matthew nor Luke could have achieved this alone. They would have had to conspire with one another or find some other way to contrive this chronological neutering of Mark, i.e. robbing his chronological independence. Mark on this view can only be third and must have known Matthew and Luke. There seems to be no other satisfactory solution.37

The value of this argument is highly questionable. Farmer’s statement of the phenomenon to which he is referring is no less biased than the formulation of Streeter cited earlier in this essay (e.g. ‘the order of Mark … follows the order of Luke’). In fact the ‘observation’ here is precisely the same as the premise for the much criticised ‘Lachmann fallacy’ used to advocate MP, viz. there are agreements in order in the triple tradition between Matthew and Mark with Luke different, and between Mark and Luke with Matthew different, but none between Matthew and Luke with Mark different.38 Thus appeal is being made to the same phenomenon to support the GH and to claim that MP is false. Now I have argued above that, assuming MP, these facts are not surprising. There is no need to postulate any ‘conspiracy’ between Matthew and Luke to account for the number of disagreements in order and their (general) non-coincidence. Farmer’s claim, on the other hand, is that the GH alone can adequately explain the facts. (‘Mark … can only be third … 35

‘Modern Developments’, 293. ‘Modern Developments’, 280. 37 ‘Modern Developments’, 293. Cf. also his Synoptic Problem, 212, though the later statement makes the argument more stringent. 38 Farmer notes as an exception the dating of the cleansing of the Temple. 36

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There seems to be no other satisfactory solution.’) But here one can refer again to Butler’s analysis of the Lachmann fallacy. Butler showed convincingly that to conclude that MP was the only explanation of this pattern of agreements and disagreements in order was a logical error: the phenomenon itself was in itself ambiguous and could be explained equally well by a number of hypotheses (of which MP was one, the GH another, his own preferred Augustinian hypothesis a third). But the logic of Butler’s analysis itself is really unrelated to the specific theory of MP: he simply showed that the facts in question are ambiguous and it is logically fallacious to assume that one and only one hypothesis can explain them. Thus any claims that the facts are explicable by one and only one hypothesis is a logical fallacy, whatever that hypothesis is. But this is precisely the argument of Farmer, viz. that this pattern of agreements and disagreements is only explicable by the GH. This argument from order to support the GH thus represents a reappearance of ‘the Lachmann fallacy’ in a slightly different guise. Since the phenomenon itself is ambiguous,39 one must produce quite different arguments to support the claim that one or other of the possibilities where Mark is in a ‘medial’ position is to be preferred. The absence of Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark cannot of itself decide the issue.

5. Redactional Changes in Order This leads to the final ‘argument from order’ which has always held a firm place in the study of the Synoptic Problem. This argument was that used by Lachmann, and amongst advocates of MP, it was used by scholars such as Holtzmann, Wrede, Wernle, Woods, Sanday and others.40 This is the argument which seeks to explain the disagreements in order as part of a rational, coherent plan on the part of the secondary evangelist(s). Such a form of argument must inevitably assume a source hypothesis. The attempt is then made to make this hypothesis credible by explaining the development of the tradition which the hypothesis implies. The coherence and consistency of the implied redactional activity will then be a measure of the validity of the hypothesis. Thus, assuming MP, the argument would seek to show that 39 This ambiguity was noted as long ago as 1844 by an advocate of the GH, viz. F. J. Schwarz, Neue Untersuchungen über das Verwandtschafts-Verhältniß der synoptischen Evangelien. Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Hypothese vom schöpferischen Urevangelisten (Tübingen: Laupp, 1844), 307, who saw that this meant ‘daß Markus entweder der Urevangelist ist, oder daß er seine beiden Vorgänger benützt hat’. (Cited also by Neirynck, ‘Argument from Order’, 300.) 40 For justification and references, see my ‘Argument from Order’.

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15

the changes which Matthew and Luke must have made to Mark’s order can be seen to be intelligible and reasonably coherent as a redactional plan, consistent with what we know of their general tendencies. A similar argument to support the GH would seek to show that Luke’s alterations of Matthew’s order, and Mark’s use of Matthew and Luke to produce his order, are also part of some intelligible redactional activity by Luke and Mark respectively. Such a form of argument can make no claim to being probative, but the nature of the case makes this inevitable. Given two differing versions A and B, one cannot tell which way dependence lies without looking at the contents of A and B and asking which change (A changed to B, or B changed to A) is more likely.41 On the GH detailed explanations of the redactional activity of Luke and Mark implied by the hypothesis are not often given. With regard to Mark, the explanation is usually offered that Mark followed the order of one source at a time alternately. 42 Such an explanation does work at one level, though it fails to account for the details of why Mark changed from one source to another precisely when he did;43 further it does not in itself explain why Mark should have adopted this redactional procedure which involved omitting so much of the material available to him.44 With regard to Luke, the only detailed attempt to explain Luke’s redactional procedure in rearranging Matthew that I am aware of is the discussion in B. Orchard’s Matthew, Luke & Mark (pp. 39–68), and I have tried to give reasons elsewhere for why I cannot accept his explanations in detail.45 (However, it may be that the GH is right, but that Luke’s reasons for altering Matthew’s order are other than Orchard suggests. This simply illustrates the inherent inconclusiveness of any discussion in the Synoptic Problem, since any pattern of synoptic interrelationships is theoretically possible.)

41

I have tried to argue this more fully in my Revival, 9–15. So already Griesbach; Farmer, ‘Modern Developments’, 293–294; cf. Dungan, ‘Mark – The Abridgement’, 63 and T. R. W. Longstaff, ‘A Critical Response to J. C. O’Neill’, NTS 23 (1977) 116–117, both appealing to the example of Arrian as a precedent. 43 It was the great merit of Griesbach himself to try to give such reasons: see his famous ‘Commentatio’, now available in English translation in B. Orchard & T. R. W. Longstaff (eds.), Griesbach Studies. Synoptic and Test-Critical Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 103 ff., especially the notes on pp. 209–212. These reasons were criticised in detail by B. Weiss, ‘Zur Entstehungsgeschichte der synoptischen Evangelien’, TSK (1861) 646–713, esp. pp. 680–681. None of these criticisms has, as far as I am aware, been discussed in the contemporary revival of the GH. See my ‘The Griesbach Hypothesis in the 19th Century’, JSNT 3 (1979) 29–60, for further details. 44 For the theory that Mark is seeking to avoid discrepancies in his sources, see my Revival, 52–56. 45 Revival, 31–40. 42

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It is incumbent upon the defender of any source hypothesis to account for the changes which the secondary writers (on the hypothesis) must have made to their source(s). Thus in the final section of this essay, I offer some possible reasons for why Matthew and Luke might have changed Mark’s order in the way that MP implies they must have done. (This argument works unashamedly within the presuppositions of MP, though not all theories about the redactional tendencies of Matthew and Luke are necessarily dependent on the 2DH for their validity.) Insofar as the reasons suggested here are convincing, they will function as some support for the correctness of the source hypothesis presupposed. I start with the difference in order between Matthew and Mark. Frequently it is stated that most of Matthew’s rearrangement of Mark is in order to collect a cycle of miracle stories in chs. 8–9.46 This may be seen partly as an attempt to show Jesus as Messiah of deed as well as of word after the Sermon on the Mount,47 partly to prepare the way for Jesus’ claims in 11.5.48 Such a blanket statement is, however, too simplistic.49 Not only does it make Matt 8–9 too monochrome (see below), it also fails to account for the detailed changes in order which Matthew makes (assuming MP) within this section. (E.g. within chs. 8–9, the relative order of the Markan pericopes used is not maintained.) A more precise set of reasons is thus necessary to make MP more credible here. It is clear that the differences in order between Matthew and Mark are confined to the first half of the gospels. As always there is the problem of defining precisely the changes in order made (see section I above). In this case the matter is of some importance, and it becomes significant where precisely Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount is placed in relation to the Markan order. The arrangement in Huck’s synopsis places the Sermon after the summary in Mark 1.39. This implies that, assuming MP, Matthew has changed the order of Mark 1.29–31 and 1.32–34 to come later (Matt 8.14–17), after the healing of the leper. Perhaps more convincing is the argument of Neirynck who claims that the Sermon should be placed between

46

E.g. W. G. Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (London: SCM, 1975), 59, is typical. 47 Cf. J. Schniewind, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1936), 106. 48 So already, Lachmann, ET in N. H. Palmer, ‘Lachmann’s Argument’, NTS 13 (1967) 368–378, on p. 373. E. Schweizer, The Good News according to Matthew (London: SPCK, 1976), 29; H. J. Held, ‘Matthew as Interpreter of the Miracle Stories’, in G. Bornkamm, G. Barth, idem, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (London: SCM, 1963), 251, and others. 49 See the critique by C. Burger, ‘Jesu Taten nach Matthäus 8 und 9’, ZTK 70 (1973) 272–289.

17

Arguments from Order

Mark 1.21 and 1.22.50 This has the effect of bringing Mark 1.22 and Matt 7.28–29 into parallel order. It also implies that there is no alteration of the relative order of Mark 1.29–34; rather, the pericope whose order is changed is that of the healing of the leper (Matt 8.1–4//Mark 1.40–45): Huck Matthew

5–7 8.1–4 8.5–13 8.14–17

Neirynck Mark 1.21–28 1.29–34 1.35–39 1.40–45

Matthew

Mark 1.21

5–7 7.28–29 8.1–4 8.5–13 8.14–17

1.22 1.23–28

1.29–34 1.35–39 1.40–45

By using Neirynck’s model a relatively simple explanation of the change in order now seems available, assuming MP. The story of the leper shows Jesus fulfilling the requirements of the OT Law by commanding the healed leper to go to the priests and offer the appropriate sacrifices. Indeed this forms the climax of the story in Matthew.51 (In Mark the climax is the wide fame which Jesus enjoyed [1.45], but this does not appear in Matthew: on MP this change is thus due to Matthean redaction [MattR], but in any case this feature is identifiable as the climax in Matthew’s story without reference to the Markan parallel.) This now fits in extremely well with Matthew’s overall tendency, clearly evidenced throughout his Gospel, to portray Jesus as the fulfilment, and in a line of positive continuity with, the OT dispensation. (One can say this on almost any source hypothesis.) Matt 5.17 (whose final form may owe a lot to MattR) sums this up well. It is thus quite in keeping with Matthew’s overall interests to have re-ordered Mark’s account so that the first miracle after the Sermon on the Mount (where 5.17 acts as a kind of ‘title’) shows Jesus as maintaining a thoroughly positive attitude to the OT.

50 F. Neirynck, ‘The Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel Synopsis’, ETL 53 (1976) 350–357. The phenomenon of the link verses in Matthew is discussed by Neirynck in great detail in ‘La rédaction matthéenne et la structure du premier évangile’, in M. Didier (ed.), L’Évangile selon Matthieu. Rédaction et Théologie (BETL 29; Gembloux: Duculot, 1972), 37–69, esp. pp. 61–67. He shows that there is no need to see anything other than MattR of Mark in the summary and link verses in Matthew. 51 For the prominence of this in Matthew, see Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 256; Schweizer, Matthew, 211; H. B. Green, The Gospel according to Matthew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), 99.

18

Part One: Synoptic Problem

The remaining changes of Mark’s order in Matt 8–9 involve the transfer of Mark 4.35–5.20 to Matt 8.23–34, and Mark 5.21–43 to Matt 9.18–26. Possible reasons for these changes are closely tied to one’s theories about the structure of Matt 8–9 as a whole. Certainly it is too imprecise to say that these two chapters form a ‘collection of miracles’.52 At the very least this fails to account for the presence of the controversy stories in Matt 9.9– 17.53 Several recent studies have been made of this section in Matthew.54 In general there is widespread agreement that the three stories in 8.1–17 form a subsection where the primary interest is in the person of Jesus as the miracle worker and as the one who fulfils scripture.55 Similarly there is agreement that a major interest in 9.18–31 is the ‘faith’ required of those who respond to Jesus.56 Matthew’s version of the healing of the woman with the haemorrhage clearly underlines this feature, and if one assumes MP, Matthew has severely abbreviated Mark’s account to highlight the 52

See at n. 46 above. For some these simply reveal the relics of Matthew’s source: cf. F. H. Woods, ‘The Origin and Mutual Relation of the Synoptic Gospels’, Studia Biblica et Ecclesiastica 2 (1890) 59–104, esp. p. 71; Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 249; Kümmel, Introduction, 60. But according to MP, Matthew has felt free to make wholesale changes to Mark to create this pattern. It would be odd if Matthew had felt bound by his source to retain elements which did not fit his pattern. Rather, one should perhaps question whether one has correctly understood Matthew’s pattern, before claiming that some elements do not fit an alleged pattern. 54 Apart from Held’s programmatic study of all the miracle stories in Matthew, see W. G. Thompson, ‘Reflections on the Composition of Mt 8:1–9:34’, CBQ 33 (1971) 365– 388; Burger, ‘Jesu Taten’; J. D. Kingsbury, ‘Observations on the “Miracle Chapters” of Matthew 8–9’, CBQ 40 (1978) 559–573. There is widespread agreement between these authors, but it is noteworthy that MP is not necessarily a basis for the argument. For example Thompson deliberately shuns the method of comparing Matthew with his alleged source and concentrates solely on analysing the Matthean story-line in and of itself to discover the dominant themes. 55 Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 253 ff.; Thompson, ‘Reflections’, 368–370; Kingsbury, ‘Observations’, 562; Burger, ‘Jesu Taten’, 284; Green, Matthew, 98 (and many others) would see the main theme here in the fact that Jesus cures three people who are in some sense ‘outcasts’ from full Jewish society. However, Held’s analysis does seem to show convincingly that the primary interest in Matthew’s account is in the person of Jesus, not in the people cured. 56 Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 178 ff. Thompson, ‘Reflections’, 379–384; Burger, ‘Jesu Taten’, 286–287; Kingsbury, ‘Observations’, 562. O. L. Cope, Matthew. A Scribe Trained for the Kingdom of Heaven (Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1976), 65–73, sees the section 9.10–34 as a unit, governed by the Hos 6.6 citation in v. 13 and centred on the theme of mercy taking precedence over Torah piety. But it is very uncertain whether ‘mercy’ is really an appropriate term for the permission given to the disciples not to fast (9.14–17); and the issue of cultic impurity associated with people healed in 9.18– 34 never surfaces as an issue in Matthew’s account (whatever may have been the case in the pre-Matthean tradition). 53

Arguments from Order

19

woman’s faith. This may well explain why this story (and the related story of Jairus’s daughter) is placed in this subsection along with the story of the two blind men (where again the motif of faith is clearly highlighted).57 The following story of the healing of the deaf-dumb demoniac (9.32–34) may also belong here, since Matthew appears to use these exorcism stories, and stories about curing dumbness/blindness, as paradigms to illustrate various responses to Jesus.58 If then this whole section 9.18–34 is intended to illustrate the proper response to Jesus as being one of faith, there is little difficulty in seeing Matthew’s redaction of, and transposition of, Mark 5.21–43 in Matt 9.18–26 as perfectly consistent with this. The central section in Matt 8.18–9.17 gives rise to more dispute. Following Bornkamm’s study it seems clear that 8.18–27 concern discipleship, and the story of the stilling of the storm has been redacted by Matthew to act as a ‘parable’ for the costs and dangers of discipleship.59 The transposition of Mark 4.35–41 to follow the call story in Matt 8.18–22 is thus at one level, intelligible. Matt 8.28–34 may also now belong within this there for Matthew: Matthew’s version of the story ends with the abrupt rejection of Jesus by the healed demoniac’s compatriots (8.34). The positive note of Mark 5.20 is lacking in Matthew. (Again, if we assume MP this is due to MattR explicitly; but on any source hypothesis the ending and climax of Matthew’s version quite clearly involve the rejection of Jesus.) The story now acts in Matthew as an illustration of the saying in 8.20 about the Son of Man having ‘nowhere to lay his head’,60 and thus continues the theme of the costly nature of discipleship, following the one who finds no welcome with men.61 The transfer of this story which Matthew must have made, assuming MP, would be coherent with the dominant themes which seem to be emerging in this section of Matthew’s Gospel. The same theme of discipleship may also explain the presence of the next two pericopes in Matthew (9.1–8, 9–13), though no change in the Markan order is involved here). Clearly this theme fits the story of the call of Matthew, but also the story of the healing of the paralytic is, in its Matthean version, implicitly concerned with discipleship: the fact that the crowds praise God for giving such authority ‘to men’ (plur.) implies that Jesus’ miraculous powers can

57 Clearly so on any source hypothesis, but on MP this is presumably a redactional duplication and adaptation of Mark’s Bartimaeus story. 58 See W. R. G. Loader, ‘Son of David, Blindness, Possession and Duality in Matthew’, CBQ 44 (1982) 570–585. 59 See Bornkamm et al., Tradition (n. 48 above), 52–57. 60 Burger, ‘Jesu Taten’, 285. 61 Thompson thinks that the theme of discipleship links the whole section in 8.18– 9.17, but that this is ‘somewhat submerged’ in 8.28–9.8 (‘Reflections’, 371). This therefore may not be necessary.

20

Part One: Synoptic Problem

be disseminated to others, i.e. the disciples.62 Thus the whole section in 8.18–9.17 is concerned with various aspects of the theme of discipleship.63 The various transpositions which MP must assume fit in here if Matthew’s intention is to create a small subsection centred on this theme. Apart from the changes already considered, there are two further differences in order between Matthew and Mark. On MP, Matthew transfers the call of the twelve in Mark 3.13–19 to Matt 10.2–4. This is not difficult to explain: Matthew has a clear tendency to systematize and to collect his material into thematic blocks. Chapter 10 is Matthew’s great mission discourse, and it is relatively easy to see why he has placed the call of the twelve at this point, immediately prior to their being sent out. The remaining change concerns the anticipation (on MP) of the predictions of Jewish persecutions from Mark 13.9–13 to Matt 10.17–22. This too is easily intelligible if, as seems likely, Matthew is writing for a situation of intense Jewish hostility. Jewish persecutions are, for Matthew, not an immediate prelude to the Parousia, but a matter of present experience,64 or perhaps even a thing of the past.65 There seems little difficulty in seeing this change in order as due to MattR. Overall, Matthew’s changes to Mark’s order can be seen as part of a reasonably coherent and consistent pattern of redactional activity, consonant with what one can discern of Matthew’s interests and concerns elsewhere. Luke’s changes of Mark’s order are les numerous,66 and also fairly easy to explain.67 The transfer of the story of the rejection at Nazareth from 62

Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 274, and others cited there. Matthew clearly implies by his arrangement that the disciples are to continue the work of Jesus in all its aspects: 10.1 echoes 4.23 and 9.35; 10.7 echoes 4.17; 10.8 picks up chs. 8–9. See Held, ‘Miracle Stories’, 250. 63 Hence contra Burger, ‘Jesu Taten’, 286, and Kingsbury, ‘Observations’, 562, who both see 9.1–17 as having to do with the separation of the church from Judaism. This rather forces the meaning of 9.1–8; also, in 9.14 the fasting question is posed by the disciples of the Baptist, yet Matthew is generally thoroughly positive about the Baptist: see W. Wink, John the Baptist in the Gospel Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), esp. pp. 33 ff. 64 Cf. W. Marxsen, Der Evangelist Markus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959), 138; D. R. A. Hare, The Theme of Jewish Persecution of Christians in the Gospel according to St Matthew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 100; M. D. Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew (London: SPCK, 1974), 347. 65 W. G. Thompson, ‘An Historical Perspective in the Gospel of Matthew’, JBL 93 (1974) 243–262. 66 I leave aside those cases where I would argue that Luke has a non-Markan version of a pericope (cf. n. 30 above). In these cases the different ordering may be due to the presence of the parallel version in one of Luke’s non-Markan sources, together with his general tendency not to intermingle his Markan and non-Markan material.

Arguments from Order

21

Mark 6.1–6 to Luke 4.16–3068 needs little explanation, given the very important programmatic significance which the story clearly has for Luke’s two-volume work. The change in order is thus part of the (redactional) stress which is clearly laid on it (though perhaps the altered position may also be due in part to the presence of a rejection story in Luke’s source at this point.) The change in order of Mark 3.13–19 (or 3.7–12) is usually taken to be due to Luke’s desire to create an audience for the Great Sermon.69 The change in position and wording of the saying about ‘true relatives’ (Luke 8.19–21 cf. Mark 3.31–35) produces an appropriate ending to the parables chapter, where, in Luke, the discussion is not so much about parables as about the Word of God.70 Reasons for the change in order of 5.1–11 are less clear. It is sometimes said that Luke has delayed the call story until after the account of Jesus’ miracles in Capernaum to make Peter’s response more plausible.71 Against this can be placed the fact that there is a miracle inherent in the story itself. Nevertheless the later position of the call story does help to reduce the arbitrariness of Peter’s response. There is, however, the problem of the inherent ambiguity in describing the change in order: has Luke pushed the call story back in order, or has he brought the material of Mark 1.21–39 forward? Part of the reason for the different order may be a desire by Luke to link the events in Capernaum more closely to the Nazareth story. In Luke’s version all the events in 4.31–41 are portrayed as exorcisms. This is unexceptional in 4.31–37, and in the mass healings (4.41), but the fever in 4.39 is also ‘rebuked’, i.e. Luke is using exorcistic language here too.72 This may now tie up closely with Luke’s interpretation of the Isa 61 quotation in Luke 4.17–18. Acts 10.38 gives what appears to be Luke’s 67 On MP, or on the Augustinian hypothesis, these alterations are changes from the order of Mark. On the GH they are changes from the order of Matthew. The GH must explain all these changes by LukeR, as MP must, as well as many more. 68 I have argued elsewhere that Luke 4 is dependent in part on Mark 6, as well as possibly on Q. See my ‘Luke 4,16–30, Isaiah and Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982), 343–354. 69 See Kümmel, Introduction, 59; I. H. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke (Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), 237. For argument against the existence of a non-Markan (?Q) source here (so e.g. H. Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium. Erster Teil [HTKNT III/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1969], 323), see Neirynck, ‘Argument from Order’, 315–317. 70 See Marshall, Luke, 330; W. C. Robinson, ‘On Preaching the Word of God (Luke 8:4–21)’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (London: SPCK, 1966), 131–138. On almost any source hypothesis the redactional activity of Luke will be the same. 71 Cf. Kümmel, Introduction, 59; H. Conzelmann, The Theology of St Luke (London: Faber, 1960), 191; P. J. Achtemeier, ‘The Lucan Perspective on the Miracles of Jesus’, JBL 94 (1975) 547–562, esp. p. 555. 72 This is LukeR whether Luke’s source is Mark or Matthew.

22

Part One: Synoptic Problem

understanding of the ‘liberation’ promise of Isa 61//Luke 4 as referring to Jesus’ ‘healing all who were oppressed by the Devil’. Luke’s order in Luke 4 may thus be due to his desire to bring out this facet of Jesus’ ministry by bringing forward the events in Capernaum and redacting the material so that the language is predominantly exorcistic.73 The change in order may thus be due to Luke’s interpretation of the Isa 61 material and is thus at least as much an anticipation of Mark 1.21–39 as a postponement of Mark 1.16–20. There may be yet other factors which are also relevant. The Nazareth story for Luke clearly prefigures the future rejection of the gospel by the Jews and the mission of the later church to the Gentiles. But also 5.1–6.11 may represent a new section in the Gospel where the sphere of Jesus’ activity spreads outwards.74 Many have seen the call story in 5.1–11 as having in view the future expansion of the church: for the person called here is the one who will later inaugurate the Gentile mission.75 It would thus be quite appropriate to preface this section, which is concerned with the expansion of Jesus’ mission, with the call of the one who will start the great expansion in the later church’s mission. Thus for a variety of reasons Luke may have altered the Markan order in this way. The changes in order which must have happened according to the theory of MP are thus all intelligible as redactional changes by Matthew and Luke. They form a pattern which is reasonably coherent, and consistent with what can be discerned elsewhere of the evangelists’ interests. These observations can never provide a strict proof of the correctness of the theory of MP. The changes in order might have taken place for quite different reasons; alternatively, the GH might be right and Luke and Mark did alter the order of their source(s) in the way that hypothesis implies, perhaps for reasons as yet undetermined. Nevertheless, if the above arguments are accepted as a plausible set of reasons for why Matthew and Luke might have changed Mark’s order, they may legitimately be used as a contributory factor in maintaining belief in the priority of Mark. 5

73 See U. Busse, Die Wunder des Propheten Jesus. Die Rezeption, Komposition und Interpretation der Wundertradition im Evangelium des Lukas (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 21979), 66–90. However, I am doubtful if this is the original idea in the use of Isa 61 to refer to Jesus, or if this stress on exorcism is a very dominant motif in the whole of the rest of Luke-Acts. This is one reason why I would argue that the use of Isa 61 in Luke 4 represents a pre-Lukan tradition. See further n. 68. 74 Cf. Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.261: ‘Der neue Abschnitt, der Jesu breite Volkstätigkeit im ganzen Judenland schildert …’ 75 Cf. J. M. Creed, The Gospel according to St Luke (London: Macmillan, 1930), 73; R. Pesch, Der reiche Fischfang (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1969), 142.

6

II Mark and Q The problem of the relationship between Mark and Q has been a perennial one for those working within the parameters of the Two Source Theory (2ST). The history of research in the topic has been surveyed often enough in recent years,1 and no attempt will be made here to duplicate such surveys. The question was perhaps a burning one in the early days of the 2ST, though with the rise of form-criticism etc., interest in the problem has somewhat faded.2 In part this is due to the different ways in which one approaches the gospels in a post-form-critical era.3 In such a climate of scholarly activity, problems of direct literary dependence seem less relevant and less important as one works more readily with a model of developing tradition-histories. Nevertheless the issue of a possible literary relationship between Mark and Q has continued to be debated, either in terms of explicit discussion of the issue, or implicitly by means of other theories which, as we shall see, are not unrelated to the problem. The most widely held view today, amongst those who accept some form of the 2ST, is that Mark and Q are not in a relationship of direct literary dependence. There are a number of instances where Mark and Q each appear to have a version of what is ultimately the same tradition; but the two versions are not directly related to each other and represent independent versions of a common tradition.4 Nevertheless there have always been some scholars who have defended the view that there may be a direct 1 See M. Devisch, ‘La relation entre l’évangile de Marc et le document Q’, in M. Sabbe (ed.), L’Evangile selon Marc. Tradition et rédaction (BETL 34; Leuven & Gembloux: Leuven University Press & Duculot, 1974), 59–91, esp. pp. 69–83; R. Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums (BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 59–77; J. Schüling, Studien zum Verhältnis von Logienquelle und Markusevangelium (FzB 65; Würzburg: Echter, 1991). 2 Cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 76, comparing the amount of space devoted to the topic in older Introductions with the situation in more recent publications where the issue often receives only passing mention. 3 Cf. D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 20–21; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 77. 4 For the many advocates of this, see the bibliographical references in Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 79–80; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 75–76, as well as the works of Devisch and Laufen themselves.

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Part One: Synoptic Problem

literary relationship involved, a theory which is almost always proposed today in the form that Mark used Q, rather than vice versa.5 (Hence in the present paper I shall confine attention to the possibility that Mark used Q, rather than vice versa.) Thus in recent years the possibility that Mark used Q has been suggested (with varying degrees of certainty and in varying degrees of complexity of the overall solution) by J. Lambrecht, W. Schmithals, W. Schenk, H. Fleddermann, B. Mack and D. Catchpole.6 We may also note that study of Q (and Mark) individually has developed very considerably in recent years, and these developments may affect the way in which one approaches the whole problem of the relationship between Mark and Q, as well as affecting some key results. Hence a survey, and reassessment, of the problem of the relationship between Mark and Q may be in order. At one level the problem might be thought to be somewhat esoteric, of interest only to source-critics, and moreover only to source-critics working

5

The theory that Q used Mark was proposed by J. Wellhausen (Einleitung in die drei ersten Evangelien [Berlin: Reimer, 1905], 73–89) in the early part of the 20th century, but has rarely (at least in that explicit form) been defended since: cf. Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 72. However, cf. below for other theories which may in effect approximate to this. 6 See a number of articles and studies by J. Lambrecht, including ‘Die Logia-Quellen von Markus 13’, Bib 47 (1966) 321–360; Die Redaktion der Markus-Apokalypse (AnBib 28; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1967); ‘Redaction and Theology in Mk. IV’, in M. Sabbe (ed.), L’Evangile selon Marc. Tradition et rédaction (BETL 34; Leuven & Gembloux: Leuven University Press & Duculot, 1974), 269–307; ‘Q Influence on Mark 8,34–9,1’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 277–304; ‘John and Jesus in Mark 1–15. Markan Redaction of Q?’, NTS 38 (1992) 337–356. W. Schmithals, Das Evangelium nach Markus (ÖTKNT 2/1–2; Gütersloh: Mohn, 1979), also ‘Die Worte vom leidenden Menschensohn’, in C. Andresen & G. Klein (eds.), Theologia Crucis – Signum Crucis (FS E. Dinkler; Tübingen: Mohr, 1979), 417–455, esp. pp. 435–445; also his Einleitung in die drei ersten Evangelien (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1985); W. Schenk, ‘Der Einfluß der Logienquelle auf das Markusevangelium’, ZNW 70 (1979) 141–165. (In fact both Schmithals and Schenk propose somewhat complicated theories involving prior sources as well. For Schenk, Mark is dependent on an earlier ‘Prae-Markus’ as well as on Q, even in overlap passages. For Schmithals, Mark depends on an earlier Grundschrift and an early form of Q, a ‘Q1’. Cf. the survey by F. Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments in the Study of Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 29–75, on pp. 42–43 (= idem, Evangelica II [BETL 99; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991], 422–423). H. Fleddermann, ‘The Discipleship Discourse (Mark 9:33–50)’, CBQ 43 (1981) 57–75; also ‘The Mustard Seed and the Leaven in Q, the Synoptics and Thomas’, in SBL 1989 Seminar Papers, 216–236; B. Mack, ‘Q and the Gospel of Mark. Revising Christian Origins’, Semeia 55 (1991) 15–39; D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Mission Charge in Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 147–174 and his ‘The Beginning of Q. A Proposal’, NTS 38 (1992) 205–221.

Mark and Q

25

within the presuppositions of the 2ST.7 However, the problem has a large number of potential repercussions. Even within the parameters of the 2ST, the problem has enormous potential significance. For example, the theory that Mark was dependent on Q could lead to a number of corollaries. On the side of Q studies, the issue would be of considerable importance, since the theory could mean that Q was of considerably larger compass than is usually thought: all the triple tradition material, usually not ascribed to Q, would be potentially Q material which Mark has taken over from Q.8 On the side of Markan study, such a theory would also involve a drastic reevaluation of Mark’s redaction, since the theory would imply that Mark made a conscious decision not to include a vast amount of teaching material in his Gospel. The issue can be developed and used in other directions too. Thus, for example, a recent writer, discussing H. E. Tödt’s wellknown claim that the Q Christians were the first to identify Jesus with the coming Son of Man, said: This must have been in the tradition before Q already, for in Mark it is also clear that the Son of Man about whom Jesus is speaking is no one else than Jesus himself. 9

The main criterion for the claim that any identification of Jesus with the Son of Man must pre-date Q is thus the assumed independence of the Markan tradition. If Mark were dependent on Q such an argument would collapse. We may also note the extent to which a number of other source-critical theories about the synoptic gospels are closely related to (at times older) theories about the relationship between Mark and Q. For example, theories of the existence of a Deutero-Markan edition of Mark,10 and M. D. Goulder’s theory which denies the existence of Q,11 insofar as they seek to 7 Cf. Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 60: ‘Le problème de la relation entre Mc et Q est un problème de la théorie des deux sources.’ 8 See Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 63–64. Cf. too Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 216– 218, who explicitly exploits the theory of Markan dependence on Q to reconstruct the possible opening of Q from Mark 1.2–5. 9 D. Lührmann, ‘The Gospel of Mark and the Sayings Collection Q’, JBL 108 (1989) 51–71, on p. 64. 10 See especially the work of A. Fuchs, including his Die Entwicklung der Beelzebulkontroverse bei den Synoptikern (SNTU B 5; Linz: Plöchl, 1980); ‘Die Überschneidungen von Mk und “Q” nach B. H. Streeter und E. P. Sanders und ihre wahre Bedeutung (Mk 1,1–8 par.)’, in W. Haubeck & M. Bachmann (eds.), Wort in der Zeit. Neutestamentliche Studien (FS K. H. Rengstorf; Leiden: Brill, 1980), 28–81; ‘Durchbruch in der Synoptischen Frage. Bemerkungen zu einer “neuen” These und ihren Konsequenzen’, SNTU 8 (1983) 5–17; ‘Versuchung Jesu’, SNTU 9 (1984) 95–159. F. Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis vom Senfkorn und vom Sauerteig in seiner traditionsgeschichtlichen Entwicklung (FzB 59; Würzburg: Echter, 1988). Other proponents of such a theory are perhaps slightly different: see n. 15 below. 11 See M. D. Goulder, ‘On Putting Q to the Test’, NTS 24 (1978) 218–234; also his Luke – A New Paradigm (JSNTSup 20; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989).

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explain the pattern of agreements between the gospels in the ‘overlap’ passages, are both not far removed from Wellhausen’s theory that Q was dependent on Mark in these passages. In the Deutero-Markus theory, Q is replaced by Deutero-Markus; in Goulder’s theory Q is replaced by Matthew. But all these theories claim that the Markan version is more original, that there is a secondary re-writing of Mark by a later editor (for Wellhausen Q, for Fuchs Deutero-Markus, for Goulder Matthew), and it is this secondary version which is the cause of the subsequent Matthew-Luke agreements. Similarly the Griesbach hypothesis (GH) is very close to the converse theory that Mark used Q in the overlap passages: both theories postulate that Mark’s version is secondary to, and dependent on, the version which explains the Matthew-Luke agreements (for the 2ST Q, for the GH Matthew). Thus the problem of a possible relationship between Mark and Q is closely connected with much broader issues of synoptic source studies, and indeed of synoptic studies in general. Further, the ‘overlap’ passages are quite crucial for many synoptic source theories. In his 1971 Leuven paper devoted to the topic of the relationship between Mark and Q, M. Devisch claimed that: Pour ceux qui défendent d’autres solutions du problème synoptique, les textes que, dans la théorie des deux sources, on appelle généralement ‘les passages qui se recouvrent’, ne font aucun problème. Ils constituent, au contraire, les exemples les plus probants pour confirmer ces autres théories.12

Such a claim would however be hard to defend today. The overlap passages in fact remain at times extremely difficult to explain on theories other than the 2ST. In a number of recent studies, Downing has mounted a powerful attack against the views of Goulder, and against the modern defenders of the GH, on the grounds that, precisely in the overlap passages, those theories have to postulate a procedure on the part of the third evangelist (Luke for Goulder, Mark for the GH) which is quite unparalleled amongst contemporary writers in terms of the complexity of the procedure required: the third writer would have had to ‘unpick’ all the work of one of his sources from his second source (whether Luke unpicking Mark from Matthew, or Mark unpicking Luke from Matthew) in order to retain only the residue. Such a procedure is inherently implausible, as well as being contrary to all that we can see of the way in which writers at the time used sources, so that it must throw an enormous question mark against the overall source theory being proposed.13 Similarly, I have tried elsewhere to show that, for the GH, the overlap passages must have involved Mark in a redactional 12

Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 60. See F. G. Downing, ‘Compositional Conventions and the Synoptic Problem’, JBL 107 (1988) 69–85; ‘A Paradigm Perplex. Luke, Matthew and Mark’, NTS 38 (1992) 15– 36; also his earlier ‘Towards the Rehabilitation of Q’, NTS 11 (1965) 169–181. 13

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procedure which is diametrically opposite to that postulated elsewhere in the tradition: elsewhere a Griesbachian Mark appears as one anxious to preserve what is common to both his alleged sources, whereas in these passages Mark must have adopted a quite different procedure of deliberately avoiding what was common to his two sources in order to reproduce only what appeared in just one source.14 Thus although at one level the problem of the relationship between Mark and Q is by its nature one that can only be of concern to those who presuppose the existence of Q, i.e. those who accept a form of the 2ST, nevertheless the passages which give rise to the problem, i.e. the ‘overlap’ passages, are equally crucial for other source theories.15 For those working within the presuppositions of the 2ST, the existence of possible ‘overlap’ passages in Mark and Q has long been recognised (even if there is debate about precisely which passages are to be explained in this way). Given then the existence of such an overlap, there must have been a link between the two streams of the tradition at some stage and the question is: at what stage? A theory of literary dependence between Mark and Q suggests that it is at the stage of the final forms of the tradition in the development of both ‘texts’. One must say initially that any attempt to argue for direct dependence between Mark and Q will have to involve a highly sophisticated form of argumentation. P. Wernle pointed out long ago that, in relation to doublets in the tradition, such a theory is very forced: the existence of doublets in the tradition has often been taken as a powerful argument in favour of the view that there are two streams of tradition here; but a theory of a direct relationship between those streams suggests per contra that there is only

14 C. M. Tuckett, The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 76–93. 15 The Deutero-Markus theory is perhaps slightly different in this respect. Defenders of such a theory by no means agree amongst themselves about the relative significance of the ‘overlap’ passages. Whilst these texts form the primary evidence for Fuchs and Kogler, others such as H. Aichinger and C. Niewand have sought to defend the theory in relation to texts not usually regarded as ‘Mark-Q overlaps’: cf. H. Aichinger, ‘Quellenkritische Untersuchung der Perikope vom Ährenraufen am Sabbat’, SNTU 1 (1976) 110–153; ‘Zur Traditionsgeschichte der Epileptiker-Perikope Mk 9,14–29 par Mt 17,14–21 par Lk 9,37– 43a’, SNTU 3 (1978) 114–143; C. Niewand, Studien zu den Minor Agreements der synoptischen Verklärungsperikopen (EHS XXIII/352; Frankfurt, Bern, New York & Paris: Lang, 1989). More recently A. Ennulat and U. Luz have explicitly shunned the use of such overlap passages to defend the theory of the existence of a Deutero-Markan editor: see A. Ennulat, Die “Minor Agreements” – Untersuchungen zu einer offenen Frage des synoptischen Problems (WUNT 2.62; Tübingen: Mohr, 1994); U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7)/(Mt 8–17) (EKKNT I/1–2; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985 & 1990).

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one basic tradition (with a secondary development).16 A theory of direct dependence of Mark on Q would thus appear to demolish one of the strongest arguments in favour of the very existence of Q in the first place. One can reply to this, with Devisch, by pointing out that the existence of doublets in Matthew and/or Luke relates to the state of the tradition in the later period, after Mark and Q, whereas the theory of a possible relationship between Mark and Q themselves relates to an earlier stage in the history of the tradition. Hence one cannot necessarily expect Matthew and Luke to have known the pre-history of Mark’s (or Q’s) tradition.17 Nevertheless, this debate does show, in more general terms, that arguments for the existence of Q may by their very nature tell against any theory of a relationship between Mark and Q. The point can perhaps be put in a slightly different way. One usually only postulates the existence of a Mark-Q overlap if there is relatively little verbal agreement between Mark and Matthew/Luke. A greater degree of agreement between all three gospels would lead more naturally (assuming Markan priority) to the theory that Matthew and Luke are directly dependent on Mark alone. Thus any overlap theory must assume a level of verbal agreement between Mark and the other two gospels that is sufficiently low to preclude the theory that Matthew and Luke are simply dependent on Mark at this point in the tradition. But then the low level of agreement between Mark and Matthew/ Luke (= Q) makes it correspondingly harder to plead for any direct literary relationship between Mark and Q, which of necessity has to be based on a relatively high level of verbal agreement between Mark and Q (= Matthew/ Luke). A priori, therefore, the evidence which suggests the existence of a Mark-Q overlap is by its very nature less likely to be conducive to a further theory of direct dependence between Mark and Q. Part of this difficulty might be met if one could show that, where Mark and Q differ, Mark’s version is regularly MarkR.18 This is above all the approach adopted in the many articles of J. Lambrecht and in the work of H. Fleddermann and B. Mack:19 these scholars seek to show at many points that Mark’s version is Markan, especially where Mark appears to differ from the Q version. Yet whilst such a method is necessary to show Mark’s dependence on Q, it is by no means sufficient. For although such an approach may throw much light on Mark’s own interests and concerns, it does not necessarily tell us anything about the precise nature of the preMarkan tradition. In particular, it cannot tell us in the case of overlap 16

P. Wernle, Die synoptische Frage (Freiburg: Mohr, 1899), 209–210. Devisch, ‘Marc et le document Q’, 68. 18 Cf. above at n. 5: I am assuming throughout this paper that any possible dependency relationship is with Mark being dependent on Q, not vice versa. 19 See n. 6 above. 17

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passages whether Mark is redacting Q itself, or a pre-Q stage in the tradition, or a pre-Markan stage which is independent of the Q trajectory. 20 The methodological problem here has been noted by several scholars before. Hence many have urged that dependence of Mark on Q can only be shown if Mark can be seen to reflect elements of Q’s redaction: simply showing that Mark’s version might be explained as MarkR is not enough.21 The insistence of the importance of Q’s redaction means that the problem of ‘Mark and Q’ is in the first instance a problem of Q studies rather than of Markan studies.22 Certainly the great interest shown in Q from a ‘redaction’critical perspective, seeking to identify redactional features and characteristic elements in the Q tradition, has made it possible to think more meaningfully of the existence of Q’s ‘redaction’. However, the whole question of Q’s redaction is complicated by the growing number of theories that ‘Q’ underwent a series of stages in its history of development – Q1, Q2, Q3 etc. With this in mind, it is particularly important for the problem of the relationship between Mark and ‘Q’ that one specifies what one is talking about in referring to ‘Q’ in this context: is it Q3? or Q2? or even Q1? I would suggest that, in order to preserve clarity, and also consistency with other areas of NT study, one should perhaps reserve the siglum ‘Q’ for Q in something like its ‘final’ form, i.e. the latest stage in the development of the tradition common to Matthew and Luke insofar as we can trace that 20

Very much the same applies to the theories of Fuchs and Kogler who seek to explain the ‘Q’ version as due to a secondary ‘redaction’ or ‘editing’ (‘Bearbeitung’ is the German word often used) by a Deutero-Markan editor. Whilst their arguments show how the ‘Q’ (or Deutero-Markan) version might have been derived, they do not show that it must have been derived in this way. Given too the willingness of both scholars to concede in principle that the Deutero-Markan editor might have used independent traditions in supplementing and re-writing Mark (cf. Fuchs, ‘Versuchung’, 113, on the temptation narrative; Kogler, Doppelgleichnis, 185, on the parable of the leaven), it becomes at times hard to see why Matthew and Luke must have known such independent traditions only as mediated through the hands of the Deutero-Markan editor and not independently (from something like ‘Q’). The Deutero-Markan theory can thus slide into a position not far removed from the more traditional Mark-Q overlap theory. 21 Cf. Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments’, 45 (= Evangelica II, 425); Schenk, ‘Einfluß’, 145–146; Schüling, Studien, 182. In relation to the Deutero-Mark theory, one should perhaps correspondingly demand that Deutero-Mark (as seen in Matthew and Luke) show evidence of Mark’s redaction. However, this would show relatively little since dependence of Matthew and Luke on Mark, and hence the appearance of MarkR elements in Matthew and Luke, is not controversial. The precise equivalent demand would be to seek to show MarkR elements in either Q or Deutero-Mark itself – but sadly neither is available for us to check! 22 Cf. F. Neirynck, ‘John and the Synoptics’, in M. de Jonge (ed.), L’Evangile de Jean. Sources, rédaction, théologie (BETL 44; Leuven & Gembloux: Leuven University Press & Duculot, 1977), 87 = idem, Evangelica (BETL 70; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 379, in relation to John and the synoptics.

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development.23 In the terminology of some, this means that ‘Q’ would mean ‘Q3’. Q1, Q2 etc. are all then stages in the ‘pre-“Q”‘ development of the tradition and any possible links between Mark and ‘Q1’, say, would not tell us anything about a relationship between Mark and ‘Q’ as such.24 I would however question whether it is indeed justifiable to think in terms of such a complex, and identifiable, development in the literary history of Q. Whilst such a complex development is indeed possible, it seems to me very doubtful whether such complexity will ever be clearly identifiable, given the state of our existing evidence. The prime candidate for inclusion in a final ‘Q3’ stage is very often regarded as the Q temptation narrative. I have tried to argue elsewhere that this story can be seen as cohering very closely with other parts of Q, and hence the need to postulate a further, later stage in the development of Q to accommodate this story is to a certain extent obviated.25 At most then one perhaps can justify a Q1 + Q2 model. Yet even here it may be best to use terminology carefully. To speak of ‘Q1’ and ‘Q2’ suggests that both were well-defined, unitary ‘texts’. Whilst the evidence of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke has suggested to many that it is indeed entirely appropriate to think of the ‘final’ stage of Q in this way as a literary text with a well-defined order, it is much more debatable whether any earlier stage in Q should be conceived of in the same way. There is not the time or space to argue the point in detail here;26 perhaps though it may be safer to speak in more general terms of Q-tradition and Q-redaction without making further assumptions about the nature of the former, especially in relation to its possible unity, but recognising its potential complexity. These observations are in no way intended to preclude the possibility, or even the necessity, of postulating a multi-stage development in the individual traditions of Q. Indeed I shall argue below that some secondary elements which are visible in Q traditions may be pre-redactional in Q. All I am saying is that we cannot necessarily assume that the whole of Q’s tradition in its pre-redactional form existed as a unified literary text prior to its existence in the ‘final’ form of Q. How then can one identify elements in Q that are Q-redactional/ editorial? Clearly it would be quite inappropriate to lay down abstract rules 23 This is not to preclude the possibility of a development after this stage in the tradition available to only one of Matthew or Luke, i.e. a Qmt or a Qlk. 24 Thus, strictly speaking on this definition, the theory of Schmithals (see n. 6 above) is not quite relevant here since Schmithals postulates a relationship involving Mark and an earlier stage in Q’s development, viz. Q1, not the ‘final’ form of Q. 25 See my article ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck, C. M. Tuckett, G. Van Belle & J. Verheyden (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume). 26 See my ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222 (pp. 143–152 in this volume).

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in advance which one can then apply mechanistically to the Q material concerned. Further, one must be wary of assuming that the interests of the Q-redactor, or editor, can be discerned solely on the basis of redactional changes made to an underlying tradition. The choice and overall content of material is equally significant in this context. 27 Clearly one needs the sensitive application of a number of criteria and factors. For example, the existence of aporias, or seams, in the tradition may suggest the presence of redactional additions; but also the order and literary structure of the composition as a whole may be an important indicator of the views of the final editor. In other words one needs approaches to Q which utilize what have been called ‘Literarkritik’ and ‘literary criticism’. In the present context, however, in the investigation of a possible relation between Mark and Q, one must beware of applying criteria which implicitly determine the solution to the problem under discussion in advance. In particular this applies to those who would argue that an element in Q cannot be Q-redactional if it appears in Mark as well.28 Such a criterion will inevitably mean, almost by definition, that elements of Q-redaction do not recur in Mark. It will thus be necessary to try to determine what is Q-redactional independently of the possible Markan parallels and only then to compare Mark and Q to see if Mark reflects Q-redaction (or, conceivably, vice versa). As a starting point, I take the widely held agreement that the theme of Q’s polemic against ‘this generation’, employing ideas associated with Wisdom and the Deuteronomistic theme of the violence suffered by the prophets, is a dominant one in the present form of Q; and hence elements associated with it and which emphasise different aspects of it are likely to be due, at least in the present arrangement of Q, to the work of the Q editor (though without necessarily assuming that all such elements have been created de novo by Q).29 Other possible elements of Q’s redaction will have to be analysed as they occur in the course of the investigation.30 27

See my Reading the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1987), 122–123. Cf. Lührmann above (n. 9) on Son of Man in Q; also J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 104; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 230. (On the latter two, see below.) 29 Lührmann, ‘Mark and Q’, 59, refers to the themes of Wisdom, and polemic against ‘this generation’, as widely agreed within contemporary Q research as representing the views of Q’s redaction. Note however D. R. Catchpole, ‘Temple Traditions in Q’, in W. Horbury (ed.), Templum Amicitiae (FS E. Bammel; JSNTSup 48; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 305–329, who warns against the mistake of assuming that if something is of close concern to the Q redactor, it cannot be traced back prior to Q (possibly even to Jesus). 30 One of the most recent treatments of the relationship between Mark and Q, that of Schüling (n. 1 above), suffers from an unwillingness to ascribe almost anything to Qredaction. Schüling correctly sees the importance of the possible appearance of Qredactional elements in Mark (cf. n. 21 above), but simply denies that Q-redaction is 28

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In what follows, I take a few passages from amongst the so-called ‘overlap’ texts to see what light they may throw on our problem. No pretence can be made here to claim any degree of comprehensive coverage of the relevant material. And it may well be that, although no links between Mark and Q-redaction appear in these texts, such links might appear in other sets of parallels. Nevertheless it is to be hoped that the analyses presented here may make some contribution to the continuing discussion.

1. Q 11.29–3031/Mark 8.11–12: Request for a Sign The pericope concerning the request for a sign by Jesus constitutes one of the classic overlap passages within the 2ST.32 Further it seems clear from the parallels between Matthew and Luke that the Q version of the pericope in Q 11.29–30 is part of a wider literary context within Q containing the account of the Beelzebul controversy (Q 11.14–22), the saying on neutrality (Q 11.23), the mini-parable of the return of the unclean spirits (Q 11.24–26) and the double saying about the Queen of the South and Jonah (Q 11.31–32). The fact that all these pericopes occur in the same contexts in Matthew and Luke testifies to the presence of a Q sequence containing these traditions.33 Further, if (as is often assumed) Luke has generally preserved the order of the Q material more accurately than Matthew, this complex of traditions may well have been closely followed in Q by the series of woes against the scribes/lawyers and Pharisees (Q 11.37–51). Certainly we may note that the climax of the series of woes seems to be the doom oracle in Q 11.49–51 directed against ‘this generation’, and this responsible for anything except possibly the link statements in Q 10.12; 11.30. His arguments are however weak and circular. He frequently claims that Q redaction would have been more active if anything were redactional; but the alleged inactivity is as often as not simply assumed or asserted. Further, the possible significance of the literary arrangement of the Q material is generally ignored. 31 In accordance with what is becoming standard convention, I give the references to Q in terms of the Lukan chapter and verse numbers. 32 Cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 85: ‘allgemein als Doppelüberlieferung anerkannt’. I do not attempt a precise reconstruction of the Q version down to the last preposition. I assume, with almost all those working with the Q hypothesis, that in Q the refusal to respond to the request for a sign is qualified in some way by the phrase İੁ ȝ੽ IJઁ ıȘȝİ૙ȠȞ ੉ȦȞ઼. This is in turn then clarified by a Son of Man saying in Q 11.30 and, again following almost all commentators, I take the Lukan version of the saying here in Luke 11.30 to be more original than Matthew’s parallel in Matt 12.40. This however will not be discussed in detail here and does not affect the argument above. 33 The precise order in Q is however not certain: cf. the varying position of the parable of the unclean spirits which comes before the Sign pericope in Luke, after in Matthew. However, the issue does not affect the argument here.

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correlates closely with the Sign pericope and Jesus’ complaint about the iniquities of ‘this generation’, and also with the double saying in Q 11.31– 32 warning of the coming condemnation of ‘this generation’ for its refusal to respond to what is taking place in the present. The Q version of the Sign pericope raises an enormous number of wideranging and far-reaching questions (e.g. the references to ‘Jonah’, the ‘Son of Man’, the nature of the ‘sign’ etc.). There is not enough time or space to deal with these in any detail here. The rather limited purpose of this paper is simply to consider the problem of the relationship between the Markan version, where a sign is flatly refused, and the Q version, where the general refusal is qualified by some kind of exceptive clause ‘except the sign of Jonah’ which in turn is ‘clarified’ by a Son of Man saying in Q 11.30. Could then the Markan version be plausibly seen as dependent on Q? At one level, the evidence is clearly ambiguous. The argument about whether the more original form of the tradition contained the exceptive clause referring to Jonah, or whether the original tradition gave simply an outright refusal, can go, and has gone, either way: either the Jonah reference can be seen as a secondary addition, or its non-appearance in Mark could be seen as a secondary (Markan?) deletion due perhaps to its unintelligibility or to Mark’s own desire to stress the sufficiency of the witness of Jesus’ own activity and/or the messianic secret.34 We may however make more progress by considering the wider Q context. In Q the qualified refusal of a sign in 11.29 is followed by an explanation of the qualification in v. 30 in the Son of Man saying, and by the double saying about the Queen of the South and Jonah in vv. 31–32.35 Moreover it seems clear that we have here two originally separate traditions: the present link of the double saying and the Sign pericope serves to focus attention almost exclusively on the figure of Jonah (and his counterpart in the Son of Man). The reference to the Queen of the South and Solomon seems rather otiose. This is best explained if the double saying in 11.31–32 was originally a separate tradition, and the present Q 34 For Mark as more original, cf. D. Lührmann, Das Markusevangelium (HNT 3; Tübingen: Mohr, 1987), 137; idem, Redaktion, 34–43; R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT II/1; Freiburg, Basel & Wien: Herder, 1976), 409; R. A. Edwards, The Sign of Jonah (London: SCM, 1971), 83–87. For Mark as secondarily deleting the reference to Jonah, see A. Vögtle, ‘Der Spruch vom Jonaszeichen’, in Synoptische Studien (FS A. Wikenhauser; München: Zink, 1953), 230–277, on p. 274; J. Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (Mk 8,27–16,20) (EKKNT II/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1979), 305; Kloppenborg, Formation, 130. Cf. the survey in R. A. Guelich, Mark 1–8:26 (WBC 34A; Dallas: Word, 1989), 411, and also Kloppenborg, Formation, 129: ‘the absence of the phrase in Mark is not ultimately decisive’. 35 The common sequence in both Matthew and Luke clearly attests to the sequence in Q here.

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sequence linking the double saying and the Sign pericope is secondary.36 Moreover a clear thematic link between 11.29–30 and 11.31–32 is the negative attitude shown by, and to, ‘this generation’. In 11.29–30 ‘this generation’ is castigated as evil for demanding a sign; in 11.31–32 it is threatened with eschatological condemnation for its refusal to respond to the great events of the present. Such a negative attitude to ‘this generation’ is thoroughly characteristic of Q-redaction (cf. above). It seems therefore highly likely that the linking of 11.29–30 and 11.31–32 is also due to the Q-redactional layer in the tradition. It has been argued forcefully by many that Q 11.30 itself is also due to Q’s redaction, or at least is a comment secondarily appended to v. 29.37 This seems quite convincing and indeed there seems little reason to deny this to the Q-redactional stage and to ascribe it to an earlier stage in Q’s development. Schürmann does argue for this latter theory, but his main reason for doing so is the alleged discrepancy between what he takes to be the proper interpretation of v. 30 on its own, where the Son of Man is an eschatological figure returning in judgment, and the interpretation of v. 30 demanded by the present broader Q context with v. 32, where the parallel between the Son of Man and Jonah implies that the Son of Man is a present preacher of repentance. Such a decision about the interpretation of v. 30 on its own is however perhaps premature. If one makes no such pre-judge36

Cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 128; D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Law and the Prophets in Q’, in G. F. Hawsthorne & O. Betz (eds.), Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (FS E. E. Ellis; Grand Rapids & Tübingen: Eerdmans & Mohr, 1987), 95–109, on pp. 100–101. This must then tell against those who would see the whole sequence as a traditio-historical unit, possibly going back to Jesus (so A. J. B. Higgins, The Son of Man in the Teaching of Jesus [SNTSMS 39; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980], 90 ff.; H. F. Bayer, Jesus’ Predictions of Vindication and Resurrection [WUNT 2.20; Tübingen: Mohr, 1986], 28–29). It must also tell against the view that 11.31–32 is a Q creation (so A. D. Jacobson, Wisdom Christology in Q [Diss. Claremont, 1978], 166–171, cf. his ‘The Literary Unity of Q’, JBL 101 [1982] 365–389, on p. 382): the fact that the reference to the Queen of the South and Solomon fit so badly in the present context suggests strongly that this half of the saying cannot have been created for the present context. 37 Opinions differ on whether the exceptive clause in v. 29c (‘except the sign of Jonah’) is also Q-redactional. For vv. 29c + 30 as Q-redaction, cf. Lührmann, Redaktion, 41–42; Edwards, Sign, 84–85; W. Schenk, Synopse zur Redequelle der Evangelien (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1981), 71; Catchpole, ‘Law and Prophets’, 100–101. For v. 30 as Qredactional, cf. P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 181; D. Zeller, ‘Entrückung zur Ankunft als Menschensohn (Lk 13,34 f.; 11,29 f.)’, in À cause de l’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; LD 123; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 513–530, on p. 526. For v. 30 as a secondary comment added earlier in the traditionhistory prior to the final redaction, cf. H. Schürmann, ‘Beobachtungen zum Menschensohntitel in der Redequelle’, in R. Pesch & R. Schnackenburg (eds.), Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 124–147, on pp. 133–134; also Jacobson, Wisdom Christology, 166–171.

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ments, then there is no clear need to postulate multi-stage developments in Q: the Son of Man in v. 30 can quite easily be the present Jesus preaching to this generation, and the whole coheres together well at the Q-redactional level.38 However, even though there may be little justification for postulating several stages in the history of the development of Q at this point, there does seem to be good reason for regarding the present Q version as composite in the sense of reflecting a traditional and a redactional layer.39 What is striking for the present purposes is now that Mark betrays no knowledge at all of these features of Q’s editorial activity in the wider literary context.40 Mark exhibits no parallel to the explanatory verse Q 11.30; also Mark shows no awareness of the editorial linking of the Sign pericope with the double saying in Q 11.31–32. We may also note that, if one casts the net wider still in Q’s literary context, Mark again shows no awareness of the apparent literary arrangement of Q. Mark does have a version of the Beelzebul controversy (Mark 3.22–30), but it is not connected with the Sign pericope in Mark. Mark also has a parallel to the neutrality saying of Q 11.23 in Mark 9.40, but again in a totally different context. Mark has no parallel at all to the parable of the evil spirits. And Mark has no parallel to the series of woes in Q 11.37–51. (The one similar warning against scribes in Mark 12.38–40 has no substantive parallel in the Q series of woes.) Thus Mark seems to show no awareness at all of the literary structuring of Q, insofar as this can be determined. The editorial activity of the Q redactor in bringing together different traditions (evidenced at least in the conjunction of 11.29–30 and 11.31–32) seems to have left no trace in Mark. What of the detailed wording of Mark? Could Mark 8.11–12 be explained as MarkR of the Q version of Q 11.29–30? This seems highly unlikely, especially in view of the well-known unusual elements of the Markan version which are often explained as reflecting Semitic features and which have 38 Ironically, Kloppenborg adopts Schürmann’s reconstruction of the development of the tradition, which is based almost entirely on Schürmann’s interpretation of the meaning of ‘Son of Man’ in v. 30, and yet adopts the interpretation of ‘Son of Man’ given here: see his Formation, 128 ff. 39 Schenk, ‘Einfluß’, 154: ‘Am sekundären Charakter des Ausnahmesatzes und seiner Erläuterung kann kein Zweifel bestehen, ganz abgesehen vom Markustext.’ 40 In the discussion after the paper at the Colloquium, it was suggested that the use of the phrase ‘this generation’ in Mark might itself be evidence of Mark’s use of a Qredactional feature. This is possible; however, one cannot assume that all Q’s redactional interests reflect and relate to redactional creations de novo: see above at n. 29 and also Catchpole, ‘Temple Traditions’, 325–326, who argues that the polemic against ‘this generation’ is of concern to Q but also pre-dates Q. In any case, the other Markan references to ‘this generation’, in Mark 8.38; 13.30, cannot easily be explained as due to Q influence. If Mark were dependent on Q, the reference to ‘this generation’ in Mk 8.38 would be a MarkR addition (presumably to Q 12.9); and Mark 13.30 has no obvious Q parallel.

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appeared to many as evidence of a pre-Markan tradition used by Mark. This applies possibly to the IJȓ construction, to the apparent oath formula using İੁ, the ਕȝȒȞ formulation, the divine passive etc.41 The cumulative force of this evidence makes it very hard to see Mark’s version as due to MarkR of Q. Schenk has tried to argue in detail otherwise.42 He refers to the fact that the IJȓ construction could be standard Koine Greek rather than reflecting Aramaic idiom, that the İੁ construction is equally rare in Aramaic as in Greek, and that the present Markan version is fully in line with Mark’s overall tendency in this passage to stress the negative elements in the story and to heighten the motif of the rejection of the questioners. Schenk’s case is not however compelling. The IJȓ construction may well be ambiguous in the present context. The precise force of the IJȓ is uncertain: M. Black has claimed that the usage here reflects a Semitic exclamatory usage, though this has been disputed as an unnecessary explanation since the word can be adequately and satisfactorily translated as simply ‘why?’ here.43 Possibly similar usages in Mark 2.7, 8, 24; 4.40 etc., also then make it uncertain if such a usage of IJȓ is MarkR or not. The apparent oath formula is however harder to explain in this way. Such a use of İੁ may also be unusual in Aramaic and in Greek; but either way it occurs nowhere else in Mark and hence is hard to credit to MarkR.44 Further, the Markan version of the pericope does not necessarily heighten the negative elements in the story since Mark does not mention the explicit assertion by Jesus that this generation is ‘evil’, a feature which is present in Matthew and Luke and hence almost certainly in Q.45 Thus, rather than stressing the negative elements, Mark here might appear to give a slightly less polemical edge to the story. The conclusion here is that Mark may well be dependent on a tradition for his version of the story here: the unusual (possibly Semitic) features in Mark’s Greek may indicate that. It may also be that Mark’s tradition included the exceptive clause referring to the sign of Jonah (though I myself am very doubtful). However, even if that were the case, the analysis here 41

See Vögtle, ‘Jonaszeichen’, 239; Pesch, Markusevangelium, 1.409; Guelich, Mark,

411. 42

‘Einfluß’, 154. M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford: Clarendon, 3 1967), 123. See however the discussion in E. C. Maloney, Semitic Interference in Marcan Syntax (Chico: Scholars Press, 1981), 142–144. 44 Schenk refers to ‘eine der von Markus bevorzugten elliptischen Redeweisen’, with reference to W. Larfeld, Die neutestamentlichen Evangelien nach ihrer Eigenart und Abhängigkeit (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1925), 269. But it remains the case that this particular ‘elliptische Redeweise’ is still unevidenced elsewhere in Mark. 45 Cf. Schulz, Q, 254 n. 535, listing the differences between Mark and Q, notes that ‘Q qualifiziert “dieses Geschlecht” betont negativ’ (my italics). 43

Mark and Q

37

gives no support at all to the claim that Mark’s tradition was Q: Mark seems to show no awareness at all of Q’s redactional features or Q’s editorial activity, insofar as these can be identified. Any links between Mark and Q seem to lie further back in the (probably complex) traditionhistory of this passage.

2. Q 7.27/Mark 1.2 The second passage to be considered here concerns the citation of Mal 3.1 and Exod 23.20 to be found in Q 7.27 and Mark 1.2.46 As in the case of the Sign pericope, the overlap in question involves a relatively small amount of text. Yet, as before, this one verse occurs within what is in Q clearly a larger literary unit: Matt 11.2–19/Luke 7.18–35 represents a long sequence of Q material in the same order in the two gospels, and hence clearly implies the existence of an extended literary unit in Q. Is there any evidence to suggest that Q 7.27 may be Q-redactional? Several have effectively argued that it is, though without necessarily always drawing any of the consequences in relation to the Mark-Q problem. The whole unit in Q 7.18–35 is clearly composite, made up of a number of different units of tradition and probably involving a number of separate layers. However, a precise delineation of those layers is by no means straightforward. Within the wider unit, Q 7.24–28 is clearly a significant sub-unit. Further, within this sub-unit, many have argued that vv. 24–26 constitute the base tradition to which are added two (or more) interpretative comments in v. 27 and v. 28.47 What though is the relative age of these interpretative comments? Jacobson has argued that v. 28 is the most recent addition, and indeed more recent than the stage in Q which supplies the bulk of the rest of the unit in Q: the rest is part of the ‘compositional’ stage concerned with polemic against ‘this generation’; v. 28 betrays an element of anti-Baptist 46 The verbatim agreement between Matt 11.10 and Luke 7.27 (apart from an extra ਥȖȫ in Matthew) allows us to reconstruct the Q version without difficulty as the wording common to Matthew and Luke. (The extra ਥȖȫ is probably immaterial here.) Elsewhere in this section, there is again widespread verbal agreement between Matthew and Luke which I will assume then reflects the Q version. The small variations in wording are not relevant to the discussion here and will not be discussed. 47 Cf. R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1963), 165; Hoffmann, Studien, 215; D. Zeller, ‘Redaktionsprozesse und wechselnder “Sitz im Leben” beim Q-Material’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 395–409, on p. 403; Luz, Matthäus, 2.173; Kloppenborg, Formation, 108–109. See the survey of opinion in J. Ernst, Johannes der Täufer (BZNW 53; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1989), 61–62.

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polemic which is later than the tendency to view John and Jesus as (equal) partners (as in vv. 33–34). Hence v. 28 is to be ascribed to a later ‘intermediate’ stage in the development of Q.48 This is however hard to envisage: Jacobson’s theory involves a later redactor seeking to modify the clear message of the rest of the pericope by making a relatively small insertion in the middle of the unit. Yet the section which presents Jesus and John as partners in parallel (i.e. vv. 31–35) is left unaltered and, in literary terms, forms the climax of the whole section. This latter consideration in particular makes it very unlikely that the view of a later redactor is different from that of the person responsible for these verses. On these grounds, therefore, Jacobson’s theory seems unconvincing. For similar reasons, the theory advocated by Kloppenborg seems equally unlikely. Kloppenborg argues that vv. 27 and 31–35 constitute the contributions of the ‘final’ redactor.49 Verse 28 constitutes a first comment on vv. 24–26, which has the effect of slightly mitigating the high estimate of John implied in 7.26b. By contrast, vv. 27 and 31–35 serve to rehabilitate John, to show that he belongs alongside Jesus as a precursor, a friend of the Kingdom, and – with Jesus – one of the messengers of Wisdom.50 However, whilst some of this may be appropriate to vv. 31–35, it does not explain v. 27 very well. For if v. 27 is seeking in any way to counter the possible negative implications of v. 28, it is very surprising that the comment precedes the saying it is allegedly commenting on.51 Further, vv. 27 and 31– 35 are rather different in the way they treat John, especially in relation to Jesus, and they cannot simply be subsumed under the heading of ‘treating John as a friend of the kingdom’.52 Verse 27 gives a high place to John as the forerunner predicted in Mal 3; but it is clearly as a forerunner of Jesus.53 Hence already v. 27 itself is distinguishing to a certain extent between John and Jesus.54 Verse 27 thus provides an emphatically positive statement about John’s status, coupled with an implied corollary that John’s significance is only to be seen in relation to that of Jesus himself. 48

Jacobson, Wisdom Christology, 94–98. Though for Kloppenborg the final stage of the development of Q is only reached with the addition of the temptation narrative together with a few elements of a strongly nomistic nature as well, e.g. Q 16.17: cf. his ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring, C. W. Hedrick, J. T. Sanders, H. D. Betz (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings (FS J. M. Robinson; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35–48. 50 Kloppenborg, Formation, 110, 117. 51 Cf. A. D. Jacobson, ‘The History of the Composition of the Synoptic Sayings Source, Q’, in K. H. Richards (ed.), SBL 1987 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 285–294, on p. 292. 52 Kloppenborg, Formation, 117. 53 Cf. the well-known changes to the citation, altering some of the first person pronouns to second person. 54 Hoffmann, Studien, 218–219. 49

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The high regard for John is wholly dependent on the even higher regard which it is presumed is appropriate for Jesus. Verses 31–35 on the other hand seem to assume that Jesus and John are of equal status: as messengers of Wisdom they confront ‘this generation’ and in turn are rejected. It may be that there is a hint of some difference between Jesus and John in that Jesus is called ‘Son of Man’ in v. 34, and of course they clearly exhibit different life-styles. Yet despite these differences the emphasis is entirely on what the two share in common as messengers of Wisdom who experience hostility and rejection from this generation. Verses 27 and 31–35 therefore seem to be working with rather different presuppositions and it is not easy to ascribe them to the same redactional stratum. Some of the same observations relating to the theories of Jacobson and Kloppenborg apply also to the theory recently advanced by Catchpole. Catchpole argues that vv. 27 + 28b are editorial additions to an earlier tradition in vv. 24–26 + 28a. These serve to change the nature of John’s expectation from looking forward to the coming of God himself to an expectation of a figure other than God, i.e. Jesus for Q, and to clarify the status of Jesus in relation to John by stressing John’s inferiority.55 Once again, however, there is the problem of why 7.31–35 is left as the climax of the section, since here Jesus and John appear in tandem with no real indication of the inferiority of John.56 As I argued above in relation to Kloppenborg, Catchpole may well be right in seeing v. 27 as implying that John’s status is only to be seen in relation to that of Jesus. But v. 27 scarcely gives any indication of John’s inferiority. This is clearer in v. 28b and so it is not quite so easy to see v. 28b as coming from the same stratum as v. 27.57 I argued above that v. 27 is unlikely to be a later modification of v. 28, if only because it comes first, and a secondary comment is more likely to 55

Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 207–213. Unless it be in the reference to Jesus as ‘Son of man’ in v. 34 (cf. above), though this would be a very veiled indication of Jesus’ superiority to John. The stress is much more on the difference between (John and) Jesus and this generation. Catchpole refers briefly to 7.31–35 and ‘its secondary Christological expansion focused on him who “has come”, the Son of man’ (‘Beginning’, 213). But the ‘expansion’ involves vv. 33 and 34 together (on most reconstructions of the tradition history of the passage) and perhaps v. 35; and in both cases Jesus is clearly associated with John. 57 Catchpole claims that vv. 27 and 28b belong together in ‘exhibit[ing] a unity of Christological and future-eschatological concern’ (‘Beginning’, 213). In part this depends on his interpretation of v. 28b as referring to Jesus alone, and moreover to Jesus’ role in the future. This is possible (though not easy) for v. 28b, but much harder for v. 27, at least in relation to the alleged future aspect: is v. 27 about Jesus’ role in the future for Q? It is of course future for the scriptural voice quoted; but for Q it is almost certainly regarded as fulfilled in the ministry of Jesus in the present/past (i.e. present in the narrative, past for the readers). John’s role is as the forerunner of Jesus’ present ministry (cf. Q 7.22), not solely of a future role. 56

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follow the tradition it is seeking to modify and comment on. This makes it most likely that v. 27 is the earlier comment on vv. 24–26, to which v. 28 is added as a later addition. In fact a strong case could be made out for v. 27 being the original conclusion to vv. 24–26. Verses 24–26 alone seem to be almost a torso and to cry out for some clarification and conclusion.58 Verse 26 ends with the double claim that it is indeed appropriate to think of John as a prophet, but that John is also more than a prophet. To the question ‘Is John a prophet?’, the answer seems to be yes and no: he is a prophet, but he is also more. At the very least, one could say that such a claim is enigmatic! What does it mean to say that John is both a prophet and more? At one level Q 7.27 provides a perfect answer. John is described as an Elijah redivivus figure. He is then a prophetic figure in that he is an Elijah-figure; but he is also more than just any prophet, for he is the inaugurator of the new age forecast by Malachi. Thus v. 27 provides a very good conclusion to vv. 24–26 and there is no need to drive too much of a wedge between the two.59 There does however seem to be a seam between v. 27 and v. 28. The repeated ȜȑȖȦ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ of Q 7.28 (cf. v. 26) makes it unlikely that v. 28 belongs with vv. 24–27 originally. 60 It would appear to be a secondary comment. Whether it is itself a unity, or whether (as some have argued) v. 28b (with its possible implied critique of John) is a secondary addition to a more original v. 28a, is also not entirely certain. However, the tightly structured form of the verse as it now stands, with its clear antithetic parallelism, suggests that the verse may be a unity and should not be split up.61 Whether 58

Cf. H. Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT III/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1969), 417: ‘V. 26b verlangt nach einer eigenen Kommentierung’; also Kloppenborg, Formation, 109: ‘Q 7:26b invites further explication’; Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 208: the end of v. 26b ‘is forceful but lacks the definition which is necessary to conclude a unit of tradition’. 59 For v. 27 as linked to vv. 24–26 very early, cf. Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.417; Zeller, ‘Redaktionsprozesse’, 403; Ernst, Johannes, 61–62; Schüling, Studien, 66. Catchpole’s claim that form-critically v. 28a ‘is the only element in vv. 27, 28 which will define and complete v. 26’ (‘Beginning’, 209, my emphasis) seems too extreme. Verse 27 furnishes at least as good a conclusion as v. 28a (Catchpole’s theory) does. 60 We need not discuss whether Q 7.28 contained an ਕȝȒȞ (so Matthew but not Luke) as well. Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 209, argues that the ȜȑȖȦ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ of v. 28a could be a redactional resumption of v. 26, ‘so that, although the editor regards v. 27 as important, the remarkable implications of vv. 26b, 28a should not be lost’. This however seems to imply a somewhat ambivalent attitude to v. 27 on the part of the editor: vv. 27 and 28b are added editorially to stress John’s inferiority to Jesus, but then v. 28a has to be emphasised to stress the thoroughly positive picture of John emerging from vv. 26 and 28a. I would argue that things are rather simpler if v. 28 is regarded as a unity and secondary to vv. 24–27. 61 See Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.419; Lührmann, Redaktion, 27; Luz, Matthäus, 2.173; Schüling, Studien, 83. Pace Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 208.

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41

the verse implies a down-grading of John is also not clear. This may be the case, though equally the verse can be taken rather as saying something supremely positive about the status of those in the Kingdom:62 the latter are greater than even John whose greatness is emphatically affirmed in vv. 24–27 as the prophetic messenger foretold in scripture. However, it seems clear that any hint of a downgrading of John is swept aside in vv. 31–35. Clearly this section itself may well be composite and there is no time to discuss those issues here. As they stand, however, vv. 31–35 clearly present Jesus and John as equal partners, messengers of Wisdom in a hostile environment. The implied polemic against this generation, and the use of Wisdom motifs, makes it likely that Q’s redaction is responsible for providing this as the climax of the wider literary unit.63 But then the slightly different emphases on the relative positions of Jesus and John in vv. 27 and 28 compared with vv. 31–35 suggest that, if vv. 31–35 represent the view of the final redactor of Q, vv. 27+28 give the view of an earlier stage in the tradition. Thus vv. 27+28 are probably pre-redactional in Q.64 Some have tried to argue that v. 27 must be a later element within Q on the grounds that it is an OT citation, and indeed the only explicit OT citation in Q apart from the temptation narrative which is itself widely regarded as a relative late-comer in the tradition history of Q.65 However, such a view of the place of the temptation narrative in Q’s development may be unnecessary (cf. at n. 25 above). Jesus appears there supremely as the one who is obedient to scripture; hence the idea that the events of the gospel tradition are in accordance with scripture is not alien to Q. Nevertheless the fact remains that Q 7.27 is one of the very rare places in Q where the OT is explicitly cited. Given the problems from a literary point of view in assigning v. 27 to a very late stage in the development of Q, it is perhaps easiest to see the verse as a traditional element willingly accepted by Q, rather than as a later addition alien to the rest of Q. It coheres well with Q, but the explicit nature of the citation makes it unlikely to have been created

Or conceivably of Jesus if Jesus is ੒ ȝȚțȡȩIJİȡȠȢ (so Hoffmann, Studien, 221; Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 208–209, and some others). 63 See Lührmann, Redaktion, 31; Zeller, ‘Redaktionsprozesse’, 403. 64 For a very similar view about the tradition-history of the whole passage, see Zeller, ‘Redaktionsprozesse’, 403. Schulz, Q, 230, also takes vv. 27+28 as additions to an earlier tradition, but at a pre-redactional stage in Q: however, his only reason appears to be that these verses are part of the ‘Q-Doppelüberlieferungen’ (though only v. 27 is!). See above for the circularity here. 65 Cf. A. Polag, Die Christologie der Logienquelle (WMANT 45; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1977), 158–159; Luz, Matthäus, 2.173; M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 35. 62

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redactionally by the Q editor. Q 7.27 thus seems to be a pre-redactional element in Q. On the Markan side, there is very little to say. Once again Mark appears to show no awareness of Q-redactional elements in the Q unit. The only link between Mark and Q is the parallel to Q 7.27. Mark gives no hint that he knew the wider literary context in which Q 7.27 is now embedded. All elements of literary structuring of the Q pericope are thus missing from Mark. In relation to the single verse Q 7.27 itself, there is nothing to determine whether Mark could or could not have used Q for this verse: the ‘redaction’ by Mark would have involved straight copying of the text (simply omitting ਩ȝʌȡȠıșȑȞ ıȠȣ) so one cannot (as with Mark 8.11–12) produce arguments to the effect that the Markan version is unlikely to be due to MarkR. Further, the Markan parallel has its own problems by virtue of the fact that the citation in Mark 1.2b is at first sight a little intrusive: the introduction in v. 2a suggests that the quotation given will be from Isaiah, and yet a quotation from Isaiah only comes in v. 3. Hence some have argued that the verse is a secondary insertion into the text of Mark.66 Yet whatever one makes of the Markan context, it remains the case that the verse is not redactional in Q. Hence if Mark got it from a source, that source cannot be shown to have been Q. There is thus no evidence here for concluding that Mark was dependent on Q. 66

Cf. M.-J. Lagrange, Évangile selon Saint Marc (Paris: Gabalda, 1929), 4; T. W. Manson, The Sayings of Jesus (London: SCM, 1949), 69; V. Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark (London: Macmillan, 1952), 153. Catchpole points to the aporia in the Markan text as indicating the possibility of a redactional addition to an earlier tradition (‘Beginning’, 214); but he offers no explanation of the reason why Mark should have added the citation at this point to produce such a disjointed text. The awkward nature of the Markan text here is also the basis for the argument of Fuchs, ‘Überschneidungen’, 60 ff., who claims that Matthew’s and Luke’s alterations to Mark (which include, as well as the transfer of Mark 1.2, the inversion of the Isaiah quotation and the description of John in Mark 1.3–4) are only intelligible as secondary developments of the Markan text. Yet Fuchs is not explicit about where the rest of the unit in Matt 11/Luke 7 has come from: is this too part of the Deutero-Markan expansion? But then the ‘editing’ presupposed here would be qualitatively different from that postulated elsewhere, involving here a wholesale transfer of one verse to a new context and the massive creation of a very large unit to introduce it. The other changes made by Matthew and Luke may well be secondary changes of Mark – but they could just as easily be changes made independently by Matthew and Luke. Goulder, Luke, 391–393, appears to ascribe the whole of Matt 11.7–10 to MattR of Mark alone. But the examples he cites of possible parallels to Matthean ‘lead-in’s’ to Markan statements are not convincing (e.g. Matt 10.37a+37b leading to v. 38: but 10.37 is more an independent bipartite saying, and v. 38 is parallel in structure to v. 39). Goulder’s main argument is that Matthew and Mark agree in the very unusual form of the OT ‘citation’. But this only shows MattR of Mark if a pre-Markan form of the citation is excluded a priori.

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3. Q 3.16/Mark 1.7–8 A further overlap passage which may be significant in the present context is the report of the preaching of John the Baptist in Mark 1.7–8/Q 3.16 about a future ‘baptism’ by a ‘stronger one’ who will baptise with holy spirit and (in Matthew and Luke) with fire. Both Mark and Q (on the 2ST) record this saying.67 As always in such cases, the reconstruction of the Q version is complicated by the Markan parallel, and indeed the reconstruction could be significantly affected by one’s theories about the relationship between Mark and Q. The two versions appear to differ at a number of points: Q probably brings together two sayings – one about the contrast between the present and the future baptisms, and one about John’s unworthiness to carry/untie the sandals of the coming figure – into a single, chiastically constructed unity, whereas Marks keeps the two sayings separate; Q has John refer to his baptism in the present (ȕĮʌIJȓȗȦ) whereas Mark has John refer to this as past (ਥȕȐʌIJȚıĮ); famously Q has John predict a coming baptism which will be in/with fire as well as (probably) holy spirit, whereas Mark has no reference to the fire; and Q appends the saying about the threshing floor, which has no parallel in Mark. I leave aside discussion of many of these features here: apart from the fact that these details highlight the differences between the Markan and Matthean/Lukan versions, most do not clearly point to the priority of one version over against the other. For example, the problem of the most original form of the prediction of the coming baptism (spirit, fire, spirit/wind + fire) has been much debated with no clear unanimity.68 Further, the question of whether the literary separation of the two sayings is an original or a secondary feature can be, and has been, answered both ways.69 More important for the present context may be not so much the question of the literary form of the double saying (as separate or as integrated) but rather that of the substance and origin of the two sayings. Few would deny that the prediction of a future baptism with spirit and/or fire is a very primitive tradition. However, many have argued that the other saying (about the ‘sandals’) is a later Christian addition.70 Further, several scholars have ar-

67

This is widely accepted: cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 93–94; Ernst, Johannes, 48 ff. 68 Cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 100–101, for a survey of the different possibilities. 69 Cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 97–98. For the sayings as originally not intertwined, cf. M. Dibelius, Die urchristliche Überlieferung von Johannes dem Täufer (FRLANT 15; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1911), 54; also Laufen himself. For the converse, cf. Schulz, Q, 370; Hoffmann, Studien, 21. 70 For this as secondary, cf. Bultmann, History, 246; Dibelius, Täufer, 54.

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gued that this addition is due to Q’s redaction.71 The presence of the saying in Mark as well then raises acutely the problem of the relationship between Mark and Q: do we have here an element of Q’s redaction reappearing in Mark, thus implying Mark’s knowledge of Q? One of the few scholars to realise the implications of the problem in relationship to the Mark-Q problem is Kloppenborg. Kloppenborg accepts that the saying about the sandals is a secondary addition in Q, but points to the presence of the saying in Mark and in John and Acts (John 1.27; Acts 13.25) and argues that these factors indicate that it is ‘a very early addition to the saying [about the two baptisms]. To credit it to Q redaction would raise more problems than it would solve.’ Hence Kloppenborg assigns the addition to ‘the early pre-history, not to the Q redaction, of this saying [about baptism]’.72 However, this simply highlights the problem under discussion here. The presence of a parallel in John73 says little about the pre-redactional state of the synoptic tradition unless one assumes the independence of John from the synoptics. I myself am inclined to such a view, but this can no longer be assumed as self-evident.74 So too elements in the speeches in Acts may be simply due to Luke’s own knowledge of Mark’s Gospel. Kloppenborg’s ascription of the saying to a pre-redactional stage in Q’s development seems to be almost entirely based on presuppositions about the independence of Q and Mark, of John and the synoptics, and perhaps about the nature of some of the speeches in Acts.75 Nevertheless other arguments may well be relevant here. Bultmann’s original claim – that the saying about the stronger one is a Christian addition to an earlier saying about the future baptism – seems persuasive. Other arguments to the contrary do not always convince. Laufen’s plea for the existence of two originally independent sayings76 seems unconvincing, if only because the ‘sandals’ saying scarcely makes sense without something additional to say what precisely the figure whose sandals John is unworthy to untie/carry will do. Two recent studies of John 71

Hoffmann, Studien, 31 (‘Das in Q eingeschobene Interpretament’, cf. p. 28: ‘QZusatz’); H. Merklein, ‘Die Umkehrpredigt bei Johannes dem Täufer und Jesus von Nazaret’, BZ 25 (1981) 29–46, on p. 32; Schenk, Synopse, 19; Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 215; Jacobson, Wisdom Christology, 33–35 ascribes to his ‘intermediate’ stage of redaction. 72 Kloppenborg, Formation, 104–105. 73 This is also referred to by Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 98, as evidence for the independence of the two sayings. 74 Cf. many of the papers delivered at the 1990 Leuven Colloquium published in A. Denaux (ed.), John and the Synoptics (BETL 101; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992). See too F. Neirynck, ‘John and the Synoptics’; also his Jean et les synoptiques (BETL 49; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1979). 75 Cf. too Catchpole, ‘Beginning’, 215. 76 Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 116–117.

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the Baptist also seek to trace the saying back to the historical John. Ernst seeks to delete any hint of a ‘Christian’ interpretation by taking the reference to the ‘stronger one’ as Yahweh. However he has to delete the ȝȠ૨ from the phrase ੁıȤȣȡȩIJİȡȩȢ ȝȠȣ, and take the comparative ੁıȤȣȡȩIJİȡȠȢ as a superlative, to make his case.77 Webb argues (to my mind convincingly) against this general interpretation, pointing in particular to the problem of the reference to ‘sandals’ if the figure concerned is God (as well as the lack of evidence for the deletion of the ȝȠ૨).78 Further, it seems highly unlikely that, at least for Q, the coming figure is regarded as anyone other than Jesus, whatever may have been the case in any pre-Q tradition. The question of John the Baptist in Q 7.19 clearly picks up the words of John’s prediction in 3.16; and Jesus’ answer in Q 7.22–23 can scarcely be taken as anything other than a positive response to the question whether he himself is the ‘coming one’, i.e. the one predicted by John. Webb himself simply takes the combined evidence of Mark and Q as sufficient basis for reconstructing the historical Baptist and does not consider the possibility of secondary, pre-Q developments in the tradition, apart from some rather general considerations about the unlikelihood of the existence of secondary creations here at all.79 However, the clear qualitative distinction drawn between John and the coming figure in the ‘sandals’ saying does seem rather extraneous in the context of John, and perhaps fits better within a context of later rivalry between (followers of) Jesus and John. Nevertheless it is very hard to see such rivalry playing any role at the level of Q’s redaction. In some respects the saying in Q 3.16b is similar to Q 7.28, with a possible tendency to downgrade John.80 However, I argued earlier that any such tendencies in Q 7 are superseded by the redactional stage in Q which is thoroughly positive about John and which places John alongside Jesus as one of the messengers of Wisdom rejected by this generation. Further, the thrust of Q as a whole is to be totally positive about John. Q (probably) opens with a substantial section giving John’s 77

Ernst, Johannes, 50; cf. too J. H. Hughes, ‘John the Baptist. The Forerunner of God Himself’, NovT 14 (1972) 191–218. 78 R. L. Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet (JSNTSup 62; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 284–285. The problem is met only with great difficulty if the image is a completely hypothetical metaphor. Thus Webb says: ‘John’s statement is not simply a descriptive statement concerning what the figure is wearing, … nor is it a description of what the figure does with his own sandals … Rather, John’s words form an evaluative statement of his own unworthiness to perform an action with respect to this figure’s sandals … The evaluation of John’s unworthiness to perform such an action loses some of its significance if it is an action which it is impossible for him to actually do.’ 79 Webb, John the Baptizer, 268. 80 On the basis of this similarity, Jacobson ascribes both sayings to his later postulated ‘intermediate’ redaction; similarly, Catchpole ascribes both to the Q-redactional level.

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preaching (Q 3.7–9 + 16–17); it is followed fairly closely by an extended section in Q 7.18–35 about the relationship between John and Jesus, where, for all but one possible small exception (Q 7.28b), Q’s Jesus is outspokenly positive about John, and, as we have seen, the literary unit climaxes in the verses (7.31–35) placing Jesus and John alongside each other in parallel. John’s preaching in Q of imminent judgment (Q 3.7–9) is paralleled by the preaching of Jesus later in Q (Q 12.39–46; 17.22–37); so too his prediction of a ‘coming one’81 is picked up again in Q 7.18–19 and implicitly affirmed in Q 7.22–23 by Jesus and probably echoed again in the reference to ੒ ਥȡȤȩȝİȞȠȢ in Q 13.35.82 Further, the prediction of the coming ‘fire’, which runs as a leitmotif through Q’s account of John’s preaching (Q 3.9, 16, 17), is echoed again in Luke 12.49 which may well be Q material.83 Thus in terms of the overall structure and contents of Q, insofar as these can be determined, the general impression given by Q is clear: John’s preaching is adopted and emphatically affirmed by Q, both by being explicitly given in full measure in its own right and by being taken up by Jesus in a totally positive way. All this suggests that, if Q 3.16b is a secondary addition reflecting an element of reserve about John, this reserve has nothing to do with Q’s redactional concerns. This would then suggest some support for Kloppenborg’s view that the saying is a pre-redactional element in Q. It seems hard to deny that, taken on its own, the saying does reflect an element of negativity about John. But when the saying is taken up and used by Q, it can only be in a thoroughly positive way, perhaps to highlight the importance and significance of Jesus though without wishing to downgrade John. If this is the case, then the best solution seems to be that the saying is an early addition in the tradition, taken over by Q subsequently. To see it as a later addition seems to create more problems than it solves: if it is a Q addition then it does not correlate with Q’s overall presentation and literary structure; and if it is later still (e.g. as in Jacobson’s theory, part of a later stage of Q editing subsequent to the ‘compositional’ stage which has left its mark on the vast bulk of this part of Q), then it is hard to see why reserve about John should be expressed in what is, in literary terms, such an insignificant way, leaving the positive view about John dominating in the rest of the Q material.

81 I am persuaded that Matthew’s ੒ ਥȡȤȩȝİȞȠȢ is closer to the Q wording, with Luke assimilating to Mark, even if the term is not a title: cf. on the latter point Webb, John the Baptizer, 270–271. 82 Cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 177. 83 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 151 and others noted there; also C.-P. März, ‘“Feuer auf die Erde zu werfen bin ich gekommen …”. Zum Verständnis und zur Entstehung von Lk 12,49’, in À cause de l’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; LD 123; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 479–511.

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The conclusion of this section must be that the ‘stronger one’ saying may be a secondary addition to the tradition, but it is pre-Q and not due to Q redaction. Hence the presence of the saying in Mark as well does not necessarily show any awareness of a Q-redactional feature and hence we cannot deduce that Mark is dependent on Q.84

4. Q 13.18–19/Mark 4.30–32 As a final example I consider briefly the parable of the mustard seed which, within the presuppositions of the 2ST, is usually regarded as a classic ‘overlap’ passage. I have examined this parable elsewhere and so will not repeat that discussion again here;85 moreover many of the source-critical problems have been discussed afresh recently and in great detail by T. Friedrichsen.86 For those who accept the 2ST in some form, the Lukan version in Luke 13.18–19 is usually regarded as preserving Q most accurately (though obviously with debate about individual details). What is then striking is that, in the parable itself, ‘Mark and Luke have virtually nothing in common beyond the barest essentials necessary for telling a parable comparing the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed’.87 Attempts to explain all the differences between Mark and Q/Luke as MarkR by Lambrecht (and more recently Fleddermann) seem unconvincing.88

84

As before, alternative solutions are not persuasive. Fuchs, ‘Überschneidungen’, 67 ff., seeks to show how the texts of Matthew and Luke might be due to a DeuteroMarkan editing of Mark; but there is really nothing here to demand such a theory. The well-known phenomenon of the appended saying in Q 3.17, very closely linked to v. 16 grammatically, is no problem for the 2ST provided that one can accept the possibility of an overlap between Mark and Q with the grammar of the Q version very close to that of Mark. 85 See my Revival, 78–85. 86 T. A. Friedrichsen, ‘“Minor” and “Major” Matthew-Luke Agreements against Mark 4,30–32’, in F. Van Segbroeck, C. M. Tuckett, G. Van Belle & J. Verheyden (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 649–676; also his ‘Alternative Synoptic Theories in Mk 4,30–32’, in J.M. Sevrin, The Synoptic Gospels (BETL 110; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1993), 427–450. 87 See my Revival, 81. I leave aside the question of the introduction to the parable which is more disputed: see Friedrichsen, ‘“Minor” and ‘“Major” Agreements’, 662–675, arguing for LukeR of Mark in the opening questions of Luke 13.8. 88 See the works cited in n. 6 above. In my earlier study (n. 85 above) I tried to respond to the work of Lambrecht; this is now developed further, taking note too of Fleddermann’s work, in Friedrichsen, ‘“Minor” and ‘“Major” Agreements’, 653–662.

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The passage is also examined in some detail by Schenk in his article seeking to show Markan dependence on Q.89 At first Schenk says that the parable is a ‘Beispiel für die Markus-Priorität’, claiming that the Markan contrast parable, told in the present tense, is more original. Q then converts the parable into one focusing on growth and assurance of the end-result: hence the contrast elements disappear, the narrative changes from the present to the aorist, the ‘shrub’ becomes a ‘tree’ which as a mustard tree is not particularly big, and the seed is ‘sown’ in a ‘garden’, thereby revealing a non-Palestinian milieu since mustard was not sown.90 But then the two temporal clauses in Mark which refer to the ‘sowing’ of the seed, which in any case are disruptive and hence probably secondary and due to MarkR, are most easily explained as due to influence from the Q version. Mark also adds the OT allusion at the end of v. 32 as an allegorising feature. Matthew and Luke then independently take over this redacted version of Mark’s, both rewriting the allegorising conclusion. Thus ‘Markan priority’ (i.e. in relation to Q) is really only a priority of the Markan Vorlage: Markus-Priorität liegt Q gegenüber dann vor, wenn ein Stoff schon der vormarkinischen Überlieferung angehörte. Die Markus-Priorität ist also genauer eine Priorität des PraeMarkus. Q-Priorität liegt dagegen dort vor, wo erst die markinische Redaktion QMaterial übernommen hat.91

Schenk’s analysis is however not easy to accept. The claim that Mark’s double ੖IJĮȞ ıʌĮȡૌ can only derive from the Q version rests on some dubious criteria. Pace Schenk (and perhaps Dalman), mustard was sown – albeit in fields if not (legally) in gardens.92 (Presumably the long discussion in m. Kil. 2.8–9 was only necessary precisely because it was sown.) And in any case, given two versions (Mark and Q) which both (allegedly) reflect a ‘non-Palestinian’ milieu, it is almost impossible to say which is logically prior. All that the evidence allows us to say is that the ‘sowing’ of the seed is firmly present in the earliest form of the tradition to which we now have access. It is thus by no means clear that the reference to the seed being ‘sown’ is due to a Q-redactional addition to the tradition, and hence not easy to see the common references to sowing as evidence of Mark’s dependence on Q. In any case, as noted earlier, the two versions have very little in common and so any theory of a literary relationship between Mark and Q is particularly difficult here.

89

‘Einfluß’, 144–145. Schenk refers to G. Dalman, Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina. Vol. I/2 (Gütersloh: Rufer, 1928), 369–370. 91 ‘Einfluß’, 145–146. 92 In fact all that Dalman said was that he had not seen one particular type of mustard as a cultivated crop in Palestine. 90

Mark and Q

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Schenk’s explanation of the end of the parable is also problematic. He argues that the expansion of the reference to the tree took place independently in Matthew and Luke. However, the identical expansion in both gospels, which also involves changing the OT allusion (from Ezek 17.23 to Dan 4.21), seems far easier to ascribe to the Q layer in the tradition. Schenk’s theory depends on a rather arbitrary assumption that all OT allusions in parables are (a) secondary, and (b) exclusively Markan (cf. Mark 4.29; 12.10) and hence cannot have been present in Q. The use of OT allusions elsewhere in Q material (cf. Q 4.1–13; 7.27; 10.13–15; 11.31–32; 13.35; 17.26–30, even if these are not strictly ‘parables’) should make one at least pause before denying the possibility of an OT allusion in Q here too. Hence it seems easier to take the common ending in Matthew and Luke as evidence of the Q version and to see the (different) OT allusions as yet another indication of the independence of Q from Mark. As before a theory of Markan independence from Q seems to be the most satisfactory way of explaining the evidence.93

5. Conclusion The main conclusion of this paper is that the view that Mark and Q represent independent versions of common traditions remains the most convincing in the passages considered here. Clearly such a theory in relation to all the Mark-Q overlaps cannot be established definitively on the basis of examining only a few passages in the tradition. As noted at the start of this paper, it might be that Mark’s dependence on Q could be shown more easily at other points in the tradition not examined here. Nevertheless the

93 Kogler’s detailed defence of the Deutero-Markan theory in relation to this parable (see his monograph as in n. 10 above) scarcely provides much convincing evidence for those who are not otherwise persuaded by the overall theory. He goes through the text of Mark in minute detail, showing how a Deutero-Markan editor might have proceeded; but there is very little – if anything – in his analysis to show that the development must have taken place in this way. Indeed the effect of Kogler’s analysis is to reduce the redactional activity of Matthew and Luke to virtual vanishing point. However, the process also involves a number of coincidences. Luke must have (by chance?) deleted almost all the specifically Markan elements from Deutero-Mark to leave only the Deutero-Markan additions; he must also have changed all the verbs into the aorist (except ਩ȕĮȜİȞ which was already there in Deutero-Mark) so as to create a neat parallel to the parable appended by Deutero-Mark, viz. the leaven. Yet it is surely easier to see the leaven as constructed in parallel with a version of the mustard seed from the start. For further critique of the Deutero-Markus theory here, see F. Fendler, Studien zum Markusevangelium (GTA 49; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 175–180; also Friedrichsen, ‘Alternative Synoptic Theories’, 430–440.

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importance of the whole question of the relationship between Mark and Q is such that the issue needs to be constantly re-examined in the light of our developing understandings of the very varied nature of early Christianity. 7

8

III The Existence of Q The theory of the existence of a ‘Q’ source is usually regarded as part of the more wide-ranging Two Source theory (2ST) which seeks to account for the agreements between the three synoptic gospels. According to the 2ST, Matthew and Luke are directly dependent on the Gospel of Mark as one of their main sources; the further Matthew-Luke agreements are then explained by common dependence on a lost source, or a lost body of (possibly disparate) source material, usually known as ‘Q’. There is a strong interest today in Q, taking seriously the possibility that Q may have had its own distinctive features and characteristics, and that it may reflect the concerns of a particular group of Christians within primitive Christianity. However, before one considers such possibilities, one should consider the prior question of whether Q ever existed. For if there is one thing about which all are agreed, it is this: if Q ever existed, it is now lost and we possess no manuscript copy of it. Further, it appears to have left little or no influence on any extant documents in early Christianity other than the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.1 Is it then justifiable to talk of ‘Q’ as a well-defined body of material when the evidence for its existence appears to be so slim? In general terms one may say initially that the apparent silence elsewhere in the tradition about any evidence of Q is not particularly surprising, and certainly no bar to postulating the existence of a Q source. It is quite clear 1 Occasionally attempts have been made to try to find evidence of Q (or something closely related to Q) in other texts, e.g. in 1 Corinthians, or in some of the Nag Hammadi texts, notably the Gospel of Thomas. I have examined these claims elsewhere with uniformly negative results: there appears to be no clear evidence for the existence of anything akin to Q lying behind any of these other texts. For 1 Corinthians, see my ‘1 Corinthians and Q’, JBL 102 (1983) 607–619; for the Gospel of Thomas, see ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume), and for the other Nag Hammadi texts my Nag Hammadi and the Gospel Tradition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986). More recently, H. Koester has developed further his views about the possible link between Q and the Gospel of Thomas in his Ancient Christian Gospels (London: SCM, 1990). I have tried to discuss this in ‘Q and Thomas. Evidence of a Primitive “Wisdom Gospel”?’, ETL 67 (1991) 346–360 (pp. 383–399 in this volume). The attempt to see evidence of Q in the tradition behind James by P. J. Hartin, James and the Q Sayings of Jesus (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), suffers somewhat by failing to provide clear criteria for identifying what is Q and by being rather optimistic in locating parallels.

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that our knowledge of primitive Christianity is at best somewhat fragmentary. There are a number of texts whose existence we know of, or can postulate, but which we do not possess. For example, we know of the existence of Jewish Christian gospels such as the Gospel of the Hebrews from citations in the Church fathers, although we have no manuscript copies of these gospels;2 from Paul’s extant letters we can deduce the existence of other letters written by Paul (e.g. to Corinth) which have not been preserved. We know too of areas of primitive Christianity, for example in Egypt or in Rome, that must have developed very quickly but which have left little or no literary deposit. Thus the fact that Q, if it existed, has not left its mark on other preserved elements within primitive Christianity is not necessarily surprising. Such silence may simply indicate the sparse extent of the evidence which has survived. Further, we may note that, if Q was used by Matthew and Luke, such use would almost certainly have led to a lessening of concern to preserve Q itself. The situation may not have been dissimilar to that involving Mark and the other two synoptic gospels. If Mark was used by Matthew and Luke, then the very fact of (say) Matthew’s existence inevitably led to an eclipse in interest in Mark, since Mark must have appeared to many to be somewhat redundant alongside the fuller Gospel of Matthew.3 Certainly we know that in the period after the writing of the gospels, Matthew was the most widely used and interest in Mark’s Gospel was severely limited.4 It is easy to conceive of the same happening with Q, if it existed. The appearance of Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels must inevitably have led to Q’s being regarded as somewhat redundant and hence its lack of prominence elsewhere in primitive Christianity is not at all surprising. Nevertheless the nonappearance of Q in any explicit manuscript form has always led some to doubt the existence of such a source, and such doubts have continued right up to the present. The question ‘Did Q exist?’ has thus always been a contentious one. One should however note that the question ‘Did Q exist?’ is not necessarily as straightforward as it appears at first sight, or perhaps better, any alleged straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to the question might need some further clarification. The theory of the existence of a Q source arose as part of the 2ST to explain the agreements between the texts of Matthew and Luke which were not to be explained by common dependence on Mark. These agreements are often so close, amounting at times to almost verbatim 2 See E. Hennecke (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha. Volume One (London: SCM, 1963), 117–165. 3 The same is true even if Mark was written after Matthew. 4 Cf. É. Massaux, Influence de l’Évangile de saint Matthieu sur la littérature chrétienne avant saint Irénée (repr. BETL 75; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1986).

The Existence of Q

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agreement in the Greek texts of the gospels (cf. Q 3.7–9; 11.9–10), that some form of literary relationship seems to be demanded: either one evangelist has used the work of the other directly, or both are dependent on (a) common source(s). At one level, the Q hypothesis is simply a negative theory, denying the possibility that one evangelist made direct use of the work of the other.5 However, within such a denial, a variety of positions can be adopted. One could for example argue that Luke and Matthew both had access to a single common source which existed as a self-contained written document. (This is often regarded as ‘the’ Q hypothesis.) Alternatively, whilst still denying any direct use of Matthew by Luke, one could argue that Matthew and Luke depend at various points in the tradition on a variety of different source materials, and the nature and extent of these materials might have been rather varied: some might have formed smaller written collections, some might have constituted isolated traditions preserved orally.6 On this view, the whole of the so-called Q material may never have been collected into a single document prior to its use by Matthew and Luke and we should perhaps speak of ‘Q material’ rather than ‘Q’ simpliciter. Advocates of such a theory might say ‘no’ to the question ‘Did Q exist?’, meaning by this that they were denying the existence of a single, well-defined (possibly written) ‘source’ or document called Q. But they would not be pleading for any direct dependence of Luke on Matthew. Further, even amongst those who have tended to think in terms of a single well-defined Q, there has been a notable trend in recent years to argue for stages in the development of Q, so that we have Q1, Q2, Q3 etc., and ‘Q’ itself is by no means a static, monolithic entity.7 Others again have argued that the ‘Q’ used by Matthew and Luke may have been available to the two evangelists in different forms, a Qmt and a 5 For various reasons, this is almost always postulated in the form of Luke’s dependence on Matthew. Matthean dependence on Luke is hardly ever advocated, though one sometimes wonders why given the tendency of many to believe that Luke's version is very often more original (cf. below). However, Luke 1.1 clearly implies that Luke is aware of the existence of predecessors in writing some account of Jesus’ ministry. 6 Cf. E. E. Ellis, ‘Gospel Criticism’, in P. Stuhlmacher (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 27–54, on p. 37. Cf. too the classic theory of W. Bussmann, Synoptische Studien (Halle: Waisenhaus, 1929), arguing for two quite separate Q sources, one in Greek, one in Aramaic. Similarly, more recently, C. J. A. Hickling, ‘The Plurality of “Q”’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 425–429. 7 See above all J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), and many essays of H. Schürmann, including ‘Das Zeugnis der Redenquelle für die Basileia-Verkündigung Jesu’, in LOGIA (n. 6 above), 121–200, and ‘Beobachtungen zum Menschensohn-Titel in der Redequelle’, in Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 124–147.

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Qlk.8 Such a theory has an a priori plausibility since, if one thinks of Q as a written source, it is hard to conceive of Matthew and Luke having exactly the same copy of Q available to them and hence some degree of variation in the form of Q used by them would be entirely expected. Whether the amount of variation is as great as some have argued is however debatable. It is also possible to combine some of these theories. For example, the question of whether Luke used Matthew could be answered differently in relation to different parts of the tradition. Thus Luke may have known Matthew’s Gospel and used it on some occasions; but at other points Luke may have had access to other sources which provided him with his information about the relevant tradition.9 There is not enough space in the course of this essay to examine every nuance of every theory that has in some way or other denied the existence of Q as a single source. Thus simply in order to keep the discussion within manageable limits I shall confine attention in what follows to those who have tried to deny the existence of ‘Q’ by arguing explicitly for Luke’s knowledge and direct use of Matthew. The theory that Luke used Matthew has always had a number of defenders and is still advocated strenuously by some today. Within the history of scholarship, the Q hypothesis arose as part of the 2ST, and hence is frequently coupled with the theory of Markan priority (MP). However, the two theories are not inseparable. Thus some today have retained a belief in MP, but have argued that Luke is directly dependent on Matthew as well as on Mark (see [1] below).10 Other scholars have however questioned MP itself and this in turn has led to a rejection of the Q hypothesis in various ways. Thus for some, Mark is directly dependent on Matthew alone with Luke then dependent on Matthew and Mark (the so-called Augustinian

8 Cf. the survey of F. Neirynck, ‘QMt and QLk and the Reconstruction of Q’, in ETL 66 (1990) 385–390, repr. in Evangelica II (BETL 99; Leuven: Peeters, 1991), 475–480, reviewing especially the work of M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), and D. Kosch, Die eschatologische Tora des Menschensohnes. Untersuchungen zur Rezeption der Stellung Jesu zur Tora in Q (NTOA 12; Freiburg/Switzerland & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989). 9 In recent times the view of R. Morgenthaler, Statistische Synopse (Zürich: Gotthelf, 1971), esp. pp. 300 ff. The view of Farmer and other supporters of the GH often reduces to this: cf. below. 10 Cf. A. Farrer, ‘On Dispensing with Q’, in D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels. Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955), 55–88; H. B. Green, ‘The Credibility of Luke’s Transformation of Matthew’ and ‘Matthew 12.22–50 and Parallels. An Alternative to Matthean Conflation’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1984), 131–156, 157–176; and above all the works of M. D. Goulder, especially his ‘On Putting Q to the Test’, NTS 24 (1978) 218– 234, and Luke – A New Paradigm (2 vols.; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989).

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hypothesis: see [2] below).11 Several recently have argued that Mark’s Gospel comes last of the three, dependent on Matthew and Luke and representing a conflation of those two gospels, with Luke directly dependent on Matthew alone (the Griesbach hypothesis [GH]: see [3] below).12 The ‘traditional’ Q hypothesis is represented by (4): (1) Mark Matthew Luke Farrer-Goulder

(2) Matthew Mark

(3) Matthew

(4) Mark

Q

Luke Luke

Augustine

Mark Griesbach

Matthew

Luke

2ST

One must however note that, in relation to the agreements between Matthew and Luke, these all represent rather different solutions. For example, (1) above presumes that Luke used Mark as well as Matthew; hence some of the Matthew-Luke agreements are due to common dependence on Mark. (2) also assumes that Mark is the mediator of some of the material common to Matthew and Luke. On the other hand, (3) presupposes that all the agreements between Matthew and Luke are due to Lukan dependence on Matthew alone since Mark had not yet been written. In (1) and (2) the relationship between Matthew and Luke is rather different from that implied by (3), and explanations of Luke’s use of Matthew in non-Markan passages cannot ipso facto be regarded as explanations of Luke’s use of Matthew in the whole tradition without more ado. There is clearly not enough space here to discuss all the solutions in detail. In terms of contemporary scholarship, the most influential theories which claim to deny the existence of Q by referring to Luke’s direct knowledge of, and use of, Matthew are probably (1) and (3) above: the GH ([3] above) has a small but influential body of support today; and (1) above, accepting MP but denying Q, is argued most strongly by M. D. Goulder. It is on these as the main alternatives to the Q theory that I shall focus attention in the rest of this essay. * 11 In recent years B. C. Butler, The Originality of St Matthew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951); J. W. Wenham, Redating Matthew, Mark & Luke (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1991). 12 See above all the works of W. R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem (New York: Macmillan, 1964), and many other works since; also the relevant essays in D. L. Dungan (ed.), The Interrelations of the Gospels (BETL 95; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1990). In recent years, advocates of the Griesbach hypothesis have preferred the description ‘Two-Gospel Hypothesis’, though without any change in the hypothesis itself. I have kept the earlier term here.

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Before looking at these alternative explanations of the Matthew-Luke agreements themselves, we should perhaps consider the standard arguments used to defend the Q hypothesis and how the evidence to which they refer can be related to these other theories. The arguments are mostly of a negative form, claiming that Luke’s use of Matthew seems very improbable. If then one decides that Luke did not know Matthew, the options available within some kind of ‘Q’ theory are not uniform, as we have already seen. However, at this point I shall consider only the problem of whether Luke can plausibly be seen to have known and used Matthew. The main arguments against this view can be considered under four headings.13 (i) Luke never appears to know any of Matthew’s additions to Mark in Markan material. Sometimes, in using Mark, Matthew makes substantial additions to Mark, cf. Matt 12.5–7; 14.28–31; 16.16–19; 27.19, 24.14 If Luke knew Matthew, why does he never show any knowledge of Matthew’s redaction of Mark? It seems easiest to presume that Luke did not know of these Matthean additions to Mark and hence did not know Matthew. Such an argument clearly presupposes MP and might at first sight appear irrelevant for other hypotheses which deny MP, especially the Augustinian or Griesbach hypotheses.15 Yet essentially the same problem is still there for both these alternative hypotheses. For the Augustinian hypothesis, the problem is similar though the Matthew-Mark relationship is reversed. The longer Matthean version is now abbreviated by Mark; but why then does Luke consistently ignore the longer Matthean versions? Why too has Mark abbreviated Matthew in the first place?16 Very similar problems are faced by the GH in these passages, though with different ‘actors’. On the GH, Mark comes third and so is irrelevant to the problem of Luke’s use of Matthew, but the problems are fundamentally similar: why does Mark consistently ignore the longer Matthean versions? And why has Luke abbreviated Matthew in the first place? No answer in detail in relation to these passages has (as far as I am aware) been offered by contemporary advocates of the GH. Goulder’s answer to the problem is to claim that, when using Mark, Luke generally used that Gospel as his main source and did not use Matthew at all in Markan passages. In abstract 13 For standard defences of the Q hypothesis, see W. G. Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (London: SCM, 1975), 63 ff.; J. A. Fitzmyer, ‘The Priority of Mark and the “Q” Source in Luke’, in D. G. Buttrick (ed.), Jesus and Man’s Hope (2 vols.; Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, 1970), 1.131–170. 14 Further examples in J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB 28; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 73–74. 15 Cf. W. R. Farmer, ‘A Response to Joseph Fitzmyer’s Defense of the Two Document Hypothesis’, in idem (ed.), New Synoptic Studies (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1983), 501–523, on pp. 517–518. 16 The issue is not discussed by Butler or Wenham.

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terms this is quite plausible though, as we shall see, it scarcely explains all the required facts satisfactorily (cf. below). (ii) After the opening pericopes of the baptism and the temptation narratives, none of the non-Markan material which Luke shares with Matthew appears in the same context relative to the non-Markan material in the two gospels. Streeter’s (slightly polemical) statement of the facts is often cited in this context: If then Luke derived this material from Matthew, he must have gone through both Matthew and Mark so as to discriminate with meticulous precision between Marcan and nonMarcan material; he must then have proceeded with the utmost care to tear every little piece of non-Marcan material he desired to use from the context of Mark in which it appeared in Matthew – in spite of the fact that contexts in Matthew are always exceedingly appropriate – in order to re-insert it into a different context of Mark having no special appropriateness. A theory which would make an author capable of such a proceeding would only be tenable if, on other grounds, we had reason to believe he was a crank.17

As before the same argument could apply to the Augustinian hypothesis: the problem is to try to explain the Lukan text if Luke had both Matthew and Mark before him, and the precise relationship between Matthew and Mark themselves is immaterial at this point. For the GH the problem is again slightly different, since Mark had not appeared when Luke wrote. Yet that hypothesis must still explain why Luke chose to keep some of Matthew’s material in its original context (the material which, for the most part, Mark later decided to include) but to change the order of the rest very considerably. 18 There is also the further problem of explaining why Mark decided to include primarily (but not exclusively) only that material whose order Luke kept from Matthew. Goulder himself has attempted to meet Streeter’s argument head on and give a very detailed explanation of Luke’s ordering of the Matthean material: this will be considered in detail later. (iii) It is argued that, in the double tradition (i.e. the material common to Matthew and Luke alone), Matthew has no monopoly on the more original form of the tradition. Sometimes Matthew, sometimes Luke, seems to be more original at different points. This, it is said, tells heavily against any theory of direct dependence of Luke on Matthew since in that case we should expect Luke to have the secondary form of the tradition at every point. Examples of Luke’s greater originality which are often cited include the Beatitudes (6.20–23), the Lord’s Prayer (11.2–4) and the doom oracle (11.49–51). 17

B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels (London: Macmillan, 1924), 183. One attempt to explain this is that of B. Orchard, Matthew, Luke & Mark (Manchester: Koinonia, 1976); I have tried to respond to Orchard’s argument in my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 31–40. 18

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With this argument the problem is the same for all defenders of Lukan dependence on Matthew. The relative position of Mark is immaterial. However, different scholars have adopted different lines of defence. Some have argued that the case for Lukan originality can at every point be countered: Luke is secondary to Matthew everywhere so that where the two gospels differ, Luke’s version is due to LukeR. This might be termed a ‘hard-line’ position and is defended most strongly today by Goulder. Others would adopt a more ‘soft-line’ approach, arguing that, whilst Luke is dependent on Matthew most of the time, there may be occasions where Luke had access to other sources of information which overlapped with Matthew.19 The last option is of course not far removed from a form of the Q hypothesis (see at n. 9 above and p. 59 below). (iv) Finally, appeal is made to the presence of doublets in Matthew and Luke. One half of the doublet evidently comes from Mark (assuming MP) and, it is argued, the other can most naturally be explained as stemming from a second common source, i.e. Q. (See for example the versions of the saying about saving/losing one’s life in Matt 16.25/Mark 8.35/Luke 9.24 and also in Matt 10.39/Luke 17.33.) This is perhaps one of the weakest arguments for the existence of a Q source. Certainly the evidence is adequately explained by the Q hypothesis; but the evidence could equally well be explained in other ways. For advocates of Matthean priority, doublets in Matthew could be due to a variety of reasons (e.g., overlapping sources in the pre-Matthean tradition, or Matthew’s redactional repetition of material he wished to emphasise). For the Augustinian hypothesis, Mark would then have chosen one half of each doublet and Luke for some reason decided to include a version from Mark and a version from Matthew. (In any case, reasons for Luke’s inclusion of a doublet have to be found whether Luke derived the second half of the doublet from Matthew or from Q.) Similarly, on the GH, Luke’s doublets simply repeat Matthew’s doublets and Mark would then have included only one half of each parallel pair. These then are some of the main arguments for the existence of Q. As we have seen, they are mostly negative arguments, trying to refute the possibility that Luke knew Matthew. What then are the counter arguments? As already noted, the most influential theories today which advocate Luke’s dependence on Matthew are probably the GH and the GoulderFarrer theory. I consider therefore each of these in turn.

19 So, for example, Butler, Originality, 16, 57, 58, 59 etc.; also Farmer, ‘A Fresh Approach to Q’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults. Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty. Part One (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 39–50. Cf. too below.

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1. The Griesbach Hypothesis (GH) Not a great deal of space will be devoted to the GH in this essay. The reasons for this are two-fold. First, the GH has been extensively debated in modern discussions since its contemporary revival in the work of Farmer and others who have followed him. There is therefore no need to rehearse in detail arguments about the GH which can be found elsewhere.20 Secondly, it is probably fair to say that the problem of Q and the relationship between Matthew and Luke has not been at the top of the agenda in many modern scholarly discussions of the GH. The hypothesis’s most controversial claim concerns the position of Mark in relation to the other gospels. Thus a great deal of attention has been focused on the problem of whether Mark should be regarded as the source of Matthew and Luke, or as a conflation of those two gospels. The precise relationship between Matthew and Luke themselves has not received such detailed examination within discussions of the GH. This is not surprising, at least at one level. Griesbach himself never really addressed the problem of the relationship between Matthew and Luke in detail. Further, it is logically perfectly possible to maintain a Griesbachian view about Mark and yet claim that Matthew and Luke are not directly dependent on each other. This was the view of De Wette and Bleek in the 19th century, and is also the view of scholars such as Stoldt and Walker in the current debate.21 There is thus disagreement even within the ranks of those who might call themselves ‘Griesbachians’ on the question of the precise relationship between Matthew and Luke. In the most recent discussions of the GH, the Matthew-Luke relationship has still not been very much to the fore. In published discussions in the 1980s from supporters of the GH, most attention has been focused on patristic testimony about the gospels and on the argument from order. Indeed one recent writer called these the ‘two foundational pillars’ on which the hypothesis rests.22 However, quite irrespective of the question whether these two considerations do give positive support to the GH’s claims about Mark,23 the fact is that neither really says anything about the MatthewLuke relationship. It is true that some patristic testimony may support the view that the gospels were written in the order Matthew-Luke-Mark; but 20

See my Revival and the relevant essays in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations. H.-H. Stoldt, Geschichte und Kritik der Markushypothese (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977); W. O. Walker, ‘The State of the Synoptic Question’, Perkins Journal 40 (1987) 14–19. 22 A. J. McNicol, ‘The Composition of the Eschatological Discourse’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations, 157–200, on p. 200. 23 See my ‘Response to the Two Gospel Hypothesis’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations, 47–62. 21

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such witness says nothing about the problem of whether Luke writing after Matthew used Matthew’s Gospel directly or whether both are dependent on a common source.24 And the argument from order referred to above, alluding to the absence of Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark in order, relates only to the problem of the relative position of Mark’s Gospel: it says nothing about the Matthew-Luke relationship. Nevertheless, for many advocates of the GH, Q is an unnecessary hypothesis and Luke should be seen as directly dependent on Matthew. Arguments adduced by modern Griesbachians against Q very often reduce to a single appeal to ‘simplicity’, and a general mistrust of appealing to hypothetical sources to explain the synoptic data. Farmer made such an argument basic in his 1964 book, inaugurating the modern revival of the GH: he argued there that priority should be given first and foremost to theories which did not suppose the existence of hypothetical sources.25 And in various other places the same argument has been alluded to and repeated without much change. Thus to take a recent example, A. J. McNicol writes: We believe, in balance, that the simplest solution to a literary problem should be preferred unless there is compelling evidence against it. The simpler solution (i.e. one that does not need to postulate unnecessary hypothetical source[s]) is to be preferred to a solution which requires such a postulation.26

I have argued elsewhere that such a claim is not convincing.27 Modern Griesbachians have never denied the existence of other traditions, or even ‘sources’, available to all three evangelists. Unless one is prepared to argue that Matthew invented his Gospel de novo, then Matthew according to the GH must have been heavily dependent on earlier sources and traditions. The same applies to Luke in material which is peculiar to his Gospel. What is perhaps ironic in the present discussion is that many advocates of the GH today would adopt precisely this view in relation to several passages in Luke where Luke runs closely parallel to Matthew. Such a theory is said to be necessary to account for the fact that Luke’s version sometimes seems to be more primitive than Matthew’s parallel. Thus Farmer has argued that Luke may have had access to parallel, and more original, traditions in the parables of the lost sheep and the talents/pounds, as well as for parts of the eschatological discourse.28 Similarly the recent detailed discussion of the 24 The only exception might be Augustine, but that is very late. The earlier witnesses simply state the order without any comment about literary dependence. 25 Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 209. For a discussion, and critique, of the importance of this step in Farmer’s overall argumentation, see A. D. Jacobson, ‘The Literary Unity of Q’, JBL 101 (1982) 365–389, esp. pp. 367–368. 26 McNicol, ‘Eschatological Discourse’, 167. 27 See my ‘Response’, 61–62. 28 See at n. 19 above.

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eschatological discourse by a team of scholars defending the GH makes extensive appeal to the existence of such traditions available to Luke.29 The irony of this is that this is effectively some kind of Q theory. It is perhaps not the Q hypothesis that thinks of a single written ‘document’, or ‘source’, called Q. But it is a clear admission that the parallel versions cannot all be satisfactorily explained by Luke’s direct use of Matthew without recourse to other (lost) sources or traditions. Further, it is equally ironic that the number of sources that has to be hypothesized is in danger of growing almost without control. For if one does not wish to argue that all these parallel traditions available to Luke were united in any kind of unified Q source prior to Luke, then the number of such ‘sources’ is greatly increased. To quote my earlier study: One could argue that the 2DH [= 2ST] is rather ‘simpler’ in this respect. If one were to regard the Q material as constituting a unitary source in the tradition, then an enormous amount of material in the gospels can be ascribed to just two major sources, Mark and Q. By appealing to a number of ‘earlier traditions’ to which Luke had access, the 2GH [= GH] potentially multiplies the number of prior sources behind the gospels to a greater extent than does the 2DH. An appeal to ‘economy’, or ‘simplicity’, to support the 2GH is thus unpersuasive. An appeal to such a criterion would appear to work against, rather than for, the hypothesis.30

One other point in discussions of Q by Griesbachians should also be made here. Clearly attempts to isolate a theology, or characteristic features, of Q are worthless for those who do not think that Q existed. Thus Farmer has claimed that any apparently distinctive features of the Q material arise from the fact that it is Luke who has chosen to include this material in his Gospel: That ‘Q’ could have produced an ‘intelligible’ theology is explained by the fact that Luke selected from Matthew only material that was useful for his Gentile readers. … [Q] is generally free of Jewish Tendenz which would be offensive to Gentile readers. … ‘Q’ is more representative of Luke’s version of the Jesus tradition than it is of Jesus himself.31

Once again, to repeat what I have written elsewhere: All this would be more convincing if recent studies of the theology of Q had produced a theology that was basically Lukan. But this is scarcely the case. Parts of Q show a markedly strong Jewish Tendenz particularly in its attitude to the Jewish Law (cf. Matt 5.18/Luke 16.17; Matt 23.23d/Luke 11.42d). So too the ‘Wisdom Christology’, often thought to be one of the most distinctive features of the Q material, can hardly be said to be very characteristic of Luke since it does not recur outside the Q passages concerned (Matt 11.19/Luke 7.35; Matt 23.34/Luke 11.49).32

29

See McNicol, ‘Eschatological Discourse’, e.g. on p. 161. Tuckett, ‘Response’, 62. 31 Farmer, ‘The Two Gospel Hypothesis’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations, 125–156, on p. 143. 32 Tuckett, ‘Response’, 59. 30

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The fact that the material common to Matthew and Luke turns out to be rather un-Lukan at times (and also perhaps un-Matthean) may be a strong indication against the theory that this material is in Luke because of Luke’s redactional decision to select precisely this from Matthew’s Gospel. Arguments produced by advocates of the GH against Q are thus unconvincing for many. Even if one wishes to dispute the theory of Q as a unified written ‘document’, the alternative of direct use by Luke of Matthew is not sustained consistently by modern Griesbachians. As often as not, by appealing to independent parallel traditions available to Luke, advocates of the GH are implicitly supporting some kind of Q theory by admitting that the evidence is better explained by a less direct relationship between Matthew and Luke themselves and by common dependence of both gospels on earlier traditions.

2. M. D. Goulder Whilst most modern Griesbachians have been unwilling to argue that the Matthew-Luke agreements can in their entirety be explained by Luke’s borrowing directly from Matthew, precisely this view has been argued in recent years with great clarity and boldness by Goulder. He has produced probably the most comprehensive series of arguments against the existence of Q (although, unlike advocates of the GH, Goulder accepts the theory of MP – hence his arguments only concern those Matthew-Luke agreements which are not explained by dependence on Mark). He has published a number of important articles on the subject, and has recently brought this work to a climax in the publication of a large two-volume commentary on Luke (see n. 10 above) seeking to explain the whole of the text of Luke on the basis of dependence on Mark and Matthew alone. Goulder is by no means unique in questioning the existence of Q, even from within the presuppositions of MP (cf. n. 10 also). However, his discussion of the issue is by far the most wide-ranging and comprehensive in the contemporary debate and I shall therefore restrict my remarks in this section to the views of Goulder himself. Further, much of Goulder’s work has not yet evoked a detailed response from advocates of other hypotheses.33 Hence in what follows I shall try to indicate where Goulder’s case is perhaps weak in order to defend the theory of the existence of Q in some form.

33 I have tried to respond to some of Goulder’s earlier arguments, especially in relation to some of the minor agreements, in my ‘On the Relationship between Matthew and Luke’, NTS 30 (1984) 130–142.

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Not every aspect of Goulder’s arguments can be considered in detail here.34 He starts by arguing that some knowledge of Matthew by Luke is demanded by the presence of ‘minor agreements’ (MAs) between Matthew and Luke in Markan material where Q presence is never postulated, e.g. in the passion narrative (cf. Mark 14.65 and pars.). Clearly the MAs cause some problems for the theory of MP; yet whether they should be explained by Luke’s knowledge of Matthew is not certain. Further, the MAs might show at most a subsidiary use of Matthew by Luke in Markan material; from this one might perhaps deduce a subsidiary use of Matthew in nonMarkan material.35 But the MAs themselves cannot show, even on Goulder’s presuppositions, that Luke used Matthew alone where Mark was not available. One other preliminary point made by Goulder is about the allegedly ‘unscientific’ argumentation of defenders of the Q hypothesis. He claims that defenders of Q constantly change their theories to meet problems (e.g. the MAs): as a result the theory becomes almost unfalsifiable and hence worthless. By contrast he claims that his own theory is falsifiable: he adopts what might be termed a ‘hard-line’ position, arguing that at every point Luke’s version is secondary to Matthew. Hence if just one example could be produced where Luke’s version is more original than Matthew’s, this would be enough to falsify the theory. Goulder thus claims that his own theory is falsifiable, and hence more scientific than those he is opposing. Whether this is in fact the case remains to be seen. As well as giving a detailed commentary on the whole of the text of Luke, Goulder offers a number of more general arguments by way of criticisms of the Q hypothesis and in favour of his own theories. These may be divided in two major categories: linguistic arguments, and arguments based on the choice and ordering of the material. 2.1 Linguistic Arguments Within this category Goulder’s arguments may be sub-divided further into discussions of Matthew and of Luke respectively. 2.1.1 Matthew Goulder argues forcefully that all linguistic arguments in favour of Q are really fallacious. One such argument he dubs the ‘Matthean Vocabulary 34 A full discussion of every point in his two-volume commentary on Luke would require at least two volumes in return! 35 See F. Neirynck, ‘TIȈ EȈTIN O ȆAIȈAȈ ȈE; Mt 26,68/Luke 22,64 (diff. Mk 14,65)’, ETL 63 (1987) 5–47, on p. 27, repr. in Evangelica II (BETL 99; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991), 95–138, on p. 115.

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Fallacy’. Many, he claims, argue that if there are instances where Matthew and Luke differ and Matthew’s version is Matthean, then Luke’s version must be more original. In fact, he suggests, Matthew’s version turns out to be extraordinarily like Q, and Matthew and Q are almost indistinguishable.36 With regard to the first point, no defender of the Q hypothesis has (as far as I am aware) argued quite as baldly as Goulder suggests and claimed that simply because Matthew’s version is MattR, then ipso facto Luke’s version is more original. Such an argument might be used by some who are presupposing the Q hypothesis, but also with the proviso that Luke’s different version is unlikely to be LukeR. However, this will be discussed in more detail when we look at what Goulder calls the ‘Lucan Priority Fallacy’. Goulder’s other point about Matthew deserves more attention. He claims that repeatedly, in terms of language, style and even theology, Q and Matthew are virtually identical.37 At the level of style and vocabulary, Goulder’s argument is repeated with several examples. He refers to many instances where allegedly Q words or phrases turn out upon examination to be highly characteristic of Matthew’s terminology. For example, the use of ੑȜȚȖȩʌȚıIJȠȢ in Matt 6.30/Luke 12.28 is usually taken to be part of Q, assuming some form of Q hypothesis. But the word is distinctively Matthean: it is used by Matthew in 8.26; 16.8; 17.20, all of which are redactional additions to Mark (assuming MP), and in 14.31 which is probably also due to MattR.38 Thus Matthew’s vocabulary and that of Q are indistinguishable. The same applies to the case of the phrase ‘there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth’. It is used once in the alleged Q tradition (Matt 8.12/Luke 13.28) and frequently elsewhere in Matthew alone (Matt 13.42; 22.13; 24.51; 25.30). ‘Thus Q shares Matthew’s enthusiasm for the pangs of hell’.39 The whole argument is however based on a major flaw in logic, part of which Goulder has seen but part of which still remains hidden behind his rhetoric. Practically all the examples Goulder gives concern words or phrases which occur once in alleged Q, but several times in Matthew. Goulder’s conclusion is that the style and characteristic vocabulary of Q are thus indistinguishable from that of Matthew. Now no one would dispute that the features indicated by Goulder are characteristic of Matthew and, to a certain extent, distinctive of Matthew in the synoptic tradition. The 36

Goulder, Luke, 1.11–15. For language and style, see Goulder, Luke, 1.11–15; for theology, ibid., 1.52–69. 38 The argument is conducted within the presuppositions of MP; but even without this assumption, the use of the word 5 times in Matthew (0 in Mark, 1 in Luke) indicates Matthew’s distinctiveness here. 39 Goulder, Luke, 1.12. 37

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question is whether they must be judged necessarily unique to Matthew, and also whether a single occurrence of the same phenomenon in alleged Q can be taken as indicative of the style, or Tendenz, of Q. Goulder is at least alive to the latter problem, though his answer is scarcely convincing. He argues that since there are only c. 1800 words common to Matthew and Luke in Q and c. 18000 words in Matthew, one occurrence of (say) ੑȜȚȖȩʌȚıIJȠȢ in Q as against five in Matthew is about par for the course.40 This is however special pleading. Whatever the size of Q in relation to Matthew, we cannot deduce from a single occurrence in alleged Q anything about its style or characteristic features. For matters of style, we need recurring features and it is just this which Goulder’s examples do not supply for Q. Another more dangerous hidden assumption within Goulder’s argumentation is that all the features isolated as characteristic of Matthew can be ascribed to Matthew’s own redactional activity: in other words, everything which is characteristic of Matthew has been created by Matthew. Such an assumption is of course a dangerous nonsense,41 and can be seen to be immediately false on a moment’s reflection. Matthew does not write out of cultural vacuum, even though his cultural milieu may be different from Mark’s or Luke’s. Thus Matthew typically refers to the ‘Kingdom of heaven’, rather than the ‘Kingdom of God’. But ‘Kingdom of heaven’ is not a Matthean redactional creation de novo – it simply represents a more Jewish terminology which distinguishes Matthew from Mark and Luke but which Matthew shares with many other Jewish contemporaries. More importantly, it is clear that, on almost any source theory, Matthew collects together teaching material systematically into blocks of thematically related teaching; and he often repeats himself.42 But is every such doublet then created due entirely, in both halves of the doublet, to Matthew’s creativity? Goulder himself would agree that this is not the case as Matthew sometimes takes up material from Mark and repeats it.43 Thus in relation in Mark, Matthew is quite capable of taking up a feature which occurs once in his source and repeating it. The same can equally have happened with the examples from alleged Q cited by Goulder. Goulder’s argument could have been used with different examples to argue for Mark’s dependence on Matthew. For example, Matthew is fond of castigating opponents of Jesus as ‘hypocrites’; yet at one point Mark has 40

Goulder, Luke, 1.13. See M. D. Hooker, ‘In His Own Image?’, in M. D. Hooker & C. J. A. Hickling (eds.), What About the New Testament? (FS C. F. Evans; London: SPCK, 1975), 28–44, on p. 35. 42 Cf. W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 88–93. 43 Goulder, Luke, 1.34. Cf. Matt 3.2 + 4.17; 5.32 + 19.9; 10.22 + 24.9; 9.27 ff. + 20.29 ff.; 9.32 ff. + 12.22 ff. 41

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Jesus refer to opponents as hypocrites, in parallel with Matthew (Matt 15.7/ Mark 7.6). Matthew’s fondness for IJȩIJİ as a connecting particle is also well known; yet on a few occasions Mark too has IJȩIJİ in parallel with Matthew (cf. Matt 24.30/Mark 13.26). These examples are of exactly the same nature as the Q examples adduced by Goulder. Yet they do not necessarily show any dependence of Luke or Mark on Matthew, or any identity between Matthean and Q’s/Mark’s style. They can just as easily be taken as showing Matthew’s willingness to take over terminology systematically so that it becomes characteristic and distinctive in its repeated use in his Gospel, but not necessarily unique to him. In fact Goulder himself has argued in precisely this way, replying to Farmer’s attempt to prove Mark’s dependence on Matthew via exactly the same kind of argumentation. Goulder writes: [Farmer’s argument] is of the form: If document A (Mark) has favourite expressions not found in document B (Matthew), A is unlikely to be known by B; whereas if B has favourite expressions occurring once in A, it is likely that A has carried them over inadvertently. But this is a fallacy … Sometimes later B may copy an expression from earlier A inadvertently; and sometimes a casual expression of earlier A may appeal strongly to B so that he uses it often.44

Goulder then goes on to excuse Farmer by admitting that he made ‘virtually the same error of method’ in a paper to an SNTS seminar in 1981, referring to characteristic Matthean phrases re-occurring in Luke, including the ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’. ‘They might just be Q phrases that Matthew liked very much; though there are other reasons in fact for preferring the inadvertence explanation, which I offered.’ In fact the preface to Goulder’s latest book indicates that a 1981 SNTS seminar paper forms the basis of his chapter on Q in his 1989 Luke volume. But, as far as I can see, there is no difference in the manner of argumentation from that criticised by Goulder himself in 1984. The argument is still exactly the same, appealing to the Matthean nature of the phrases concerned to argue against Q. No ‘other reasons’ are offered for these individual cases, even in the later study. We may conclude that Goulder’s reference to the alleged Matthean nature of Q’s style is unconvincing. On the 2ST, a consistent picture of Matthew emerges as a writer who is capable of latching on to a word or a phrase in his source material and repeating it frequently. And this happens in the case of both Markan and Q material. A discussion of Q’s theology, and alleged similarity between Q theology and Matthean theology, would probably take us too far afield. As just one possible counter example, I would refer again to the phenomenon of the so-called ‘Wisdom Christology’ in Q, whereby Jesus appears as the 44

Goulder, ‘Some Observations on Professor Farmer’s “Certain Results …”’, in Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies (n. 10 above), 99–104, on p. 100 (my stress).

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envoy of Wisdom. Matthew regularly ‘up-grades’ the Christology so as to identify Jesus with the figure of Wisdom itself.45 Hence Q’s theology cannot be identified with Matthean theology completely. However, it is also the case that some level of continuity between Q and Matthew is not unexpected on the Q hypothesis.46 This applies perhaps more at the level of ideas than of style and vocabulary. But the very fact that Matthew used the Q material (if indeed he did) suggests that Matthew must have found it not uncongenial. He may have wished to modify it in places and perhaps did so; but the very fact that he decided to use the material at all indicates a measure of agreement between the ideas of the source and Matthew’s own ideas. A measure of agreement between Matthew and Q is thus entirely expected, and Goulder’s arguments about the possible overlap between Matthew and Q is thus no bar to the Q hypothesis. 2.1.2 Luke A second aspect of Goulder’s argument concerns Luke’s stylistic features. Goulder criticises what he calls the ‘Lucan Priority Fallacy’), arguing against claims that Luke’s version might at some points be more original than Matthew’s.47 He criticises excessive use of appeals to isolated hapax legomena in Luke’s work, referring to the fact that Luke has a very wide vocabulary and is quite capable of rewriting Mark using hapaxes – hence an odd hapax cannot prove anything. Indeed the whole of his massive twovolume work is an attempt to show that Luke’s version is at every point LukeR when different from Matthew. Goulder also objects to arguments which appeal to the Matthean nature of Matthew’s version as showing the pre-Lukan nature of Luke’s version. By itself, of course, such a form of argumentation is quite indecisive, but few would in fact argue in this way quite so baldly today. As noted above, attempts to show that Luke’s version is pre-Lukan at any one point would always be coupled with arguments seeking to show that Luke’s version is in some way uncharacteristic of Luke. Now such an attempt will inevitably be a delicate operation. Moreover one will never be able to prove such a theory one way or the other. It will be a delicate operation because at one level one is trying to show the impossible. Luke can only be said to be ‘un-Lukan’ in a rather unusual sense; for what is ‘Lukan’ is almost by definition what is in Luke. By ‘unLukan’ we therefore have to refer to something that is not impossible for 45 See M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1970). 46 See U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7) (EKKNT I/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985), 57. 47 Goulder, Luke, 1.15.

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Luke to have written, for if it is in Luke’s Gospel he patently did write it. What we mean is something which is rather unlike what Luke wrote elsewhere and which Luke probably did not invent de novo. But this means that we are in the realms of probabilities and not certainties. At most, we can only say that such and such is improbable, unlikely or whatever; we shall never be able to say that such and such is totally impossible. We are not in the realm of mathematics where a result of 0 = 1 is a total impossibility, nor in the realm of natural sciences where hypotheses can be tested empirically and the untenability of hypotheses established if expected results do not match up to predictions. The same applies to Goulder’s theory as well. Thus despite his own claims, his own theory is no more ‘falsifiable’ than alternative hypotheses. Goulder can and does produce arguments to show that Luke’s version may be LukeR. Others may be rather unconvinced. But one cannot be more than unconvinced! One cannot ‘prove’ that the proposed feature of LukeR is not redactional after all and thus ‘falsify’ the theory with mathematical finality. To take a concrete example, many would argue that at Q 11.49, Luke’s version (Luke 11.49) is more original in having the doom oracle spoken by the ‘Wisdom of God’ in the past (‘Therefore the Wisdom of God said “I will send to them …”’) by contrast with Matthew’s version (Matt 23.34) in which the oracle is spoken by Jesus in the present (‘Therefore, behold I am sending to you …’). From the side of the Q hypothesis, Luke’s version looks decidedly un-Lukan. Nowhere else in Luke (apart from Luke 7.35 which is also a Q passage, or one borrowed from Matthew) does Wisdom appear as an almost personified being. On the other hand, Matthew’s replacement of ‘Wisdom’ with the ‘I’ of Jesus is part of a consistent pattern whereby Matthew’s Jesus takes the place of Wisdom in such texts (cf. above). Thus Luke’s version seems to represent the more original Q version which Matthew then redacts. Goulder’s reply is to argue that the change can be explained as LukeR.48 Luke has just spoken of OT prophets so he takes the reference to the people sent by Matthew’s Jesus (prophets, wise men and scribes) as a reference in part to OT figures. He thus has to change Matthew’s ‘I’ (= Jesus) to ‘God’ and in doing so chooses a periphrasis for ‘God’ by writing ‘the Wisdom of God’, prompted perhaps in part by the ıȠijȠȪȢ who are sent out by Matthew’s Jesus. Now clearly none of this is totally impossible, and if Luke used Matthew he must have made the actual changes involved. At the most a sceptic can say that the proposed reasons seem unconvincing. Why should Luke have interpreted the ‘prophets’ of Matt 23.34 as OT figures? They are (in Matthew) clearly figures sent out by Jesus and Luke certainly knows of Christian prophets (cf. Acts 11.27; 13.1; 21.10). Further, even if 48

Goulder, Luke, 2.523.

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Luke did decide to change things here and make God the subject, why did Luke feel obliged to introduce a periphrasis for God, and why this particular periphrasis? Elsewhere Luke has no compunction about talking of God himself sending prophets;49 and as already noted, this is a highly unusual periphrasis in Luke’s writings. Only once elsewhere (in a passage that Qproponents and Goulder would agree is due to a source in Luke) does Luke refer to the Wisdom of God in personified terms.50 Thus Goulder’s arguments seem weak and uncompelling (to this particular sceptic, at least!). But the important thing to note here is that that is all we can say. We cannot prove that Luke did not make these changes, perhaps for the reasons Goulder suggests, perhaps for quite different (as yet undiscovered) reasons. In that sense Goulder’s theory is not falsifiable. It could have happened that way. Each critic has then to make up his/her mind whether things did happen in this way or whether the cumulative evidence is such that a theory of Lukan dependence seems less probable than some kind of Q hypothesis. If Goulder thinks that the only respectable hypotheses are those which are falsifiable, then his own theory is no more (or less!) respectable than the one he opposes. No theory about the Synoptic Problem is falsifiable in the strict sense. All are at best the result of weighing up likelihoods and making more or less coherent guesses and combinations of hypotheses to try to explain the evidence of the texts themselves. There is not enough space here to give detailed arguments about other specific texts, but cumulative arguments similar to those already given have convinced many that on a significant number of occasions, Luke preserves a more original form of the tradition than Matthew and hence any theory of Luke’s dependence on Matthew is unconvincing. (Cf. Luke 6.20–23; 7.35; 11.2–4; 11.20; 11.30 etc.) 2.2 Choice and Order of Material Goulder’s other main line of argumentation concerns the choice and ordering of material by Luke. A strong part of the argument for the existence of Q has always been the fact that (a) Luke never uses any of Matthew’s additions to Mark in Markan material, and (b) Luke never has the Matthean material in the same context relative to the Markan material (cf. p. 55 above).

49

For God speaking through, or raising up, prophets: cf. Luke 1.70; Acts 3.13, 21, 22;

7.37. 50

Cf. above. The other text is Luke 7.35 which is either dependent on Q (according to the 2ST) or on Matthew (according to Goulder).

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Goulder’s answer to (a) is to appeal to a general policy by Luke of wishing to cut down the length of the preaching discourses in his sources.51 This is then the reason for Luke’s splitting up the material in Mark 4, in Matthew’s Great Sermon etc. Luke wants ‘manageable sections’,52 and long discourses in Matthew and Mark are ‘too long and indigestible’.53 Thus Luke ‘regularly likes teaching pericopes of about twelve to twenty verses, which he regards as the amount a congregation (or reader) can assimilate at one time’.54 Such a policy may sound reasonable in general terms, but it fails to fit all the facts. Luke 12.22–53 (or even 12.22–5955) constitutes a sustained piece of teaching with no real break at all. (Peter’s interjection in v. 41 is scarcely enough to stop the flow of thought.) Chapter 15 is a long section with admittedly three well-defined parables, but no clear markers between them supplied by Luke. What too of Luke 21/Mark 13? Here Goulder says that Luke retained Mark’s long discourse because it ‘cannot be broken up’.56 This is however patently false: Mark 13 can be broken up and was broken up – by Matthew (assuming MP): Matthew uses Mark 13.9–13 by itself in Matt 10 (as well as repeating its substance in Matt 24), possibly because Matthew knows that persecution of Christians is not only a preliminary to the End but also a matter of past experience for Matthew’s own Christian community. But Luke too knows of Christian persecution (cf. Acts 8.1–3). He could thus have made the same redactional change to Mark 13 as Matthew did. Luke thus did not have to keep Mark’s discourse intact here. Indeed on Goulder’s theory he does hive off the (substantively related) material in Matt 24–25 which, ex hypothesi, he knew and included earlier in his Gospel (in Luke 12 and 17). The argument about the indigestibility of long discourses is thus very fragile. When one compares too the lengths of some of the ‘pericopes’ in Acts (cf. Peter’s long Pentecost speech, Stephen’s 52-verse oration in Acts 7, the story of Cornelius’ conversion in Acts 10), any appeal to the short supply of stamina on the part of Luke’s audience/readership becomes even harder to conceive. The appeal to Luke’s desire for brevity thus seems unconvincing. The problem therefore remains: why does Luke split up all his material in the way he has?

51 Goulder, ‘The Order of a Crank’, in Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies (n. 10 above), 111–130, on p. 112; idem, Luke, 1.39–40. 52 Goulder, ‘Crank’, 112. 53 Goulder, Luke, 1.41. 54 Goulder, Luke, 1.40. 55 The introductory ‘and he said to the crowds’ in v. 54 scarcely stems the flow of the discourse. 56 Goulder, Luke, 1.39.

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Goulder’s second argument is to appeal to what he sees as Luke’s overall policy of using his sources in ‘blocks’. He envisages Luke as using one source at a time,57 using first Mark, then Matthew, etc. Thus the reason why Luke never includes any Matthean modifications of Mark is simple: When he [Luke] is treating Marcan matter he has Mark in front of him, and he has made it his policy not to keep turning up Matthew to see what he had added. So again the problem disappears on examination: Luke does not include the additions because he had decided on a policy which involved letting them go.58

However, although this may explain some of the text of Luke, it cannot explain everything: in particular the Mark 13 material again causes problems.59 Here Matthew has reworked the Markan discourse, expanding it very considerably with other material in Matt 24–25. But now Luke evidently decided not to ignore Matthew’s additions to Mark. He must have gone through Matthew very carefully, 60 marking off all those extra bits of Matthew which he would include. Moreover, Luke must then have distributed this material in three quite separate places in his Gospel: in chs. 12, 17 and 19. Clearly Luke’s ‘block’ policy has been rather different in Mark 13/ Matt 24–25 than elsewhere! One other feature also casts some doubt on Goulder’s overall case. Goulder explains the lack of Matthean additions to Mark as due to Luke’s policy of not referring to Matthew to see how Matthew redacted Mark. Yet Goulder elsewhere refers to the MAs as evidence that Luke does know Matthew in Markan passages. But the very nature of the MAs is that they are (individually) very minor. One such agreement referred to by Goulder is in Mark 8.31 pars. where Matthew and Luke agree in using ਕʌȩ instead of ਫ਼ʌȩ for Jesus’ being rejected ‘by’ the elders etc., and in having no definite article with the ‘chief priests’ and ‘scribes’. Goulder’s theory thus implies a situation where Luke resolutely follows Mark in Markan blocks, using one source only (his copy of Matthew being left ‘on the floor’); so resolutely does Luke follow Mark that any substantial changes which Matthew might have made are studiously ignored by Luke. Yet Luke apparently knows Matthew’s Greek text well enough to be influenced to the extent of changing a Markan ਫ਼ʌȩ to ਕʌȩ, and a Markan ‘the elders and the chief priests and the scribes’ to ‘the elders and chief priests and scribes’. The overall picture does not seem very convincing. The fact that the MAs are so minor makes it hard to believe that Luke has been both influenced positively by Matthew’s text in such (substantively) trivial ways, but also totally uninfluenced by any of Matthew’s substantive additions to Mark. 57

Goulder, ‘Crank’, 113. Goulder, Luke, 1.44. 59 I owe this point to Professor G. N. Stanton. 60 Goulder actually suggests that Luke used a pen to do so: Luke, 1.40. 58

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Undoubtedly the MAs constitute a problem for the 2ST, but precisely their minor nature constitutes a problem for Goulder’s theory as well. The rest of Goulder’s case depends in part on a detailed argument about Luke’s reasons for producing his order of events from Matthew and Mark. Not all of Goulder’s case can be discussed in detail here. However, in one recent article, Goulder has attempted to face directly the charge of Streeter (see p. 57 above) that Luke’s ordering of the material, if derived from Mark and Matthew seemed so totally lacking in rhyme or reason that Luke could on this theory only be regarded as a ‘crank’. Goulder boldly sets out to account for the ‘order of a crank’.61 He claims that Luke first went forwards through the texts of Mark and Matthew, taking some of the material he wanted, and by the end of ch. 13 of his Gospel had worked his way through to Matt 25; but then, according to Goulder, Luke realised that there was other material from Matthew which he still wanted to include; he therefore decided to go backwards back through the text of Matthew picking up non-Markan material from Matthew he had missed out up until now, sometimes using it directly, sometimes providing a ‘substitute’ of similar material.62 In very general terms such a procedure might seem plausible; however, the theory fails to fit the facts in an uncomfortably large number of cases. Part of Goulder’s claim is that Luke’s version is as often as not a substitute for Matthew’s version: e.g. the worthless salt of Luke 14.35 which is ‘cast out’ is seen as the equivalent of Matthew’s appendix to the parable of the great supper where the man without the wedding garment is also ‘cast out’ (Matt 22.13). ‘Not one diamond shall be lost from the Matthean tiara: all must be included’.63 But however delightful the imagery and language, the application is not clear. What is the Matthean tiara? It is scarcely the whole Gospel, since some parts of Matthew have no counterpart at all in Luke. For example, the parable of the labourers in the vineyard is ‘left out’ by Luke, 64 perhaps because it was redundant after the Two Sons, or perhaps because its theme (Matt 20.16) had already been used in Luke 13.30. Evidently some diamonds from the Matthean tiara are not quite as valuable as others for Luke! Further, the choice and order which Luke follows is scarcely explained, even on Goulder’s theory. For example, the two parables of the tower builder and the king who ‘sent’ an embassy of peace (Luke 14.28–32) are said to be inspired by the parable of the wicked husbandmen in Matt 21,

61

Goulder, Goulder, 63 Goulder, 64 Goulder, 62

‘Crank’, passim. ‘Crank’, 121; also Luke, 2.581–582. ‘Crank’, 122; also Luke, 2.582. ‘Crank’, 123.

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these parables being Luke’s ‘substitute’ for Matthew’s parable.65 Yet according to Goulder, Luke has resolutely decided to ignore Matthew’s use of Markan material and this is a Markan pericope which Luke himself will include later in Luke 20. This section in Luke thus fails to fit Goulder’s explanation since (a) it is no substitute but a doublet (Luke does include the Markan parable in his Gospel later), and (b) it is material which, on Goulder’s own theory, Luke should be ignoring here. Working backwards, Luke is now said to come across the parable of the two sons (Matt 21.28–32) for which Luke provides a substitute in his own ‘two sons’ parable in Luke 15.11–32.66 But before that Luke must have skipped back three whole chapters in Matthew to rescue the small parable of the lost sheep from Matt 18. This is quite a jump, including leapfrogging over material which (according to Goulder) Luke will include later anyway (at least via substitution: Matt 18.23–35, cf. Luke 16.1–13). Thus again the theory scarcely explains the actual Lukan order. There is a similar failure for the theory to explain the facts later. According to Goulder, Luke 16.1–13 is inspired by Matt 18.23–35; but then instead of following Matthew backwards through his scroll, Luke now moves forwards – this time into Matt 19 where his attention is allegedly caught by v. 24, the saying about it being easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a ‘rich man’ to enter the Kingdom. This is supposedly the inspiration for the story of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16.19–31 and the discussion about the Law.67 Again this seems both difficult to envisage in itself and also contradictory of Luke’s alleged general policy. Luke is meant to be working backwards, not forwards, through Matthew, and also ignoring Matthew’s treatment of Markan material. Yet Goulder’s theory suggests that Luke’s eye was caught by a saying 24 verses ahead of the point in Matthew he has reached (and 24 verses is not just one line!); and in any case this is all Markan material in Matthew which Luke is supposedly ignoring! These are some of the problems that seem to beset Goulder’s theory. His discussion of Luke’s order still provides no very convincing explanation for why Luke should have selected and divided up the material in Matthew in the way he must have done if he knew it in its Matthean form and order. When one couples this with Luke’s very conservative treatment of the order of Mark, the problem becomes even more acute. Why should Luke have had so much respect for the order of Mark, scarcely changing it at all, and yet change the order of Matthew at almost every point? Streeter’s comment that such a procedure seems like that of a ‘crank’, although 65

Goulder, ‘Crank’, 122–123. Goulder, ‘Crank’, 123. 67 Goulder, ‘Crank’, 124–125. 66

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expressed somewhat polemically, still has force. Not even Goulder’s defence of the ‘order of a crank’ seems sufficient to meet the problem. Goulder’s theory thus seems to many untenable. Further, the problems encountered by Goulder in seeking to explain the Matthew-Luke agreements whilst still assuming MP are very similar to those faced by the Augustinian hypothesis. For both theories, problems arise in trying to explain Luke’s text as the result of Luke’s redaction of Matthew and Mark together. Thus many of the objections mentioned above in relation to Goulder could apply, with only slight modification of the argument, to the Augustinian hypothesis.

3. The Q Hypothesis In this essay I have tried to discuss the major theories currently proposed which claim that the agreements between Matthew and Luke are to be explained by Luke’s direct knowledge and use of Matthew. For those who regard these theories as unsatisfactory, the alternative is to accept some sort of Q theory: the agreements between Matthew and Luke in the material which they have in common and which they have not derived from Mark is to be explained by their common dependence on prior source material. Whether this ‘source material’ ever existed in a unified form prior to its inclusion by Matthew and Luke is perhaps a further question, as I tried to show earlier (cf. p. 54 above). It is certainly possible to deny the existence of Q at one level by refusing to accept that the material common to Matthew and Luke ever existed independently in a fixed (written?) form. In this case ‘Q’ would be rather more a mass of amorphous unrelated material than a single ‘source’, or even ‘document’. However, it may be that this issue could be decided in relation to the possible order and the nature of the Q material. Several scholars have attempted to defend the view that Q was a unified source by seeking to show that the Q material exhibits a clear order. The lack of agreement in the order of this material in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke was a key point in Streeter’s argument against any theory of direct dependence between the two gospels, as we have seen. However, in two important articles, Vincent Taylor has argued that, provided one takes note of Matthew’s redactional policy, a clear ordering of the Q material may be discernible.68 Matthew has a clear policy of collecting related teaching material into his great discourses (e.g. in Matt 5–7, 10, 13, 18, 68 V. Taylor, ‘The Order of Q’, JTS 4 (1953) 27–31; and ‘The Original Order of Q’, in A. J. B. Higgins (ed.), New Testament Essays. Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), 95–118.

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24–25). Taylor then showed that, if one compares the order of Q material in Luke with that in each Matthean discourse in turn, there is a remarkable correlation in the order. This suggests that the Q material may have existed in a fixed order: Luke then (in line with his general redactional procedure of preserving the order of his sources, cf. his treatment of Mark) kept the Q order mostly intact; Matthew (in line with his general redactional procedure) changed the order at times to bring substantively related material together in his teaching discourses. This would then suggest that the Q material existed in a fixed order and hence may have constituted a unified source. Taylor’s arguments are not fool-proof, and not all the evidence quite fits the facts.69 Nevertheless, many have accepted the general conclusions suggested by Taylor’s work in seeing (at least the bulk of) the Q material as forming a unified and ordered whole at some stage in the development of the tradition, with Luke preserving the order of Q more faithfully than Matthew. The same conclusion about the unity of the Q material may also follow from attempts to determine a ‘theology’ of Q, or to see Q as reflecting the beliefs and practice of a specific group of Christians in the early church. At first sight, such attempts would appear to be heavily dependent on arguments for the existence of Q. One cannot find a ‘theology of Q’, or locate a ‘Q community’, if ‘Q’ did not exist. However, it may be that attempts to isolate a distinctive Q theology can provide, in a back-handed way, further support for the theory of the existence of Q as a unified source. If it can be shown that the Q material exhibits a distinctive theological profile, then this in turn may show that this material did exist in a unified form at some stage of the developing tradition. There is clearly not enough space here to write a ‘theology of Q’ to justify this. But one example to illustrate the point may be appropriate here. I refer once again to the so-called ‘Wisdom Christology’ of the Q material, where Jesus is presented as one of the prophets sent by Wisdom, all of whom suffer violence and rejection. I have already tried to show that this Christological schema is neither Matthean nor Lukan (cf. above). And the combination of motifs (the rejected prophets, and rejected Wisdom) is also not evidenced outside these Q texts as far as I am aware.70 The schema thus seems to be a distinctive feature of the Q tradition in the gospels. As such it may then reflect the beliefs of a specific group of Christians within early Christianity. Others too have sought to identify other features of Q and to build up a Q theology. The measure of distinctiveness will of course vary from case to case; and, as noted earlier (p. 67 above), it is inherently likely that there will be a high degree of 69

See Kloppenborg, Formation, 68–69. See my Revival, 164–165; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1971), 340. 70

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continuity between the theology of Q and that of both Matthew and Luke. Still many are convinced that such a theological profile in relation to the Q material can be built up. And in turn, if successful, this can be used to argue more strongly for the existence of Q as a unified source. It may of course be that, even if ‘Q’ was more than an amorphous mass of unrelated traditions, ‘Q’ was not a static entity. Indeed the trend in recent Q studies has been to postulate (at times quite complex) developments in the growth of Q. Nevertheless such theories would still assume that it is indeed sensible to talk of Q as a unified source in some sense. It is precisely this belief in the existence of a Q source, coupled with a realisation that we can no longer think in the static terms that has characterised New Testament studies in the past, that has led to the quickening of interest in Q as an entity worthy of study in its own right and as possible evidence of a distinctive stream, or ‘trajectory’, within early Christianity. 9

10

IV The Current State of the Synoptic Problem 1. Introduction This essay seeks to provide a survey of studies of the Synoptic Problem. Surveys of scholarship, if they are to remain within finite limits, inevitably involve an element of selection of what the writer of the survey deems to be theories/ideas that are more ‘important’ or ‘significant’; they also necessarily omit discussion of things of which the writer is ignorant. Further, as we all are now aware that exegesis without presuppositions may be impossible, so too perhaps giving surveys of the Synoptic Problem without presuppositions may be equally impossible. As one who has been engaged in debates on these issues for some time, I have my own views which, I am fully aware, may prejudice me unfairly in seeking to present the views of others. This survey is thus offered here in full awareness of its selective and partial coverage of what, on any showing, has been a vast range of scholarly output on the subject in recent years. Part of the original rationale for this essay was as part of a conference to mark the (rough) centenary of the publication in 1911 of the volume of essays Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem.1 It may then be appropriate to cast a brief glance backwards in time, as well as looking at the present; and in any case, in many academic disciplines and sub-disciplines, the ‘current state’ only makes sense when viewed in the context of how we have got to where we are now. In one sense, one could say that where we are now in relation to the Synoptic Problem is not very different from where we were 100 years ago. Then, as now, some form of the Two Document Hypothesis (2DH) ruled/ rules the roost.2 Certainly in relation to the theory of Markan priority (MP), 1 W. Sanday (ed.), Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911). 2 The theory is sometimes called the ‘Two Document hypothesis’ (2DH), sometimes ‘Two Source Theory’. In one sense, the name ‘Two Source Theory’ perhaps begs slightly fewer questions, e.g. about the status of Q as a possible ‘document’. At the end of the conference at which this paper was given, it was agreed that the label used for each of the three major hypotheses should be that preferred by the majority of the advocates of the hypothesis concerned. In this case it was agreed to use the term ‘Two Document Hypoth-

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there is widespread (but by no means universal) acceptance of such a theory, at least in some shape or form, to explain the agreements between the gospels in triple tradition passages. There may well be greater doubt about the other main plank of the 2DH, viz. the Q hypothesis; though again it is probably fair to say that some form of Q theory, or at least a theory that Matthew-Luke agreements which are not due to common dependence on Mark are due to use of some kind of common tradition(s), still commands widespread (but again not universal) acceptance. That is not to say that alternatives to the 2DH have not been proposed, strenuously defended, argued and debated. Everyone knows that they have been in the past and still are in the present. Before discussing the ‘major’ alternatives to the 2DH, I consider briefly some other theories, often involving a multiplicity of proposed sources.

2. Multiple Source Hypotheses There have always been individual scholars (very often from the French speaking world) who have proposed highly individual solutions to the Synoptic Problem, sometimes involving multi-source hypotheses with a range of different sources postulated as lying behind our present gospels. Perhaps the best known name in this respect in recent times is that of M.É. Boismard, though the very complexity of his proposals has meant that his hypotheses have probably been better known about, rather than known in detail!3 Over a long and distinguished career, the Leuven based scholar esis’. However, this should not be taken as presupposing answers to questions about the existence of Q as a document. 3 See M.-É. Boismard, Synopse des quatre évangiles en francais. Tome 2 (Paris: Cerf, 1972). Also the contributions in M.-É. Boismard, ‘The Multiple Stage Hypothesis’, in D. L. Dungan (ed.), The Interrelations of the Gospels (BETL 95; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1990), 231–288. Other defenders of, at times quite complex, multiple source theories have included A. Gaboury, La structure des évangiles synoptiques. La structure-type à l’origine des synoptiques (NovTSup 22; Leiden: Brill, 1970); P. Rolland, Les premiers évangiles. Un nouveau regard sur le problème synoptique (LD 116; Paris: Cerf, 1984); from a slightly earlier period, see too L. Vaganay, Le problème synoptique. Une hypothèse de travail (Tournai: Desclée, 1954). For a summary (and critique) of both Vaganay and Boismard, see J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q. The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 43–50; for Boismard, see too E. P. Sanders & M. Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels (London: SCM, 1989), 105–111. However, as both Kloppenborg and Sanders & Davies remark, it is striking how many such theories reduce the contributions of the evangelists to a minimum and ascribe virtually all variation to a range of prior sources and traditions. See Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 52–53; Sanders & Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels, 117 (on Boismard): ‘nothing was ever omitted and nothing was ever created’.

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Frans Neirynck has been an indefatigable analyst and critic of many such individual theories:4 and even if his critiques have often been negative (in the sense of not accepting the hypothesis under review as convincing), the huge amount of detailed study testifies to the seriousness with which Neirynck has undertaken this work; so too many others have been indebted to Neirynck for this labour. In the last few years, the most recent such hypothesis of which I am aware is that of Delbert Burkett, arguing for a number of different proto-documents lying behind our present gospel texts to explain their common agreements.5 For many, I suspect that the very complexity of the proposed solutions to the Synoptic Problem is found to be off-putting to the extent that very few study the theories in any detail; so too, there may be a widespread belief that such theories are inherently implausible precisely because of their complexity: an (allegedly) ‘simpler’ solution is felt by many to be more attractive and perhaps as such more historically plausible.6 In one way, such feelings are understandable, though one should not fall into a possibly dangerous trap of assuming that all history is necessarily ‘simple’, or that what is ‘attractive’ to us necessarily corresponds closest with historical reality! And, as we shall see shortly, appeals to ‘simplicity’ are by no means as straightforward as may appear (to some) at first sight. Even if we may not be persuaded by the complications of e.g. Boismard’s postulated multiple sources, we need to remind ourselves that any solution to the Synoptic Problem may involve a complex scenario with a large number of interrelated and interconnected hypotheses (involving in part the existence of sources, but also involving theories about how the evangelists worked, how they used their sources, what the level of their ‘creativity’ was, etc.

4 See especially his collected essays: F. Neirynck, Evangelica (BETL 60; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982) (including ‘The Gospel of Matthew and Literary Criticism. A Critical Analysis of A. Gaboury’s Hypothesis’, on pp. 691–723) and F. Neirynck, Evangelica II (BETL 99; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991) (including ‘Les expressions doubles chez Marc et le problème synoptique’ [on Rolland], on pp. 293–324). For his engagement with Boismard, see especially F. Neirynck, J. Delobel, T. Snoy and G. Van Belle, Jean et les synoptiques. Examen critique de l’exégèse de M.-É. Boismard (BETL 49; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1979). 5 D. Burkett, Rethinking the Gospel Sources (London & New York: T&T Clark International, 2004). For a critique, see D. J. Neville, ‘The Phantom Returns. Delbert Burkett’s Rehabilitation of Proto-Mark’, ETL 84 (2008) 135–173. 6 Cf. in general terms, W. Sanday, ‘The Conditions under Which the Gospels Were Written, and Their Bearing upon Some Difficulties of the Synoptic Problem’, in idem (ed.), Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem, 3–26, on p. 26: ‘The suggestions made in this essay are all very simple. It is just their simplicity which has had the chief attraction for me: as a rule, the simpler the cause, provided it is adequate, the more likely it is to be true.’

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etc.)7 Theories involving considerably fewer (if any) non-extant sources are undoubtedly easier to handle for modern students of the Synoptic Problem: whether that is per se an indication of their validity must remain questionable!

3. The Two Document Hypothesis and Its Main Alternatives As already noted, the most widely held theory probably remains some form of the 2DH, though with considerable variation in detail, especially in relation to beliefs about the status, nature and extent of any ‘Q’ source. This theory involves of course a mixture in terms of broad ‘types’ of hypotheses. One can divide source theories into very broad categories: viz. those which explain agreements by direct dependence of one gospel writer on the work of another (‘utilization hypotheses’), and those which explain agreements on the basis of common use by two (or more) evangelists of earlier common source material(s) (‘proto-gospel hypotheses’).8 The 2DH presents a ‘mixed’ picture in this respect. One part of the synoptic evidence is explained by a theory of direct dependence (Mark used by Matthew and Luke); another part is explained by positing a common ‘tradition’ or ‘source’ (‘Q’ used by Matthew and Luke).9 The main alternatives to the 2DH have all tended to advocate a greater degree of, if not exclusive use of, direct dependence to explain synoptic agreements. In the middle of the 20th century, the Augustinian hypothesis was suggested by some as an alternative to the 2DH.10 This rejected the need to postulate a Q source and argued for a direct line of dependency 7 In favour of more ‘complicated’ solutions, see Sanders & Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels, 97: all the ‘simple’ solutions to the Synoptic Problem lead to ‘strained explanations’ of some of the data. ‘This inclines us to look to a complicated solution.’ 8 Cf. e.g. Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 282, and others, for such a taxonomy of general hypotheses. He also adds a third category, namely that of common dependence on oral tradition. I have for the most part here presumed that the agreements between the gospels are best explained by a literary relationship (as indeed do all the hypotheses considered here). For the possibility of common use of oral tradition as the explanation for at least some of the agreement in the double tradition, see n. 70 below. 9 Whether Q is to be regarded as a ‘gospel’ is debated. In recent years, there has been a trend among some scholars, especially in North America, to describe Q as a ‘gospel’ rather than as (just) a ‘source’. For discussion, see F. Neirynck, ‘Q. From Source to Gospel’, ETL 71 (1995) 421–430, repr. in Evangelica III (BETL 150; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 419–431. 10 See e.g. J. Chapman, Matthew, Mark and Luke. A Study in the Order and Interrelation of the Synoptic Gospels (London: Longmans, Green, 1937); B. C. Butler, The Originality of St. Matthew. A Critique of the Two-Document Hypothesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951).

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Matthew ĺ Mark ĺ Luke: Mark used Matthew, and Luke then used Mark and/or Matthew. The theory that has generated much discussion in the last third of the 20th century has been the Two Gospel (or Griesbach) hypothesis (2GH), postulating a line of dependency Matthew ĺ Luke ĺ Mark: Luke used Matthew, and Mark used both Matthew and Luke.11 Roughly contemporaneous with the revival of the 2GH has been the so-called Farrer (or Farrer-Goulder) hypothesis (FH), arguing for a line of dependency Mark ĺ Matthew ĺ Luke: Matthew used Mark, and Luke used both Mark and Matthew (and not any ‘Q’).12 11 The seminal book in the revival of the 2GH has been W. R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem. A Critical Appraisal (New York: Macmillan, 1964). Farmer and others have published many other works since then, arguing for the 2GH; the latest is D. B. Peabody, L. Cope & A. J. McNicol, One Gospel from Two. Mark’s Use of Matthew and Luke (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2002) (on Mark’s redactional procedure), following on the slightly earlier A. J. McNicol, D. L. Dungan, D. B. Peabody, Beyond the Q Impasse. Luke’s Use of Matthew (Valley Forge, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1996) (on Luke’s procedure). There has been some debate about the most appropriate name for the hypothesis: ‘Griesbach hypothesis’ reflects the scholar who advocated the hypothesis in the 18 th century when it was widely accepted before being supplanted by the theory of MP. More recent advocates of the theory have preferred the name ‘Two Gospel Hypothesis’ to reflect the fact that the theory advocates two gospels, i.e. Matthew and Luke, as the main (if not only) sources necessary to explain synoptic agreements. Others have however objected that e.g. the Farrer/Farrer-Goulder model equally posits two gospels as the ‘main’ (and all but only) sources, though with Mark instead of Luke. I have used here 2GH in line with the policy agreed at the end of the Oxford conference to use the term preferred by contemporary advocates of the hypothesis (see n. 2 above). 12 The seminal work in the modern era has been the essay of A. Farrer, ‘On Dispensing with Q’, in D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels. Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955), 57–88, though see earlier e.g. J. H. Ropes, The Synoptic Gospels (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1934). Since Farrer’s essay, the theory has been advocated most powerfully by Michael Goulder in a series of publications, see especially M. D. Goulder, Luke. A New Paradigm (2 vols.; JSNTSup 20; Sheffield: JSOT, 1989); also, more recently the work of Mark Goodacre and others, e.g. in M. Goodacre, The Case against Q. Studies in Markan Priority and the Synoptic Problem (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2002), and the essays in M. Goodacre & N. Perrin (eds.), Questioning Q. A Multidimensional Critique (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004); M. Mosse, The Three Gospels. New Testament History Introduced by the Synoptic Problem (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007). As with the 2GH, there has been some debate about the most appropriate name for the theory. E.g. Goodacre, Case against Q, 14, would prefer the name ‘Farrer theory’ (rather than ‘Farrer-Goulder’) since he believes that the source hypothesis itself should be regarded independently of some of Goulder’s own individual ideas (e.g. about the creativity of Matthew and/or his lectionary theories). Kloppenborg has coined the term ‘Mark-without-Q hypothesis’ (abbreviated as ‘MwQH’: see J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘On Dispensing with Q? Goodacre on the Relation of Luke to Matthew’, NTS 49 (2003) 210– 236, on p. 213), though this seems very clumsy. I have retained ‘FH’ here, again reflect-

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All these have in common a clear belief that the postulating of unknown prior sources is both unnecessary and undesirable: a theory which explains synoptic agreements without appeal to non-extant, otherwise unknown documents is preferable to a theory which does make such an assumption (e.g. the 2DH with its appeal to the existence of Q). In the arguments of some, this is quite explicit. Thus Farmer explicitly states that theories which postulate no hypothetical sources are preferable to those which do not.13 And a number of scholars have appealed to the principle of ‘Occam’s razor’ which states that ‘entia rerum non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem’ (‘entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity’).14 This is often expressed as an appeal to ‘simplicity’: ‘simpler’ solutions are regarded as preferable to those which are less ‘simple’, with ‘simple’ taken as referring to the least number of unknown, and/or otherwise unattested

ing the decision made to use the term preferred by most advocates of the theory today (see n. 2 above). It is also unfortunate that the hypothesis has been wrongly confused with the Augustinian hypothesis in some surveys and histories of the Synoptic Problem: see e.g. D. L. Dungan, A History of the Synoptic Problem (New York: Doubleday, 1999), 376, 378, 384–385, and others cited by Goodacre, Case against Q, 12. 13 See e.g., Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 203: agreements between the synoptic gospels ‘could be accounted for on the hypothesis that each Evangelist independently copied one or more commonly or genetically related sources. But this alternative [i.e. to a theory of direct dependence] way of explaining the phenomena of agreement between any two Gospels should not be utilized until after an attempt has been made to explain it on the simplest terms, namely on the hypothesis that one Evangelist copied the work of the other. The reason for this procedure is not that the simplest explanation is necessarily the correct one, but that it is wrong to multiply hypothetical possibilities unnecessarily’; also p. 209. Cf. too A. J. McNicol, ‘The Composition of the Synoptic Eschatological Discourse’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations (n. 3 above), 157–200, on p. 167: ‘The simpler solution, (i.e. one that does not need to postulate unnecessary hypothetical source[s]) is to be preferred to a solution which requires such a postulation.’ 14 This is very explicit in the work of Mosse, The Three Gospels, 6, and elsewhere; M. D. Goulder, ‘Michael Goulder Responds’, in C. A. Rollston (ed.), The Gospels according to Michael Goulder. A North American Response (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2002), 137–152, on p. 142; Goodacre, Case against Q, 18, 77; cf. too Goodacre’s summary of Goulder in M. Goodacre, Goulder and the Gospels. An Examination of a New Paradigm (JSNTSup 133; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 18: ‘the simplicity of the picture which Farrer paints has actually become the hallmark of Goulder’s scholarship, with its appeals to Occam’s Razor and its emphasis on economy’. The language of the formulation of Occam’s razor seems to be clearly echoed too in the words of Farmer (see previous note), saying that ‘it is wrong to multiply hypothetical possibilities unnecessarily’; cf. too Butler, Originality, 1: ‘It is a fundamental principle of critical method that sources and their relations are not to be multiplied unnecessarily’ (his italics).

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sources being posited to explain synoptic agreements.15 Some very brief remarks about ‘simplicity’ have been given earlier. However, a few further comments may be in order at this point, especially insofar as the issue relates to the number of sources postulated by different proposed solutions to the Synoptic Problem. 3.1 The Synoptic Problem and ‘Simplicity’ It should perhaps be noted initially that the Synoptic Problem is (a very small) part of a much broader endeavour: this is the attempt to explain the whole development of the Jesus tradition, starting with the person of Jesus himself, going through a period prior to the time of the synoptic gospels when traditions about Jesus may have been passed on in part orally, perhaps partly in written form, through the time of the synoptic gospels themselves, on into later history when traditions about Jesus probably continued to circulate independently but with written texts/gospels also circulating and being copied, and then into the time when we have for the first time direct concrete evidence in the form of manuscripts of the gospels in the 3rd century CE and beyond. (For some parts of the gospels, the earliest manuscript evidence comes from the 4th or 5th centuries.) In scholarly jargon, ‘the Synoptic Problem’ is part of a continuum involving aspects of Historical Jesus study, form criticism (broadly conceived), source criticism, tradition criticism, redaction criticism, reception history and textual criticism. Further, it should be noted that the only direct, concrete ‘extant’ evidence we have is the plethora of manuscripts of the gospels (and other texts), dating from the 3rd century onwards. And it is perhaps just worth reminding ourselves occasionally that we have none of the autographs of the gospels themselves. Talk then of ‘extant sources’ (often contrasted favourably with allegedly ‘non-extant’ or ‘hypothetical’ sources) may need just a little qualification: if say the Gospel of Mark (or of Matthew or Luke) is put forward as an ‘extant’ source and contrasted with the ‘non-extant’ or ‘hypothetical’ Q source, we should remember that the text of Mark is, to a certain extent a scholarly construction. ‘The’ text of Mark or Luke, printed with assurance and reassuring visual solidity within the blue covers of a Nestle-Aland text, is a scholarly construct based on a wealth of later manu15 See e.g. Goulder, Luke, 1.24: ‘fundamental to the whole argument [i.e. of Goulder’s] is the philosophical priority of consideration for the simple before the complex’; cf. too Goodacre’s summary of Goulder in his Goodacre, Goulder and the Gospels (p. 19: ‘Q is dispensed with, simplicity reigns.’ See too Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 203, as in n. 13 above, claiming that methodological priority should be given to attempts to explain the synoptic data ‘on the simplest terms, namely on the hypothesis that one Evangelist copied the work of the other’, i.e. ‘simple’ is taken as referring to the least number of sources posited. Cf. too McNicol as cited in the same footnote.

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scripts and heavily dependent on a whole host of hypotheses and theories from textual criticism and elsewhere.16 With this broader perspective in mind, it should become apparent that, whilst some solutions to the Synoptic Problem may involve less appeal to otherwise unknown sources to explain synoptic agreements than say the 2DH, they may involve just as much, if not more, appeal to otherwise unknown sources to explain the origins of synoptic material in our present gospels within the broader picture of seeking to explain the history of the development of the tradition as a whole. The 2DH appeals to a Q source to explain synoptic agreements (between Matthew and Luke); it also appeals to other traditions (possibly ‘sources’) to explain the origin of material in Mark, material in Matthew and Luke alone (‘M’ and ‘L’) as well as in Q itself. But equally, both the 2GH and the FH have to postulate otherwise unattested traditions or sources to explain the origins of various parts of the tradition. Some of the synoptic agreements are explained without such appeal, and indeed more than are explained this way by the 2DH. But, for example, the origin of traditions in Matthew, and those in Luke alone, still requires theories about the existence of earlier traditions and/or sources to explain their presence in our gospels. For some advocates of the 2GH and the FH, some of the Matthew-Luke parallels are also explained by independent use of common traditions, e.g. to explain places where Luke has a more original, or at least independent, version of an individual tradition.17 On the FH, large parts of Matthew have to be explained by positing earlier traditions or sources used to provide the large amount of extra material which is in Matthew and has evidently not come from Mark. On the 2GH, the whole of Matthew has to be explained in this way. And even if, for 16 On this, see J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Is There a New Paradigm?’, in D. G. Horrell & C. M. Tuckett (eds.), Christology, Controversy and Community. New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (NovTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 23–48, on p. 33; Kloppenborg also has an excellent analysis of the rhetoric (of Farrer and Goulder) which seeks to contact unfavourably Q as a ‘hypothetical’ entity with the alleged ‘solidity’ and/or ‘factual’ nature of e.g. the text of Luke’s Gospel (cf. Farrer, ‘On Dispensing with Q’, 66: ‘The Q hypothesis is a hypothesis and that is its weakness … Now St. Luke’s book is not a hypothetical entity. Here is a copy of it on my desk’), and/or the theory of MP (cf. M. D. Goulder, ‘Is Q a Juggernaut?’, JBL 115 [1996] 667–681, on p. 670: ‘Luke’s use of Mark is a fact [or generally accepted as one], while Q is a mere postulate’). Kloppenborg rightly points out that, (contra Farrer) (a) what may lie on any 21 st century desk is not necessarily ‘the’ book which Luke wrote but only a scholarly reconstruction, and (b) ‘what did not exist on Farrer’s desk … was Luke’s relationship to Matthew’. Similarly, contra Goulder, Kloppenborg points out that the Q ‘hypothesis’ may indeed be a hypothesis, but so equally is the theory of MP, and none the worse for that! See further his discussion of hypotheses in Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 50–54, and see also below. 17 On this, see below.

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some proponents of the FH (notably Goulder), much (if not all) of this is ascribed to Matthew’s own creative mind, this is in a real sense still a ‘source’ which has to be postulated. Thus any and every source theory involves positing the existence of a number of different sources and traditions at various points in the overall model of the origin and development of the tradition. And even if in some instances, the existence of earlier sources is denied in one part of the overall model, the corollary is often that one has to posit the existence of ‘sources’ of one kind or another elsewhere in the wider picture. Some theories may involve less appeal to earlier written sources to explain (only) the agreements between the gospels. But all theories involve appeal to a whole range of sources or traditions insofar as they are seeking to explain the development of the tradition as a whole. Further, implicit in any source theory is very often a set of assumptions, presuppositions, and/or deductions, about how each evangelist operated with his source(s). As we shall see, much of the debate today operates at his level, discussing the plausibility (or otherwise) of the redactional activity of the evangelists on competing source theories. This may also significantly affect the general level of ‘complexity’ or ‘simplicity’ in the overall theory being discussed. For any hypothesis which is ‘simple’ in relation to the number of sources proposed may have to postulate a highly complex form of redactional activity undertaken by one or more of the evangelists. Thus a source theory may be ‘simpler’ at one level but a great deal more ‘complex’ at another. Confining ‘simplicity’ solely to the question of the number of sources presupposed is probably too restrictive. The ‘simplicity’ of a hypothesis may well involve a number of factors, all of which have to be taken into account.18 We may also note in passing here the distinction which should perhaps be made between ‘hypotheses’ which we may propose as possible ‘solutions’ to the Synoptic Problem and what may actually have happened at the time of writing of the gospels: certainly the former may be relatively ‘simple’ at one level, but the latter may have been considerably more

18 Cf. e.g. the strong critique of Goulder in F. G. Downing, ‘A Paradigm Perplex. Luke, Matthew and Mark’, NTS 38 (1992) 15–36, esp. his conclusion on pp. 34–35: ‘Goulder claims that his is a simple hypothesis – indeed, the simplest. It is not. The simplicity of a hypothesis about literary independence cannot be assessed solely on the basis of the number of conjectural sources involved. Goulder’s hypothesis has fewer documents than Streeter’s. But to justify it there are innumerable hypotheses about what was going on in Luke’s mind. And, more serious still, we find an unquantifiable cluster of surreptitious hypotheses about an apparently fairly ordinary first-century writer’s ability and willingness to ignore simple and rational contemporary compositional conventions and scribal techniques and pioneer new, complex, and self-defeating ones of his own.’

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‘complex’, and we should be wary of simply equating the two.19 For example, in the case of a hypothesis which proposes that the same gospel has been used by two subsequent evangelists, it is ludicrous to think of each of the later evangelists having access to exactly the same physical copy of the proposed source (whether Mark, Q or Matthew). Almost certainly they had access to different copies; and in a pre-printing era when all MSS were copied by hand, it is almost inevitable that the version of the text will have been changed in the copying process. It is equally absurd to think that e.g. Matthew’s or Luke’s copy of Mark (on the 2DH) can necessarily be taken as (all but) identical with the text of Mark printed in modern editions of the Greek NT.20 Any assumption then that, say, Matthew and Luke used Mark (or that Luke and Mark used Matthew), with the unstated assumption that it was the same Mark used by both, is clearly a simplification of what was originally a more complex situation. For the purposes of facilitating discussion today, such a simplification may be desirable – indeed it is almost essential to enable any critical analysis to take place at all. But we should not fail to recognise such a simplification for what it is.21 Focusing on the agreements between our gospels and seeking to explain them is clearly a legitimate narrowing of interest for some purposes which has its own justification and value. But it is not so clear that a theory which posits a fewer number of written prior sources to explain agreements alone is necessarily any ‘simpler’, and thereby inherently ‘better’, than other theories. The principle enshrined in Occam’s razor may have some justification in some contexts. It is not so clear however that a narrow restriction of the ‘entia’ (which should not be multiplied unnecessarily) to written sources to explain (only) strict synoptic agreements is necessarily appropriate. All theories involve a whole range of ‘entia’ in this context!

4. Methodology and Criteria As noted earlier, the situation today is in one way very similar to the situation 100 years ago in that there has been no dramatic shift in scholarly opinion as a whole in relation to what the majority of scholars think is the most likely solution to the Synoptic Problem. This does not mean that nothing has happened in the last 100 years and that the debates generated 19 See Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 51; R. A. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices and the Synoptic Problem (BETL 186; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2005), 5–6. 20 Cf. too Sanders & Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels, 113. 21 See Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 51: ‘Hypotheses are heuristic models intended to aid comprehension and discovery; they do not replicate reality.’

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have produced nothing but hot air. If nothing else, the recent resurgence of interest, especially in the last 30–40 years (with the debates surrounding the 2GH and the FH), has focused the minds of many on issues of methodology as well as raising acutely the issue of the certainty with which any solution to the Synoptic Problem can lay claim. In previous years, some rather extreme claims have been made about the validity of the 2DH. Two are often quoted in this context. Thus, at the start of the 20th century, Albert Schweitzer wrote: The [Markan] hypothesis has a literary existence, indeed it is carried by Holtzmann to such a degree of demonstration that it can no longer be called a mere hypothesis.22

And, half a century later, Willi Marxsen wrote: This Two-Sources theory has been so widely accepted by scholars that one feels inclined to abandon the term ‘theory’ (in the sense of ‘hypothesis’). We can in fact regard it as an assured finding.23

Such days of ‘optimism’ are now surely firmly behind us; and for that we are all grateful to those who have analysed and discussed arguments in the past in favour of the 2DH, and/or promulgated their own theories, for pointing out weaknesses in others’ arguments and for highlighting the inherent uncertainty and provisional nature of all theories and ‘conclusions’ in this area of study. 4.1 Argument from Order Particularly valuable in this regard has been the exposure of the so-called ‘Lachmann fallacy’ in relation to the (or at least one) ‘argument from order’.24 In one form of ‘the’ argument from order, appeal has often been made to the phenomenon that Matthew and Luke never agree against Mark in their ordering of common material: sometimes Mark agrees with Matthew, sometimes with Luke, sometimes all three agree with each other, 22

A. Schweitzer, The Quest for the Historical Jesus (London: Macmillan, 1910), 202. W. Marxsen, Introduction to the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), 118. 24 Though, as I have said elsewhere, there may be doubts about calling it a ‘fallacy’ and associating it with Lachmann! See C. M. Tuckett, The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis. An Analysis and Appraisal (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 6–7, and more fully in idem, ‘The Argument from Order and the Synoptic Problem’, TZ 36 (1980), 338–354, and idem, ‘Arguments from Order. Definition and Evaluation’, in idem (ed.), Synoptic Studies. The Ampleforth Conferences of 1982 and 1983 (JSNTSup 7; Sheffield: JSOT, 1984), 197–219 (pp. 3–22 in this volume). See also next note. It is widely agreed that Lachmann himself was not ‘guilty’ of the ‘fallacy’ which has come to bear his name. For Lachmann’s own argument, see N. H. Palmer, ‘Lachmann’s Argument’, NTS 13 (1967) 368–378, and also see above. For a full discussion of (the) argument(s) from order, see D. J. Neville, Arguments from Order in Synoptic Source Criticism (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1993). 23

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but Matthew and Luke do not agree against Mark. From this, some have attempted to claim in the past that the theory of MP necessarily follows from this data. It has now been pointed out many times that the conclusion is mistaken if it is assumed that MP is the only theory which will explain the data satisfactorily. In Lachmann’s own work, it was assumed that all three gospels depended on an original Ur-gospel lying behind them; and with that assumption, the argument may have some validity in showing that Mark’s order was probably closest to the order of the (presumed) Ur-gospel. However, once this assumption is given up and a direct relationship between the three gospels presumed, the logic of the argument changes. Ever since the work of Butler, it has been agreed that, with the assumption of a direct relationship between the gospels, the data can only show that Mark occupies a medial position in any tree of relationships: it must lie logically between Matthew and Luke, but chronologically Mark can come before Matthew and Luke (as in the 2DH or the FH), between Matthew and Luke (as in the Augustinian hypothesis) or after both (as in the 2GH). Any attempt then to claim that MP necessarily follows from the data is ‘fallacious’.25 Appeals to formal arguments of this nature are now relatively rare. In fact, alongside this argument from order, there has always been another kind of argument based on the order in the three gospels but proceeding in a quite different way in terms of logic. This refers as much to the disagreements, as to the agreements, in order. In order to defend any one particular hypothesis, it then seeks to argue that all the differences in order can be satisfactorily explained on that hypothesis by the redactional activity of whoever is presupposed to be the secondary evangelist(s). Thus for the 2DH, the differences in order between, say, Matthew and Mark are considered and an attempt is made to explain them as plausible if seen as due to MattR. Indeed many of the arguments deployed today in relation to the Synoptic Problem work in a similar way, i.e. by presupposing the source theory being defended and then seeking to show that the redactional changes by the presumed secondary evangelist(s) form a (reasonably) coherent and consistent pattern.26 ‘Coherence’ and ‘consistency’ can (and arguably should) be taken both at the level of possible internal coherence and self-consistency, 25 The locus classicus for the critique has been the chapter of Butler’s book entitled ‘The Lachmann Fallacy’ (Butler, Originality, 62–71); see too W. R. Farmer, ‘The Lachmann Fallacy’, NTS 14 (1968) 441–443. It should though be noted that what is fallacious is the claim that Markan priority is the only theory to explain the facts: the conclusion itself (the theory of MP) is not necessarily incorrect; it is just that it is not necessarily correct. In fact a whole range of theories (with Mark as medial) explain the facts just as well. For a possible re-emergence of the same ‘fallacy’ by advocates of the 2GH, see below. 26 Cf. Tuckett, Revival, 12–15.

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and also at the level of what might be called external coherence or consistency: the pattern of activity will be more persuasive the more it ‘fits’ with what we know of the activity of writers, Christian or otherwise, in the (roughly) contemporary environment in which the evangelists are situated.27 Overall then, the level of the coherence and consistency demonstrated in such a defence will be a measure of its persuasiveness. Such arguments can of course never be probative; nor can they exclude other hypotheses with any finality at all. All they can do is to seek to buttress the claim that the hypothesis being defended is plausible,28 and that the redactional activity which it must presuppose makes for a larger picture that is reasonably coherent and consistent. Defenders of other hypotheses may be able to mount a case for claiming that an alternative picture of the redactional activity of the secondary evangelists involved may be equally, if not more, coherent.29 At the end of the day, one is thus weighing relative probabilities, and comparing the relative plausibility of competing global explanations. Such comparisons will inevitably be subjective, debatable and can never be final. Thus although there has been no dramatic shift in overall solutions which have commanded widespread assent in the last 100 years, the recent debates about the Synoptic Problem, and the detailed defences of alternatives to the 2DH, have highlighted the provisional nature of any ‘solutions’ which are proposed. They have also helped to clarify a little more what we might mean by ‘hypotheses’ in this context, and made us all aware of just how we can and should argue in these debates.

27 These two criteria are split into very separate categories by Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 7–9, implying that redaction-critical approaches (appeals to what I have called here ‘internal coherence’) are perhaps somewhat dated now and need to be supplemented by a consideration of ‘compositional conventions of antiquity’. Derrenbacker is surely right to insist on the importance of viewing the evangelists within the broader context of ancient writing practices; but the two approaches can perhaps be combined under a single overarching rubric of ‘consistency’. 28 Cf. Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 54: ‘Good hypotheses are those that are judged to offer the most economical and most plausible account of the largest number of data.’ 29 In the modern debate, the work of E. P. Sanders, The Tendencies of the Synoptic Tradition (SNTSMS 9; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969) has been seminal. Sanders showed that many of the generalised ‘laws’ of the development of the tradition, proposed especially by some of the earlier form-critics, were all but impossible to establish with any certainty. Thus a proposed line of development of the tradition at any one point cannot easily be shown to be preferable to a reverse development by appeal to any generalised ‘laws’.

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5. The Two Gospel Hypothesis and the Farrer Hypothesis as Rivals to the Two Document Hypothesis I consider now the two main current ‘rivals’ to the 2DH, viz. the 2GH and the FH. These are perhaps the main alternatives today to the 2DH in that they have been supported by groups of scholars and do not just represent a particular theory of an individual. Each of these challenges one (or both) of the two ‘planks’ of the 2DH in turn, viz. the theory of Markan priority and the Q hypothesis (broadly conceived). There is no time or space to deal with each of these in full in a single paper such as this. I focus then on some aspects of these theories, as well as the 2DH itself, and where their strengths and weaknesses might lie. However, we should also perhaps bear in mind not only the positive reasons put forward by defenders of these hypotheses, but also the negative reasons why the 2DH is felt to be weak and/or unconvincing to the extent that alternative hypotheses are proposed at all. Indeed it has often been the case in discussions of the Synoptic Problem that proponents of one theory have seen it as an important part of their overall claim to show that alternative source theories are unsatisfactory. Thus advocates of the 2GH, and of the FH, have regularly pointed to what are seen as weaknesses in the 2DH. In this context, the ‘minor agreements’ (MAs), i.e. the places where Matthew and Luke agree against Mark, are always cited here. As noted earlier, it is accepted that, at the level of the ordering of the material, Matthew and Luke do not agree against Mark in triple tradition passages. As is well known, the same phenomenon recurs at the level of detailed wording within pericopes, but only broadly speaking and with a number of notable exceptions. These exceptions are the so-called MAs which have always been something of a ‘thorn in the flesh’ for any neat, simple form of the 2DH.30 30 The alleged number of MAs varies considerably among different scholars: some claim that there are c. 1000 (cf. e.g. Goulder, Luke, 1.47; Sanders & Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels, 73); others such as A. Ennulat, Die ‘Minor Agreements’. Untersuchungen zu einer offenen Frage des synoptischen Problems (WUNT 2.62; Tübingen: Mohr, 1994), claim that there are well over 1000, and in the work of R. B. Vinson, The Significance of the Minor Agreements as an Argument against the Two-Document Hypothesis (PhD. dissertation, Durham, N.C., 1984), cf. also his ‘How Minor? Assessing the Significance of the Minor Agreements as an Argument against the Two-Document Hypothesis’, in M. Goodacre & N. Perrin (eds.), Questioning Q (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004), 151–164, a number over 2000 is claimed. The variation arises in part from different ways in which agreements are identified and assessed: see further C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Minor Agreements and Textual Criticism’, in G. Strecker (ed.), Minor Agreements (GTA 50; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 119–142, esp. pp. 121–125. Certainly some of the very high numbers of alleged MAs arise from assumptions and procedures that are questionable. E.g. when does one decide that an ‘agreement’ between Matthew and Luke really is a ‘minor agreement’ in

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From the perspective of the 2DH, the MAs are explained in a range of different ways, and indeed sometimes divided into different overall categories.31 Many of the smaller agreements are explained as due to redaction by Matthew and Luke, working independently but sometimes coinciding in the changes they make. Alternatively some have been explained as due to corruption in the later textual tradition. In other instances, the agreements between Matthew and Luke are significantly more extensive, suggesting to some the existence of a non-Markan version of the tradition, available to Matthew and Luke alone. As part of the tradition common to Matthew and Luke, but not in Mark, this material is then assigned to ‘Q’, with the corollary that in such cases Mark and Q must have overlapped. The former large group of Matthew-Luke agreements are sometimes called ‘minor agreements’, and then distinguished from the Mark-Q overlap passages, sometimes called ‘major agreements’.32 Whether it is justified to make such a quantitative distinction between the agreements is debatable.33 Nevertheless there does seem to be a distinction visible between pericopes where there is extended, substantial agreement between Matthew and Luke against Mark, sufficient to suggest to advocates of the 2DH the existence this context? For example, Ennulat, Minor Agreements, 142, counts the text in Mark 4.38 as an ‘agreement’ in changing Mark’s įȚįȐıțĮȜİ. But Matthew has țȪȡȚİ, and Luke has ਥʌȚıIJȐIJĮ. At one level they may have an ‘agreement’ in changing Mark; but since they disagree in wording, it is doubtful if this really should be counted as an ‘agreement’ here. So too, in counting, how should one assess the non-appearance of the pericope Mark 8.22–26 in Matthew and Luke? Vinson counts on a word-by-word basis and taken this then as 80+ separate words omitted by Matthew and Luke, and hence counts 80+ MAs here. Ennulat counts lines of Nestle-Aland text, and hence counts this as 7 MAs. Others might count it as a single agreement, i.e. a single editorial decision to omit the pericope as a whole. 31 Cf. e.g. the classic study of B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels. A Study of Origins (London: Macmillan, 1924), 293–331; also the comprehensive surveys of F. Neirynck, The Minor Agreements of Matthew and Luke against Mark (BETL 37; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1974); T. A. Friedrichsen, ‘The Matthew-Luke Agreements against Mark. A Survey of Recent Studies 1974–1989’, in F. Neirynck (ed.), L’Evangile de Luc – The Gospel of Luke (revised and enlarged edn.; BETL 32; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1989), 335–391; and F. Neirynck, ‘The Minor Agreements and the Two Source Theory’, in Evangelica II (n. 4 above), 3–42. This procedure is often criticised by opponents of the 2DH on the grounds that, by dividing the evidence up in such a way and treating different MAs in piecemeal fashion, the total number of MAs within a particular pericope is obscured. See e.g. Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 119. 32 For the nomenclature, cf. R. T. Simpson, ‘The Major Agreements of Matthew and Luke against Mark’, NTS 12 (1966) 273–284, though it is probably fair to say that the nomenclature has not been widely used. Nevertheless, the distinction may be an important one to bear in mind. 33 It is vigorously disputed by Goodacre, Case against Q, esp. pp. 163–165, who argues that there is a ‘continuum’ of agreements, with a sliding scale, from the very minor MAs through to the so-called ‘overlap’ passages. On this, see below.

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of a non-Markan version of the tradition, and other instances where the level of agreement is generally lower.34 Yet although by common consent, these texts raise problems (or are thought to raise problems) for the 2DH, they remain part of the evidence which any source theory must seek to explain. And whether alternative source theories succeed in explaining these texts any better than the 2DH is by no means certain, as we shall see. In particular, the passages normally assigned to a ‘Mark-Q overlap’ on the 2DH cause particular difficulties for alternative hypotheses; in addition, the other MA texts cause difficulties for other theories, albeit different to those encountered by the 2DH but nevertheless real. 5.1. Markan Priority and the Two Gospel Hypothesis The main challenge to the overall theory of MP has come from advocates of the 2GH. The revival of the 2GH, initiated by Farmer’s book in 1964, has attracted a small, but very energetic following. The reasons behind this revival, and the questioning of the theory of MP, are varied, and no doubt differ from one person to another. In the case of Farmer, part of the case against the 2DH was the claim that advocates of the 2DH, especially in the 19th century, had various ‘hidden agendas’ which made the 2DH a preferable alternative to the previously dominant 2GH which have been used by members of the so-called ‘Tübingen school’ to develop theories which radically questioned key aspects of the historicity of the Jesus tradition. This in turn led to scholars effectively turning a blind eye to many weaknesses in the 2DH and simply adopting it because it was theologically desirable.35

34 Contra Goodacre, there is no real continuum and it is quite hard to find much if anything in an intermediate stage between what are substantively very trivial MAs and the passages where the level of agreement seems sufficient to posit a Mark-Q overlap on the 2DH (e.g. the Temptation narrative, or the Beelzebul controversy). Perhaps a passage such as Mark 12.28–34//Luke 10.25–28 (where the existence of a Mark-Q overlap is advocated by some working within the 2DH, and also doubted by a significant number) might be a case in point: here there are some Matthew-Luke agreements, but not so many as to make the case for an ‘overlap’ compelling. 35 See Farmer, Synoptic Problem, esp. chs. 1 and 2. The same overall theory has been repeated by Farmer in subsequent publications (with variations, e.g. claiming that supporters of the 2DH, notably Holtzmann, may have been appointed to important academic positions in Germany for reasons of political expediency): see e.g. W. R. Farmer, ‘State Interesse and Marcan Priority, 1870–1914’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (ed.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100C; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 2477–2498; the same is argued by other supporters of the 2GH, e.g. H.-H. Stoldt, Geschichte und Kritik der Markushypothese (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), and Dungan, History, esp. pp. 337–341.

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Whether this has any substance is debatable;36 however, the key point today is surely not so much how/why earlier scholars argued for/against a particular theory, but rather what are the relative merits and demerits of various hypotheses as they appear to us today. 5.1.1 Hypothetical Sources A key move in Farmer’s original book was to state a methodological preference for solutions to the Synoptic Problem which explained the synoptic data without recourse to hypothetical sources. Hence Farmer dismissed the 2DH, with its appeal to a non-extant Q, almost on an a priori basis. As we have seen, such a methodological move is at least questionable. Whilst apparently avoiding an appeal to non-extant texts to explain (most of) the inter-synoptic agreements, the 2GH still has to postulate extensive (lost) sources and/or traditions to explain the origin of much of the synoptic material. And in some instances (e.g. some of the Matthew-Luke agreements), advocates of the 2GH do appeal to common traditions (possibly oral, but still ‘lost’, or ‘non-extant’) to explain instances where Luke’s version cannot easily be explained as LukeR of its Matthean parallel. Thus Farmer argues that Luke had access to versions of the parables of the great supper and the lost sheep independently of Matthew, as well as significant parts of the eschatological discourse; and other advocates of the 2GH have argued similarly.37 5.1.2 Patristic Testimony A significant part of the argumentation by advocates of the 2GH has been a consistently positive attitude to patristic testimony about the (order of) the gospels.38 It is widely agreed that virtually all the patristic explicit 36 Cf. C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Griesbach Hypothesis in the 19th Century’, JSNT 3 (1979) 29–60; Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q, 271–328. Both would dispute whether other factors, theological or political, were ever significant in the establishment of the 2DH. 37 See W. R. Farmer, ‘A Fresh Approach to Q’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults. Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty. Part One (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 39–50; McNicol, ‘Eschatological Discourse’, e.g. p. 161; also idem, Dungan & Peabody, Beyond the Q Impasse, 25–28 (‘Luke’s Use of non-Matthean Material’). Although this does not relate directly to the question of MP, it clearly impinges on the question of the Q hypothesis: see also below. Clearly then, for advocates of the 2GH, not all the Matthew-Luke agreements are to be explained by a theory of direct dependence of Luke on Matthew! 38 Cf. Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 224–227; W. R. Farmer, ‘The Patristic Evidence Reexamined. A Response to George Kennedy’, in idem (ed.), New Synoptic Studies (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1983), 3–15; in the same volume see too the essays by G. Gamba, ‘A Further Reexamination of Evidence from the Early Tradition’ (pp. 17–35), and by D. Peabody, ‘Augustine and the Augustinian Hypothesis. A Reexamination of

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references to the order of the gospels state (or appear to presuppose) that Matthew’s Gospel was written first.39 And there is also Clement of Alexandria’s famous reference to the claim that gospels with genealogies were ‘written before’ (taken as ‘before those without genealogies’), hence apparently supporting the 2GH and placing Mark after Matthew and Luke.40 There is no time to analyse the evidence in any detail here so I can only give a few very brief remarks.41 First, it is probably fair to say a general theory of Matthean priority can probably find strong support in patristic testimony, though most such testimony probably tends to support (or presuppose) the Augustinian hypothesis rather than the 2GH, i.e. placing Mark second, not third in order. But even so, one must note that most (if not all) patristic writers were not Synoptic Problem addicts before their time! As often as not, the relative chronology of the gospels was never an issue. More important might have been the authorship of the gospels (and with that their ‘authenticity’ or reliability) as well as the general problem of the differences between the gospels. Further, the order in which the gospels might be discussed in a general statement about their nature and contents (possibly even with a ‘first … second … third’) may be no more than a ‘logical’ (or possibly ‘theological’) order; it is not necessarily a chronological one. In addition, one needs to distinguish logically between what patristic writers said and whether they were right in what they said. Patristic evidence may all point one way (e.g. in relation to Matthew); but that does not make it all necessarily correct! Bearing in mind that much of the evidence may derive ultimately from the witness of Papias (and what does not is clearly later than Papias), it seems clear that much of the patristic evidence is relatively late and not clearly necessarily very valuable in providing evidence for what might have actually happened in the first century. Augustine’s Thought in De Consensu Evangelistarum’ (pp. 37–64); Peabody, Cope & McNicol, One Gospel from Two, 20, 46–54. 39 Cf. e.g. Irenaeus, A.H. 3.1.1; Origen, Comm. in Mt. 1.1; Eusebius, E.H. 3.24. It may however be noted that Papias’ comments on the gospels are recorded by Eusebius (E.H. 3.39.14–16) in the order Mark – Matthew. This may be an indirect indication that Papias thought Mark came first: see Tuckett, Revival, 57. 40 Clement, as recorded by Eusebius, E.H. 6.14.5–7. However, it is possible that Clement is here making no reference at all to the relative chronology of the gospels, and that his use of ʌȡȠȖİȖȡȐijșĮȚ means not ‘written chronologically earlier’ but ‘written more publicly’ (rather than for private usage): see S. C. Carlson, ‘Clement of Alexandria on the “Order” of the Gospels’, NTS 47 (2001) 118–125. 41 For more detailed comments on appeals to patristic evidence by advocates of the 2GH, see Tuckett, Revival, 156–160; idem, ‘Response to the Two-Gospel Hypothesis’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations (n. 3 above), 47–76, esp. pp. 47–53; H. Merkel, ‘Die Überlieferungen der Alten Kirche über das Verhältnis der Evangelien’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations, 566–590.

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5.1.3 Order A second major argument deployed by advocates of the 2GH relates to the phenomenon of order. Several have claimed that strong evidence in favour of the 2GH is provided by the way in which Mark’s order agrees alternately with Matthew and Luke: Mark appears to agree with Matthew’s order, then Luke’s, then Matthew’s etc. Such a pattern of alternating agreement seems too coincidental to be due to chance and, it is claimed, is best explained on the basis of Mark consciously deciding to follow the order of Matthew and Luke alternately. 42 The phenomenon, and the conclusion, may however be more debatable. The fact is that, in triple tradition material, Matthew and Luke agree in order for extensive parts. Hence for large parts of the material which Mark has, Mark agrees with both Matthew and Luke in order. It is not the case that there are large sections where Matthew = Mark and Luke is different, then Luke = Mark and Matthew is different. Rather, there is extensive agreement between all three gospels in order with occasional disagreements by Matthew with Mark/Luke, or by Luke with Mark/Matthew, but not by Mark with Matthew/Luke. In other words, the phenomenon could be equally well described by saying that there are no Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark.43 This is then precisely the premise of the much maligned ‘Lachmann fallacy’ used in the past by advocates of the 2DH. As noted above, it is now widely accepted that the phenomenon shows only that Mark is in a medial position and that any claim that Mark is necessarily prior is fallacious. But it is then equally fallacious to say that Mark is necessarily in any one medial position as opposed to another, in particular that Mark is a conflation of Matthew and Luke. The phenomenon, whether described as Mark agreeing alternately with Matthew and Luke, or Matthew and Luke failing to agree against Mark, is inherently ambiguous and probably gives not more or less support to the 2DH over the 2GH, or vice versa.44 42

W. R. Farmer, ‘Modern Developments of Griesbach’s Hypothesis’, NTS 23 (1977), 275–295, esp. p. 293 (‘Mark … can only be third … There seems to be no other satisfactory solution’), and earlier idem, Synoptic Problem, 212. In the more recent Peabody, Cope & McNicol, One Gospel from Two, 21, the claim is toned down a little: the data is ‘easily explained’ by a theory of Mark conflating Matthew and Luke, and the 2DH requires a ‘more difficult conclusion’. See too W. R. Farmer, ‘The Two-Gospel Hypothesis. The Statement of the Hypothesis’, in Dungan (ed.), Interrelations, 125–156, on p. 142. 43 As indeed is done by Farmer, ‘Two-Gospel Hypothesis’, 142: the ‘unique Synoptic phenomenon of order’ (which he claims gives strong support to the 2GH) is clarified as ‘Matthew and Luke almost never agree against Mark or Mark almost always maintains the common order of Matthew and Luke’ (my italics). 44 See further Tuckett, ‘Arguments from Order’, 205–206 (= above, pp. 13–14). On p. 203 (= above, p. 10), I also discuss the issue of whether the ‘coincidence’ of Matthew

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5.1.4 Mark’s Conflation of Matthew and Luke It has always been seen as a challenge to the 2GH to explain why (as well as how) Mark might have undertaken the process of conflating Matthew and Luke in the way the hypothesis presupposes. Detailed explanations by defenders of the 2GH have varied. But a common theme has been that Mark is in general seeking to ‘reconcile’ Matthew and Luke in some way, to find the ‘common ground’ between his two sources, perhaps to cope with the problem of their differences by including only what is common to them.45 Many critics of the 2GH have pointed out that this scarcely explains the actual version of Mark that we have. On the 2DH, Matthew-Luke agreements appear in both ‘triple tradition’ passages (i.e. shared with Mark) and in ‘double tradition’ passages (i.e. ‘Q’ on the 2DH, but then not in Mark [at least in this form]). The places where Matthew and Luke agree thus covers the material in Mark and considerably more (the ‘double tradition’ as well). If then Mark were seeking to include precisely the material common to his sources, why has he not included key parts such as the preaching of John the Baptist, much of the ethical (and other) teaching in the Sermon on the Mount/Plain, the healing of the centurion’s servant, etc. etc.? All this ‘double tradition’ material is common to Matthew and Luke and yet has been omitted by a Griesbachian Mark. One answer has been in part that Mark took only what came in a common order in his two sources (hence explaining at one level the lack of Matthew-Luke agreement against Mark in order).46 But then it becomes harder to see why Mark should have been so concerned about the relative order in his sources (rather than their substance);47 and even if order were the key for Mark, some of the allegedly omitted material does occur in the same order in Matthew and Luke (e.g. and Luke on the 2DH changing Mark’s order at different points, and never coinciding in their changes, is too coincidental to be conceivable. The discussion depends in part on what constitutes a genuine change in order (as opposed to use of a parallel, non-Markan version): but on one calculation, the ‘coincidence’ is found to have a probability of over 72 %: any such coincidence is thus not at all surprising and is rather to be expected. 45 Cf. Farmer, Synoptic Problem, 78–79, 83, 217, 264: Mark ‘did not wish to depart from the text to which they [Matthew and Luke] bore concurrent testimony’ (p. 83). More generally, for Mark as perhaps seeking to reconcile ‘Petrine’ and ‘Pauline’ wings in the church (as perhaps represented by the Gospels of Matthew and Luke respectively), cf. Farmer, ‘Two-Gospel Hypothesis’, 130–132; D. L. Dungan, ‘The Purpose and Provenance of the Gospel of Mark according to the “Two-Gospel” (Owen-Griesbach) Hypothesis’, in W. R. Farmer (ed.), New Synoptic Studies (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1983), 411–440; Peabody, Cope & McNicol, One Gospel from Two, 60–63. 46 Cf. Farmer, ‘Two-Gospel Hypothesis’, 142–143; Peabody, Cope & McNicol, One Gospel from Two, 20–23. 47 Apart possibly from Papias, there is little evidence in patristic writers that different synoptic orders were problematic.

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the preaching of John the Baptist, perhaps too the Sermon on the Mount/ Plain, the centurion’s servant etc.). Others have given slightly different explanations for Mark’s procedure, arguing that Mark simply followed one source at a time, following first Matthew’s order, then Luke, then Matthew, then Luke etc. (again explaining at one level the lack of Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark in order).48 At the surface level, one can indeed work through the text of Mark, showing where he probably switched from Matthew/Luke to Luke/Matthew and back again in such an alleged procedure. However, the deeper underlying rationale for such activity remains unclear to many.49 Thus why Mark should proceed in what seems a relatively arbitrary way, why he would have omitted (what might appear at first sight to be) key parts of the common testimony of Matthew and Luke (e.g. the Baptist material, most of the Great Sermon including the Lord’s Prayer) all remain unexplained. Further, Mark on the 2GH must have engaged in at times a quite detailed conflation of the wording of his two sources in the material he did decide (for whatever reason) to include. Whether such a procedure also fits into any broader picture of the time is also uncertain. In a number of studies, Gerald Downing has argued repeatedly that the practice presupposed for Mark on the 2GH (and indeed for Luke on the FH: see below) does not easily fit with what we know of other authors seeking to use two earlier sources. One the basis of a study of a number of other writers (Josephus, Plutarch, Livy, Arrian), Downing claims that very rarely if ever does one find examples of authors working together the detailed wording of two sources simultaneously (as a Griesbachian Mark must have done in the detailed working of a number of pericopes). Greco-Roman authors tended to adopt a much simpler policy of following one source at a time, and sticking to the wording of that source (albeit with some freedom to re-

48

Cf. at n. 46 above. This kind of analysis is very similar to that undertaken by Griesbach himself in the late 19 th century. There is a difference between a policy of Mark setting out to follow the common order of his sources, and Mark following the order of each source alternately. However, if Mark were following his sources alternately, his decisions about where to switch between sources have in fact resulted in his including mostly material where Matthew and Luke agree in order: hence the end result is not very different from that of a policy of choosing material where his sources agree in order. 49 Long ago, this was the complaint of C. G. Wilke, Der Urevangelist, oder exegetisch-kritische Untersuchung über das Verwandtschaftsverhältniß der drei ersten Evangelien (Dresden & Leipzig: Fleischer, 1838), 443–444: ‘Markus wäre nicht Abbreviator, auch nicht Epitomator, nicht Exzerptor, sondern – Kastrator der Nebentexte, oder wie sollte man den Verstümmler der geborgten Sätze und den Menger des Verstümmelten sonst nennen?’

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write in places).50 A very similar general picture emerges from the work of Derrenbacker, analysing the compositional practices of a range of GrecoRoman authors.51 Derrenbacker also notes that any radical re-ordering of material by authors is not generally seen. At one level the model of a Griesbachian Mark following his sources alternately would fit this reasonably well (though the issue may be more pressing for a Griesbachian Luke: see below); but the detailed (‘micro’-)conflation of wording within pericopes which Mark must also have undertaken would be almost unprecedented.52 Derrenbacker also points to the severe practical problems which would have been faced by Mark in this situation. Scribes in the Greco-Roman world would not have been able to consult two sources simultaneously: at most they might have had one source in front of them while balancing the scroll which they were writing on their knee. Hence the model of an author switching back and forth between two sources for the detailed wording within a number of pericopes, as well as moving across long sections of text within a single scroll, seems very difficult to envisage and at odds with all that we know of the way in which scribes (physically) wrote in the first century.53

50

See e.g. F. G. Downing, ‘Compositional Conventions and the Synoptic Problem’, JBL 107 (1988) 69–85; Downing, ‘Paradigm Perplex’, and other essays collected in his Doing Things with Words (JSNTSup 200; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000). 51 Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, esp. pp. 116–117 for his conclusions. See too S. L. Mattila, ‘A Question Too Often Neglected’, NTS 41 (1995) 199–217. 52 The exception might be Tatian; but Tatian’s overall aim, apparently to include all the details from all four gospels, seems quite unlike that of the Mark of the 2GH who evidently felt free to omit significant parts of the tradition as it appeared in his sources. Further, Tatian appears to have conflated individual blocks of material: see Mattila, ‘Question’, 204–205. 53 See Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 161, and pp. 37–39 for the more general situation of the posture of ancient writers. Also Mattila, ‘Question’, 214– 215. It should be noted however that this critique may depend on the assumption that the evangelists were themselves the scribes of their own works. Whether this is justified is probably impossible to determine, but it is an assumption. It is agreed by virtually all in the current debate that the evangelists wrote on, and used, scrolls rather than codices. The origin of the codex as a medium of writing, especially by Christians, is much debated and there is no time to enter that debate here. Whether the possibility that the secondary evangelists might have used the earlier gospel text(s) in codex form is discussed briefly by Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 198– 199 in relation to Goulder’s theories (though Goulder himself presupposes Matthew using scrolls): in one way, extensive movement within the text as a whole might be easier, though a reader of a codex would be perhaps constrained more by there being less text visible at any one time compared with a scroll.

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5.1.5 ‘Mark-Q Overlap’ and Minor Agreement Texts Even more unusual would have been the procedure of the Griesbachian Mark in the passages ascribed to a Mark-Q overlap on the 2DH. In these passages, Matthew and Luke have extensive agreements against Mark (and hence the claim that there is a Q version of the passage parallel to Mark). As often as not, it is Luke who seems to preserve the non-Markan (‘Q’) version without using Mark, and Matthew conflates Mark and Q: hence in very broad terms, Mark has X, Luke has Y, and Matthew has X + Y.54 On the 2GH, Mark must have been faced with extensive verbal agreement between his sources. Elsewhere in the tradition it is claimed that Mark’s main aim was to preserve and reproduce precisely what was common to both his sources. In these passages however, Mark must have shunned completely what was in both his sources (the Y material); and he must have decided to include only what was in just one of his two sources (the X material), having managed also to extract this carefully from Matthew, ‘unpicking’ and then discarding the Y material. This procedure is (a) inherently very difficult, going through the text of one gospel and picking out only what is peculiar to that gospel, (b) at odds with what writers of the time appear to have done when seeking to work with more than one source, and (c) at odds with the overall redactional procedure postulated for Mark by the 2GH more generally (in seeking to give the common testimony of his sources). Hence in these passages, the Mark of the 2GH appears to be neither coherent nor consistent: his procedure does not fit with what we know of the activity of contemporary writers, and it does not happily fit with the overall redactional aims postulated by advocates of the 2GH.55 We may also note that, if the so-called ‘major agreement’ passages do not fare well under the 2GH, it is not clear that the other MA texts fare much better. As we have seen, defenders of the 2DH often appeal to MattR and LukeR to explain these, often making changes which to many modern readers seem to be obvious ‘improvements’ to the text (e.g. replacing historic presents, avoiding a clumsy use of țĮȓ etc.). For the 2GH they 54

The classic examples would be the Beelzebul controversy, and the parable of the mustard seed. 55 For fuller discussion, see Tuckett, Revival, 76–93. The argument is effectively the same as that mounted long ago by Downing against the FH: see F. G. Downing, ‘Towards the Rehabilitation of Q’, NTS 11 (1965) 169–181 (though with now Mark as the third evangelist). For the same argument against the FH, and the difficulties in envisaging Luke’s procedure on that hypothesis, see below. Downing has recently extended his basic argument, considering longer sequences of Matthew-Luke agreements which appear to have been shunned by Mark on the 2GH (with also an analogous situation for Luke on the FH): see F. G. Downing, ‘Disagreements of Each Evangelist with the Minor Close Agreements of the Other Two’, ETL 80 (2004) 445–469.

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must all be examples of MarkR. This is possible, but generally it is hard to see why a Griesbachian Mark, apparently concerned to preserve the common witness of his sources when they agree, should then see fit to change the common testimony of both his sources where they do agree. Further, although some of these might be due to Mark’s stylistic preferences, it is still rather odd that the changes made serve to make the Greek of the narrative perhaps ‘worse’, or less polished. Other instances are also hard to envisage as MarkR.56 In these instances, it may be argued that the changes made assuming the 2DH seem to be more conceivable and more ‘coherent’ that those made assuming the 2GH. But, as noted above, one cannot say more and this can never be a probative argument. 5.2. Markan Priority and Deutero-Mark/Ur-Markus A simple theory of Markan priority has also been implicitly challenged from within the broad parameters of the 2DH itself. It has already been noted that it is probably too simplistic to think of Matthew and Luke in real life having access to exactly the same copy or manuscript of Mark; almost certainly they had access to different copies with inevitably some differences in the text. Some have then argued that the synoptic data, especially some parts which cause difficulty for a very simplistic form of the 2DH, might be better explained by positing a theory of Matthew and Luke using a version of Mark which is (slightly) different from the one printed in modern editions.57 Thus some have suggested that Matthew and Luke had access to a later, secondary edition or redaction of Mark, a ‘Deutero-Markus’; alternatively others have suggested effectively reviving 56 Why, for example, should Mark have changed the time reference to the resurrection in all the passion predictions (Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.34) from Matthew’s and Luke’s ‘on the third day’, which seems to be thoroughly in line with ‘standard’ early Christian terminology, to ‘after three days’? Why should Mark have omitted the reference to Jesus as God’s ‘Son’ in Peter’s confession (Mark 8.29) when both his proposed sources had such a reference? The latter example seems especially difficult for the 2GH, given the pivotal nature of the scene in Mark’s narrative, and Mark’s use of the term ‘Son of God’ elsewhere in his Gospel as clearly important and significant (cf. Mark 1.1, 9; 9.7; 14.61; 15.39). For a broader discussion of Christology in relation to the Synoptic Problem, see P. M. Head, Christology and the Synoptic Problem (SNTSMS 94; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 57 In earlier (late 19th or early 20 th century) scholarship, it was quite common to propose such a theory, arguing in particular that the version of Mark used by Matthew and Luke may have been an earlier version of Mark, an ‘Ur-Marcus’, also used by Mark himself later. In the late 19th and early 20 th centuries, much discussion focused on this issue, and many felt that it was a triumphant breakthrough of modern scholarship to show that there was no need to distinguish between Ur-Marcus and Mark itself. Hence the dependence of all three synoptic gospels on a postulated common source Ur-Marcus became the (apparently simpler) theory of the priority of Mark itself.

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the ‘Ur-Markus’ theory, suggesting that Matthew and Luke may have used an earlier version of Mark. The theory of a ‘Deutero-Markus’ has been developed primarily to account for the MAs: rather than the MAs being due to changes by Matthew and Luke of (‘our’) Mark, many, if not all, the changes might have been already made in an edited version of Mark which was then used by Matthew and Luke.58 This argument has been taken further by A. Fuchs who, in a series of essays and articles over the last 30 years, has argued that all the Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark in triple tradition passages are to be explained in this way: thus not only the ‘minor’ agreements but also the ‘major’ agreements, i.e. the texts normally (on the 2DH) attributed to a Mark-Q overlap.59 Fuchs’ form of the ‘Deutero-Markus’ theory does present some difficulties. For many there is a qualitative difference in the order of magnitude of the Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark in ‘minor’ and ‘major’ agreement passages: the former are relatively small scale and fairly trivial in substance, the latter are more wide-ranging and sufficiently substantial for some to postulate the existence of another source alongside Mark. But Fuchs’ theory would demand a Deutero-Mark editor operating in Mark in very different ways at different points: at times (the ‘minor’ agreements) s/he must have undertaken very minor, mostly stylistic changes (e.g. changing țĮȓ to įȑ, ȜȑȖİȚ to İੇʌİȞ etc.); but at a few other points (the ‘major’ agreements) s/he must have rewritten and/or expanded the tradition in a substantively significant way (e.g. the temptation narrative). Such a rather irregular, even erratic, redactional procedure, precisely by virtue of its irregularity, seems rather unpersuasive. Further, it is not always clear (pace Fuchs) that the version presupposed by Matthew and Luke, especially in the ‘major’ agreement (or ‘overlap’) texts, is always clearly secondary to the Markan version. Fuchs claims that this is the case consistently in many detailed studies; but as often as not, his ‘claim’ seems to reduce to an assertion to this effect without any compelling reasons being available.60 Ennulat too claims that a distinctive profile of the Deutero-Markan editor can be ascertained (though he works more on the MAs and less on 58 Cf. Ennulat, Minor Agreements. Ennulat’s theory is also adopted at points by his supervisor U. Luz in his Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (EKKNT I/1–4; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985–2005). Such a theory had already been put forward by Sanday, ‘Conditions’, 21–24. 59 All Fuchs’ essays are now collected together in his Spuren von Deutero-Markus (4 vols.; Münster: Lit Verlag, 2004). Ennulat excludes the ‘overlap’ passages from his discussion of MAs. 60 For further discussion of the Deutero-Mark theory, and the work of Fuchs and his colleagues, see F. Neirynck, ‘Deuteromarcus et les accords Matthieu-Luc’, in Evangelica (n. 4 above), 769–780.

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the ‘major’ agreements).61 However, his profile becomes, almost by selfdefinition, a virtual antithesis of Mark: Mark’s distinctive characteristics are often deduced from the places where he differs from the parallel texts; hence the places where Mark is unlike Matthew and Luke inevitably provide key points in any assessment of Mark’s profile. Any alleged editor who changed these points becomes, almost by necessity, a kind of ‘antiMark’, undoing all the points where Mark is distinctive and thus presenting an opposite viewpoint. But whether one can so neatly posit such an editor seems doubtful. And the more one stresses the secondary nature of the changes made, the harder in one way it becomes to distinguish between this alleged Deutero-Mark editor (undoing Mark’s characteristic elements) and Matthew/Luke doing the same. The other avenue which some have explored in this context has involved the Secret Gospel of Mark (SGM). Morton Smith’s ‘discovery’ of a text of a Secret Gospel of Mark (apparently quoted in a letter of Clement of Alexandria) has led to theories of the existence of other evidence that perhaps the text of Mark did develop over the course of time with an earlier version being later glossed and edited. As such then the existence of SGM might then provide some further evidence for the possibility of a development in the history of the text of Mark in early Christianity; and hence e.g. Koester has argued, partly on the basis of the evidence provided by SGM, that some kind of ‘Ur-Mark’ might pre-date our Mark and in turn this might explain some of the MAs if Matthew and Luke had access to this rather than to ‘our’ Mark.62 Whether this is sustainable is however in part dependent on the authenticity of the SGM and precisely this is now very much debated. Ever since its discovery there have been doubts about the authenticity of the discovery of Smith’s, and these have been reinforced by some recent studies.63 Whether Koester’s case can be maintained without the support of the SGM is uncertain, and some of his claims that Matthew’s and Luke’s agreements against Mark are due to use of an earlier version of Mark are unsupported.64 Given the enormous uncertainty today about the authenticity of 61

Ennulat, Minor Agreements, 419–428. H. Koester, ‘History and Development of Mark’s Gospel (from Mark to Secret Mark and “Canonical Mark”)’, in B. C. Corley (ed.), Colloquy on New Testament Studies. A Time for Reappraisal and Fresh Approaches (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1983), 35–57; also idem, Ancient Christian Gospels (London: SCM, 1990), 273–303. 63 See S. C. Carlson, The Gospel Hoax. Morton Smith’s Invention of Secret Mark (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006). 64 E.g. his claims that the absence of Mark 2.27, or 4.26–29, is due to the verses not originally being in Mark, or that Mark’s use of the singular ‘mystery’ in Mark 4.11 (as opposed to the plural ‘mysteries’ in Matthew and Luke here), seem somewhat arbitrary. He seeks to buttress his claim about Mark 4.11 pars. by reference to SGM, but without 62

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the Clement letter and the text of the SGM in it, it would probably be unwise to build too much on this evidence. Theories of a Deutero-Mark, or an Ur-Mark, may not be fully convincing in their own right; but they are valuable in reminding us of the uncertain, and potentially inaccurate, nature of the texts we use in modern study of the Synoptic Problem if we assume that the text of one gospel by later evangelists was identical with that in modern editions. It is though perhaps slightly ironic that a number of theories today, appealing to the possibility that the version of Mark was not identical with the Mark used by Matthew or Luke, also make an implicit assumption that, while the latter may have been not quite the same as ‘our’ Mark, still Matthew’s and Luke’s copy of Mark were all but identical. And this, if one thinks about it for a moment, is equally unlikely! 5.3. The Q Hypothesis and the Farrer Hypothesis I turn to the other ‘plank’ of the 2DH, viz. the Q hypothesis. This broad hypothesis has been challenged in recent years from a number of directions. The existence of a Q source is challenged by the 2GH which explains all the Matthew-Luke agreements by Luke’s direct use of Matthew. It is also challenged by the FH, accepting the priority of Mark but explaining the remaining Matthew-Luke agreements, i.e. those not explained by common dependence on Mark, by Luke’s direct use of Matthew.65 As is well known, the Q hypothesis has been built on in many ways in the last 40 years or so, with several scholars arguing that Q may have been a well-defined entity, perhaps a written text (probably in Greek), and perhaps with its own distinctive and characteristic ‘theology’. Some have gone further still and claimed to be able to identify various strata within Q, and hence to identify possible stages in the development of Q: a Q1, Q2, Q3 etc.66 Such attempts have provoked strong opposition as well as staunch advocates, but that is not the focus of the present discussion. In the present context, I am solely concerned with the question of whether the agreements between Matthew and Luke are to be explained by common dependence on an earlier source or sources, or whether they are to be explained by direct dependence of one evangelist on the work of the other (and for this there is no corroborating support for the theory. For further discussion of Koester’s work, see F. Neirynck, ‘The Minor Agreements and Proto-Mark’, in Evangelica II (n. 4 above), 59–73. 65 In this section, I consider mostly arguments from advocates of the FH, but also with some note of the 2GH, especially as it relates to the Matthew-Luke relationship and the possible existence (or otherwise) of Q. 66 The seminal work on this is that of J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q. Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987).

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reasons which are not necessarily transparently obvious, this dependence is usually assumed to be Luke being dependent on Matthew).67 If direct dependence is ruled out and common tradition(s) is/are posited, the nature of that tradition, its form (oral/written), language (Greek/Aramaic), its unity etc. are all logically further questions which can be discussed in their proper place. Here I am simply concerned with the issue of whether one can explain the Matthew-Luke agreements by a theory of direct dependence between these two gospels, or whether one is driven to posit lost tradition(s) to explain the data. As noted, both the 2GH and the FH are united in opposing the Q hypothesis and denying the existence of such a source. However, it should be noted that the two theories are radically different in their explanations of the Matthew-Luke relationship: the 2GH has to explain all the MatthewLuke agreements by Luke’s dependence on Matthew, whereas the FH explains only those agreements which are not due to dependence on Mark. The arguments adduced by advocates of the 2DH for the existence of some kind of Q tradition are well known and will not be repeated here in any detail. I have sought to set out some of these arguments elsewhere,68 and as I have noted there, many of these are in the form of negative arguments, seeking to show that any theory of direct dependence of Luke on Matthew is unlikely. 69 Almost all are agreed that the very close, at times verbatim, agreement between Matthew and Luke demands a literary relationship between the texts.70 Hence, if direct dependence is excluded, one

67 Matthew’s dependence on Luke has rarely been proposed, though see R. V. Huggins, ‘Matthean Posteriority. A Preliminary Proposal’, NovT 34 (1992) 1–22; M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ (London: SCM, 2000), 169–207. Given the number of passages where advocates of Q have suggested that Luke’s version is more original, this is perhaps surprising. 68 C. M. Tuckett, Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), ch. 1 (see also pp. 51–76 in this volume). 69 Usually on the implicit assumption that a theory of Matthew’s dependence on Luke is a non-starter: cf. n. 67 above. 70 The level of agreement is notoriously variable, but at times is far closer than the agreement between Matthew/Luke and Mark. See e.g. Matt 3.7–10//Luke 3.7–9, or Matt 7.7–8//Luke 11.9–10. Although the assumption of a literary relationship (direct or indirect) between Matthew and Luke is widely held, there has recently been a revival of support for an ‘oral hypothesis’ to explain some of these agreements in the ‘double’ tradition. See especially J. D. G. Dunn, ‘Altering the Default Setting. Re-Envisaging the Early Transmission of the Jesus Tradition’, NTS 49 (2003) 139–175; idem, Jesus Remembered (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003); T. Mournet, Oral Tradition and Literary Dependency. Variability and Stability in the Synoptic Tradition and Q (WUNT 2.185; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). Dunn and Mournet agree that the high agreement passages must be explained by a written source (‘Q’), but that many of the low agreement passages (‘q’) might be better explained by common use of oral tradition.

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is forced to a solution postulating common dependence on earlier traditions. The exact nature of these traditions, and the extent to which they had been combined before being used by Matthew and Luke (i.e. whether we should think of a single source, or multiple sources, whether such (a) source(s) was/were written or oral etc.) are all logically secondary questions, once the possibility of direct dependence between Matthew and Luke is excluded. Conversely, opponents of Q have sought to meet many of these negative points with arguments of their own, claiming that what appears to some as incoherent, and/or highly implausible, activity by Luke in using Matthew can in fact be seen to be both plausible and coherent. 5.3.1 Order One of the points regularly made by defenders of the Q hypothesis is to refer to the phenomenon of order. Many have claimed that, if Luke used Mark and Matthew as sources (i.e. the FH), he must have used them in radically different ways: he appears to have stuck fairly close to the Markan order, but changed the relative order of the Matthean material he decided to include at almost every point. Hence Luke’s general approach to his sources on the hypothesis seems inconsistent. For the 2GH, the problem may be slightly different, but still present: Luke is using Matthew alone, but it is not clear, at least in general terms, why Luke would have chosen to keep closely to Matthew’s order in part of the tradition (the material which, according to the 2GH, would be later used by Mark as well), and be very free elsewhere. Further, for both hypotheses, such a radical reordering of one of his sources by Luke would be highly unusual in relation to the general procedure adopted by writers at the time using sources since writers of the time appear to have tended not to engage in any substantial reordering.71 By contrast, a more coherent and/or consistent pattern of redactional activity might emerge on the Q hypothesis (especially if Q were a single source). Luke may have preserved the order of the Q material largely unchanged, operating with Q in a very similar way to the way he used The situation is however by no means straightforward. Recently Kloppenborg has discussed the matter further in his ‘Variation in the Reproduction of Double Tradition and an Oral Q?’, ETL 83 (2007) 53–80. See too Mattila, ‘Question’, 208–210. Kloppenborg refers to a number of examples of one author clearly using a written source (with verbatim verbal agreement for small sections), but also engaging in quite a significant level of paraphrasing and rewriting, resulting in a relatively low level of verbal agreement overall. Hence the low level of verbal agreement in some Q passages is no surprise on a theory of literary dependence and does not need an appeal to oral tradition to explain it. If anything it is the very high level of (all but) verbatim agreement between Matthew and Luke that is surprising. 71 Cf. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 117.

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Mark.72 Matthew may have made more changes to the order, but this may have been part of a more general redactional strategy of collecting together related teaching material into his five great teaching ‘blocks’ (a strategy which few would deny in general terms). Thus, it is claimed, a Q hypothesis would make a more coherent picture of the overall phenomenon of the agreements and disagreements in order between the three synoptic gospels than a model which postulates Luke’s use of Matthew. Defenders of the FH have sought to respond to this in various ways. A common, general approach has been to claim that Luke was perhaps better acquainted with Mark’s Gospel, perhaps having had it in his possession for longer, and hence he made Mark the basis of his own ordered account: he then fitted in material from Matthew into this. But the fact that Matthew was a subsidiary source meant that Luke felt more free to change Matthew’s order.73 Further, Luke’s own ordering may reflect more positively his own authorial design rather than simply reflecting his adherence to a source.74 Nevertheless, the more emphasis is placed on Luke as a creative narrator, operating very freely with the order of (some of) his source(s) to create his own new story line, the more dissimilar Luke appears in relation to contemporary writers by radically re-ordering his source materials (see above).

72 Hence it is widely assumed by advocates of the Q hypothesis that the order of Q (insofar as the Q material does constitute an ordered whole) is very closely reflected in the order of the Q material in Luke. 73 See variously Goulder, ‘Is Q a Juggernaut?’, 677; Goodacre, Case against Q, 89; M. A. Matson, ‘Luke’s Rewriting of the Sermon on the Mount’, in M. Goodacre & N. Perrin (eds.), Questioning Q (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004), 43–70, on p. 47; cf. in general terms also Farrer, ‘On Dispensing with Q’, 65: Luke ‘made a Marcan, not a Matthaean, skeleton for his book’. 74 Goodacre, Case against Q, 81–120; J. Peterson, ‘Order in the Double Tradition and the Existence of Q’, in M. Goodacre & N. Perrin (eds.), Questioning Q (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004), 28–42. The argument of M. D. Goulder, ‘The Order of a Crank’, in Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies (n. 24 above), 111–130, is somewhat idiosyncratic. He argues that Luke went through his account, using the Markan framework and culling some material from Matthew; he then went backwards through his scroll of Matthew, picking up other materials he wanted to include. Even Goodacre regards this as ‘implausible’ (see his Case against Q, 118). For other critiques, see Tuckett, Q and the History, 28–31; Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 192–199: Goulder’s theory in detail does not really fit the evidence, with some forward moves as well as backwards ones needed; Derrenbacker also points out that Goulder’s theory demands Luke working backwards through Matthew at the level of whole pericopes, but forwards within each pericope individually. With an uncial text of Matthew, presumably not divided neatly into separate pericopes (as in some modern editions), such a procedure would be challenging in the extreme.

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5.3.2 Luke’s and Matthew’s Redaction of Mark A second major argument for the Q hypothesis relates to the fact that, in several Markan passages, Matthew redacts Mark by making (at times substantive) additions, but Luke never seems to show knowledge of these (cf. Matt 3.15; 12.5–7; 14.28–31; 16.17–19; 27.19, 24). This evidence, it is argued, is better explained if Luke did not know (or at least not use) Matthew. Responses to this from advocates of the FH have varied. One response has been to appeal to a claim about ‘Luke-pleasingness’:75 material Luke took from Matthew (on the FH, from ‘Q’ on the 2DH) will inevitably be to a certain extent material which Luke found congenial (or ‘pleasing’) and hence took the positive decision to include; conversely other material in Matthew, which Luke must have omitted according to the FH, may have been less congenial to him and omitted for just that reason. In general terms, the argument is plausible, though whether it explains convincingly the actual additions and omissions Luke must have made is perhaps open to question. Goodacre is one of the few modern scholars to have sought to flesh out Farrer’s rather general claim about ‘Luke-pleasingness’, and to say why in particular some of the Matthean additions to Mark might have not appealed to Luke.76 In turn, however, Goodacre’s claims have been searchingly examined by Kloppenborg.77 One of Goodacre’s arguments had been to say that ‘Luke is not as positive about Peter overall as Matthew’ to explain e.g. the absence of Matt 16.17–19 in Luke.78 Kloppenborg shows that this scarcely fits the overall picture in Luke-Acts where Luke is generally extremely positive about Peter and devotes considerable space to him. Thus whether the general criterion actually fits the data in detail is uncertain. There is too the problem (on the FH) of Luke’s omissions from Matthew more widely: all the material often dubbed as ‘M’ (on the 2DH) must have been known by Luke on the FH but omitted. A detailed explanation of why all this might have been dis-‘pleasing’ to Luke could be undertaken (but rarely has). Some of it might be relatively easy to explain (cf. e.g. Matt 17.24–27); but other parts are distinctly harder.79

75

The term is Farrer’s: cf. his ‘On Dispensing with Q’, 57. See e.g. Goodacre, Case against Q, 49–59, 66–75. 77 Kloppenborg, ‘Dispensing with Q?’, esp. p. 221. 78 Goodacre, Case against Q, 51. This is mooted too by Goulder, ‘Is Q a Juggernaut?’, 676–677, as a possibility, though Goulder is more inclined to say that Luke is simply using Mark alone. 79 Cf. Kloppenborg, ‘Dispensing with Q?’, 223, briefly on Matt 18.23–35; 20.1–16; 25.31–46. 76

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An alternative line of defence/attack has been mounted recently by Goodacre, who argues that any claim (by advocates of Q) that Luke does not know Matthew’s additions to Mark actually ignores huge swathes of evidence.80 For in some texts such as the temptation narrative, Matthew (on the FH) makes very substantial additions to Mark which Luke does follow. These are of course passages attributed to a ‘Mark-Q overlap’ on the 2DH and are then not included in the discussion by defenders of the 2DH. But such a move effectively assumes as a given what is to be shown. When the evidence from the whole tradition is taken into account and viewed from the perspective of the FH (rather than the 2DH), the alleged ‘data’ (of Luke’s failure to reproduce material Matthew has added to Mark) dissolves. One might however respond by arguing that the situation is perhaps not quite as clear-cut as Goodacre suggests. The so-called ‘overlap’ passages will be considered in more detail below, but, broadly speaking, they are instances where Luke for the most part does not seem to know (or use) the Markan version at all. The other passages are instances where Luke has been following Mark.81 Luke may not know (or use) Matthew in passages like Matt 16.17–19; but he fails to use Mark in the ‘overlap’ passages and this in turn creates different problems for the FH (see below). Goodacre may be right to highlight a lack of clarity and/or precision on the part of defenders of the 2DH at this point; but there are still problems faced by the FH in this respect. 5.3.3 ‘Alternating Primitivity’ A third major argument for defenders of the Q theory has been an appeal to ‘alternating primitivity’ in the ‘double tradition’: sometimes, it is argued, Matthew has the more original wording of a saying or individual tradition, sometimes Luke, but neither Matthew not Luke has a monopoly of the original wording. There is no time or space to go into details here. Different scholars have however responded in different ways to this claim. In one way Goulder may be somewhat unusual among advocates of the FH in seeking to reject the whole premise of the argument: he would want to claim that Luke’s wording can be shown to be secondary to that of Matthew, and the result of LukeR, at every point in the tradition.82 80

Goodacre, Case against Q, 49–54. See too Goulder, ‘Is Q a Juggernaut?’, 676. Though, as Goodacre rightly points out, Matt 14.28–31 should be excluded from the list on this basis: this is Matthew’s addition to Mark’s story of the walking on the water; Luke not only has no parallel to this Matthean ‘addition’, he has no parallel to the Markan story at all. 82 His massive 2-volume work, Luke – A New Paradigm, is in effect an attempt to justify this claim in detail. 81

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Others have argued from within the broad spectrum of the FH that Luke need not be considered as secondary to Matthew at every point in the tradition: at some points Luke may have had access to independent (possibly oral?) traditions and this could explain instances where Luke’s version is less easy to explain as LukeR of Matthew.83 This may though be something of a thin end of a potentially quite large wedge. For the ‘concession’ does then imply that advocates of the FH and the 2GH are in effect agreeing with advocates of the 2DH that, at some points in the tradition, the Matthew-Luke agreements and disagreements are to be explained by independent use of earlier tradition(s). Just how frequently such an appeal is to be made by advocates of the FH or the 2GH is not certain. Goodacre implies that it is only a matter of one or two traditions. Farmer may imply slightly more. But the concession does seem to indicate that, for at least some advocates of the 2GH and of the FH, a ‘hard line’ theory of Luke’s dependence on Matthew to explain all the passages where the two gospels are parallel to each other is effectively surrendered. 5.3.4 ‘Mark-Q Overlap’ and Minor Agreement Texts It is also worth noting that, as with the 2GH, the actual texts in the tradition which cause difficulty and/or possibly anomalies for the 2DH, viz. the MAs and the ‘overlap’ passages, may cause equal difficulty for the FH. In this case, the MAs seem to create difficulties simply because they are so minor. For the FH, these agreements are presumably due to Luke’s allowing the wording of Matthew to influence him occasionally when he is using Mark. But why then should Luke have allowed this in what are often trivial and tiny ways (changing țĮȓ to įȑ, or ȜȑȖİȚ to İੇʌİȞ)? One way to explain this is via the route of claiming that Mark is perhaps Luke’s ‘main’ source and the one for which he has most respect: hence he follows mostly the Markan wording and (only) makes ‘subsidiary’ use of Matthew.84 This explains things at one level, though the very triviality of many of the agreements with Matthew still seem to pose a problem: if Mark were Luke’s main source, why should the use of a subsidiary source (probably based on memory) provide Luke with such inconsequential details of tiny connecting words and/or the (non-)use of the historic present? A rather more substantive (‘meaty’) morsel from Matthew might be easier to envisage, but not such tiny details! Goodacre has suggested that an argument such as this once again ‘divides and conquers’ for it ignores the so-called ‘major agreements’, i.e. the passages attributed to Mark-Q overlaps on the 2DH. Here there are 83 Goodacre, Case against Q, 64, on the Lord’s Prayer. See too above for advocates of the 2GH arguing similarly. 84 Cf. above on the question of order.

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indeed substantive agreements between Matthew and Luke against Mark, but by prematurely separating these off from the other MAs, the latter are left alone arbitrarily. Rather, he suggests, there is ‘a continuum, from pure triple tradition to pure double tradition, with varying degrees of agreement along the way, from relatively minor to quite major agreement …’; the MAs thus ‘constitute one element in a broader spectrum of evidence’.85 Many would however argue that there is no continuous spectrum of agreements in the tradition: rather, they virtually all seem to cluster into two groups: one of ‘minor’ agreements made up almost exclusively of tiny details, mostly totally inconsequential in relation to meaning, and one of ‘major’ agreements, where many would argue that the agreements are so extensive that they seem to provide evidence for the existence of a nonMarkan version of the tradition. And there is not much in between these poles.86 Thus to talk about a ‘continuum’ of agreements may not be fully persuasive. That there are different categories of agreement is undeniable – but they seem to many to be more discrete than continuous. In any case, Goodacre’s argument is in danger of throwing something of a possible smokescreen over the fact that, on any showing, there are still a relatively large number of exceedingly minor agreements in the tradition; on the FH it still remains not easy to see why a secondary author (Luke) using one of his sources (Mark) as his main one should allow himself to be influenced by the wording of the other (Matthew) in such trivial ways at so many points. In some ways, a diametrically opposite set of problems may arise when seeking to analyse the so-called ‘overlap’ passages from the presuppositions of the FH.87 I argued earlier that these passages pose great difficulties for the 2GH. In a very similar way, they cause almost identical problems for the FH, though with slightly different parameters. I argued earlier that the material is divided in such a way that, generally speaking, Mark has X, Luke has Y, and Matthew has X + Y. For the 2GH, the problem arises by having to envisage Mark as the third evangelist managing to extract the ‘X’ material only from Matthew and resolutely avoiding all the MatthewLuke agreements. For the FH, the problem arises with Luke: for Luke on this hypothesis must have decided to include only those parts of Matthew that are not in Mark. The problem is perhaps two-fold. First, the procedure involved seems totally contrary to Luke’s procedure outside these passages where, advocates of the FH often argue, Luke preferred Mark more (per85

Goodacre, Case against Q, 165. Perhaps Mark 12.28–34 might come closest. Cf. n. 34 above. 87 As noted above, this argument is basically that of Downing, ‘Towards the Rehabilitation of Q’. As developed by Downing originally, this was applied to the FH and Farrer’s original essay. 86

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haps because he had known Mark for longer) and where he used Mark as a main source and made only ‘subsidiary’ use of Matthew for at most tiny details (cf. the MAs). This was necessary to explain both the MAs and also the apparent preference for the Markan order and a willingness to be much freer with Matthew’s order. However, in these (relatively few) ‘overlap’ passages, Luke’s overall strategy on the FH must have been quite the reverse of his procedure elsewhere: here he must have decided to make Matthew his main source and resolutely to exclude as much of Mark as possible. Such a redactional procedure seems very inconsistent, and hence somewhat unpersuasive. Second, there is the ‘logistical’ problem of how Luke managed to proceed in detail. As with Mark on the 2GH, so with Luke on the FH: Luke must have gone through the text of Mark, carefully ‘unpicking’ the Markan material from Matthew in order to discard it and retaining only the material in Matthew that is not in Mark. This, as noted by Downing, is quite unlike the procedure in other contemporary writers using more than one source; it also seems quite unlike Luke’s general procedure as postulated elsewhere in the tradition. It also is hard to envisage given the conditions in which ancient writers operated as it seems to presuppose Luke’s having sight of both his alleged sources at the same time.88 As with the 2GH, the FH thus seems to face significant difficulties in explaining the pattern of agreements and disagreements between the gospels, and especially the redactional activity of the third evangelist using both the other two gospels as sources, in these passages assigned on the 2DH to the category of a Mark-Q overlap.

6. The Two Document Hypothesis Thus far in this essay I have focused on the main ‘rivals’ to the 2DH and the points where these alternative theories might be vulnerable to criticism. In particular, I have focused on the MAs and ‘overlap’ passages, as well as the possible problem of having to posit extensive re-ordering of material by the secondary evangelist(s). Yet if these phenomena cause difficulties for the 2GH and the FH, do they fare any better on the 2DH? 6.1. ‘Mark-Q Overlap’ and Minor Agreement Texts The problems posed by the MAs in general are well known and I do not attempt to discuss them here in any detail. Some of the problems raised for the 2DH by these texts have already been touched on. The overall approach 88

Cf. Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices.

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adopted by Streeter, Neirynck and others from the side of the 2DH, of seeking a range of possible explanations (independent redaction, textual variants, Mark-Q overlaps) seems to me at one level justifiable, though I am fully aware that it has been criticised by others.89 The issue of the total number of MAs, and whether the number concerned is too high for comfort, is a well known problem for the 2DH, though, as I argued earlier, attempts to count the MAs are not necessarily straightforward and so it is by no means certain what total number one is seeking to account for and explain.90 Further, several defenders of the 2DH have argued that the number of significant MAs may be relatively few.91 However, the problems here are well known and will not be discussed further here.92 I offer here a few brief comments on the more particular problems posed by the ‘overlap’ passages. I tried to show earlier that these passages cause immense problems for both the 2GH and the FH: both hypotheses have to presuppose a redactional procedure for the third evangelist (Mark for the 2GH, Luke for the FH) which is very hard to envisage at a number of levels: (i) the redactional procedure implied seems to be at odds with the general strategy postulated elsewhere in the tradition; (ii) the activity implied is also difficult to envisage ‘logistically’ since it involves the third evangelist engaged in a close detailed comparison of his two sources simultaneously, and this would have been difficult given scribal posture and furniture generally; (iii) the third evangelist would then have had to proceed to ‘unpick’ the material common to both from one source to retain what was left from the other. Certainly both (ii) and (iii) here then make the 2GH’s Mark, and the FH’s Luke, to be very unlike other contemporary writers using more than one source, since most other writers tend not to engage in any ‘micro-conflation’ and to follow mostly one source at a time.93 On the 2DH, the problems are reduced but may not disappear completely. In general terms, the possibility that sources overlapped seems not at all implausible or impossible.94 Hence a ‘Mark-Q overlap’ in principle is surely not an inherent problem. The redactional procedures implied in these 89

See n. 31 above. See n. 30 above. 91 See e.g. Neirynck, ‘Minor Agreements and the Two Source Theory’, 10–12, summarising the lists of others (including Hawkins, Burton, Lagrange, McCloughlin). However, many opponents of the 2DH would dispute such a methodological move to divide the evidence up in this way! 92 See further M. E. Boring, ‘The “Minor Agreements” and their Bearing on the Synoptic Problem’, in P. Foster et al. (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (BETL 239; Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 227–251. 93 See above, especially the works of Downing and Derrenbacker. 94 And indeed other source theories do postulate similar overlapping traditions at times: cf. e.g. above nn. 37 (on the 2GH) and 83 (on the FH). 90

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texts may though create problems, at least at the level of Matthew. For Luke, there seems to be little difficulty: generally, Luke seems to prefer the non-Markan version; hence (using the shorthand used earlier), if ‘X’ = Mark, and ‘Y’ = Q, then Luke has just the Y material. Hence, given two sources, he follows one and ignores the other thus taking one source at a time, a procedure entirely in line with the general procedures adopted by other contemporary writers using more than one source. For Matthew, the situation is potentially more complex. Matthew generally is the evangelist who has ‘X + Y’. On the 2DH, Matthew must then have worked together and conflated the Markan and Q versions, at times in a quite detailed way to preserve the wording of both his sources. This certainly does not have to postulate any process of ‘unpicking’ material from one source and only including what was left from the other (cf. [iii] above). Nevertheless, it does still require an element of ‘micro-conflation’ on the part of Matthew: Matthew appears still to have been working to take great care to include the words from both his sources within these pericopes. This is then still somewhat unlike the procedures adopted by other contemporary writers using more than one source where they appear to have followed a ‘one source at a time’ policy. Further, it involves Matthew apparently having to cope somehow with being able to deal with, and/or read, two sources at the same time; and, as noted earlier, this is not easy to envisage given all that we know about scribal posture and/or furniture. Thus although difficulties (i) and (iii) noted above may be less on the 2DH, difficulty (ii) may still in part remain, at least for a 2DH-Matthew.95 Derrenbacker is one of the few in the modern period to have identified the problem from the side of the 2DH and sought to address it.96 Derrenbacker points out that, on the 2DH, there appears to be a positive correlation between the extent to which Matthew follows the order of Q and the level of verbatim agreement Matthew shows with Luke (and hence, arguably, with Q). From this Derrenbacker suggests that perhaps as Matthew deviates from the order of Q, he tends to lose ‘visual contact’ with Q, i.e. he relies more on memory (and hence displays less verbal agreement).97 The same general phenomenon, of an author relying on memory and not being in a position to have visual contact with a source, may then explain the situation in the Mark-Q overlaps (on the 2DH). Certainly, if there is a ‘problem’ here, it is of lesser extent than for the 2GH or FH.98 Derrenbacker 95

See Mattila, ‘Question’, 206–207. See Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, esp. pp. 239–250. 97 Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 238. Derrenbacker assumes that the order of Q is that of the International Q Project’s reconstruction, which generally follows that of Luke. 98 Derrenbacker, Ancient Compositional Practices, 240: ‘the relatively few Mark-Q overlap texts constitute an infrequent “micro-conflation”, a phenomenon that consistently 96

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does though analyse a number of these ‘overlap’ passages, and claims that the redactional procedure of Matthew and/or Luke can be accounted for if one posits use of one of the two sources on the basis of memory: e.g. in the case of the preaching of John the Baptist (Mark 1.7–8 pars.), Luke may have followed Q primarily, but been influenced by the Markan wording on the basis of memory; similarly, in the Beelzebul story and the parable of the mustard seed, Matthew may have followed Q as his main source but added material from Mark as recalled from memory. 6.2. Order In relation to the amount of re-ordering required, again it may be Matthew that causes most problems for the 2DH. As noted earlier, it is widely assumed by advocates of the Q hypothesis that Luke may have preserved the order of Q material largely unchanged. Thus Luke has engaged in relatively little re-ordering of either Mark or Q.99 As such, the redactional procedure posited by the 2DH for Luke fits reasonably well in general terms with procedures adopted by other writers using sources. With Matthew the situation is potentially a little more difficult. With Matthew’s use of Mark on the 2DH, the changes in order are relatively small-scale, though not non-existent. There is always the difficulty of identifying and describing disagreements – and agreements – in order.100 But on one analysis (which may be crucially dependent on how one sees the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew in relation to the Markan order),101 one could argue that a significant part of Matthew’s disagreements with Mark’s order focus on material included in Matt 8–9: in particular, Matthew may have brought the story of the healing of the leper forward from Mark 1.40– 45 to Matt 8.1–4; he may also have brought the miracles of Mark 4.35– 5.20 and 5.21–43 forward to Matt 8.22–34 and 9.18–26. Further, plausible characterizes the 2GH (and the FH to a lesser extent)’ (his stress). This may make something of a virtue out of necessity: the ‘infrequent’ nature of the phenomenon then makes it rather atypical in the tradition as a whole and opens up the possibility of Matthew (or Luke) being somewhat ‘inconsistent’ in their procedures. 99 Several of Luke’s possible re-orderings of Mark may in fact be Luke’s preference for a non-Markan parallel version of the tradition in question: cf. e.g. Luke 4.16–30 (cf. Mark 6.1–6); 7.36–50 (cf. Mark 14.3–9); 10.25–28 (cf. Mark 12.28–34); 11.14–22 (cf. Mark 3.22–27); 12.8–9 (cf. Mark 8.38); 12.10 (cf. Mark 3.28–29). 100 For example, if A has five units in the order 1 2 3 4 5, and B has 2 1 4 3 5, what is out of order and where do the two agree in order? Is it 2 and 3 that are out of order with a common order in 1 4 5? Or are 2 3 5 in order and 1 4 out of order? Or are 1 and 2 both out of order, along with 3, with 4 5 in order? The permutations are almost endless! 101 For the crucial significance of how one places the Sermon on the Mount in relation to Mark’s order, see J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Synopses and the Synoptic Problem’, in P. Foster et al., New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (BETL 239; Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 51–85.

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redactional reasons can be provided for why Matthew might have made such changes.102 That apart, the differences Matthew must have made to Mark are not very extensive and Matthew and Mark show a significant level of agreement in order. Matthew’s changes of order from Q were probably more extensive.103 On the other hand, on almost any source theory, a clear redactional/editorial aim of Matthew was to collect together – and re-present – the teaching of Jesus in broad thematic groupings (ethics in Matt 5–7, parables in Matt 13, eschatology in Matt 24–25). In one way, Matthew’s procedure in reordering the sayings material in this way is explicable. Further, it may be noteworthy that the level of verbal agreement between Matthew and Q in passages which Matthew (probably) reordered is lower than in passages where no reordering occurred: hence Matthew may have lost visual contact with Q at these points and be re-presenting the material from memory (see above). Similarly, it may be noteworthy that the level of verbal agreement between Matthew and Mark is relatively low in the passages noted above which may constitute Matthew’s reordering of Mark.104 Thus the possibility of reordering can be correlated positively with the level of verbal agreement in a way that makes the theory quite plausible. Whether this resolves all the problems of Matthew’s supposed reordering on the 2DH is not certain. It remains the case that Matthew must have reordered material to a not insignificant degree (Q more than Mark, but still some of Mark). The amount of reordering required by the theory overall is certainly less than that posited for Luke by the 2GH and the FH (and the FH must explain the differences in order between Matthew and Mark just as the 2DH must). Whether it is still ‘anomalous’ in relation to other writers of the period may have to remain uncertain. Overall the phenomenon is less anomalous for the 2DH than for the 2GH or the FH. But it still perhaps remains slightly unusual in relation to other writers of the period.

7. Conclusion As noted at the start of this paper, one could say that not a lot has changed over a century of study of the Synoptic Problem, at least for many not directly engaged in the scholarly debates: the 2DH (in some form) remains probably the most widely held theory. Nevertheless, recent debates have 102

See Tuckett, ‘Arguments from Order’, 209–211 (= above, pp. 16–18). Assuming, as most advocates of Q do, that Luke’s order reflects the order of Q fairly closely. 104 See Matt 8.1–4; 8.23–34; 9.18–26: in each case there are substantial abbreviations by Matthew. 103

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enabled significant developments in our understanding of some of the issues. We are (hopefully) all now much more aware of the provisional nature of any alleged ‘solutions’ to the Synoptic Problem, and aware too that between our (sometimes neat and simple) solutions and historical reality may lie an unbridgeable chasm. We are aware too of the strengths – and weaknesses – of all our hypotheses. The ‘dominant’ solution to the Synoptic Problem, the 2DH, is no exception to this: and even though I have (unashamedly?!) sought in this paper to argue that the weaknesses of the 2DH are possibly less than those of other competing hypotheses today, I hope that I have shown that this theory too is open to questioning. It would be a brave, even foolhardy, person who claimed absolute certainty for the correctness of his/her viewpoint! If there have been any trends discernible in recent studies, it may be that the most significant is the emphasis increasingly placed on the importance of locating the evangelists plausibly within the broader context of GrecoRoman writers of the period. I have sought to argue in this paper that, with this in mind, the 2DH may align the gospel writers more closely with the activity of other (roughly) contemporary writers using source materials. Others will no doubt disagree! 11

Part Two: The Sayings Source Q

12

V A Cynic Q? In recent years a number of scholars have been canvassing the traditions about Cynics in the Greco-Roman world as important background material for interpreting various parts of the New Testament. In a number of studies, A. J. Malherbe has sought to show how much of Paul’s correspondence can be seen in part as a reaction against ideas put forward by Cynics.1 Others too have suggested that Cynic traditions may be important for illuminating parts of the gospel tradition, in particular the Q material in the Gospels. The possible parallel between the apparent garb of the Q missionaries (as reflected in the Q mission discourse) and that of Cynic preachers has been noted by P. Hoffmann and G. Theissen,2 and Theissen has suggested that the bearers of the sayings tradition3 in the gospels represent a group which is at least sociologically comparable to Cynic preachers (though he avoids claiming that there was any direct link between the two groups). L. Vaage has also attempted to delineate a number of substantive parallels between Cynic traditions and the Q mission discourse in Q 10.3–124 as well as other parts of Q such as the sayings about the Kingdom and about love-of-enemies.5 In a series of recent articles, G. Downing too has suggested that Cynic traditions provide an impressive number of parallels to the individual parts of the Q material.6 1 See, for example, A. J. Malherbe, Paul and the Thessalonians (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 107: ‘Paul is at great pains to keep his recent converts from adopting the Cynic way of life.’ 2 P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienguelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 31981), 318; G. Theißen, ‘Wanderradikalismus. Literatursoziologische Aspekte der Überlieferung von Worten Jesu im Urchristentum’, ZTK 70 (1973) 245–271, on pp. 255– 256 = idem, Studien zur Soziologie des Urchristentums (WUNT 19; Tübingen: Mohr, 1979), 89–90; also idem, ‘Gewaltverzicht und Feindesliebe (Mt 5,38–48/Lk 6,27–36) und deren sozialgeschichtlicher Hintergrund’, in Studien, 160–197, on pp. 189 ff. 3 However, Theißen includes more in the ‘sayings tradition’ than just Q. 4 In accordance with what is becoming standard convention I refer to passages in Q with the Lukan chapter and verse numbers, without of course prejudging the issue of whether Matthew or Luke is more original at any one point. 5 L. E. Vaage, Q. The Ethos and Ethics of an Itinerant Radicalism (PhD dissertation, Claremont 1987). 6 F. G. Downing, ‘Contemporary Analogies to the Gospels and Acts. “Genres” or “Motifs”?’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies (Sheffield: JSOT, 1984), 51–65 (for

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The possible parallels between Q and Cynicism have also been used by some to support theories that the historical Jesus should be seen against this background too.7 The Cynic background has also recently been adduced by some to provide possible analogies not only for individual traditions in Q but also for the genre of Q as a whole. Both Downing and Kloppenborg have suggested that the Lives of Cynic philosophers (e.g. in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Famous Philosophers) provide a significant parallel to Q as a whole.8 Neither Downing nor Kloppenborg claims that Q is itself necessarily Cynic and indeed Kloppenborg explicitly denies this; however, Downing claims that the parallels at the levels of individual traditions and of genre are too numerous to be coincidental. The editor(s), or compiler(s), of Q must have had their audience in mind and an audience hearing (or reading) Q would have been immediately struck by these similarities; hence the choice and editing of the Q traditions may well have been deliberately undertaken in order to cultivate such an impression.9 Thus: There is enough common ground, sufficient signs of agreed common meaning, for it to have been very likely that the people who produced ‘Q’ would have been aware of and (instinctively) used the model of the Life of a Cynic Philosopher in composing their collection of the sayings of Jesus.10

In view of the contemporary interest in Q and its possibly distinctive ideology, the question of the relevance of the Cynic material for Q study deserves careful study. Further, in order to keep the discussion within manageable limits, attention will here be confined to Q: problems about the historical Jesus or the Pauline epistles will be considered only in passing. However, the parallels between Q and Cynic traditions made by some in the recent debate do raise a number of critical problems. There are first some general problems of definition, date and provenance. Q see p. 58); ‘Cynics and Christians’, NTS 30 (1984) 584–593 (for Q pp. 586–589); ‘Ears to Hear’, in A. E. Harvey (ed.), Alternative Approaches to New Testament Study (London: SPCK, 1985), 97–121 (for Q pp. 106–107); ‘The Social Contexts of Jesus the Teacher. Construction and Reconstruction’, NTS 33 (1987) 439–451; ‘Quite like Q. A Genre for “Q”; The “Lives” of the Cynic Philosophers’, Bib 69 (1988) 196–225. Much of his evidence is now given in full in his Christ and the Cynics (Sheffield: JSOT, 1988). 7 See Downing, Jesus and the Threat of Freedom (London: SCM, 1987), as well as ‘Social Contexts’, passim. Cf. too B. Mack, A Myth of Innocence (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), esp. pp. 67–69. 8 See J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), esp. pp. 306–325; Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, passim. 9 Downing frequently refers to the importance of audience reaction in assessing the significance of the Cynic parallels: cf. ‘Analogies’, 58; ‘Ears’, 106; ‘Cynics’, 590; ‘Quite like Q’, 218–219; Christ and the Cynics, vii–ix. 10 ‘Quite like Q’, 222.

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1. Definition There is a tendency by some to refer to many traditions assumed to be ‘Cynic’ with appeal being made to a very wide range of authors for evidence. (This applies especially in the work of Downing and Vaage.) Nobody would dispute that some of this evidence is ‘Cynic’ in some sense at least: for example, Epictetus writing about the (ideal) Cynic (3.22), Diogenes Laertius writing his Lives of Cynics such as Diogenes (in Book 6 of his Lives), Lucian’s Life of Demonax, some of Dio Chrysostom’s Orations, and the Cynic Epistles. However, other authors not usually regarded as Cynics are also often cited. These include the Stoics Musonius Rufus and Seneca, the life of Socrates in Diogenes Laertius 2, and Epictetus outside 3.22. All of Dio’s writings are sometimes referred to very freely. The relationship between Cynicism and Stoicism is a complex one. The earliest Cynics (Antisthenes, Diogenes, Crates) pre-date the rise of Stoicism (founded by Zeno, the pupil of Crates). To a certain extent Stoicism grew out of Cynicism, so that many Stoics appealed to Cynic figures of the past very positively. However, the two movements cannot necessarily be identified.11 What was important for Cynics was, above all, practice of the simple life, with philosophising given a fairly low priority. Stoicism on the other hand added a theoretical superstructure to Cynic practices and in many instances modified those practices considerably. The Cynic stress on the importance of practice is reflected in the often made claim that the Cynic way of life was a short-cut to happiness (i.e. by by-passing philosophy: cf. Ps.-Crates 13, 16) and in Diogenes Laertius’ observation that many regarded Cynicism as not so much a philosophy and more a way of life (6.103). Cynics could thus be quite eclectic in their comments and ‘teachings’: ‘what made a Cynic was his dress and conduct, self-sufficiency, harsh behaviour towards what appeared as excesses, and a practical ethical idealism’.12 One should therefore beware of equating Cynicism and Stoicism.13 Even within the Cynic movement itself, it is clear that there was a very wide variety of thought permitted, and Malherbe has pointed to substantial differences between a very rigorous, ascetic form of Cynicism and milder

11 See especially A. J. Malherbe, ‘Pseudo-Heraclitus Epistle 4. The Divinisation of the Wise Man’, JAC 21 (1978) 42–64. 12 A. J. Malherbe, ‘Self-Definition among Epicureans and Cynics’, in B. F. Meyer & E. P. Sanders (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-Definition. Volume 3. Self-Definition in the Greco-Roman World (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 46–59, on p. 49. 13 One should therefore perhaps avoid terms like ‘Cynic-Stoic’ in the present discussion.

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forms;14 indeed some of the Cynic Epistles may well reflect these differences of opinion amongst Cynics themselves. Further, one should probably distinguish between ‘real’ Cynics (as reflected, for example, in the writers of the Cynic Epistles) and the highly stylised and idealised presentation of the ideal Cynic by Epictetus in 3.22 which may reflect as much Epictetus’ Stoicism as it does genuine Cynicism. In any case, Diogenes Laertius’ observation, noted above, about Cynicism as primarily a way of life suggests how hard it may be to isolate any ‘ideas’ which one can confidently assert as being ‘Cynic’.15 In the light of this, the very wide range of authors referred to by some as ‘Cynic’ becomes rather problematic. Is it justified to cite Epictetus on Cynics, Dio, the Cynic Epistles, Demonax and Diogenes almost indiscriminately when such texts display such a wide variety of underlying presuppositions? It is even more problematic if authors such as Musonius Rufus, Seneca, or Epictetus outside 3.22 are cited as evidence of the ‘Cynic’ background when these writers are usually regarded as Stoic rather than Cynic. There is, for example, no evidence that Epictetus or Seneca explicitly adopted the role of a Cynic wandering preacher.16 It is also not entirely clear when it is justifiable to cite the evidence of Dio.17 Downing is certainly aware of these difficulties and has sought to answer the problems raised.18 For example, he defends the use of a very wide range of sources in general terms by claiming that ‘first century Cynicism [was] a movement of considerable diversity but still exhibiting a family resemblance’.19 This though raises the question of how far one can 14 See his article ‘Cynics’, IDB Supplementary Volume, 201–203, his Introduction to his edition of The Cynic Epistles (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977), 1, and his ‘SelfDefinition’, passim. 15 For the diversity within Cynicism, cf. Malherbe, ‘Self-Definition’, 49–50; ‘PseudoHeraclitus’, 48; see too D. B. Dudley, A History of Cynicism (London: Methuen, 1937), 37; W. A. Meeks, The Moral World of the First Christians (London: SPCK, 1987), 53. Cf. too H. W. Attridge, ‘The Philosophical Critique of Religion under the Empire’, ANRW 2.16.1, 45–78, on p. 56: amongst Cynics there was ‘little, if any, doctrinal concern, and hence little consistency in their attitude toward religious belief and observation’. 16 See S. K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans (SBLDS 5; Chico: Scholars Press, 1981), 53 ff., who shows that Epictetus and others were not street preachers, but teachers in a ‘school’ situation. 17 It would appear that Orations 6, 8, 9, 10 reflect the time of Dio’s vagrant life in the style of a Cynic preacher: cf. Dudley, History, 151, referring to the work of H. F. von Arnim, Leben und Werke des Dio von Prusa (Berlin: Weidmann, 1898). 18 The issue is not really discussed by Vaage, who only deals with the question of whether there is really as great a variety within genuine Cynicism as Malherbe claims. 19 ‘Cynics’, 584–585: he claims that it is legitimate to use, in addition to the Cynic epistles, ‘Diogenes Laertius on the on-going Diogenes tradition, Dio of Prusa at least at the points where he claims Diogenes of Sinope, Epictetus and his mentor Musonius

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legitimately regard the ideas and statements expressed by this variety of writers as peculiarly Cynic. The large number of parallels in contemporary literature may simply show that Cynics shared things in common with a broader cross-section of their society. Rather than showing that Epictetus et al. were in fact Cynics, the ‘family resemblance’ may simply show that ‘real’ Cynics were not in fact so independent of their contemporary environment as they may have liked to think! Elsewhere Downing has again responded to this issue, and says: We are concerned with Lives and with ideas that are presented as Cynic and seem to have been popularly perceived as Cynic, even though there may well be evidence for Cynic thinkers who as individuals had reached a much more distinctive and ‘unStoic’ Cynicism. 20

This does not however answer all the problems raised. Where is the evidence that the writings of Stoics such as Seneca, or Epictetus (outside 3.22) or Musonius Rufus were either ‘presented as Cynic’ or ‘popularly perceived as Cynic’? Downing’s appeals to these writers certainly go far beyond the points where they are explicitly presenting the views of other Cynics, e.g. Seneca re-presenting the views of Demetrius, or Epictetus giving the picture of the ideal Cynic. Further, as noted above, neither Seneca nor Epictetus appears to have adopted the role of a Cynic wandering preacher, so it is unclear how far their writings would have been ‘perceived as Cynic’. The large number of references to almost all of Dio’s writings also creates problems. Did Dio regard himself as always a Cynic? Was he regarded by others as always a Cynic? As noted above (see n. 17) some of his Orations stem from his period of exile when he took on the Cynic garb and spoke of Diogenes. Yet this was only one period of his life and subsequently Dio returned from exile. Further, when Dio does talk of some ‘Cynic’ preachers in Alexandria (Dio 32.9) he seems to regard them as a group to which he himself does not belong. Dio may not have objected to some of the things they said (which may only show that many of the things said by Cynics were not that special and not peculiarly Cynic: cf. above), but their behaviour made the task of a ‘true philosopher’ in gaining a hearing all the more difficult. There is thus a real danger, if one is not careful, of the boundaries of socalled ‘Cynic’ teaching being extended so far that it becomes no longer meaningful to speak of what is included within the limits as in any sense a unity, let alone something that would be recognised by someone else at the time as peculiarly ‘Cynic’.

Rufus … Material may also be drawn from Seneca (so long as it has support from other sources) and from Plutarch on Diogenes’. 20 ‘Quite like Q’, 204–205 and n. 25.

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2. Date Similar problems are raised by the date of the Cynic evidence. Much uncertainty surrounds the date of the Cynic Epistles, and they can be variously dated to a period roughly contemporary with the start of the Christian movement. As such they may be usable as evidence for possible 1st-century Cynic views. Much of the other evidence for Cynic views is however rather late if it is to be used as background material for illuminating Q (and the same applies with even more force if one is considering the possible background of Jesus). Diogenes Laertius’ Lives are usually dated to the early 3rd century CE. No doubt Laertius may have used prior sources.21 Nevertheless there are still problems as to whether it is legitimate to use a 3rd-century text to provide information about the thoughtworld of a 1st-century society. Similar problems arise in the case of Dio and Epictetus. Dio appears to have adopted the Cynic way of life only after his banishment from Rome in 82 CE. Epictetus lived from c. 55–135 CE. How far is it legitimate to use the writings of someone at the end of the 1st century to illuminate middle 1st-century, or even early 1st-century, Christianity? This problem becomes even more pressing if one accepts the view (assumed by most ancient historians) that Cynicism faded away very considerably in the 2nd and 1st century BCE but revived in importance in the 1st century CE.22 Yet the question remains: how early in the 1st century? Demetrius seems to be the earliest Cynic we know of in this revival: however, Demetrius was exiled under Nero in c. 66 CE and hence cannot be dated much earlier than the middle of the 1st century. Cynics may well have been around earlier;23 but they do not appear to have had a great deal of influence or to have made a great impact on the public consciousness. It may be therefore that the era of the very articulate defenders of Cynicism (such as Dio or Epictetus) does not start until relatively late in the 1st century. Questions of date are often adduced in the vexed problem of the possible influence of Gnosticism on NT Christianity. Many too would regard it as inappropriate to use the social background presupposed in the Pastoral Epistles (written probably in the late 1st century) as legitimate background material for early Christian texts. Perhaps the problem of the relative dating of the Cynic texts needs more detailed consideration than it has received in the past, and more care taken to distinguish between earlier tradition (e.g. the Cynic Epistles, or passages in later texts such as

21

Cf. R. D. Hicks’ introduction to the Loeb edition of Diogenes Laertius, xxii–xxiii. Dudley, History, and many others. 23 Dudley, History, 117–124. 22

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Diogenes Laertius which are paralleled elsewhere) and traditions which only appear in later texts.

3. Provenance More problems arise if one considers the question of whether Cynicism permeated the society from which Q emanated (or even the society of Jesus). The geographical Sitz im Leben of Q is much debated, though most would place its setting somewhere in Galilee or the environs. (Jesus is certainly to be placed in Galilee!) So too most would agree that the Christian group which preserved Q was in some kind of relationship (however hostile) with Judaism. Is it then reasonable to think of Cynic preachers, and Cynic ideas, as present in such a situation? Theissen has referred to the existence of Menippus, Meleager and Oenomaeus in Gadara as evidence of Cynic presence there at various times over a period of 500 years.24 Downing also refers to the evidence of Dio: Dio had travelled widely and is said to have found people claiming to be Cynics ‘on every street corner in a city like Alexandria’ (with reference to Dio 32.9).25 Downing also refers to Dio’s claim that the masses remembered much about Diogenes (Dio 72.11).26 However, Theissen’s trio of Cynics in Gadara span the 1st century in time, but none of them actually dates from the 1st century itself; there is thus still the problem of dating mentioned above. The evidence of Dio is also of somewhat uncertain value. Dio 32.9 says slightly less than Downing suggests. The presence of Cynics on ‘every’ street corner in ‘a city like’ Alexandria may read more into Dio’s text than is justified. Dio certainly says that there was quite a number of such people (ʌȜોșȠȢ Ƞ੝ț ੑȜȓȖȠȞ). But he simply says that they are on the street corners and in the temple gateways, not on ‘every’ street corner; and Dio is talking here only of Alexandria, not of any other city like Alexandria. It is thus not clear that 24

Studien, 90. ‘Social Contexts’, 449 referring to ‘Cynics’, 584 with reference to Dio 32.9 and his wide travels (cf. 1.50–51; 13.9–11. These latter references only speak of Dio’s own wide travels; they do not mention any encounter with other Cynics). In ‘Quite like Q’, 220, Downing again cites Dio 32.9 as saying that Cynics can be found on ‘every street corner’. Much the same evidence is cited in Christ and the Cynics, 3. Downing also refers to A. J. Malherbe, Moral Exhortation. A Greco-Roman Handbook (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986), 13, as supporting his use of the text in Dio 32.9. However, Malherbe here makes no explicit reference to Dio, or to Cynics in contrast to others: he refers only to the widespread phenomenon of philosophical teachers in general. 26 ‘Quite like Q’, 220. But is this quite the same as saying that Cynic preachers were around? 25

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we can generalise from this statement of Dio’s to conclude that Cynics were prevalent everywhere in the Empire wherever Dio went. Further, it is quite clear that Dio wants to distinguish himself from such people.27 Downing sees further support for the theory of the wide geographical spread of Cynic influence in Epictetus’ insistence that ‘a Cynic has “all humankind” for his sphere of work, and public places are where they are to be met’.28 But this says only that Cynics spoke in public places; it does not imply anything about their geographical spread across the Empire. Similar appeals to the Cynic Epistles are equally inconclusive.29 Ps.-Crates 21.1 only refers to ‘the masses’ (Ƞੂ ʌȠȜȜȠȓ) who flee Cynic preachers when they see how hard the going is. Ps.-Crates 31 says, ‘Seek wise men, even if you have to go to the ends of the earth’. But it is hard to deduce very much about the spread of Cynicism from such a hyperbolic reference.30 Ps.Diogenes 6.2 simply exhorts the Cynic teacher to go to the market place and Ps.-Diogenes 12.1 again refers to the response of the ‘masses’. All this simply shows that Cynics preached in public places to the ‘masses’; but it says nothing about how widespread geographically the phenomenon was. The above references do indicate what is anyway widely accepted by many today: namely that Cynicism was primarily an urban phenomenon,31 with Cynic preachers addressing crowds in the great centres of population. Downing too has appealed to the existence of Sepphoris, Herod Agrippa’s ‘thriving Hellenistic capital city’ 6 km from Nazareth, as supporting the likelihood of Cynic influence in the geographical environment of Jesus.32 Yet such Hellenistic centres are striking by the absence of any mention of them in the gospels (and hence in Q). So too many would regard Q as emanating from a rural setting, rather than an urban one.33 Clearly one cannot draw hard and fast lines between ‘rural’ and ‘urban’. Nevertheless, the geographical references which occur in the gospels (and Q), including only relatively small towns and villages in Galilee such as Chorazin,

27 Cf. A. J. Malherbe, ‘“Gentle as a Nurse”. The Cynic Background to I Thess. II’, NovT 12 (1970) 203–217. 28 ‘Quite like Q’, 220, referring to Epictetus 3.22.26; 3.23.24; 4.4.26–27. 29 ‘Quite like Q’, 221. 30 Cf. the comparable problems in interpreting the similar phrase in 1 Clem. 5. 31 See Dudley, History, 143; cf. too R. Uro, Sheep among Wolves (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1987), 124; Meeks, Moral World, 55. 32 ‘Social Contexts’, 449; Christ and the Cynics, x, 6. 33 Cf. the theories of Theißen who has made much of the social distinction between the rural Palestinian movement and the urban Hellenistic groups (in the Pauline communities) as underlying some of the differences which arose in the Pauline churches, especially in Corinth. See too Uro, Sheep, 124.

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Bethsaida and Capernaum, would appear to make the theory of Cynic influence rather less probable.34

4. Genre of Q As already noted, the possible connection between Q and Cynic traditions at the level of genre has been mooted in recent discussions by Downing and Kloppenborg. The whole concept of the genre of a text is notoriously difficult to quantify and the problem of ‘genre’ has given rise to a great deal of debate within literary criticism generally. One may, for example, think of a genre as a given classification chosen by a writer seeking to produce a specific text within that classification (genre as ‘prescriptive’); one may think of a genre as a broad classification made by subsequent readers of a group of texts which appear to have sufficient similarities to make it meaningful to consider them together (genre as ‘descriptive’). One may also think of genre as exercising an interpretative role, so that genre provides a ‘context of expectation’ which enables us to interpret any individual parts of a given text.35 Clearly all these roles can overlap. Further, the problem of the genre 34 Downing has also appealed to evidence from Josephus to support the theory of a significant Cynic presence in Palestine: he claims that Josephus’ references to Judas the Galilean’s movement as the ‘fourth philosophy’ are intended to identify the movement as Cynic and the same applies to Josephus’ accounts of John the Baptist whom Josephus associates with Judas. (See ‘Cynics’, 585, 590–591; ‘Analogies’, 58; ‘Social Contexts’, 449, with reference to Ant. 18.4–10, 23–25, 116–119; War 2.118.) This however fails to convince. Josephus’ account of John the Baptist is probably irrelevant here since Josephus makes no explicit link between John and the ‘fourth philosophy’. Josephus’ references to Judas’ movement itself as a ‘fourth philosophy’ (which in fact Josephus makes only in his later Antiquities: in the earlier War he does not credit Judas with leading a ‘philosophy’ at all) is left imprecise. There is no explicit reference by Josephus to Cynicism and indeed it is hard to see how Judas’ movement and Cynics could be seen as related in any but the most superficial way. It is true that both could be regarded as subversive of ‘civilised’ society. However, any further similarities are non-existent. The ethos of Judas, to serve one God alone and to rid the Jewish nation from Roman occupation, has nothing in common with Cynic concerns attacking conventional mores. Conversely there is no evidence of Cynics organising themselves into politically active groupings bent on armed revolt against Roman troops (cf. Dudley, History, xi). Any identification by Josephus of Jewish movements in Palestine with philosophical movements in the Greco-Roman world is in any case most probably to be seen as part of his apologetic aim in writing and does not necessarily have any basis in historical reality. 35 For the general problem of genre, see R. A. Guelich, ‘The Gospel Genre’, in P. Stuhlmacher (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 183–184, with other literature cited. The phrase ‘context of expectation’ is that of F. Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,

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of a text cannot be considered without taking note of the contents of the text. A text is made up, at least at one level, of the sum of its parts and a text does not exist independently of its constituent parts. Nevertheless, most would agree that the genre of a text concerns aspects of the text in question which involve more than just a consideration of its individual parts. Genre concerns a text considered as a totality, as a whole. Thus the ways in which the individual parts of a text are combined to form the finished product affect the genre and hence have a bearing on the interpretation of the whole. In his discussion of the genre of Q, Downing lays particular stress on the importance of audience reaction (cf. n. 9 above) and hence appears to focus on genre as descriptive: he would claim that an audience or readership, hearing/reading Q, would be inclined to deduce that this text was similar in kind to a ‘Life’ of a Cynic philosopher. Clearly at this level, the content of the relevant texts becomes an important issue, especially if genre is going to function as in any way a ‘context of expectation’ for interpreting a text: if Q is to be regarded as similar to the Life of a Cynic philosopher then the contents of Q must bear some recognisable similarities with the contents of Cynic ‘Lives’. And indeed it is at this level that Downing devotes the most attention in seeking to establish his thesis, trying to establish many parallels between individual traditions in Q and in Cynic traditions. Kloppenborg’s theory is similar in part. He claims that in many respects the tone and the setting of Q in something like its final form36 ‘falls within the parameters of other chriic collections, especially those current in Cynic circles’.37 Kloppenborg too thus sees some similarities between the individual parts of Q and Cynic traditions at the level of content: both contain radical ethical teaching couched in polemical and confrontational anecdotes. Kloppenborg does not attempt to delineate a detailed series of similarities between Q and Cynic traditions, and indeed he denies that Q itself is Cynic. Nevertheless, the similarities in content remain; further, Q and the Cynic Lives can be regarded as collections of chreiai – hence his 1979), 162; cf. also E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 86. 36 Kloppenborg’s claim about the genre of Q is connected with his own theories about the growth of Q: the Cynic parallels relate to his postulated stage in the development of Q whereby a series of wisdom-type admonitions had been expanded by judgment sayings; but the final form of Q (with the temptation story) had not yet been reached. It is perhaps also worth noting that Kloppenborg and Vaage are somewhat at variance in this respect: for Kloppenborg the Cynic material provides a parallel to a late stage in the development of Q; for Vaage, it is the earlier strand in the mission discourse which is closely parallel to Cynic ideas. 37 Formation, 324.

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claim of a generic similarity between Q and the Cynic Lives as ‘Chreiai Collections’.38 Now we have already seen that the ‘genre’ of a text is usually thought of as involving rather more than just a consideration of its individual component parts considered separately. Such contents are important; but a text is usually considered as more than just the sum of its parts. The ways in which a text is structured, the ways in which the individual parts are put together to form a whole, the choice and ordering of material within a text, a consideration of what is not included in a text, all contribute to one’s interpretation of the text as a whole and hence to an understanding of its genre. Thus even if the existence of a large number of substantive parallels between Q and Cynic teachings could be established, this does not necessarily prove that there is a generic similarity between Q and the Cynic ‘Lives’. At this broader level, Kloppenborg and Downing diverge somewhat. Downing argues that, although the Cynic ‘Lives’ are cast in the form of series of chreiai, Q seems to have very few chreiai (on a strict definition of a chreia); nevertheless there was considerable fluidity in Cynic traditions between chreiai, apophthegms and gnomic sayings and so Q’s lack of chreiai may not be significant.39 Kloppenborg, on the other hand, argues that Q is to be regarded as a collection of chreiai. Kloppenborg is perhaps working with a rather broader definition of a ‘chreia’ than Downing and the difference between them is, at one level, simply a matter of terminology. But whether or not the individual units in Q can appropriately be called chreiai or not, there is still the issue of how far the Cynic Lives provide a genuine generic parallel to Q as a whole. The consideration of the forms of the individual component parts of Q or the Cynic Lives does not exhaust the generic question. At this level, Downing seems only to say that the Lives offer a relatively form-less collection of almost unrelated sayings linked by occasional thematic or catchword connections; and in this respect Q is very similar.40 Kloppenborg too agrees with this assessment of the Cynic Lives41 and sees enough similarities in the structure of Q to suggest a generic link. Yet such an evaluation of the evidence of Q remains valid only in the most general of terms. To say that ‘once the account [in Q] has got under

38 One should however also note that, for Kloppenborg, the Cynic Lives are not the only example of chreiai collections: the latter form a wider group of which the Cynic traditions form a part. 39 ‘Quite like Q’, 199–200. 40 ‘Quite like Q’, 202. Cf. also p. 200: ‘Both they [Lives] and ‘Q’ appear as collections of items, pericopai, with no narrative or other overall structure.’ 41 Cf. Formation, 310–311.

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way there is … no overall structure to the work’42 rather begs the question of the structure of Q and would go against the trend of much recent Q study which would claim to find quite a great deal of structuring in Q. Certainly the Q discourses (e.g. the mission charge, the woes against the lawyers and/or the Pharisees, or the eschatological discourse in Q 17.22– 37) constitute series of interconnected sayings which are far longer than anything to be found in the Cynic Lives. D. Catchpole has argued persuasively for a common and deep-seated structuring arrangement in the series of sayings about cares (Q 12.22–31) and in the love of enemies complex (Q 6.27–36).43 So too R. Piper has shown that several of the smaller collections of wisdom-type aphorisms in Q display evidence of a common structuring pattern.44 Thus even Kloppenborg seems forced in the end to modify his conclusions very considerably: When seen in the context of chriae collections, Q ranks with the most highly organized and structured of them … Q is very far from being a ‘random collection of sayings’ and is erroneously regarded as a pure sedimentation of oral tradition. It is, on the contrary, a carefully constructed composition which employs literary techniques characteristic of ancient sayings collections. In fact, in terms of its internal structure, it ranks somewhat higher than works such as Demonax and the Diogenes chriae, and closer in level of organization (though not in type of organization) to ’Abot.’45

Even this more nuanced view seems to force the evidence somewhat. Kloppenborg gives no real examples of organising principles in the materials about Diogenes or Demonax which come near the (at times) tightly structured arrangement in Q. Nor is there much comparable in m. ’Abot. It is hard to envisage how anyone hearing or reading the series of brief, loosely appended chreiai about Diogenes in Diogenes Laertius 6 and the series of woes in Q 11.37–51, or the mission discourse in Q 10.2–16, would conceive of these as coming from documents of the same genre. In terms of an abstract, modern idea of a genre of ‘chreia collections’, Q could (just) be seen as belonging within such a genre and hence not sui generis. (This seems to be the thrust of Kloppenborg’s thesis.) But in terms of audience reaction, Q and the Cynic Lives do not seem close enough for contemporary hearers/readers to have been immediately struck by their literary similarities. Downing also refers to the way in which Diogenes Laertius links up each Cynic teacher with a predecessor (Antisthenes with Socrates, Diogenes 42

Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 202. D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Ravens, the Lilies and the Q Hypothesis’, SNTU 6/7 (1981– 82) 77–87; also ‘Jesus and the Community of Israel – The Inaugural Discourse in Q’, BJRL 68 (1986) 296–316. 44 R. A. Piper, Wisdom in the Q-Tradition (SNTSMS 61; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), passim. 45. Formation, 323–324. 43

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with Antisthenes, Monimus with Diogenes etc.) as providing a parallel to Q’s linking of Jesus with John the Baptist.46 The parallel is however not very convincing when examined closely. In formal terms the way in which the relationship is stated differs. In the Cynic Lives it is simply stated that X was a pupil of, or had some contact with, Y and then the exploits and sayings of X are recounted. In Q, where the main figure is Jesus, nothing is said to the effect that Jesus was a pupil of John’s. Rather, Q starts with a long section devoted to John’s own preaching (Q 3.7–9, 16) in its own right, and the proper relationship of John to Jesus is discussed at some length later (7.18–28). But no Cynic Life of Diogenes starts with a section giving Antisthenes’ preaching and then has a long discussion of how Antisthenes is almost (but not quite) as important a figure as Diogenes himself. In Cynicism, the line of succession is clearly important in tracing the ‘genealogies’ of Cynic teachers back to the great founding figures of the movement in the past, be it Diogenes, Antisthenes or Socrates. In Q the importance of the link between John and Jesus is presumably that John points forward to Jesus. It is John who receives his legitimation from Jesus and there is no suggestion in Q that the relationship between the two is the other way round. This alleged parallel between Q and the Cynic Lives is thus not very persuasive. There are also striking differences between the Cynic Lives and Q at the level of contents. Diogenes Laertius begins each of his Lives with a small piece of biographical information. For example: Antisthenes, the son of Antisthenes, was an Athenian. It was said, however, that he was not of pure Attic blood … His mother was supposed to be a Thracian (6.1). Diogenes was a native of Sinope, son of Hicesius, a banker (6.20). Monimus of Syracuse was a pupil of Diogenes; and, according to Sosicrates, he was in the service of a certain Corinthian banker (6.82).

Lucian’s Demonax is similar: He was a Cypriot by birth and not of common stock as regards civic rank and property [with then further details about his education] (Demonax 3).

Diogenes Laertius also ends each Life by listing all the books each philosopher had written and (sometimes) telling how they died. All this has no parallel in Q: there is no ‘biographical’ information about Jesus or John at the start of Q and, notoriously, Q gives no account of the death of Jesus (or of John).47

46

‘Quite like Q’, 201. Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 203, points out that some of the smaller Lives in Diogenes Laertius do not mention the philosopher’s death; nor does Dio in Dio 8. But Dio 8 is not necessarily a ‘Life’ in quite the same way as the ‘Lives’ of Diogenes Laertius; it is also 47

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In terms of the structure and arrangement of the texts, there are thus significant differences between Q and the Cynic Lives. At one level the contents also differ in that some important elements of the Cynic Lives do not reappear in Q. However, as already noted, a major part of the argument for a generic similarity between Q and the Cynic Lives concerns the substantive similarities between the materials which have been included in Q and those in the Cynic Lives. Further, it is clear that, although the genre of a text involves more than the contents of each part of the text considered separately, such contents do form a vitally important role in the proper understanding of a text and its genre. We therefore turn to a consideration of the contents of Q and of the possible parallels with Cynic traditions which have been proposed.

5. Contents of Q Considerations of space preclude a full discussion of every alleged parallel between Q and Cynic traditions which has been noted in the past by others. Downing and Vaage both claim to have discovered a large number of such parallels and others have pointed to more general similarities. However, a detailed analysis suggests that perhaps one should be more cautious. In a few cases the alleged parallel may not involve Q material at all. The parallel drawn between Dio’s Diogenes who asserts that God feeds ‘with knowledge and truth’ (Dio 4.41) and Jesus in the temptation narrative who says that God feeds with his word only applies to the longer Matthean version here.48 Most would agree that the longer Matthean version here is MattR and not Q.49 In any case, the authority appealed to in Q is not a Cynic insight but quite specifically OT scripture. So too possible parallels in Cynic traditions regarding the ‘Two Ways’ may not be relevant to the present discussion, since once again the Matthean version of the Q tradition, which alone refers to ‘two’ ways, is widely regarded as MattR.50 unclear how far the shorter ‘Lives’ in Diogenes Laertius should be thought of as independent literary texts able to exist independently. 48 Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 207. Further parallels cited in Christ and the Cynics, 17, seem less close, being mostly exhortations to reduce dependence on physical needs: cf. Ps.-Crates 11. This might be parallel to Q’s ‘Man shall not live by bread alone’, though on this see the discussion of Q 12.22–31 below. 49 Cf. P. Hoffmann, ‘Die Versuchungsgeschichte in der Logienquelle’, BZ 13 (1969) 207–223, on p. 208; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 179; U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7) (EKKNT I/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985), 159–160. 50 ‘Quite like Q’, 217. For Matthew as redactional here, see A. Denaux, ‘Der Spruch von den zwei Wegen im Rahmen des Epilogs der Bergpredigt (Mt 7,13–14 par. Lk 13,23–

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Conversely, as already noted, the validity of references sometimes given of allegedly ‘Cynic’ parallels is at times doubtful. Texts cited appear to be not always clearly Cynic. Writers like Epictetus, Seneca and Musonius Rufus cannot be cited as clear evidence of ‘Cynic’ views. Often texts from these writers simply supplement other references which are more clearly from Cynic traditions. (However, this must then raise some questions about how far such ideas can really be thought of as peculiarly ‘Cynic’, or indeed how far anyone in the first century would have thought of them as Cynic.) Sometimes, however, the genuinely Cynic references seem rather unconvincing. In allegedly Cynic parallels to the Golden Rule (Q 6.31), Downing cites Ps.-Diogenes 38.4, Epictetus 1.19.13, Seneca, Ep. mor. 9.6; 88.30; 95.63; 103.3–4.51 But Ps.-Diogenes 38.4 is scarcely comparable (‘I thought it improper to take something from a person who had himself not received anything’: the ethos is one of general fairness, not do-as-youwould-be-done-by). And the other texts appear to be from Stoics. The ‘Cynic’ parallels to ‘loving one’s enemies’ adduced by Downing also include a large number of references which would appear to be again not clearly Cynic.52 The often-cited parallel from Epictetus’ description in 3.22.53–54 about the duties of a Cynic to love those who are beating him may provide a genuine parallel to the gospel tradition (though see below); on the other hand, Diogenes is often portrayed as very far from exhibiting such a generous attitude to his ‘enemies’! It may be therefore that Epictetus’ description is no more than an ideal which he (as a Stoic) would wish to see in Cynics. Many other Cynics were considerably less loving; hence it is rather problematic whether any audience hearing an exhortation from a Christian preacher to ‘love one’s enemies’ would have connected this in any way with a Cynic ethos.53 24)’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982), 316 ff.; Luz, Matthäus, 1.396 and several others. In any case the motif of the ‘two ways’ was extremely widespread in antiquity (cf. Luz, ibid.) and cannot easily be regarded as distinctively Cynic. 51 ‘Quite like Q’, 209 and n. 47 (in Christ and the Cynics, 27, he adds Dio 17.8 which is perhaps a closer parallel). Downing concedes that the Rule is not peculiar to Cynics. But his claim that ‘the attitude it [the Rule] articulates is implicit in the pervasive insistence on harmonising deeds and words’ seems rather unconvincing. The Rule is not about harmonising deeds and words; it is about conforming one’s deeds to what one hopes for from others. 52 ‘Quite like Q’, 208 and nn. 41–43, also Christ and the Cynics, 23–25, referring to Musonius 10, Diogenes Laertius 2.21 (on Socrates, though this is really only about Socrates’ patience), 2.35–37 (though this only really concerns non-retaliation) and several texts in Epictetus and Seneca. 53 There are too parallels to such sentiments elsewhere in contemporary literature, notably in Jewish wisdom literature as well as in other strands of popular Hellenistic philosophy besides Cynicism (cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 179).

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Vaage’s discussion of this Q passage seems also unpersuasive.54 He claims that the Q command to ‘love your enemies’ is entirely self-centred. In a situation of indigent poverty, the attitude of love-of-enemy, defined in the following commands about non-retaliation, and giving and lending, simply reflect the way in which beggars survive in a hostile environment. However, Vaage’s refusal to interpret the meaning of ‘love’ on its own, seeing it as defined solely in the following commands, seems unjustified. In any case the injunction to lend to others, without expecting repayment, surely implies a different Sitz im Leben from that of beggars (who are lent to, but do not lend).55 The language of ‘mercy’ (Q 6.36) and regard for others in lending, not just self-regard, surely distinguishes Q’s ‘love of enemies’ from the Cynic ethos of self-preservation outlined by Vaage. Indeed the underlying ethos may also be rather different from that of Seneca or Epictetus who use much of the same language about being kind to enemies, but who seem to regard such an attitude as essentially selfregarding and a way of asserting one’s own superiority in being serenely imperturbable.56 One of the most striking apparent agreements between Q and Cynicism concerns the Q mission charge. The parallel between the instructions given to the Q missionaries concerning their dress (Q 10.4) and the garb adopted by Cynic preachers has long been noted. However, when one looks at the texts in detail, the parallel may not have the significance which others see here. Many have pointed out that the distinguishing marks of the Cynic were the ʌȒȡĮ, the staff and the cloak.57 However, for the Q missionaries, no ʌȒȡĮ and no staff are allowed. Thus even at the level of visible outward 54

Vaage, Q, 402–430. The fact that Q does not reflect a situation of total poverty is also pointed out by D. Zeller, ‘Redaktionsprozesse und wechselnder “Sitz im Leben” beim Q-Material’, LOGIA (n. 50 above), 407–408, referring to texts like Q 16.13. Vaage’s parallel of Diogenes’ remarks in Diogenes Laertius 6.62 (Q, 417; cf. also Downing, Christ and the Cynics, 26) seems rather inapt. Diogenes is there telling others who have lent to him not to ask for their property back. The Q exhortation is directed to Christians, not to outsiders, to lend. 56 See J. Piper, ‘Love Your Enemies’. Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and the Early Christian Paraenesis (SNTSMS 38; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 21–26. Vaage, Q, 420–421, objects to Piper’s interpretation not because Piper is necessarily wrong about Epictetus and others, but because Piper is trying to press the Christian texts into a theologically acceptable mould. The possible difference in underlying ethos would not of course affect Downing’s main thesis which is that the Christian exhortations would have sounded very similar to that of others, without necessarily meaning the same. 57 Cf. Ps.-Diogenes 30; Ps.-Crates 23; Diogenes Laertius 6.13, 23 and many others. Cf. too Dio 34.2: ‘It is customary for most people to give the name of Cynic to those who dress as I do.’ Thus in terms of ‘audience reaction’ (cf. n. 9 above) appearance was of considerable importance. 55

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appearance to others, the Q missionaries must have looked rather un-like Cynic preachers. Further, the fact that the Cynic ʌȒȡĮ was in fact a begging ‘bowl’ would mean that the Q missionaries, with no ʌȒȡĮ, would be very visibly different from Cynic preachers in their behaviour as it impinged on others, as well as in their dress: they were not to be beggars from the general public. Thus H. C. Kee comments: The fact that the restrictions on the Christian itinerants were more severe than those placed on the Cynic preachers … suggests that there was a conscious differentiation between the Christian charismatics and the Cynics, even though the basic methods of itinerancy and public preaching were so similar.58

Theissen too makes a similar point: Das Verbot von Tasche und Stab zielt wahrscheinlich darauf hin, auch den geringsten Anschein zu vermeiden, die christlichen Missionare seien solche oder ähnliche Bettler [= Cynic preachers].59

Several of the remaining possible parallels between Q and Cynic traditions turn out to be extremely general when examined closely. One example of this is Downing’s claim that in Q ‘John expects an acceptance of a humiliating public start to discipleship, as does Diogenes in a number of stories’,60 and elsewhere Downing refers to the fact that Cynics performed visual acts just as John baptised people.61 However, the Cynic stories adduced as parallels here, of Diogenes offering his head to be struck (Diogenes Laertius 6.21), or giving a would-be follower a tunny to carry (Diogenes Laertius 6.36), bear only the most superficial of resemblances to John’s baptism. It is not apparent why John’s baptism should be regarded as a ‘humiliating’ public start. Further, Cynics did not have a common ‘visual act’ which symbolises the start of the life of any Cynic (unless it be taking the cloak, staff and wallet, but in that case the parallel in Q is not John’s baptism). Diogenes’ acts are simply one-off incidents. One must also remember that Cynics were not the only people who used ‘visual acts’ to get their message across. Such a way of acting is deeply 58 H. C. Kee, Christian Origins in Sociological Perspective (London: SCM, 1980), 58 (my italics). 59 ‘Wanderradikalismus’, 259 = Studien, 93. Vaage, Q, 319–321, argues that the ʌȒȡĮ was not essential for the Cynic and that a refusal to carry a ʌȒȡĮ was simply a logical extension of Cynic principles. However, there is still little precedent for such an extension amongst Cynics themselves. Vaage can only appeal to Teles 44H (though there the ʌȒȡĮ [which is disapproved of] is the wallet in which the rich man accumulates wealth: it is not the Cynic’s begging pack) and to Diogenes Laertius 6.37, though this only says that Diogenes got rid of his cup from his ʌȒȡĮ (though not the ʌȒȡĮ itself) when he saw a child living apparently even more frugally than himself by drinking water without a cup. 60 ‘Quite like Q’, 205. 61 ‘Cynics’, 586.

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embedded in the Jewish prophetic tradition and, as we shall see, there seem to be far stronger links in Q with this tradition than with anything to do with Cynicism. (The Jewish tradition also provides a far richer background for the use of a washing rite with cleansing imagery than anything to be found in Cynic texts.)62 Thus the tradition of John the Baptist baptising people can only be compared with the stories about Diogenes at a very high level of abstraction. The claim that Cynic traditions and Q are similar in that both contain violent denunciation of opponents, and both use animal imagery, 63 is scarcely more compelling. In the broadest possible terms, this is true, but once again, as soon as one becomes more specific, the parallels are less convincing. If the denunciations of John or Jesus in Q (cf. Q 3.7–9; 10.12– 15) are to be seen as parallel to Cynic denunciations of society (or indeed if one is postulating that people at the time would have regarded them as similar), then the content of the denunciations is far more important. At this level, the differences between Q and the Cynic texts are far more striking than any general similarities. For what characterises the denunciations in Q is the threat of an imminent, eschatological catastrophe. Downing admits that the eschatological element in Q is one of the features which is harder to parallel in Cynic traditions though he does attempt to provide a number of parallels.64 However, almost all the Cynic texts adduced simply discuss future, post-mortem existence or else refer to some kind of judgment in an indeterminate future; there is nothing about an imminent eschatological catastrophe. Further, the theme of eschatology pervades almost all of Q. Not only passages like Q 3.17; 6.20–23; 10.12–15; 17.22–37 are concerned with eschatology, but also passages like Q 6.36; 6.46; 6.47–49; 10.2–16;65 11.2–13;66 11.14–23; 11.31–32; 11.49–51; 12.8–9; 12.31; 13.34–35 are all dominated by the eschatological dimension. The denunciations in Q are thus quite different from those in Cynic texts and it is very doubtful whether anyone hearing such denunciations would ever have thought of any similarity with Cynics. In fact, once again the parallels between Q and the prophetic tradition, both in form and content, are far closer.67

62

Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit (London: SCM, 1970), ch. 2. Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 205. 64 ‘Quite like Q’, 205 and n. 28. Cf. too Christ and the Cynics, 9. 65 For the eschatological aspect here, see A. D. Jacobson, ‘The Literary Unity of Q. Lc 10,2–16 and Parallels as a Test Case’, in LOGIA (n. 50 above), 419–423. 66 For the importance of eschatology in this section, see my ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom’, JTS 40 (1989) 367–376. 67 Cf. M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 198 ff. (the ‘Weheruf’, cf. 10.12–15), 209–210 (the ‘Mahnwort’, cf. 3.7–9). 63

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The common use of animal imagery also fails to convince. Many Cynic texts use animal imagery to portray other people as stupid (cf. ‘apes’ in Ps.-Diogenes 28.1, or ‘sheep’ in Diogenes Laertius 6.47), or else they play on the word țȪȦȞ to refer to Cynics themselves (cf. Diogenes Laertius 6.55, 61). By contrast the ‘viper’ imagery of Q 3.7, which has Jewish parallels, seems aimed at characterising the audience as poisonous and dangerous.68 The language in Q is thus far stronger and more vituperative. Similarly, the lambs-wolves metaphor in Q 10.3 is far better explained on the basis of the Jewish background: the saying seems to take up the imagery used of Israel in relation to Gentile oppressors and inverts it so that Israel herself is equated with the ‘wolves’.69 Once again it is the Jewish background which gives greatest force to the language used, and the parallel with Cynic texts can only be made at a very high level of abstraction. The claim that both Cynics and Q Christians attract opposition70 is also very general. Downing refers here to many Cynic appeals to the example of Socrates, and to Heracles’ sufferings as a model for their own. However, such appeals to Socrates or Heracles are not peculiar to Cynics.71 Perhaps more significant is the fact that Q makes no such appeal to Socrates or Heracles. Rather, the spiritual ‘ancestors’ of the Q Christians in their experience of suffering and hostility are the Jewish prophets (cf. Q 6.22– 23; 11.49–51; 13.34–35). The adoption by Q of the theme of the violent fate suffered by the prophets to explain the contemporary suffering of Christians is well known.72 So too the links with Wisdom traditions, whereby Wisdom becomes the agent who sends out the prophets (cf. Q 68 Cf. W. Förster, TWNT 2.815; Schulz, Q, 372, referring to 1QH 5.27–28. See too Str.-B., 1.114–115. 69 See Hoffmann, Studien, 294, though Hoffmann also points out that the imagery is very old: cf. Homer, Il. 22.263 and many other examples in G. Bornkamm, TWNT 4.310. For Jewish evidence, cf. too Jer 5.6; Ezek 22.27; Zeph 3.3; Sir 13.17; 1 En. 89.13–14. Vaage, Q, 306–313, sees here only a reference to a life of itinerancy, not necessarily of physical danger, stressing the need for ethical integrity. Vaage may well be right to question how much physical danger, or ‘persecution’, was being faced by Q Christians. But even he concedes that the ‘wolves’ provide danger for the ‘sheep’. He is however unwilling to accept the polemical nature of the imagery, at one point (pp. 101–102) dismissing such an interpretation on the grounds that the evidence is only one (late) reference in Strack-Billerbeck. However, texts like 1 En. 89 may be relevant, and in any case, the imagery does not have to be interpreted with exactly the same application as in background texts (as Vaage sometimes assumes) to make its point. The language of the saying may be to assure Christians of their status and to claim that Jewish opponents of the Christian movement have forfeited their right to be regarded as the ‘true Israel’. 70 Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 207. 71 Cf. Dudley, History, 4; also some of the texts referred to by Downing are not clearly Cynic: cf. Epictetus 2.19.24; 3.24.113; 4.1.163–164; Seneca, Ep. mor. 71.7. 72 See O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967) and many others.

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11.49) is very characteristic of Q.73 But of this there is nothing in the Cynic texts. It would appear once again that there are far deeper links between Q and Jewish prophetic traditions than with anything in Cynicism. The same applies to the possible parallel between Q 7.26–27 and Cynic texts, where Downing adduces examples of encounters or comparisons between Cynic preachers and royal figures to illuminate Jesus’ comparison of John the Baptist with ‘those who live in kings’ houses’.74 However, the parallel is again only a very general one. Several of the Cynic texts cited concern an encounter between a Cynic and a royal figure (often Diogenes and Alexander as in e.g. Diogenes Laertius 6.60, but cf. too Demonax and other officials in Demonax 38, 41). Moreover, the point of these stories is often to show the Cynic’s brilliance at verbal repartee, rather than highlighting any contrast between their life-styles, though some of the Cynic texts do refer to the poverty of the Cynic in contrast to the richness of others (e.g. Ps.-Crates 13.1). Vaage sees a parallel between Jesus’ reference to those in ‘soft clothing’ and Cynic polemic against softness generally: Jesus is thus setting up a patently false picture of John since John was (probably historically) an opponent of such ‘softness’ in being akin to a Cynic preacher.75 Vaage is surely right to see the suggestion that John wore such clothing as false; but it seems unnecessary to bring in the specifically Cynic background to make the point. In any case it is clear that the emphasis of the Q pericope lies elsewhere. The Q pericope is concerned not to highlight John’s asceticism in contrast to others’ riches (and certainly not to refer to John’s brilliant verbal dexterity); rather it is clearly stated that John’s status is to be seen not as an ideal Cynic wandering preacher but as a prophet – and indeed as more than a prophet (7.26). It is thus the prophetic category which is far more important for Q than any comparison with Cynicism. The Jewish background is again far more significant than possible Cynic parallels to John’s attack on any reliance on national heritage in Q 3.8.76 Most of the Cynic references given refer to good birth generally (e.g. Diogenes Laertius 6.31: ‘wealth and good birth bring no dignity’). They do not concern any specifically Jewish appeals to Israel’s self-understanding as God’s chosen nation. Once again it is the Jewish background which is essential to the point being made, and such a background does not surface in the Cynic traditions.

73 See my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 164 with further references. 74 Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 210; Christ and the Cynics, 37–38. 75 Vaage, Q, 552–566. 76 Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 205.

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At other points, some of the parallels claimed involve agreement in vocabulary or imagery, but the use made of the same words differs considerably. This may be so in the case of Cynic parallels adduced to the Beatitudes.77 It is true that Cynics do talk about true ‘happiness’,78 and also correlate this with poverty and simplicity. But a closer analysis reveals far more fundamental differences than similarities in underlying meaning. Most of the Cynic texts regard poverty as itself true happiness. Giving up one’s possessions and being poor constitute true freedom (cf. Diogenes Laertius 6.22–23, 71; Demonax 71; Ps.-Diogenes 31.4). This is quite different from the Q Beatitudes which do not extol a life of poverty and hunger as such, but rather promise that, in an eschatological future, the present needs of the poor and hungry will be more than fully met.79 The eschatology of the Beatitudes effectively removes Q a very great distance from any Cynic discussions of true happiness. (In any case one need look no further than the Jewish background to explain the existence of the Beatitudes in Q.)80 The same probably applies in the case of the Cares tradition in Q (12.22–31). Downing regards the Cynic texts as providing ‘some of the closest parallels’ to Q here,81 and the statement of Dio (10.16) has often been noted as a relevant parallel: Consider the beasts yonder and the birds, how much freer from trouble they live than men and how much more happily also … They have one very great blessing – they own no property.

The underlying ethos is however very different. With Cynics, the ethos is to give up possessions and live a life of austerity and physical deprivation 77 78

‘Quite like Q’, 207. But then so would very many philosophers of the time: Cf. Meeks, Moral World,

46. 79 Cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 189. I remain unconvinced by Vaage’s non-eschatological interpretation of the first beatitude (which then leads on to a similarly noneschatological interpretation of the theme of the Kingdom in Q, interpreting the statements about the possession of the Kingdom as descriptions of the present reality of the poor living in accordance with nature: see his Q, 431–492). Along with most commentators, I would regard this beatitude as essentially future-oriented, in line with the future tenses in the other beatitudes, promising a change in the present circumstances of the poor. Vaage’s interpretation of the Kingdom in Q would seem to founder on the parables of the mustard seed and the leaven. Pace Vaage, the comparisons here are not with ‘normal’ events and what is described is not ‘an observation of natural life’ (so Vaage, Q, 445): mustard seeds do not produce trees! Cf. my Reading the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1987), 108–109. 80 Cf. W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 431–434. 81 ‘Quite like Q’, 215, though some of the texts cited are not clearly Cynic: Philo, Virt. 6; Musonius 15; Epictetus 1.9.9; 15.3.9.

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in the belief that that life as such will provide true and lasting happiness. Q calls on Christians to give up their security, to rely on the support of others (which they will receive, cf. Q 12.31b) since God knows their needs before they ask and will supply them (cf. 12.30 and Matt 6.8). Asceticism as such is not the aim, nor perhaps even the result, of their chosen life-style. The Q missionaries give up all their security in order to proclaim their urgent message of the Kingdom of God. It is this theme of eschatology which dominates all forms of asceticism in Q and which alone provides the purpose of the (possibly) ascetic injunctions.82 Thus once again the theme of eschatology in Q serves to distinguish Q’s ethos very sharply from Cynic texts. Further, the practical consequences of the Q ethos may be very different from that of the Cynics: the Q missionaries are not beggars; they may not even be (or appear) destitute since their needs will be met by God (perhaps through other Christians). Similar considerations apply in the case of possible parallels between the calls to discipleship in Q and those in Cynic traditions. It is true that much is made in some Cynic texts of the difficulty of following the Cynic way of life (cf. Epictetus 3.22.9–11)83 and the sayings in Q 9.57–60 invite comparison. However, in Q it is a question of following Jesus, not just of following an austere way of life which is itself the means and the end of the whole exercise. Further, it is much more likely that the Q sayings in 9.57–60 reflect a situation of rejection and hostility: the Q Christian is called to share in a common life of being rejected by his/her contemporaries with Jesus qua Son of Man, and it is this which results in deprivation and homelessness. The austerity is not a positive end in itself. Thus Hengel comments: Here we certainly have the nearest philosophical analogy to the sayings about following in Q … Jesus too demands complete freedom from the person who follows him; though of course on the basis of an entirely different kind of reasoning and of a different objective.84

It is perhaps worth noting here too that possible Cynic parallels to the Q saying ‘Let the dead bury their dead’ (9.58) are also not very compelling. The Cynic texts (cf. Diogenes Laertius 6.52, 79; Demonax 35; Ps.-Diogenes 25.1; Teles 30H, 31H) all speak of the Cynic teacher being happily unconcerned about who will bury him after he himself has died. This is very different from the gospel saying which has Jesus telling a man to forget about his filial duties in dealing with the burial of his father’s body.

82

See my ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom’ (n. 66 above). Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 211–212, 215. 84 M. Hengel, The Charismatic Leader and His Followers (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1981), 30 (my italics). 83

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One set of alleged parallels between Q and Cynic texts should probably be rejected completely. Downing admits that the references in Q to Jesus’ healing others (cf. Q 7.1–10; 11.14–16) are not easy to parallel in Cynic traditions, but he claims that there is still in Cynicism an important strand stressing health and physical wholeness.85 Such a Cynic emphasis is however far removed from Q’s Jesus healing others miraculously. The Cynic traditions all concern the physical benefits which accrue to oneself from a life of hardship and training. Such an emphasis (not totally dissimilar to modern encouragement to take up jogging) has really nothing in common with Jesus as a miracle-worker, giving health miraculously to someone else and doing so by his powerful, authoritative word. Cynic views on health and Jesus’ miracles in Q cannot really be correlated in this way.

6. Conclusion Limitations of space have prevented a detailed discussion of every alleged parallel between Q and Cynic texts. However, enough has hopefully been said to show that the parallels are scarcely compelling. There is doubt about whether some of the ‘Cynic’ texts cited should be regarded as Cynic. The eschatology which underlies so much of Q is absent from the Cynic tradition and hence many of the parallels turn out to be at best superficial. Other alleged similarities exist only at the level of very abstract generality or common vocabulary: but the common vocabulary is set within such different contexts (linguistically, socially, religiously) that it is hard to see how any possible similarities would have been noted, let alone taken seriously by anyone at the time. The garb of the Q missionaries seems designed deliberately to avoid any possible confusion between the Q Christians and Cynic preachers; and the ethos underlying their (in part) common appearance of itinerancy is widely different from the Cynic ethos. The stress in Q on miracles bears no relation at all to Cynic views on health. Finally, no appeal is ever made in Q to Cynic traditions as providing precedents for the activity or experience of the Christians. By contrast, Q does appeal frequently to the Jewish prophetic tradition as providing such precedents. In his recent book, M. Sato has impressively portrayed the strength of the 85 Downing, ‘Quite like Q’, 210. On the other hand, Vaage’s attempt (Q, 334–341) to interpret the injunction to ‘heal the sick’ in the mission charge in metaphorical terms (the ‘sick’ are those who recognise the virtue of the Cynic way of life, and that way of life itself constitutes a therapy) seems very forced. In any case, such an outlook does not really fit the healing stories which actually occur in Q: there is little evidence that those who are healed from (physical) illnesses in Q are really ciphers for any who have not yet adopted a Cynic way of life. However, Vaage does point out that there is some evidence of Cynics being accredited with (physical) healing miracles (pp. 459–460).

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parallels between Q and Jewish prophetic traditions. ‘Q und Prophetie’ seems perhaps a more promising avenue of approach for the analysis of Q than an allegedly Cynic Q. 13

14

VI On the Stratification of Q1 It has become almost axiomatic in many Q studies today to assume that ‘Q’ is a multi-layered entity, so that instead of ‘Q’ simpliciter we should be thinking of at least three stages in the growth of Q – Q1, Q2 and Q3 (to use nomenclature that is becoming standard for many) – with each stage in Q conceived of as a well-defined entity and individual traditions assignable to a specific layer and making sense almost exclusively within that layer. The starting-point for this work is often taken to be J. S. Kloppenborg’s rightly influential book2 where such a stratigraphy was argued for with great learning and detail (though similar theories had already been proposed before 1987 by scholars such as Jacobson, Polag, Schürmann and others, as well as several proposing a division of Q into two layers). Possible further implications of such a division within Q are developed in some of the essays (to which the present essay is a response): for example, Kloppenborg himself seeks to delineate the social history of the Q people;3 Vaage distinguishes between the uses of the term ‘Son of Man’ in the various strata;4 and Seeley develops a potentially even more complex model (or at any rate postulates a greater number of stages) in Q sayings referring implicitly to the death of Jesus.5 Coupled with this trend is a firm belief that the path back from gospel literature to Jesus is a complex one; hence one should start from the presence of an individual tradition in Q before making too hasty deductions about its authenticity or its place within any possible context of the ministry of the pre-Easter Jesus. The last point is surely well made. Those of us who have not been persuaded by the merits of the revived Griesbach hypothesis, or by the Farrer/Goulder theory, are all convinced of the existence of some kind of ‘Q’ tradition. And the development of Q studies, certainly since the work 1

Originally written as a response to essays appearing in Semeia 55 (1991), the edition being entitled Early Christianity, Q and Jesus. 2 J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). 3 J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Literary Convention, Self-Evidence and the Social History of the Q People’, Semeia 55 (1991) 77–102. 4 L. E. Vaage, ‘The Son of Man Sayings in Q. Stratigraphical Location and Significance’, Semeia 55 (1991) 103–130. 5 D. Seeley, ‘Blessings and Boundaries. Interpretations of Jesus’ Death in Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 131–146.

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of Tödt, has convinced many that it is indeed sensible to think of Q as a body of tradition with a rather distinctive theological profile. Moreover, for those who operate within such assumptions, it seems most probable that the Q tradition represents the end-point of a development where Q itself (a Q-‘editor’, or a Q-‘redactor’) has been actively involved in redacting the tradition received. In this sense, it is indeed entirely right and proper to conceive of a ‘Q1’ and a ‘Q2’, thinking of ‘Q2’ as a redactional layer superimposed on an earlier ‘Q1’ tradition. Further, few would doubt that the ‘Q2’ layer (in the nomenclature widely used) represents a significant and distinctive feature of the Q tradition. It is here that the polemical attacks on ‘this generation’ are located and, certainly since Lührmann’s work,6 this aspect of Q has often been identified as most characteristic of ‘Q’ and Q’s ‘redaction’. In this sense therefore I am very happy to accept the isolation of a ‘Q2’ layer as a significant feature within Q. I do however have rather more problems with the alleged ‘Q3’ stage, and also in part with ‘Q1’, or perhaps better with the use that is made of the proposed layers by some. In particular there is the problem of continuity or discontinuity between the various stages, or strata, postulated within the growth of Q. One must remember that theories of different stages in the development of Q concern the growth of a single body of tradition in Christian history. In distinguishing different layers within Q, one is not distinguishing two quite separate strands of Christian tradition which never had contact with each other (e.g. Q and Paul, or Hebrews and John). Rather one is envisaging a process whereby an earlier tradition is adopted and positively evaluated, so that the older tradition is re-‘published’, albeit with further additions and possible redactional alterations. A priori one would therefore expect a firm measure of continuity between the different levels. Conversely the discontinuity between stages in Q is likely to be lesser rather than greater. With this in mind it becomes rather harder to conceive of the same words having radically different meanings at different stages of the development of Q. Of course, this is not to deny that some measure of discontinuity may exist. Indeed we shall only be able to identify the existence of layers in the tradition, and the activity of a secondary editor, if there are elements of discontinuity. Nevertheless, if too much of a disjunction between layers is postulated, or if total rejection of the earlier tradition by the later editor is proposed, the question arises why the earlier tradition was ever used at all by the later editor. Also it seems not unreasonable to assume that, where traditions are carried forward without modification by a later editor, working with the same Q tradition and (one presumes) within the same social 6

D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969).

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group, then no great change in the significance seen in the same words should be postulated without positive evidence to the contrary. I wonder therefore if Q study generally has something to learn from recent trends in ‘redaction’-critical study of the gospels themselves where there has been a move away from a very strictly defined ‘redactional’ approach, focusing only on the redactional changes made by an evangelist, to a more ‘literary’ approach, taking the text as a unified whole.7 I offer first a few comments on the alleged ‘Q3’ stage. ‘Q3’ is assigned the temptation story as well as some strongly nomistic traditions (such as Q 11.42d and 16.17) by Kloppenborg,8 and Vaage adds Q 12.10.9 There is however a danger here that ‘Q3’ simply becomes a repository for anything that does not fit, or seems out of place, in Q2. For Kloppenborg, the temptation narrative seems unlike the rest of Q, and other nomistic traditions cohere with this. Vaage is more forthright. Q 12.10 ‘flatly contradicts’ Q 12.8–9 and is thus assigned to a ‘Q3 gloss’,10 being ‘quite anomalous’.11 Vaage is certainly to be applauded for facing squarely the problems created by the juxtaposition of Q 12.8–9 and Q 12.10 (if indeed they were juxtaposed in Q and not just in Luke). But his solution only seems to push the problem to a different level. What are we to make of the Q3 editor who decided to ‘flatly contradict’ Q2, but also to retain the Q2 tradition with which s/he apparently disagreed so strongly? Vaage’s suggestion about Q 12.10 effectively makes the Q3 editor not unlike Bultmann’s proposed ecclesiastical redactor of John’s Gospel: a figure who makes rather a botch of his/her tradition and is at times in a relationship of radical discontinuity with the earlier tradition. Now clearly the existence of such a later editor is theoretically possible. Nevertheless, the degree of discontinuity postulated by Vaage for Q 12.10 seems almost too extreme for comfort. Indeed criticisms often brought against Bultmann’s interpretation of the Fourth Gospel may be apposite in Q studies too. Critics of Bultmann have often urged that, before proceeding to isolate an earlier, purified Ur-John form of the text purged of the tiresome ecclesiastical redactor, we should work with the final form of the text as we have it and seek to make sense of that in the first instance.12 The 7 See my Reading the New Testament. Methods of Interpretation (London: SPCK, 1987), 120–123. 8 See Kloppenborg, Formation; also his ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring, J. T. Sanders, C. W. Hedrick (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings. In Honor of James M. Robinson (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35–48. 9 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 118. 10 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 118. 11 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 122. 12 Some might even urge that attempts to isolate a Q text behind the extant texts of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke are falling into the same trap! However, in the case of Q

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same comments could apply to Q itself. Should we not perhaps respect the integrity of Q and seek to interpret Q in its ‘final’ form in the first instance? Much is made in several of the articles under review here of the importance of working backwards from texts which we ‘know’ about to earlier stages in the tradition, rather than vice versa.13 Vaage himself explicitly says that ‘all debate about Q’s redaction(s) must proceed from the final edition of the document “backwards” or “downwards”’.14 But in terms of the stratigraphy assumed by Vaage, the ‘final’ edition of Q is Q 3, and not Q2! Should we not therefore initially be seeking to make sense of that stage in Q’s growth that has both Q 12.8–9 and Q 12.10 side by side, rather than (as Vaage does) using ‘Q3’ as a useful dumping ground for an odd saying that will not conveniently fit into the more exciting Q2 stage? Should we indeed be thinking at all of a Q3 stage distinct from Q2?15 One solution to the problem posed by Q 12.10 is often sought in a distinction made between the pre- and post-Easter situations: ‘speaking against the Son of Man’ means opposing Jesus during his earthly life, and this is forgivable; ‘speaking against the Holy Spirit’ means opposing the preaching of Q Christians after Easter and this is not forgivable.16 Such a solution is not without its problems,17 but it still seems to me to be the best solution. If so, it may indicate that not everything in Q is spelt out explicitly. If this interpretation of Q 12.10 is accepted, then it does show that Q (or at least Q3!) presupposes some kind of significance in the dividing line of Easter. I would agree with Kloppenborg18 that ‘the Easter faith’ may not be so significant for Q in that Q certainly does not make of Jesus’ there is the dual witness of two texts, i.e. the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, which provide good reason for postulating the existence of a prior source. 13 See L. E. Vaage & J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Early Christianity, Q and Jesus. The Sayings Gospel and Method in the Study of Christian Origins’, Semeia 55 (1991) 1–14, on p. 8; R. A. Horsley, ‘Q and Jesus. Assumptions, Approaches, and Analyses’, Semeia 55 (1991) 175–209, on p. 197. 14 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 105. 15 The main contender for a place in a ‘Q3’ stage subsequent to the ‘Q2’ redaction is the temptation narrative. I would argue that in fact the temptation narrative coheres very closely with other Q material and this may obviate the need to distinguish ‘Q3’ from ‘Q2’. I am also not persuaded that the nomistic elements in Q need to be assigned to a Q3 stage later than Q2 (so Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos’): see my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume); there is however not enough space to debate the issue here. 16 H. E. Tödt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Überlieferung (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1959), 110–111; P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 152, and others. 17 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 212. 18 J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘“Easter Faith” and the Sayings Gospel Q’, Semeia 49 (1990) 71–99.

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death and resurrection what Paul does. Nevertheless, that does not mean that Jesus’ death (and perhaps ‘resurrection’) has no significance at all for Q. Clearly Q (or at least Q2!) places Jesus’ death in an interpretative context, namely that of the violent fate suffered by the prophets, even if that death may not be interpreted explicitly as vicarious or even necessarily as qualitatively different from other prophetic deaths. And even if Jesus’ death is not explicitly stated to be qualitatively different from other prophetic deaths, it is clear from elsewhere in Q that Jesus himself is regarded as unique (cf. Q 6.46–49; 7.22–23; 10.16; 10.21–22, and indeed the very existence of Q as the promulgation of the teaching of Jesus). Q 12.10 may indicate that a qualitative difference between eras is being presupposed by Q, with ‘Easter’ (or at least the end of Jesus’ earthly preaching) as the dividing line between these eras. This example should perhaps alert us to the possibility that not everything that is significant for Q is necessarily spelt out explicitly in those parts of Q to which we have access. The problems of continuity, and also perhaps of unwritten presuppositions, are highlighted in the essays of Seeley and Vaage. Seeley’s essay on the interpretations of the death of Jesus in Q proposes a model even more complex than a three-stage development in Q.19 Seeley argues for five stages in Q’s thought about Jesus’ death: a Cynic interpretation (Q 14.27), prophetic ideas introduced unpolemically (6.23c), opposition being experienced and boundaries starting to form in the face of increasing outside hostility (7.24–35), leading on to harsh, unyielding polemic using the deuteronomic-prophetic scheme (11.49–51), with the polemic then later softened with just a glimmer of hope (13.34–35). Further, Seeley spells out at the end of his article that this sequence is not simply one of logic: rather it represents the historical process of development in the thinking of the Q Christians in their changing social situations: ‘This progression reflects the relative ages of these interpretations of Jesus’ death in Q’.20 My major difficulty with this lies in the attempt to delineate such a complex progression on the basis of such a limited amount of evidence within a single document Q. As interpreted by Seeley, all five interpretations are rather different, with different nuances and different degrees of hostility in the environment presupposed. Yet all are included in Q; indeed almost all are in ‘Q2’ (according to those who would divide Q in this way) and, moreover, nearly all the sayings are preserved unglossed and unaltered. (The exception might be 6.23c which glosses 6.22ab–23ab.) Presumably then they all made sense to the final editor as they were (except possibly 6.22– 23). And indeed, if the Q order is best preserved by Luke, the last word on the subject in Q (in Q 14.27) is the viewpoint of the earliest tradition, pre19 20

Seeley, ‘Blessings and Boundaries’. Seeley, ‘Blessings and Boundaries’, 145.

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served unaltered! It seems most likely that, at least for the final Q editor, Q 14.27 was interpreted under the assumption of Jesus’ death being seen as part of the line of prophetic deaths. And the Q editor (at least of Q2 and Q3) can presumably take that as self-evident when reproducing Q 14.27 simply because so much on Jesus’ death has already been implied in Q (viz. in 6.23c; 7.24–35; 11.47–51; 13.34–35). But this in turn must cast some doubts on Seeley’s claim that Q 14.27 is to be interpreted on a quite different (i.e. Cynic) model. Seeley’s prime reason is that Q 14.27 lacks any explicit concern with community boundary formation in not using the death of Jesus (and others) to attack social enemies: this is the force of the use of the deuteronomic-prophetic scheme presupposed in the later Q texts such as 11.49–51 and 13.34–35, but explicit references to the later (prophetic) model are absent from 14.27 itself. Any argument from silence is problematic. Indeed it is a stock argument against theories of the existence of a non-‘kerygmatic’ theology in Q that silence about the kerygmatic significance of the cross does not imply that such significance was not seen.21 I remain convinced that, in the case of Q as a whole, the size of Q is sufficient to make the absence of references to the death of Jesus as explicitly vicarious or saving a significant silence. However, when the size of the ‘database’ is reduced, in this case to a single, short, isolated verse, arguments from silence become all the more precarious. Not every aspect of every writer’s beliefs is, or can be, spelt out explicitly at every point. Sometimes things are left unsaid, either because they have been said elsewhere, or because they can be presupposed. Thus to take a single verse such as Q 14.27, and build upon its silence about prophetic themes and social hostility a fairly elaborate theory of developments in Q’s thoughts about the death of Jesus from Cynic to rather different prophetic models, seems somewhat dangerous. Few would wish to deduce from Rom 15.3 a chronologically earlier (i.e. exemplary) view of Paul’s about the atonement which he subsequently developed later in his life; nor would many try to reconstruct the chronological history of the Markan community’s beliefs about Jesus’ death from the varied statements in Mark 8.31; 10.45; 14.24 and 15.38: at best they would be seen as different aspects of one view (Mark’s) or perhaps different traditions incorporated by Mark. But even in the latter case it would seem precarious to plot these statements against a chronological scale and see a history of the tradition developing in a unilinear way within a single community. So too then perhaps with Q. Rather than using a series of short sayings in Q to reconstruct five separate stages in the conceptual and social history of the Q ‘community’, one should perhaps see all the sayings as expressing potentially different aspects of a single overall view which at least the final 21

See e.g. M. Hengel, Son of God (London: SCM, 1976), 75.

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editor was happy to include in the final version of the text and which presumably was thought to make some kind of coherent sense. Similar problems appear to me to arise in Vaage’s essay on the use of ‘Son of Man’ (henceforth SM) in Q. I have already referred to the problems of assigning Q 12.10 to a Q3 layer. For the rest, Vaage assigns all but two of the SM sayings in Q to the Q2 level, the two exceptions being Q 7.34 and 9.58 which are assigned to Q1. Vaage may well be right at one level, and I certainly would not want to quibble with the general view that some SM sayings come to the Q (or Q2) editor from his/her tradition and that some of the SM sayings are extremely significant for that editor in expressing his/her ideas. Vaage does however go rather further in suggesting that the majority, if not all, of the Q2 SM sayings are not only brought into Q by the Q2 editor but are also created by the editor at this stage. Vaage is aware of the problem but argues that a saying could be regarded as ‘redactional’ (by which he appears to mean a redactional creation de novo) if it can be shown to cohere with Q’s ‘wider rhetorical strategy’.22 Thus Vaage’s method is to argue that the Q2 sayings are all of a piece with Q2 itself and hence probably originate there. I would certainly not disagree that the SM sayings cohere with ‘Q2’. But again the vexed problem of continuity arises. Can we be so sure that the ‘rhetorical strategy’ of Q2 is so different from its earlier tradition, or indeed from that of Jesus? It is becoming clearer that the boundaries between ‘Q’ and Jesus are not so clear-cut as some might like. The relationship between Q and Jesus at the level of discipleship is perhaps one of more continuity and less discontinuity; 23 Catchpole argues persuasively for a strong element of continuity between the ‘missionary’ practice of Jesus and of Q Christians;24 and elsewhere he has argued forcefully that, even in the polemical passages of Q often thought to be so characteristic of Q (or Q2), we cannot and should not drive too much of a wedge between Q and Jesus.25 Can we then so confidently affirm that the SM sayings in Q2 passages are not only added here by a Q editor but are also created by that editor? No one would doubt that, within Q, earlier traditions have sometimes been glossed by a later editor. But this does not preclude the possibility that the glossing takes place using earlier traditions available to the Q2 editor. In 22

Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 105. Cf. H.-W. Kuhn, ‘Nachfolge nach Ostern’, in G. Strecker & D. Lührmann (eds.), Kirche. Festschrift für Günther Bornkamm zum 75. Geburtstag (Tübingen: Mohr, 1980), 105–132. 24 D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Mission Charge in Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 147–174. 25 D. R. Catchpole, ‘Temple Traditions in Q’, in W. Horbury (ed.), Templum Amicitiae. Essays on the Second Temple Presented to Ernst Bammel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 305–329. 23

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several instances too, according to Vaage’s analysis, the SM saying in question represents a separable unit, quite capable of existing independently (unlike, say, the Lukan gloss in Luke 5.32 where Jesus is made to say that he has come to call sinners ‘to repentance’: the gloss is only a twoword phrase, incapable of independent existence). However, the fact that a tradition in toto coheres with the concerns of Q2 cannot of itself preclude the possibility that the tradition in question also existed prior to its being incorporated into Q. And nothing, as far as I can see, in Vaage’s introductory ‘Methodological Considerations’ really shows that his allegedly different approach solves the problem here any better than others. Kloppenborg’s warnings about not confusing tradition-history and literary history still stand;26 and Schürmann’s self-imposed limitations about the implications of his own analysis of the SM sayings in Q27 – that his theory only concerned the stage at which a SM saying entered the present form of the tradition, not the question of the ultimate origin of the saying – deserve repetition here. Further problems seem to me to arise in the interpretation Vaage gives to the phrase ‘SM’ in both Q1 and Q2, and in the conclusions he draws from these. I would agree with Vaage that the SM sayings he assigns to Q2 cohere together, and indeed cohere with important aspects of Q2 in stressing the imminent threat of judgment hanging over the addressees. The question Vaage rather sidesteps is why the phrase ‘SM’ itself is used here at all. Thus he claims that the figure’s contribution to the saying itself is quite abstract: we would even say mathematical … Logically, in every case we could replace the ‘son of man’ with an x and still grasp whatever is at stake. The only thing added by the actual words ‘son of man’ in the text of Q’s redaction is semantic contact with a certain intertextual (apocalyptic) field of play. The name allows a set of associations to be made, giving the interested imagination (e.g. that of New Testament scholars) a range to fill in the blank.28

This does not however seem very satisfactory. The very fact that the phrase is so unusual in Greek (and most would agree that at least Q2 is a Greek ‘text’) suggests strongly that the ‘set of associations’ which could be made are not just a matter for modern NT scholars but were important for first century readers and writers too and that the ‘semantic contact’ was something that the author of a text such as Q expected his/her audience and/or readership to pick up. Our problem is of course that we constantly 26 J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Synoptic Sayings Source’, CBQ 46 (1984) 34–62. 27 H. Schürmann, ‘Beobachtungen zum Menschensohn-Titel in der Redequelle’, in Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 124–147, on p. 141. 28 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 124.

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struggle to identify the ‘semantic contact’ appropriate for a first century Christian writer! It is also the case that no clear explicit reference to Dan 7 (or Ps 110) appears in the Q SM sayings themselves,29 though some would argue that a Danielic allusion is clearly implied in the talk of the coming of the SM.30 But it seems unlikely that we can simply ignore the potential meaning of the phrase entirely in the way Vaage appears to, and I remain unconvinced that we could replace ‘SM’ with ‘x’ and lose nothing at all in the meaning of the sayings. At the level of Q1, Vaage claims that the ‘SM’ is quite different, ‘someone of much less regal or divine stature’31 (though is the SM in Q2 ‘regal’, or strictly ‘divine’?) but more of an unorthodox wanderer delightfully free from convention (a Cynic?), eating and drinking freely and sleeping where he wills. Here too Vaage raises the question of why Jesus is called ‘SM’ in this context, but again simply sidesteps the issue, saying that it is ‘hard to know’, and hinting that it may be some sort of ‘nickname’.32 Once again the problem of continuity arises. What does Q2 make of the allegedly quite different Q1 sayings? Does not the fact that the same unusual Greek phrase ‘SM’ is used in all the sayings have any significance at all? Can we say that the phrase, and the Q1 sayings, meant one thing for Q1 and something quite different for Q2? The more of a wedge that is driven between Q1 and Q2, the harder it becomes to see why Q2 ever used Q1 at all or what sense it made of it. In fact one could argue for a far greater degree of continuity between the various SM sayings. I have argued elsewhere that Q 7.34 and 9.58 both occur in contexts which imply social conflict with hostility and opposition being experienced.33 In Q 7.34 this is quite clear: the ‘SM’ and John the Baptist are both rejected by this generation, despite their different lifestyles. In Q 9.58, this is perhaps less obvious; but if, as many maintain, Q 9.58 acts as the introduction to the mission discourse in Q,34 and if that missionary discourse also reflects a situation of hostility and opposition, and hence is rather more Q2-like than Q1,35 then the homelessness of the SM in Q 9.58 may be portrayed by Q as paradigmatic for the lack of 29

M. Casey, Son of Man. The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SPCK, 1979). 30 Cf. B. Lindars, Son of Man. A Fresh Examination of the Son of Man Sayings in the Gospels (London: SPCK, 1983), 85. 31 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 123. 32 Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 123. 33 ‘The Present Son of Man’, JSNT 14 (1982) 58–81 (pp. 505–523 in this volume). 34 Kloppenborg, Formation, 200–201. 35 Cf. A. D. Jacobson, ‘The Literary Unity of Q. Lc 10,2–16 and Parallels as a Test Case’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 419–423.

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reception which the Q missionaries will experience. In other words, the homelessness of the SM is to be seen as a result of social conflict, not as the result of any Cynic-type scorning of conventions. Q 7.34 and 9.58 thus belong very closely together; they also cohere well with the other SM sayings which reflect a similar situation of conflict and/or articulate Q’s response to that conflict. It seems therefore dangerous to drive a wedge between ‘Q1’ and ‘Q2’ here. It may also be dangerous to drive a wedge between Q and Jesus at this point. Vaage attempts to do this almost solely on the basis of his ‘stratigraphical’ analysis. However, as I have already indicated, it is methodologically dangerous to try to solve traditio-historical problems by literary critical means.36 A relative latecomer into Q is not thereby inauthentic! And if Jesus was involved in some kind of conflict situation with his Jewish contemporaries (which the very fact of his death must surely imply), then there must be an element of continuity between Q and Jesus at this point. I am not arguing here that all the Q SM sayings can be taken as ipso facto authentic; nor am I arguing that the ‘SM problem’ is easily soluble. It is not! All I am arguing is that the question of the possible significance of the phrase ‘SM’ on the lips of Jesus cannot easily be solved in the way Vaage suggests. At the very least, one must say that conflict, hostility and rejection seem endemic to the SM sayings in Q. In turn this makes the SM in Q not so dissimilar at one level from the SM in Mark who is above all a figure who ‘must’ suffer and die (Mark 8.31 etc.). The terminology is not identical; but there is an underlying agreement here which makes it at least plausible that some such idea might be traceable back to Jesus. In this essay I have tried to focus on a few methodological problems in relation to the stratification of Q proposed by some. I have tried to argue that perhaps a model of an earlier Q-tradition being used by a later Qredaction may represent the upper limit in terms of complexity that our evidence will allow us to perceive. In any case we should not drive too many wedges between the various proposed stages in the tradition. Further, problems about rediscovering anything of Jesus may have to proceed with lines of argumentation additional to those engaged with trying to delineate the history of the development of the Q tradition. 15

36

Cf. Kloppenborg, ‘Tradition and Redaction’.

16

VII The Temptation Narrative in Q Within the parameters of the Two Source Theory, there should be little doubt that the story of the three-fold temptation of Jesus in Matt 4.1–11/ Luke 4.1–13 formed part of Q.1 At one level there is no difficulty. The close verbal agreement between Matthew and Luke makes it easy, if not obligatory, to assign the pericope to Q. The only major difference between the two versions concerns the order of the temptations, since Matthew and Luke differ in the relative order of the last two temptations. However, the difference is widely regarded as due to LukeR, Luke wishing to make the scene in Jerusalem into the climax of the pericope as a whole.2 (Hence in the rest of this essay, I shall refer to the numbering of each temptation in the Matthean order.) There is a small amount of overlap in substance with the very brief encounter of the ‘temptation’ in Mark 1.12–13, but this is usually explained as a Mark-Q overlap.3 1

I assume here without discussion the basic tenets of the Two Source Theory, in particular the existence of a Q source to explain the agreements between Matthew and Luke which cannot be explained by the theory of Markan priority. Within the assumptions of the Two Source Theory, the nature of ‘Q’ is of course much debated. In particular there has been strong support in recent years for the theory that Q existed in a series of different stages in its growth. In such theories the temptation narrative has often played a key role: see below, especially nn. 11–13. The aim of this article is in part to question the necessity for such theories. In what follows I have assumed that it is indeed right and proper to think of at least a two-stage process involving a Q-tradition and a Q-redaction. Whether any further complications are required remains to be seen. 2 So P. Hoffmann, ‘Die Versuchungsgeschichte in der Logienquelle’, BZ 13 (1969) 207–223, on p. 208; H. Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT III/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1969), 218; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 177; J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 165, 507; W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 364. For a full discussion, see H. Mahnke, Die Versuchungsgeschichte im Rahmen der synoptischen Evangelien. Ein Beitrag zur frühen Christologie (BET 9; Frankfurt: Lang, 1978), 170–182. 3 One recent alternative proposal is that of A. Fuchs, ‘Versuchung Jesu’, in SNTU 9 (1984) 95–159, who sees the temptation narrative in Matthew and Luke, like many of the pericopes often explained as a ‘Mark-Q overlap’, as due to an expansion of Mark by a Deutero-Markan editor. Fuchs is not averse in principle to the idea that his alleged Deutero-Markan editor might have used an independent tradition (cf. p. 113: though this

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It is however widely acknowledged that the temptation narrative in Matthew and Luke presents considerable problems in relation to its contents if it is to be regarded as part of Q. For those who believe that ‘Q’ was not a unified source, but simply an amorphous mass of unrelated and unconnected traditions available to Matthew and Luke, there is no difficulty here. But for others who have sought to identify common thematic links binding the Q material together, there are severe problems. For at first sight, the temptation narrative seems to be quite unlike anything else in Q.4 Mahnke reflects the views of many in referring to the following points which render problematic any theory that the temptation narrative belonged to Q:5 (i) It is uncertain whether Q contained an account of the baptism of Jesus; yet the Q temptation story, with the Devil’s two-fold opening address to Jesus ‘If you are the Son of God’, seems to presuppose a preceding account of Jesus’ baptism and his address by the heavenly voice as ‘Son of God’. Further, ‘Son of God’ is not a Christological category that is used elsewhere in Q. (ii) The scriptural quotations presuppose

theory effectively reduces to the traditional idea of a Mark-Q ‘overlap’); however, Fuchs claims that such a theory is unnecessary here on the grounds of the apparent close links between the temptations and the Markan baptism story where the heavenly voice declares Jesus to be the Son of God, and with other features in the Markan text. The possible link with the baptism story will be discussed below. Other links with the Markan text are much less clear. Fuchs seeks to show that the ‘Q’ version is only intelligible on the basis of Mark. But as often as not, Fuchs’ argument reduces to a claim that the ‘Q’ version might be plausibly seen as a development from Mark (e.g. in making Jesus, not the Holy Spirit, the subject of the action of going into the desert, or changing ਥțȕȐȜȜȦ to (ਕȞ)ਙȖȦ. These might be regarded as secondary changes if direct dependence on Mark is assumed. But they do not establish such a theory of dependence on their own. Other links with the Markan story (e.g. the desert location) may show a link at an earlier stage in the development of the tradition. Fuchs’ article shows how his theory of a Deutero-Markan editor might explain the evidence here, but it scarcely shows that the evidence must be explained in this way. One may also note that the theory must presuppose that the alleged editor acted with considerably more freedom and creativity here than elsewhere in the tradition. The redaction undertaken by the alleged editor thus appears to vary considerably in scope and content. For more on Fuchs’ overall theory, see F. Neirynck, ‘Deuteromarcus et les accords Matthieu-Luc’, ETL 56 (1980) 397–408, repr. in Neirynck, Evangelica (BETL 60; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 769–780. 4 Cf. R. A. Edwards, A Theology of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 83: ‘This incident is truly unique in Q’. Edwards’ general view is that elsewhere Q is dominated by themes of eschatology, prophecy and wisdom; but he claims that ‘there is nothing particularly eschatological about this passage, there are no distinctive prophetic materials or emphases, and it lacks any usual wisdom influence’. 5 Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 183 ff. See too D. Zeller, ‘Die Versuchungen Jesu in der Logienquelle’, TTZ 89 (1980) 61–73, on p. 62; Fuchs, ‘Versuchung’, 139 ff.; J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 247–248; M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 35–36.

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the use of the LXX;6 hence the story must have come from a Greek-speaking milieu. ‘Wenn also die Versuchungsgeschichte Q zuzurechnen ist, dann kann sie nicht zum ursprünglichen Bestand der Redequelle gehört haben.’7 (iii) Unlike the rest of Q which gives Jesus’ own teaching, Jesus here says nothing of his own: he only cites scripture. (iv) Apart from Q 7.27, this is the only instance in Q where the OT is explicitly cited. (v) There are links between the Q temptation narrative and the passion narratives of both Matthew and Luke (e.g. in Matt 27.40–43; Luke 22.3); yet Q has no passion narrative. To these may be added the following: (vi) The form of the story is unlike anything else in Q.8 (vii) The view of miracles here is quite unlike the rest of Q.9 To meet these difficulties, various options have been suggested. Perhaps the most extreme has been D. Lührmann’s proposal to excise the temptation narrative from Q entirely, despite the close verbal agreement between Matthew and Luke.10 Others have been not quite so drastic, although the price paid has often been a relatively complex theory about the development of Q; and within such a development, the temptation narrative is often regarded as a relative late-comer into Q. Thus Schulz ascribes it to 6 The evidence always referred to in this context is the use of the 2 nd person singular, rather than plural, in Q 4.12 = Deut 6.16, and the use of ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ and the addition of ȝȩȞ૳ in Q 4.8 = Deut 6.13. On this, see below. 7 Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 186; cf. too A. W. Argyle, ‘The Accounts of the Temptation of Jesus in Relation to the Q-Hypothesis’, ExpT 64 (1953) 382; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 62. 8 However, the precise claim made varies. Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 62 (cf. too his Kommentar zur Logienquelle [Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1984], 22–23) claims that the story is a Streitgespräch and as such is unparalleled elsewhere in Q. Sato claims that in form the story is scarcely definable and unparalleled (Q und Prophetie, 36). Kloppenborg, Formation, 247, says that ‘the form of the story, with its three-fold debate as well as its mythical motif, is quite unparalleled in Q’ (though perhaps this relates more to the contents than to the strict form as such). D. Kosch, Die eschatologische Tora des Menschensohnes. Untersuchungen zur Rezeption der Stellung Jesu zur Tora in Q (NTOA 12; Freiburg/Switzerland & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 60, 236, claims that ‘formal’ and ‘inhaltlich’ the story has no links with Q 3.1– 7.35. 9 Cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 247–248: ‘The implication of the devil’s invitations is that the Son of God is or should be a miracle worker. But in the rest of Q, miracles are treated not so much as deeds of Jesus as they are events of the kingdom whose presence or impending coming they portend (7:22; 10:9; 11:20). Their expected function is to produce repentance in those who witness them (10:13–15). Nothing in the temptation story – either in the devil’s invitations or in Jesus’ responses – suggests this understanding of the miraculous.’ A. D. Jacobson, Wisdom Christology in Q (PhD Dissertation, Claremont Graduate School, 1978), 93, suggests that the story is directed against views of miracle elsewhere in Q. On both these points, see below. 10 D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1969), 56.

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the later of his two proposed layers in Q.11 Zeller and Mahnke ascribe it, in more general terms, to a later redactional stage in the growth of Q. 12 Polag, Jacobson and Kloppenborg all agree in ascribing the story to the latest stage in the growth of Q which each postulates.13 Jacobson in fact argues that the story serves as a corrective to counter possible ‘enthusiastic’ tendencies inherent in an earlier, ‘intermediate’, stage of the growth of Q (e.g. in Q 11.2–4, 9–13; 17.5–6). Others have however been more ready to see the temptation narrative as an integral part of Q. Schottroff seeks to show close links between this story and other Q material;14 Pokorný regards the story as summarising aspects of the rest of Q;15 and even Kloppenborg, whilst assigning the story to a later stage in the development of Q, seeks to interpret the narrative in a way which is at least consonant with the rest of Q.16 An approach such as that of Kloppenborg is probably the most appropriate in the circumstances: if, on literary-critical grounds, one decides that the temptation narrative is indeed part of Q, then it is surely incumbent upon one to try, at least initially, to seek to make sense of the story within the context of Q. And further, the initial assumption must be that the story fits positively with the rest of Q. This must then cast some doubt on Jacobson’s theory. Jacobson’s suggestion that the temptation narrative is explicitly directed against other parts of the ‘text’ to which it belongs (i.e. Q), implies a degree of sophistication on the part of both ‘author’ and audience which it is hard to conceive. Would an author leave undesirable parts of his tradition totally untouched and only prefix the whole with a mythical account, perhaps at some distance removed, to show that the later parts were unacceptable, or at least potentially dangerous? Redactional interference in the unacceptable traditions themselves would be intelligible; so too would be a simple omission of them. But the procedure of prefixing a 11 Schulz, Q, 177 ff., though since the bulk of Q is assigned by Schulz to this (later) stratum, the temptation narrative is effectively placed alongside much of the rest of Q. 12 Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 189–190; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 62 and cf. Kommentar, 22: ‘Eine Spur der judenchristlich-hellenistischen Redaktion von Q’ (though I can find no other references in Zeller’s commentary to this redactional stage). Cf. too Sato, Q und Prophetie, 35 (‘später entstanden’), and Kosch, Tora, 60 (‘sehr späte Zufügung’). 13 A. Polag, Die Christologie der Logienquelle (WMANT 45; Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1977), 146 ff.; Jacobson, Wisdom Christology, 36–46, 93; Kloppenborg, Formation, 247–248. 14 L. Schottroff & W. Stegemann, Jesus von Nazareth – Hoffnung der Armen (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1978), 72–77 and n. 33 on p. 160. 15 P. Pokorný, ‘The Temptation Stories and Their Intention’, NTS 20 (1974) 115–127, on p. 126. 16 Kloppenborg, Formation, 249: ‘we must assume that it [the temptation narrative] was added because it was seen to resonate with one or another feature in the rest of the collection.’

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temptation narrative alone in order to criticise the later parts seems hard to envisage. However, we shall see that Jacobson’s theories are not without value since the later material itself may have already undergone redactional modification by Q. Some of the arguments adduced by Mahnke and others for regarding the temptation narrative as a late addition to Q are also rather weak when examined critically. Mahnke’s point about possible links with the passion narratives of Matthew and Luke ([v] above) really shows nothing about Q. Matthew and Luke themselves may well have developed their own narratives in such a way as to highlight such links. But there is nothing inherent in the temptation narrative itself that demands that the relevant details must presuppose a subsequent passion narrative. (Indeed the fact that Matthew and Luke draw lines between their own passion narratives and different features of the temptation narrative shows this clearly.) The problem of whether the temptation narrative demands a previous baptism story, and the connection with a possible ‘Son of God’ Christology ([i] above), is not easily solved. It may be that Q did contain an account of Jesus’ baptism, but this is not certain.17 More importantly, however, there is the question whether it is indeed right to speak of the narrative here presupposing a ‘Son of God’ Christology. As we shall see below, the Devil’s address to Jesus is ambiguous and, if interpreted non-Christologically, is certainly not without parallel elsewhere in Q. Thus the presuppostions lying behind the Devil’s address to Jesus may indicate nothing that is unusual in Q. The argument about the Septuagintal nature of the OT citations here ([ii] above) has been very influential, but it probably shows very little. Many would argue that Q, if it existed in the form of a written text, must have been a Greek text: the close verbal agreements between the Greek texts of Matthew and Luke is at times so close that a Greek Vorlage, not just a common Aramaic original, seems to be presupposed.18 Use of a Greek version of the OT here would thus not be strange in a Greek text such as Q. Nor may we assume that the language of Q necessarily implies anything about the geographical provenance of Q, as if a Greek Q must

There are a few Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark here, e.g. in using ਕȞȠȓȖȦ for Mark’s ıȤȚȗȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ, and in using İੁȢ Į੝IJȩȞ for ਥʌ’ Į੝IJȩȞ. Cf. Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 189; Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.218. Sato, Q und Prophetie, 25, appeals to the existence of the temptation narrative in Q to argue for the presence of Luke 3.21–22 in Q. 18 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 51–64. Hence Mahnke’s claim that the temptation narrative cannot have belonged to the ‘ursprünglichen Bestand der Redequelle’ (cf. above at n. 7) appears to make some sweeping, and perhaps untenable, assumptions about the nature of the ‘ursprüngliche Bestand’ of Q. 17

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ipso facto be non-Palestinian,19 since Greek may well have been used both inside as well as outside Palestine.20 In fact the evidence for the use of a Septuagintal version here is extremely thin. In most parts of the citations here, the LXX and MT agree so that one cannot distinguish them.21 At the few points where there is a possible difference (see n. 6 above), the evidence is not compelling. The use of the second person singular ਥțʌİȚȡȐıİȚȢ in Q 4.12 for Deut 6.16 MT ZVQW is scarcely significant, since in any case the reply of Jesus to a (singular) Devil demands a singular verb.22 The only possibly significant agreement concerns Q 4.8 ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ, agreeing with LXXA at Deut 6.13 (MT DU\W followed by most other LXX manuscripts which read ijȠȕȘșȒıૉ); also Q 4.8 adds ȝȩȞ૳ in agreement with LXXA and P963.23 However, influence from the Christian gospels on the text of LXXA cannot be excluded;24 nor can the possibility that the author of the Q narrative knew a version of the Shema closely parallel to this, a form attested by Justin Martyr (1 Apol. 16.7).25 In any case the use of ʌȡȠıțȣȞȑȦ is determined by the context (the demand to ‘worship’ the Devil) so that a deliberate change by the author of the story is also possible.26 The 19

Contra Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 68, and Kloppenborg, Formation, 256, who both argue against Hoffmann’s interpretation of the temptation narrative, which places the latter firmly within a Palestinian socio-political context (see below), on the grounds that the Greek nature of Q implies that Q must be non-Palestinian. 20 J. N. Sevenster, Do You Know Greek? (NovTSup 19; Leiden: Brill, 1968); M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (London: SCM, 1974), 88 ff.; J. A. Fitzmyer, ‘The Languages of Palestine in the First Century A.D.’, in idem, A Wandering Aramean (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 29–56, esp. pp. 32 ff.; U. Wegner, Der Hauptmann von Kafarnaum (WUNT 2.14; Tübingen: Mohr, 1985), 331, 417 n. 81 with further bibliographical details. 21 See P. Hoffmann’s review of Schulz, Q, in BZ 19 (1975) 104–115, on p. 109. 22 Cf. R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St Matthew’s Gospel (NovTSup 18; Leiden: Brill, 1968), 68. 23 963 P is often wrongly cited as supporting the reading ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ (cf. Gundry, Old Testament, 68; Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 131–132; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 62) although it clearly reads ijȠȕȘșȒıૉ. Others appear to assume that ‘the’ LXX reading is ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ. Schulz, Q, 185, speaks of ‘zwei typischen Septuaginta-Abweichungen’ – though the use of ʌȡȠıțȣȞȑȦ for DU\ occurs nowhere else in the LXX. Cf. G. Theißen, Lokalkolorit und Zeitgeschichte in den Evangelien (NTOA 8; Göttingen & Fribourg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht & Universitätsverlag, 1989), 226–227. The evidence is correctly stated by K. Stendahl, The School of St Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), 88–89. 24 Cf. Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.373; Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 227. 25 Cf. Polag, Christologie, 148; Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 228. However, dependence of Justin on the gospels is also a possibility. 26 A. Lindemann, ‘Die Versuchungsgeschichte Jesu nach der Logienquelle and das Vaterunser’, in D.-A. Koch, G. Sellin, A. Lindemann (eds.), Jesu Rede von Gott und ihre Nachgeschichte im frühen Christentum (FS W. Marxsen; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1989), 91–100, on p. 94, also suggests that the citation may not necessarily be of Deut 6.13 alone, but a ‘Mischzitat’ of Deut 6.13 and 5.9.

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addition of ȝȩȞ૳ in LXXA and P963 could also be due to Christian influence; alternatively it could be regarded as a natural, independent scribal addition.27 Thus the evidence provided by the text form of the citations here is probably too weak to bear any weight in the present discussion. The argument about the use of scripture in Q ([iv] above) is also not altogether compelling. It is widely agreed that Q 7.27 constitutes another example of a scriptural text being explicitly cited with an introductory formula. Some have argued that Q 7.27 itself is a later addition to Q,28 though this is by no means clear.29 Elsewhere too Q uses OT language (cf. Q 10.15; 13.19; 13.27; 13.35), and although no explicit introductory formulae are used at these points, the allusion often seems to be essential to the point being made so that a citation is certainly implied. So too the form of this pericope, and the fact that Jesus cites only scripture (cf. [iii] and [vi] above) is not clearly unlike anything else in Q. If it is right to call this a ‘Streitgespräch’ (cf. n. 8 above), then there may be a Q parallel in Luke 10.25–28 which, many have argued, may well 27 Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 131–132, tries to exclude the theory of Christian influence on P 963 partly on the grounds of date: P963 dates from the first half of the second century and hence there is scarcely time for the suggested influence by the Christian gospels on the LXX textual tradition. However, other texts which may be equally early (e.g. the Didache, or the Gospel of Thomas) may also show influence from our gospels: see my articles ‘Synoptic Tradition in the Didache’, in J.-M. Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament in Early Christianity (BETL 86; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1989), 197–230; ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume). Cf. also F. Neirynck, ‘The Apocryphal Gospels and the Gospel of Mark’, in Sevrin (ed.), New Testament, 123–175, and ‘Papyrus Egerton 2 and the Healing of the Leper’, in ETL 61 (1985) 153–160 (repr. in Evangelica II [BETL 99; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991], 715–772 and 773–784) for discussion of other texts such as Gospel of Peter, Papyrus Egerton 2 etc. A second century date cannot exclude the possibility of influence from the canonical gospels! 28 Cf. Polag, Christologie, 17, 158–159; Kloppenborg, Formation, 110. However, Polag’s criterion is simply that such citations cohere with the introductory sections of Q and are thus secondary. Polag’s division of Q into strata is somewhat arbitrary and his method here rather circular. (See further, J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Synoptic Sayings Source’, in CBQ 46 [1984] 34–62, on pp. 50–51.) 29 Kloppenborg’s argument concerns the relative ages of the (appended) comments in Q 7.27 and 7.28. If however 7.27 is the comment on 7.28, as Kloppenborg argues, it seems odd that the comment precedes the verse it seeks to qualify: cf. A. D. Jacobson, ‘The History and the Composition of the Synoptic Sayings Source, Q’, in K. H. Richards (ed.), SBL 1987 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 285–294, on p. 292. Hence it is more likely that, of the two, v. 28 is the later. But in any case the whole issue of vv. 27–28, which concern the relative status of Jesus and John the Baptist, seems to be superceded in Q by 7.31–35 where Jesus and John appear together in a united front against ‘this generation’: see Lührmann, Redaktion, 24–48. Hence it seems implausible to ascribe v. 27 to a late stage in Q’s growth. The structure of the passage in Q 7.18–35 suggests that the verse belongs earlier, rather than later, within the development of Q.

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reflect a Q version of the pericope about the double love command,30 and in Q the story is in the form of a ‘Streitgespräch’ (as opposed to a Schulgespräch as in Mark).31 Further, this is also an instance where scripture is explicitly cited as the main answer to the question (though whether this is by the lawyer or by Jesus in Q is not clear). Nevertheless, despite these counter-arguments, it must be admitted that Q’s temptation narrative is not clearly of a piece with the rest of Q. The sudden burst of scriptural quotations, the bartering of scriptural texts, and the appearance of the Devil as one of the conversation partners, all serve to distinguish this pericope from the rest of Q.32 However, one may also note that introductory sections to other texts are sometimes equally dissimilar to the rest of the text which they introduce. The Johannine prologue with its Logos Christology is in many respects unlike the rest of John’s Gospel (where there is no explicit Logos Christology). The Markan prologue, whether it be Mark 1.1–13 or 1.1–15, is unlike the succeeding narrative, and also includes an explicit reference to the fulfilment of scripture (rare elsewhere in Mark) and an encounter with Satan.33 The case of Mark may be particularly instructive since many have shown that these opening verses in the Gospel serve to set the scene in theological terms for the subsequent narrative told in more historical terms. It may therefore be worthwhile to consider if the Q temptation story may function in a similar way. One other ‘introductory’ problem which should be mentioned briefly, but which I shall not discuss in detail here, concerns the unity of the story. The fact that the story contains three almost independent ‘temptations’ of 30 R. H. Fuller, ‘The Double Commandment of Love. A Test Case for the Criteria of Authenticity’, idem (ed.), Essays on the Love Commandment (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978), 41–56, on p. 42; my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 125–133; K. Kertelge, ‘Das Doppelgebot der Liebe im Markusevangelium’, in À cause de L’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 303–332, on pp. 307–310; and pace J. Kiilunen, Das Doppelgebot der Liebe in synoptischer Sicht (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1989). Cf. the MatthewLuke agreements here in reading ȞȠȝȚțȩȢ (if that is indeed the correct reading in Matt 22.35), the reference to ‘testing’, the address of Jesus as ‘teacher’, the reference to ‘in the Law’ etc. Not all Kiilunen’s arguments, seeking to explain these agreements as the result of independent redaction by Matthew and Luke, are equally convincing. For example, the reference to the ȞȠȝȚțȩȢ in Matthew is said by Kiilunen to be due to Matthew’s concentration on the theme of the ȞȩȝȠȢ (pp. 37–38); yet the fact that the word is not used elsewhere in Matthew still makes a MattR origin here hard to conceive. 31 See R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 51; Fuller, ‘Double Commandment’, 46. 32 Though precisely the same features distinguish the pericope within the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, and yet no one is suggesting that the story is a relatively late addition within each Gospel! 33 See J. M. Robinson, The Problem of History in Mark (London: SCM, 1957), 21 ff.; M. D. Hooker, The Message of Mark (London: Epworth, 1983), 5 ff.

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Jesus might suggest that we have originally independent units here; this might also be supported by the fact that the first two temptations relate to Jesus being in some way ‘Son of God’, whereas this is not explicit in the third temptation. Hence many have argued that at least the third temptation is of a separate origin from the other two.34 Nevertheless, it is clear that, insofar as the three temptations derive from a tradition common to Matthew and Luke, they constitute a unit in both gospels and hence probably also in the tradition lying immediately behind Matthew and Luke, i.e. in Q. If then we are looking for the possible significance of the story in Q, it seems reasonable to take the narrative as a unity at that level too. In any case, a strong case can be made for regarding the story as having been a unity right from the start: the introductory ‘if you are the Son of God’ would be simply inappropriate in the third temptation.35 Thus in what follows I shall assume that, at least for Q, it is indeed appropriate to regard the story as a single unit. One important aspect of the Q story, in contrast to the Markan account, is the fact that Jesus is portrayed as citing scripture and being obedient to scripture. At the very least, the story shows Jesus as true to the Torah and in no way subversive of it.36 This certainly coheres closely with some (possibly editorial) later parts of the Q tradition, where Jesus is portrayed as one who asserts positively the continuing validity of the Law.37 Thus the last half of the concluding comment in Q 11.42 to the woe on tithing (‘these things you should have done and not left the others undone’) may be a Q-redactional addition guarding against a possible interpretation of the woe which might suggest that tithing itself is dispensable.38 Q 16.17 34 Cf. J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, 1963), 123; F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1969), 175; Bultmann, History, 256; Polag, Christologie, 146. 35 See Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 136; Schulz, Q, 185; U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7) (EKKNT I/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985), 160; Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 215, and cf. below on those who see in the three-fold temptation narrative a reflection of different aspects of messiahship under debate. 36 Cf. Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 198; Kloppenborg, Formation, 258; also Luz, Matthäus, 1.162: ‘Der verbindende Gedanke zwischen allen drei Versuchungen ist nicht die Polemik gegen ein bestimmtes (Miß)Verständnis der Gottessohnschaft Jesu, sondern der Gehorsam Jesu gegenüber Gottes Wort.’ 37 For more detail on what follows, see my ‘Q, the Law and Judaism’, in B. Lindars (ed.), Law and Religion (Cambridge: Clarke, 1988), 90–101. 38 Pace D. R. Catchpole, ‘Temple Traditions in Q’, in W. Horbury (ed.), Templum Amicitiae (FS E. Bammel; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 305–330, on pp. 320–321, 326. Catchpole argues that the final phrase produces a neat chiastic structure for the woe on tithing, and in any case without the final phrase the saying would be ambiguous in relation to the attitude to tithing being put forward. But the ambiguity

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may well be an editorial attempt to ensure that the verse which (probably) precedes it in Q, Q 16.16, is not to be interpreted in an antinomian way: thus although in one sense the era of the Law and the prophets has ended with John’s coming (Q 16.16), nevertheless the Law is still in force and is to be obeyed (Q 16.17).39 Other elements which (at least arguably) belong to Q may also be relevant. Luke 14.5/Matt 12.11–12 may have been part of Q.40 The immediate context of the saying within Q is uncertain;41 but clearly the saying belongs within a broad context of Jesus’ justifying doing some activity on the Sabbath. The saying then only makes sense if activity on the Sabbath is a matter of dispute. Moreover, the argument in Q appears to work within presuppositions that would be acceptable to sceptical Torah-observant hearers.42 Jesus is thus shown to be working within the parameters of Torah observance and, if necessary, defending his actions in an entirely reasonable way. So too, Q may have contained a version of the might be precisely the reason why need was felt for adding the final phrase; and the present structure of the woe as a whole cannot preclude the possibility that a differently structured form of the saying pre-dated the present form. 39 It may be only Matthew who introduces a qualification, especially in the second of his ਪȦȢ clauses in Matt 5.18d. However, a detailed discussion would take us too far afield here. Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring, C. W. Hedrick, J. T. Sanders, H. D. Betz (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings (FS J. M. Robinson; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35–48, also connects Q 11.42d and 16.17 with the temptation narrative and ascribes all three to a late redaction of Q. However, it is questionable whether the redaction has to be considered later than other important elements of Qredactional activity. 40 See F. Neirynck, ‘Luke 14,1–6. Lukan Composition and Q Saying’, in his Evangelica II, 183–204, who agrees Luke 14.5 itself may have belonged to Q but questions whether the rest of the story in Luke 14.1–6 belonged to Q. Cf. too Kosch, Tora, 200– 204. 41 Cf. previous note. Neirynck and Kosch both take it as an independent saying. 42 This is however not entirely clear due to our lack of knowledge about (a) the precise wording of the Q saying, and (b) the precise state of the interpretation of Sabbath law which is presupposed here. See my Revival, 98–99. On (b) it is uncertain whether pulling an animal out of a pit was regarded as a legitimate breach of Sabbath law or not. (It was forbidden at Qumran, cf. CD 11.13–14, and not allowed by later rabbis, cf. b. Shab. 128b.) On (a) it is uncertain if Q 14.5 mentions only animals (‘ox’, ‘ass’ or ‘sheep’) or humans as well (‘son’). The importance of this is that it appears to have been agreed by all that it would be legitimate to rescue a human being who had fallen into a pit. I have argued elsewhere (in my Revival) that the Q version did refer to a ‘son’. But even if animals alone are mentioned in Q, the text makes it clear that an appeal is being made to the sensibilities of an audience who, it is presumed, would agree that such actions of rescue would be accepted as permissible on the Sabbath. Otherwise the a minori ad maius argument cannot start. Certainly the tenor of the Q saying is quite unlike Mark 3.1–6 where the claim that it is ‘lawful to do good on the Sabbath’ is flung out as a harsh rhetorical question and asserted bluntly with no argument at all. Cf. my Reading the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1987), 133.

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pericope about the giving of the double love command.43 Here again Jesus is shown to be entirely in agreement with the demands of the Torah: the Law is summed up in the two commands taken from the Torah itself.44 The importance of the love command(s) may also be visible elsewhere in Q. Catchpole has argued persuasively that large parts of the Great Sermon in Q 6.20–49 may be heavily influenced by the command to love one’s neighbour as oneself in Lev 19.18.45 For example, he shows that the whole section in Q 6.27–35 can be seen as an explication of different aspects of the love command; further, the following section of the Sermon (on forgiving and rebuking) may represent further explication of the preceding verse in Lev 19, viz. Lev 19.17, which talks of not hating one’s brother but gently reproving him. The belief that Jesus’ demands and behaviour are in a line of firm continuity with the OT Torah is thus a strong feature of large parts of the Q material.46 Nor is this confined to just a few isolated secondary comments.47 Thus the temptation narrative, which portrays Jesus as above all one who is faithful to the God of the Torah, coheres extremely closely with this aspect of the Q material. And if indeed verses like Q 11.42d, 16.17 or 14.5 imply an awareness by Q that Jesus’ fidelity to the Torah was regarded by some as at least uncertain, then the presence of the temptation narrative at the start of Q becomes all the more meaningful. By placing the story at the start of all that is said about Jesus,48 the Q redactor makes it clear from the outset that the teaching to be given by Jesus elsewhere in Q is the teaching of one who is himself faithful and obedient to the Torah. There is however clearly a great deal more to the temptation narrative than simply showing Jesus to be obedient to the Law. The very detailed three-fold encounter between Jesus and the Devil suggests that the details 43

See n. 30 above. As with Q 14.5, the precise Q wording is not clear. However it may be significant that the Q story emphasises that the debate is about two commands in the Law: ਥȞ IJ૶ Ȟȩȝ૳ in Matt 22.36 and Luke 10.26 represents one of the Matthew-Luke agreements here and hence belonged to the Q version (if such a version existed: cf. n. 30 above). 45 D. R. Catchpole, ‘Jesus and the Community of Israel – The Inaugural Discourse of Q’, BJRL 68 (1986) 296–316. Pace Kosch, Tora, ch. 2 (though Kosch bases his conclusions primarily on the absence in Q of explicit engagement with the Biblical text). 46 The redactional nature of some of the features alluded to (e.g. Q 11.42d; 16.17), and the way in which the commands of Lev 19 may permeate the material in the Great Sermon at a deep, structural level, suggests that this is all rather more self-conscious on the part of Q than, for example, Kosch allows (Tora, passim). 47 As argued by Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos’: cf. n. 39 above. 48 It may well of course be that in Q the temptation narrative was preceded by the account of the preaching of John the Baptist (Q 3.7–9, 16–17); however, if the position of the story in Matthew and Luke reflects its position in Q correctly, it is still the case that the temptation narrative precedes any actual teaching of Jesus himself. 44

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themselves are not without interest. In seeking to interpret these details, various possibilities may be distinguished, though it is clear that distinctions between various possible interpretations may be rather artificial and one type of interpretation may run into another.49 One distinction is made by Schnackenburg who differentiates between the possibilities of whether Jesus is being tempted to perform a (messianic?) work which is other than that commanded by God, or whether Jesus’ personal behaviour is being tested.50 Is the focus of attention on the action itself, or on the person of Jesus as the object of the testing? Schnackenburg opts for the latter, arguing that the temptations are Jesus’ own victory in repelling the attempt to drive a wedge between himself and God, even though the actions themselves are not necessarily specifically ‘messianic’.51 However, as others have pointed out, there seems to be a great deal in the story which is then redundant.52 All that would be needed according to this interpretation would be Jesus’ actual victory. The fact that considerably more detail is given, including positive quotations of scripture by Jesus, suggests that there is more to the story than just this. If then the actual activities mentioned by the Devil, and Jesus’ replies, are more the focus of attention, various other options are open. These can be divided broadly into two basic models of interpretation, depending on whether the temptations are thought of as applying to Jesus and Jesus alone (i.e. ‘messianic’ in a very broad sense of the word), or whether they are thought of as paradigmatic, applying to all Christians. A paradigmatic interpretation of the temptation narrative is often rejected on the grounds that the actual temptations (or at least the first two) are specifically addressed to Jesus as ‘the Son of God’: hence they apply to Jesus in a unique way and not to other Christians.53 So too, it is argued, the temptations involved (changing stones into bread etc.) are not genuine possibilities for the average Christian.54 (Whether these objections can be answered remains to be seen: see below.) Thus many have proposed a 49

Cf. the different surveys, and different classifications of possible interpretations, in R. Schnackenburg, ‘Der Sinn der Versuchung Jesu bei den Synoptikern’, in his Schriften zum Neuen Testament (München: Kösel, 1971), 101–128, on pp. 113–114; Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 210–211; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 64; Kloppenborg, Formation, 248 ff.; Luz, Matthäus, 1.160–161; J. Gnilka, Das Matthäusevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT I/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1986), 84–85. 50 Schnackenburg, ‘Sinn’, 114–115. 51 Schnackenburg, ‘Sinn’, 120. 52 Cf. Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgschichte’, 211; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 66. 53 See Schnackenburg, ‘Sinn’, 113–114; Pokorný, ‘Temptation Stories’, 122–123. 54 J. Dupont, Die Versuchungen Jesu in der Wüste (SBS 37; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1969), 97; Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 199–200; Luz, Matthäus, 1.162; cf. Zeller’s summary of this objection, ‘Versuchungen’, 65.

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more ‘messianic’ interpretation of the temptations, seeing them as applying to Jesus alone, though possibly having paradigmatic significance.55 Within this broad model, many would see the narrative as having some kind of ‘apologetic’ function seeking to criticise specific ‘messianic’ ideas in Judaism, though again this can be developed in various ways. The story could then be taken as reflecting Jesus’ own struggles to establish his own version of what messiahship involved.56 Alternatively it could reflect a later Christian community’s attempt to explain Jesus’ life in messianic terms despite the failure of Jesus to fit known messianic categories;57 or, following a more strictly form-critical approach, it could reflect the community’s explanation of its own life-style.58 Many, for example, have seen in the third temptation a refusal by Jesus to adopt the role of a national, political Messiah. This could then reflect Jesus’ own beliefs, or a later community’s attempt to hold together its own ‘messianic’ claims about Jesus with Jesus’ own un-political and (politically) unsuccessful career. This is also the major plank in the interpretation of P. Hoffmann, who sees here reflected a Q-‘Gruppe’ explaining its own refusal to join forces with the freedom movement (‘Zealots’) in the period leading up to the Jewish War.59 A ‘messianic’ interpretation has also been extended to the other temptations where, it is claimed, Jesus is confronted with other possible roles associated with messianic expectations. In the first temptation, Jesus is challenged to perform a miracle of providing food. The giving of manna in the desert is frequently adduced as a parallel here, together with the belief in Judaism that ‘the last redeemer shall be like the first’ (i.e. Moses) and that the End-time would see a repetition of the manna miracle of the Mosaic era (cf. 2 Bar. 29.8).60 The second temptation is also connected by some with 55 The well-known parallel between Jesus and Israel here (stressed by Dupont, Gerhardsson, Mahnke and Polag) could of course be taken in either a messianic way or a paradigmatic way: Jesus as Messiah is the true embodiment of Israel, or Jesus portrays what being a true Israelite means in practice. Cf. Luz, Matthäus, 1.161. Even Zeller, who sees primarily paradigmatic significance in the narrative as a whole, concedes that the temptations themselves apply to Jesus alone, and only to other Christians via an inverted qal wahomer argument: precisely because they apply to Jesus, they can also apply to (lesser) Christians: cf. ‘Versuchungen’, 70. 56 Jeremias, Parables, 123; Dupont, Versuchungen, 103. 57 Cf. Pokorný, ‘Temptation Stories’, 124–125; Schulz, Q, 186–187. See too below on Mahnke. 58 This of course merges into a paradigmatic explanation. 59 For Jesus as rejecting political expectations here, see Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 213–214; Jeremias, Parables, 123; Hahn, Titles, 175; Schulz, Q, 187 and many others. 60 See, for example, Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 214–215. For the ideas of eschatological repetitions of the wilderness miracles, cf. the prophetic figures reported by Josephus, War 2.256 ff.; 7.438; Ant. 20.97 ff. (Theudas); 20.169 ff. (the Egyptian).

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messianic hopes associated with the Temple. Hoffmann compares the report of Josephus (War 6.285–286) of the incident where 6000 people rushed to the Temple thinking that God would give them a sign of deliverance.61 Mahnke has gone further than most along this line of interpretation and argued that in the three individual temptations Jesus is combatting roles attributed to a messianic prophet, priest and king respectively. 62 Such a messianic interpretation of the temptations is however not fully convincing. The parallels suggested between the first temptation and the Moses-manna motif are not strong when examined closely. Manna is bread given by God from heaven, whereas Jesus is here challenged to make bread from stone himself; Moses (and the last redeemer) provide bread for others, whereas Jesus is tempted to provide food for himself.63 So too the parallel between the second temptation and any ‘messianic’ beliefs associated with the Temple, let alone a ‘priestly Messiah’, are very weak indeed.64 Certainly the hopes associated with the Temple (as reflected in the account of Josephus) scarcely provide any real parallel or background for the suggestion of the Devil that Jesus should throw himself from the pinnacle of the Temple. The final temptation is also difficult to relate to hopes for a national, political Messiah in the role of a Zealot-like leader. In fact Jesus’ reply (‘you shall worship God alone’) is precisely in agreement with Zealot ideology, insofar as this can be determined. One important basis of the movement within Judaism which sought freedom from the Roman occupying forces65 appears to have been precisely the belief in the one God who alone deserved worship.66 Jesus’ reply in the final temptation thus cannot be seen 61

Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 216–217. Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, esp. 122–124. Cf. too G. Friedrich, ‘Beobachtungen zur messianischen Hohepriestererwartung in den Synoptikern’, ZTK 53 (1956) 265– 311, on pp. 300–301. 63 See B. Gerhardsson, The Testing of God’s Son (Lund: Gleerup, 1966), 44; Schottroff, Jesus, 73; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.361–362. 64 Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 67; Luz, Matthäus, 1.161 n. 14. 65 Whether this should be called ‘Zealot’ is of course much disputed: cf. the often repeated arguments that ‘the Zealot party’ did not exist prior to the war (see e.g. M. Smith, ‘Zealots and Sicarii. Their Origins and Relations’, HTR 64 [1971] 1–19). However, it still seems reasonable to assume that similar movements of thought were current at various stages in the first century, even if they did not explicitly use the term ‘Zealot’ itself and they did not constitute a single ‘party’ throughout this period. 66 See M. Hengel, The Zealots (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989). This is in part based on Josephus’ claim that the movement which led to the war can be traced back to Judas the Galilean and his followers who ‘acknowledge no one but God as their Lord and King’ (Ant. 18.23), though cf. too the opening of Eleazer’s speech inciting mass suicide at Masada: ‘we determined neither to serve the Romans nor any other save God, for He alone is man’s true and righteous Lord’ (War 7.323). One should perhaps allow for a 62

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as a rejection of any Zealot-type ideology. If anything it affirms it!67 A ‘messianic’ interpretation of the three temptations is thus hard to maintain. Another related line of interpretation has fastened on to the references to Jesus as ‘Son of God’ in the first two temptations. Thus some would interpret these two temptations in relation to a ‘Hellenistic’ idea of Jesus as ‘Son of God’, the latter taken as implying a great miracle worker, a șİ૙ȠȢ ਕȞȒȡ (with perhaps the third temptation regarded as separate from the other two and interpreted in relation to political ‘messiahship’ as above).68 The temptation narrative would thus serve to distance Jesus (and perhaps the church) from the miracle working șİ૙ȠȚ ਙȞįȡİȢ of the Hellenistic world. This too fails to convince. Such an interpretation might possibly fit the first temptation, but it scarcely makes sense of the second where the temptation is not that Jesus himself performs a miracle but that he create a situation which will force God to perform a miracle. It is a question here of the rights and wrongs of tempting/testing God as much as of any temptation of Jesus.69 Further, it is very doubtful whether the claims made by miracle-working șİ૙ȠȚ ਙȞįȡİȢ were associated with the title ‘Son of God’. The term șİ૙ȠȢ ਕȞȒȡ itself is rare (though that is perhaps irrelevant: what is important is whether such people existed, not whether they styled themselves șİ૙ȠȚ ਙȞįȡİȢ).70 More important however in the present context is the fact that although the idea of a miracle-worker may have been current, there is little to suggest that the idea was ever associated with a claim to be ‘Son of God’.71 Hence it is unlikely that the Devil’s ‘if you are the Son of God’ is intended to evoke the idea of a Hellenistic miracle worker. certain schematisation on Josephus’ part, and social factors were no doubt just as important in fomenting the revolt as any religious ideology. Nor should one make the views of those involved in the Jewish revolt too uniform. Nevertheless it would probably be wrong to discount the evidence of Josephus entirely or to play down the importance of the feeling aroused by Roman occupation of the land for Jewish theological sensibilities. 67 See Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 69; Kloppenborg, Formation, 256; this must therefore tell heavily against Hoffmann’s general interpretation. 68 See Schulz, Q, 182, 187; Hahn, Titles, 303. Similar is Bultmann, History, 255. (For Bultmann the temptations are paradigmatic, to distinguish Jesus’ miracles – and hence the church’s miracles – from magical practices. However, on p. 257 Bultmann does seem to talk of the temptations as specifically ‘messianic’, as he does later in his Theology of the New Testament. Vol. 1 [London: SCM, 1952], 27. On the confusion in Bultmann here, see Fuchs, ‘Versuchung’, 140.) 69 For the twin ideas here, see especially Gerhardsson, Testing, 27 ff. 70 See H. Räisänen, The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 64–65. 71 Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 53–54; J. D. Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), ch. 2; W. von Martitz, ȣੂȩȢ, TWNT 8.339–340; M. Hengel, The Son of God (London: SCM, 1975), 31.

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A rather different explanation of the temptation narrative has been developed recently by Kloppenborg who suggests that the story functions in Q, at least in part, as the testing of a wisdom teacher whose survival of the test then enhances for the reader the reliability of the teacher’s subsequent instruction. It is then a kind of ‘qualifying test’ which gives added status to Jesus alone.72 (In this respect, this interpretation may be taken with the ‘messianic’ interpretations in that it applies to Jesus and to Jesus alone.) This, according to Kloppenborg, accounts for the position of the story within Q since there are parallels elsewhere of a teacher undergoing an initial ordeal; and precisely because the teacher does not succumb to the trials, the value of the teaching subsequently given is enhanced. Kloppenborg adduces various parallels (e.g. the Apocalypse of Abraham, and indeed the whole development of the motif of the testing of Abraham based on Gen 22 in later literature, the Testament of Job, the prologue in Ankhsheshonq) and claims that in all these stories, including the Q narrative, the hero is totally inactive. ‘This account [Q], like the other temptation accounts, is of a special type, for its essence is that nothing happens.’73 Yet while such an interpretation may explain in part the presence of the narrative in Q, it scarcely does justice to all aspects of the story. In particular, the Q story is rather different from many of the parallels suggested by Kloppenborg. For unlike the accounts in Apoc. Abr. and Test. Job, for example, some teaching is put on to the lips of the teacher in Q (i.e. Jesus) within the story itself. Jesus may not be physically active in Q (and in that sense ‘nothing happens’); but he does respond to the Devil in terms which are evidently intended to be positive and meaningful. Hence the story serves not just to enhance Jesus’ reliability or ‘to confirm the presence of virtue or valor or wisdom’ in Jesus.74 It also serves to highlight particular aspects of Jesus’ teaching by placing them on the lips of Jesus at this point. It is thus doubtful if Kloppenborg’s proposal exhausts the meaning of the Q temptation narrative.75 Part of the weakness of all the theories considered so far is that none of them really requires an answer by Jesus beyond a straight ‘no’ in response to the Devil’s suggestions. However, in the Q story Jesus gives rather specific, detailed replies. It seems therefore more appropriate to assume that 72

Kloppenborg, Formation, 256–262; cf. too Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 63–64; Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 215. 73 Kloppenborg, Formation, 260–261. 74 So Kloppenborg, Formation, 261, in relation to qualifying/ordeal stories in general. 75 To be fair, Kloppenborg is not suggesting that his proposal does that, since he accepts that the story has paradigmatic significance too (cf. pp. 250–253): in referring to qualifying tests he is seeking only to place the story within a wider genre. Nevertheless I wonder if the dissimilarities with these other stories (where the hero is even more passive) may indicate that this aspect of the story is not so important for Q.

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these replies are intended to be taken seriously. Further, there is nothing in the replies themselves to suggest that what is commanded in the OT texts cited concerns only a ‘messianic’ figure. The three verses cited by Jesus are either a statement about the whole human race (Deut 8.3) or commands to the whole Jewish people (Deut 6.13, 16). Thus one should take seriously the possibility that these replies are to be seen as relevant for Jesus and for the Christian readers/audience for whom the story was written. One should therefore perhaps return to a paradigmatic interpretation of the story to see if one can make sense of the details of the narrative, bearing in mind too the objections often levelled against such an interpretation, to see if such objections can be answered. I now consider each temptation separately.

1. First Temptation The challenge by the Devil to Jesus to change stone(s) into bread has perhaps the closest links with other Q material. There is widespread agreement that Q’s version of Jesus’ reply here should be seen in the shorter, Lukan version of Luke 4.4: the longer Matthean version is almost certainly due to MattR.76 There is however no unanimity about the precise significance which should be seen in the substance of the temptation. The Devil starts with the words ‘if you are the Son of God …’. We have already seen that this address plays an important role in the view of many scholars who interpret the temptation narrative as in some sense ‘messianic’. ‘Son of God’ is frequently taken here as some kind of ‘messianic’ ‘title’, so that the Devil is regarded as confronting Jesus with a possibility that is unique to Jesus and his status/role. Such a view is often buttressed by the content of the temptation itself: Jesus is challenged to change stone(s) into bread, and yet this is not a live option for the average Christian (cf. above). One must however beware of obvious dangers of anachronism. In particular this applies to the address of Jesus as ‘Son of God’. It is often pointed out that ‘Son of God’ is not a Christological title which is explicitly applied to Jesus anywhere else in Q (cf. above); nor is the (possibly related) strictly messianic title ‘Messiah/Christ’. The nearest one gets is perhaps the implied appellation of ‘Son’ to Jesus in Q 10.22. However, there are several references elsewhere in Q to Christians being sons of God. Q 6.35 is quite explicit: the person who loves his/her enemy will be 76

Cf. Schulz, Q, 179; Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 208; Zeller, Kommentar, 21; Fuchs, ‘Versuchung’, 131–132; pace Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 60–61. The alleged reminiscence of Matt 4.4 in Luke 4.22 (cf. too Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.210), seems too weak to bear any weight in the argument here.

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called ‘son’ of God. Further, the correlative idea of God as the Father of the Christian is common in Q. As sons of God/the Most High, Christians are to imitate God in exercising mercy and compassion (Q 6.36).77 And this idea of God as the Father of the Christian is stressed repeatedly in the Q sections on prayer (Q 11.2–4, 9–13) and on cares (Q 12.22–30): the Christian is to address God as Father (Q 11.2); God as Father can be relied upon to answer the prayers of those who ask Him (Q 11.13); and God as Father knows the needs of His children (Q 12.30).78 Further, although the Devil’s opening statement is usually translated in a heavily Christological way (‘if you are the Son of God’), this is not the only possible way to translate the Greek. The Greek lacks an article with the ȣੂȠȢ: İੁ ȣੂઁȢ İੇ IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨; and although the Christological translation is perfectly possible, it is equally legitimate grammatically to translate the clause as ‘if you are a son of God’. Thus within the context of Q, it is unlikely that the Devil’s opening address to Jesus (‘if you are a/the son/Son of God’) is intended to apply to Jesus alone. Rather it makes much better sense within Q to interpret this in a non-Christological way and to see it as addressed to one who is/claims to be/struggles to be an obedient son of God: i.e. to Jesus and by implication to Q Christians too who claim God as their Father.79 The substance of the temptation, turning stone into bread, is also not necessarily to be seen in Q’s terms as relevant only for Jesus. The Q Christians who receive the mission charge are expected to ‘heal the sick’ (Q 10.9);80 and Q 11.19 shows clear awareness within the Q tradition that Jesus’ miracles of exorcism are by no means unique in the situation of his day. There is therefore no need necessarily to drive a wedge between Jesus and the Q Christians in relation to claims about abilities to perform Matthew’s IJȑȜİȚȠȚ is almost certainly MattR. See further, my ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom’, JTS 40 (1989) 367–376. As already noted, others have referred to the parallel with Israel, seeing the ‘Son of God’ address as part of an Israel typology. Cf. Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 70–71; Gerhardsson, Testing, 40 etc. This would not be in opposition to what is proposed here; but in view of the other Q material, it would suggest that divine sonship is not to be confined to Jesus. Lindemann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 93, refers to the parallel between this temptation and the Lord’s Prayer, but does not note the broader context in Q where ideas of divine Fatherhood and sonship dominate. 79 Lindemann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 93 n. 12, is almost the only scholar to have noted this as a possibility though he does not develop the idea. Whether then the background to the sonship motif should be seen in the Israel typology, or in the motif of the righteous sufferer (Wisd 2.5), is not certain, though see n. 81 below. 80 For this as part of Q, see P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 275; R. Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und das Markusevangelium (BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 223; R. Uro, Sheep Among Wolves. A Study of the Mission Instructions of Q (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1987), 80. 77 78

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miracles (or perhaps better, to call on God to perform miracles).81 It is thus quite feasible that the temptation addressed by the Devil to Jesus could be regarded as a real contemporary challenge to the bearers of the Q tradition. This receives more confirmation when we look at the test itself and at Jesus’ reply. The test proposed by the Devil refers to the problems raised by material needs. The same problem is clearly addressed elsewhere in Q, supremely in the section on cares (Q 12.22–30) and the related section on prayer (Q 11.2–4, 9–13). Jesus’ reply (‘man shall not live by bread alone’) has the effect of placing concern for material needs at a relatively low level in any list of priorities. The concern for bread is not to be paramount. Such an attitude correlates extremely closely with the later passages in Q, especially the section on cares. Further, as I have tried to show in part elsewhere,82 some elements in the Cares tradition may well be Q-redactional, notably Q 12.23 and Q 12.30. The saying in v. 23 (about the ȥȣȤȒ being more than food and the ı૵ȝĮ than clothing) does not fit easily after the initial exhortation in v. 22 not to worry about food or clothing,83 and does not easily fit either with the succeeding verses (vv. 24, 26–28) which suggest no grading of concerns but simply give assurance that God will provide. Thus v. 23 may well be a secondary comment. The same applies in vv. 30a, 31, the exhortation to seek the Kingdom.84 The basis of the argument changes rather dramatically from appeals to the natural order and to God’s care for His creation, to contrasts between the listeners and Gentiles and eschatological exhortations concerned with the Kingdom. Hence it seems easiest to see vv. 30a, 31 as further editorial additions. The effect of both these additions is a downgrading of concern for material needs in the light of the

81 On the generally positive attitude to miracles in Q, see Wegner, Hauptmann, contra Schulz. Nevertheless the nature of some miracles may be undesirable for Q: cf. on the next temptation. The substance of this miracle may also tell against the interpretation which sees an Israel typology here, since such a miracle is never predicated of the Israelites in the wilderness (and certainly what is suggested here is quite unlike the manna miracle: cf. above). Perhaps the idea of the righteous sufferer is a little closer since there is a hint in that tradition of claims that God will intervene (perhaps miraculously?) to rescue him (Wisd 2.18). 82 See my ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom’ (n. 78 above). 83 D. Zeller, Die weisheitlichen Mahnsprüche bei den Synoptikern (FzB 17; Würzburg: Echter, 1977), 89; D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Ravens, the Lilies and the Q Hypothesis’, SNTU 6/7 (1981–82) 77–87, on p. 79; Luz, Matthäus, 1.367–368; Kloppenborg, Formation, 217; P. Hoffmann, ‘Die Sprüche vom Sorgen (Matt 6,25–33/Luke 12,22–31) in der vorsynoptischen Überlieferung’, in H. Hierdeis, H. S. Rosenbusch (eds.), Artikulation der Wirklichkeit (FS S. Oppolzer; Frankfurt: Lang, 1988), 73–94, on p. 84. 84 See D. R. Catchpole, ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom. A Rejoinder’, JTS 40 (1989) 377–388, on p. 378 (reversing his view in ‘Ravens’, 81–82); Hoffmann, ‘Sprüche’, 87– 88; Zeller, Mahnsprüche, 86–87.

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overriding concern to ‘seek’ the Kingdom of God.85 The true sons of God, who rely on God as their Father, are not really to pray for, or to worry about, material needs: such concern characterises ‘Gentiles’. And God as Father knows the needs of all His children anyway. Rather, the primary concern should be to work for (to ‘seek’) the establishment of the Kingdom. All this coheres very closely with Jesus’ reply to the Devil in Q 4.4 ‘man shall not live by bread alone’. Concern for ‘bread’ is not to be of overriding importance for the Q Christians.86 Further the links concerned serve to bind together Q 4.4 and other material which is probably redactional in Q. This suggests that the link is with the work of Q’s redaction, not just with its tradition, and indeed that there is no need to postulate a further redactional stage beyond that of the redaction in the material in Q 11 and 12.87 This first temptation thus states at the outset of Q what is to be an important feature of the Q teaching to come: concern for food and material goods, while recognised as real and genuine, is not to become the overriding concern in the Christian life. ‘Man does not live by bread alone.’

85

In his ‘Rejoinder’ (to me), Catchpole argues that material concerns are the prime focus in Q. I would however still maintain that at least the response of the Q editor to these concerns, especially as seen in the redactional elements in Q 12 identified above (about which Catchpole and I are in agreement), is to shift attention away from such concern, even if there is this concern in the situation being addressed. 86 I would argue too that this coheres well with the Q section on prayer, where I have argued that the section in Q 11.9–13, giving almost breath-taking assurances about prayer being answered, refers primarily to the prayer for the Eschaton which I take to be the dominant theme in the Lord’s Prayer as well. See my ‘Q, Prayer and the Kingdom’, 374– 376 (though cf. Catchpole’s ‘Rejoinder’, arguing that the whole section is about prayer for material needs). Lindemann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 94, also sees the connection between this temptation and the Lord’s Prayer and argues that there is no contradiction between Q 4.4 and the Lord’s Prayer. He cites Pokorný, ‘Temptation Stories’, 124: both assert ‘the necessity for bread on the one hand and warning against assigning it unqualified importance on the other’. Yet these do appear to be two rather different ideas and I would still maintain that the thrust of the rest of Q is to downgrade concern for the material. Schottroff, Jesus, 73–74, interprets the scene as the temptation to let anxiety for food replace God. This is probably reading too much in and is over-subtle (cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 250–251); but she is probably right to see a close link between this temptation and the later Q section on cares. Kloppenborg, Formation, 251–252, suggests a similar interpretation to the one offered here, but also refers to Q 12.4–7. This is however probably less relevant here (see below on the second temptation). 87 Hence in part contra Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos’. The interpretation offered here is thus not dissimilar to that of Jacobson in that Q 4.4 serves in part as a critique of the optimism (or perhaps ‘enthusiasm’) of other parts of Q. However Jacobson fails to see that these other parts have already been redacted in their own Q contexts. The corrective is thus taking place within the later Q material itself.

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2. Second Temptation The second temptation continues some of the ideas of the first. In this second temptation, the view that the dialogue depends on Jesus’ unique (‘messianic’) status as ‘Son of God’ is even harder to defend. The idea of a specifically messianic figure (be it a priestly figure or whatever) is hard to find here. No known parallels exist for a messianic figure jumping off the Temple; nor is Ps 91 (cited by the Devil) known to have been interpreted messianically in Judaism. The scene in fact becomes rather easier to interpret when we no longer assume that the temptation is unique to Jesus alone qua ‘the Son of God’. Indeed the scene does not presuppose any miraculous or magical powers on the part of Jesus at all. The Devil’s challenge to Jesus is to test God.88 What significance could such a temptation have within the context of Q? Schottroff compares Q 12.4–7 and claims that what is in mind is a very concrete situation of a threat of death. The substance of the temptation is then ‘die Pervertierung des Gottvertrauens zu dem illusionären Versuch, Gott und seine Engel für sich tanzen zu lassen, Gott zu versuchen’.89 If one succumbs to the temptation, then ‘versuche ich Gott zu beherrschen und werde damit zugleich von der Todesfurcht beherrscht’.90 Again, such an interpretation seems rather forced and over-subtle.91 In any case, this interpretation scarcely does justice to the texts concerned. Q 12.4–7 is often assumed to envisage a situation of hostile persecution where the authorities have the power of life and death.92 If this temptation were to be related to such a situation, the parallel to jumping off the Temple would presumably be some kind of action provoking hostile authorities to act against oneself, i.e. to provoke a threat of death. But this can hardly be related to a danger of the fear of death becoming a tyrant and replacing God. An attempt to provoke God by risking death is scarcely a very attractive option for those for whom death has become a fearful tyrant! Zeller sees these difficulties, but then suggests that this temptation is directed to those who have taken the assurances of Q 12.4–7 too much to heart and might be tempted to put God’s promised care and protection to the test.93 This interpretation is then similar in general terms to Jacobson’s in arguing that the temptation narrative provides a corrective of the later Q material, and as such is open to the same criticism (cf. p. 156 above): there 88

Rightly stressed by Gerhardsson, Testing, 60. Schottroff, Jesus, 74. 90 Schottroff, Jesus, 74. 91 Cf. n. 86 above; also Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 65. 92 Schottroff, Jesus, 60; cf. too Schulz, Q, 161; Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 73; Kloppenborg, Formation, 209–210. 93 Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 71. 89

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is no hint of redactional alteration of the later tradition; and a critique of this later tradition via such indirect means seems hard to credit. In fact the section in Q 12.4–7 is a complex one and the passage may well reflect different layers of the tradition. What it does not do is to discourage over-exuberant would-be martyrs. Indeed, whether it has martyrdom in view at all is not clear. Although it is often taken that way, an alternative interpretation may be preferable. The thrust of the passage is the exhortation to ‘fear God’. At least in vv. 4–5, this is backed up by the threat of what God can do and the assertion is made that God is all-powerful, a claim put in more pictorial language by claiming that God can do even more that the worst any human being can do: God can kill the soul/throw one into Gehenna whereas men can only kill the body. The passage is primarily theocentric and it is rather doubtful whether the reference to the body being killed is meant to reflect any concrete danger of physical death being faced by the audience. Rather, it appears to be mentioned only as part of the rhetoric of the saying, expressing the very worst that any human being could theoretically do, but without necessarily reflecting the realities faced by the audience. If so it may be that Q 12.4–7 is not very useful for the interpretation of the second temptation. Kloppenborg sees the temptation as inculcating ‘a refusal to exercise power for self-preservation or defence’ and illustrating the Q teaching on non-retaliation (Q 6.27ff.), refusal to judge others (Q 6.37) and self-denial in the face of death (Q 14.27).94 Again this does not provide a convincing set of parallels. In the temptation scene, Jesus is not being challenged to exercise his own power at all; rather he is tempted to engineer a situation where God will intervene in some special way on his behalf. More convincing may be an interpretation that would connect this temptation more closely with the first and relate it again to the miracle working activity of Jesus and/or the Q Christians. If so, then the temptation could be seen as a temptation to produce a miraculous ‘sign’, i.e. an event of no significance beyond the fact that it is a miraculous event performed for its own sake and perhaps to establish the credentials of others. One stock objection to such an interpretation is that there is no crowd present in the temptation narrative: Jesus is alone with the Devil and hence the sign would not have been observed by anyone.95 However this probably does not do justice to the nature of the story qua story. As Hoffmann has said, we must distinguish between the literary level of the story and the historical level of the narrator of the story. What may be said in private between two characters in the story itself may be intended to be heard by all who listen to the story. 96 94

Kloppenborg, Formation, 252. Cf. Gerhardsson, Testing, 44–45; Zeller, ‘Versuchungen’, 68–69. 96 Hoffmann, ‘Versuchungsgeschichte’, 211. 95

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This second temptation may thus imply a rejection not of any specifically messianic miracle (and certainly not of all miracles), but simply of any particularly miraculous miracle performed for its own sake or to prove other claims. This interpretation would then be similar to Bultmann’s (cf. n. 68 above) in that the story may be trying to distance the Christian movement from at least some kinds of miracle working activities. As Schottroff rightly says: Die Wunderhoffnungen, die hier kritisiert werden, werden inhaltlich kritisiert. Nicht daß man von Jesus oder seinen Anhängern Wunder erhofft, ist der Fehler, sondern welche Wunder man erhofft.97

Q is not opposed to miracles as such (cf. n. 81 above); but Q does distinguish between miracles.98 If this is correct, then the message of the temptation coheres closely with other Q material, notably the passage in Q 11.29–32 where Jesus is asked to produce a ‘sign’. Here too Jesus refuses: the only sign to be given will be the sign of Jonah, and for Q at least, this must refer to the present activity of Jesus’ preaching and healing with all the inherent ambiguity in the claims made about them.99 There is too considerable further evidence within Q of an awareness of such ambiguity. Q 7.22–23 makes it clear that, although Jesus is fulfilling the Isaianic prophecies in his miracles (Q 7.22), it is still possible to take offence at Jesus (Q 7.23). Similarly the twin parables of the mustard seed and the leaven in Q (Q 13.18–21) appear to reflect an awareness that the present is characterised by unseen, minute, hidden realities, and the parables seek to give reassurance that the future with all its glory is assured. So too the main emphasis in large parts of the eschatological teaching of Jesus in Q is to arouse eschatological awareness in a situation where people appear to think that the present life is quite normal and will carry on without interruption.100 The present is thus evidently not clear and transparent of the reality which the Q Christians evidently believe to be 97

Schottroff, Jesus, 76. Her comment is made in relation to all the temptations, but it applies especially here. 98 This then meets Kloppenborg’s claim that the view of miracle in the temptation narrative is unlike the miracles elsewhere in Q, and hence the temptation narrative is not an original part of Q (see n. 9 above). The point is that there are distinctions: some miracles are approved of by Q; others are not. One cannot simply lump all ‘miracles’ into a single category and discuss them as a unity without more ado. 99 In the present arrangement of Q, the reference to Jonah in 11.30 is clarified by v. 32: Jonah is the preacher of repentance. On this see Schulz, Q, 255–256; Kloppenborg, Formation, 128–134, with further literature. Whether this is also the case in the underlying tradition is of course another matter; but my concern here is primarily with Q itself. 100 Cf. my Revival, 170 in relation to Q 17.22 ff. Also D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Son of Man’s Search for Faith (Luke xviii 8b)’, NovT 19 (1977) 81–104, on p. 85.

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underlying or imminent. It would not be surprising if, in such a situation, a ‘sign’ would have been welcome. The consistent answer given throughout Q is that no such clear sign will be given.101 The second temptation thus coheres with this very closely. Any demand for such a sign is shown here to be demonic and opposed to the testimony of scripture itself. Scripture says ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test’.

3. Third Temptation Various possible interpretations of this temptation have already been considered and criticised. It is hard to see here a rejection of political messiahship by Jesus, or a rejection of ‘Zealot’-type ideals (cf. above).102 Once again, however, the wider Q context may provide assistance in the interpretation of the story. The ‘wrong’ action which is put to Jesus is to worship the Devil.103 However, Jesus’ reply makes it clear that such an action cannot be seen in isolation: worship of the Devil means implicitly denying the claim of God as the One worthy of exclusive worship. What is wrong is to worship anyone other than God.104 The story thus sets up a choice in stark black-and-white terms: either God or the Devil is to be worshipped. 101 Note too that if the scene in Luke 4.16–30 belonged to Q (as I have tried to argue in my ‘Luke 4,16–30, Isaiah and Q’, in J. Delobel [ed.], LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus [BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982], 343– 354), Jesus’ response in 4.23, 25–27 may provide further evidence from Q of a similar idea: miracles are not to be had on demand (cf. p. 352). 102 Even more improbable is Schottroff’s suggestion (Jesus, 75–76) that the scene is intended to speak against Roman, as well as Zealot, ideology. Would any Christian need to be warned that Roman aspirations were to be shunned? 103 The imagery provides the basis for the long discussion of Theißen, Lokalkolorit, 218 ff., who argues that the whole scene has been written in the light of the Caligula incident of 40 CE: Caligula regularly demanded such ‘worship’ and the threat to monotheism provided by Caligula’s attempt to set up standards in the Temple may lie behind the account here. The suggestion is by no means impossible though it cannot be taken too literally. As we shall see, the dangers facing the Q Christians are not so much from Roman imperial forces as from more insidious forces such as apathy amongst their Jewish neighbours. In any case if the Devil is meant to be Caligula in disguise, it is hard to see that the offer to hand over world authority to Jesus and/or Q Christians can be taken very literally. No other reference to the threat posed by Caligula seems to appear elsewhere in Q. 104 Schottroff, Jesus, 73, is partly right to say that ‘Jesus lehnt die Zumutungen des Teufels nicht ab, weil sie vom Teufel vorgeschlagen werden, sondern weil er den Inhalt der Vorschläge ablehnt’. This is certainly the case with the first two temptations. But she seems to confuse the issue when she continues: ‘Z. B. wird die Weltherrschaft abgelehnt, weil die Absicht, die Welt zu beherrschen, gegen Gottes Anspruch, allein Herr zu sein, verstößt, nicht nur weil der Teufel für die Weltherrschaft die Teufelanbetung verlangt.’ But this appears to get things the wrong way round. Jesus rejects the Devil’s temptation

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Elsewhere in Q, alternatives are set up in equally black-and-white terms. Either one is for God/Jesus or one is against. Q seems to brook no middle way and no sitting on the fence. Thus at the end of the other story in Q involving Jesus’ encounter with the demonic, the Beelzebul story in Q 11.14–23, Q’s Jesus makes a similar stark contrast: ‘he who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters’ (Q 11.23). Unlike the Markan parallel in Mk 9.40, neutrality is here condemned. Whoever is not positively working for Jesus is regarded as an enemy. (In Mark 9.40 the neutral bystander is regarded as a friend.) This idea may also explain the juxtaposition in Q of the mini-parable of the evil spirits in Q 11.24–26. Coming straight after 11.23, the parable functions as a warning not to leave the ‘room’ ‘empty’ after the demon has been driven out; in other words it is no good being simply neutral and not actively opposed to Jesus. What is required is positive commitment.105 Similarly, as we have already seen, much of the eschatological teaching of Q is directed to those who are not responding positively to the preaching of Jesus/Q Christians, but who are not necessarily doing anything particularly wicked. In the words of Q 17.26 they are simply ‘eating, drinking and marrying’, i.e. going about their normal daily business and ignoring what the future may bring. Indeed I believe that it can be shown that such an attitude lies behind the vast bulk of the Q material.106 Thus what Q is concerned to attack is not necessarily any overt wickedness or even violent persecution of the Christians, but simply apathy and an ignoring of the Christian claims about the future. The harsh either-or alternatives in the third temptation are thus of a piece with other Q passages. Nevertheless, the question remains why the alternatives are posed in precisely the way they are in this temptation. Indeed, what sense does it make to suggest that anyone would worship someone other than God (especially in a Jewish context)? Would any Jew (or Jewish Christian) need to be told that God alone is to be worshipped? At this point we should perhaps note the position of the temptation narrative within Q. I assume here that the precisely because the Devil is demanding worship. The real point at issue is whether to worship God or the Devil. ‘Weltherrschaft’ is, at least in terms of the story, only a (logically secondary) bribe. Cf. too Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.212: ‘Die Versuchung ist deutlich eine solche zur Teufelanbetung, nicht zu politischer Messiasherrschaft, die nur Mittel, nicht Ziel der Versuchung ist.’ 105 For this, see Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 144–147. 106 There is not enough space here to justify this claim, which needs another full paper in its own right. [See my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 283–296.] Here I simply refer to Q 6.46; 12.9 where those accused are those who make, or have made, some kind of commitment to Jesus (by calling him ‘Lord, Lord’, or adopting a position they are now ‘denying’), and also 13.24 ff. where again it is those who have ‘eaten’ with Jesus who are rejected.

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position of the temptation narrative in Matthew and Luke does indeed reflect its position in Q. Thus the temptation narrative serves in Q as an introduction to Jesus’ teaching.107 And it does so, as we have seen already, by highlighting some general points it wishes to make, viz. that Jesus is obedient to God and obedient to Torah, as well as highlighting aspects of the teaching that is to come, viz. a relativizing of concern for material goods and an acknowledgement that Jesus’ activity will be ambiguous. What then of this third temptation? At one level it says nothing (at least for monotheistic Jews): no Jew reciting the Shema would need to be told that God is unique and alone is worthy to be served and worshipped. The temptation story in this climactic scene sets up a situation where the ‘right’ response by Jesus is self-evident: worship of the Devil is clearly wrong, and worship of God alone is clearly the only possible option for a responsible monotheist. The reader can see, when the choice is put in such black-andwhite terms, that there is really no option. But then perhaps the whole point of the narrative is to set up the alternatives in just this way so that the reader is left with no options. The narrator’s aim may be to reveal the true nature of the teachings and the debates which are to come in Q: the choice to be made in deciding for or against Jesus’ cause is akin to deciding whether to worship God or the Devil. To decide for Jesus is to decide for God; anything else implies worship of the Devil. Set in these terms, there is only one option! Hence the placing of the story before Jesus’ teaching serves a powerful rhetorical aim and interpretative function for the teaching that is to come. However, it must be said that, at this stage in Q, a strong Christological focus is perhaps premature: the test proposed is not put in terms of adherence to Jesus himself: rather it is in terms of the worship of God. The story remains theocentric, not Christocentric. Nevertheless the stress on God is not simply left completely open. Rather, some more specific reference is implied in the present form of the story. A large part of the narrative is taken up with the Devil’s offer to Jesus (and at the very least this suggests that the Devil’s words are taken very seriously by Q). The Devil shows Jesus ‘all the kingdoms of the world’ and offers them to Jesus in exchange for being worshipped.108 How then can this (if at all) be correlated with other parts of Q? I have already said that the main focus of the temptation is the worship of the Devil (see n. 104 above); yet it is also the case that 107 The temptation narrative is not ‘introductory’ for Q itself, since Q has already had an introductory section giving John the Baptist’s preaching. However, the temptation narrative still provides the immediate introduction to the teaching of Jesus himself. 108 The precise reconstruction of the Q text probably need not concern us here (though Luke’s version, in talking of ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ here, is usually regarded as LukeR: cf. Mahnke, Versuchungsgeschichte, 127–128). The versions are sufficiently close to make it secure that Q does indeed have the Devil offer Jesus the ‘kingdoms’ of the world: cf. Matt 4.8/ Luke 4.5.

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such worship is clearly here tied to having some kind of power over, or possession of, ‘kingdoms’ in the world. As we have already noted, it is difficult to relate this temptation to ‘Zealot’ ideology, or to ‘messianic’ ideals associated with this. In that sense, therefore, the language of ‘kingdoms’ is not exclusively political. However, the language used is very general, and clearly implies a rejection of the value of the ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȚ IJȠ૨ țȩıȝȠȣ. By implication, therefore, there may be another ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ which is not associated with the Devil but with God. It is then striking that the very next unit in Q, the Great Sermon, has Jesus open his preaching with the mighty proclamation in the first beatitude about the ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨ promised to the ‘poor’ (Q 6.20).109 The literary arrangement of Q powerfully underlines the contrast between the ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȚ IJȠ૨ țȩıȝȠȣ which are in the hands of the Devil to bestow, and the ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨ announced by Jesus. Further, the importance of the theme of the Kingdom of God elsewhere in Q (as indeed in the whole of the synoptic tradition) is clear. Q shares with the rest of the synoptic tradition the classic tension between the Kingdom as present and the Kingdom as future. The Kingdom is announced by Jesus in the Beatitudes (Q 6.20).110 The Kingdom is by implication present in Jesus’ exorcisms (Q 11.20) and perhaps in his ministry (Q 16.16); but in its fulness it is yet to come (cf. Q 13.18–21), and Q Christians are to preach (Q 10.9) and to work for/‘seek’ (Q 12.31) its arrival. Further, we may note that the reference in Q 12.31 to ‘seek’ the Kingdom may well be due to Q’s redaction (cf. above at nn. 84, 85). The presence of the third temptation, by rejecting all kingdoms of the world, implicitly refers to the qualitatively different nature of the Kingdom which is of God. Jesus’ preaching of the Kingdom of God is thus shown to be about a reality that is unlike any worldly ‘kingdom’. The latter is demonic; Jesus’ ‘kingdom’ is divine. Further links with other Q material can be inferred from the first beatitude. The group of people to whom the Kingdom is promised is designated as the ‘poor’. The language of this beatitude – and indeed of all the open-

109 With almost all commentators who accept some form of Q hypothesis, I take the Matthean version of the first beatitude (in talking of the poor ‘in spirit’, and of the Kingdom ‘of heaven’) as MattR. Hence Luke probably preserves the Q version. 110 The remaining beatitudes in Q, with their future tenses and eschatological orientation (especially in the last beatitude), seem to determine the meaning of the Kingdom of God in the first beatitude as primarily future and eschatological. I therefore remain unconvinced by attempts to interpret Q’s kingdom language in terms akin to Cynicism: cf. my ‘A Cynic Q?’, Bib 70 (1989) 349–376 (pp. 119–142 in this volume), on pp. 372– 373 (above, p. 139), though a full discussion of the issue in detail here would take up too much space.

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ing beatitudes in Q – probably reflects the language of Isa 61.1–2,111 and this stress on poverty recurs in Q. In reply to the messengers of John the Baptist, Q’s Jesus summarises his activity with the implicit claim that the prophecy of Isa 61.1 is being fulfilled in his own ministry: ‘the poor are evangelised’ (Q 7.22).112 Such an implied critique of the ‘rich’113 can also be seen in the verse in Q which perhaps comes closest to the third temptation in actually specifying an object other than God which could be the object of service: in Q 16.13 a possible rival to God is mentioned which is not political power (Roman or Jewish) but – money. Q’s Jesus states that one cannot serve God and mammon: the two are mutually exclusive.114 So too concern for the needs of the poor can be seen in the commands to give generously without expecting any return (cf. Q 6.30) so that a command to ‘lend’ freely is in effect an exhortation to give generously. Not unrelated (though not quite identical) may be the mission charge in Q where the missionaries are told to go out without any money or provisions (Q 10.3 ff.). This is almost certainly not an extolling of poverty for poverty’s sake, and the missionaries are expected to be offered, and to accept, hospitality as they go. Perhaps what is in mind is some kind of acted parable whereby the missionaries show their total trust and dependence on God.115 Nevertheless it may be significant that again this is characterised by a life of (at one level) poverty. ‘God’ and the ‘poor’ go together for Q. Conversely riches are a danger. Riches can distract; material rewards and divine, heavenly rewards are for Q almost binary opposites so that one has either one or the other but not both (cf. Q 11.33–34). We have seen that the third temptation, like the other two, has very close links with the Q teaching which follows. This temptation is perhaps slightly different in that the ‘test’ put to Jesus implies a response which is so obvious. However, the fact that it is so ‘obvious’ when put in such a ‘mythical’ form as this is perhaps part of the intention of the story. By placing such a story at the start of the document, the Q-editor provides the reader with an important hermeneutical key for what is to follow. God is the God who demands exclusive worship. Hence neutrality is impossible. But part of the claim of God is via the claims associated with His Kingdom; 111 For the allusions to Isa 61 as already present in the Beatitudes in Q, and not just due to MattR in Matthew’s version, see my ‘The Beatitudes. A Source-Critical Study’, NovT 25 (1983) 193–207. 112 I would also argue that the explicit citation of Isa 61 in Luke 4.18–19 also belongs to Q: see n. 101 above – but this is disputed. 113 Which in turn is presumably not unrelated to a lowering of concern for the things that money can buy – a feature we have already noted in relation to the first temptation. 114 For the connection between the third temptation and Q 16.13, cf. too Kloppenborg, Formation, 252. 115 Cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 326 ff.

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and any rival ‘kingdom’ is here claimed to be demonic in origin. Above all, the Kingdom of God is associated with the ‘poor’, and any anxious concern about money or the like is implicitly classified as a form of demonic idolatry.

4. Conclusion The Q temptations can be connected with important parts elsewhere in the Q collection. In those parts of Q, the listeners are told of the relative unimportance of material needs, and of the fact that miracles are not going to occur which will convince sceptics or opponents in a flash, or which will relieve hunger at a stroke. Miracles may be part and parcel of the experience and expectation of the Q tradition, but distinctions are necessary. Not all requests will be granted. And Christians must beware the concern for money. The temptation narrative, by being placed at the start of Jesus’ teaching in Q, serves to underline the importance of all these themes for the Q editor/redactor. Above all, the last temptation highlights the importance of the Kingdom of God by claiming that any other worldly kingdom is demonic. Yet the nature and implications of God’s Kingdom remain to be spelt out in detail, and it is precisely this that the detailed teaching of Q’s Jesus seeks to do. The temptation narrative is thus an appropriate introduction, but only an introduction, to what follows in Q. The above interpretation has the merit of aligning the Q temptation narrative with important parts of the rest of Q. Further, the themes which emerge from the temptation narrative cohere closely at times with redactional elements later in Q. There is thus no need to drive a wedge between the concerns of the temptation narrative itself and the concerns of the Q redaction. By placing such a mythical story at the start of the collection, the Q editor has succeeded in showing Jesus as one who is obedient to scripture, and in unmasking the true, i.e. demonic, nature of the possible aspirations of some of those to whom the Q tradition is addressed. In many respects the Q temptation narrative is thus akin to the introduction to Mark’s Gospel, setting the stage and defining the terms in which the subsequent story, told in more straightforward ‘historical’ terms, is to be understood. There is thus no need to regard the Q temptation narrative as anything other than an integral part of Q. 17

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VIII Feminine Wisdom in Q? Q does not mention many women or female figures. The two women grinding at the mill, one of who will be taken and one left, parallel the two unspecified people sleeping in a bed, one of whom will be taken and one left on the day of the Son of Man (Q 17.34–35).1 And the Queen of the South in Q 11.31 parallels Jonah as an example of a figure who responded positively to the events of her time, in contrast to the reaction of ‘this generation’ (though one suspects that in the present form of Q, Jonah is rather more important for the writer/editor than the Queen of the South: cf. the context of the double saying in Q 11.31–32, coming immediately after Q 11.29–30, and the parallelism thereby created between the mention of Jonah in Q 11.32 and the reference to the ‘sign of Jonah’ in Q 11.29–30). Yet there is one (possibly) female figure who does feature prominently in Q, and that is the (mythical) figure of personified Wisdom (ıȠijȓĮ). It is this figure that forms the focus of an essay by J. M. Robinson entitled ‘Very Goddess and Very Man. Jesus’ Better Self’, in a collection of essays entitled Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism.2 Robinson’s suggestive remarks here form the starting point of the present essay (and even if I conclude by disagreeing with Robinson, I would like to acknowledge my debt to Robinson’s creativity and originality in this, as in many other works). Robinson focuses on an aspect of Q which is widely recognised within Q research today, namely the importance of the figure of personified Wisdom who in Q sends out the prophets, all of whom suffer rejection and violence. This appears to represent a coalescing of two different, but related, themes in Jewish tradition: that of personified Wisdom who calls to people but who experiences rejection (cf. Prov 1; 1 En. 42), and that of the violence experienced by all God’s prophets (cf. Neh 9.26). Both themes deal with the phenomenon of the rejection of God’s call made through intermediaries: in the Wisdom tradition the intermediary is the person of 1 Following the Lukan version. Matthew has the two women parallel to two men working in the field. In accordance with what is becoming standard convention, I give the references to verse in Q using the Lukan chapter and verse numbers. 2 See J. M. Robinson, ‘‘Very Goddess and Very Man. Jesus’ Better Self’, in K. L. King (ed.), Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 113– 127.

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Wisdom, whereas in the prophetic tradition it is ‘all the prophets’. The Q tradition blends these together so that Wisdom herself becomes the agent who sends out the prophets all of whom suffer rejection and violence. Such a schema is well-known in studies and has been extensively analysed.3 Aspects of the dual scheme can probably be seen in texts such as Q 6.23 (violence suffered by the prophets), Q 7.35 (Wisdom and her children), Q 9.58 (the homelessness of Jesus probably echoing the theme of the homelessness of Wisdom), Q 11.49–51 (Wisdom sending the prophets who are rejected) and Q 13.34–35 (possibly also a Wisdom saying in Q and echoing many of the same ideas as Q 11.49–51). Robinson’s specific contribution in his essay is to take up this aspect of Q and to stress the femaleness of Wisdom, ıȠijȓĮ. He argues that the idea of a female ‘power’ behind Jesus, leading/guiding/inspiring Jesus, is perhaps also paralleled in the idea of the Spirit inspiring Jesus which is evidenced at some points in the gospel tradition and developed further in later writings. Especially in a Semitic environment where Spirit = [ZU is feminine, there are traces of a ‘trajectory’ where the Spirit is thought of as the mother of Jesus.4 However the development effectively aborted as the Christian tradition developed away from a Hebrew milieu into Greek and then Latin: for ruah became a neuter ʌȞİ૨ȝĮ and then a firmly masculine spiritus so that ‘the personality of the Spirit was thereby assured as well as the all-male trinity’. 5 Robinson sees a parallel development in relation to the idea of Wisdom as the one who sends out her prophetic messengers, including John the Baptist and Jesus. Further, one feature of this idea is the ‘inclusiveness’ (Robinson’s term): Jesus is not necessarily unique in this scheme – Jesus and John the Baptist appear in tandem (cf. Q 7.35) and indeed may be seen as on a par with all the other prophetic messengers of Wisdom. So too the message and cause of Jesus is carried on by his later followers who represent the preaching of the pre-Easter Jesus in the post-Easter situation. Robinson concludes:

3 See P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 158–190; A. D. Jacobson, Wisdom Christology in Q (PhD Dissertation, Claremont Graduate School, 1978); J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), ch. 4; also my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 148–166. 4 Cf. Gos. Heb. (Jerome on Isa 11.2; text in E. Hennecke [ed.], New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1 [London: SCM, 1963] 163–164); Od. Sol. 28.1–2; Gos. Heb. (according to Origen): ‘Even so did my mother, the Holy Spirit, take me by one of my hairs and carry me away to the great mountain Tabor’ (Hennecke, ibid., 164). 5 Robinson, ‘Goddess’, 117.

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Perhaps such a Wisdom Christology, precisely of the non-exclusivity of its beginnings, would be useful in our society today, when to leave a male deity at the top of our value structuring seems often more like the deification of the omnipotent despot of the ancient Near East than an honoring of God, more a perpetuation of patriarchalism than a liberation of women and men. If we, like Jesus, can be inspired by the feminine aspect of God, we may be able to bring good news to our still all too patriarchal society.6

In this essay I do not intend to discuss in detail Robinson’s theories about the Q material as such. His claim about the presence of such a Christological scheme in Q whereby Jesus is seen as one of Wisdom’s prophetic messengers would be widely accepted by many today. The only point at which one might venture to disagree is in relation to the alleged ‘inclusiveness’, at least at the level of Q itself. Insofar as Jesus is an envoy of Wisdom, he may be on a par with all the other prophetic messengers of Wisdom: in that sense, therefore, the Christological scheme is indeed ‘inclusive’. However, this cannot hide the fact that in other respects, Q implicitly makes Jesus distinct from the other prophets, perhaps by virtue of the use of the term ‘Son of Man’ which is used to refer to Jesus, and by the implication that the attitude of ‘this generation’ to Jesus’ teaching is qualitatively more decisive than the reaction to previous prophetic messengers (even if Jesus’ teaching is carried on in the post-Easter situation by being repeated by Q Christians).7 The ‘inclusive’ nature of the Wisdom schema cannot hide completely a real sense in which the person of Jesus is central for Q. In this essay, however, my prime concern is with the figure of Wisdom herself/itself, and with Robinson’s implicit claim that Wisdom represents ‘the feminine aspect of God’. How far is this justified? How far can we press the femininity of Wisdom as an aspect of the Godhead and apply it (as Robinson does) to the problems raised by feminist awareness in the 20th century? My claim would be that such assertions can only be made with an enormous amount of reserve. In part my remarks here echo similar reservations made in a very perceptive introductory essay by M. A. Williams at the start of the same volume as that in which Robinson’s essay appears. Williams essay, entitled ‘Variety in Gnostic Perspectives on Gender’,8 deals mostly with Gnostic texts as these formed the main focus of attention in the symposium at which the original papers in the volume were given. However his remarks about the methodological issues involved apply to a very wide variety of contexts, including the present one. One of Williams’ main points is to raise the question how far gendered imagery is being used for the sake of its gendered character, and how far the gendering involved may be peripheral. To quote Williams: ‘When are 6

Robinson, ‘Goddess’, 123. Cf. Q 6.46; 10.16; 11.49–51; 12.8–9. 8 M. A. Williams, ‘Variety in Gnostic Perspectives on Gender’, in King (ed.), Images, 2–22. 7

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feminine images actually images of the feminine?’9 I shall return to some of Williams’ argument later; but there is first the question (also discussed by Williams, but perhaps less fully than the issue needs in the present discussion) of how we can determine whether we have any gendered imagery at all. My initial question is therefore: what makes someone a woman? How can we determine if something/someone is female/feminine? At this stage we need to clarify terminology. We need to distinguish between the ‘sex’ of a person, referring to biological sex, and ‘gender’, referring to characteristics assumed to be associated with a particular sex. Thus I take the adjective ‘female’ to refer primarily to the category of ‘sex’, and ‘feminine’ to refer to ‘gender’ characteristics. I consider first the question of real people. (As we shall see, the problem is not necessarily straightforward at this level, but the problems become more complex when we move away from real people.) Within our social world, we often categorize people in terms of sex into two mutually exclusive groups of male and female. Whether such a division is good or bad, and what value judgements are assigned to the two groups, is another issue. Here I shall simply assume that most of us work with a basic assumption that people are either male or female and not both. Modern biological advances have questioned very radically whether such a clear-cut, either-or, distinction is indeed possible. Certainly issues of gender, which are of course in one way rather different from those of sex, have been shown to be considerably more complex than our naive basic assumptions have led us to believe in the past. And ‘gender’ issues cannot be separated entirely from the issue of biological sex. For example, we can no longer assume that homosexual tendencies in men or women are the result of tendencies of a non-physical will and unrelated to biological sex; rather they are conditioned by aspects of our physical and biological make-up (in this case chromosomic patterns in the body) where ‘male’ and ‘female’ are not so much two clear, sharply defined, mutually exclusive alternatives, but rather two ends of a continuous spectrum with a variety of possibilities in between the two ends of the line. How then do we determine the sex of a person? How can we decide if a person is male or female? Again most of us have rough and ready ideas which, being somewhat rough and ready, work reasonably well most of the time but become increasingly problematic if we press them too far. If we are really pressed we would probably point to the presence or absence of sexual genital organs. However, even at this level, one can get into problems with, for example, women athletes who take anabolic steroids or other hormonal treatments to enhance their athletic performances and are deemed by some to have left the realm of the ‘female’ so far behind that their 9

Williams, ‘Variety’, 4.

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achievements are no longer counted as achievements of ‘women’ – even though (to put it crudely) they still appear to be women visually if seen naked. This may be something of a red herring in the present discussion since the issue of sex definition was probably not a real question in the ancient world. Human beings were either men or women. However, more complex is the issue of the ‘gender’ of a person, as defined above. Just as we work with various rough and ready rules about the sex of human beings as being either male of female, so too many of us have various ideas of characteristics and activities we associate primarily, or generally, with one or other of the two sexes. We think of various traits that we may in some contexts dub as ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’. What then would/should we regard as ‘feminine’? As soon as one poses the question, it would seem that there is not very much that has to be seen as the exclusive preserve of the female sex. There are certainly several characteristics, or activities, which are often regarded as generally exhibited by female people and not by male people. Many of them are however culturally relative. In some parts of contemporary Britain, one could think of long hair, wearing skirts, wearing lipstick, passivity, house-keeping etc. as characteristically feminine, as well as the physical characteristics by which we tend to distinguish women from men. The trouble is that for almost every example that one thinks of, one can think of counter-examples. There are other cultures where such characteristics are not the preserve of women exclusively (men in Restoration England had long hair, as do many today; men in Scotland wear a form of ‘skirt’, just as women frequently wear what is possibly the ‘binary opposite’ of skirts, viz. trousers, in Britain today). Further, when we start to talk about characteristics of personality (passivity), or typical activity (house-keeping, child-minding), it is quite clear that these are at most generalisations for which we can always find some women who do not fit the stereotype, and some men who fit the feminine stereotype better than its counterpart which is allegedly meant to characterise men. Especially in contemporary Western society, the role distinction between men and women is breaking down in that many roles traditionally thought of as a ‘female’ preserve are now done by men (e.g. child-minding) and vice versa (earning the main salary). There are thus ‘feminine’ men and ‘non-feminine’ women – at many levels! But the fact that ‘femininity’ is so culturally determined means that we have to take great care in discussing observations that a female person X is exhibiting characteristic A if we do not know whether A is regarded as ‘feminine’ or not in a particular social context. Hence we cannot necessarily know if a claim that (female) X is A is showing that X is doing/being something that is expected or unexpected in relation to her sex. Perhaps the one feminine activity/characteristic which could be called exclusively female is that of child-bearing. The process of giving birth to a

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child, and breast-feeding a child, are activities which are physical impossibilities for a man (or if not, then the ‘man’ in question would not be male but female). Yet even here the idea can be transferred in some metaphorical language to apply to men, as we shall see. So far I have focused on aspects of ‘real’ people, having in mind the situation in our own present where the full range of sense faculties of seeing, hearing, touching etc. is potentially available. What though of a situation which we only experience indirectly, perhaps through reading about people in the past via the medium of written texts? How then can we decide if X is female and/or feminine? In relation to the issue of the sex of real people, we work again with rough and ready rules in which names might play a significant role in determining the sex of a person. Just as we think of men and women forming two mutually exclusive groups, so we have names for people which also belong unambiguously to one of these groups. ‘John’ is a male; ‘Jane’ is a female. (Although there are of course names that can be either, e.g. ‘Robin’; and there are collocations of letters which form different names in different languages – ‘Jean’ is male in French, female in English.) Sometimes too when the language is ambiguous, we just do not know: for example, is the ੉ȠȣȞȚ઼Ȟ in Rom 16.7 a man or a woman? At this point we may raise the question whether it matters or not. In what contexts is it significant that Junia/-as is a man or a woman? This is one of the points made by Williams in his essay: is the femaleness of the person in question an important factor or not? There are of course a host of hermeneutical questions here, since one can ask ‘important for whom?’ etc. I shall be assuming here that it is a legitimate question to try to ask what the meaning/significance of a text might have been for the original writer of a text. Clearly we as later interpreters can read significance not intended by an author into a text (as in reader-response theory). And in such a way we might wish to see very great significance in the sex of the person mentioned in Rom 16.7, given that the person is (probably) said to be an ‘apostle’. Clearly we can then make important deductions about the role of women in leadership positions in the Pauline communities. On the other hand, we could justifiably say that within the context of the text of Rom 16, and indeed within the context of Romans as a whole, the sex of the person mentioned in Rom 16.7 is not an important issue. Paul himself makes nothing of his/her sex one way or the other. Similarly, we might wish to argue that it is significant (for us as readers) that Luke frequently pairs stories about men with stories about women.10 Yet one could just as well argue at the same time that such significance was not intended by Luke at all. 10

Cf. C. F. Parvey, ‘The Theology and Leadership of Women in the New Testament’, in R. R. Ruether (ed.), Religion and Sexism (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1974), 139–

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The question of the significance of the sex, and gender, of various figures becomes even more problematic when we shift away from ‘real’ people. One may take, for example, the case of ‘mythical’ people whose sex is perhaps unquestioned. But what of the significance of their sex? And what of their gender? Williams raises these questions in relation to the figure of Eve in Gnostic myths. Clearly Eve is female. But is Eve’s femaleness, or her femininity, an important factor for the Gnostic writers or not? Williams argues persuasively that in several Gnostic texts, Eve’s femaleness is really quite irrelevant. Eve’s importance lies in the fact that she is the figure in the tradition who tried to get knowledge. For a Gnostic writer it is easy to see how Eve’s enthusiasm for eating of the tree of knowledge is good rather than bad. (Similarly the serpent in the story in Gen 3 is a hero in some Gnostic texts and not a villain.) But then what is important for Gnostic writers about Eve is not necessarily her femaleness but simply her desire for knowledge. The femaleness of Eve is part of the tradition and simply taken over. Hence the real contrast is between the spiritual and the material amongst human beings, not necessarily between male and female. Thus even if we can identify people in a text as female, we cannot make deductions too quickly about the significance of their sex or their gender for the writer of the text. Life becomes even more complex when we move from human beings to other objects which are inanimate or abstract. The question of the sex and/ or gender of inanimate objects is one that can be left on one side though it has its own fascination (cf. the way in which we assign male or female sex to various things in a characteristic way: a boat is ‘she’, as indeed are practically all such inanimate objects to which we assign a sex in English). What though of the sex/gender of abstract entities such as ‘life’ (ȗȦȒ), ‘error’ (ʌȜȐȞȘ), ‘spirit’ (ʌȞİ૨ȝĮ), ‘word’ (ȜȩȖȠȢ), or ‘wisdom’ (ıȠijȓĮ)? Words such as these appear in a number of contexts in texts which are often regarded as important for studying the NT and its world, and they sometimes take on personified form. How then do we ascribe sex and/or gender to such entities? One possibility is to consider the grammatical gender of the nouns in question in the various languages in which the texts are written. Hence it is often argued that the fact that ‘wisdom’ is a grammatically feminine noun in Hebrew (KPN[) and Greek (ıȠijȓĮ), so ‘Wisdom’ is conceived as a female being. Now it would be absurd to suggest that there is no correlation at all between grammatical gender and sex. Men are referred to generally by grammatically masculine nouns, women generally by grammatical-

146; also the discussion in M. R. D’Angelo, ‘Women in Luke-Acts. A Redactional View’, JBL 109 (1990) 441–461.

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ly feminine nouns. Nevertheless, the grammatical gender of a noun is not an infallible guide to the sex of its referent in every language.11 One must remember that some languages are deficient, especially when it comes to general nouns covering both male and female. This phenomenon affects English, of course, and awareness of the phenomenon has led to changes in modern English usage by those objecting to the use of a masculine form to cover a generic term (‘he’ for a general person, ‘chairman’ for the person chairing a meeting: hence ‘he’ now becomes ‘he/she’ or ‘s/he’, ‘chairman’ becomes ‘chairperson’ or ‘chair’, ‘men’ becomes ‘human beings’ or ‘people’ etc.). Further, languages vary in relation to their gender structuring at the grammatical level. French and Hebrew have only two genders (masculine and feminine). English, German, Latin and Greek have a neuter gender as well. English uses the neuter gender a great deal so that virtually all inanimate nouns are (or at least can be) neuter. Yet German uses a grammatically neuter noun to refer to unquestionably female girls (Mädchen)! Clearly the equation between grammatical gender and the sex of the referent of a word is not one of totally positive correlation. What then of Wisdom ıȠijȓĮ? Can we say that ıȠijȓĮ is female and/or displays any feminine characteristics? Is the femininity of Wisdom ever a factor? My claim would be that, at least in the Q passages concerned, Wisdom’s sex is never an issue, and certainly Wisdom’s femininity is never contrasted with the maleness or masculinity of anyone else. The Q sayings reflecting the idea of personified Wisdom undoubtedly take up and develop the talk of personified Wisdom in the OT and in other Jewish traditions. How far such language was taken ‘literally’, as implying the ontological existence of a being called ‘wisdom’ is too large a topic to be discussed here.12 Certainly though it is undeniable that language was used in such a way as to imply that such an idea was at least possible. What though of the sex and/or gender of Wisdom? There is no doubt that in a number of instances, Wisdom appears to be thought of as female and (to a certain extent) feminine. Thus, for example, what might appear to be exclusive female roles such as ‘bride’ are predicated of Wisdom (Wisd 8.2). In Proverbs, Wisdom is referred to as a ‘sister’ (Prov 7.4); and it may be that the talk of the strange/loose woman (Prov 5; 6.20–35; 7; 9.13–18) is also relevant here as Wisdom is seen as the (good) antithesis to this bad woman. So too many have argued that much of Proverbs’ talk of Wisdom echoes, perhaps deliberately, claims about the Egyptian goddess Maat.13 There are also a number of instances in 11

See especially J. Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961), 39–40. 12 See J. D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making (London: SCM, 1980), 168–176. 13 See C. Kayatz, Studien zu Proverbien 1–9 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1966).

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Philo where specifically female roles are ascribed to Wisdom: Wisdom is the ‘firstborn mother of all things’ (Quaest. Gen. 4.97 cf. too Leg. All. 2.49), the ‘daughter of God’ (ibid., cf. too Fuga 52); Wisdom is identified with the figure of Sarah in Gen 21.6 (Leg. All. 2.82), and God is said to be the husband of Wisdom (Cher. 49). By implication, therefore, there is quite a lot of evidence to suggest that, if Wisdom was thought of as analogous to a human being, Wisdom was conceived of in female rather than male terms. Yet the question still arises: how far is the sex of Wisdom ever considered important? How far does Wisdom take on any specifically feminine (as opposed to simply female) characteristics? How far too can/should we read one part of the Wisdom tradition into the rest? Just because Wisdom is presented in female terms at some places, should we read this in everywhere? The fact is that in a great many instances, much of the talk of personified Wisdom is quite a-sexual. For example, the long list of characteristics of Wisdom in Wisd 7.22–8.1 (‘in her is a spirit quick of understanding, holy, alone in kind, manifold, subtil, freely moving …’) does not appear to depend in any way on Wisdom’s femaleness or femininity for its appropriateness. All the attributes here could be ascribed to a male person without any contradiction or problem. So too the hymn of praise which Wisdom utters in Sir 24 is unrelated to Wisdom’s femaleness. Even the image of Wisdom as the ‘hostess’ in Prov 9 does not demand that Wisdom be one sex and not the other: men are quite capable of preparing good meals and inviting guests in the Biblical tradition (cf. Q 14.16–24)! The evidence of Philo is also highly ambiguous in this context. We have already noted that at several points, Philo clearly speaks of Wisdom as female. However, elsewhere Philo explicitly states that Wisdom can be seen as masculine. In Fuga 48–52, Philo, in talking of Wisdom as the daughter of God, discusses the text in Gen 28.2 (‘Rise up and let us flee away to Mesopotamia, to the house of Bethuel thy mother’s father’) and identifies Wisdom with Bethuel, Rebecca’s father, ‘sowing and begetting in souls aptness to learn, discipline, knowledge, sound sense, good and laudable actions’. Philo is fully aware of the apparent grammatical discrepancy and discusses the issue. He claims that there is no problem here in identifying Wisdom with the male: the reason is that here Wisdom takes on the exclusively male role of ‘sowing and begetting’ (the imagery used is of sexual reproduction) various qualities in human beings. Thus Philo is quite happy to change the sex of Wisdom if necessary to suit his argument. The phenomenon of the changing sex of ıȠijȓĮ is matched by the changing sex of other terms such as ਕȡİIJȒ in Philo. The grammatically feminine ਕȡİIJȒ can also appear frequently as the female recipient of divine ‘sowing’ (cf. Cher. 46–49). Yet at times ਕȡİIJȒ too can be regarded as male in

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relation to human beings insofar as it creates virtue in other humans.14 Since terms like ıȠijȓĮ and ਕȡİIJȒ can be seen in relation to God and to human beings, their precise nature can vary in relation to different contexts. Thus Baer comments: Sophia and Areté are never portrayed as bisexual, i.e. both male and female at the same time. They are represented as female-passive in relationship to God and male-active in relationship to man. Sophia and Areté exhibit the deeds and powers of truly perfect men (…), but because they occupy a second place in relationship to God they have feminine names … The maleness or femaleness of Sophia and Areté is not to be understood in terms of actual sexuality at all but rather in terms of the more or less ad hoc demands of each individual passage. Like God, the Logos, and the rational soul of man, Sophia and Areté are asexual. The real issue in these texts is the contrast between active and passive, primary and secondary, God and man. The male-female terminology is simply a very vivid means of concretizing or giving expression to these contrasts.15

In Philo there is also an overlap of activities between the figure of Wisdom and that of the (grammatically masculine) Logos, so that at times they can be identified (cf. Leg. All. 2.65).16 So too in Sir 24, Wisdom is identified at the end of the chapter with the Law, the Torah (Sir 24.23). Further, we may note that, at least for the translator and reader of the Greek version, there was nothing apparently incongruous with identifying the female and grammatically feminine Wisdom with the rather more impersonal and grammatically masculine Law (ȞȩȝȠȢ) (though of course Torah is feminine in Hebrew). This phenomenon, whereby features predicated of female figures can be happily transferred to male figures is by no means unique in the Biblical tradition. There are several instances where imagery can apparently transfer quite easily from one subject to another; moreover, at times the language is at first sight quite specifically related to the female and the feminine and yet the characteristics and activities involved can be predicated of male subjects, apparently without embarrassment. This occurs quite fre14 See Abr. 102, where, exactly as in Fuga 52, the apparent difficulty in predicating male activities of the grammatically female ਕȡİIJȒ (and female passivity of the grammatically male ȞȠ૨Ȣ) is explicitly raised. But as with ıȠijȓĮ, Philo sees no problem in asserting that an entity such as ਕȡİIJȒ can be seen as masculine if necessary: ‘“Virtue” (ਕȡİIJȒ) is male since it causes movement and affects conditions and suggests noble conceptions of noble deeds and words, while thought (ȞȠ૨Ȣ) is female, being moved and trained and helped, and in general belonging to the passive category, which passivity is its sole means of preservation.’ 15 R. A. Baer, Philo’s Use of the Categories Male and Female (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 62–63. For the changing sexuality of Wisdom in Philo, see too E. R. Goodenough, By Light, Light. The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1936), 201–202, 248–249. 16 Cf. Goodenough, Light, 22–23; H. A. Wolfson, Philo. Vol. 1 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1947), 253–261.

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quently in the Pauline corpus. At 1 Thess 2.7 Paul claims that in relation to the Thessalonians he was like a nurse looking after (or perhaps even suckling) her own children;17 in 1 Cor 3.2 too he says that he fed the Corinthians with milk as they were babies, and the general social conditions would probably suggest that he is implying breast-feeding. In Gal 4.19 he says that he is ‘in travail’, undergoing pangs of child-birth, until Christ is formed in them. Indeed this image of the pains of child-birth is quite common in Jewish and Christian tradition to refer to intense (eschatological?) suffering (cf. 1 Thess 5.3, cf. Isa 13.8). So too in 2 Cor 11.2 and Eph 5.21 ff., the whole Christian community in Corinth and the whole universal church (respectively) are seen as the bride of Christ as husband, even though presumably the community in question is thought of by each writer as comprising men as well as women. Thus writers of the first century in the Christian (and Jewish) communities evidently found no difficulty in transferring very specific gendered language and predicating it of people whose biological sex would at first sight make the use of such language highly inappropriate. All this may suggest that the gendering is regarded as at times peripheral. The same applies in the case of Wisdom ıȠijȓĮ. I have already referred to the example of Sir 24 where Wisdom is identified with the Law. In the Christian tradition, the identification of Wisdom with Jesus became a very prominent feature of early patristic Christology with famous roots in the NT itself, e.g. Heb 1.3 where Wisd 7.25 is applied to Jesus, Col 1.15–20 where Prov 8.22 (with Gen 1.1) probably forms part of the background to the hymn, 1 Cor 8.6, and probably too the Johannine prologue John 1.1– 14. So to Matthew’s redaction of Q is widely regarded as imposing some kind of identification of Jesus with Wisdom on the Q material (cf. Matt 23.34 diff Luke 11.49; Matt 11.2, 19 diff Luke 7.18, 35 etc.).18 The details in any one instance are of course debatable. My point here is simply that a broad band of Christian thinking apparently made some sort of identification of Jesus with the figure of Wisdom, without any embarrassment being shown of any gender clash as if there were something odd, or in need of explanation, about identifying the male Jesus with female Wisdom.19 The 17 For similar imagery in relation to Cynic philosophers, see A. J. Malherbe, ‘“Gentle as a Nurse”. The Cynic Background to 1 Thess ii’, NovT 12 (1970), esp. 211–214. Cf. too Num 11.12. 18 See M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1970). 19 The only exception might be John 1, where it has been suggested that John’s use of the term ȜȩȖȠȢ may have been in part conditioned by the fact that John could not use the feminine noun ıȠijȓĮ for the male Jesus but needed a grammatically masculine noun. See R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John I–XII (AB 29A; New York: Doubleday, 1966), 523; B. Lindars, The Gospel of John (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1972), 83.

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absence of any such embarrassment suggests very strongly that Wisdom’s sex was not considered a very important issue at all. For these Christians, Wisdom’s existence, and separate being, might have been important; but any sexuality or gendering in that being was quite peripheral, if not nonexistent. Very much the same probably applies to Q as well. It is often said that, whereas for Matthew Jesus is identified with Wisdom, for Q Jesus is (simply) a messenger of Wisdom. This may well be the case for much of Q, though many have argued that Q 10.22 is chock full of Wisdom motifs and hence the identification of Wisdom with Jesus had probably been reached here too.20 This may however be a relative late-comer into Q. Elsewhere in Q Jesus is probably not identified with Wisdom as such, though one can perhaps see the trend already developing in Q which led to such an identification later. In Q 7.31–35, John the Baptist and Jesus are Wisdom’s envoys so that reaction to them is the same as reaction to Wisdom. In Q 11.49–51 Jesus is probably not identified with Wisdom as such (Luke 11.49 is almost certainly more original in making Wisdom the speaker); but in what is probably a redactional addition to the saying in v. 51b,21 Jesus himself is made to add the climactic final pronouncement by repeating Wisdom’s threat of punishment for the blood of all the prophets being required of ‘this generation’. Hence the message of Wisdom becomes the message of Jesus himself, so that one is on the road towards some sort of identification. The situation may be similar in Q 13.34–35. There is uncertainty whether this is intended by Q to be a Wisdom saying or not. (It is not clear whether the saying followed immediately after the doom oracle of Q 11.49–51 in Q, as in Matthew [Matt 23.37–39 after 23.34–36], or whether the two were separated in Q.) It is often taken as a Wisdom saying, and certainly the images and ideas are very closely related to the Wisdom saying in Q 11.49–51.22 But then again the last part of the saying may be a Q-redactional addition, creating a saying of Jesus to round 20

Cf. J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Wisdom Christology in Q’, LTP 34 (1978) 129–147; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 224 ff. J. M. Robinson, ‘Jesus as Sophos and Sophia’, in R. L. Wilken (ed.), Aspects of Wisdom in Judaism and Early Christianity (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1975), 1–16. 21 Cf. the extra ȜȑȖȦ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ and the repetitive nature of v. 51b. For this as a redactional addition, cf. D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 47; Hoffmann, Studien, 168 (both Lührmann and Hoffmann regard the whole of v. 51 as a redactional addition); W. Schenk, Synopse zur Redenquelle der Evangelien (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1981), 79; F. Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments in the Study of Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 66. 22 Cf. R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 115; Lührmann, Redaktion, 45; Suggs, Wisdom, 64–66 and several others.

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off the earlier tradition in vv. 34–35a.23 Hence as before, Wisdom’s threat is repeated and completed by Jesus in his own name so that one has the seeds for the later (Matthean?) identification. But in all this there is little that is of any relevance to the sex or gender of Wisdom. The only exception might be the ‘hen’ imagery in 13.34, where the speaker compares him-/ herself to a hen sheltering her brood under her wing. As such this might appear to be a peculiarly feminine image. On the other hand, both Matthew and Luke clearly make the whole saying a saying of Jesus, and evidently have no difficulty in predicating such an image of the male Jesus; and in any case, although the image of the brooding hen may be sapiential (cf. Sir 1.15 Gk), there is plenty of precedent in the OT of similar imagery being used of God who regularly has ‘wings’ to shelter people in their ‘shadow’.24 In all this therefore, there is little or nothing that depends exclusively on the femininity of Wisdom.25 In all the Wisdom texts in Q, it may be that the more important themes associated with Wisdom are hostility and rejection.26 Wisdom for Q is the one who sends the prophets, and Q 6.22–23 makes it clear at the outset that ‘prophets’ are those who have suffered violence and rejection. John and Jesus are Wisdom’s children, and the experience of both has clearly been one of hostility and rejection by ‘this generation’, despite their very different life-styles (Q 7.33–34). Like rejected Wisdom, Jesus too is homeless (Q 9.58, cf. 1 En. 42), and indeed Jesus’ later followers may experience the same kind of rejection (Q 10.2–16 though it is not clear how much actual violence is presupposed here). The theme of the hostility and violence experienced by all Wisdom’s prophetic messengers is spelt out very 23 Cf. again the ȜȑȖȦ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ, perhaps indicating a change of speaker, and the difficulty of predicating what is said in v. 35b of the figure of Wisdom. The secondary nature of the half-verse is widely acknowledged: see Hoffmann, Studien, 176–177; Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments’, 66, with further bibliography; Kloppenborg, Formation, 228. 24 Cf. Dunn, Christology, 203. See Deut 32.11; Ruth 2.12; Ps 17.8; 36.7; 57.1; 61.4; 63.7; 67.4 etc. 25 Thus agreeing in one way with A.-J. Levine, ‘Who’s Catering the Q Affair? Feminist Observations on Q Paraenesis’, Semeia 50 (1990) 145–161, on p. 155, who argues that the figure of Sophia in Q is simply a stereotyped figure who is not especially feminine: ‘Since Sophia is a conventional motif in wisdom literature, her direct association with Jesus may be less a “feminizing” of the teacher than a “masculinizing” of the mythical source of that teaching’. I would wonder, however, whether the use of any genderized language is very appropriate in this context. 26 See also my ‘The Present Son of Man’, JSNT 14 (1982) 58–81 (pp. 505–523 in this volume), on pp. 67–70 (below, pp. 518–523). Several of the Wisdom passages in Q refer to Jesus as ‘Son of Man’ (cf. Q 6.22–23; 7.34–35; 9.58; and perhaps by implication 13.34–35, since ‘he who comes’ [Q 13.35] is probably for Q Jesus qua Son of Man). Hence ideas about Wisdom in Q appear to be integrally related to ideas associated with Jesus as ‘Son of Man’.

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clearly in Q 11.49 and Q 13.34. And, as we have seen, in some (possibly later) strands of Q, Jesus is verging on becoming identified with the figure of Wisdom herself. But in all this, Wisdom’s sex and/or gender are quite peripheral. What is central for Q is not any idea of a ‘Very Goddess and Very Man’, with Q being somehow different from the male-dominated world of Matthew and Luke and all subsequent Christianity. What is central for Q in the application of the Wisdom schema to Jesus is the suffering, hostility and rejection experienced by Jesus and perhaps (though in a limited way) by his later followers. In this Q is not so different from later Christianity, even though the terms of reference are different from, say, Paul or Mark. For Q, as for Paul, Mark and John, what is central is Jesus as the one who is rejected, who suffers and who dies. And it is probably by looking to the person of the crucified one, rather than to any allegedly gendered mythology, that Christianity will solve the problems created by the domination of any one group by another within human society. 19

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IX Scripture and Q This essay analyses some of the ways in which Old Testament scripture, and in particular the Book of Isaiah, may be related to the Sayings Source Q. I start with a very few brief, and rather amateurish, remarks on the use of the word ‘Intertextuality’, a term often used in this context.

1. Intertextuality ‘What’s in a name?’ ‘When I use a word, it means what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’1

The word ‘intertextuality’ has become something of an ‘in word’ for New Testament studies in recent years. In part its usage reflects the ever growing sensitivity of New Testament exegetes to the insights of literary critics and an awareness that New Testament study must learn from, and engage with, the study of texts in other academic disciplines. Yet, just as we have learnt (at times to our cost) that language is never a static entity, and that the meanings of words change over the course of time, so the same may be the case for ‘in words’ such as ‘intertextuality’ which Biblical scholars appropriate from time to time from secular literary criticism. What the word may mean when used in one context may not be the same when used by others in another context. As far as I am aware, the term ‘intertextuality’ was first coined by Julia Kristeva, and has been used by others literary critics since, notably Roland Barthes.2 The term has also been appropriated by a number of Biblical scholars to describe their work, for example by Richard Hays in his study

1

Humpty Dumpty to Alice in Lewis Carroll’s Alice through the Looking Glass. J. Kristeva, Semiotiké (Paris: Seuil, 1969) and Le révolution du langage poétique (Paris: Seuil, 1974); R. Barthes, S/Z. Essais (Paris: Seuil, 1970). For good summaries, see J. Culler, ‘Presupposition and Intertextuality’, in The Pursuit of Signs. Semiotics, Literature, Deconstruction (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), 100–118; J. Still & M. Worton, ‘Introduction’, in idem (eds.), Intertextuality. Theories and Practices (Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 1990), 1–44; A. C. Thiselton, New Horizons in Hermeneutics (London: Harper Collins, 1992), esp. pp. 495–508. 2

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of allusion to Old Testament scripture in Paul, and by the authors in the Festschrift published in honour of B. van Iersel.3 In the work of Kristeva and Barthes, however, the term really has little to do with the explicit interpretation of a particular text as such. Rather it refers to the theory that texts in general gain meaning only in relation to a potentially never ending series of other texts. Reacting in part against the view that a text could be an independent and a totally new production by its author, the proponents of an approach of intertextuality would claim that all texts are dependent for their meaning on their place within a matrix of other texts. Part of this is the way in which texts echo, or allude to, earlier texts, either by way of explicit citation, or deliberate allusion, or even by semi-conscious or unconscious echo; but ‘intertextuality’ as defined by Kristeva and Barthes would go wider than this and see the way in which other texts give meaning and significance to a text as potentially far more than this historical, diachronic way (which traditional Biblical scholarship has affirmed ever since the rise of critical Biblical scholarship). Thus intertextuality focuses quite as much on the reader as on the author of a text.4 Jonathan Culler says: Intertextuality thus becomes less a name for a work’s relation to particular prior texts than a designation of its participation in the discursive space of a culture: the relation between a text and the various languages or signifying practices for a culture and its relation to those texts which articulate for it the possibilities of that culture.5

Nevertheless the twin poles of author and reader can perhaps still be quite legitimately maintained, even in an understanding of intertextuality.6 Now in fact, as Still and Worman say, ‘although the term intertextuality dates from the 1960s, the phenomenon, in some form, is at least as old as

3 R. B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1989), cf. esp. pp. 14–21; S. Draisma (ed.), Intertextuality in Biblical Writings. Essays in Honour of Bas van Iersel (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1989). 4 This is strongly emphasised by Thiselton. See too E. van Wolde, ‘Trendy Intertextuality?’, in Draisma (ed.), Intertextuality (n. 3), 43–49, on p. 47: ‘In an intertextual analysis or interpretation of a text it is the reader and not the writer who is the centre of attention, because it is the reader who makes a text interfere with other texts.’ 5 Culler, ‘Presupposition and Intertextuality’, 103 (also cited in part by Hays, Echoes, 15). 6 Cf. Still & Worman, Intertextuality, 1. Speaking about why a text is not a closed system, they write: ‘First, the writer is a reader of texts (in the broadest sense) before s/he is a creator of texts, and therefore the work of art is inevitably shot through with references, quotations and influences of every kind … Secondly, a text is available only through some process of reading; what is produced at the moment of reading is due to the cross-fertilisation of the packaged textual material (say, a book) by all the texts which the reader brings to it.’ Hence they go on to talk about ‘both axes of intertextuality, texts entering via authors and texts entering via readers’ (my italics).

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recorded society’. 7 They consider the discussion of, and attitudes to, imitation and novelty in writers such as Plato, Aristotle and other classical authors as well as in more recent figures in the history of literature and literary theory. Certainly in Biblical studies, the idea that older traditions are taken up by later writers within the Biblical tradition is something with which any student of the New Testament is familiar. So too the idea that, as well as explicit citations of earlier traditions, there may be less explicit allusions, and indeed less conscious adoption of earlier ‘texts’, is a familiar one for New Testament studies. The question whether it is then open to a later reader to identify such an allusion and read in a ‘meaning’ that was not originally ‘intended’ by the author, or even to bring in texts originally written after the time of the text in question to illuminate the latter, is more debatable; and certainly some New Testament scholars would argue that, at least in the case of many (if not all) New Testament texts, authorial intention is vitally important.8 The situation is of course potentially quite different in relation to some products of ‘literature’, ‘literature’ being often taken as rather narrower in scope than the set of all written texts.9 And even in the case of a narrower range of ‘literature’ (however defined), those who accuse others of being guilty of the ‘intentional fallacy’ should not lose sight of the fact that the original essay concerning this ‘fallacy’ attacked not the principle of whether the original author’s intent was discoverable, but only whether this should be the sole criterion for judging ‘the success of a work of literary art’.10 In the case of New Testament texts, it is dubious how far we should be regarding them as ‘works of literary art’ and seeking to assess their ‘success’ in this capacity. Of course it is open to us to do so; but then we need to raise the question of genre, and of whether it is appropriate for us to use the texts in this way (though we could of course make different decisions in relation to different parts of the New Testament).11 7

Still & Worman, Intertextuality, 2. See, for example, J. D. G. Dunn, ‘Historical Text as Historical Text. Some Basic Hermeneutical Reflections in Relation to the New Testament’, in J. Davies, G. Harvey, W. G. E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed. Essays in Honour of John F. A. Sawyer (JSOTSup 195; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 340–359. 9 See my Reading the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1987), 175–176. 10 W. K. Wimsatt & M. C. Beardsley, ‘The Intentional Fallacy’, in Wimsatt, The Verbal Icon. Studies in the Meaning of Poetry (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1954), 3. 11 The fundamental importance of an understanding of genre for interpretation is universally recognised. Cf. J. Barton & R. Morgan, Biblical Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 4: ‘It is important to recognize what kind of a text one is reading and what literary devices are being employed. How we classify it (the literary “genre”) will decide how we read it.’ The perils of wrongly applying methods and criteria appropriate to ‘literary’ works to other ‘texts’ are neatly summed up by Barton and Morgan in relation to legal, or quasi-legal, codes: ‘A thousand interpretations of [Shakespeare’s play King] Lear may be enriching, even two of the Highway Code disastrous’ (p. 12). 8

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In fact the way in which ‘intertextuality’ has been appropriated by New Testament scholars has often been at the level of the author of a text and his use of earlier texts and traditions.12 I am aware that such an approach may be guilty in part of misappropriating the term, or simply ‘us[ing] intertextuality as a modern literary theoretical coat of veneer over the old comparative approach’ in some kind of ‘trendy intertextuality’.13 Nevertheless, it may be appropriate to restrict ourselves in this way, at least in relation to the New Testament texts. Despite the attractiveness in many ways and in many contexts of a reader-response approach to the New Testament texts, New Testament scholars generally have wished to focus on the author quite as much as on the reader. Further, for those who would wish to see the New Testament texts as playing a significant role within a broader theological enterprise, this has generally been within a context where the Biblical text has been conceived as something which speaks to the reader quite as much as being something which is entirely at the reader’s disposal.14 Whilst aware then of the dangers of being guilty of the charge of misappropriating (and probably misunderstanding!) the word, I intend to relate ‘intertextuality’ in the rest of this paper to the echoes and allusions to scripture one finds in the New Testament at the level of the ‘authors’ concerned, and I propose to focus here on one strand of the gospel tradition, viz. the Sayings Source Q.

2. Scripture in Q That reference is made to the Old Testament in Q is accepted by all (or at least by all those who hold to some kind of ‘Q hypothesis’!).15 The extent and significance of such reference and allusion is however debated. The total extent of the Jewish scripture presupposed by Q is almost impossible to determine with any precision. The fact that Q’s references to the Old Testament are, for the most part, by way of relatively general allusions, combined with the fact that Q itself is relatively small in size, means that 12

So, for example, Hays’s work on Paul (n. 4 above). See van Wolde, ‘Trendy Intertextuality?’, 43. 14 On reader response approaches, see Thiselton, New Horizons, 546–550; also his ‘On Models and Methods. A Conversation with Robert Morgan’, in D. J. A. Clines, S. C. Fowl, S. E. Porter (eds.), The Bible in Three Dimensions. Essays in Celebration of Forty Years of Biblical Studies in the University of Sheffield (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 337–356. 15 There is not enough space here to argue for the existence of ‘Q’. For some attempt to do so, together with discussions of the possible nature of Q (written/oral, single ‘text’/ multiple traditions, Greek/Aramaic), see my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), chs. 1, 3. 13

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we cannot put precise limits around the body of literature regarded by Q as ‘scriptural’ with any degree of confidence. We know that the limits of the Jewish canon of scripture were still somewhat fluid in the first century CE. We may however just note here the reference in Q 11.51 (‘from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zachariah who perished between the altar and the sanctuary’), 16 specifying the acts of violence in the past for which the present generation will be held responsible. The time span covered in the reference appears to be a closed one, covering the period from the start of Biblical history (Abel) to the end (‘Zachariah’ here is usually taken as the prophet whose murder is recounted in 2 Chron 24).17 This particular Q saying thus seems to envisage a body of sacred scripture whose limits are fixed chronologically: there is a beginning and there is also a chronological end.18 There may be, and probably were, debates about the precise limits of the canon; but the presupposition of this Q saying seems to be that the era of ‘biblical’ history is one on which to look back, as a closed era of the past. If then it is probably reasonably sensible to think of a fairly fixed entity in talking about the ‘Scripture’ in Q, what of the other pole in the title of my paper: what is the ‘Q’ we are talking about in this context? 2.1. Strata in Q? The question is by no means trite, and not only in relation to those who would deny the existence of a Q source completely. Even amongst those who would fully accept some kind of Q hypothesis, i.e. by explaining the Matthew-Luke agreements as due to dependence on a prior source, there is now a widely held belief that this ‘Q’ source underwent a quite complex history of development and growth, so that instead of a simple ‘Q’, we should think of a Q1, a Q2, and a Q3 at least (if not more) as stages in the growth of the document Q. The model proposed by John Kloppenborg has gained widespread support in recent years;19 but before Kloppenborg’s work, there were other related theories, for example in the studies of

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The Lukan version here is widely regarded as more original, in particular in referring to Zachariah simpliciter, and not, as in Matthew, to ‘Zachariah son of Barachiah’. See O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967), 39–40; also my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 160–161, with further literature. 17 See previous note. 18 In itself this is not of course a startling result: cf. the similar view implied in Josephus, C. Ap. 1.39; also the evident belief of the writer of 1 Maccabees that the era of prophecy was now ended, at least for the present (1 Macc 14.41). 19 J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987).

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S. Schulz and A. Polag.20 Moreover, in many such theories, the apparent use of the Old Testament in Q has sometimes played a significant role in distinguishing between proposed strata in Q. Thus, in Schulz’s essentially two-stage division of Q,21 one of the criteria proposed for distinguishing between an earlier and a later stratum was the use of the LXX in the latter.22 In a related way, Polag argues that the relatively few explicit citations of the Old Testament – the three citations in the temptation narrative, and the mixed citation of Mal 3.1 and Exod 23.20 in Q 7.27 – are so unlike the rest of Q, simply by virtue of being explicit citations with an introductory formula, that they must be assigned to a late stage in the development of Q, a postulated ‘späte Redaktion’.23 Others have made similar deductions or observations. M. Sato has argued, in a way similar to Polag, that the explicit citations in the temptation narrative and in Q 7.27 are unlike the rest of Q and hence come from a later stage in the redactional history of Q.24 So too, A. Jacobson, in his delineation of the development of Q, and in his attempt to assign Q 7.18–23 to a later stage in that developmental history, appeals to the use of the LXX in the allusion in Q 7.22 as one of the criteria for assigning the pericope as a whole to a later stage.25 Slightly different is the approach of Kloppenborg and others influenced by his model for the development of Q. Kloppenborg, as is well known, distinguishes between an early, ‘sapiential’ Q1, where the exhortations are influenced by wisdom traditions and directed to insiders in the community, and a ‘prophetic’ Q2, where the polemic is much sharper and the sayings are directed (at least ostensibly) to outsiders. In a further stage in the development of Q, a ‘Q3’, the temptation narrative is added with its explicit references to scripture, and a few further glosses in the material are added, glosses which emphasise the loyalty of the Q Christians to the Torah and their commitment to Torah observance (Q 11.42d and 16.17).26 Although the existence or otherwise of Old Testament allusions was not an explicit

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S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zurich: TVZ, 1971); A. Polag, Die Christologie der Logienquelle (WMANT 45; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1977). 21 Schulz proposes also a further stage in the growth of Q (cf. his Q, 481, 484), though he assigns virtually nothing to it: see my Q and the History, 60; also J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Synoptic Sayings Source’, CBQ 46 (1984) 34–62, on p. 39. 22 Schulz, Q, 49. 23 Polag, Christologie, 9. 24 M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 35–36. 25 A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992), 112. 26 For the latter, see especially Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings (FS J. M. Robinson; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35–48.

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part of Kloppenborg’s argument distinguishing between ‘Q1’ and ‘Q2’,27 Kloppenborg has subsequently pointed out that his Q1 contains virtually no reference to the Old Testament; virtually all the Old Testament allusions come in the material assigned to the later Q2 stage, and this is used by Kloppenborg as part of his evidence to construct a social history of the Q community.28 Burton Mack’s theories are similar: the explicit appropriation of Israel’s ‘epic history’ is a feature of a later stage in the history of the Q people, reflecting a change in their situation where opposition from the Jewish establishment became more explicit and overt.29 Such general theories and/or criteria are however not compelling. With regard to the proposed stratification of Q into separable and identifiable stages in the history of Q, I remain unconvinced that our extant evidence (the texts of two subsequent ‘readers’/users of Q, viz. Matthew and Luke) is really sufficient for us to be able to make such confident proposals. Undoubtedly, the Q tradition represents the end-point of what may well have been quite a complex history of the development of the tradition. However, whether we can be so confident about tracing the precise stages in that development by isolating specific stages in the formation of the document Q (i.e. in a Q1, Q2 and Q3) seems to me much more dubious, as I have sought to argue elsewhere.30 We may well be able to isolate earlier and later stages within single traditions, or perhaps within individual pericopes; but that is quite a different matter from claiming that earlier stages of some, but not all, of these individual traditions were collected together in an earlier, written form of the ‘document’ we now call ‘Q’. Hence I have argued that we should preserve the siglum ‘Q’ for the ‘final’ form of the tradition, i.e. the latest stage of any tradition common to Matthew and Luke. 31 Earlier stages of Q traditions undoubtedly existed; but precisely how and where they existed is much harder to say.

27 Though it becomes virtually so in the case of ‘Q3’. (Although Kloppenborg does not use the nomenclature of ‘Q1’, ‘Q2’, and ‘Q3’ in his seminal book, it has now become widely used, and, as far as I am aware, Kloppenborg himself has no objection to using such terminology. I use it here therefore simply for the sake of convenience.) 28 Cf. his ‘Literary Convention, Self-Evidence and the Social History of the Q People’, Semeia 55 (1991) 77–102, on p. 84; also his Introduction in Kloppenborg (ed.), Conflict and Invention. Literary, Rhetorical and Social Studies on the Sayings Gospel Q (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1995), 9. 29 B. Mack, The Lost Gospel (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 132 and also the whole chapter there on ‘Singing a Dirge’. Cf. too W. Cotter, ‘“Yes, I Tell You, and More than a Prophet”. The Function of John in Q’, in Kloppenborg (ed.), Conflict, 135–150, on pp. 135–136. 30 See my ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222 (pp. 143–152 in this volume); also my Q and the History, 70–74. 31 See my Q and the History, 75–82.

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With this in mind, it seems to me problematic to make a clear qualitative distinction between a ‘Q1’ and a ‘Q2’, or indeed ‘Q3’, in relation to any use of the Old Testament. It is true that there are some parts of Q that are more polemical, other parts that are less polemical; and a large part of the more overt allusions to the Old Testament in Q occurs in the context of the polemic mounted by Q, usually against other Jews. But whether we can simply equate these parts with two separate, and chronologically distinct, strata in Q seems to me more doubtful. In fact, some parts of Q which refer to the Old Testament may well be earlier rather than later. I have argued elsewhere that the explicit citation in Q 7.27 (of Mal 3.1 and Exod 23.20) represents an earlier, not a later, stage in the growth of the whole unit in Q 7.18–35.32 Indeed v. 27 may well be the earliest conclusion to the unit in vv. 24–26. Verse 28 would then be a secondary comment, glossing v. 27 and perhaps implying some critique of John. But any such critique is then totally overshadowed by the section in vv. 31–35 where John and Jesus appear in parallel alongside each other, as messengers of Wisdom in a hostile environment33. It is clear that, in literary terms, vv. 31–35 form the climax of the unit in vv. 18–35 as a whole, and as such probably reflect the view of the (final) Q editor. Thus the explicit appeal to the Old Testament in v. 27 is not a feature of a late stage in Q, but of an earlier, pre-redactional stage.34 Other appeals to scripture in Q are not necessarily confined to later strands of the material. In part such a claim must depend on other decisions about the contents of Q. But if, for example, one accepts that Q may have contained a version of the double love command (Matt 22.34–40// Luke 10.25–28), as I have argued elsewhere,35 then this is a further instance of an explicit reference to scripture in Q, with no clear indication that it is 32 See my ‘Mark and Q’, in C. Focant (ed.), The Synoptic Gospels (BETL 110; Leuven: Peeters, 1993), 149–175 (pp. 23–50 in this volume), on p. 165 (above, p. 40). Others have pointed out that the form of the OT cited here is not that of the LXX: cf. K. Stendahl, The School of St Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), 51; D. S. New, Old Testament Quotations in the Synoptic Gospels and the Two-Document Hypothesis (SBLSCS 37; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 60–63. If conformity to the LXX is a sign of a later date, then the form of this citation would suggest that it is earlier, not later, in the tradition history of Q. (It is though a big ‘if’: cf. below!) 33 ‘Mark and Q’, 165–166 (above, pp. 40–41). 34 For Kloppenborg, any such elements here are not part of Q1: the whole of Q 7.18– 35 is taken as Q2, though Kloppenborg readily grants that the Q2 material is not all unitary. 35 In Q and the History, 416–418; cf. the contrasting views of J. Lambrecht, ‘The Great Commandment Pericope and Q’, in R. A. Piper (ed.), The Gospel and the Gospels. Current Studies on Q (NovTSup 75; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 73–96, and F. Neirynck, ‘The Minor Agreements and Q’, in ibid., 49–72, esp. pp. 61–64.

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to be assigned to a later, rather than an earlier, stage in Q.36 Nor is the concern about Torah observance clearly the concern only of a later ‘Q3’ editor (cf. above), as I have tried to show elsewhere.37 We shall see later that large parts of the inaugural sermon in Q (Q 6.20–49), usually assigned to ‘Q1’ by those who opt for such theories, are significantly influenced by Old Testament allusions and echoes. The alleged use of the LXX as a criterion for distinguishing between earlier and later elements of Q is also not entirely convincing. In the first place, one must remember that Q was probably a Greek text: the close verbal agreement between the Greek texts of Matthew and Luke is at times so close that a Greek Vorlage, not just an Aramaic original, seems to be presupposed.38 Use of a Greek version of the Old Testament would thus not be strange in a Greek text such as Q. One must however also note that any evidence for a specifically Septuagintal version of the Old Testament as used by Q is extremely thin. Schulz’s claim about the Septuagintal nature of the Old Testament allusions in Q was searchingly examined by Paul Hoffmann in his extensive and very detailed review of Schulz’s book.39 Hoffmann showed clearly that in virtually every instance where Q seems to allude to the Old Testament, an allusion to the LXX version could adequately explain the evidence; but equally, the text of the LXX is as often as not indistinguishable from that of the Hebrew MT at the relevant points: hence one cannot claim with any degree of certainty that the allusion was to the LXX and not to the MT. The one exception often cited is the phenomenon of the three explicit citations in the temptation narrative. I have however examined these in detail elsewhere and sought to show that any alleged LXX influence is at best marginal.40 Q 4.12 agrees with the LXX against the MT in having a second person singular ਥțʌİȚȡȐıİȚȢ for the MT’s plural ZVQW, though the context (Jesus speaking to a singular Devil) really demands such a difference. The other allegedly clear LXX features are the use of ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ 36

Unless of course the reference to the fact that the lawyer is ‘testing’ Jesus (one of the Matthew-Luke agreements here which is part of the evidence for suggesting the possible existence of a Q version) implies that this is part of the more ‘polemical’ parts of Q, i.e. ‘Q2’. The passage is not included by Kloppenborg in his discussion and therefore not assigned to one particular stratum. 37 Cf. Q and the History, 404–424; also my ‘Q, the Law and Judaism’, in B. Lindars (ed.), Law and Religion. Essays on the Place of the Law in Israel and Early Christianity (Cambridge: Clarke, 1988), 90–101. 38 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 51–64; also my Q and the History, 83–92. 39 In BZ 19 (1975) 104–115, esp. pp. 108–109. 40 See my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153– 181 in this volume), on p. 484 (above, p. 158).

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in Q 4.8 (MT DU\W) and the addition of ȝȩȞ૳ here. But in both cases, the Q version agrees with at most one or two LXX manuscripts,41 and the reading cannot be regarded as peculiarly Septuagintal. Apart from these, the LXX and MT agree with each other so that it is impossible to distinguish between dependence on one as opposed to the other. We should of course also remember the fluid state of the Old Testament text at this period, shown above all by the evidence of the Qumran texts. Allegedly Septuagintal readings have now been shown to occur in Hebrew MSS of this period, so that we certainly cannot make a neat, over-schematic division between ‘Hebrew/MT = Palestinian = early’, and ‘Greek/LXX = non-Palestinian = late’. Nor should we forget the obvious facts about the complexity of the history of ‘the’ so-called LXX. Perhaps New Testament scholars are guilty of perpetuating a caricature whereby Jews of the ancient world are divided into two totally distinct, and never-overlapping groups, one speaking Greek and carrying (printed?!) copies of Rahlfs’ LXX under their arms, the other speaking Aramaic and carrying copies of Kittel’s Biblia Hebraica, and whenever they refer to scripture, they open up their versions of the Bible at the relevant point and cite with deadly accuracy. Clearly such a model is a total caricature, but one wonders if sometimes something not far removed is presupposed when New Testament scholars start to discuss the question of the version of the text presupposed by a first century writer or speaker. The fact that an odd element or two in Q’s reference to the Old Testament agrees with what is regarded by later scholars as ‘the’ LXX version, which might differ from ‘the’ MT, should not be allowed to become the basis for too far-reaching theories regarding the geographical provenance or the relative date of the tradition in question.42 2.2. Texts and ‘Contexts’ In referring to, or citing, Old Testament texts, how far were New Testament writers aware of the broader context from which the text cited was taken? The question is a very wide-ranging one, and one to which very diverse answers have been given. Thus, for example, C. H. Dodd argued that New Testament writers were aware of the broader contexts and indeed

41 ʌȡȠıțȣȞȒıİȚȢ with codex A, ȝȩȞ૳ with A and P 963. See my ‘Temptation Narrative’, 484 (= above, p. 158); also New, Old Testament Quotations, 58–59. 42 Cf. H. Mahnke, Die Versuchungsgeschichte im Rahmen der synoptischen Evangelien (BET 9; Franfurt: Lang, 1978), 186, who claims that the existence of LXX influence on the temptation narrative implies that the latter could not have belonged to the ‘original’ Sayings Source. See my ‘Temptation Narrative’, 481 (= above, pp. 155–156).

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expected their readers to be equally aware;43 others have argued that the New Testament’s use of the Old Testament was far more atomistic.44 The question is however posed in far too black-and-white terms when put in this way. One probably cannot make a blanket simple decision of either yes or no covering all cases of all New Testament writers’ reference to all Old Testament texts to which allusion is made. One writer may differ from another. A reference to a text at one point by a writer may be different from a reference to another text at another point by the same writer. So too we can, and probably should, distinguish between writers and readers, and indeed between readers and readers. Some broader allusions may have been intended by a writer, and may have been picked up by some readers but not others; sometimes such broader allusions may have provided some readers with a ‘bonus’ for those ‘with ears to hear’, even though the text can still make good and adequate sense for those who miss the broader allusion.45 Further, the nature of the ‘broader context’ may need further definition. Clearly any allusion to scripture as scripture assumes the broader context of a collection of writings having some religious authority for the person using it. Other ‘contexts’ can be narrower: an allusion to one verse of Isa 53 could be intended to evoke the whole of the chapter in which it is embedded in the present form of the book. But can we or should we limit ourselves to this chapter (perhaps considered within the relatively narrow compass of the four so-called ‘servant songs’ which modern scholarship has claimed to isolate)? Or should we also see it as part of the whole context of the prophecies now collected under the name of ‘Isaiah’? Perhaps too we need to take account of the fact that some texts, or contexts, were already interpreted in other interpretative schemes in the first century, schemes which involved other literary contexts brought in to illuminate and develop ideas in the texts being cited or alluded to. Some of this I hope to show in the case of Q. But first it may be worth referring to one instance where any wider context of two Old Testament quotations is apparently notably absent from view. I refer to the use of Ps 91.11, 12 (LXX 90.11, 12), quoted by the Devil in the scene in the temptation narrative in Q 4.10–11. What is so striking about this is the fact that we have here two adjacent verses of the 43 C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures. The Sub-Structure of New Testament Theology (London: Nisbet, 1952). 44 Cf. M. J. Suggs, ‘On Testimonies’, NovT 3 (1959) 268–281. See the discussion by I. H. Marshall, ‘An Assessment of Recent Developments’, in D. A. Carson, H. G. M. Williamson (eds.), It Is Written. Scripture Citing Scripture (FS Barnabas Lindars; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 7–8. 45 Cf. R. T. France, ‘The Formula Quotations of Matthew 2 and the Problem of Communication’, NTS 27 (1981) 252–281, on the quotations in Matt 2.

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Psalm cited: Ps 91.11 is cited in Q 4.10, Ps 91.12 in Q 4.11. However, both Matthew’s version and Luke’s version separate the two with an extra țĮȓ. (Luke has an additional ੖IJȚ, almost certainly a ੖IJȚ recitativum.46) Almost certainly therefore Q separated the two verses with a țĮȓ, perhaps even with the țĮ੿ ੖IJȚ of Luke. It would appear that Q was not aware that the two verses were in fact directly connected in the original of Ps 91. Rather, it looks as if the verses were assumed to be isolated verses, brought together here and connected with an extra țĮȓ.47 The person who adduced this quotation thus seems to have been unaware of any broader literary context from which these two verses were taken. Such a theory is however difficult, if not impossible, to show elsewhere. Indeed any negative theory asserting ignorance of a wider context will inevitably be harder to defend than a theory claiming knowledge of such wider context: ingenious theories claiming such knowledge can always be developed, with varying degrees of plausibility; but absence of knowledge or intention is very difficult, if not impossible, to establish. In one set of cases, however, some such wider knowledge is really demanded and essential. I refer to the use of names. As we have already noted, much of Q’s reference to the Old Testament is at the level of fairly general allusions and indirect references rather than direct explicit citations. And sometimes the reference consists of a name together with a brief reference to the wider context. Thus when Q 11.51 says that this generation will be responsible for all the blood shed ‘from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zachariah’, some knowledge by the reader is presumed of the story of the murder of Abel in Gen 4, and (probably) of the murder of the prophet Zechariah in 2 Chron 24.48 Similarly, references to Solomon (Q 11.31; 12.27), Jonah (Q 11.30, 32), Tyre and Sidon (Q 10.13–14), or Noah (Q 17.26) all demand some awareness of the context in which these names are mentioned in the Old Testament.49 In these cases, the claims of an approach of intertextuality are self-evident: the language of the Q text requires a network of other texts for its meaning to be understood.

46

See J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB 28; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 517. 47 I find this more convincing than the claim that the țĮȓ shows awareness of what is left out from the end of Ps 91.10, as is assumed by a number of commentators: cf. I. H. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke (Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), 173, following T. Holtz, Untersuchungen über die alttestamentlichen Zitate bei Lukas (TU 104; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1968), 57–58; also W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 366. 48 See nn. 17, 18 above. 49 Though some of course are notoriously ambiguous: cf. the reference to Jonah in Q 11.30!

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2.3. Isaiah 53 and Related Texts In the case of proper names such as Noah or Solomon, such an intertextual approach is both appropriate and necessary. With other terms the issue is heavily debated. I refer, for example, to the self-reference by Q’s Jesus to himself (at least for Q!) as ‘Son of Man’. I would argue that the use of the phrase in Q (as indeed in the finished Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke) is a reference to the phrase in Dan 7.13: the ‘Son of Man’ description is deliberately intended to evoke the Danielic scene by focusing on the theme of vindication and triumph, and also that of suffering and obedience (though I am fully aware that such an overall theory is heavily disputed!).50 I have further argued elsewhere that the Q sayings about the Son of Man show a number of important links with other texts, some of which relate to Dan 7, some of which do not, at least directly. In particular, as Nickelsburg has convincingly argued, there is evidenced in Judaism a developing tradition whereby the servant song of Isa 52.13–53.12 has been taken up and developed in texts such as 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5. Here the righteous man/ men is/are persecuted by human figures, the Isaianic poem being reinterpreted so that those who are aghast and amazed at the new appearance of the once despised figure (cf. Isa 52.13) are now the active persecutors whose opposition has led to the figure’s temporary demise; however, in a post-mortem scene, the erstwhile persecutors are confronted by their one time victim(s) and are then condemned.51 Indeed Isa 53 may have partly influenced the language of Daniel itself (though more likely Dan 12.3 rather than Dan 7 itself).52 As I have tried to argue elsewhere, the Q Son of Man sayings may show a similar set of ideas. The reference to Isa 53 is mostly left behind (though see below), but some basic ideas remain common to the complex of Son of Man sayings in Q and the traditions reflected in 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5: as a suffering and persecuted figure (cf. Q 7.34; 9.58), the Q Son of Man will be vindicated and will be an active agent in the final judgment (cf. Q 12.8; 17.26–30). In the course of his discussion, Nickelsburg notes in passing that both 1 Enoch and Wisdom may use the language of the fall of the king of Babylon in Isa 14 to refer to the downfall of the persecutors.53 It is perhaps a further striking coincidence of ideas and language that Q too uses the 50

See Q and the History, ch. 8. See G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), 62–78; also my Q and the History, 271–272. 52 Cf. Q and the History, 271, for details. 53 Nickelsburg, Resurrection, 69 (cf. Wisd 4.18–19), 75 (cf. 1 En. 46.6–7). For the Wisdom parallel, cf. too P. Skehan, ‘Isaias and the Teaching of the Book of Wisdom’, CBQ 2 (1940) 289–299, on p. 296. 51

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language of the fall of the king of Babylon in Isa 14: in Q 10.15 the woes against the Galilean cities are concluded with the tirade against Capernaum in language that is clearly intended to echo the taunt song of Isa 14 (‘And you Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? You will be brought down to Hades’: cf. Isa 14.13, 15). The allusion is so close as to qualify almost for the description ‘quotation’, though there is no explicit introductory formula.54 The wording of Q is similar to that of the LXX of Isa 14, though there is little difference between the LXX and the MT here. Schulz refers to the use of țĮIJĮȕȒıૉ here,55 and the absence of any article with ਚįȠȣ as evidence of Septuagintal influence,56 but this seems very weak evidence. Stendahl’s comment is probably more accurate when he refers to this as ‘another example of biblical allusion in apocalyptic language without the exact nature of a citation and without definite indications of influence from either the LXX or the M.T.’57 However, one notable feature of Q’s diction remains unexplained. This is the use of ਫ਼ȥȦșȒıૉ (common to Matthew and Luke and hence secure as the Q wording). This agrees neither with the LXX’s ਕȞĮȕĮȓȞȦ, nor with the MT’s KORR>D, which correspond closely to each other. In fact the LXX never uses ਫ਼ȥȩȦ for KO>, though ਕȞĮȕĮȓȞȦ is very frequently used as the translation equivalent. It has been argued that ਫ਼ȥȩȦ has come into the Q wording under the influence of the next clause in Isa 14.13 (‘I will exalt [a\UD] my throne above the stars of God’),58 but this seems improbable since there is no other evidence of influence of this clause in Q. Although there are always dangers of over-interpreting, and misreading in nonexistent allusions, it is possible that the use of ਫ਼ȥȦșȒıૉ here could be evoking the language of the fourth servant song in Isa 52.13 (LXX ਫ਼ȥȦșȒıİIJĮȚ).59 54 For discussion of what might count as a ‘quotation’, cf. C. D. Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture. Citation Technique in the Pauline Epistles and Contemporary Literature (SNTSMS 74; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 33–37. However, this text is not discussed by New, Old Testament Quotations. 55 The variant reading țĮIJĮȕȚȕĮıșȒıૉ in Luke is probably due to assimilation to the form of the ਫ਼ȥȦșȒıૉ at the start of the saying: cf. A. H. McNeile, The Gospel according to St Matthew (London: Macmillan, 1915), 161; R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St. Matthew’s Gospel (NovTSup 18; Leiden: Brill, 1967), 81; J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke X–XXIV (AB 28A; New York: Doubleday, 1985), 855. 56 Schulz, Q, 363. 57 Stendahl, School, 91. Cf. too Hoffmann,’Review’ (n. 39), 109: ‘… ohne daß LXXoder MT-Einfluß unterschieden werden können’. 58 So Gundry, Use of the Old Testament, 81. 59 I realise that some might regard this as somewhat speculative, especially since ਫ਼ȥȩȦ is not that uncommon in the LXX, and a closer parallel might be thought to be in Ezek 28.5 or 31.14. On the other hand, practitioners of an ‘intertextual’ approach would need little justification for adopting such an interpretative approach to this text in Q!

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If this parallel were accepted, it might go some way to explaining one or two odd features of the verse. The first half of the verse is couched in the form of a question expecting the answer no (cf. ȝȒ).60 Why though the town of Capernaum would ever have thought that it could or should exalt itself to heaven has always been a puzzle to commentators. Davies & Allison mention as possibilities Jesus’ exalting Capernaum by his presence, or a reference to Capernaum’s geographical situation, its prosperity, or its pride.61 Yet none of these is easy to see evidenced here or really very satisfactory as an explanation for the language used.62 Perhaps though, with the allusion to Isa 52.13, the passage is easier to interpret. The force of the saying may not be to highlight a particular sin of arrogance as such on the part of Capernaum; rather, the question expresses negative astonishment at the implied claim that Capernaum, rather than someone else, should be exalted. This is probably also the force of the emphatic ıȪ (again present in both Matthew and Luke and hence probably in Q). The question is thus ‘Do you think that you will be exalted?’ The hidden unexpressed item is then not so much ‘you will not be exalted but brought low’, but rather, ‘you will not be exalted, because that is the destiny of another person.’ By implication it is Jesus as the figure of the servant song who will be exalted; and Capernaum, which has done nothing to respond positively to Jesus, will be brought down to Hades.63 If this ‘allusion’ is accepted, then it may have some significance within the slightly wider literary context in Q. The woes against the Galilean cities in Q 10.13–15 come at the end of the mission charge in Q 10.2–12 + 16; that mission charge is probably preceded in Q by the sayings in Q 9.57–60. Preeminent in the latter is the Son of Man saying in Q 9.58. Indeed many would see here a piece of deliberate editing by the Q compiler: the Son of Man who has nowhere to lay his head acts as a paradigm for the follower of Jesus who will experience similar rejection and (possibly) homelessness.64 If then it is right to see the designation ‘Son of Man’ as reflecting both the immediate literary context of Dan 7 and also the wider interpretative context of a broader interpretation and development of the Isaianic servant song as evidenced (probably independently) in 1 En. 62– 60 The variant reading ਲ … ਫ਼ȥȦșİ૙ıĮ may be due to one of two consecutive ȝ’s dropping out accidentally: cf. Marshall, Luke, 425; Fitzmyer, Luke X–XXIV, 854–855. 61 W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume II (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 268–269. 62 Cf. U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 8–17) (EKKNT I/2; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1990), 194. 63 Luz, Matthäus, 2.194. For the critical significance in Q of failing to respond to Jesus, cf. my Q and the History, 284–296. 64 See my Q and the History, 180–183. I am fully aware that the statement above begs a large number of exegetical questions!

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63 and Wisd 2–5,65 then the reference in Q to Jesus as ‘Son of Man’ at the start of the unit comprising Q 9.57–10.16 and the possible implicit allusion to Isa 52.13 at the end of the unit may form a significant inclusio. The Son of Man sayings in Q are, as I have tried to show elsewhere, closely connected with themes of suffering, and also with the related themes of Wisdom, or rather rejected Wisdom, and prophecy, since it is a highly characteristic feature of Q to refer to Wisdom sending the prophets, all of whom suffer violence and persecution.66 Certainly these two themes – of Wisdom, and of the prophets suffering violence – occur separately or together on several occasions, and there is often in the same context a reference to Jesus as Son of Man. Q 9.58 itself is probably an example of Wisdom motifs (the saying is redolent of the ‘myth’ of Wisdom seeking a home and finding none, as e.g. in 1 En. 42), and it may be significant that the Q saying is couched in the form of a Son of Man saying. Similarly, the final beatitude in Q (Q 6.22–23) refers to the violence suffered by the prophets, and is coupled again with a reference to the Son of Man.67 It is then perhaps not surprising to find further parallels in these Q contexts to the complex of texts relating to the interpretative development of the Isaianic servant song which we can see now perhaps in Daniel itself, in 1 Enoch and in Wisd 2–5. In particular, there is a notable cluster of such parallels in the language of the Beatitudes and perhaps also the corresponding Woes, if indeed these did belong to Q, as a number of scholars have argued.68 For example, the maltreatment which followers of Jesus can expect, as spelt out in the final beatitude, is differently worded in Matthew and Luke; however, one word which they share in common, and which therefore was almost certainly present in Q, is ੑȞİȚįȓıȦıȚȞ (‘revile’). The diction is similar to that of Wisd 5.4 and the words of the one-time persecutors of the righteous man who look back to what they did, saying ‘This is the man whom we once held in derision, and made a byword of reproach’ (ʌĮȡĮȕȠȜ੽Ȟ ੑȞİȚįȚıȝȠ૨).69 One may also note in this context the 65

1 Enoch uses Son of Man language, Wisdom does not. See Q and the History, ch. 6; Steck, Israel. For the combination of the theme of the violence suffered by the prophets and Wisdom as the agent who sends out such prophets as a characteristic and distinctive feature of the Q tradition, see my Revival, 164–166. 67 The Lukan wording here (‘for the sake of Son of Man’) is widely regarded as more original than Matthew’s parallel (‘for the sake of me’). See Q and the History, 180, with further references. 68 See my ‘The Beatitudes. A Source-Critical Study’, NovT 25 (1983) 193–207, on p. 199; also H. Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT III/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1969), 339–340; D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 87–90. 69 In turn this echoes their earlier claims that the righteous man has ‘reproached’ them for their transgressions of the Law: cf. Wisd 2.12. 66

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persecutors’ belated realisation that being ‘rich’ has brought them no profit at all (Wisd 5.8: ‘What good has our boasted wealth brought us?’), and their (also belated) realisation of the folly of their ‘laughter’ or ‘derision’ (cf. 5.4 cited above: ‘whom we held in derision [İੁȢ ȖȑȜȦIJĮ]’). The language is close to that of the Lukan Woes which pronounce doom on the ‘rich’ (Luke 6.24) and on ‘those who laugh now’ (Luke 6.25).70 The language of the beatitude and the Woes thus shows a close affinity with that of Wisd 5 in relation to the suffering of the righteous in the present and the actions and behaviour of ‘opponents’. The language is not so close as to suggest a direct quotation necessarily of the text of Wisdom itself by Q (or by the author of the Lukan Woes, if not Q). Nevertheless, the verbal echoes and links may reinforce the theory that, in the Q context dealing with the suffering of the followers of Jesus at the hands of (or in contrast to the fate of) others and in the description in Wisd 2–5, we have a common network of ideas and Old Testament texts reflected.71 So too, we may note in this connection the reference to Q Christians as being ‘sons’ of God (the ‘Most High’ in Luke, ‘your Father’ in Matthew) in Q 6.35, and the similar implication in Q 6.36 with the reference to ‘your Father’. These are clearly similar to the claim of the righteous sufferer of Wisdom to be a/the son of God, echoed in Wisd 2.18; 5.5. 2.4. Isaiah 61 and Q Now the Beatitudes in Q are influenced not only by the complex of texts associated with ‘Son of Man’ and Isa 53. Behind the first beatitudes in Q almost certainly lies the programmatic text of Isa 61.1–2. The wording of the first two Q beatitudes is probably heavily aligned to the wording of Isa 61.1–2, as I have tried to argue elsewhere, especially the wording of the second beatitude on the mourners in Matt 5.4, which is very close to the language of Isa 61.2 (LXX ʌĮȡĮțĮȜȑıĮȚ ʌȐȞIJĮȢ IJȠ૨Ȣ ʌİȞșȠ૨ȞIJĮȢ) and 70 The reference to laughter here in Luke seems to have been misunderstood by Luke himself, and brought back into his version of the corresponding beatitude; but ‘laughing’ is almost certainly regarded negatively, as scornful and disreputable activity. Luke perhaps is unaware of this, but the slight mismatch here confirms both the secondary wording of Luke’s version of the beatitude in Luke 6.21 and also possibly the presence of the woe in a pre-Lukan tradition, possibly Q. Hence part of the force of the argument that the Woes are probably pre-Lukan and may have been present in Q. See my ‘Beatitudes’, 197–198. 71 It is perhaps surprising that none of these parallels is noted by P. Doble, The Paradox of Salvation. Luke’s Theology of the Cross (SNTSMS 87; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), despite his general theory that allusions to the Book of Wisdom, and in particular the idea of Jesus as the righteous sufferer of Wisd 2–5, permeate Luke’s writings in a very wide-ranging way. (The verbal parallels with Wisdom are all in Luke’s Gospel, even if, as I have argued here, they are in Q as well.)

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where the Matthean form of the beatitude probably reflects the Q wording rather than being due to MattR.72 Certainly too a relation between Isa 61.1–2 and the Son of Man complex of ideas is not confined in Q to their collocation in the Beatitudes. The unit in Q 7.18–23, and perhaps 7.18–35, shows an even closer link. The question put to Jesus by (the messengers of) John the Baptist is ‘Are you ੒ ਥȡȤȩȝİȞȠȢ?’ (v. 20). For Q the ‘one who is to come’ is almost certainly Jesus in his role as Son of Man,73 and hence the question of v. 20 is not unrelated to the end of the Q unit where we have explicitly a reference to Jesus as Son of Man (Q 7.34).74 However, in Q the immediate response to the question of John the Baptist by Q’s Jesus comes in v. 22: ‘The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor are evangelised.’ Here we have, by common consent, a series of clauses that (at least in part: see below) reflect Isaianic passages, notably Isa 29.18; 35.5–6, and climaxing in the final clause which alludes to Isa 61.1 with its claim that the poor are being evangelised. Thus the question of whether Jesus is truly ‘the coming one’ is answered in part by the implied assertion that he is the one fulfilling the prophecy of Isa 61. The significance of Isa 61 for Q is increasingly recognised,75 and such a theory would of course be considerably enhanced if it could be established that the rejection scene at Nazareth in Luke 4.16–30, with its explicit citation of Isa 61.1–2, also emanates, at least in part, from Q. I have proposed such a view, and sought to defend it again against recent criticism,76 though I will not discuss the issue explicitly here. Suffice it to say that at two other points in Q, both of which have considerable significance in the literary structure of Q as a whole, the language of Isa 61 is used to inform and delineate the teaching of Jesus (Q 6.20–21) and his own interpretation of his work (Q 7.22). Now as with Dan 7 and Isa 53, Isa 61 itself is not a text existing in isolation. It has its own intertextual links in relation to prior texts (it may, for example, have been regarded as of a piece with the ‘servant songs’ elsewhere in the ‘Book’ of Isaiah). So too the verse probably takes up of

72

See my ‘Beatitudes’, 197–199. See Catchpole, Quest, 78. 74 Cf. Catchpole, Quest, 239. 75 See J. M. Robinson, ‘The Sayings Gospel Q’, in Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (n. 40), 361–388, on the importance of ʌIJȦȤȠȓ and İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓȗȠȝĮȚ in the framing of (at least the first part of) Q; also Catchpole, Quest, 86–88 (at least on the Beatitudes, as well as the programmatic significance of the Beatitudes themselves for the rest of Q). 76 Cf. n. 1 and also my Q and the History, 226–237. 73

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the ideas and the language of the jubilee.77 Yet it is also now clear that Isa 61 became a generative text for other later texts, especially in Judaism. In particular, this has become clear from some of the Qumran scrolls. The 11QMelch text has been known for some time, and the influence of Isa 61 on that text is well recognised, as well as its possible relevance for the study of texts such as Luke 4.18–19.78 Isa 61 is also clearly important in another Qumran text which has only been published relatively recently, viz. 4Q521 ‘On Resurrection’.79 This new text, sadly fragmentary, may offer some insight and background to some of the Q passages we have been considering. The most substantial fragment of 4Q521 appears to have a reference to a ‘Messiah’ figure in the first line (‘the heavens and the earth will obey his Messiah’), before going on to describe some of the blessings which will come to God’s faithful followers. (It is however notoriously uncertain and unclear who is the intended subject of the actions involved in bringing such blessings: is it God? Or is it an agent, a ‘messianic’ figure?) One of the arresting features of the fragment is that there is an allusion (universally recognised) to Isa 61.1 at one point. Line 12 of the main fragment reads ‘He will heal the wounded, give life to the dead and preach good news to the poor’. The allusion in the last phrase to Isa 61.1 is clear. What is also striking is the similarity of the text to Q 7.22: both texts juxtapose an allusion to Isa 61.1 with a reference to giving life to the dead, and this has been noted by a number of scholars.80 However, perhaps just as noteworthy is the influence of another Old Testament text in the fragment, viz. Ps 146. J. J. Collins says that ‘in lines 1–8, this passage is heavily dependent on Psalm 146’,81 though the depend77 See R. B. Sloan, The Favorable Year of the Lord. A Study of Jubilary Theology in the Gospel of Luke (Austin: Scholars Press, 1977), 36–37; B. J. Koet, Five Studies on Interpretation of Scripture in Luke-Acts (SNTA 14; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 31; C. J. Schreck, ‘The Nazareth Pericope. Luke 4,16–30 in Recent Study’, in F. Neirynck (ed.), L’Évangile de Luc – The Gospel of Luke (BETL 32; revised and enlarged edn.; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 399–471, on p. 450, with further literature. 78 See M. de Jonge & A. S. van der Woude, ‘11Q Melchizedek and the New Testament’, NTS 12 (1966) 301–326; M. P. Miller, ‘The Function of Isa 61:1–2 in 11Q Melchizedek’, JBL 88 (1969) 467–469. 79 See É. Puech, ‘Une apocalypse messianique (4Q521)’, RevQ 15 (1992) 475–519; also in R. Eisenman & M. Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered (Shaftesbury & Rockport, 1992), 19–23 (though with some controversial readings and interpretations!). 80 See Puech, ‘Apocalypse’, 493 (with many other parallels as well); J. D. Tabor & M. O. Wise, ‘4Q521 “On Resurrection” and the Synoptic Gospel Tradition. A Preliminary Study’, JSP 10 (1992) 149–162, on pp. 157–162; J. J. Collins, ‘The Works of the Messiah’, DSD 1 (1994) 98–112, on pp. 106–107. 81 Collins, ‘Works’, 2. Cf. too Tabor & Wise, ‘4Q521’, 151: ‘This Psalm [Ps 146] was very influential on the author’s thinking.’

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ence is clearly one of intertextual allusions and interweaving of language, not of formal explicit quotation. The opening line’s reference to ‘heaven and earth … [and all that] is in them’ recalls Ps 146.6;82 and line 8 of the fragment (‘releasing captives, giving sight to the blind, and raising up those who are bo[wed down]’) is virtually a verbatim quotation of Ps 146.8.83 It seems then that the eschatological promise of good news for the poor has been heavily interpreted by reference to the promises articulated in Ps 146. Or, more probably, it is the other way round: in 4Q521, Ps 146 has been taken up and its promises extended via Isa 61.1 to refer to the eschatological blessings of the future. The parallel between 4Q521 and Q 7.22 has already been noted. Collins argues persuasively that what may be in mind both in line 12 of 4Q521 and elsewhere in the text is a belief in an Elijah-type prophetic figure, ‘raising the dead’ as Elijah did: hence what is in view is above all a prophetic messianic figure after the pattern of Elijah, a fact which he believes throws important light on the gospel tradition.84 The parallel is certainly important, though the suggestion that Q 7.22 has in mind a prophetic figure similar to Elijah in the reference to raising the dead is not new.85 Further, it is clear that an Elijah typology is not the only such parallel in mind in Q 7.22: the reference to ‘cleansing lepers’ is equally hard to deduce from the Isaianic prophecies of Isa 29, 35 or 61, and may derive from significance seen in the parallel between Jesus’ activity and that of the prophet Elisha (cf. 2 Kings 4).86 Hence, whilst in no sense denying the powerful prophetic thrust of the passage, the typology may be rather broader than Collins suggests.87

82 Though in part this is a reconstruction whose precise wording depends on the presumed allusion! The argument, as so often, is in danger of becoming circular. 83 Only the explicit subject of the divine name is lacking. Cf. Puech, ‘Apocalypse’, 490: ‘citation presque littérale de Ps 146,7b–8a–b, avec omission de YHWH à chaque stique mais le sujet ’DNY, l. 5, est son équivalent et son ersatz’. 84 He even suggests that Q may have known 4Q521: ‘It is quite possible that the author of the Sayings Source knew 4Q521; at the least he drew on a common tradition’ (‘Works’, 107). It is however not at all certain who the subject of the verb in line 12 of the fragment really is. Cf. above. 85 Cf. my ‘Luke 4,16–30, Isaiah and Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982), 343–354, on p. 353. 86 Tuckett, ‘Luke 4,16–30’, 353; also Marshall, Luke, 292; P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1971), 209. 87 The fact though that the two clauses in Q 7.22 which are hard to parallel from the general Isaianic prophecies show Jesus to be similar specifically to the prophets Elijah and Elisha provides a remarkable parallel to the situation in Luke 4.25–27 where again Jesus refers to his own mission and claims precedent from the examples of Elijah and Elisha. This might suggest a common traditio-historical origin for the two passages and

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The use of Isa 61 in 4Q521 may also throw light on the other main reference in Q to Isa 61, viz. the opening beatitudes in Q 6.20–21. Such an allusion is denied by some, partly because of the lack of clear reference to Isa 61 in the first beatitude apart from the common use of the word ‘poor’.88 It may be however that the way in which Isa 61 is used in 4Q521 may throw a little more light here. If Isa 61 were being interpreted alongside, and with, Ps 146, then perhaps this broader tradition of these two texts taken together may illuminate the Q beatitudes a little more. For example, the third Q beatitude (on the hungry being fed) can relate to Isa 61 alone at best only somewhat tangentially and indirectly.89 However, the conjunction with Ps 146 provides a closer parallel here: in Ps 146.7, the verse just before that quoted in the virtual citation in line 8 of the most extensive extant fragment of 4Q521, there is the promise that as well as ‘releasing prisoners’,90 the Lord ‘gives food to the hungry’. Thus the exegetical tradition evidenced in 4Q521, linking Ps 146 with Isa 61, may also be reflected in the Q beatitudes which speak of the blessings of the new age for the poor and the hungry as well as those who mourn.

hence strengthen the argument for Luke 4.16–30 stemming, at least in part, from Q. See my ‘Luke 4,16–30’, 353. 88 Cf. most recently F. Neirynck, ‘Q. From Source to Gospel’, ETL 71 (1995) 421– 430, on p. 426: ‘The Q Beatitudes show no cogent evidence of contacts with Isa 61,1–2’, citing Frankemölle: ‘Wer wollte einen Bezug zur messianischen Prophezeiung in Jes 61,1 f einzig und allein durch das Wort “die Armen” als erwiesen ansehen?’ (H. Frankemölle, Evangelium – Begriff und Gattung. Ein Forschungsbericht [Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1994], 146). However, see above for the wording of the second beatitude in Matt 5.4, with its clear intertextual echo of Isa 61.2, as reflecting the Q wording more accurately. 89 Cf. Isa 61.5–6: ‘Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks, … You will eat the wealth of the nations.’ The parallel is explicitly drawn by K. Koch, Was ist Formgeschichte? (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1967), 52; also A. Finkel, ‘Jesus’ Sermon at Nazareth’, in Abraham unser Vater (FS O. Michel; Leiden: Brill, 1963), 113. Others claim more generally that the three groups of the poor, the mourners and the hungry are in reality a single group to whom the promise of Isa 61 is addressed (cf. Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.327; J. Dupont, Les Béatitudes. Tome II [Paris: Gabalda, 1969], 13; Catchpole, Quest, 86). However, the difficulty of finding an exact parallel to the ‘hungry’ in Isa 61 is highlighted by G. Strecker, ‘Die Makarismen der Bergpredigt’, NTS 17 (1971) 255– 275, on p. 261 n. 7; cf. too Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.437–438, who print all the possible parallels between the Beatitudes and Isa 61 (including Matt 5.6 as parallel to Isa 61.6), but say that the ‘most persuasive’ parallels concern only vv. 3, 4 and 5 in Matthew: ‘the rest of the allusions or parallels are hardly striking and should be considered fortuitous’. 90 a\UZVD in Ps 146.7 provides a verbal link with Isa 61.1, in particular with the phrase there [T[TSa\UZVDZ (which has always caused difficulty). If this Stichwort link was in any way instrumental in linking the two texts, it must have been in Hebrew, not via any Greek version such as the LXX.

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Indeed it may be that the beatitude form itself in Q 6 owes something to Ps 146. Although the beatitude form is by no means unique to these two contexts, it is present in Ps 146.5 (‘Happy is the man who has the God of Jacob for himself’: MT \UYD, LXX ȝĮțȐȡȚȠȢ).91 And the reference to the ‘Kingdom of God’ as the ‘reward’ promised to the poor in the first beatitude is not so far removed from the language of the final verse of Ps 146 which says that the ‘the Lord will reign for ever’ (LXX ȕĮıȚȜİȪıİȚ țȪȡȚȠȢ İੁȢ IJઁȞ Įੁ૵ȞĮ). The language and form of the Q beatitudes may thus be significantly influenced not just by Isa 61 but also by an exegetical tradition in which Isa 61 and Ps 146 had already been allowed to influence and interpret each other. Whether the complex of texts can find further echo in Q is not certain and would certainly repay further study. In the next section of the Great Sermon in Q, it may be that at least some of the exhortations echo allusively the two complexes I have tried to isolate here. Thus Catchpole has pointed to the way in which the exhortation to lend freely in Q 6.3092 may well be heavily influenced by the Isa 61 allusion: insofar as Isa 61 itself is proclaiming ‘release’, it is taking up ideas associated with that of the sabbath year and/or the jubilee, and hence focusing on the demand in that legislation for an end to the imposition of debts.93 So too the immediately preceding exhortation to turn the other cheek may be an echo of part of the language about the servant in Isaiah: the use of ૧ĮʌȓȗİȚȞ in Q 6.2994 recalls the ૧ĮʌȓıȝĮIJĮ of Isa 50.6; and the command ıIJȡȑȥȠȞ95 is similar to the ਥʌȑıIJȡİȥĮ of Isa 50.6.96 So too, as already noted, the ‘reward’ for those who follow the way laid down by Q’s Jesus is that they will be ‘sons’ of God (Q 6.35), as is implied in Wisd 2.18; 5.5. At a broader level, we may also note the way in which the whole section on love of enemies in Q 6.31–35 has been deeply influenced by the 91 Cf. Catchpole, Quest, 87 n. 25: ‘… Ps 146:5, which is particularly close to the trio of Q beatitudes’ (though with no reference to the existence of 4Q521). 92 Taking the Matthean wording as more original: Luke may betray knowledge of the Q wording here by his reminiscence in Luke 6.34. See Schürmann, Lukasevangelium, 1.345–347; also my Q and the History, 302, with further references. 93 See Catchpole, Quest, 113. 94 Luke’s IJȪʌIJȦ is probably secondary here: cf. Schulz, Q, 122; Catchpole, Quest, 110, with further details regarding statistics and preferred usage by the evangelists: ૧ĮʌȓȗİȚȞ occurs only here and in Matt 26.67 (cf. ૧ȐʌȚıȝĮ in Mark 14.65); IJȪʌIJȦ (2–1– 4+5) is adequately explicable as LukeR on the basis of word statistics. This is also the decision of the International Q Project: see M. C. Moreland & J. M. Robinson, ‘The International Q Project. Work Sessions 6–8 August, 18–19 November 1993’, JBL 113 (1994) 495–499, on p. 497. 95 Again Luke’s ʌȐȡİȤİ is probably secondary: see Schulz, Q, 122; also Moreland & Robinson, ‘International Q Project’, 497. 96 Cf. Catchpole, Quest, 110.

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command to love one’s neighbour as oneself (Lev 19.18), as Catchpole has shown.97 What seems to be presupposed is a community consciousness, an awareness of an ‘us/them’ mentality, where those outside the community are assumed to be Gentiles (Matt 5.47).98 The exhortations of the section are then dominated by the three ideas of love (cf. 6.27), the neighbour (6.32–35) and one’s self (6.31). Although not directly related to the texts from Isaiah discussed earlier, the passage in Q shows again the vital importance of scripture as the driving force behind its ethical teaching and the powerful Israel/covenant awareness that is constantly presupposed. So too, the implied exhortations to have regard to the Mosaic Law are not just a feature of an odd verse or two to be consigned to a small and insignificant ‘Q3’ layer.

3. Conclusion Enough has hopefully been said to show that allusions to scripture go deeper and further in Q than has sometimes been allowed. Certainly, if any of the suggestions in the last section of this paper are accepted, they indicate that references to the Old Testament are present in an alleged Q1 layer quite as much as in any Q2 stratum.99 But the way in which different sets of allusions are interrelated here, and moreover seem to straddle any of the proposed stratifications of the Q material, may suggest that the Q material is both more unified, and more scripturally oriented, than some in the past have allowed. There may be relatively few explicit quotations of scripture in Q with introductory formulae. But a sensitivity to the possibility of slightly more allusive intertextual echoes should make us aware that scripture is far more fundamental in Q than first impressions might imply; and such influence pervades the Q material across any alleged boundaries between different possible strata. 21

97

Catchpole, Quest, 115. Matthew’s reference to ‘Gentiles’ here is almost universally regarded as more original than the more general ‘sinners’ of Luke 6.33. 99 Virtually all of the Great Sermon is assigned by Kloppenborg to the earlier stratum in Q. 98

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X Q and the ‘Church’ The Role of the Christian Community within Judaism according to Q 1. Introductory Issues The constraints of space in an essay such as this mean that it is impossible to stop to justify in full every position taken in relation to Q studies in general, or in relation to some key aspects and individual texts and their wording.1 I assume here, for example, the existence of a Q source lying behind our Gospels of Matthew and Luke: the body of agreements between Matthew and Luke, which are not explicable as due to dependence on Mark, are to be explained by common dependence of Matthew and Luke on a body of material, ‘Q’, to which they both have access. Further, I am assuming that the evidence of the texts of Matthew and Luke is best explained if Q were a written text, not just a body of oral tradition, and a text probably written in Greek, rather than in Aramaic (though the question of Q’s language probably does not affect the argument of the rest of this essay in any significant way). Certainly the agreement of Matthew and Luke in the relative order of the Q material they share is at times striking and seems to demand a written source to explain it. Given this essentially source-critical theory, it may then be appropriate to ask, as in ‘redaction’-critical study in general, what if anything can be discerned of a possibly characteristic or distinctive outlook of this Q material, and what we may be able to deduce about the person/people who preserved this material and handed it on. Such an enterprise in relation to any text is of course fraught with many methodological problems, and, in the case of Q, the nature of our evidence for Q adds yet more difficulties. For example, we do not have a copy of Q itself extant. Our knowledge of Q is at best indirect, being only deducible from the texts of Matthew and Luke. We cannot therefore be certain about the precise extent of Q; nor, 1 For a fuller justification of some of these points, see my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996). This essay presents some of the results of the final chapter of that study, in slightly amended form.

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conversely, can we be sure about what was not in Q. So too, as with any text such as Q or a gospel, giving information about events prior to its own time of composition, there is the problem of knowing whether and to what extent the ideas preserved in the text reflect the views of the people who preserved and handed on the tradition. Some of the ideas preserved may be in line with the views of the people concerned, some may not be. Some of the views and beliefs of the Christians who preserved Q may not be directly reflected in Q at all. Further, to think of ‘the people who preserved Q’ may be to think in too monolithic terms. At the very least, we should perhaps distinguish authors/editors from readers/audience: thus some traditions in Q may have been preserved by some Christians to speak to others, rather than simply to mirror the common views of all concerned in any dialogue. Yet without wishing to deny the serious nature of these problems in relation to the whole enterprise of trying to write about the Christians who preserved Q, some general points may be made. With regard to the problem of the extent of Q, a comparison of the extent of Markan material in Matthew and Luke may help. The fact that Matthew and Luke between them preserve virtually all of Mark makes it unlikely that any substantial amount of Q material has been omitted by both of the later evangelists. Such a possibility cannot of course be ruled out of court completely, but it seems reasonable to take as a working hypothesis that Q is preserved fairly fully by Matthew and Luke.2 In what follows, I shall therefore be assuming that the Q material preserved in Matthew and Luke gives us a fair approximation to the whole of Q. Moreover, I shall focus on the Q material as a whole in the rest of this essay. Although a very influential body of Q scholarship today would see this Q material as capable of being divided into identifiable literary strata (a ‘Q1’, ‘Q2’, ‘Q3’ etc.),3 I would argue that such theories are too hypothetical to be useful or usable. Undoubtedly individual traditions in Q have their own (possibly very complex) tradition histories, some of which we may be able to trace on the basis of our available evidence; but whether we can identify the literary history of the document Q in the same way seems to me more doubtful. I therefore confine attention here to the Q which is discernible to us in the form it was available to Matthew and Luke.

2 For the problem of possible Q passages preserved by only one of Matthew and Luke, and omitted by the other, see my Q and the History, 92–96. 3 Cf. especially the work of John Kloppenborg: see his The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), and ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings (FS J. M. Robinson; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35– 48.

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The problem of how far Jesus traditions preserved by one writer, or one group of Christians, reflect the views of that writer/group is clearly at one level ultimately intractable. It seems however implausible to conceive of a writer or editor preserving traditions that were positively uncongenial to him/her. Such a possibility again cannot be ruled out (and one has only to think of, for example, Matt 10.5–6 or Matt 23.2–3 within Matthew’s Gospel); but the assumption that traditions were preserved because they were broadly in line with the views of those who preserved them seems not unreasonable. Certainly it is the basic assumption of so much form- and redaction-critical study of the whole of the gospel tradition, not just of Q studies. What else Q Christians might have signed up to, apart from the Q material itself, is again impossible to say. It is equally dogmatic to deny that they affirmed anything beyond Q as it is to affirm what they ‘must have’ believed (e.g. some saving significance of the cross, despite the apparent lack of a passion narrative in Q). Some absences from Q may be purely fortuitous; some may be significant (cf. below for discussion of one such absence in Q), but the nature of the evidence inevitably means that we cannot be certain. With all these caveats in mind, we may reasonably ask what the Q material, as evidenced in Matthew and Luke, may tell us about the group of Christians who recorded it. That there were such Christians responsible for the preservation and dissemination of Q to a wider audience seems to me undeniable. Whether though it is justifiable to talk of a ‘Q community’ in this context, as is done by many today, is one of the assumptions which this essay seeks at one level to challenge.

2. The ‘Jewishness’ of Q On almost any showing, Q is one of the most ‘Jewish Christian’ strands of the whole gospel tradition. For example, Q evidently has a somewhat conservative attitude to the Jewish Law. There is nothing which explicitly questions observance of the Law in any way (in contrast with the picture in Mark, which certainly can be, and has been, interpreted as presenting Jesus as at times critical of the Law: cf. Mark 2.23–3.6; 7.1–23; 10.1–12). In fact there are one or two hints that Q was at least aware of tendencies that might give rise to such questioning, and was concerned to nip such tendencies in the bud quite firmly. For example, the saying in Q 16.17 about the permanence and abiding validity of the Law seems in part intended to counter any possible implications of the verse which may have immediately preceded it in Q, viz. Q 16.16, to the effect that ‘the Law and the Prophets were [only] until John’

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and were now no longer valid in the post-Baptist era. By contrast, then, Q 16.17 asserts that the Law is still valid right down to the smallest detail of a jot or a tittle. (It is possible that the final phrase in Matthew’s version of the saying [‘until all is accomplished’ Matt 5.18d] may indicate an awareness that a jot or tittle might now fall from the Law, if indeed ‘all’ is in some sense now ‘accomplished’. But this phrase is probably due to Matthew’s redaction of the saying in Q, and not part of Q itself. The other differences between the two versions of the saying in Matthew and Luke probably do not affect the overall thrust of the saying, asserting the validity of the Law in the present.) Moreover, the arrangement of the material here may well be editorial (or ‘redactional’), so that the concern to promote obedience to the Law reflects the views of the Q editor quite as much as that of earlier tradition. There is too the note at the end of Q 11.42 to the effect that, however much more important the great principles of justice and the love of God may be in relation to the practice of tithing, nevertheless the latter ‘should not be left undone’. Further, the note has all the hallmarks of a redactional addition to an earlier version of the saying lacking the phrase. Obedience to the Law is thus heavily emphasised, not only by Q’s tradition but also by the editorial work of the Q compiler. The same motif comes through strongly in Q’s account of the temptation narrative (Q 4.1–13), where one powerful element in the story is to stress the fact that Jesus is obedient to the words of scripture. Jesus here says nothing that is not a citation of scripture; the story shows above all Jesus’ obedience to the Word of God as given in scripture, and his refusal to disobey in any way. Whatever the precise significance of the temptation narrative in relation to the rest of Q, and the degree to which the ‘temptations’ here are regarded as specifically ‘Christological’, or as paradigmatic for other Christians, it seems impossible to deny that, at least in respect of Jesus’ positive use of scripture, a model is being proposed for the followers of Jesus as well.4 The horizons of Q, and of the Q Christians who preserved this tradition, seem thus to be firmly fixed within the bounds of Torah-observance. A similar picture emerges from an analysis of attitudes to Gentiles and the Gentile mission in Q. The situation regarding any possible Gentile mission in Q is much debated. Several have pointed to a number of apparently approving references in Q to Gentiles (cf. the centurion in Q 7.10, Tyre and Sidon in Q 10.13–14, the Queen of the South and the people of

4 For more detail see my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume).

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Nineveh in Q 11.31–32, those from the east and the west in Q 13.28–29).5 Yet, as others have pointed out, nearly all of these refer to the distant past or the eschatological future.6 The only exception may be the centurion of Q 7.1–10, but even here there is nothing to suggest that he is anything other than an exceptional case. Nothing indicates that the centurion stands at the head of a long line of Gentiles who are responding positively, either to Q’s Jesus or to later Q Christians. Q may be aware of the existence of perhaps isolated Gentiles who have responded positively to the Christian message. Q may even be aware of the existence of some kind of Gentile mission elsewhere in Christian communities. But for the most part, this is only used as part of the polemic against other Jews who are failing to respond to Q’s Jesus (cf. Q 11.31–32; 13.28–29).7 Further, there seems to be no awareness at all of any problems that such a Gentile mission might create in relation to the Law, in particular of the question of how far Gentile Christians are expected to obey the Jewish Law. Certainly the question is not raised in any parts of what may confidently be restored as Q’s version of the mission charge of Q’s Jesus to his followers. (One exception might be Luke 10.8b [‘eat whatever is set before you’], which some have argued might be part of Q; but there is no explicit Matthean parallel, and hence an origin in Q must remain doubtful.) Any ‘missionary’ activity in Q seems confined to Judaism. This is reinforced by Q’s passing references to Gentiles in Q 12.30; Matt 5.47. (Matthew’s reference to ‘Gentiles’ in Matt 5.47 is universally recognised as more original than Luke’s more general reference to ‘sinners’ in Luke 6.33; thus Matt 5.47 almost certainly preserves the Q wording.) Such language clearly implies an ‘us/them’, or ‘in-group/ out-group’ mentality. But the way in which the ‘out-group’, or ‘them’, can be referred to quite casually as ‘Gentiles’ (alongside ‘tax-collectors’ in Matt 5.46: again, Luke’s ‘sinners’ here is probably secondary) suggests that the Q Christians regarded themselves primarily as Jewish and constituting (at least part of) Israel.

3. Polemic in Q At first sight, some of the fierce polemic which characterises much of the Q material might suggest a different picture. Q is full of tirades by Jesus against his Jewish audience, with the fierce denunciation of ‘this generation’ for failing to respond to the message of Q’s Jesus and the prophets 5

See T. W. Manson, The Sayings of Jesus (London: SCM, 1949), 20, and others. Cf. P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 293. 7 See P. D. Meyer, ‘The Gentile Mission in Q’, JBL 89 (1970) 405–417. 6

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before him (cf. Q 7.31–35; 10.13–15; 11.37–51, especially vv. 49–51; 13.28–29; 13.34–35 etc.). Some have therefore deduced from this that Q reflects a situation where the Christian community has become irrevocably separated from Judaism and the Jewish community, both socially and ‘theologically’. Q has given up all hope for Israel and simply offers dire warnings of eschatological punishment: for Israel there is now no hope, and only judgment remains.8 Such an interpretation of the fierce language in Q probably misinterprets the nature of such polemic, and indeed of the nature of eschatological language in general. As with all eschatological or apocalyptic language, predictions of future events may function quite as much to exhort people to act differently now (and hence avert the predicted future) as to state what is going to happen come what may. As John Sweet has reminded us, the importance of a prophetic prediction of the future in the Jewish eschatological or apocalyptic tradition lies as much in the analysis of the present situation and the claims about the true nature of that situation in relation to God as in any ‘fulfilment’ of the prediction.9 The same almost certainly applies in relation to Q. The aim of the Q Christians, articulated through the preaching of Jesus (and probably John the Baptist as well) preserved in Q, was to change Israel, to make their Jewish contemporaries aware of the disaster that was threatening them if they did not ‘repent’ (cf. Q 3.8; 10.13; 11.32). Hence the aim of the polemic was not to gloat ghoulishly over a catastrophe that was inevitably coming. Nor was it necessarily all directed at the Christian group by way of defining the boundaries around the community, demarcating Christians more clearly from others (i.e. Jews), and reinforcing a sense of group identity.10 As we have seen, if there is any group identity and awareness of an ‘us/them’ distinction, it is much more in terms of Gentiles, rather than other Jews, being the ‘them’, or ‘not us’, in such a polarity. The aim then of the polemic seems to be to try to save Israel from the threat that is perceived to be coming. Perhaps too there is even a note of hope of possible success in a saying such as Q 13.35, where the reference to Ps 118.26 seems to be positive and not negative.11

8 See D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 93; Kloppenborg, Formation, 167, and others. 9 J. P. M. Sweet, Revelation (London: SCM, 1990), 2–3. 10 So Kloppenborg, Formation, 167–168. 11 Cf. R. Uro, Sheep among the Wolves. A Study of the Mission Instructions of Q (Helsinki: Suomaleinen Tiedeakatemia, 1987), 237.

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4. Q and Israel What then was Q’s attitude to Israel/Judaism? And what was the hope and the vision of the Q Christians for the future? How did Q Christians regard themselves in relation to their Jewish contemporaries? How much separation had occurred – at both the social and the ideological levels? With regard to the degree of separation presupposed, such questions raise enormous conceptual problems. Further, answers given are often heavily dependent on who is giving the answers. Clearly, any group of Christians within early Christianity must have appeared, both to themselves and outsiders, as in some sense a group distinct from their Jewish neighbours in concrete social terms and also in terms of elements of their ideology. At the social level, any form of group meeting would have served to accentuate the distinctiveness of the group; and in terms of ideology, the positive attitude to the person of Jesus and his teaching must have marked off the Christian group from others. On the other hand, any Christian group would also display elements of continuity: at the ideological level Christianity, with the exception of Marcion, has never cut its roots from Judaism; and at the social level the fact that Christians and nonChristian Jews lived alongside each other inevitably entailed a degree of social overlap and relationship. Further, the very existence of hostility reflects an element of social and religious identity between the two groups as perceived by both parties concerned. From the Jewish side, the ‘persecution’ of the Christian movement can only really be seen as stemming from a belief by non-Christian Jews that the Christian movement constituted a threat from within to Judaism’s self-identity. If Christianity had been perceived as a religion quite separate from Judaism, then Jews would presumably have ignored it completely. Moreover, as sociological studies have indicated, it is likely that the extreme nature of the hostility indicates (almost paradoxically) the closeness of the relationship between the two groups: it is the closeness of the factions that exacerbates and magnifies the hostility engendered.12 Thus the existence of the (at times) very harsh and fierce polemic in Q against non-Christian Jews, and the belief that Jews are ‘persecuting’ the Christians (cf. Q 6.22–23, 27–35; 11.47–51; 12.4–5, 11–12; 13.34–35, though see also p. 229 below), probably indicates a large measure of social and ideological overlap between the Christian group and their non-Christian neighbours. What is perhaps striking in Q is the way in which, from the Christian side, there seems to be a conscious effort being made to minimise the social rupture which the existence of the Christian claims has engendered. 12

L. Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1956), 67–85.

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This has been shown recently in the work of David Catchpole in his study of some parts of the Q material.13 Catchpole has shown very clearly the way in which the exhortation in Q 6.31–35 on love-of-enemies is influenced and shaped by the command to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ in Lev 19.18.14 What is dominant here is the exhortation to ‘love’ (Q 6.32 picking up the previous teaching given under the general rubric of ‘love your enemies’ in 6.27). In the rhetorical questions of Q 6.32–33, the clear implication is that there is a community consciousness; but also that community is clearly Israel. Those addressed see themselves as an ‘in group’; and the ‘out group’, from whom the addressees naturally distinguish themselves, are ‘Gentiles’ (cf. above on Matt 5.47). What is in mind is thus a national self-consciousness, and the ‘nation’ concerned is precisely Israel herself. Catchpole also refers to the key position of the Golden Rule in Q 6.31 which sets up the self and the self’s wishes as one of the criteria by which to judge ethical action. These three elements – love, Israel, self – all then come together in the key text Lev 19.18 (‘you shall love your neighbour as yourself’), where the ‘neighbour’ is clearly primarily one’s fellow Israelite. Thus Catchpole concludes that in this Q sequence, The persecuted ones are thus addressed along the lines of the ancient text, interpreted strictly in its own terms. Of any preoccupation with defining, still less with redefining, the neighbour, there is not the slightest trace. The community to which the editor and his audience belong is therefore not so much a Christian church as Israel … Every effort is made therefore to be faithful simultaneously to the confession of Jesus and the command of Moses.15

Some of the consequences of this for concrete social relationships are then spelt out in the following section in Q 6.36–38. Q 6.36 should probably be taken as a heading for what follows, rather than as a summary of what precedes, and exhorts the hearers to show ‘mercy’. (Matthew’s parallel here, which speaks of being ‘perfect’ [Matt 5.48], is almost certainly redactional, so that Luke’s version probably preserves Q’s wording here.) Such language evokes the idea of the covenant relationship between Yahweh and His people (cf. Exod 34.6; Deut 4.31; Ps 103.8 etc.). What this means in practice is spelt out in what follows in Q 6.37–38. Q probably contained the double command here expressed in both negative and positive terms: do not judge or condemn; rather, forgive and give generously. (The positive exhortation in Luke 6.38, with the vivid imagery of folding a garment to hold grain, looks to be peculiarly Palestinian and unlikely to have been invented by Luke: hence it was probably in Q.) If so, then the 13

See D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993) on the Great Sermon (pp. 79–134), and on ‘Reproof and Reconciliation’ (pp. 135–150). 14 Catchpole, Quest, 115. 15 Catchpole, Quest, 115–116.

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emphasis should probably (as usual) be taken as falling on the second half of this antithetic parallelism. Thus the stress in Q seems to lie on the positive side of the double saying, and this in turn expounds further the exhortation to show mercy (6.36). Thus the Q unit exhorts its hearers to show the same mercy that is characteristic of the God of Israel and to do this by exercising compassion, forgiveness and generosity to others. Further, these exhortations develop the earlier appeals to give generously (6.30), to forgive by refusing to answer evil with evil (6.29) and above all to love one’s enemies rather than let hate overrule the relationship. These rather general exhortations are then given more concrete application in the sayings that follow concerning reasoning and reproof, especially in the saying about the mote and the beam in Q 6.41–42. Here too Catchpole’s other chapter becomes relevant in highlighting further evidence from other non-Christian Jewish texts to illustrate the pattern of teaching to be found in a number of Q sayings. The often-noted parallel to the mote-beam saying in b. Arak 16b suggests that the context for the saying is to be located in a situation of reproof and correction of one party by another. Now reproof implies an attempt to reconcile, to overcome divisions that arise, to nullify enmity and discord, and to create community. Thus the saying about the mote and the beam should probably be seen in conjunction with other sayings in Q about the importance of forgiveness and reconciliation, especially Q 17.3–4 (on the importance of unlimited forgiveness, even if there is no repentance on the part of the offender: this is probably the significance of the reference to the sevenfold sinning) and 12.58–59 (on the need for reconciliation). The significant overlap between Q 17.3–4 and 6.41–42, as well as the evidence from 12.58–59, shows the importance of the theme of personal reconciliation for the Q Christians in their environment. Catchpole also points to the common use of the term ਕįİȜijȩȢ in Q 17.3 and 6.41, and refers to the fact that probably underlying all these passages is the command of Lev 19.17 (in the immediate context of the love command in Lev 19.18) to ensure that one does not ‘hate’ one’s ‘brother’, but instead one should ‘rebuke’ one’s neighbour. The context and parallelism here makes it quite clear that ‘brother’ means fellowIsraelite.16 Thus the community consciousness behind these sayings is exclusively and precisely Jewish: the community addressed is not a Christian ‘church’ separate from Judaism, but Israel itself in its totality. Thus what Q pleads for in all these instances is that forgiveness, love and compassion be shown to one’s ‘brother’, i.e. one’s fellow Israelite. The horizon is entirely intra-Jewish; but equally it is no less than fully Jewish. There is in Q a sense in which some Jews are threatened with final and definitive rejection (cf. Q 12.10; 13.28–29 etc.): yet perhaps this is only a threat of what might 16

Catchpole, Quest, 145.

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happen if nothing is done, and the assumption seems to be throughout Q that the appeal to Jews must be maintained continually. Despite the hostility experienced, attempts must be made to heal the rifts in the community. Forgiveness and reconciliation must be attempted before it is too late, just as the very existence of Q suggests a conviction that the plea to the Jewish audience, despite its failure to respond positively so far, must be sustained before it is too late. If the above argument is correct, then it suggests that the divisions between the Christians behind Q and the Jewish community were not that deep. Certainly there was hostility, though the very existence of hostility itself indicates a – possibly considerable – degree of positive overlap between the two groups as well as the negative difference which becomes overt in the hostility. At least from the Christian side, it would appear that any split was still not that severe at the social level. It would seem that the Q Christians had not given up hope for Israel; and they did not think of themselves as a separate community. Obviously at one level there is separation: those who support the Christian cause are distinguished from those who do not – the non-Christians are not Christians! But in terms of the selfunderstanding of the Q Christians, the important social divisions appear to be primarily those separating Israel as a whole from Gentiles, and the Q Christians are, at least in their own estimation, within that boundary alongside their fellow Jews. Further, we hear nothing in Q suggesting boundary creation by separate social or cultic practices. It is not clear if John the Baptist’s rite of baptism is to be repeated by the later (i.e. later than John the Baptist) Q Christians. It would in one way be surprising if it was not, yet the fact that this is not spelt out may indicate the relatively low significance that baptism has in relation to boundary formation in sociological terms. It may also be significant that there is apparently no reference to the Eucharist in Q. Q’s Jesus does not institute a new cultic act, which clearly in some way would serve to separate Christians from those who do not belong to the group and thus who do not share in such cultic actions.17 Any argument from silence is obviously fraught with danger, especially when, as in the case of Q, one is trying to discern a Christian group’s self-understanding in such an indirect way, viz., by looking only at the traditions about Jesus which they have preserved, and moreover only those to which we have access via Matthew and Luke (cf. pp. 219–220 above). Nevertheless, it may not be entirely without significance that the tradition about Jesus’ institution of the Eucharist was not one preserved in Q (or at least the form of Q to which 17 See W. A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1983), for the social significance of such cultic practices as baptism and the Eucharist for the Christian communities.

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we now have access, albeit indirectly). There is thus no indication that Q Christians are being encouraged to separate themselves from the social and religious life of their Jewish neighbours. Indeed, as we saw earlier, some parts of Q suggest that, in relation to tithing practices and Torah-observance in general, the opposite is the case. There is thus little evidence of a specifically Christian community consciousness or social self-awareness. In terms of nomenclature used by others, the Christians of Q are striving to be ‘Christian Jews’, not ‘Jewish Christians’. (The terminology is sometimes used in Johannine studies, and amongst students of Jewish Christianity, to distinguish different stages, or degrees, of separation of Christians from Jewish institutions.) As ‘Christian Jews’, the Q supporters are ‘Christian’ sympathizers striving to stay within the boundaries of Judaism and with no apparent awareness yet (or at least an unwillingness to acknowledge) that those boundaries might be too restrictive to contain both themselves and their Jewish contemporaries. (I leave aside the vexed question of how appropriate it is to use the term ‘Christian’ in this context. All I mean here by ‘Christian’ is one who regards Jesus and Jesus’ teaching positively.) Whether others in the contemporary situation would have seen things in the same way is of course another matter. Some have argued that Q Christians were facing intense persecution, perhaps being excluded from Jewish social and/or religious gatherings. If that were the case, it would imply that perhaps the non-Christian contemporaries of the Q Christians would have regarded them not as ‘Christian Jews’, but precisely as ‘Jewish Christians’, i.e. a group whose distinctiveness from their contemporaries had reached a sufficiently clear form that they should be seen as constituting a separate social, and perhaps even in some sense ‘religious’, entity. In fact, the socalled persecution passages in Q may reflect a rather less violent situation than is often thought, and the main reaction from Jewish contemporaries may rather have been one of sullen apathy rather than physical violence.18 In that case, then even from the non-Christian side, there may have been not very much awareness of the Christian group as socially, or ‘religiously’, very distinct. Clearly there were differences. But on neither side does there seem to be any evidence that the differences between Christians and others have created hardened – or even hardening – social barriers. To use more sociological jargon, what I am arguing is that the Christian group reflected in Q may have been trying to be more of a ‘reform movement’ working within Israel than a ‘sect’ separated from its Jewish contemporaries by a rigid line of demarcation.19 I am fully aware of all the 18

See my Q and the History, 296–323. For the terminology, see P. F. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 47–53. 19

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dangers of using the language of ‘sect’ in the present context.20 The word itself is used in a variety of different ways by different sociologists, and by different New Testament scholars seeking to exploit sociological insights for New Testament studies, as well as being used in a non-technical sense in several contexts. So too there is an acute danger in applying the word to an early Christian group in relation to an alleged parent body of ‘Judaism’: the ‘sect’ terminology, as used in the classic discussion of E. Troeltsch, was part of a distinction between a ‘sect’ and a ‘church’; hence here the ‘church’ would presumably have to be ‘Judaism’, though we now realise all too clearly how variegated and non-unitary first century Judaism was. There is no space here to enter into the debate of how one might, or should, seek to define a ‘sect’. All I am doing here is to identify in very general terms a distinction between a ‘reform movement’, working within a parent group, and a ‘sect’, which sees itself as in some real sense separate from the parent group, with its own clear self-defined and self-asserted boundaries which distinguish it clearly and visibly from the parent. And all I am claiming is that the group of Christians reflected in Q do not yet seem to have reached that state of self-conscious ‘sectarian’ differentiation from their neighbours. In this Q probably represents a stage prior to that of Matthew. For Matthew, a ‘sectarian’ model of the Christian community in relation to its Jewish neighbours is more defensible. (Again I use the word ‘sectarian’ in a fairly loose sense.) The precise nature of the split between Christians and Jews by the time of Matthew is much debated, though it seems likely that the boundary lines between the two groups have solidified very considerably. It is unclear how far Matthew holds out any hope for the majority of non-Christian Jews. Some individuals may still be the object of the Christian mission. But the main thrust of large parts of Matthew seems profoundly pessimistic about any rapprochement between Christians and Jews. Matthew’s redactional addition to the parable of the wicked husbandmen in Matt 21.43 appears to interpret the parable in national terms (‘the Kingdom of God will be taken from you and given to another ethnos’); and the wellknown (and almost certainly redactional) verses in Matt 22.7 (the king of the parable of the great supper burning up the city of the guests who have not responded to the invitation to the meal) and Matt 27.25 (‘his blood be on us and on our children’) seem to underline the guilt and definitive rejection of the Jewish people by God, while Matthew’s own Christian community claims the right to be the true ‘Israel’. So too the well-known Matthean habit of referring to Jewish institutions as ‘their’ or ‘your’ synagogue/scribes (cf. Matt 4.23; 7.29; 9.35; 10.17; 12.9; 13.54; 23.34) has 20

Cf. B. Holmberg, Sociology and the New Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 77–117.

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indicated to many scholars that the Matthean community is sharply distinguishing itself at the social level by having rival institutions alongside those of the Jewish community. On any showing there is clearly an element of self-awareness on the part of Matthean Christians distinguishing themselves from, and partly distancing themselves from, their Jewish neighbours. (I am fully aware that such a description, both of Matthew’s ideology and of his social situation, is heavily debated; but a full discussion is not possible within the confines of this essay.) Such a self-awareness does not appear to be present in Q. Clearly there are tensions. Clearly there are differences. But the aim of the Q Christians is to seek to bridge those differences, to stay within the broad Jewish community of which they claim to occupy a part, and not to separate off into a separate conventicle or ‘sectarian’ ghetto. For the Q Christians, the desire is clearly to stay as far as possible within the social and religious matrix of Israel. Perhaps too even on the non-Christian side, the desire is for the same end: hostility, even ‘persecution’, presupposes a similar purpose to maintain unity with an awareness of solidarity, the ‘persecution’ itself being one means to try to reunite into a whole again what is perceived as threatening to fracture and disintegrate. The vision for the ‘church’ then for Q is that the Christian community remain very much at one with its Jewish parent body, and that it should not seek to separate into a selfsubsistent organisation and become a separate ‘church’. Rather, its vision is one inspired by the message of Jesus involving forgiveness, love and reconciliation. The separation of Christian communities from their Jewish neighbours, in terms of both ideologies and social ties, was a long and complex one.21 In Q we see perhaps a relatively early stage in that history. Certainly it is earlier than Matthew. Perhaps it is the tragedy of subsequent history that the efforts of the Q Christians in this respect, and also of their Jewish contemporaries, were ultimately frustrated. 23

21

See J. D. G. Dunn, The Parting of the Ways (London: SCM, 1991).

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XI Q 12.8 Once Again – ‘Son of Man’ or ‘I’? James Robinson’s work, stressing the importance of establishing as precisely as possible the exact wording of the Q source at each point in the tradition, is well known. His work in the International Q Project (IQP) has inspired and led an immense undertaking of teamwork and cooperation in seeking to establish, as far as our extant texts will allow, the reconstructed text of Q. The readings of that text, as agreed by the IQP, are now all published,1 and the database on which the decisions have been made is gradually being made available with the publication of the impressive series of volumes Documenta Q.2 Few would doubt that, in the reconstruction of the wording of Q, one of the most significant decisions concerns the wording of the saying in Q 12.8, in particular the question of whether the original version had Jesus say that he himself would confess those who confess him (as in Matt 10.32 with the second half of the saying in the first person singular), or whether the original form was that the ‘Son of Man’ (henceforth ‘SM’) would confess those who confessed Jesus (so Luke 12.8).3 The saying Q 12.8 has been of crucial significance in seeking to determine what Jesus himself might have had in mind when using the term SM; and SM has also long been regarded as a key term in the discussion of the Christology of Q. Further, the decision about what might have been the original form of the 1 In JBL 109 (1990) 499–501; 110 (1991) 494–498; 111 (1992) 500–508; 112 (1993) 500–506; 113 (1994) 495–499; 114 (1995) 475–485. 2 Leuven: Peeters, 1996 onwards. The volume dealing with Q 12.8–12 Documenta Q – Q 12:8–12 was published in 1997 under the general editorship of Christoph Heil. Further references to this volume here are indicated by DQ. 3 Other differences between Matt 10.32 and Luke 12.8 will not be discussed here, except to note that Matthew’s ‘before my father in heaven’ is almost certainly a secondary, Matthean formulation of Luke’s more original ‘before the angels [of God]’. See the discussions documented in DQ, 251–277. The only slight doubt about the Q wording might concern the question of whether Q referred to ‘the angels’ or ‘the angels of God’: quite a strong case can be made for ‘of God’ being a LukeR addition. See the evaluations in DQ, 276–277. I also leave on one side here any detailed discussion of the original form of the negative counterpart to Q 12.8 in Q 12.9, and the problem of whether this too might have been in terms of SM (despite the fact that neither Matthew nor Luke have a reference to SM here).

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saying here involves wide-ranging discussions about the possible significance of SM at the levels of Jesus, Q, as well as each of the evangelists. The situation is further complicated by the existence of an apparently independent version of the saying in the Markan tradition in Mark 8.38 and parallels.4 The importance, and complexity, of the debate is perhaps well reflected in the fact that the volume in the Documenta Q series dealing with this text has no less than 211 pages devoted to the issue, including two divergent detailed evaluations at the end.5 Until recently, the majority view has been that the Lukan version of the saying, with the reference to SM, is more original than Matthew’s first person version.6 However, in a couple of recent essays, Paul Hoffmann (one of the chairs of the IQP) has developed a powerful case against this majority viewpoint, arguing that Matthew’s ‘I’ version is the more original.7 Hoffmann has put us all in his debt for re-opening a much discussed question in a fresh way, and for rightly questioning unexamined assumptions and presuppositions. Certainly too he has shown how fragile some of the older arguments used in earlier discussions can now be seen to be. In view of the importance of the text at so many levels, Hoffmann’s arguments deserve careful and serious consideration. The present essay is an attempt 4 Technically, Mark 8.38 provides a parallel only to the negative part of the double saying Q 12.8–9, viz. Q 12.9. 5 By James Robinson (DQ, 200–210) and P. Hoffmann (pp. 210–238). Robinson then has further comments on pp. 238–247, which respond to Hoffmann’s arguments at many points. There are two further shorter evaluations: by A. Schmidt (pp. 247–249) and W. E. Arnal (pp. 249–251). 6 Full versions of all the arguments used by scholars in the past are now available in DQ and no attempt will be made here to repeat that information unnecessarily. Some assessment of the strength of scholarly opinion on the topic can however perhaps be gained by noting that arguments of those supporting the Lukan version as being Q are to be found on pp. 40–124, and those against the theory that Matthew’s version represents Q on pp. 144–166 (i.e. 108 pages in toto). By contrast, arguments for the Matthean version, and against the Lukan version, as representing Q are to be found on pp. 125–144 (20 pages). 7 P. Hoffmann, ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn. Matthäus 10,32 f und die synoptische Menschensohnüberlieferung’, in L. Oberlinner & P. Fiedler (eds.), Salz der Erde – Licht der Welt (FS A. Vögtle; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1991), 165–202, reprinted in his Tradition und Situation. Studien zur Jesusüberlieferung in der Logienquelle und den synoptischen Evangelien (NTAbh 28; Münster: Aschendorff, 1995), 208–242; also his ‘Der Menschensohn in Lukas 12.8’, NTS 44 (1998) 357–379, which is a slightly abbreviated version of his Evaluation in DQ, 210–238. Hoffmann’s work has apparently caused some re-evaluation of the probability of the Q reconstruction by the IQP group. The majority opinion still appears to favour the reading with ‘SM’ as preserving the Q text, but the grading assigned to it has been reduced (to ‘C’), according to Robinson and Arnal, out of respect for the strength of Hoffmann’s arguments (cf. DQ, 247, 250).

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to enter that process of critical dialogue (started already in James Robinson’s measured and careful response in his second Evaluation in DQ), in the hope of clarifying a number of issues both in terms of methodology and in relation to key issues of Christology at a number of levels within the gospel tradition.8 Before any detailed discussion, one or two points by way of clarification and presupposition are probably in order. The aim of the present essay is the relatively limited one of seeking to determine what the wording of the saying Q 12.8 might have been in Q. Thus ‘original’ (in relation to Matthew or Luke) in the present context will be taken as simply referring to the wording of the saying in the Q source lying immediately behind Matthew and Luke. As already noted, part of the complexity of the problem here is due to the existence of an independent version of the saying in the Markan tradition;9 and part of the intense interest aroused by the saying in Q 12.8 concerns the question of what the saying might have meant on the lips of Jesus himself (if indeed it is dominical). Very often in the past, questions about the ‘original’ form of the saying have considered much broader questions about the form of the saying on the lips of Jesus (i.e. ‘original’ in that sense), and/or in the pre-Markan or pre-Q stages of the tradition.10 For the purposes of the present essay, I shall confine myself to the more limited question of the wording of the saying in Q. With such a limitation, some other clarifications or presuppositions should also be stated. I am assuming, of course, the broad parameters of the Two Source theory and, within that, the Q hypothesis.11 Within the latter, I am assuming that Q not only existed as a body of tradition used by Matthew and Luke, but also that it was a written text.12 I am assuming too 8 If, as will be seen by the end, I remain unpersuaded by Hoffmann’s arguments, I trust that this will not be taken as any sign of disrespect for his work. Hoffmann’s studies on Q over the past generation (cf. his collected essays Tradition und Situation, and his earlier Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle [NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972]) have made an outstanding contribution to contemporary Q studies. My own debt to his work, on methodological questions as well on numerous issues relating to individual Q texts, is, I hope, clear in my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996). 9 Along with most, I assume that Mark and Q were independent of each other: for discussion, see my ‘Mark and Q’, in C. Focant (ed.), The Synoptic Gospels. Source Criticism and the New Literary Criticism (BETL 110; Leuven: Peeters, 1993), 149–175 (pp. 23–50 in this volume). One of the most recent studies arguing that Mark was dependent on Q is H. Fleddermann, Mark and Q. A Study of the Overlap Texts (BETL 122; Leuven: Peeters, 1995); on this, see my review in Bib 78 (1997) 179–183. 10 Cf. Arnal’s Evaluation, in DQ, 249–250. 11 There is clearly not space enough to debate the issue here. See my Q and the History, ch. 1. 12 Cf. the common order of the Q material which can be discerned (when allowance is made for the redactional activity of the evangelists, especially Matthew, in reordering

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that ‘Q’ refers to the ‘final’ form of the text of Q, viz. the common form in the development of the Q tradition as it was used by Matthew and Luke.13 Undoubtedly individual Q traditions underwent what may have been a complex process of development; but whether we can trace such a development in the history of the document Q itself seems to me more doubtful (though the issue does not necessarily explicitly arise in the present essay). More to the point here is perhaps a further assumption I would make about such a ‘final’ form of Q, viz., that it was a Greek text. I have tried to argue this in more detail elsewhere;14 but the detailed, at times verbatim, agreement between the Greek texts of Matthew and Luke does seem to require a Greek source (cf. e.g. Q 3.7–9; 11.9–10). In the present context, such an assumption may be important. As is well known, much of the debate about the possible use of the term SM on the lips of Jesus has concerned the possible meaning of the Aramaic phrase bar (a)nash(a) (widely assumed to be the Aramaic equivalent of the gospels’ Greek phrase ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ), and what the SM sayings when translated into Aramaic might have meant to an Aramaic speaker. If Q was indeed a Greek text, then such considerations may not be relevant for the question of the meaning of the phrase in Q.15 Whether Q Christians (a Q editor and/or readers/hearers of Q) would have spoken or understood Aramaic is not certain.16 Whether material), and the close verbal agreement between the Greek texts of Matthew and Luke. The issue may not necessarily be vitally important here; in any case, the boundary lines between written and oral traditions may have been more fluid than some have allowed in the past. 13 On this, see my Q and the History, 75–82. I am also assuming here (and again there is no time to debate the issue) that it is indeed sensible to think of a common form of the tradition being available to Matthew and Luke, i.e. there is no need to postulate any substantive bifurcation of the Q tradition (into a Qmt and a Qlk) before the tradition was used by the evangelists. 14 Q and the History, 83–92, with further literature cited; see also J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 51–64. 15 Cf. Hoffmann, in DQ, 212. 16 Robinson, in DQ, 239, refers to the context of Matthew: ‘But in the bilingual situation of Matthew and his community … the idiomatic usage [of bar nasha] would be familiar irrespective of whether they were reading/writing Aramaic or Greek.’ Robinson is arguing for Matthew’s change (to ‘I’) being due to Matthew’s recognising the idiomatic use of the Aramaic phrase behind the (presumably) Greek text of Q. His overall theory is that such an idiomatic use is to be read in Q as well (cf. below). Does this then imply that Q was bilingual too? There is some evidence to suggest that Matthew was writing for a community not unfamiliar with Aramaic (cf. ‘raka’ in Matt 5.22 etc., though Matthew still feels the need to spell out explicitly the meaning of the name Immanuel in 1.23); but despite the evident continuity (socially and theologically) between Matthew and Q (cf. U. Luz, Matthew 1–7 [ET Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989], 73–76), as well as the obvious fact of the presence of Semitisms in many parts of the gospel tradition, including Q, I am not so sure that we can deduce that Q Christians were bilingual.

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they would have interpreted a Greek phrase in Greek on the basis of an assumed Aramaic equivalent is also unclear. If then Q was indeed a Greek text, we should perhaps confine our attention to the tradition as it existed in Greek and seek to determine its possible meaning on that basis. Hoffmann’s arguments about Q 12.8 focus on a number of issues and he makes his case in relation to a number of different points: (1) arguments that the ‘I’ form in Matt 10.32 is MattR are unconvincing, and in fact if SM had been in Q, this would have suited Matthew’s purposes very well; hence there is no good reason to ascribe the ‘I’ form of Matt 10.32 to MattR. (2) The SM form of the saying in Luke 12.8 can be plausibly seen as LukeR. (3) The SM form of the saying is unusual in Q and does not easily fit Q’s interests. (4) The saying may have been put into a SM form by Mark (Mark 8.38). Hence his conclusion that the present Lukan form of the saying may be due to LukeR, partly under the influence of Mark.17 I consider each of these issues in turn.

1. Is the ‘I’ form in Matt 10.32 Due to MattR? Possible reasons why Matthew might have changed Q’s ‘SM’ to ‘I’ have been proposed by many others over the years.18 These have included, for example, reference to Matthew’s evident readiness to alternate between ‘I’ and ‘SM’ (cf. especially Matt 16.13, 21), and to the fact that Matthew has probably made a similar change to the one proposed here (i.e. from ‘SM’ in Q to ‘I’) at least once elsewhere (Matt 5.11 cf. Luke 6.22). Others have referred to Matthew’s possible tendency to develop more ‘I’ sayings and to refer sayings more closely to Jesus himself. The (probable) MattR change at the end of the saying in Q 12.8 to ‘before my Father in heaven’ may also have led Matthew to prefer an ‘I’ form to a ‘SM’ reference.19 Finally, and perhaps most influentially, some have suggested that Matthew may have 17

In an earlier study, I may have slightly misinterpreted Hoffmann’s argument, saying that it presupposed coincidental, but independent, redaction of the saying by Mark and Luke into a SM form (Q and the History, 248 n. 25). In his later essays, Hoffmann makes clear (what may have been slightly less clear in his earlier study) that he is thinking of Luke’s redaction of Q as being influenced by Mark: cf. NTS 44 (1998) 378 = DQ, 238: ‘unter dem Einfluß von Mk 8.38’. (In his earlier essay Hoffmann said simply that ‘die Verbindung [of ‘SM’ and the confessing saying] war ihm … in Mk 8,38 … vorgegeben’ [‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 193 = Tradition, 235]). 18 As stated earlier, no attempt will generally be made to document here the opinions of others in view of the information now available in the DQ volume. This is also very fully summarised (with references) by Hoffmann in this section of his Evaluation in DQ, 230–236, and in NTS 44 (1998) 370–374. 19 The view mentioned by Robinson, in DQ, 214.

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been seeking to avoid a certain Christological tension in his Gospel account: elsewhere in Matthew, Jesus qua SM (at least in the eschatological sayings) is supremely a judging figure, whereas in Q 12.8 Jesus is (only) a witness in the judgment scene. Hence Matthew may have deleted the reference to Jesus as SM in order to avoid such a tension.20 Hoffmann has clearly shown that a number of these arguments are somewhat weak and not fully convincing. For example, Q 6.22 may not be a true parallel to Q 12.8. In Q 6.22, the reference is to the earthly Jesus, not to Jesus as active at the Eschaton; Matthew may have wished to emphasise this by changing Q’s ‘SM’ to ‘I’ here, but this would not apply in the case of the eschatological saying in Q 12.8.21 Elsewhere Matthew’s use of SM makes it clear that he thinks that the term refers to Jesus alone and hence it is not clear that either its presence or absence makes a focus on the person of Jesus any stronger or weaker. Indeed in 19.28, Matthew has probably changed Q to introduce a terminological distinction between Jesus as the ‘I’ in the present (‘you who have followed me’) and his role as ‘SM’ in the future (‘the SM will sit on his throne of glory’).22 So too the reference to God as Father can be retained quite happily by Matthew in a SM saying in Matt 16.27 (par. Mark 8.38). Hoffmann in fact claims in his earlier article that Matthew’s use of SM elsewhere is such that, if Matthew had SM already present in his version of Q 12.8, it would have suited his purposes well and hence he is very unlikely to have changed it.23 Yet even Hoffmann concedes an element of tension between Luke 12.8 (i.e. the SM form of the saying) and Matthew’s other SM sayings. As is well known, Matthew elsewhere highlights the eschatological role of Jesus qua SM as judge in his redaction of Markan and Q sayings (16.27 cf. Mark 8.38; 19.28 cf. Luke 22.28–30) and in sayings peculiar to Matthew (13.41; 25.31, whatever their ultimate origin).24 Hoffmann claims that, had Matthew then retained Q 12.8 in a SM form, ‘der MS-Titel hätte aufgrund seiner redaktionellen Ausprägung die Richterfunktion so dominant zur Geltung gebracht, daß sie die Zeugen-Rolle über-

20 See especially H. E. Tödt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Tradition (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1959), 83–84, 246 n. 10; ET The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London: SCM, 1965), 89–90, 271 n. 2. 21 Hoffmann, in DQ, 232–233 = NTS 44 (1998) 372. 22 Matthew’s SM version of the saying (Luke 22.28–30 has the first person throughout) is widely accepted as due to MattR. 23 ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 180–184, esp. 181 (= Tradition, 223): ‘Die Erwähnung des MS an dieser Stelle wäre durchaus passend gewesen.’ 24 Hoffmann, ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 172–180 (= Tradition, 215–222); also Tödt, Menschensohn, 62–88.

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lagert hätte’.25 This is possible, though it implicitly concedes that some tension would/does exist between Q 12.8 in its SM form (with the ‘ZeugenRolle’ implied) and the rest of Matthew (where the ‘Richterfunktion’ dominates).26 Hence it is not necessarily clear that the SM form of the saying would fit quite so neatly into Matthew’s Gospel. Hoffmann is critical of the argument about possible tension between the SM form of the saying and the rest of Matthew. He says that the tension would still be there quite independently of the reference to Jesus as SM. If there is a tension, it is one involving the role of Jesus himself, not just the phrase SM.27 This may however go too far. Whether it is right to speak of a tension here is perhaps debatable. That there is a slight unevenness, or lack of uniformity, is undeniable. Yet it is a lack of uniformity which at one level Matthew is evidently content to live with quite happily. He can and does allow this saying, with Jesus as witness, to sit in his Gospel alongside other (SM) sayings which have Jesus as judge. Whether there is in fact any incompatibility at all between being a witness and being a judge is debatable (see below); but even if there is, then it is one that is part of a whole series of ‘tensions’ which are present across the board in early Christian discourse about Jesus. All NT writers say different things about Jesus in different contexts which, when placed alongside each other, produce elements of greater or lesser ‘tension’. For example, the ideas of ‘lordship’ and Davidic sonship are in some senses tangential to each other; and according to Mark 12.35–38 (on at least one reading of the pericope) they are mutually exclusive. Yet this does not stop Matthew and Luke, for example, thinking of Jesus as both David’s son, and also as țȪȡȚȠȢ, in relation to different aspects of his whole existence. Thus it is not inconceivable that Matthew may have realised that a certain tension would arise in relation to the use of the term SM in eschatological contexts by using the term in Q 12.8; but the role of Jesus as witness was one he was also happy to retain (cf. too Matt 7.21–23) alongside that of judge, and he simply avoided the term SM in this context because the latter may have carried with it slightly different overtones of meaning for him. Ascribing a multiplicity of roles 25

‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 184 = Tradition, 226. A. Vögtle, Die ‘Gretchenfrage’ des Menschensohnproblems. Bilanz und Perspective (QD 152; Freiburg: Herder, 1994), 17, says (perhaps slightly ironically?) that Hoffmann here ‘plays his trump card’ (‘spielt … seinen Trumpf aus’). 26 Hoffmann also argues that the reference to Jesus ‘confessing’ in Matthew would have been taken by Matthew as implying judgment, not just witnessing (cf. Matt 7.23: DQ, 234 = NTS 44 [1998] 374); but see the critique by Robinson (in DQ, 244–245) who argues (to my mind convincingly) that the use of ੒ȝȠȜȠȖİ૙Ȟ in Matt 7.23 is quite different and one cannot simply transfer an identical meaning of the verb from one context to another. 27 DQ, 234 = NTS 44 (1998) 373.

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and a variety of terms to Jesus was commonplace amongst early Christians, Matthew included. But Matthew could still have been sensitive to the fact that some activities, or overtones of meaning, were associated with one term, and hence he avoided correlating an activity which he might have regarded as inappropriate to a particular Christological description with that term in his narrative, even though he was happy to ascribe such activity to Jesus overall. Arguments here are probably in the end indecisive. Seeking to find clear reasons for redactional changes postulated is inevitably a somewhat precarious enterprise. None of the evangelists was a T. S. Eliot before his time, providing helpful footnotes for later readers to explain obscure details! In this case, possible reasons for Matthew’s change of ‘SM’ to ‘I’ can be suggested and although, as Hoffmann has shown, none of them is probative, probably none in the end can be. Given Matthew’s clear propensity to shift quite freely between ‘I’ sayings and ‘SM’ sayings,28 a change here from ‘I’ to ‘SM’ would not be surprising or unexpected. Given the slight tension which does exist between the SM form of Q 12.8 and SM language elsewhere in Matthew, a redactional change by Matthew is at least plausible; such tension must also render less convincing the theory that a SM form of the saying would have suited Matthew’s purposes well and hence would be unlikely to have been changed by him.29

2. Could Luke 12.8 with ‘Son of Man’ Be Due to LukeR? Hoffmann argues forcefully that the idea of the SM as (only) a witness at the final judgment is quite unique in Jewish and early Christian literature; it is, he claims, an idea that is foreign to Q but which can find an explanation in Lukan redactional activity. 30 The question of how unusual in Q such an idea might be will be considered in the next section. Here I focus on the question of whether Luke can plausibly be seen to have redactionally created the idea himself.

28

Cf. Robinson, in DQ, 204. I leave on one side here that part of Hoffmann’s argument where he ascribes Matthew’s form țਕȖȦ to MattR, and hence has to postulate a Q reading țĮ੿ ਥȖȫ which is attested in neither Matthew nor Luke (in DQ, 230; cf. the critical comments of Robinson, in DQ, 243–244, and Arnal, in DQ, 250). Clearly a theory that Q’s wording is reproduced in neither Matthew nor Luke is not as tidy as one would wish; but then not every word of Mark is always reproduced by either Matthew or Luke at every point of the triple tradition! 30 See DQ, 224–230 = NTS 44 (1998) 366–370; also ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 186–193 = Tradition, 228–235. 29

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Hoffmann argues that Luke has systematically redacted the preceding material in ch. 12, especially vv. 4–5, aligning it with his own idea of an ‘individualised eschatology’ whereby the decisive moment of judgment takes place immediately after each individual’s death.31 Luke clearly has in mind here a situation of persecution of Christian followers of Jesus (cf. v. 3 ‘I say to you my friends’, probably LukeR). Verses 10–12 also have a number of echoes in Luke’s later narrative in Acts,32 including the story of Stephen in Acts 6–7 (cf. Acts 6.10 and Luke 12.11–12). Stephen is clearly the archetypal Christian martyr for Luke. Hence it may be that Luke 12.8 is to be interpreted in the light of the Stephen story, and especially the SM saying in Acts 7.56: just as in Acts 7.56, the SM in Luke 12.8 is the advocate who will speak in the heavenly court on behalf of the dying martyr. This also corresponds with Luke’s own particular ideas about the SM’s activity as reflected in Luke 22.69 (diff Mark 14.62): unlike Mark 14.62, Luke 22.69 speaks of the SM ‘from now on sitting at the right hand of the power of God’, without referring to his ‘coming’. Thus, according to Hoffmann, Luke’s own view of the SM is that, in the post-Easter situation, Jesus the SM is in heaven, ready to speak on behalf of persecuted/dying Christians in the heavenly court. It is this peculiarly Lukan idea which is reflected in Luke 12.8, and hence the use of the term SM here can plausibly be seen as due to LukeR. In assessing Hoffmann’s suggestion, one must be careful to distinguish between the question of how Luke may have understood his present text and the slightly different question of whether Luke actually altered his source in producing his present text. Thus it is theoretically possible that Luke may have understood the saying in Luke 12.8 in the way suggested by Hoffmann (though cf. below); but whether Luke redacted Q, by changing ‘I’ to ‘SM’, to create the present form of Luke 12.8 is another matter. The problem of determining Luke’s own eschatological beliefs is a wellknown conundrum in Lukan studies. The possibility that Luke held to a view of some kind of ‘individualised eschatology’ has been canvassed, and texts such as Luke 12.16–21; 16.19–31; 23.43 are well known in this context.33 But, as is also well known, there is a great deal of other eschatological material in Luke-Acts which does not fit such a pattern and which therefore makes it rather uncertain if we can pin Luke’s own eschatological beliefs down very precisely. In part, the problematic nature of Lukan eschatology is reflected in the SM sayings themselves. A wide variety of 31

Luke’s version speaks of killing the body only, not the body and soul. Cf. the references to ‘blaspheming’ in Luke 12.10 and in Acts 13.45; 18.6. 33 See J. T. Carroll, Response to the End of History. Eschatology and Situation in Luke-Acts (SBLDS 92; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 26–28, for a survey of views with further references; also my Luke (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), ch. 2. 32

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SM sayings appear in the Gospel (as well, of course, as Acts 7.56), and not all of them can easily be subsumed into the interpretive model proposed by Hoffmann. The reference to Luke’s well-known redaction of Mark 14.62 in Luke 22.69 may not provide very strong evidence for Hoffmann’s theory (though it is consistent with it). Luke famously does omit the parousia reference from Mark, and refers the saying to the post-Easter situation (presumably of the church). But nothing is said explicitly here about what role or function Jesus as SM will be exercising in this period. Indeed Luke generally is notoriously quiet (if not silent) about any positive role being played by the risen and ascended Jesus in the post-Easter situation. Jesus for Luke is in one way remarkably inactive: he ascends to heaven in Acts 1 and rarely seems to do very much thereafter in Luke’s story, leading one scholar to speak of an ‘absentee Christology’ in Acts.34 Acts 7.56 is one of the rare instances where Jesus does anything in the post-Easter situation, though one may also note Jesus’ appearing to Paul in his ‘conversion’ experience, and also the message given to Paul in Acts 18.10 that the Lord will be ‘with him’ (if indeed the ‘Lord’ here is Jesus rather than God). Admittedly Acts 7.56 is the only instance in Acts where Jesus is referred to as ‘SM’, but it remains an isolated occurrence. More to the point for the present purposes may be the fact that there are a number of other instances of SM sayings in Luke’s Gospel that do not seem to fit the redactional strategy proposed by Hoffmann. In Luke 9.27, Luke takes over the SM form of the saying in Mark 8.38, preserving unaltered Mark’s reference to the ‘coming’ of the SM, presumably at the parousia. (Despite any other small differences in the details, the ੖IJĮȞ ਩Ȝșૉ clause is retained by Luke.) As already noted, Mark 8.38 is widely regarded as another version of the same basic saying, alongside the Q version in Q 12.8. If, as suggested, Luke interpreted the Q version as a reference to Jesus’ advocacy on behalf of dying martyrs prior to any universal parousia, and redacted the Q saying by introducing a reference to Jesus as SM in order to highlight precisely this point, it is surely extremely odd that when faced with another version of the saying with a SM reference, Luke has clearly retained a rather different interpretation of the saying as a whole and of the SM reference in particular.35

34 C. F. D. Moule, ‘The Christology of Acts’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (FS P. Schubert; London: SPCK, 1966), 159–185, esp. pp. 179–180. 35 Cf. too W. Zager, Gottesherschaft und Endgericht in der Verkündigung Jesu (BZNW 82; Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 1996), 254–255, who also points out that, if the SM reference in Luke 12.8 is due to LukeR under the influence of Mark 8.38, it is slightly odd that Luke has not made such a change in the Q parallel to Mark 8.38 itself, viz. Luke 12.9.

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It is not easy to find support for Hoffmann’s interpretation of Luke’s understanding of the SM’s role in many of the other eschatological SM sayings in Luke. Luke retains the clear parousia reference to the SM ‘coming’ in Mark 13.26/Luke 21.27, with no evidence of an attempt to alter the basic idea. So too Luke has the eschatological SM sayings in Q (Q 12.40; 17.24, 26, 30 etc.) with again no clear evidence of any re-interpretation on his part. There are also a number of SM sayings peculiar to his Gospel. Their origin is clearly debatable though a strong case can, I believe, be made for a redactional origin for all of them.36 But even if Luke is using traditional sayings here, the fact that they are included in the Gospel must indicate a measure of agreement with his traditions on the part of Luke. Of these sayings, Luke 18.8 and 21.36 may be relevant here. Both are clearly eschatological, and both seem to presuppose a belief in the SM as a figure playing a prominent role in a final, universal judgment scene; moreover 21.36 (and probably 18.8) suggests that role as being that of a judge, rather than a witness.37 There is thus nothing in Luke-Acts, apart from Acts 7.56, to indicate that Luke thinks of the future SM sayings as referring to Jesus qua SM acting as witness in the heavenly court at the moment of an individual’s death; and there is quite a lot of evidence that Luke does still think of the future role of the SM as primarily connected with a final parousia event. The only real parallel to Hoffmann’s proposed interpretation of Luke 12.8 within Luke-Acts is the SM saying in Acts 7.56. But is this enough to establish the SM reference in Luke 12.8 as LukeR? Could Acts 7.56 have been the catalyst which led Luke to change Q 12.8 from an ‘I’ form to a ‘SM’ form? Such a theory might be easier in one way if Acts 7.56 were seen as a pre-Lukan tradition. But any problems about the possibly unusual nature of the idea of SM as witness would then simply shift from Luke 12 to Acts 7. In fact, the reference in Acts 7.56 can perhaps more easily be seen as LukeR.38 But could Luke have then created both the SM form of Q 12.8 and the saying in Acts 7.56? Such is of course possible, but given the lack of any supporting evidence elsewhere in Luke-Acts that this is a particular 36 See my ‘The Lukan Son of Man’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Luke’s Literary Achievement (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 198–217 (pp. 557–573 in this volume), esp. pp. 202–203 (below, pp. 560–561). Also G. Schneider, ‘“Der Menschensohn” in der lukanischen Christologie’, in R. Pesch & R. Schnackenburg (eds.), Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 267–282. 37 As indeed Hoffmann himself argues against Tödt: cf. ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 186–190 = Tradition, 228–231. On whether it is right to drive a wedge between the roles of witness and judge, see below. 38 See my ‘Lukan Son of Man’, 203 (below, p. 561), with further references. The SM reference in Acts 7.56 (cf. Luke 22.69) can be seen as part of the well-known broader set of parallels Luke develops between his accounts of the death of Jesus and the death of Stephen.

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Lukan interest in relation to the post-Easter activity of Jesus qua SM, and given the large amount of evidence suggesting that the post-Easter role of the SM is to be seen by Luke in terms of activity at a parousia event, Hoffmann’s suggested reconstruction of the tradition history must remain somewhat questionable. It may make better sense of the evidence to suppose that Acts 7.56 is a LukeR creation building on sayings ascribed to Jesus which come to Luke from his traditions (Q 12.8; Mark 14.62). Luke may have interpreted one aspect of his tradition in the way Hoffmann suggests. But it is hard to see both Luke 12.8 and Acts 7.56 as LukeR. Nothing elsewhere suggests that Luke had such a firm idea of Jesus’ role qua SM in the post-Easter situation that would have led Luke to change the form of Q 12.8 from ‘I’ to ‘SM’.39 Nor is it very much easier if the inspiration for Luke’s alleged change is thought to be the Markan form of the saying in Mark 8.38, as Hoffmann suggests. As we have already noted, Luke takes over Mark 8.38 without any great change to the SM reference at all in the saying. Certainly he does not alter the saying to align the ideas implied with the proposed scheme of Luke 12.8. Hoffmann’s proposal thus requires us to assume that Luke was significantly influenced by the Markan verse to introduce a change in Q 12.8, referring to a particular Lukan, non-Markan, idea (i.e. the SM acting as advocate at the moment of death) in that Q verse, but that Luke made no attempt to redact the Markan verse itself in the same way and left it basically unaltered. Such a redactional procedure seems hard to envisage without any evidence of LukeR interference in relation to Mark 8.38 itself along the lines suggested for Q 12.8.

3. How Unusual Would ‘Son of Man’ in Q 12.8 Have Been in Q? Hoffmann claims that the idea of the SM as witness (rather than judge) is an idea not paralleled elsewhere in Q and would therefore be highly unusual. He also claims that the use of SM in Luke 12.8 presupposes a Christological awareness and distinction not evidenced elsewhere in Q.40 I take the latter point first. Vielhauer had claimed that the distinction between ‘I’ and ‘SM’ in sayings like Q 12.8 could refer to two statuses, or two phases of activity, 39 At the end of his discussion in his 1991 essay, Hoffmann almost seems to concede the point, when he refers to the proposed new development of the SM idea as one ‘die mit der auch ihn [= Luke] leitenden Vorstellung vom MS-Weltenrichter … in einer gewissen Spannung steht’ (‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 193 = Tradition, 235). 40 See DQ, 214, 220–222 = NTS 44 (1998) 363–364.

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of the same person, rather than to two different people.41 Hoffmann agrees with Vielhauer at the level of Matthew and Luke. Thus Matt 19.28 distinguishes between the present time of the historical Jesus and Jesus’ role as SM in the future (cf. above). So too Luke can distinguish Christologically between the time of Jesus’ earthly ministry (as prophet in Israel, preaching the Kingdom) and the post-Easter situation (Jesus as Lord and Christ and SM at God’s right hand). Thus the idea of SM as a Christological indicator of Jesus’ future role would fit the Christology of Matthew and Luke; but it would not fit the Christology of Q for whom Jesus is SM also in his earthly ministry: what is probably the very next saying in Q (Q 12.10) speaks of ‘saying a word against the SM’ which probably refers to speaking against Jesus in the pre-Easter situation.42 Such an argument will however scarcely drive very much of a wedge between Q and Matthew/Luke! For exactly the same alleged counterevidence from Q, viz. Q 12.10, which is said to make such a Christological awareness very difficult in Q, is found in Matthew and Luke as well (Luke 12.10/Matt 12.32)!43 ‘SM’ is the earthly, present Jesus for Matthew and Luke quite as much as for Q. If such an idea is deemed to be difficult for Q, then precisely the same applies to Matthew and Luke as well. Conversely, if such a Christological distinction is deemed to be possible for Matthew and/or Luke, both of whom have eschatological and non-eschatological SM sayings side by side in their gospels, it must be no less possible for Q. What though of the theory that the idea of the SM as witness or advocate would be highly unusual within Q and also in relation to other nonChristian Jewish texts? One should first note that the number of nonChristian texts referring to a ‘SM’ figure are scarcely very extensive! And this is part of the reason why ‘the SM problem’ has been so intractable over the years: attempts to try to determine whether there was a fixed SM ‘title’ current at the time of Jesus have been heavily criticised in recent years precisely because of the lack of supporting evidence.44 Second, we may note that the distinction made between the SM as an advocate/witness

41

Ph. Vielhauer, ‘Jesus und der Menschensohn’, ZTK 60 (1963) 133–177, on p. 146. DQ, 221 = NTS 44 (1998) 363. 43 As indeed Hoffmann himself implicitly concedes: ‘… obwohl … sie [= Matthew and Luke] andererseits bereits auch den Ausdruck abgeschliffen als Selbstbezeichnung Jesu gebrauchen’ (DQ, 221 = NTS 44 [1998] 363). Why this cannot apply to Q as well is not clear! Cf. too Robinson’s critique of Hoffmann for rather arbitrarily restricting the possible meaning of SM in Q to an eschatological ‘title’ (in DQ, 241–242). 44 Cf. B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man (London: SPCK, 1983), ch. 1; D. R. A. Hare, The Son of Man Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), ch. 1. 42

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and the SM as judge may be a little forced since the two activities may well have been conceived as overlapping at times.45 More importantly, we may note that Q 12.8 as a SM saying is not necessarily so strange in relation to the other Q SM sayings and indeed in relation to other material in Q. The other future SM sayings in Q are notoriously vague and imprecise about the SM’s role in the judgment scene implied. Q 12.40 speaks only of the SM ‘coming’; Q 17.24, 26, 30 speak in rather general terms of the ‘day’ of the SM. All these texts have a threatening aspect, suggesting that the SM’s arrival may not be pleasant, but they do not go into any further details about what precisely the SM will be doing on that ‘day’. However, the idea of (Jesus as) a witness at the final judgment may be implied elsewhere in Q. Several have argued that Q 13.25–27 casts Jesus in the role of a witness at the final judgment rather than that of the judge himself.46 Further, there are a number of other Q sayings which presuppose other human beings being witnesses at the final judgment (cf. Q 11.31–32: the Queen of the South and the Ninevites; 22.28: the disciples; perhaps also 11.19: ‘your sons’).47 Thus the idea that Jesus might act as witness in the final judgment would not be out of place at all within Q. That Jesus might have had such a role in his capacity as SM for Q is also not impossible. Much depends here on the vexed question of the origin of the term within the Christian tradition and the significance seen in it by different people within the tradition. There is not enough space here to discuss the issue fully. However, I have sought to argue elsewhere that a case can be made for seeing the roots of Q’s SM language partly in the scene of Dan 7, partly too in a similar – and at times overlapping – development of traditions based ultimately on Isa 53 and surfacing in texts such as 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5.48 In this latter development, there is the motif of those who have been persecuted in turn facing their one-time persecutors in a post-mortem scene of judgment; and in 1 En. 62 at least, this development seems to have clearly linked up with an elaboration of the Dan 7 scene49 by naming the figure facing the one-time persecutors as the ‘SM’.50 45

D. Crump, Jesus the Intercessor. Prayer and Christology in Luke-Acts (WUNT 2.49; Tübingen: Mohr, 1992), 190. Hoffmann (in DQ, 227) allows that this might explain Luke’s picture but not that of Q. Again it is hard to see how one can distinguish between what is possible for Luke and for Q in this way without presupposing a monolithic idea of Q’s understanding of SM. 46 Cf. H. D. Betz, The Sermon on the Mount (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 554; Robinson, in DQ, 240 (on Matt 7.21–23), and others. 47 Robinson, in DQ, 240. 48 Q and the History, 266–276. 49 For the development of the Danielic tradition about the SM in later Jewish texts, see J. J. Collins, ‘The Son of Man in First Century Judaism’, NTS 38 (1992) 448–466, the

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Such a possible background for sayings like Q 12.8 need not involve the use of the term SM at all. The idea of the righteous sufferer facing his detractors in a later situation can be articulated without the use of the term SM, as Wisd 2–5 clearly indicates; further, some such background is surely required anyway to explain the substance of a saying such as Q 12.8, whether it was originally in a first person form or in a SM form.51 Hence the strength of the proposals which have gained ground in recent years that ‘SM’ in some sayings may not originally have had any ‘deep’, ‘titular’ sense at all, even in sayings like Q 12.8.52 This clearly has the merit of taking seriously the problems inherent in seeing SM as a well-established ‘title’ on its own, and also being mindful of the dangers of the confusion in semantics between denotation and connotation.53 Yet it may be that the reaction against a titular sense to the term SM is in danger of swinging too far the other way. If one is right to see a part of the background for the ideas implied in sayings like Q 12.8 in texts such as Dan 7 and 1 En. 62, and given that in Q one is (probably) dealing with a Greek text where the phrase ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ is a highly unusual one in Greek, then the coincidence between Q 12.8 and Dan 7/1 En. 62 in using SM language becomes almost unbearable if it is only coincidence.54 Rather it may be that the phrase ‘SM’ in the saying can also be one part of the linguistic and ideological links that connected the saying to the stream of ideas developing at this time and emerging in texts such as 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5. Such a theory may also go some way to resolving the well-known tension between Q 12.8–9 and Q 12.10. SM need not necessarily be a ‘title’ in material of which reappears in his The Scepter and the Star. The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 173–194. 50 In 1 En. 62, the SM figure may well be a heavenly counterpart representing the persecuted ones. 51 For the idea that judgment would be effected by someone other than God (e.g. a special human being), cf. Test. Abr. 13 (Abel), or 11QMelch (Melchizedek); cf. my Q and the History, 267–268; also D. Zeller, ‘Entrückung zur Ankunft als Menschensohn (Lk 13,34 f.; 11,29 f.)’, in À cause de l’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; LD 123; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 513–530. 52 This is the view of Robinson, following Hare (with related views expressed by Casey, Lindars, Vermes and others). More broadly within Q, see his fuller discussion in ‘The Son of Man in the Sayings Gospel Q’, in C. Elsas et al. (eds.), Tradition und Translation. Zum Problem der interkulturellen Übersetzbarkeit religiöser Phänomene. Festschrift für Carsten Colpe (Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 1994), 315–335. Robinson here distinguishes between earlier stages in the Q tradition (when SM may have been used to express a normal Aramaic idiom) and later stages (when it may have taken on something of the nuance of an apocalyptic ‘title’). 53 Robinson, in DQ, 200–202, with reference especially to Hare. 54 Cf. my Q and the History, 273, especially against the theories of Lindars, who argues that sayings like Q 12.8 draw on the ideas implicit in Dan 7 but not on the phrase ‘SM’ itself.

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the sense of a reference to an eschatological judging figure alone. It is partly this assumption which makes the contrast between the sayings so problematic.55 One way to resolve part of the problem would be to claim that SM here means little if anything more than ‘I’, or a reference by the speaker to himself as a human being.56 On the other hand, a little more ‘substance’ to the term SM may give just as good, if not better, sense. If ‘SM’ can evoke the whole ‘story line’ (or ‘myth’) of Isa 53 as developed in 1 Enoch and/or Wisd 2–5, and also Dan 7, whereby the suffering righteous is/are given a role in a judgment scene facing their one-time opponents, then SM language can be seen as appropriate in situations of judgment and in situations of ‘persecution’ or hostility. Q 12.8–9 (with ‘SM’) would fit the former, Q 12.10 the latter. Certainly too it is striking that all the other ‘present’ SM sayings in Q can be seen to relate to contexts of hostility and rejection being experienced by Jesus and/or his followers (cf. Q 6.22; 7.34; 9.58; probably 11.30).57 Far from being out of place within Q, Q 12.8, with a reference to Jesus as SM, can be integrated with other Q traditions relatively easily and coherently.

4. Could the ‘Son of Man’ Reference Be Due to MarkR? Hoffmann argues that the real originator of the SM form of the saying in the tradition may have been Mark. Mark may have added the SM reference to his version of the saying in Mark 8.38, under the influence of the Danielic tradition as interpreted through e.g. Mark 13.26–27, whereby the SM now has an angelic retinue (cf. Mark 8.38, the SM coming with the angels).58 As in the case of possible LukeR, it is not quite so easy to see all this as MarkR. How characteristic of Mark is the SM language here? One can of course point to the Markan apocalypse in Mark 13 as providing some parallel; but elsewhere in Mark, SM is used predominantly in relation to 55

So rightly Robinson, in DQ, 206. One must however say that the problem is only partly related to the SM term itself: for the tension arises as much from what is said about attitudes to the person of Jesus himself (whatever term is used to refer to him). Cf. Hoffmann’s similar point about possible tension in Matthew over whether the SM is a witness or a judge (see n. 26 above). However, here the tension is apparently even greater: witness and judge could be seen as complementary, whereas here it is a question of whether negative attitudes to Jesus are forgivable (so Q 12.10) or not (so apparently Q 12.9). 56 So Robinson. Cf. also the views of Hare, Vermes, Casey, Lindars etc. (though each has a slightly different nuance to ‘the’ Aramaic idiom proposed). 57 See my Q and the History, 253–266. 58 DQ, 236–238 = NTS 44 (1998) 377–378.

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Jesus’ suffering (cf. Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.33, 45 etc.). What is characteristic of Markan SM language is not so much to develop the idea of angelic retinues,59 but to speak of the suffering of the SM. The place of eschatology in Mark is notoriously unclear, but parallels to Mark 8.38 can only be found in 13.26–27 and 14.62, and how dominant all this is in Mark’s understanding is debated.60 We may also note here that Mark made no attempt to introduce any such SM language elsewhere in his tradition in similar contexts, notably in Mark 3.28 (the Markan parallel to Q 12.10): the threat of divine sanction or promise of forgiveness is left in an indeterminate third person. According to Hoffmann, Mark must have added the SM reference and then perhaps confused the issue more by combining this implicitly with his (characteristic) Son of God Christology with the reference to ‘the Father’. This does however make for a very complex development and ascribes a great deal to Mark’s creativity. Certainly a strong case can be made for Son of God being a key Christological term for Mark (cf. Mark 1.1, 11; 8.29; 14.62; 15.39). But then it might be easier and simpler to see the Christological mixture implied in Mark 8.38 as due to Mark’s imposing on his tradition a single Christological qualification, i.e. Son of God by implication being imposed on SM, rather than Mark creating both the SM reference and the qualification implying that Jesus is also Son of God.61 This would then suggest that the saying came to Mark from his tradition already in a SM form. And this in turn might support the theory that Q too knew the saying in a SM form.62 * 59 Mark 14.62, the only other eschatological SM saying in Mark, has no angelic retinue for the SM. 60 Contrast, for example, E. Schweizer, ‘Eschatology in Mark’s Gospel’, in E. E. Ellis & R. McL. Wilson (eds.), Neotestamentica et Semitica (FS M. Black; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 114–118, with W. Marxsen, Mark the Evangelist (Nashville: Abingdon, 1969). 61 Cf. M. Horstmann, Studien zur markinischen Christologie (NTAbh 6; Münster: Aschendorff, 1969), 54; H. Räisänen, The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), 181, and others. 62 An appeal to the Markan form of the saying as evidence for the wording of Q has long been part of the traditional arguments in favour of SM being in Q here (see Hoffmann, in DQ, 215 = NTS 44 [1998] 359). Hoffmann argues that such an appeal may be obviated if Mark 8.38 is regarded as secondary to Q 12.8, as most do now. (‘Obwohl sich in der Forschung die Einsicht durchsetzte, daß Mk 8,38 gegenüber der Q-Überlieferung als sekundär zu gelten hat …’) But although Mark 8.38 may be secondary in some details, this does not necessarily mean that it is secondary in every respect. Mark and Q are probably independent of each other (cf. n. 9 above) and hence both versions may preserve primitive elements.

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Hoffmann has made a strong case for the theory that Matthew’s ‘I’ form preserves the Q wording. However, the above arguments have suggested that (i) Matthew’s ‘I’ form can still be adequately explained as MattR, and that a SM form here might have caused Matthew some difficulty, (ii) the SM form in Luke 12.8 cannot easily be explained as a LukeR creation aligning it with Acts 7.56, given the presence of eschatological SM sayings elsewhere in Luke (especially in Luke 9.27/Mark 8.38), (iii) if Q 12.8 were in a SM form, this would cohere well with other SM sayings in Q, and (iv) the Markan parallel in Mark 8.38 might also be more easily explained if the saying were already in a SM form prior to Mark. All these considerations would therefore support the IQP’s majority (albeit not unanimous) decision to read SM in Q 12.8. 25

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XII Q 22.28–30 The saying in Q 22.28–30 has been something of an exegetical step-child in recent Q-research. The saying has attracted more than its fair share of attention in studies of the historical Jesus.1 Yet in studies of Q it has perhaps been more notable for the lack of attention it has received. The saying is regularly included in lists specifying what is taken as comprising the contents of Q; yet discussion of it is usually brief and is not often integrated into broader analyses of the ideas or distinctive features of Q.2 In his magisterial study of Q, David Catchpole gave only three passing references to the saying, 3 and this has been typical of some of the (by now classic)

1 Cf., for example, E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985), 98–104; R. A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 199–208, to name but two. A detailed discussion of the tradition history of the saying is provided by J. Dupont, ‘Le logion des douze trônes (Mt 19,28; Lc 22,28–30)’, Bib 45 (1964) 355– 392, repr. in idem, Études sur les évangiles synoptiques. Part2 (BETL 70B; Leuven: Leuven Universtiy Press & Peeters, 1985), 706–743 (references here to the latter), though without any discussion of the place of the saying in Q: Dupont considers only the contexts of Matthew, Luke and Jesus. 2 There have been one or two exceptions. The saying was the basis of the relatively early essay of E. Bammel, ‘Das Ende von Q’, in O. Böcher & K. Haacker (eds.), Verborum Veritas. Festschrift für Gustav Stählin zum 70. Geburtstag (Wuppertal: Brockhaus, 1970), 39–50, which sought to use the saying as the basis for his theory that Q should be seen as a ‘testimony’. However, in this he has found few supporters. His theory depended heavily on ascribing the ‘testamentary’ language of Luke 22.29 to Q, even though there is no direct parallel to this in Matthew (on this, see below); also many of the characteristics of a ‘testament’ are lacking in Q. For a critique, see J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 29–30; A. Kirk, The Composition of the Sayings Source. Genre, Synchrony and Wisdom Redaction in Q (NovTSup 91; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 18, with further references. More recently, see H. Fleddermann, ‘The End of Q’, SBL 1990 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 1–10; and one important aspect of the saying is analysed in detail by P. Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher in oder Richter über Israel? Mt 19,28/Lk 22,28–30 in der synoptischen Überlieferung’, in K. Wengst & G. Saß (eds.), Ja und Nein. Christliche Theologie im Angesicht Israels (FS W. Schrage; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1998), 253–264. 3 D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 45, 164, 290.

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full-length recent studies of Q (e.g. Lührmann, Hoffmann, Kloppenborg).4 Some have cast doubts on whether the saying should be regarded as part of Q at all.5 Nevertheless, a recent volume in the Documenta Q series has devoted 465 pages to documenting and assessing scholarly views about these verses and concluding that the saying in some form was part of Q. 6 Further, given the (probable) position of the saying as the ‘last word’ in Q, and the general importance which any conclusion to a text has,7 it is perhaps surprising that the saying has not generated more discussion than it has. In one way, the relative silence about the saying may be understandable. There is considerable uncertainty about the exact Q wording of the saying, what the saying contained, and even for some (cf. above) doubt about whether the saying actually belonged to Q at all. Nevertheless, despite the inevitably hazardous nature of the attempt to reconstruct the wording of any Q tradition in a very detailed way, the problems surrounding Q 22.28– 30 seem in general terms to be no more complex than those concerning many other Q sayings even if complete precision in the reconstruction of the saying may be impossible. As far as the existence of the saying in Q is concerned, the all but verbatim agreement between Matthew and Luke in the last part of the saying (Luke 22.30b/Matt 19.28: ‘you will sit on [twelve?]8 thrones judging 4 If there is ‘blame’ to be apportioned, then I would plead equally ‘guilty’, having recently burdened others with a book on Q of nearly 500 pages and with only a single passing reference to Q 22.28–30: C. M. Tuckett, Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 163. 5 Cf. in recent times, M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 23; R. Uro, ‘Apocalyptic Symbolism and Social Identity in Q’, in idem (ed.), Symbols and Strata. Essays on the Sayings Source Q (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 67– 118, on pp. 78–79; U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 18–25) (EKKNT I/3; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1997), 121. As symptomatic of the general uncertainty about the saying within Q, one may refer to one of the more recent attempts to provide a comprehensive analysis of all the material assigned to Q, viz. A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel. An Introduction to Q (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992), 248, who concludes his discussion of the saying by stating that ‘If we could be sure that Q 22:28, 30b was in Q, and if we could know its location, it might shed much light on the theology of Q. Unfortunately, there are too many uncertainties to make any such inferences.’ 6 P. Hoffmann et al. (eds.), Documenta Q. Q 22:28, 30 You Will Judge the Twelve Tribes of Israel (Leuven: Peeters, 1998). For the discussion of whether the saying belonged to Q at all, see pp. 4–68 (with full documentation of competing views and also evaluations: all the evaluators agree that the saying should be seen as part of Q). For a much briefer summary of scholarly views on the issue of whether the saying was in Q, see J. S. Kloppenborg, Q Parallels. Synopsis, Critical Notes & Concordance (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1988), 202. 7 Cf. Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 1. 8 It seems very unlikely that Q contained ‘twelve’ here. The word at this point would seem to indicate an audience of precisely twelve disciples. Q elsewhere gives no indica-

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the twelve tribes of Israel’) is surely enough to guarantee the status of the saying as part of Q, at least in general terms.9 The doubts of others about the presence of the saying in Q have in part focused on the allegedly anomalous nature of some other elements of the saying, e.g. the possible reference to ‘my (= Jesus’) kingdom’.10 However, this (a) depends on the disputed reconstruction of other parts of the saying, and (b) in any case rather prejudges the issue of what Q ‘must’ (or ‘cannot’) contain before one decides about the wording of individual sayings in Q. Here, however, it is probable that Q did not contain a reference to ‘my (= Jesus’) kingdom’ (cf. below), so one of the objections to the saying’s being part of Q may not be very strong. Other doubts about the presence of the saying in Q have focused on the apparent lack of any clear context for the saying.11 However, the evidence does probably indicate a reasonably clear context for the saying as the final saying in Q, coming immediately after the parable of the talents/pounds (see below). The wording of the rest of the saying is very uncertain, and almost certainly some redactional interference has taken place by both Matthew and Luke. Certainly Luke’s version of the saying in Luke 22.28–30 has long been suspected of having been adapted secondarily, probably by Luke. In Luke’s v. 30, the slight mismatch between ‘eating and drinking’ in v. 30a and ‘judging’ in v. 30b,12 as well as the grammatical change from a ੆ȞĮ clause with subjunctives (਩ıșȘIJİ țĮ੿ ʌȓȞȘIJİ) to a future indicative (țĮșȒıİıșİ), all combine to suggest that the two halves of the present Lukan verse have different origins. Given the ease with which v. 30a fits the present Lukan context of the discourse at the Last Supper, it is probably simplest to presume that v. 30a is a LukeR addition to a previously existing v. 30b in Luke’s source material.13

tion of the existence of the Twelve as a distinct group among the disciples of Jesus. The word in Matthew is probably due to MattR. See the survey of views and the evaluations in Documenta Q, 380–425. 9 Hence pace Uro, ‘Apocalyptic Symbolism’, 79: ‘the verbal agreement is scarce’; similarly, Sato, Q und Prophetie, 23: ‘die Wortübereinstimmung ist im ganzen recht gering’. 10 Cf. e.g. Uro, ‘Apocalyptic Symbolism’, 79. 11 So Luz and Uro, as in n. 5 above. 12 Pace Kirk, Composition, 290–292, who seeks to show that the two are often connected in other texts; however, the examples he cites do not seem to imply any integral relation between the two sets of activity. 13 See D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Poor on Earth and the Son of Man in Heaven. A Reappraisal of Matthew XXV.31–46’, BJRL 61 (1979) 355–397, on p. 375; Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 4; also Documenta Q, 216–295, with full documentation of alternative views.

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Luke’s v. 29 is probably also most easily explained, at least for the most part, as due to LukeR.14 In Luke’s v. 28, Luke’s Ƞੂ įȚĮȝİȝİȞȘțȩIJİȢ may be LukeR and Matthew’s Ƞੂ ਕțȠȜȠȣșȒıĮȞIJİȢ may preserve the Q wording,15 though the issue may not be so important here. Matthew’s explicit SM reference in Matt 19.28 may also be redactional,16 though as we shall see, the saying is integrally related to ideas associated with the use of the term SM elsewhere in Q. The only other remaining issue about the wording concerns the phrase ਥȞ IJૌ ȕĮıȚȜİȓ઺ ȝȠȣ in Luke 22.30. The ȝȠȣ is widely regarded as a foreign element in Q and at home in LukeR;17 but it is uncertain if a phrase ਥȞ IJૌ ȕĮıȚȜİȓ઺ (i.e. IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨) was present in Q (perhaps a vestige of which is still visible in the ਥȞ IJૌ of Matthew’s ਥȞ IJૌ ʌĮȜȚȖȖİȞİıȓ઺).18 This is possible though such a conclusion can only be tentative given the sparse nature of the evidence. In sum, despite the uncertainty about the other details, it seems certain that the saying was part of Q and that it contained one key element in the promise to the followers of Jesus that they would ‘sit on thrones’ and exercise a royal/judging function, ‘judging the twelve tribes of Israel’.

14 Catchpole, ‘Poor on Earth’, 375–376, has argued for the presence of the verse in Q, claiming that it would provide a rough parallel, consisting of Christological material, to Matthew’s Son of Man (henceforth ‘SM’) reference in Matt 19.28 (the SM sitting on his throne of glory). But the latter, which is almost certainly MattR (as Catchpole himself agrees and argues persuasively for), does not necessarily require the presence of Luke 22.29 in Q to explain its existence in Matthew. Some of Catchpole’s other points are (persuasive!) arguments against the possibility that Matthew’s SM version might represent Q. The covenantal language (cf. the use of įȚĮIJȓșȘȝȚ) is perhaps more easily seen as LukeR in light of e.g. Luke 1.72; 22.20; Acts 3.25; 7.8 (cf. Dupont, ‘Logion’, 711; Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 4; cf. too Hoffmann, in Documenta Q, 292). Catchpole seeks to distinguish between some of these other texts as referring to the Abrahamic or Mosaic covenant and the present verse as referring to a Davidic royal idea. This may be true, though the link with Luke 22.20 seems particularly telling (cf. Fleddermann); and since the placement of the saying in the context of the Last Supper may be LukeR (cf. below: Q certainly had no account of the Last Supper), it may be easier to see this verbal/ conceptual link here as also LukeR. 15 Documenta Q, 154–195, especially Hoffmann’s Evaluation on pp. 191–195; for the Lukan nature of įȚĮȝȑȞȦ (cf. Luke’s fondness for the use of ȝȑȞȦ and for įȚȐ compounds), cf. too Dupont, ‘Logion’, 713–714; Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 2–3. 16 Catchpole, ‘Poor on Earth’, 375; Documenta Q, 336–379. 17 Cf. Luke 23.42 and the general stress in Luke on Jesus’ kingship: cf. A. George, ‘La royauté de Jésus selon l’évangile de Luc’, in idem, Études sur l’œuvre de Luc (Paris: Gabalda, 1978), 257–282; M. L. Strauss, The Davidic Messiah in Luke-Acts (JSNTSup 110; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). 18 See the discussion in Documenta Q, 296–335. One of the evaluators, J. M. Robinson, tentatively suggests that Q might have contained a reference to the ‘Kingdom’ (i.e. of God) here (pp. 331–335: cf. too Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 5), though the other main evaluator (P. Hoffmann) regards the question as indeterminate (pp. 324–331).

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The precise meaning of țȡȓȞȦ here, and whether it means ‘judging’ or ‘ruling over’, has always been a key issue of debate in the interpretation of the saying. 19 It also seems clear that, at least in the context of Q, the use of țȡȓȞȦ in the saying does refer to ‘judging’ in a discriminatory way and not just to ‘governing’.20 Within Q, țȡȓȞȦ/țȡȓıȚȢ seems to refer to judgment, often to the final judgment (cf. Q 10.12; 11.19; also 6.37), and the saying in Q 22.30 clearly coheres closely with e.g. Q 11.31–32 which refer to others from the past (the Queen of the South and the people of Nineveh) ‘condemning’ ‘this generation’ at the ‘judgment’. The reference is clearly to an act of (negative) discriminatory judgment, not just ruling over or governing. Thus whilst the saying in Q 22.30 might have been meant more generally, or positively, in an earlier stage of the tradition, and almost certainly did at the later stage of Luke’s use of the tradition, it would seem that, for Q at least, the saying does refer to an act of final judgment.21 As far as the context is concerned, the evidence suggests that this was the final saying in Q.22 In Luke, the saying constitutes the last piece of Q material in the Gospel, following the eschatological discourse of Q 17 and the parable of the pounds (Luke 19); and Luke is generally thought to preserve the order of Q more faithfully than Matthew. In Matthew, the eschatological material from Q 17 is interwoven (in a typically Matthean way) with Markan material in Matt 24; the parable of the talents (the Matthean equivalent of Luke’s parable of the pounds) comes in Matt 25.14–29 and this is followed by Matthew’s parable of the sheep and the goats, introduced by the SM saying in 25.31 which is clearly very close to Matthew’s version of the Q saying of Q 22.28 in Matt 19.28 in referring to the ‘SM 19 See the survey of views in W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume III (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 55–56, though without always distinguishing clearly between the possible meaning at different levels of the tradition. It is above all the merit of the articles of Dupont (‘Logion’) and Hoffmann (‘Herrscher’) to show clearly that the word may have been taken differently by different authors at the various stages in the tradition. 20 Pace Jacobson, First Gospel, 247–248; Horsley, as in n. 1; also his ‘Social Conflict in the Synoptic Sayings Source Q’, in J. S. Kloppenborg (ed.), Conflict and Invention. Literary, Rhetorical and Social Studies on the Sayings Gospel Q (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1995), 37–52, on p. 38; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 3.55–56. 21 See J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Conflict and Invention. Recent Studies on Q’, in idem (ed.), Conflict (see previous note), 1–14, on pp. 12–13, in relation to Horsley. (Horsley’s original claim [as in n. 1] was about the possible meaning of the saying at the level of the historical Jesus, though he has mostly simply repeated this in his later essays on Q as applying to Q as well.) Also Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 7–8; Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher’, 263. For the meaning of ‘governing’ as more likely in Luke, cf. Dupont, ‘Logion’, 730–732; Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher’, 258–262. 22 See Catchpole, ‘Poor on Earth’, 373–374; Documenta Q, 69–141 (all the evaluators agree that the saying should be regarded as coming at the end of Q).

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sitting on his throne’, thus perhaps revealing a Matthean reminiscence of the original Q order. The likelihood is then that here, as elsewhere, Luke may preserve the Q order more faithfully. Hence the saying constitutes the final saying in Q, offering as it were a commentary on the eschatological material of Q 17 and Q 19. All this suggests that the saying occupied a key role in the literary structure of Q as a whole: it constitutes the final word, in a sense interpreting and putting in context all that has gone before. In terms of the broader structure of Q, the saying can be viewed in a number of different ways, depending on one’s view of any structuring in Q itself. If one is right to see the saying as forming the conclusion of Q after the eschatological material in Q 17 and Q 19, then it can be seen as a clarification of the reward promised to the ‘faithful/profitable servants’ of the parable of the pounds.23 The saying has also been seen as forming an inclusio with Q 12.2–12 as part of a macro-ring-composition comprising Q 12.2–22.30.24 Thus the promise to judge others picks up the motif of being judged by others (12.11–12), the promise of 22.30 can be regarded as fulfilling the promises of 12.8–9 etc. However, the parallels in Q are not perhaps closest with this particular passage. There is for example little verbal overlap with 12.11–12; and, as we shall see, despite a close relationship between the ideas of 12.8–9 and 22.30, the latter verse goes one step significantly further than the earlier saying in Q 12. Even Kirk himself concedes that the unit he attempts to isolate here may exhibit less of a chiastic ring form with parallels between corresponding elements, and more of a linear progression, indicating a development and change in thought.25 Perhaps more relevant might be the similarity which the saying exhibits with the opening section of Q in 3.7–9, highlighting the theme of judgment (which is on any showing a very important theme in Q). Alternatively, one could see the promise by Jesus at the end of Q in 22.30 as similar to, and expanding, the promise made by Jesus at the start of his preaching in Q, viz. in the Beatitudes of Q 6.20–23, promising the ‘Kingdom’ to the poor, the mourners and the hungry who, in the final beatitude, are clearly identified with the followers of Jesus.26 In any case, the links 23

The links between these two traditions are well highlighted by Catchpole, ‘Poor on Earth’, 373–374. 24 Kirk, Composition, 294–297. 25 Kirk, Composition, 294: ‘… the rhetoric of this section follows the course of an intelligible linear progression, beginning with the opening maxim (12:2) and moving incrementally through sequenced units to culminate in 22:30’ (my stress). 26 Cf. A. Järvinen, ‘The Son of Man and His Followers. A Q Portrait of Jesus’, in D. Rhoads & K. Syreeni (eds.), Characterization in the Gospels. Reconceiving Narrative Criticism (JSNTSup184; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 180–222, on pp. 194–196. The connection between the two would be even closer if Q 22.30 did indeed have a reference to the ‘Kingdom’ (cf. above).

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show that the saying probably occupies a key position within Q’s overall structure and hence failure to take full account of its implications may lead to an incomplete picture of Q as a whole. In order to see what place the saying has within the broader context of Q, it will be necessary to consider that broader context in a little more detail. Recent research on Q has reached a measure of widespread agreement that a dominant feature of Q is the polemic against ‘this generation’ and the threat of judgment, all encompassed within a deuteronomistic view of history. According to this view, God has continually sent his prophets to Israel but Israel has regularly rejected them and inflicted violence on them, acts which God has punished and will continue to punish if the people do not repent. Many have suggested that the Q Christians viewed themselves as in a line of continuity with Israel’s prophetic messengers of the past, all of whom suffered rejection and violence. Q thus seems to reflect a situation of Christians who have sought to address their fellow Jews but have met with rebuff and rejection and who have then interpreted that rejection as similar to the fate experienced by the prophets of Israel in the past (cf. especially Q 6.23 where this is quite explicit; also 11.49–51; 13.34–35). The Q Christians thus perceive themselves to be in a rather marginalised situation, alienated in part from the rest of society and suffering rejection, abuse and possibly violence. What the precise nature of the relationship between the Christian group and their Jewish contemporaries was remains unclear; indeed it may well be that the situation would have been perceived differently by different parties at the time. Some have argued that the breach between the Christian group and the Jewish community was so final that the Q Christians had given up all hope of dialogue, had turned their backs on the Jews in favour of a Gentile mission, and claimed that all that remained for the Jews was judgment.27 Others have argued that the breach may not have been as severe, and that, at least for the Q Christians, the aim was to maintain the links with the Jewish community with very little idea of a Christian ‘church’, separate from and distinct from the Jewish community, ever in mind.28 What level of violence the Christian group was experiencing is also unclear. Some have claimed that intense physical violence, and even violent death itself, was being experienced. I myself have tried to argue that the violence itself may not have been quite so intense, amounting to a certain amount of verbal abuse and hostility, but not necessarily involving 27 Cf. D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 30–31, 93; Kloppenborg, Formation, 148, 167 and others. See the discussion e.g. on the meaning of ‘this generation’ in Q in Tuckett, Q and the History, 196–201, also the next note. 28 See Catchpole, Quest, passim; also Tuckett, Q and the History, 425–450.

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any great physical danger.29 But whatever the ultimate aims of the Christian group, and whatever the precise nature of the present situation, it would seem that the Q Christians thought of themselves as ‘persecuted’, rejected and experiencing the same kind of hostility as had been experienced by Israel’s prophetic messengers in the past. The Q Christians thus perceived themselves to be in some kind of ‘liminal’ situation.30 Part of the rationale for Q may then have been to provide some kind of strategy of ‘legitimation’, providing a kind of ‘symbolic universe’, to ‘explain’ the situation for the readers/hearers, to make some kind of sense of it and perhaps to provide some hope for the future which would resolve the perceived ills of the present and put them right.31 One way in which Q seems to do this is by making the case that the Q Christians are not unique. Both Jesus and others have trodden the same path so that any unpleasant experiences of the present are nothing new. Indeed this is the whole basis for evoking the deuteronomic scheme of history at all. This is clear in Q 11.49–51 and Q 13.34–35: the whole history of Israel has been characterised by a constant stream of rejected prophets. And in Q 6.22–23 the parallel with the present is quite explicit. Christian followers of Jesus will suffer various times of persecution, abuse, rejection etc., and the final clause (v. 23c) states that this is just what has happened to the prophets in the past.

29

Tuckett, Q and the History, 296–323. On the idea of a ‘liminal’, or marginalised, situation, see especially the work of Victor Turner, e.g. his The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977), 94–130. The idea of ‘liminality’ has been used by a number of NT scholars in recent years. Here the idea is used in a more metaphorical way: for a useful analysis, see S. R. Bechtler, Following in His Steps. Suffering, Community and Christology in 1 Peter (SBLDS 162; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 118–126. (Bechtler applies such a model to 1 Peter, but much of his approach can be equally fruitfully applied to Q.) I am less persuaded by the use of the category of ‘liminality’ to throw light on Q in the article by A. Kirk, ‘Crossing the Boundary. Liminality and Transformative Wisdom in Q’, NTS 45 (1999) 1–18. Kirk claims that an essential feature of ‘wisdom’ instruction is to place the hearers in a ‘liminal’ situation to make them more prepared to accept the new wisdom of the teacher. In this way Kirk seeks to resolve some of the tension felt by others between the strident judgmental preaching of John the Baptist in Q 3 and the calmer tones of the teaching of Jesus in Q 6, thus obviating any need to ascribe the two sets of sayings to different strata within Q. The question of the need to posit strata within Q is perhaps another issue; but Kirk’s analysis ignores the fact that the audiences of John in Q 3 and of Jesus in Q 6 are not the same: John is preaching to people who are not followers of Jesus, whereas Jesus is addressing those who are. 31 On the idea of the ‘symbolic universe’ as well as ‘legitimation’, see P. Berger & T. Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality. A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (New York: Anchor, 1966), 110–146. Also Bechtler, Following, 30–39. 30

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However, the theme of the rejected prophets is part of a broader complex of motifs in Q. The prophets who suffer violence are the messengers of Wisdom (cf. especially Q 11.49–51 cf. too 7.31–35). Also several of the passages which employ this complex of motifs, severally or singly, refer to Jesus as ‘SM’ in this context. In many of these texts, the experience of Jesus as SM serves as a prototype for the suffering and hostility experienced by his later followers. This is hinted at in the last beatitude of 6.22– 23: the suffering endured by the followers of Jesus is suffering endured ‘for the sake of the SM’.32 It then comes out probably in the parable of the playing children in Q 7.31–35, where Jesus as SM is set in parallel with the figure of John the Baptist as one suffering hostility and rejection, and also by implication with Jesus’ followers (implied in the reference to Wisdom’s children in v. 35).33 Similarly, the missionary discourse is preceded by the SM saying of 9.58 (‘the SM has nowhere to lay his head’), which thus acts as an important interpretative key for the discourse itself: the experience of the SM will be the lot of his followers as well.34 All this then reinforces what was said some years ago by Gerd Theissen in his study The First Followers of Jesus, arguing that the SM sayings in the tradition serve to create a ‘structural homologue’ between the situation of Jesus and that of his followers.35 Despite some of the criticisms levelled against Theissen (e.g. on using all strands of the gospels too indiscriminately and assuming too uniform a role of ‘wandering charismatics’), his thesis does seem to apply well to the use of ‘SM’ in Q: the SM acts as a paradigmatic figure in Q, giving an example of what followers of Jesus may expect in their own lives. And indeed this conformity between Jesus and his followers is indicated elsewhere in Q, apart from the SM sayings. The end of the mission instructions in Q 10.16 states that there is a quasi-identity between those sent out and Jesus who sends them out (‘whoever hears/receives you hears/ receives me’), perhaps forming an inclusio with the start of the discourse and the SM saying in 9.58. The temptation story in Q 4.1–13 probably sets Jesus up as a paradigmatic figure to be imitated in his commitment and obedience to God and to God’s word in scripture.36 So too the fate which the follower of Jesus can expect is the cross, exactly mirroring the fate of 32 There is widespread agreement that Luke’s reference to ‘SM’ here is more original than Matthew’s ‘for the sake of me’. Cf. Catchpole, Quest, 93. 33 See Järvinen, ‘Son of Man’, 201–202. 34 Kloppenborg, Formation, 192; also my Q and the History, 183; Uro, ‘Apocalyptic Symbolism’, 108–109; Järvinen, ‘Son of Man’, 132–136. 35 G. Theissen, The First Followers of Jesus (London: SCM, 1978), 24–29; also Järvinen, ‘Son of Man’, passim. 36 See my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume).

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Jesus (Q 14.27). The (isolated?) saying in Q 6.40 spells all this out explicitly if cryptically: the disciple should be like his teacher.37 However, all this on its own does only little to alleviate any suffering felt in the present. Such sayings note the existence of suffering and may seek to ‘legitimate’ it at one level by placing it in a broader context of similar suffering experienced by others. Thus those suffering may not feel quite so isolated and alone. Nevertheless the suffering is not explained very much and not necessarily really alleviated. However, in the case of Jesus, and especially Jesus in his role as SM, the statement that Jesus as SM is one who suffers rejection and hostility is by no means the end of the story. The sayings implying such hostility and rejection are balanced by sayings which look to the future. Jesus as SM is the one who will play an active role in the final judgment (cf. especially 12.8–938) when he comes suddenly and unexpectedly (12.40) on his ‘day’ (17.23 ff.). The precise role of Jesus as SM is debatable, with a possible distinction between activity as a witness (cf. 12.8) and activity as judge, though the two are probably not easy to distinguish. Further, the idea of Jesus as the coming SM in judgment is one that clearly has key significance for Q and may well be implied in several places even where the term ‘SM’ itself is not used. Thus it is almost certainly implied in the references to ‘the coming one’. Catchpole has shown very clearly how Q – and moreover what is almost certainly Q editorial activity – has invested a great deal of effort, especially in the material about John the Baptist, in indicating that Jesus is indeed the ‘coming one’ of John’s preaching whose coming will be at the final judgment.39 Thus John announces the future activity of this figure (3.7–9); the question is explicitly raised later as to whether this figure is Jesus (7.19); by implication the question is answered positively by Q’s Jesus, and indeed in a real sense Jesus (as SM!) already ‘has come’ (7.34). Yet his activity as ‘the coming one’ is also still future at a time when a positive response may be too late (13.35). Yet what is the purpose of this material within Q? Very often it is said that the matter is one of Christological concern, and the whole complex of ideas is tied up with Q’s Christology. 40 In one sense this is of course undeniable: Q is concerned with Jesus – after all Q, like all the gospels,

37

Cf. also Fleddermann, ‘End of Q’, 9–10. Assuming, as with most, that a reference to ‘SM’ is more original than Matthew’s ‘I’ version. See e.g. D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Angelic Son of Man in Luke 12:8’, NovT 24 (1982) 255–265; also my ‘Q 12,8 Once Again – “Son of Man” or “I”?’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson, K. de Troyer, M. V. Meyer (eds.), From Quest to Q (FS J. M. Robinson; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000), 171–188 (pp. 232–249 in this volume). 39 See Catchpole, Quest, 60–78. 40 Cf. Catchpole, Quest, 69. 38

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represents the teaching of Jesus.41 Yet modern gospel study has taught us to be alert to the possibility that the gospel writers, and earlier Christian tradents of the Jesus tradition, were not recording the past just for the sake of it. The teaching of Jesus in the past was thought to be relevant for, and to relate to, the needs of the Christians recording it. The same may then be just as true with the SM (and related) material in Q. The concern may thus have as much to do with the Christian community as with Christology. The story line implicit in the SM sayings in Q is almost certainly no bolt from the blue in terms of tradition history. I have tried to argue elsewhere that the SM sayings in Q are part of a developing exegetical tradition, based in part on Dan 7 but having its roots ultimately in the description of the ‘suffering servant’ of Isa 53.42 Nickelsburg has shown how the Isa 53 passage generated a developing exegetical tradition, in part to meet the classic theodicy question of seeking to explain the apparently undeserved and unredeemed suffering of the righteous.43 In Isa 53 itself, some (unidentified) people are amazed at the new status of the servant figure (Isa 52.13). In the tradition as developed later in texts such as 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5, the servant figure is ‘democratised’ so that the figure becomes, or is the representative of, a wider group of people who have been persecuted. The amazement scene of Isa 52.13 is now developed into a postmortem scene of judgment: those who are amazed are the one-time persecutors of the righteous, and the once despised figure now acts as judge. In Wisd 2–5 this is the (typical or representative) suffering righteous person himself; in 1 En. 62 it is the SM figure who represents the suffering righteous but who can be recognised as in some way identical with them. Thus built into this developing tradition is an attempt to explain the problem of apparently unredeemed suffering by claiming that, in a future judgment scene, those currently being ‘persecuted’ will turn the tables on their persecutors and in turn become their judges. In my earlier discussion, I noted the similarities and differences between Wisd 2–5, 1 En. 62 and Q, as well as the possible links with the SM vision in Dan 7: There is no ‘SM’ in Wisd 2–5, whilst ‘SM’ is present in 1 Enoch and Q. Moreover, the SM figure is slightly different in the two texts: in Q the SM is Jesus, whereas in 1 Enoch the SM is the heavenly counterpart of the righteous. In this then Q is perhaps closer to the vision in Wisd 2–5 where there is a clear identity between the persecuted figure of Wisd 2 and the vindicated figure who becomes the agent in judgment in Wisd 5.44 41 On the importance of the fact that Jesus is the focus of attention in all the gospels, see R. Burridge, What are the Gospels? (SNTSMS 70; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 42 See my Q and the History, 266–276. 43 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), 62–78. 44 Q and the History, 275.

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What however I failed to note in the earlier discussion was perhaps the way in which the Q tradition also implies an element of ‘democratisation’ in the development of this idea by applying it to more than a single individual, though this happens in Q in a slightly different way from that in 1 Enoch or Wisdom. In Wisdom, the figure of the suffering righteous man may well be a representative one and he certainly has little identity of his own. In 1 En. 62 the collective group of the suffering righteous are represented by the SM figure who is their heavenly counterpart.45 In Q, there has been a clear separation of the SM figure and others who are suffering ‘persecution’. It is clear that for Q, the SM figure is Jesus and Jesus alone. Indeed, as Catchpole has shown and we have already noted, Q invests a lot of editorial effort in seeking to establish the equation between the SM figure (or the ‘coming one’) and Jesus (cf. above). There is then no room within Q’s ‘symbolic universe’ for the SM being a ‘corporate figure’ in any sense at all. Jesus and his followers are distinct. However much the SM sayings provide a ‘structural homologue’ with the experience of his followers: ‘SM’ itself remains a description of Jesus alone and does not in itself refer to anyone else.46 Nevertheless, the way in which this whole ‘myth’, or story line, was developed may not be forgotten here. The myth seeks to provide an answer to the problem of the persecution of the righteous. For Q, the ‘righteous’ comprise a group of people as well, including both Jesus and his followers. Both Jesus and his followers, it is claimed, have suffered or are suffering. The story line of the myth then seeks to resolve the problem by claiming that those presently suffering will be enabled to reverse the situation in a later judgment scene and themselves act as judges over others who are currently ‘persecuting’ them. Something of this is clearly reflected in Q, though with its own peculiar features. Jesus and his followers are clearly distinguished at one level. Certainly in relation to descriptions, or ‘names’, Jesus and his followers are different. Jesus and Jesus alone is called ‘SM’. Thus in relation to Jesus himself, the tradition developing from Isaiah is applied via the use of the SM description (and probable overtones of Dan 7): Jesus is one who is to suffer (in relation to Q’s story world – in relation to the Q Christians, Jesus has of course suffered already); but as SM he will play an active role in judging the ‘Israel’ that has failed to respond to the Christian message.47 It is then precisely this claim, or even assurance, 45 The similarities between 1 En. 62 and Matt 25.31–46, and the implications for the interpretation of the Matthean parable, are brilliantly brought out by Catchpole in his article ‘Poor on Earth’. 46 Hence the Q use of the term SM provides no direct support for any theory that ‘SM’ itself is some kind of ‘generic’ term, referring to Jesus and others. 47 Much of the polemic in Q is directed against those who have failed to respond positively to the Christian message.

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that gives meaning and hope to the situation of apparently otherwise unrewarded suffering. But, as we have seen, the ‘suffering’ or ‘persecution’ experienced by the Q Christians is placed on a par with that of Jesus in that they too share in the rejection and hostility experienced by him as SM. If then the future SM sayings provide some kind of explanation and legitimation for the status of Jesus, some equivalent legitimation might be expected in relation to Jesus’ followers. In one way this is provided by the future SM sayings which promise positive recognition by Jesus as SM for those who have remained faithful (cf. 12.8: ‘whoever confesses me … the SM will confess’). But it is also striking that a ‘resolution’ of the problem for Jesus’ followers almost parallel with that for Jesus himself is provided by the saying in Q 22.30: just as the suffering righteous man in Wisd 2–5 will judge his onetime persecutors, just as the suffering righteous in 1 En. 62 will confront their one-time persecutors in the form of their heavenly counterpart the SM, and just as Jesus SM in Q will judge others who have rejected him earlier, so too the Q followers of Jesus will judge the twelve tribes of Israel. There has thus in Q been a clear distinction drawn between Jesus on the one hand and his followers on the other. He and he alone is the SM. Yet the explanation and the resolution of the theodicy problem faced by the Q Christians in their present situation is the same as resolution for Jesus himself: just as he too will act as judge over others who have not responded, so too will they. Two issues arise from this saying and will be briefly discussed here. These concern the implications for the relationship to Israel, and the implications for Christology. First, does the saying imply anything about the relationship between Q Christians and Israel? According to Hoffmann, the presence of the saying in Q marks the basis of the fundamental breach between the Christian church and Israel. ‘Wer [mit] einem solchen Anspruch konfrontiert wird, kann nur mit “nein” antworten oder aber sich bekehren … Es bedeutet den Abschied von Israel.’48 This may however go too far. In the first place, the language of the saying is futurist and eschatological. It is looking to the final judgment at the end of time. If there are any breaches, they are to come in the future; they are not in the present. Further, even if one accepts that țȡȓȞȦ here means ‘judging’ and not ‘ruling over’ (cf. above), it does not necessarily refer to condemning as opposed to acquitting. In theory, an action of ‘judging’ can involve a positive, as well as a negative, verdict. The language of the saying itself does not imply necessarily that the whole ‘twelve tribes of Israel’ are rejected and condemned en bloc.

48

‘Herrscher’, 253, 264.

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But second, the fact remains that this is a future eschatological event, even for those who might be condemned by the followers of Jesus sitting on their thrones and judging. As such it serves as much as a threat of what might be as a statement of what will inevitably happen. The saying in Q 22.28–30 probably follows on the parable of the pounds in Q 19 and may well pick up the promises (and threats) of that parable (cf. above). Yet while the saying may in one way state what is claimed will be the case in the future in general terms, it does not necessarily work with any predetermined ideas about precisely which individuals will occupy each role in the future drama. The parable and the saying thus act just as much as a challenge to the present audience to review their own attitude to, and commitment to, the cause of Jesus. And for Q it seems clear that being committed to Jesus’ cause and being part of Israel are by no means mutually exclusive! That some in Israel might act as judges over others, both in Israel as well as outside, seems to be implied in other claims similar to Q 22.30 which assign a judging role to the righteous, without necessarily implying that there is a radical breach with Israel.49 That such a breach between Christian followers of Jesus and the Jewish people did eventually take place is undeniable. That claims such as Q 22.30 may have contributed to such a breach seems intelligible. But it is still the case that such a breach may be a long way ahead in the future at the time of Q. What though are the implications of Q 22.30 for Christology, especially the Christology of Q? It is very often said that the Christology of Q is above all a SM Christology, and that SM is ‘the’ most important Christological title in Q. In one sense of course this is undeniably true. Insofar as any one Christological ‘title’ is important in Q, it must be ‘SM’ if only on the basis of the number of occurrences.50 Yet while SM is clearly important in Q as a designator of Jesus, the saying in Q 22.30 may raise a small question about its significance in terms of Christology. Such a claim depends of course on what one means by ‘Christology’. At one level, ‘Christology’ refers to the identity of Jesus, who/what Jesus is or was. However, in another sense, ‘Christology’ is often taken as referring also to the way in which Jesus is believed to be distinctive and different from other human beings. In one sense Jesus’ identity as SM is certainly important for Q’s Christology in that the term serves to designate Jesus. Moreover, as we 49 Cf. Wisd 3.8; 4.26; 1 En. 38.5; 91.12; 95.3; 1QS 8.6, 10; 1QpHab 5.3–4. (For references, cf. Luz, Matthäus, 3.129; Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher’, 255.) However, one should be a little wary of adducing texts such as these as too close a parallel to the gospels: Dupont, ‘Logion’, 723–728, points out that several of these passages imply that the righteous will be involved in carrying out a sentence of punishment after the act of judgment itself has been enacted (by God), rather than acting as judges themselves. 50 ‘Son of God’ and ‘Lord’ appear hardly ever in Q; ‘Christ’ is notorious by its complete absence from Q.

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have already noted, it designates Jesus and Jesus alone and hence serves to distinguish Jesus from others: Jesus is the SM and others are not. What though is striking about the saying in Q 22.30 is that it shows that in one way Jesus’ role in his capacity as SM does not serve to distinguish him from others. Rather Jesus’ role as SM is one that he shares with that of his followers. Or perhaps better, the role of Jesus’ followers is one that they can share with him. Just as Jesus in his capacity as SM is one who has been abused and rejected, but who will be vindicated by God and will come to judge others, so too his followers suffer a similar experience of hostility and rejection, but are promised future vindication and reward and are also promised a position where they will judge Israel. The emphasis in the SM and related sayings in Q is thus as much on the solidarity between Jesus and his followers, on the characteristics, the experiences and the future rewards that are shared as it is on features that distinguish Jesus from his followers. ‘SM’ is thus important for Q’s Christology in that it clearly evokes, and is associated with, important things said about Jesus. Yet Q’s presentation shows that Jesus qua SM is not unique: the same function of judge at the final judgment is promised in the final climactic statement of Q to his followers as well. In this, ‘SM’ may not be much different from other Christological ‘titles’ in Q. Jesus is ‘Son of God’, especially in the temptation narrative; but there too he is a paradigm for other followers who are called to be equally obedient to God’s Word as Jesus Son of God is shown to be in this story (cf. n. 36 above), and elsewhere in Q followers are invited to be sons/ children of God their Father (cf. Q 6.36; 11.2; 12.30). Similarly Jesus in Q is the ‘Lord’ as the one who must be listened to and obeyed (cf. Q 6.46); but equally the Q Christians are those who can claim just as much for the status of their own preaching which brings near the Kingdom (10.7, cf. too 10.16) and rejection of which will have eternal consequences (12.10). This is not to say that Jesus’ distinctiveness is ignored completely in Q. It remains the case that, however much Jesus and his followers may be seen to be in parallel with each other, the status of his followers is mediated through Jesus himself and dependent on him. Those who will sit on thrones judging Israel are precisely those who in turn have been confessed before God by the SM (12.8). Those rewarded with such a position in 22.30 are the same as those rewarded by the master of the preceding parable who is probably someone other than God,51 i.e. in context almost certainly Jesus. They are also those who have ‘followed’ Jesus.52 The relationship between Jesus and others is thus a non-reciprocal one and Jesus does have a unique role in Q. Nevertheless, it is a role of enabling others to 51 52

See Catchpole, ‘Poor on Earth’, 374. Cf. n. 15 above for this as the probable Q wording in Q 22.28.

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share in his own position. If such a role does not have any clear ‘title’ attached to it, that may simply reinforce the criticisms many have advanced against an approach to NT Christology which is too closely tied to Christological ‘titles’.53 It is moreover a role remarkably similar in many ways, though expressed in very different language and using a very different set of ideas, to Paul’s Christology of Jesus as the new Adam and as Son of God. That is of course another story. But if the suggestions made here serve to show that Q has deep roots linking it with other key NT writers, this may enhance the importance which Q must have in any studies of early Christianity, as indeed the work of David Catchpole has so amply shown. 27

53

Cf. L. E. Keck, ‘Toward the Renewal of New Testament Christology’, NTS 32 (1986) 321–343.

28

XIII The Son of Man and Daniel 7 Q and Jesus In a stimulating and wide-ranging recent article John Kloppenborg has raised a number of key issues and questions about the origin and significance of the term Son of Man (henceforth SM), both in relation to Q and to study of the historical Jesus.1 It is these issues which I wish to focus on in this paper. First, I discuss the possible background to the SM sayings in Q, considering in particular the question of whether Dan 7 should be seen as part of that background. Second, I consider the place of the SM sayings within any possible strata within Q. Third, I address briefly the question of what all this might tell us about Jesus’ possible use of the term SM.

1. The Son of Man in Q and Dan 7 There is a widely held view that the SM sayings in Q betray no influence of Dan 7 at all.2 Such a view can I believe be challenged. But before doing so, a brief statement about some of the presuppositions which I am assuming here. 1 J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘The Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, HTR 89 (1996) 307–344. Important methodological and substantive issues relating to this paper are also raised in the article of J. Schröter, ‘Markus, Q und der historische Jesus. Methodische und exegetische Erwägungen zu den Anfängen der Rezeption der Verkündigung Jesu’, ZNW 89 (1998) 173–200; also his Erinnerung an Jesu Worte (WMANT 76; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1997). 2 Cf. M. Casey, Son of Man. The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SPCK, 1979), passim (esp. e.g. p. 194 on Q 12.8); L. E. Vaage, ‘The Son of Man Sayings in Q. Stratigraphical Location and Significance’, Semeia 55 (1991) 103–129, on p. 126; A. D. Jacobson, ‘Apocalyptic and the Sayings Source Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100A; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 403–419, on p. 416; J. M. Robinson, ‘The Son of Man in the Sayings Gospel Q’, in C. Elsas et al. (eds.), Tradition und Translation. Zum Problem der interkulturellen Übersetzbarkeit religiöser Phänomene (FS C. Colpe; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1994), 315–335; Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 318; Schröter, Erinnerung, 454 n. 75.

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I presuppose a number of points, all of which could be defended in detail if necessary but which, because of constraints of time and space, I shall assume here without argument. I am assuming for example the existence of a Q source, which probably had a relatively fixed written form, in Greek, when used by Matthew and Luke.3 Whether it is right to think of different strata within Q is another matter about which there is more disagreement (see below). However, few I think would doubt that the Q materials as they surface for us (in Matthew and Luke, not of course directly!) represent the end-points of what may have been complex developments in the history of the traditions concerned. How well we can trace such developments is disputed; the fact that they occurred seems undeniable. Further, if part of the aim in analysing the Q material is to seek to say something about the historical Jesus,4 then I believe that the proper approach is to start with the materials we have (or almost have!)5 and work backwards from there to Jesus. We should not start with Jesus and try to work forward to our extant sources.6 But then the same may equally apply to Q itself. Before we seek to say anything about what something might have meant at any ‘pre-Q’ level or in an earlier stratum within Q, we should perhaps start with ‘Q itself’ (insofar as that is accessible to us). In what follows, I therefore take ‘Q’ to be what I have called elsewhere the ‘final’ form of Q.7 I start with some more general remarks which, at least for those in sympathy with Q scholarship, are hopefully reasonably uncontroversial. Recent studies of Q, ever since the programmatic work of Dieter Lührmann, have reached a measure of widespread agreement that a dominant 3 See J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), ch. 2; also my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), chs. 1–3. 4 I certainly do not wish to argue that this is the only, or even necessarily the prime, reason for discussion of Q. On this see too Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 322–324 on many recent studies of Q (including Kloppenborg himself, Sato, Jacobson, Vaage and myself): ‘they are neither overtly nor covertly about Jesus’ (324). One can – and does – study Q for its own sake and on its own terms. 5 We should not of course forget that we do not have Q itself extant. On the other hand, for those who think that Q is a figment of the scholarly imagination, and that we should stick to ‘extant’ sources, one should remember that we do not have the gospels themselves extant. All we have is copies made of these texts, for many parts at least 300 years later than the time they were first written. 6 Hence in relation to study of the SM tradition, my sympathies methodologically are much more with, say, D. R. A. Hare, The Son of Man Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990) (who starts with the use of SM in the gospels and then seeks to work backwards chronologically to Jesus) than with, say, B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man (London: SPCK, 1983) (who starts with Jesus and then seeks to work forwards to the gospels). Cf. too Schröter, Erinnerung, 453 (on SM) and passim. 7 Cf. my Q and the History, 77 and the discussion on pp. 75–82. By the ‘final’ form of Q, I mean the stage in the development of the Q traditions reached when Q was used by Matthew and Luke. I am assuming that, by this stage, Q did indeed exist in written form (cf. above).

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feature of Q is the polemic against ‘this generation’ and the threat of judgment, all set within a deuteronomistic view of history. 8 According to this view, God has continually sent prophets to Israel, but Israel has regularly rejected them and inflicted violence on them, acts which God has punished and will continue to punish if the people do not repent. The Q Christians seem to have regarded themselves as in a line of continuity with Israel’s prophetic messengers, all of whom suffered rejection and violence (cf. the well-known Q texts in Q 6.23; 11.49–51; 13.34–35). The exact nature of the rejection, the hostility and the violence encountered remain matters of dispute;9 nevertheless, the Q Christians evidently thought of themselves and their situation as comparable with that of the rejected prophets. This is clearest in the final beatitude in Q 6.23: Christian followers of Jesus will suffer various kinds of persecution, abuse, hostility etc., and the final clause (v. 23c) states that this is just what happened to the prophets in the past. However, the theme of the rejected prophets is part of a broader complex of motifs in Q. The prophets who suffer violence are messengers of Wisdom (cf. Q 11.49–51; also 7.31–35).10 Further, a number of passages which allude to this complex of motifs, whether together or separately, refer to Jesus as ‘SM’ (Q 6.22; 7.34; 9.58).11 In a number of these texts, the experience of Jesus serves as a prototype for the suffering and hostility experienced by his later followers. This is hinted at in the last beatitude of Q 6.22–23: the suffering of Jesus’ followers is ‘for the sake of the SM’.12 8

D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969), 24–48, 93. A key study has also been O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967), analysing the traditio-historical background of the tradition about the prophets suffering violence. See too A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel. An Introduction to Q (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992). Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 321 and n. 66, lists a large number of scholars who have accepted Lührmann’s conclusions in broad terms (referring to Schönle, Zeller, Sellew, Uro, Sato, Kosch, Piper, Koester, Robinson, Hoffmann and myself). 9 Cf. my Q and the History, ch. 9. 10 Q 13.34–35 is also recognised as full of Wisdom motifs. It is not clear however whether this was presented in Q as a saying which came immediately after 11.49–51 (as it does in Matthew’s Gospel: cf. Matt 23.34–36 followed immediately by vv. 37–39). If so, then Q 13.34–35 would also perhaps have been a saying of Wisdom referring to the violence suffered by the prophets. 11 Q 6.22 is in the context of the reference to the prophets in 6.23; 7.34 immediately precedes the reference to Wisdom being justified by her works/children in 7.35; 9.58 is widely recognised as strongly influenced by language about Wisdom (cf. 1 En. 42 for the same idea of homelessness). 12 It is widely agreed that the Q wording of the beatitude here does refer to ‘SM’ and that Matthew’s first person (‘for the sake of me’) in Matt 5.11 is MattR. Cf. D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 93, and many others.

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In the interpretation of the parable of the playing children, Jesus as SM is placed in parallel with John the Baptist: both are figures suffering hostility and rejection. By implication too, Jesus’ followers (perhaps identified as ‘Wisdom’s children’ of v. 35) experience the same fate.13 So too in the ‘mission charge’ of Q 10, the SM saying in Q 9.58 is probably deliberately placed at the head of the literary unit to provide an important interpretative key: the experience of the SM will be the lot of his followers as well.14 Other SM sayings in Q fit in well with this overall theme. For example, in Q 12.10 it is said that ‘speaking a word against’ the SM is forgivable. The least problematic interpretation is that this refers to opposition to Jesus during his own lifetime (while the speaking against the Holy Spirit in the rest of the saying, which is said to be not forgivable, refers to opposition to the preaching of the post-Easter Q Christians).15 But this in turn shows that ‘SM’ is again being used in contexts which refer to the hostility and rejecttion being experienced by Jesus.16 All this in one way simply restates what was said some years ago by Gerd Theissen in his The First Followers of Jesus, arguing that the SM sayings in the gospels serve to provide a ‘structural homologue’ between the situation of Jesus and that of his followers.17 Despite some of the criticisms levelled against Theissen (e.g. for his use of all strands of the gospels rather indiscriminately) his thesis does seem to apply well to the use of SM in Q: the SM is a paradigmatic figure in Q, giving an example of what followers of Jesus may expect to experience. And indeed this conformity between Jesus and his followers is indicated elsewhere in Q, outside the SM sayings. The end of the mission charge in Q 10.16 sets up almost an 13 Cf. A. Järvinen, ‘The Son of Man and His Followers. A Q Portrait of Jesus’, in D. Rhoads & K. Syreeni (eds.), Characterization in the Gospels. Reconceiving Narrative Criticism (JSNTSup 184; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 180–222, on pp. 201–202. 14 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 192; Tuckett, Q and the History, 183; R. Uro, ‘Apocalyptic Symbolism and Social Identity in Q’, in R. Uro (ed.), Symbols and Strata. Essays on the Sayings Gospel Q (Helsinki & Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 67–118, on pp. 108–109; Järvinen, ‘Son of Man’, 132–136. 15 Cf. H. E. Tödt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London: SCM, 1965), 119; P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 152; Kloppenborg, Formation, 212–214; Tuckett, Q and the History, 249. 16 A similar picture may emerge in relation to the SM saying in Q 11.30. The situation here is complex and the precise interpretation of the ‘sign of Jonah’ is much debated; however, a strong case can be made for arguing that the reference here is to Jesus’ present preaching; and the context makes it clear it is Jesus’ preaching in a situation of hostility and rejection where ‘this generation’ is seeking a sign from him, that request being refused. On this, see my Q and the History, 256–266. 17 G. Theissen, The First Followers of Jesus (London: SCM, 1978), 24–29; also Järvinen, ‘Son of Man’, passim.

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identity between Jesus and those sent out by him; the temptation narrative in Q 4.1–13 probably portrays Jesus as a paradigmatic figure to be imitated in relation to his obedience to scripture;18 the fate of any would-be follower is put in terms of taking up a ‘cross’ (Q 14.27), clearly following in the steps of Jesus himself. The saying in Q 6.40 sums all this up explicitly if cryptically: the disciple should be like his teacher. However, there is more to Q than simply a statement that hostility and suffering, whether for Jesus or for any would-be follower, is to be expected. Such predictions of rejection are balanced by sayings which look to the future. Jesus, again as SM, is one who will play an active (if slightly unclear) role in the final judgment (Q 12.8)19 when he comes suddenly and unexpectedly (Q 12.40) on his ‘day’ (Q 17.23–37). Nor is such an idea necessarily confined in Q to references to Jesus as SM. Thus, as others have shown, the references to Jesus as ‘the coming one’ function similarly. Q takes up John the Baptist’s prophecy of a future ‘coming’ figure (Q 3.8) and then invests a lot of effort to show that Jesus himself is this ‘coming one’ (7.18 ff.), who in one sense has already come (7.34) but whose final coming is still future (13.35).20 18 For this interpretation, see my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100A; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume). 19 For a fresh defence of the (by now traditional) view that the Q version of this saying does have ‘SM’ (as in Luke 12.8) and not ‘I’ (as in Matt 10.32), see my ‘Q 12,8 Once Again – “Son of Man” or “I”?’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson et al. (eds.), From Quest to Q (FS J. M. Robinson; BETL 146; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000), 171– 188 (pp. 232–249 in this volume), in debate with the views of P. Hoffmann: see his ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn. Matthäus 10,32 f und die synoptische Menschensohnüberlieferung’, in L. Oberlinner & P. Fiedler (eds.), Salz der Erde – Licht der Welt (FS A. Vögtle; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1991), 165–202, repr. in his Tradition und Situation. Studien zur Jesusüberlieferung in der Logienquelle und den synoptischen Evangelien (NTAbh 28; Münster: Aschendorff, 1995), 208–242; also his ‘Der Menschensohn in Lukas 12.8’, NTS 44 (1998) 357–379. 20 See Catchpole, Quest, 60–78, and others. This must cast some doubts on the argument of Hare, Son of Man Tradition, 219–221, who claims that Q cannot have set any great store by Jesus qua SM as an eschatological, coming figure, since the coming SM sayings all occur late in the text of Q, and that the SM sayings in the earlier sections of Q relate (only) to the present activity of Jesus (cf. Q 6.22; 7.34; 9.58; perhaps too 11.30: the eschatological sayings occur in 12.40; 17.22–30. So too Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 318–319). This ignores the fact that the earlier SM sayings are still SM sayings and hence may still carry the implication that the one so described is precisely the one who is to come later (on this see below). But also, the idea of Jesus as the one who is to ‘come’ is highlighted right from the start with John’s preaching in Q 3.8 and the further points where this is taken up in Q, as noted above. The importance of the theme of Jesus as the one who will ‘come’ is part of the SM complex of sayings in Q, but it is not necessarily confined to that complex; and the broad spread of

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Yet while this idea is applied to Jesus across a wide range of texts in Q, it is not in fact confined to Jesus. Thus in what is probably the final saying of Q, the same idea reappears but is now related to the followers of Jesus who are all promised that they too ‘will sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel’ (Q 22.30). I have discussed elsewhere the issues of the existence of this saying in Q, its probable position and its detailed wording.21 Broadly speaking, I would agree with the IQP reconstruction of the saying, accepting the saying as part of Q and placing it at the end of Q.22. Moreover I am convinced that the reference here to ‘judging’ does refer, at least in Q, to an act of discriminating judgment and does not refer to a more general ‘governing’ or ‘ruling’.23 Further, the very position of the saying as the ‘last word’ in Q suggests that this is intended not just as an afterthought but as a key item in the arrangement of Q as a whole. Thus the ‘structural homologue’ which unites Jesus qua SM with his followers in relation to their common experience of hostility and rejection applies equally to their being united in occupying a key role in the final judgment.24 We may therefore note that, however justified it may be to talk about a ‘SM Christology’ in Q, such a Christology is not one that serves to distinguish Jesus from all other human beings. Both as ‘earthly SM’ and as ‘eschatological/ coming SM’, Jesus and his followers are seen to be united. What though is the background against which such language should be understood? The idea of some activities usually ascribed to God being ‘delegated’ to another ‘agent’ figure is in general terms by no means unprecedented within Judaism.25 So too, with particular reference to the judgment, the notion

this larger theme within Q, referring to Jesus in different ways, thus indicates its clear significance and importance for Q. 21 See my ‘Q 22:28–30’, in D. G. Horrell & C. M. Tuckett (eds.), Christology, Controversy and Community (FS D. R. Catchpole; NovTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 99–116 (pp. 250–265 in this volume). 22 See C. Heil et al. (eds.), Documenta Q. Q 22:28, 30. You will Judge the Twelve Tribes of Israel (Leuven: Peeters, 1998). 23 See H. Fleddermann, ‘The End of Q’, in SBL 1990 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 1–10, on pp. 7–8; P. Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher in oder Richter über Israel?’, in K. Wengst & G. Saß (eds.), Ja und Nein. Christliche Theologie im Angesicht Israels (FS W. Schrage; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1998), 253–264, on p. 263; Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 328. More details in my ‘Q 22:28–30’ (pp. 250–265 in this volume). 24 Cf. too J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘‘Easter Faith’ and the Sayings Gospel Q’, Semeia 49 (1990) 71–99, esp. p. 79. 25 See e.g. L. Hurtado, One God, One Lord. Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), passim (on ‘divine agency’); M. Casey, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God. The Origins and Development of New Testament Christology (Cambridge: Clarke, 1991), ch. 6 ‘Messianic and Intermediary Figures in Second Temple Judaism’ (pp. 78–96).

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that a particular famous individual might adopt this role is evidenced in various Jewish texts. Hence, for example, Abel (Test. Abr. 13), Melchizedek (11QMelch), Elijah (Lives of the Prophets 21.3) or Enoch (1 En. 71) are given this role in different texts. In this respect, therefore, the role ascribed to Jesus as eschatological SM in Q is in one way not unprecedented.26 What is more unusual perhaps is the notion of a group of rather less obviously famous people taking on this role. Many have referred to texts in the later chapters of 1 Enoch as well as to some passages in the Qumran scrolls as perhaps providing a parallel to what is said in Q 22.30.27 However, as Dupont has pointed out, these other texts are more about others carrying out the punishment that has been decreed for the wicked at the final judgment; they do not necessarily imply that others will act as the judges themselves.28 The closest parallel to such an idea remains, in my view, the complex of texts seen in Dan 7, 1 Enoch (especially ch. 62), Wisd 2–5.29 In these texts, as Nickelsburg has persuasively argued, we seem to see a developing exegetical tradition based in part on the ‘suffering servant’ passage of Isa 53 (as well as incorporating other traditional ‘messianic’ texts such as Isa 11 and Ps 2).30 In Isa 53 a group of unspecified people are amazed at the new status of the once-despised servant figure (Isa 52.13). In the tradition as it seems to have developed in texts such as 1 En. 62 and Wisd 2–5, the individual figure of Isa 53 is ‘democratised’ either to become, or to be the representative of, a wider group of people suffering persecution. Further, the recognition scene is now transferred to a setting clearly situated after the death of those who have been suffering. And in this scene, that oncedespised figure plays a role in the judgment scene at which the one-time persecutors are condemned. The details vary and it would almost certainly be wrong to think of any direct literary dependence being involved. So too the way in which the scene is ‘democratised’ varies in the different texts. In 1 En. 62, the SM figure acts as the judge and seems to be the heavenly representative of the 26 Cf. also D. Zeller, ‘Entrückung zur Ankunft als Menschensohn (Lk 13,34 f.; 11,29 f.)’, in À cause de l’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; LD 123; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 513–530. 27 Cf. U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 18–25) (EKKNT I/3; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1997), 121; Hoffmann, ‘Herrscher’, 255, referring to e.g. 1 En. 38.5; 91.12; 95.3; 1QS 8.6, 10; 1QpHab 5.3–4. 28 J. Dupont, ‘Le logion des douze trônes (Mt 19,28; Lc 22,28–30)’, Bib 45 (1964) 355–392, repr. in his Études sur les évangiles synoptiques. Part 2 (BETL 70B; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1985), 706–743, on pp. 723–728. 29 See my Q and the History, 266–276, though without reference there to Q 22.28–30. 30 See G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (London: Oxford University Press, 1972); also his article ‘Son of Man’, in The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 6.137–150.

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righteous sufferers in a 1–1 correspondence typical of apocalyptic texts: hence the SM figure can (perhaps) be recognised as in some way identical with those persecuted.31 In Wisd 2–5, the individual man involved appears to be a representative figure who has himself actually suffered. Dan 7 itself also shows conceptual (and other) links with this developing Isaianic tradition. The precise relationship between the ‘one like a son of man’ of the vision of Dan 7 and the suffering ‘saints’ is of course hotly disputed. It may well be appropriate to see some difference between vision itself (where the human-like figure may be an angelic/heavenly equivalent to the saints in their glory32) and the interpretation of the vision which follows in Dan 7 (where it is clear that the ‘SM’ figure is equated with the ‘saints of the Most High’, who are probably the suffering righteous Jews themselves). Whatever one makes of the interpretation of the passage in Dan 7 itself, whether of the vision alone or of the vision with its interpretation, it is now widely agreed that this chapter – and the human-like figure mentioned in the vision – became the focus of some exegetical interest, both within and outside Christian circles.33 Thus, within the Christian tradition, it is clear that by the time SM sayings are applied to Jesus in Mark’s Gospel, some of them are quite clearly formulated to reflect the language of Dan 7 (Mark 13.26; 14.62). Outside Christian circles, the description of the Danielic figure clearly influenced the description of the judge figure whom Enoch sees in 1 En. 46, who is thereafter referred to as ‘that SM’, and whom Enoch himself is (notoriously) apparently finally identified as in 1 En. 71. So too the description of the ‘man from the sea’ in 4 Ezra 13 is widely agreed to use elements of the description of the Danielic figure. In at least some circles then, the Danielic figure was being interpreted as an individual figure who would play a key role in the final judgment and punishment of the wicked as well as being involved in the rewards given to the righteous.

31

Cf. the exhortation in 62.1: ‘Open your eyes and lift up your eyebrows – if you are able to recognise the Elect One’: there is clearly some ambiguity about the ‘identity’ claimed between the Elect One seen and the persecuted ones whom those addressed had previously seen. 32 Cf. J. J. Collins, Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), 304–310; also his The Apocalyptic Imagination (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 21998), 101–104. 33 See J. J. Collins, ‘The Son of Man in First Century Judaism’, NTS 38 (1992) 448– 466, republished in his The Scepter and the Star (New York: Doubleday, 1995), 173–194. See too D. Burkett, The Son of Man Debate. A History and Evaluation (SNTSMS 107; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), ch. 9. This is irrespective of whether one judges the phrase ‘SM’ itself to have been some kind of ‘title’. It is now widely agreed that the phrase ‘SM’ itself is not a ‘title’ – though much depends on what one means by such an assertion (or denial).

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In other circles, however, the corporate idea inherent in the Danielic scheme was clearly maintained. From a much later period, we know of rabbinic discussions about the plural number of thrones mentioned in Dan 7.9.34 However, the plurality of the thrones, and hence the corporate implications of the vision, are exploited by the author of Revelation: in Rev 20.4 John says ‘I saw thrones, and those seated on them were given authority to judge. I also saw the souls of those who had been beheaded for their testimony to Jesus, and for the word of God’ (NRSV translation). The precise exegesis of the text is uncertain (and the NRSV translation takes some liberties), but commentators are agreed that (a) those seated on the thrones are the same as those beheaded, and (b) the allusion is clearly to the scene of Dan 7.9ff.35 Those occupying the thrones, and now administering judgment/justice36 are those who have suffered persecution and martyrdom for their commitment. Thus once again we have a pattern of righteous suffering, followed by involvement in the judgment on the part of those who have suffered, and all this clearly placed within a verbal picture influenced by the language of Dan 7.37 It seems clear that in Q we are still within same general network of ideas, even if the details do not match precisely any of the other texts we have considered. The role of Jesus as SM in Q is in some respects similar to the role played by the SM figure in 1 Enoch. It is not absolutely clear that the SM in Q will act as judge at the final judgment: many have often argued that the role of the SM in Q 12.8 is that of a witness, rather than of a judge. However, the two may be difficult to distinguish; and in any case the parallel with Q 22.30 suggests that Jesus, like his followers, will act as judge at the final judgment. Further, in Q, as in 1 Enoch, the SM figure seems to be a single individual. Q gives no indication that the term ‘SM’ itself refers to anyone other than to Jesus (e.g. to a corporate group of Jesus and his followers). Indeed a saying like Q 12.8 effectively demands such an individual interpretation, since it is the follower of Jesus (‘whoever confesses me’) who is the object of the activity of the ‘SM’ (‘the SM will confess him/her’), and hence cannot be the subject as well. So too in 6.22, a corporate interpretation seems equally unlikely: Jesus’ followers 34 See b. Hag. 14a/b. Sanh. 38b, interpreted according to R. Akiba as one for God and one for David. 35 Cf. e.g. G. B. Caird, The Revelation of St John the Divine (London: A&C Black, 1966), 252; J. P. M. Sweet, Revelation (London: SCM, 1979), 288; D. E. Aune, Revelation 17–22 (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 1085. 36 If this is what the Greek implies (țĮ੿ ਥțȐșȚıĮȞ ਥʌ’ Į੝IJȠȪȢ, țĮ੿ țȡȓȝĮ ਥįȩșȘ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ). The NRSV translation takes the somewhat elliptical Greek this way. 37 Cf. C. F. D. Moule, The Origin of Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 21. 1 Cor 6.2 may also reflect the same idea, though the language there is not so clearly influenced by Daniel.

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are persecuted for the sake of him as SM, not in any sense for the sake of themselves!38 Nevertheless, Q no less than 1 Enoch and Wisdom is also clearly operating within the tradition which implies the ‘democratisation’ of the scene described in the Isaianic servant song, whereby the function of a wider group of people participating, explicitly or implicitly, in the judgment is a key element. The importance of this is shown above all by the presence of Q 22.30 as the ‘last word’, and hence (in literary terms) probably the climax of Q.39 Thus not only Jesus as SM but also those who have followed him will act as judges over Israel. But also the close link in the earlier tradition between the SM figure and others suffering because of their commitment correlates strikingly with the SM sayings in Q (and indeed in Mark!). In Q (and Mark), Jesus as SM is one who experiences hostility and rejection and (by implication) suffering (cf. above). In that there is a direct equation made between the one(s) suffering and the one(s) who will act as judge(s), Q is perhaps a little closer to the pattern set out in Wisd 2–5 than, say, to 1 Enoch.40 But it remains the case that the ‘present SM’ sayings fit just as well into the scheme proposed as the ‘eschatological SM’ sayings. All this suggests that the activities ascribed to Jesus as SM – both in his present activity and his future role – belong within the network of ideas, the ‘language game’, to which Dan 7 also belongs and to which it clearly contributed in a significant way (in e.g. 1 Enoch, in other synoptic SM sayings and in Rev 20.4). In Q too we have the terminology ‘SM’ applied to Jesus in precisely these contexts. Given then that the Q SM sayings seem to belong integrally to the network of ideas associated with, and in part generated by, Dan 7, and given too that the Q sayings use the unusual Greek phrase ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ, it seems to strain credulity to the limit to suggest that these two facets are not related.41 Hence it seems much 38 Similarly, in 9.58 the reference is almost certainly to Jesus alone, however much the saying may have implications for any would-be follower; and in 7.34 it is Jesus alone who is in mind. See Schröter, Erinnerung, 455; Burkett, Son of Man Debate, 94–95. 39 In this it is perhaps striking that Q is closer to the pattern suggested than Mark: in Mark there is no suggestion of a wider group of people being actively involved in the judgment. In Mark, things have become more focused on the person of Jesus alone. 40 Whether this pattern matches exactly that of Dan 7 is hotly disputed, but perhaps the existence of the tradition, developing in different ways in different texts, makes the issue not quite so important. 41 As noted earlier, I am assuming that Q was a ‘text’ in Greek. There is widespread agreement that the Greek phrase at least is highly unusual, and hence the suggestion that the phrase itself is distinctive enough to carry the allusion is quite plausible. Clearly there are potentially more problems in relation to a possible Aramaic stratum of the tradition: on this see below. I find this more persuasive than the suggestion (e.g. by Robinson, ‘Son of Man in Q’, passim, esp. pp. 326–327) that the Q ‘apocalyptic’ SM sayings are quite unrelated to Dan 7 and the reference to Dan 7 only comes in with the evangelists. (By

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more plausible to argue that the term ‘SM’ itself (at least in Greek) is also intended to be part of the way in which the Danielic scene is being alluded to in these sayings. Thus despite the lack of other clear linguistic details in the Q SM sayings themselves linking these to Dan 7,42 the conceptual links seem clear to establish the connection.43 Where though do such sayings belong within any possible development of Q?

2. Q-Tradition or Q-Redaction? In recent years there appears to have been something of a sea-change in any possible ‘prevailing view’ about the place of the SM sayings within the developing tradition history of Q, above all the sayings referring to the coming SM. In his paper given to the 1981 Leuven Colloquium, Frans Neirynck said that the ‘prevailing view’ was that the SM sayings belonged to Q’s tradition and were not part of Q’s redaction.44 Neirynck could (and did) refer to the work of Lührmann as well as (at least in part) that of Schürmann.45 Since 1981, we have had the explosion of theories about the possible ‘stratification’ of Q and the trend now would seem to be that, if the coming SM sayings are to be placed within any developing strata in Q, they belong to a later/second stage. In his article in the Neirynck Festimplication, also Schröter, Erinnerung, 455: Jesus used the term as a ‘Selbstbezeichnung’, Q shows no influence of Dan 7, and later Christians developed the Danielic allusions.) The traditio-historical background of the precise ‘apocalyptic role’ (p. 327) ascribed to Jesus in Q then remains obscure and unexplained. 42 There is no agreement as to what exactly would constitute a clear verbal allusion (apart from the term ‘SM’ itself) to Dan 7. Vermes, followed apparently by Casey, says that there should be a reference ‘to the coming, or the glory, or the kingship of the son of man, or to the clouds transporting him’ (G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew [London: Collins, 1973], 178; also Casey, Son of Man, 189). Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 95, 210, extends this to include what he calls the ‘revelation’ of the SM, and regards the Q sayings in Q 17.22–30 as Danielic on that basis. 43 Much of the discussion in the past has perhaps been characterised by focusing too narrowly on individual words or phrases in the sayings themselves, rather than on the broader background of thought implied. Schröter, Erinnerung, 455, criticises (in my view rightly) the somewhat atomistic approach of Casey, Vermes, Robinson and others arguing for a ‘generic’ (or ‘idiomatic’) interpretation of the phrase by treating the individual sayings in isolation from their contexts within the gospel tradition. 44 F. Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments in the Study of Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 29–75, on p. 70. 45 Cf. Lührmann, Redaktion; H. Schürmann, ‘Beobachtungen zum MenschensohnTitel in der Redequelle’, in Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 124–147.

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schrift, Paul Hoffmann, in part repeating – but also refining – his earlier discussion, has argued (against Tödt) that the SM sayings need/should not be regarded as part of the earliest tradition in Q: rather, they can be regarded as Q-redactional (‘QR’).46 So too James Robinson has argued in detail in his essay in the Colpe Festschrift that, in the earliest stratum of Q, ‘SM’ is to be taken as a/the ‘normal’ Aramaic idiom meaning ‘someone’ or ‘humans’; it is only in the later stratum that the eschatological SM sayings occur in Q.47 Similarly, John Kloppenborg, appealing in part to Hare’s discussion of the SM sayings as well as other criticisms which can be brought against the overall theories of Tödt, Schulz and others, argues that ‘the Son of Man sayings are not the earliest sayings in Q from a composi-

46 P. Hoffmann, ‘QR und der Menschensohn. Eine Skizze’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100A; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 421–456; ET ‘The Redaction of Q and the Son of Man’, in R. A. Piper (ed.), The Gospel Behind the Gospels. Current Studies on Q (NovTSup 75; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 159–198 (refs. to the latter); see too his earlier Studien. 47 Robinson, ‘Son of Man in Q’. Robinson clearly accepts in broad terms the stratification model proposed by Kloppenborg (cf. p. 316). However, as he effectively implicitly concedes in the course of his essay, the division between different kinds of SM sayings does not correlate exactly with the alleged stratification in Q and Robinson himself is sharply critical of e.g. Vaage’s attempt (‘Son of Man Sayings in Q’) to change the details of the stratification model to fit such a neat theory: cf. p. 316 n. 8. Robinson’s own theories do not provide an exact match either: thus Q 7.34 is taken as an example of the Aramaic idiomatic usage, although it is accepted that it is not part of Kloppenborg’s oldest layer (‘but it may be an archaic saying’: p. 323). Q 11.30, taken by Kloppenborg as part of ‘Q2’, is said by Robinson to be an example of the (earlier) Aramaic idiomatic usage. So too Q 12.10, taken by Kloppenborg to be a ‘Q2’ gloss on an earlier (‘sapiential’) tradition is taken as an example of the (earlier) idiomatic usage. Hence by no means all the SM sayings in the alleged later stratum are eschatological, or ‘apocalyptic’, sayings. There is also a little ambiguity in Robinson’s essay on what exactly ‘the’ Aramaic idiomatic usage really is. As noted below, it is agreed that the Aramaic phrase bar nash(a) can be used generically (= human beings in general) or indefinitely (‘someone’, ‘a man/person’). Robinson’s suggested interpretations of the term oscillate between these two: Mark 2.28 seems to be taken as generic (p. 320: ‘the idiomatic sense of human, “Menschenkind”’), Q 12.10 is clearly taken as generic (ibid.: ‘a reference to humans generically’). In others an ‘indefinite’ meaning is proposed, e.g. for Q 9.58 (p. 321). In 6.22 and 7.34 again an indefinite sense seems to be proposed (‘the reference is to Jesus in his public ministry’, p. 323 on 6.22; similarly p. 322 on 7.34). A generic sense would seem to be excluded. For the dangers of confusing a ‘generic’ sense with an ‘indefinite’ meaning, see R. J. Bauckham, ‘The Son of Man. “A Man in my Position” or “Someone”?’, JSNT 23 (1985) 23–33 (in debate with Lindars). In his response (in part) to Bauckham, Casey considers only the grammatical issue of the presence or otherwise of the definite articles with the nouns in Aramaic, rather than the meaning of the phrase. See his ‘General, Generic and Indefinite. The Use of the Term “Son of Man” in Aramaic Sources and in the Teaching of Jesus’, JSNT 29 (1987) 21–56.

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tional point of view and probably not from a tradition-historical perspective either’.48 It is not however certain that such theories can be easily, or so neatly, maintained. With regard to theories about stratification in Q, I have argued elsewhere that it is not so easy to claim that clearly identifiable strata of the text of Q itself can be discerned.49 As I noted at the start, I would not want to argue against the idea of individual units, or smaller sections, having undergone a potentially complex history of development before they reach the ‘final’ form of Q. In the case of a section such as Q 7.18–35, that seems to me undeniable. But whether one can correlate all such developments into a single pattern of a ‘Q1’ followed by a ‘Q2’ (and possibly then by a ‘Q3’) is another matter. Even in relation to the coming SM sayings it is not clear that these can all be assigned to the ‘final redactional’ stage of Q. There is too a danger of trying to confuse literary history and tradition history. Kloppenborg has (in my view rightly) strongly criticised some theories about the development of Q which are based on tradition historical grounds.50 He has too reacted strongly to those who have criticised his own stratification model as based on such criteria.51 In part he is justified though I wonder if there is still just an element of value in some of the critiques. When Kloppenborg analyses some of the broader units in Q and identifies apparent seams in the tradition and possible glosses, he is indeed working with literary critical tools, not tradition-historical ones, and this part of his analysis is in my

48 Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 319 (cf. Tödt, Son of Man; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1971). The two aspects – the ‘compositional point of view’ and the ‘tradition-historical perspective’ – are of course very different! See below. 49 See my ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222 (pp. 143–152 in this volume), also with special reference to claims (especially by Vaage) about the division of the SM sayings into different strata in Q; also my Q and the History, 52–75; Hoffmann, ‘Redaction of Q and the Son of Man’, 186–188. 50 Notably that of Schulz. See especially his ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Synoptic Sayings Source’, CBQ 46 (1984) 34–62. 51 On many occasions he has reiterated his claim that ‘tradition history … is not the same as literary history’: see ‘Tradition and Redaction’, 42; cf. too Formation, 287; ‘The Sayings Gospel Q. Literary and Stratigraphic Problems’, in R. Uro (ed.), Symbols and Strata. Essays on the Sayings Gospel Q (Helsinki & Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 1–66, on pp. 51–52; ‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 322–323; also his ‘A Dog among the Pigeons. The ‘Cynic Hypothesis’ as a Theological Problem’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson et al. (eds.), From Quest to Q (FS J. M. Robinson; BETL 146; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000), 73–117, on pp. 88–94.

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view very compelling.52 But when he goes one stage further logically and seeks to expand the (relatively small) glosses with extended discourses in the rest of Q which are said to display the same outlook and attitude, and to a certain extent the same content (the so-called ‘prophetic’ threats of judgment in contrast to the more ‘sapiential’ outlook of the other speeches) to produce a fairly extended ‘Q2’ stratum,53 then the criterion for distinguishing strata is in danger of becoming less literary critical and more ‘tradition-historical’.54 There may be nothing wrong in that. However, in the present context of a discussion of the SM sayings, there is a danger that one may be sucked into a circular argument. For if one of the criteria for distinguishing Q2 from Q1 is whether there are threats of judgment, it is scarcely surprising that the coming SM sayings, which are replete with such an idea, end up in Q2 rather than Q1 if one tries to divide Q into strata. If one looks at the texts about the coming SM, and the slightly wider contexts in which they are a placed in Q, then it is certainly not clear that all of them are to be ascribed to a later, or the latest, stratum of Q.55 Q 12.40 provides perhaps the strongest evidence for the latter theory: the verse seems to be a secondary gloss on the immediately preceding parable of the thief at night; moreover, it fits somewhat uneasily after the parable since the latter exhorts people to be ready and prepared, whereas the saying of v. 40 states that the SM’s coming is an event which one cannot

52

The argument is in my view clearest, and indeed at its most compelling, in his ‘The Formation of Q and Antique Instructional Genres’, JBL 105 (1986) 443–462, even if one might wish to question some of the details. 53 Cf. his Formation, ch. 4. In fact this stage comes earlier in his discussion in both his JBL article and in his book: the extended discourses are taken as a unified whole first, and then correlated with the (secondary) glosses in the other discourses. 54 If indeed I have understood his use of these terms correctly. But in his essay ‘The Sayings Gospel Q. Literary and Stratigraphical Problems’, 51, he claims that ‘redactional analyses of Q have not proposed redactional strata on the basis of thematic, or traditionhistorical, or material criteria’. Rather, he says that the distinctions made (e.g. by himself and Zeller) ‘relate[s] primarily not to the content, but to the form of the sayings’. Yet in his ‘Formation of Q’ article, 450, he refers to the clusters (of the extended ‘Q 2’ speeches) as ‘display[ing] a remarkable uniformity in “projected audience”, constituent forms and dominant motifs’ (my stress). Cf. too his references to the ‘thematic unity’ in these passages in his Formation, 92 (also p. 98). In any case it is probably somewhat arbitrary to separate form and content completely; but Kloppenborg does appear to be operating with distinctions of content as well as of form to distinguish between strata. There is almost certainly nothing wrong in that, but it may be slightly disingenuous to claim that content considerations do not play a role in the discussion. 55 For what follows, see my ‘The Son of Man in Q’, in M. C. de Boer (ed.), From Jesus to John (FS M. de Jonge; JSNTSup 84; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 196–215; also Q and the History, 244–253.

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prepare for. In this case, therefore, a good case can be made for ascribing Q 12.40 to ‘QR’.56 The case of Q 17.23–24 is not so clear-cut. The eschatological discourse of Q 17 as a whole focuses on the unexpected coming of the SM (cf. especially vv. 26–30); however vv. 23–24 focus more on the universal visibility of the coming of the SM. It seems easier to explain the data if vv. 23– 24 comprise a traditional element,57 taken up by the Q-editor/redactor and pressed into service of a slightly different aim. Thus vv. 23–24 seem to be pre-redactional, rather than characteristic of the final redaction of Q.58 The same may apply to Q 12.8. Q 12.8–9 is (probably) followed in Q by Q 12.10; and if any seam is to be identified, it would be between Q 12.9 and Q 12.10, including the notorious tension which exists when these two verses are placed alongside each other over whether denying/speaking against Jesus is forgivable or not.59 One way to try to at least ease the problem slightly is to suggest that Q 12.10 represents a secondary modification of Q 12.8–9, allowing the implied audience one last chance to respond to the preaching of the post-Easter Q Christians, even though they may have rejected Jesus himself during his lifetime.60 But this does suggest that Q 12.10 comes from a later stratum than Q 12.9 (and hence from Q 12.8–9 since vv. 8 and 9 belong closely together). Hence Q 12.8–9 cannot belong to the latest stratum in Q, i.e. Q’s redaction, but is pre-‘redactional’.61 All this suggests that sayings about the ‘coming SM’ are distributed across different stages within Q’s development. We cannot assign them neatly to one stage only, nor can we assign them all to Q’s redaction. They characterise elements in Q’s tradition quite as much as Q’s redaction. 56 See Kloppenborg, Formation, 149 with further literature; Robinson, ‘Son of Man in Q’, 332–333. 57 One should also note the existence of the (rough) parallel in Mark 13.21 which, unless one advocates some direct relationship between Mark and Q, would suggest that both are drawing on a common tradition here, and hence at least the substance of the saying must be earlier than Q. 58 Cf. my Q and the History, 252. 59 Even if the verses are not adjacent in Q, their very existence together within Q is scarcely less problematic. 60 See at n. 15 above. 61 This does of course depend on how one defines ‘redactional’. Vaage, ‘Son of Man Sayings in Q’, 118, seeks to avoid the embarrassment which Q 12.10 causes for his theory (as he accepts that it is a later comment on Q 12.8–9 which he takes as clearly ‘Q2’ material) by ascribing it to a ‘Q3’ stage. On this, see my ‘On the Stratification’, 216. One suspects that, for him, the all-important ‘Q2’ is the ‘real’ ‘redactional’ level, so that ‘Q3’ is simply a collection of unimportant, almost post-‘redactional’ glosses. But if, as most would use the term, ‘redactional’ refers to the final editor of the ‘final’ form of the document, then Q 12.10 must be the ‘redactional’ level, and Q 12.8–9 the ‘pre-redactional’. Cf. n. 7 above for my definition of the ‘final’ form of Q.

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Moreover, it would probably be wrong to isolate the ‘coming SM’ sayings from the other SM sayings in Q. As Hoffmann has insisted (against Tödt), driving too much of a wedge between the two here is inappropriate:62 presumably the very fact that all these are SM sayings is intended to identify the figure as the same in all the sayings concerned. But then, insofar as we can trace any development in the history of the tradition in the sections in Q where they occur, we find the same diversity of results as characterises the situation regarding the coming SM sayings. A case certainly can be made for one or two of the SM sayings being redactional. For example, Q 9.58 may owe much to Q’s redaction. In its present position it functions as an ‘introduction’ to the mission discourse and clearly exercises a powerful rhetorical function in that capacity, asserting that Jesus as the homeless SM acts as a paradigm for any would-be follower.63 In other instances, however, SM sayings may be pre-redactional. For example, in Q 7.34, Jesus as SM is placed alongside John the Baptist, but the position of both is then further clarified by the Wisdom saying in v. 35 (‘Wisdom is justified by her children’). The position of v. 35 after vv. 33– 34 suggests that it is more likely to be v. 35 which is the latest element in the developing tradition; and the substantive fit between Wisdom and Q’s redactional interests is well-known and widely recognised. Hence it would seem that here the SM is part of the tradition taken up and used by the Qredactor in 7.31–35, with any ‘redactional’ element more likely to be in v. 35 than in the SM saying in v. 34.64 So too in the final beatitude of 6.22–23, a very widely held view would be that the final clause (referring to the fate of the prophets) is a Qredactional gloss on an earlier form of the beatitude.65 The clause creates a slightly redundant second reason for the exhortations to ‘rejoice’ and, as with Q 7.35, the correlation between Q’s redactional interests and the theme of the prophets who suffer violence is again well-known and widely 62

Hoffmann, Studien, 144–147; cf. too Schröter, Erinnerung, 456. See at n. 14 above. However, such an argument need only show that the positioning of the saying here is Q-redactional: this does not necessarily show that the saying is a Qredactional creation. 64 As argued by e.g. Lührmann, Redaktion, 29–30, 85. 65 As argued originally by Kloppenborg, ‘Formation of Q’, 452; Formation, 173; however, in his later ‘Blessing and Marginality. The “Persecution Beatitude” in Q, Thomas and Early Christianity’, in Foundations and Facets Forum 2 (1986) 36–56, on pp. 45–46, he argues that the SM phrase in v. 22 is also a secondary addition to an earlier form of the beatitude. However, in literary terms, his earlier argument seems more persuasive, taking the secondary gloss to be what comes at the end; and in any case, some such reason being given for the opposition experienced seems necessary if the beatitude is to make any sense at all. 63

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acknowledged. But this in turn means that the SM reference earlier in the beatitude is more likely to be part of the tradition being glossed by the final phrase. Hence again ‘SM’ belongs to the tradition used by the final redactor here, not to Q’s redaction itself.66 Paul Hoffmann has recently argued that all the SM sayings may come into Q at the ‘QR’ level.67 Hoffmann relates Q’s redaction to the time of (or possibly even after) the Jewish war of 66–70 and seeks to correlate the appearance of a coming SM in Mark 13 with the same Sitz im Leben. So too he seeks to correlate the proposed (relatively) late dating of Q with the apparent currency of the SM idea elsewhere in Christian circles towards the end of the first century, e.g. in Revelation and in Matthew’s redaction. My argument earlier about individual sayings would however suggest that not all the SM sayings can be described as ‘QR’, at least in origin. That they are all important for Q’s redaction seems to me undeniable. If it is indeed right (as I believe it is) to consider all the SM sayings together,68 then it is surely significant that the final redaction of Q has placed so much stress on Q 9.58 as the ‘heading’ of the mission charge, on Q 12.40 as the key to the interpretation of an important parable, and has structured the whole of the discourse of Q 17 around the SM sayings contained therein. Further, the final climactic saying of Q 22.30 picks up precisely the motif of participation in the final judgment which is a key element in the background of the SM tradition, as I argued earlier. Thus the fact that Q’s redaction is highly interested in the SM sayings is unquestionable in my view. This cannot however be taken as implying that the SM sayings have (all) been created at the stage of Q’s redaction.69 As John Kloppenborg has forcefully reminded us on several occasions, tradition history is not the

66 For more detail, and more discussion of alternative proposals, see my Q and the History, 245–248. 67 Hoffmann, ‘Redaction of Q and the Son of Man’, 190–198. 68 Thus agreeing with Hoffmann: cf. above. 69 To be fair, Hoffmann himself does not explicitly argue for this (though some of his language can be taken this way). The question he does incline to answer affirmatively is rather ‘Is QR responsible for the reception (Rezeption) of the SM concept, or at least for its literary-theological integration (literarisch-theologische Integration), in the rest of the Q material?’ (‘Redaction of Q and the Son of Man’, 190). On p. 193 (German p. 452), he explicitly states that the question of when the Christian reception of the SM idea first occurred is not settled by his argument, though in a footnote he does say that it should not be assumed as self-evident that the eschatological SM sayings (e.g. in Q 17) belong to the oldest Christian, or even dominical, tradition. (The English translation is however a little misleading here, giving a much stronger statement [ ‘we should take final leave from the assumption …’] than the German [‘Nur sollte in der Diskussion nicht wie es häufig geschieht, zu “selbstverständlich” vorausgesetzt werden …’].)

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same as literary history.70 The identification of strata within Q cannot on its own be correlated directly with claims about the relative age of individual traditions being used in any particular layer of a text such as Q.71 A relative late-comer into Q may be a very old tradition; its lateness in coming into Q will only tell us something about how the Q tradition itself has grown: that fact on its own cannot tell us anything about the absolute date of the individual tradition concerned. I would therefore conclude this section by claiming that the Q SM sayings should all be seen together (they are, after all, all SM sayings!), but that they are not all necessarily ‘late’. Some may well be later creations, but others seem to have been in the tradition, indeed in Q’s tradition, prior to any work by a final Q redactor. I would not wish to deny for a moment that these sayings are exploited by that redactor for all that they are worth! But the tradition of SM sayings seems to be embedded in the tradition before Q reaches its ‘final’ form.

3. The Son of Man and Jesus In the light of the previous discussion, can we deduce anything about the possible use of the term SM by Jesus himself? Any move from a discussion of Q to claims about Jesus is of course one that is fraught with enormous methodological difficulties. In this particular case, i.e. the possible use of the term SM, there is the fact that we are almost certainly moving across a highly significant language division, from Greek to Aramaic. And, as all who have studied the issue know full well, there is potentially a very large problem here. It is universally agreed that, while the Greek phrase ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ is a highly distinctive formulation, the Aramaic phrase bar nash(a) probably lying behind the Greek is a very commonplace phrase 70 Cf. n. 51 above. However, it is then somewhat surprising to find Kloppenborg himself arguing that because a saying such as Q 22.30 fits so well into Q’s redactional programme, ‘one must offer good reasons for not thinking that Q 22:28–30 is simply a creation of Q’ (‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 328) and hence claiming that one can solve the authenticity question via such a route. Cf. his earlier statement in Formation, 244 (quoted indeed in the later article on pp. 322–323!): ‘It is possible, indeed probable, that some of the materials from the secondary compositional phase are dominical or at least very old.’ 71 Hence the somewhat dangerous nature of the claim by Kloppenborg, who is normally so very cautious and methodologically clear on this issue, that the SM sayings in Q are ‘not the earliest sayings in Q from a compositional point of view and probably not from a tradition historical perspective either’ (‘Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, 319, quoted above, at n. 48). Claims about the second are quite unrelated to claims about the first!

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meaning simply either ‘someone’ (indefinite) or ‘humans/people’ (a generic usage).72 At a more general level, there are too enormous difficulties in trying to recover any ‘real Jesus’ from the historical sources we actually have at our disposal.73 Our sources give us a Jesus mediated through the eyes of others, the ‘others’ being almost exclusively his later supporters and followers. Inevitably one gets a verbal portrait which is influenced by those who are telling it. To produce a ‘real Jesus’, untainted by the views of others and independent of the later pictures of him, is probably an impossible task. Any ‘historical Jesus’ can be at most the ‘Jesus which our historical sources allow us to construct’.74 Nevertheless, this does not necessarily mean that we should despair of even trying to say something about Jesus. At many levels, and on many issues, one can point to a number of features in the gospel tradition which appear to be constant across many different strands of the tradition and which do not appear to be characteristic of an early Christian discourse (e.g. Jesus being portrayed as talking about the Kingdom of God). Anyone reading or hearing that last sentence will I am sure instantly recognise in such an argument a twin appeal to two classic criteria of historical Jesus research: the criterion of multiple attestation and the criterion of dissimilarity. Both criteria can of course be criticised, and rightly so, especially if used in too extreme a form.75 Multiple attestation may only show that an element reflects a widespread Christian viewpoint, and/or that it goes back to an earlier, but not the earliest, stage of the tradition. Dissimilarity is open to the criticisms that it assumes that we know more than we probably do of the contemporary first century scene, and that it probably drives an historically implausible wedge between Jesus and his followers on the one hand and between Jesus and his Jewish contemporaries on the other. Nevertheless, both criteria can I believe be appropriately applied, if used with care. 72 G. Vermes, ‘The Use of YQUE/DYQUE in Jewish Aramaic’, Appendix E in M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford: Clarendon, 31967), 310–330, remains a valuable exposition of the data, even if his theory that on occasions bar nash(a) can be used as a substitute for the first person alone has not won widespread acceptance. 73 On this, see Schröter, ‘Markus, Q und der historische Jesus’, 177–182; also his Erinnerung, passim. 74 Similarly, J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume One (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 21–40. 75 For a valuable and very full discussion of the dissimilarity criterion (or, as they would argue, criteria), see G. Theißen & D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Freiburg & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). For a thorough survey of all the criteria used to try to recover the historical Jesus, see Meier, A Marginal Jew, 1.167–195.

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In relation to Jesus’ possible use of the term SM, I believe that the (by now) old arguments concerning the authenticity of at least some of the SM sayings still stand. Any claim that they are all due to later Christian theologising has to take account of the absence of such theologising outside the gospel tradition. One can of course point to the silence of Paul and others in the early period and claim that SM only entered Christian discourse at a later time (e.g. around the time of the Jewish war: cf. above). But the fact still remains that the relative silence regarding any significant use of SM by Christians outside the gospel tradition is a feature of the post-70 situation just as much as of the pre-70 situation. Texts which many would date to such a later period would include Ephesians, 1 Peter, James, Jude, the Pastoral epistles, 1 Clement, the Didache etc., and all these are silent about any significant SM Christology. 76 On the other hand, the use of SM is a ubiquitous feature of all strands of the gospel tradition. It seems to me still that this is most easily explained if the use of the term does indeed go back to Jesus.77 To ascribe SM to the ‘historical’ Jesus seems to me entirely appropriate. If in fact the ‘real’ Jesus did not use the term, then between the ‘historical’ Jesus (as ‘the Jesus which our historical sources allow us to construct’) and the ‘real’ Jesus is a chasm which we cannot by definition cross, simply because our sources give no indication that such a Jesus existed. If then we look at our earliest historical sources Mark and Q, we find both a measure of real disagreement, but also a measure of fundamental similarity at a number of key points. With regard to disagreements one can point to the fact that there is nothing in Q corresponding directly to the explicit passion predictions which occur in Mark. In Mark all the passion predictions are uniformly in relation to Jesus as SM (Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.33 etc.). Q, as is well known, has no passion narrative, and indeed seems to ‘democratise’ any references to suffering by referring to the experiences in store (or already happened) of a wider group than just Jesus alone.78 76 I exclude here texts such as Ign. Eph. 20.2, where the phrase ‘son of man’ simply seems to mean Jesus regarded as a human being, in contrast to his being Son of God, taken as implying his divinity. See Hare, Son of Man Tradition, 43. Such usage scarcely seems to imply any kind of significant SM Christology. Hoffmann’s attempt to correlate Q’s redactional interest in SM at a relatively late date with other (roughly) contemporary Christian texts can only appeal to the Book of Revelation outside the gospel tradition. And even here it is not clear how far ‘John’ (the author) is really interested in any SM ‘concept’ or ‘idea’: John is primarily interested in Dan 7! (Cf. Rev 20.4 noted above, also 1.13 ff. [the well-known description of the risen Jesus drawing heavily on the verbal imagery of Dan 7]; 14.14). All this would of course add support the argument of the first part of this essay that ‘SM’ and Dan 7 are integrally related! 77 Cf. Robinson, ‘Son of Man in Q’, 319; Schröter, ‘Markus, Q und der historische Jesus’, 195. 78 Cf. Kloppenborg, ‘Easter Faith’, and see above.

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Mark does not contain anything comparable to Q 22.30, where the ‘democratising’ process extends to the promise that those suffering will act as judges in the final judgment. On the other hand, unlike Mark, Q has no verbal or explicit reference to Dan 7 apart from the use of the phrase ‘SM’ itself.79 There is no reference to the SM ‘coming’, or to any accompaniment of the ‘clouds of heaven’, references which for some are essential if any reference to Dan 7 is to be seen.80 Yet despite these differences there are also some clear similarities at a deeper level. In both Mark and Q, Jesus as SM is a figure who experiences hostility and rejection.81 Further, both Mark and Q indicate that any wouldbe follower of Jesus must share in the same suffering of Jesus SM. In Q we have already seen this in texts such as Q 6.22; 7.34; 9.58. In Mark the link is in one way slightly less direct but no less real. Thus in Mark 8, the first passion prediction of Jesus’ coming suffering as SM (v. 31) is immediately followed by Jesus’ teaching about the necessity of any would-be follower to take up their cross if they wish to follow Jesus (v. 34). The language is quite clear in its implications: the fate of Jesus is the potential fate of any disciple too. Similarly, after the third passion prediction in Mark 10.33–34 (again of Jesus’ suffering as SM) there is the account of the request of James and John for the chief seats in the Kingdom. Jesus’ reply is by no means clear (and one suspects that there are seams in the tradition); however, the question about whether they can be baptised with the baptism Jesus is baptised with, and drink the cup that Jesus drinks (v. 38), receives an affirmative answer (‘we can’) which is then reaffirmed by Jesus: they will indeed be baptised with the same baptism as his, and also drink the same cup (v. 39). Both verbal pictures are almost certainly metaphors for suffering and/or death. The implication is clear. The suffering of Jesus SM is one which those who follow him must also share. In both, Jesus as SM is also a figure who will (by implication be vindicated and then) play an important role in the final judgment. Further, in both Mark and Q, influence of Dan 7 may be seen, albeit in different ways. In Mark the reference is quite clear in the sayings in Mark 13.26; 14.62 with the language of the SM ‘coming’ ‘on the clouds of heaven’. In Q any direct allusion in such extra phrases is lacking, as we have seen. But, as we have also seen, if we consider not just Dan 7 but the exegetical tradition which Dan 7 seems to have generated, then the Q SM sayings, taken to79

But on this see above, also the discussion below. Cf. n. 42 above, but see also the reservations noted in n. 43. 81 For Mark, cf. the well-known stress throughout the second half of the Gospel on the fact that it is as SM that Jesus is to suffer. In Q, see above on the ‘present SM’ sayings, which I have argued are all about the hostility and rejection experienced by Jesus and/or his followers. 80

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gether with other sayings in Q, notably Q 22.30, show a close affinity with that tradition. Here the SM figure functions as part of a ‘democratising’ process whereby the problem of the suffering of a wider group is addressed by looking forward to a future scene in which a figure on their behalf would receive a vindication in the heavenly court. Thus in both Mark and Q we see the text from Dan 7, as interpreted in the first century, underlying much of the SM tradition in both these early Christian gospel texts. If then the term ‘historical Jesus’ means that the ‘Jesus which our historical sources allow us to construct’ then a Danielic SM would seem to be something we can indeed ascribe to the historical Jesus.82 I consider briefly one final objection to such a theory. Does not the language barrier militate strongly against such a view? Is it not the case that (assuming Jesus spoke in Aramaic) the Aramaic phrase bar nash(a) is such an ordinary, commonplace phrase that it simply will not bear the weight that the interpretation suggested above places on it? Are we entitled to try to work backwards from the Greek forms of sayings to any ‘historical Jesus’ without first re-translating such sayings back into Aramaic and asking what such words would have meant to an Aramaic speaker or hearer?83 The argument has some force but, I believe, is not entirely persuasive. I do not claim any expertise in Aramaic. I have to rely on the knowledge of others, and as such I am happy to accept that the Aramaic phrase is primarily used in an indefinite or generic sense (cf. above). Nevertheless it is now widely agreed in study of semantics that words, or indeed phrases, do not derive their meanings exclusively from themselves: meaning is often derived as much from the context in which words or phrases are used.84 But such a ‘context’ can apply at many different 82 I would not wish to argue the case for or against the authenticity of any particular individual saying here. There is in any case no space here for that. However, perhaps one can make more progress by asking about broader themes, rather than discussing the minutiae of individual sayings. Hence I am in agreement, methodologically, with the approach of e.g. J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), in wanting to focus on what he calls ‘complexes’ rather than on individual sayings, even if I would disagree with him about some details in his use of sources and in the overall interpretation of Jesus: see my ‘The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology’, in S. Maser & E. Schlarb (eds.), Text und Geschichte (FS D. Lührmann; Marburg: Elwert, 1999), 257–279 (pp. 421–446 in this volume). 83 The point is made most forcefully in the modern debate by Maurice Casey: see his Son of Man, and many other publications since, including his recent Aramaic Sources of Mark’s Gospel (SNTSMS 102; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), e.g. pp. 70–71 (against Burkett). 84 Cf. J. Lyons, Semantics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); P. Cotterell & M. Turner, Linguistics and Biblical Interpretation (London: SPCK, 1989), esp. ch. 2 ‘Semantics and Hermeneutics’.

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levels. We can consider the literary context of a phrase or sentence in which a word is used.85 But we can also consider a wider social or cultural context. And it is surely a feature of all levels of human society that words or phrases which are innocuous and vague in themselves can carry overtones of meaning and significance for those in particular groups. The particular groups concerned can be smaller or larger. At the smaller level, each of us can probably produce examples of the ‘family joke’, of words that have been used (or misused) in ways that those within the ‘family’ recognise but which are totally opaque to those outside the family. At the larger level one can think of many examples of relatively general words or phrases being used in very specific ways within (relatively broad) social or national groups. For many English (and I would guess European) people, a statement to the effect that someone ‘was born after the war’ would be taken as quite unambiguously asserting that the person’s date of birth was after 1945, despite the fact that the word ‘war’ itself is fairly general and that there have been many wars since 1945 (in Korea, Vietnam, the Falklands, Iraq, Kosovo etc.). Similarly, within a context of living near the city of Manchester in England, and being in Manchester Piccadilly railway station on one particular Wednesday evening amid a sea of red and white scarves and a huge police presence, a statement that one is not going to ‘the match’ needs no more specification to be perfectly well understood. If (as I suspect) one or two people do not pick up the reference immediately, this perhaps illustrates my point well: one needs to know that the presence of so many scarves of those colours at a Manchester station, and the massive police presence, mean that there is an important football match involving Manchester United taking place at Old Trafford football ground (c. 4 km from Manchester Piccadilly station). In that social context, ‘the match’ has a clear, unambiguous and quite specific reference, even though the word ‘match’ itself is very general and could refer to all kinds of different matches (football possibly even played by Manchester City, cricket, rugby, a small piece of wood used to light a fire or a cigarette etc.). It seems to me quite possible that the phrase SM, even in the form of the Aramaic phrase bar nash(a), could function in the same way. At one level it is a very general, unspecific phrase if taken in isolation. But study of semantics has taught us that we should rarely take any words in complete isolation. Perhaps then within the social context of Jesus’ own teaching as this was conducted among the group of his followers (and perhaps with others as well), this phrase, innocuous in itself, could carry other overtones of meaning in a way similar to the family joke or the shorthand jargon which we all use in different social/cultural contexts (just as we do in our 85

This is effectively sometimes the only context Casey seems to allow. See n. 43 above.

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own discipline of NT study and within our own sub-discipline of interest in Q!). The possibility then that Jesus used the Aramaic phrase bar nash, or bar nasha, to refer to himself and to evoke the context of the Danielic scene is thus not impossible given the way that languages and verbal shorthands function with all groups within human society. In doing so he may then have been giving expression to his conviction that he, like others before him, was destined to suffer rejection, hostility and violence because of his commitment to God, but that he would be subsequently vindicated in the heavenly court. As SM too he invited others to share with him in this route. Both Mark and Q pick up aspects of this complex of ideas, some in common with each other though also with some differences. Nevertheless the common features seem sufficient to be able to say with a measure of plausibility that we can see here features of the historical Jesus. 29

30

XIV Q, Jesus and Aramaic Some Methodological Reflections The question of possible Aramaic sources underlying our present gospel texts has always been a pressing issue. For those concerned with ‘redaction’critical approaches to the gospels, investigating the ideas and ‘theologies’ of the (Greek speaking/writing) evangelists themselves, such questions can perhaps be sidelined. But for any concerned to use the gospels to reach back behind the texts to earlier traditions, the issue of Aramaic Vorlagen is inevitably bound to arise at some stage or other. Since (as most accept) Jesus himself probably spoke and taught in Aramaic,1 any line of development of the tradition from Jesus to the gospels must involve, at least potentially, a move from an Aramaic form of the tradition to a Greek milieu. For those who are interested in using the gospels to try to recover accurate information about Jesus himself, it has always been thought vital to take some account (if possible) of the language barrier which the tradition must have crossed in going from Jesus to the gospels. (Conversely, if a tradition seems incapable of crossing the language barrier from Greek to Aramaic, this has often been regarded as an important indicator that the tradition in question cannot go back to Jesus.2) A related, but nevertheless different, area of concern focuses on earlier, literary sources which lie behind our present (Greek) gospel texts. Many have argued in the past that one or more of the sources used by our evangelists was originally an Aramaic source and that our evangelists give different translations of this common Aramaic original. The history of scholarship on such issues is quite long and complex and has recently been well and fully described by H. O. Guenther.3 It can be traced back as early as Eich1

I am fully aware of the debate about whether Jesus might have known Greek and spoken in Greek at times. However, I am not aware that anyone has argued that Jesus spoke exclusively in Greek. Thus all are agreed that some – and probably a significant part – of any authentic Jesus tradition must go back to Aramaic. 2 For example, the use of the noun ਫ਼ʌȠțȡȚIJȒȢ in the gospel tradition has always been regarded as unlikely to go back to Jesus because there is no obvious Aramaic equivalent to the word with the meaning required. 3 H. O. Guenther, ‘The Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest for Aramaic Sources’, Semeia 55 (1991) 41–76.

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horn (1804) who postulated an Aramaic Urevangelium used by all three synoptic evangelists. In more recent times, attention in this respect has focused on the Sayings Source Q and the suggestion that Q might have been originally (either in whole or in part) an Aramaic document. This was argued above all by Weisse (1838) and subsequently by Wellhausen and Harnack in the early 20th century. They have now very recently been forcefully re-presented in the new book of Maurice Casey, An Aramaic Approach to Q (SNTSMS 122; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), a study which takes further his earlier Aramaic Sources of Mark’s Gospel (SNTSMS 102; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). It is (or should be!) clear that the two areas of study – a quest for the historical Jesus, and a quest for earlier literary sources behind our gospels – are not identical. On the other hand, Guenther’s essay shows very clearly how the two issues were all but identified, almost unthinkingly, in the past. Thus claims to have recovered an Aramaic Q, or an Aramaic Logia source, are often assumed to have led us without further ado to the historical Jesus: Jesus, Jesus’ teaching, Jesus’ ideas etc. can all be virtually identified with those found in the earlier source, above all if that source can be shown to be Aramaic. In more general terms, one sees exactly the same kind of interpretative move being made in many of the works of J. Jeremias: a recovery of an Aramaic form of a tradition (saying, parable, story) can almost ipso facto be ascribed to the historical Jesus. Casey’s new book is in many ways similar (though he is aware of the potential pitfalls involved). For Casey’s clear aim is not only to recover the Aramaic tradition lying behind our gospels: he is also concerned to discuss the question of how far this takes us back to the historical Jesus. Casey’s book is thus a book about both Q and about the historical Jesus. As such is it rather unlike the vast majority of studies on Q which have appeared in the last 40–50 years. If the issue of possible Aramaic sources behind our gospels has a long pedigree in NT scholarship, studies on Q are not quite so long-standing; or perhaps rather, Q studies in the last 40–50 years have taken a significantly different turn. The Q hypothesis has of course been with us since at least Weisse’s work of 1838.4 However, for a very long time (until the 1950s or 1960s) it was assumed as almost self-evident that Q (especially if Q were in Aramaic!) gave us almost immediate access to the historical Jesus, especially his teaching.5 4 C. H. Weisse, Die evangelische Geschichte, kritisch und philosophisch bearbeitet (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1838). 5 So e.g. Weisse, Evangelische Geschichte; H. J. Holtzmann, Die synoptischen Evangelien (Leipzig: Engelmann, 1863); A. von Harnack, The Sayings of Jesus (London: Williams & Norgate, 1908); T. W. Manson, The Sayings of Jesus (London: SCM, 1949).

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It was only in the late 1950s and in the 1960s that there was significant change of direction. An important impetus came from H. E. Tödt’s doctoral dissertation on the Son of Man sayings in the gospel tradition;6 and this was followed by a sudden spate of publications around the end of the 1960s by D. Lührmann, P. Hoffmann, A. Polag and S. Schulz.7 All these argued that between Q and Jesus there might be a significant ‘space’, that the Q tradition had its own distinctive characteristic features and ideas, and that it was appropriate in some way or other to think of Q as a literary ‘text’ in its own right, with its own distinctive ‘agenda’, perhaps too reflecting the beliefs of a particular group of ‘Christians’ with their own characteristic ‘theology’.8 Such theories have of course mushroomed since the 1970s with various twists and turns. One of the significant developments in Q studies in recent years has been the claim that, as a literary source, Q developed and grew over the course of time. John Kloppenborg’s seminal 1987 publication The Formation of Q (Philadelphia, 1987) has been extremely influential in this respect and many have sought to build on his theories, taking his proposals as almost unquestioned, established fact. Kloppenborg argued that in its earliest stage, Q (or ‘Q1’) contained primarily sayings of Jesus of a sapiential nature and lacked much of the polemical material. It was only at a later stage (‘Q2’) that the more ‘prophetic’ judgment sayings were added, reflecting perhaps a greater sense of alienation between the ‘Christian’ group and their Jewish contemporaries. A third stage (‘Q3’) then added a number of nomistic sayings (Q 11.42c; 16.17) as well as the temptation narrative.9 Such a stratification model for the growth of Q has provoked much discussion. Some have adopted it enthusiastically; others have been more sceptical.10 Nevertheless, two points should be noted. First, Kloppenborg’s 6 H. E. Tödt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London: SCM, 1965; German original 1959). 7 D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969); P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972); S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972); A. Polag, Die Christologie der Logienquelle (WMANT 45; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1977). (Polag’s monograph was a re-presentation of a 1969 doctoral dissertation which was well known and discussed in the early 1970s.) 8 I am fully aware that my formulation of the sentence above begs a potentially very large number of questions! 9 For a more recent re-presentation of his views, see J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000). 10 See e.g. my ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222 (pp. 143–152 in this volume); also my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), esp. 69–75; P. Hoffmann, ‘Mutmaßungen über Q. Zum Problem der literarischen Genese von Q’, in A. Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 158; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2001), 255–288; J. Schröter,

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proposal is a theory about the growth of the document Q itself. Thus his suggestion is that the Q1 material was later supplemented by the more polemical material to form an expanded version of Q. The model is thus one of the growth of a single text Q by accreting to itself further traditions; and it is this Q which was used by Matthew and Luke. Second, it should also be noted that Kloppenborg himself made it very clear that his stratification model for Q has nothing to do necessarily with study of the historical Jesus. ‘Q2’ material might be a relative late-comer into Q but this implies nothing about its authenticity or otherwise. Whether this material is authentic to Jesus or not is a quite separate issue from the question of when it entered the Q tradition. Similarly, material in Q1 has no automatic right to be taken as authentic to Jesus. Theories about earlier/ later additions to Q should not be confused with claims about the authenticity or otherwise of the traditions in question.11 A third point may also be noted here. It has been assumed as almost self-evident (and certainly it is rarely questioned) that the Q tradition was formulated and put together in Greek. Q is assumed to be a Greek text, undergoing possible expansions and/or editorial changes at the level of Greek. Such a view has rarely been questioned in recent years (though theories of two or more ‘Q’s’ have been advocated by others earlier12). Certainly in some parts of the Q material, Matthew and Luke show extremely close verbal agreement in Greek (cf. Q 3.7–9; 11.9–10) so that a Greek Vorlage seems to be demanded. The variation in the level of verbal agreement between Matthew and Luke in Q material has always been noted (cf.

Jesus und die Anfänge der Christologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2001), 103– 117. 11 See his Formation, 244–245, with the same claim repeated in many other publications. Nevertheless, this has not prevented a number of others who have sought to exploit Kloppenborg’s theories about the growth of Q to make far-reaching claims about the growth of the Jesus tradition, as if the two were virtually synonymous. Hence scholars such as Burton Mack and James Robinson have sought to use Kloppenborg’s model by equating the earliest alleged stratum in Q with authentic Jesus tradition, and the later stratum in Q with later, Christian additions and developments of the Jesus tradition: see B. Mack, The Lost Gospel. The Book of Q and Christian Origins (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993); J. M. Robinson, ‘The Critical Edition of Q and the Historical Jesus’, in Lindemann (ed.), Sayings Source (see previous note), 27–52. Such a confusion of categories has been quite clearly highlighted and excluded by Kloppenborg himself and represents a misunderstanding of arguments about strata within Q. On this, see my ‘The Son of Man and Daniel 7. Q and Jesus’, in Lindemann (ed.), Sayings Source, 371–394, esp. pp. 383–384 (pp. 266–289 in this volume, esp. pp. 278–279). 12 E.g. W. Bussmann, Synoptische Studien (Halle: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1929); more recently C. J. A. Hickling, ‘The Plurality of Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 425–429.

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e.g. Q 14.16–24 or 19.12–29 where the level of verbal agreement is minimal despite the fact that, broadly speaking, the same story is being told). However, recent attempts to detect a ‘theology’ of Q, or distinctive/ characteristic features within Q, have convinced many that it is appropriate to think of ‘Q’ as a unified entity (or ‘text’). Further, consideration of the order of the Q material in Matthew and Luke may indicate an original common ordering of the material (after making allowance for Matthew’s clear redactional tendency to collect material together thematically into his teaching ‘blocks’).13 This again would support the view that ‘Q’ may have been more of a unified text. And the precise verbal agreement between Matthew and Luke in Greek at some points suggests that, if Q was a written document, then it was written in Greek. Some of these assumptions are radically challenged by Casey in his new book on Q. In particular he seeks to challenge two assumptions (mentioned above) which have gone unquestioned in any very serious way in recent Q studies, viz. the assumptions that (a) Q is a single source, and (b) that Q is a Greek text. A brief survey of Q scholarship leads into a detailed discussion of three extended blocks of Q tradition: the woes of Q 11.39–51, the Baptist material in Q 7.18–35, and the Beelzebul controversy in Q 11.14–23 + 12.10 with the parallel in Mark 3.22–30. Casey’s overall approach is to seek to recover Aramaic sources lying behind the present gospel texts and also to assess their historicity. In the case of the woes of Q 11, Casey claims that the different versions of Matthew and Luke represent different translations (at times with some ‘misreadings’) of a common Aramaic original. In this case one must postulate an Aramaic Q. In other instances (e.g. the Baptist material in Q 7), the Matthew-Luke agreement is so close in Greek that one must postulate a common Greek Vorlage, even though this too can be shown to come from an Aramaic tradition. Thus Casey claims that we should countenance a much more ‘chaotic’ model for Q. ‘Q’ is not unitary: some parts were available to Matthew/Luke in Aramaic, other parts in Greek. Moreover it is only the Aramaic forms which enable us to get back to Jesus and (at times) to see how Matthew and Luke have read/misread the tradition to produce the present gospel texts, as well as enabling us to reach back to recover the historical Jesus. I consider here in turn Casey’s theories about Q and then (more briefly) his suggestions about Jesus. *

13

On this see V. Taylor, ‘On the Order of Q’, JTS 4 (1953) 27–31; idem, ‘The Original Order of Q’, in A. J. B. Higgins (ed.), New Testament Essays. Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), 95–118; Kloppenborg, Formation, 64–80.

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In relation to Casey’s theories about Q, especially for a ‘chaotic’, and in part Aramaic, Q, much has to depend on the analysis of the series of woes in Q 11. For in the other sections analysed, Casey argues for a relatively ‘conventional’ form of the Q hypothesis, viz. Matthew and Luke both using a common Greek original. It is then the woes material that has to bear most of the weight of Casey’s theories about ‘Q’. It is though not at all clear that the material will bear such weight. In general, Casey collapses any distinction between an ‘editor’ (or ‘redactor’) and a ‘translator’ to nothing. Hence for him, there is no real distinction between the ‘editorial’ process and the translation process: one and the same person was probably responsible for both so that one can and should envisage the redactional activity as being virtually synonymous with the translation process. Casey then argues repeatedly, and in detail, that the redactional process whereby Matthew and Luke translated and redacted the postulated Aramaic source can be fully explained at almost every point. Certainly the translational and/or redactional process which has to be postulated is at times extremely convoluted and complex; equally, Casey’s claim to be able to explain in detail the thought processes in the mind of the evangelists (usually Luke, as for Casey Luke is more often responsible for changing the common source than Matthew14) is at times extremely optimistic in the detail which is supplied. But more importantly (in the present context) it is not always clear that one really needs a common Aramaic tradition to explain the differences between Matthew and Luke. There are one or two cases of relatively simple ‘misreadings’ suggested by Casey, where similar looking words may have been confused. Probably the best known example is the possible confusion whereby a ZNG in the source behind Matt 23.26 (țĮșȐȡȚıȠȞ ‘cleanse’) may have been misread as ZN] in Luke 11.41 (įȩIJİ ਥȜİȘȝȠıȪȞȘȞ ‘give alms’). The suggestion is as old as Wellhausen and has been repeated many times since (e.g. by M. Black) and in turn Casey mentions it several times.15 Yet Casey also argues that this may not have been due to ‘defective eyesight’ on the part of Luke. Rather, it may also be part of a deliberate strategy on Luke’s part, seeking to make the tradition more relevant for the ‘target audience’. In Luke’s case the ‘target audience’ may not have understood, or been interested in, some of the finer points of detail about Jewish 14 But this is by no means always the case: Casey does not defend any theory that Luke is always or consistently secondary, which would pre-empt the need to postulate a Q at all and would lead more naturally to a theory of Luke’s dependence on Matthew directly. 15 See J. Wellhausen, Einleitung in die drei ersten Evangelien (Berlin: Reimer, 1911), 27; M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford: Clarendon, 1946), 2; Casey, Aramaic Approach to Q, 10, 23, 38, 82.

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Torah observance, especially in relation to purity issues (the topic of the woe is the washing of cups); and indeed Luke himself may be in the same category. Hence in the case of Matt 23.26//Luke 11.41, the change or ‘misreading’ by Luke may be due to Luke’s ‘perspective’: ‘He [Luke] misread ZNG partly because he could not imagine why Jesus would tell the Pharisees to cleanse the inside of a cup or dish’ (p. 82).16 Another famous possible misreading of an Aramaic original occurs in Matt 23.23//Luke 11.42 where Matthew’s ‘dill’ (ਙȞȘșȠȞ) may translate DWEY, while Luke’s ‘rue’ (ʌȒȖĮȞȠȞ) may represent a slight misreading of the same Aramaic word as DUEY. Again the example has been referred to by many others prior to Casey. 17 For Casey, Matthew’s ‘dill’ is original as dill was a common herb which the Pharisees and scribes would have tithed. For Luke, ‘rue’ was perhaps used by some as a spice; so Luke may have thought that ‘it stank dreadfully, which portrays the scribes as very silly’ (p. 73). Probably too the word was used to refer to a plant for making wicks. If so, Luke will have thought that the scribes and Pharisees, in tithing such a plant, would have appeared ridiculous. Indeed, ‘the more bizarre they seemed, the better’ (p. 74). Thus Luke’s ‘misreading’ appears to be part of a (?deliberate) strategy by Luke, here to make the scribes and Pharisees appear even more ridiculous than they might appear in Matthew or Q. A further difference between Matthew and Luke in this verse relates to the third item mentioned in the list of things tithed by the scribes and Pharisees: Matthew has ‘cummin’, Luke has ‘every herb’. Again Casey claims to be able to delineate the process whereby Luke’s version may have arisen from an Aramaic source accurately translated by Matthew. Matthew’s ‘cummin’ is said to reflect accurately a DQZPN in the postulated source. But this is ‘the sort of word which may not have been known to a man who did not do the cooking’. Hence Luke may have changed a Z to a \, then ‘thought’ that his source read DQ\PON, ‘every species’, (adding a O!) so that his ʌ઼Ȟ ȜȐȤĮȞȠȞ (‘every herb’) ‘would then be a good interpretive translation of what he thought the source really meant’ (p. 74). Other similar ‘misreadings’ occur in the same verse where Matthew’s ਩ȜİȠȢ may translate D\P[U. Luke may have misread this as DWP[U and hence written IJ੽Ȟ ਕȖȐʌȘȞ. So too Luke dropped the reference to the ‘weightier’ parts of the Law (cf. Matthew IJ੹ ȕĮȡȪIJİȡĮ IJȠ૨ ȞȩȝȠȣ, perhaps reflecting an Aramaic D\UPZ[) as a ‘piece of Jewish culture’. But such a change is again not necessarily purely accidental: ‘Luke so misreads his source because he saw what fitted the needs of his congregations, not merely because the ancient source was squiggly and a bit difficult to read. 16

Page numbers in the text refer to Casey’s Aramaic Approach to Q. According to Kloppenborg, Formation, 58, the first to refer to the example was E. Nestle, ‘Anise and Rue’, ExpT 15 (1904) 528; cf. too Black, Aramaic Approach, 194. 17

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This verse is strong evidence that, in this passage, translating and editing were part of the same process.’ (p. 76) In similar vein Casey summarises his chapter by claiming that, ‘in some passages, Luke edited vigorously18 in the direction of the target culture, and misread some Aramaic words as part of this process’ (p. 103). How is one to assess such claims? At the very least, one must say that, at times, the editorial processes involved (or rather, those which Casey claims are involved) are extremely complex. Casey’s suggestion about how ‘cummin’ in Aramaic Q became Luke’s ‘every herb’ requires a presumption about Luke’s lack of knowledge and practice in the kitchen, the change of one letter, the addition of another, and then a somewhat free interpretive paraphrase of the resulting end-product. Similarly, the alleged Lukan reasoning which gave Luke the impetus to ‘misread’ (?deliberately) ‘dill’ as ‘rue’ requires Luke apparently believing quite a large number of things: that rue was a spice; but that it ‘stank dreadfully’19; that it may also have been used for wick-making; and all this together with an apparent desire to make the scribes and Pharisees look as ridiculous as possible, which in turn sits rather uneasily with at least some other parts of LukeActs where Luke appears rather more positive about Pharisees.20 None of this is impossible, but the complexity of the process, and the number of steps which effectively have to be filled in by the modern commentator, reduce the level of how convincing any such ‘explanation’ might be. Further, as soon as one moves beyond a possible case of purely accidental visual errors, the argument proves almost too much. At times Casey’s reconstruction of Luke’s thought processes are extremely optimistic, as already noted. But if the change by Luke (or Matthew) is a product of a deliberate editorial change by Luke to meet the needs or expectations of his target audience (and/or to reflect limitations in their knowledge and interests, or indeed his own knowledge and interests), then the stronger such a case is made, the weaker becomes any need to posit a common Aramaic original. For if the difference between Luke and Matthew is due to Luke’s editorial redaction as much as to any translation/ reading ‘error’, so that any ‘error’ is as much a deliberate change as it is due to a simple verbal mistake or oversight, then the need to postulate an Aramaic original which generates the change diminishes accordingly. If Luke wanted to portray tithing practices as ridiculous and wanted an alternative to ‘dill’, he could have changed the Greek ਙȞȘșȠȞ of a Greek Q to 18

Such a phrase, or similar, is frequently used by Casey here. Why, if it was common knowledge that it ‘stank’, was it in use as a spice?! 20 Cf. e.g. J. A. Ziesler, ‘Luke and the Pharisees’, NTS 25 (1978) 146–157, and others. One may note the presentation of Paul in Acts as a good Pharisee, and Pharisees in general as being generally on the right track by believing in resurrection (unlike the Sadducees). 19

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ʌȒȖĮȞȠȞ just as easily as changing DWEY to DUEY at the stage of a postulated Aramaic source. The case becomes even stronger when Luke’s (probable) change of the tradition is thoroughly in line with his redactional tendencies elsewhere in Luke-Acts. For example, in the famous ZNG/ZN] example, Luke’s ‘give alms’ is thoroughly in line with the powerful emphasis elsewhere in the Lukan writings about the value and the importance of charitable giving.21 But then one scarcely needs a misreading of a daleth as a zain to explain the Lukan text here, least of all as a deliberate misreading.22 One can just as easily postulate a change by Luke writing in Greek of a Greek țĮșȐȡȚıȠȞ in a putative source. Casey’s collapsing of the difference between the redactional and translational process thus has the effect of undermining the force of any argument which claims that it is necessary to postulate an Aramaic Vorlage to explain the differences between Matthew and Luke. There are too questions to raise on the basis of Casey’s work about what kind of people ‘Matthew’ and ‘Luke’ might have been, what their attitude to their common source(s) was, and what the concrete nature of their common ‘text(s)’ might have been. First, the question of ‘who’ the evangelists were.23 Casey’s theories appear to propose a model of the evangelists as bilingual translators, concerned to translate every (Aramaic) word of their common source. Yet Casey also clearly has, at times, to postulate some blunders by the evangelists (usually Luke). Thus Luke ‘may not have known’ one or two words (e.g. ‘cummin’: see above, or WZ[UY lying behind Matthew’s ਕțȡĮıȓĮȢ Matt 23.25 [p. 80]). At times too his knowledge of Aramaic grammar may be suspect: according to Casey at one point, Luke assumed that a ‘third person masculine suffix on nouns … could be used on verbs as well’ (p. 97). (This is part of Casey’s attempt to explain the difference between Matthew’s ‘their murderers’ [Matt 23.31] and Luke’s ‘they killed them’ [Luke 11.48]. However, Casey also has to postulate a change from a \ to a Z in an original ZK\OMT to read ZKZOMT. Again the point about the complexity of the suggested explanations arises!) None of this is impossible, but the model of an author such as Luke appears to be slightly odd and self-contradictory: at one level Luke is seen as a highly competent, thoroughly bilingual author capable of at times highly creative misreadings of an Aramaic text; but he also appears to be (?surprisingly) ignorant about the nature of the language, and some of its details, that he is translating. 21

See my Luke (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 97–99. Cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 58. 23 I do not mean the standard ‘introductory’ question of what their names were or where they originated. I am referring more to what kind of people they were. 22

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There is further the issue of what might have been the attitude of Matthew and Luke to the text being translated or reproduced. At one level Casey’s model seems to presuppose an attitude of deep and intense respect on the part of Matthew and Luke. The evangelists are (at least in part) seeking to translate a text from Aramaic, and doing so with considerable care, trying to find equivalents for each word of the original, almost on a word-by-word basis. The model is of people apparently showing a considerable respect for the text. The evangelists thus appear to be quite ‘scribal’, as ‘scribes’ taking care to copy (or reproduce) a text with great accuracy. Yet on the other hand, the evangelists appear as people exercising a considerable degree of editorial freedom in relation to the text: as we have seen, Luke especially is posited as having undertaken a process of ‘vigorous editing’, with at times deliberate misreadings of the text to adapt the tradition to his target audience. What kind of model both of the ‘author’, and of the relation of the ‘author’ to the prior text, is presupposed? Can the models of ‘scribe’ or translator on the one hand, and ‘vigorous editor’ on the other, be held together easily? One answer might be the model of the situation of the ‘author’ of a Targum. The authors of the Targums ‘translated’ the Hebrew text of Jewish scripture into Aramaic but also evidently claimed the freedom to be able to expand and modify the text at a number of points to reflect current sensibilities, beliefs etc. Yet the authors of Targums were translating texts which had attained the status of sacred scripture. Had the text(s) of the Q material achieved such status? Of course one cannot know with any certainty. Yet the (almost) scriballike activity presupposed at one level, whereby Matthew/Luke are seen as carefully going through the text word by word and seeking to find Greek equivalents at every stage in such minute detail, seems to demand almost such a model. But would Jesus tradition have achieved this kind of status so early in Christian history? The only comparable material from the relevant period we have is the evidence of Paul’s letters. It can be argued that the apparent freedom which Paul and/or the Pauline tradition exhibits to the Jesus tradition, both in relation to the wording24 and in general attitude and respect for the authority of what is said,25 suggest that at least some Christians did not regard the words of the Jesus tradition as sacrosanct or akin to those of scripture. 24 Cf. his ‘quotations’ of Jesus tradition on divorce (1 Cor 7.10–11) and on support for Christian preachers (1 Cor 9.14) and perhaps the Eucharistic tradition in 1 Cor 11.23–25: in all cases, the Pauline allusions are verbally distinct from the synoptic wording. The existence of such verbal differences indicates that the tradition was handed on with a degree of relative freedom in relation to the wording itself. 25 See especially 1 Cor 9.15 after 9.14: Paul flatly refuses to obey the instruction of Jesus which he ‘quotes’.

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But in any case, even if the Q material had achieved such a status, is the relative freedom in the editing/redactional process exercised by the evangelists so easily reconcilable with such a model? What is so hard to envisage then is the apparent combination of both attempted strict adherence to the wording of the text and editorial freedom. Are the evangelists to be seen as scribal translators, or editors claiming a degree of relative freedom in relation to the text? There may also be questions to ask about the actual form or format of the text itself which is presupposed by Casey’s model. In what form would the units of Casey’s ‘chaotic’ ‘Q’ have circulated? Once again we are very much in the dark about how (in concrete terms) texts circulated among early Christians at this period. It is well known too that the start of the Christian era marks a notable change in some circulations of some texts in that codices (instead of rolls) start to appear. The precise date of this development, and the question of how far it is a peculiarly Christian innovation, is of course much debated.26 In relation to Q, Casey’s model does demand that Q be in written form (to allow for misreadings to occur). The more ‘conventional’ Q hypothesis would envisage a text of sufficient size perhaps to fill a small(ish) scroll and which might also have comprised a codex. Casey’s model of a more ‘chaotic’ Q envisages a number of much smaller units, each circulating separately. Thus the woes of Q 11 appears to be an Aramaic text covering about 10–12 verses worth (i.e. Q 11.39–51). The Baptist material of Q 7.18–35 may be comparable in size (perhaps slightly longer, but not significantly so). But would texts of this order of magnitude have been written on a scroll? It would seem that they might be rather too small for that. Even in codex form, it must have been a relatively small codex. Casey does address this issue and appeals in particular to the work of Migaku Sato on Q.27 Sato had argued that Q might have ‘grown’ rather like a loose-leaf folder, with extra ‘pages’ added at various times. This too might relate to the apparent use by some of wax tablets which might have formed the basis of the use of the codex form.28 With this in mind, Casey suggests that his proposed sections of Q might have been written as notes on wax tablets.

26 Cf. C. H. Roberts & T. C. Skeat, The Birth of the Codex (London: Oxford University Press, 1987); H. Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 49–66. 27 See M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (Tübingen: Mohr, 1988). 28 See Gamble, Books, 49–52; L. Alexander, ‘Ancient Book Production and the Circulation of the Gospels’, in R. J. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for all Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 71–111.

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It makes excellent sense to suppose that different sets of notes on wax tablets should be made available to Matthew and Luke, and should not be kept when Matthew and Luke had edited what they needed into Gospels written with a deliberate eye on the needs of Christian communities. (p. 48)

This is however slightly unconvincing if one considers the situation in a little more detail. Most are agreed that the codex was generally regarded as a rather low-grade phenomenon. The collections of tablets (wax, or wax on wood) were used, as far as we can tell, for ‘private and utilitarian’ purposes: Gamble says that such tablets were ‘handy for recording ephemera of all sorts – school exercises, accounts, notes, first drafts, and so forth’.29 Once used they would then be discarded (as Casey implies was the case with the Q sections used by Matthew and Luke). It is possible that Q itself ‘grew’ in the form of a loose-leaf notebook (so Sato) by having a number of leaves/tablets added together to produce a single codex. But this is a model for the growth into a more substantial document of a single text Q. Presumably then at some stage, when the number of such tablets proved too cumbersome to handle, Q may have been written on to a single scroll.30 But Casey’s model implies that the individual small tablets themselves must have circulated independently: moreover, as both Matthew and Luke attest to the use of Q, and apparently (ex hypothesi for Casey) to the same Aramaic text of Q, then there must have been at least two copies of each wax tablet in circulation to reach Matthew and Luke independently.31 But would such ‘wax tablets’ have been things that were copied as such? Casey himself implies that, as soon as a wax tablet would have been used (by Matthew and Luke at least) it would have been discarded. In any case, its very nature makes it likely that the text on it would have been obliterated so that it could be reused for further note taking for small, essentially temporary texts which were needed for a short time.32 Yet Casey’s model requires wax tablets themselves being copied at least once on a very strictly scribal basis (to ensure almost identical text forms on the two copies) without the original being destroyed

29

Gamble, Books, 50 (my stress). The ‘tablets’ which are sometimes referred to as evidence are generally relatively bulky and heavy, being basically wooden blocks covered with wax. One is not yet talking necessarily about codices consisting of papyrus (or parchment) leaves of ‘paper’. Gamble, Books, 50, says that the earliest reference to parchment or papyrus codices is towards the end of the first century CE. (2 Tim 4.13 might be referring to such, but it is unclear how early such a text will take us.) 31 Alternatively the same wax tablet might have been passed on after being used by whichever evangelist came first; but this would imply that the tablet concerned was not discarded after being used. 32 Cf. Gamble’s reference to ‘ephemera’ above. 30

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or discarded.33 Such a picture seems inherently implausible. The care with which such a process must have been carried out rather belies the use of the medium of wax tablets. But equally the evident lack of ‘care’, and the existence of considerable editorial freedom, which Matthew and Luke must have showed to the texts on the tablets they came across, and the apparent lack of concern to preserve the text (if, as Casey suggests, they destroyed the tablets as soon as they had written their gospels and used the material) seems at odds with the earlier process. Thus the overall picture demands an early, also reverent respect for the text in copying it almost verbatim, but using materials that were scarcely appropriate with such an attitude of respect in mind; and then a later, somewhat less reverent activity by Matthew and Luke both in relation to text form (rewriting the text, at times freely) and in relation to the receptacles of the text (destroying or discarding the tablets). What makes the overall picture so difficult to conceive is the duplication of the wax tablet stage of the process at a time, and in a concrete form, that seems to render such duplication implausible. It is here surely that the more conventional Q hypothesis becomes more plausible. For any possible development from wax tablets to more ‘conventional’ written text may have happened to only one text, viz. the text of Q itself. And by the time Q started to circulate (as it must have done to reach Matthew and Luke), it may have attained a rather more stable form than simply being in the form of the ephemeral wax tablets suggested. Casey’s theory of a ‘chaotic’ Q, i.e. Q as made up of little individual sections which existed in independence from one another and never collected together before being used by Matthew and Luke, does seem to face considerable difficulties if one asks some very basic questions about how such sections or units might have circulated in early Christianity. * I noted earlier that Casey’s book is not devoted exclusively to a discussion of Q for Q’s sake. Casey is also concerned to recover, from his analysis and his reconstructions of Aramaic sources, information about the historical Jesus himself. Indeed Casey generally argues that, in reaching the Aramaic Vorlagen he postulates, he has reached the historical Jesus. It is not possible here to go into any great details. There are however some important issues raised about the criteria to which Casey implicitly or explicitly refers. As often as not, Casey seems to be using the ‘standard’ criteria of ‘dissimilarity’ and of ‘Jewishness’. E.g. in relation to dissimilarity, Casey claims that the discussion of the relative value of tithing (cf. Q 11.42) has 33

It surely strains credulity to the limit to think of the later of Matthew and Luke having access to the other’s discarded notes/tablets themselves!

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its Sitz im Leben in the ministry of Jesus. ‘It does not have a proper Sitz im Leben in the early church, which dropped such things as tithing altogether, and consequently was not concerned about this kind of contrast’ (p. 75).34 Yet enough has surely been written on this (in)famous criterion of dissimilarity to make arguments like this somewhat dangerous.35 We simply do not know enough about ‘the’ early church to say with confidence what is, or is not, a matter of concern to (all?!) early Christians. Further, ‘the’ early church is surely too broad an entity to be treated in such a monolithic way (as if ‘its’ views can be identified with any precision). In any case, in relation to this particular example, does not the presence of a tradition about tithing and its relative importance in an early Christian text (i.e. Matthew’s Gospel) indicate that at least one member of ‘the early church’ thought it important enough to include in his text? In which case could one not say that, for Matthew, this kind of viewpoint was sufficiently close to his own that he thought it important enough to include in his Gospel? Does not the every existence of the tradition in an early Christian text such as a Christian gospel indicate a measure of positive support for the tradition by one element within the early church?36 Broad assertions that some parts of the gospel tradition were not in line with the views of ‘the’ early church are thus to be regarded with some suspicion. Similar observations apply in relation to Casey’s implicit (and at times effectively explicit) appeals to the ‘Jewishness’ of a tradition as an indication (or almost guarantee) of its authenticity. Sometimes this works at the level of language itself. E.g. at one point, Casey has an immensely detailed and careful discussion about whether the Aramaic word DWEY for ‘dill’ was in use at the time of Jesus (the word is not attested in contemporary sources). Learned references to Akkadian etc. all buttress Casey’s argument that this word was in fact in use at the time of Jesus; but then Casey simply adds, almost as an afterthought and with no additional argu34 For a similar discussion, and a similar appeal to the lack of interest in ‘the early church’, see pp. 81–82 on purity laws. 35 See T. Holmen, ‘Doubts about Double Dissimilarity. Reconstructing the Main Criterion of Jesus-of-History Research’, in B. D. Chilton & C. A. Evans (eds.), Authenticating the Words of Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 47–80; also the recent monograph of G. Theißen & D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Freiburg/Switzerland & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), with their distinction between a criterion of dissimilarity in relation to Judaism and one in relation to ‘the early church’. Casey’s appeal is almost always to the latter. 36 Hence, a rigid application of the criterion of dissimilarity would exclude, by definition, everything found in the Christian tradition: the criterion would effectively exclude as inauthentic everything that it was in a position to consider. See my ‘Sources and Methods’, in M. Bockmuehl (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 121–137, esp. p. 132.

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mentation, ‘and … he [Jesus] used it in this saying’ (p. 57). The fact that the word was (perhaps) in use by some at the time of Jesus is almost ipso facto taken as an argument that the word was used by Jesus himself. Some very obvious and trite comments are perhaps relevant.37 Jesus was not the only Aramaic speaker of his time. Aramaic also continued to be spoken and used into the period of ‘the’ early church. The fact that a tradition can be retrojected back into Aramaic is thus no guarantee of its authenticity. (And indeed the fact that a tradition can be retrojected back into Aramaic is no guarantee that it ever did exist in Aramaic.) An Aramaic tradition, if it can be identified as such, could just as well be the product of an Aramaic speaking Christian group within the Christian church, and that group could be active and generating Jesus tradition earlier or later: the language itself would not tell us anything one way or the other. Similar considerations apply to other kinds of appeal to Jewishness. E.g. on Luke 11.49, Casey appeals to Jewish texts about Wisdom (Wisd 7.27; 8.8) to argue that ‘it is therefore entirely reasonable that Jesus should have attributed to her the divine function of sending messengers to Israel’ (p. 98, my stress). I do not dispute Casey’s claim that Luke 11.49 is more original than Matthew’s parallel here (Matt 23.34) which uses the first person (i.e. Jesus himself is the one who sends the prophets). But whether it can be quite so easily taken as dominical is quite another matter. Many would argue that it is just at this point that one sees an element that is rather distinctive within the Q tradition and not easily paralleled elsewhere in Christianity or in Judaism, viz. an idea that Wisdom is the agent who sends out the prophets, all of whom suffer rejection and violence. Such an idea seems to be peculiar to Q, and hence to trace it back to Jesus is not quite so easy. (In terms of the classic ‘criteria’, ‘Jewishness’ has to be used alongside ‘multiple attestation’, as well as perhaps ‘dissimilarity’ and/or ‘coherence’ in some shape or form.) Casey generally seems unwilling to see much distinction between the theology and ideas of Q and those of the historical Jesus. (And hence in this respect he ignores what for others is a potentially powerful argument for the existence of Q as a longer, more unified ‘text’ with its own distinctive characteristic features and/or ‘theology’.) * Casey has produced a stimulating and thought-provoking book. Anyone who digs deep into the history of scholarship, who locates some of the foundations on which later theories have been developed and who questions the validity of some of those foundations, is to be warmly applauded. If I have been a little sceptical about some of Casey’s own counter37

Cf. my ‘Sources and Methods’, 135–136.

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proposals, this should not disguise the deep debt we owe to him for the way in which his book has provided a powerful challenge to some things that some of us have taken – perhaps too uncritically – for granted for too long. Hopefully, enough has been said here to show the ways in which important broader issues of methodology and presuppositions are raised by discussions of this kind. Clearly in any discussion of the historical Jesus, and/or of the roots of the Jesus tradition, one has to try to cope with the language barrier between Aramaic and Greek. Just how one should try to cross it, and at what points (in relation to both ‘text’ and time), raise many questions and issues. Whatever we may make of Casey’s own detailed suggestions, he has forced us to consider vitally important broad questions which we ignore at our peril. 31

Part Three: Paul and Synoptic Tradition

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Paul and the Synoptic Mission Discourse? In recent years there have been a number of publications which have sought to establish a much greater degree of positive continuity between Paul and the tradition of the sayings of Jesus than is sometimes allowed.1 Of particular interest for the present purposes is the work of B. Fjärstedt, Synoptic Tradition in 1 Corinthians. Themes and Clusters of Theme Words in 1 Corinthians 1–4 and 9.2 He argues that a number of passages in 1 Corinthians show a remarkable coincidence in the use of key words with passages in the synoptic gospels. Hence he concludes that ‘if Paul has written these passages in 1 Corinthians, he knew a synoptic type of material and made use of it’ (p. 173). This seems to imply a knowledge by Paul of wider blocks of synoptic material (though in what form, if any, these blocks were united in Paul’s form of the tradition is not clarified by Fjärstedt). Fjärstedt’s work is taken up in detail by D. C. Allison in an article published in New Testament Studies.3 Allison argues that, whilst in some cases Fjärstedt may have gone too far, his basic thesis is sustainable: Paul knew and used larger blocks of synoptic material, e.g. the mission charge, Luke 6.27–38, Mark 9.33–50, the passion narrative, possibly the sequence in Mark 12.13 ff., as well as other isolated sayings. Such a theory would be extremely interesting if established. Not only would it be important for studying Paul’s thought; it might also give insight into the development of the gospel tradition and enable us to plot more accurately the stages by which smaller units of tradition were com1

See the studies (from various perspectives) of D. L. Dungan, The Sayings of Jesus in the Churches of Paul (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971); H. Schürmann, ‘Das Gesetz des Christus’, in J. Gnilka (ed.), Neues Testament und Kirche (FS R. Schnackenburg; Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 282–300; J. Piper, ‘Love Your Enemies’. Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and in the Early Christian Paraenesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); D. Wenham, ‘Paul and the Synoptic Apocalypse’, in R. T. France & D. Wenham (eds.), Gospel Perspectives. Vol. II (Sheffield: JSOT, 1981), 345–375; P. Stuhlmacher, ‘Zum Thema: Das Evangelium und die Evangelien’, in idem (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 16–20; also idem, ‘Jesustradition im Römerbrief?’, TB 14 (1983) 240–250. 2 Uppsala: Teologiska Institutionen, 1974. 3 D. C. Allison, ‘The Pauline Epistles and the Synoptic Gospels. The Pattern of the Parallels’, NTS 28 (1982) 1–32. Page references in the text above are to this article.

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bined to form larger units and finally full gospels. It might also help in considering the general problem of isolating pre-synoptic sources (Q, L, etc.). In terms of method, Fjärstedt’s approach seems, in principle, a valid one. He searches for common collocations of significant words in both the epistles and the gospels, i.e. he looks for agreement in the use of significant words between a single context in the epistles and a single context in the gospels. Allison’s approach is less restrictive, and hence probably less convincing. He refers to widely differing contexts in the Pauline corpus as possible allusions to Jesus traditions; he then seeks to show that the corresponding verses in the gospel tradition come from a small number of welldefined blocks of material which may constitute pre-redactional collections; he then concludes that Paul is dependent on these collections. But there is an important non sequitur here. Even if the existence of both the allusions in question and of the pre-redactional collections were granted, there is still the problem of whether Paul knew the sayings involved as part of these particular collections, or as isolated sayings, or even as part/parts of quite different collections. The mere existence of isolated allusions cannot establish Allison’s theory that larger blocks of synoptic material were as such known to Paul. While Fjärstedt’s method seems preferable to Allison’s in general terms, the detailed practice of his method is less convincing. Allison himself, whilst sympathetic to Fjärstedt’s overall conclusions, points to many weaknesses in Fjärstedt’s detailed proposals: that there is little control in the method, that parallels between words require some parallel between the ideas concerned as well, that common use of common words proves nothing, and that none of Fjärstedt’s examples provides parallels to anything more than individual words.4 However, in one example, Allison accepts Fjärstedt’s theory: this is the cluster of verbal links between 1 Cor 9 and the mission charge of Luke 10,5 and this serves as the starting point for his own discussion. Fjärstedt’s list of parallels, reproduced by Allison, is impressive in its size:6

4

Allison, ‘Pattern’, 8. Allison, ‘Pattern’, 9: ‘Fjärstedt has probably made his case for at least one text. The parallels between 1 Cor 9 and Luke 10 are extensive and the thoughts are similar.’ Cf. also Schürmann, ‘Gesetz’, 284. 6 Allison, ‘Pattern’, 9, citing Fjärstedt, Synoptic Tradition, 74. 5

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1 Corinthians 9

Luke 10 (and Luke 9)

ਕʌȩıIJȠȜȠȢ 1, ਕʌȩıIJȠȜȠȢ 2, ਕʌȠıIJȠȜોȢ 2, ਕʌȩıIJȠȜȠȚ 5 ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ 4, ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ 5, ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ 6, ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȢ 12, ਥȟȠȣıȓ઺ 12, ਥȟȠȣıȓ઺ 18 ਩ȡȖȠȞ 1, ਥȡȖȐȗİıșĮȚ 6, ਥȡȖĮȗȩȝİȞȠȚ 13 ijĮȖİ૙Ȟ 4, ਥıșȓİȚ 7, ਥıșȓİȚ 7, ਥıșȓȠȣıȚȞ 13  ʌİ૙Ȟ 4 ȝȚıșȩȞ 17, ȝȚıșȩȢ 18 șİȡȓıȠȝİȞ 11 İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓȗȦȝĮȚ 16, İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓıȦȝĮȚ 16, İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȚȗȩȝİȞȠȢ 18, İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓ૳ 12, İ੝ĮȖȖȑȜȚȠȞ 14, İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓȠȣ 14, İ੝ĮȖȖȑȜȚȠȞ 18, İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓ૳ 18 țȘȡȪȟĮȢ 27 Preach irrespective of reward

ਕʌȑıIJİȚȜİȞ 1, ਕʌȠıIJȑȜȜȦ 3, ਕʌȠıIJİȓȜĮȞIJĮ 16 (ਕʌȑıIJİȚȜİȞ 9,2) ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ 19 (ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ 9.1)

Use of apostolic rights may be an ਥȖțȠʌȒȞ to the gospel. Paul gets a reward (ȝȚıșઁȞ ਩ȤȦ), and there is praise (țĮȪȤȘȝĮ) for him. Paul argues for himself and his companion in the sending from Antioch.

ਥȡȖȐIJĮȚ 2, ਥȡȖȐIJĮȢ 2, ਥȡȖȐIJȘȢ 7 ਥıșȓȠȞIJİȢ 7, ਥıșȓİIJİ 8 ʌȓȞȠȞIJİȢ 7 ȝȚıșȠ૨ 7 șİȡȚıȝȩȢ 2, șİȡȚıȝȠ૨ 2, șİȡȚıȝȩȞ 2 ȜȑȖİIJİ ਵȖȖȚțİȞ ਲ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ 9, İȓʌĮIJİ ਵȖȖȚțİȞ ਲ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ 10–11, (İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȚȗȩȝİȞȠȚ 9.6) (țȘȡȪııİȚȞ 9.2) Preach irrespective of reception and support The use of certain things may be a hindrance in the mission enterprise. The worker is ਙȟȚȠȢ IJȠ૨ ȝȚıșȠ૨. The workers are sent ਕȞ੹ įȪȠ.

However, when these parallels are examined closely, they turn out to be very fragile. The link between the noun ਕʌȩıIJȠȜȠȢ and the verb ਕʌȠıIJȑȜȜİȚȞ is not one which is ever made by Paul himself: Paul never relates the fact that he is an ‘apostle’ to the claim that he has been ‘sent’. It remains to be shown, therefore, that the verbal link, between those whom Jesus ‘sent’ and the ‘apostles’, is one that Paul would have necessarily made.7 The ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ link is also uncertain. In the synoptic accounts the word refers to the power to perform exorcisms and is virtually equivalent to įȪȞĮȝȚȢ.8 The meaning in 1 Cor 9 is quite different: here it refers to the right of an apostle to receive various things from others. Allison’s general criticism of Fjärstedt’s proposed parallels, that ‘words count for little if ideas are not similar’ (p. 8), applies here. The references to ‘work’ etc. also show considerable substantive disagreement when examined closely. In Luke 10 the missionaries are ‘workers’. In 1 Cor 9.6 Paul claims that qua apostle he has the right not to work, i.e. an apostle is basically not an ਥȡȖȐIJȘȢ, even though Paul himself has not insisted on his rights in this respect. The references to eating and drinking are too general to carry much significance 7 This is not to deny that Paul regarded at least the workman saying as applying to himself qua apostle. 1 Cor 9.14 itself shows that. But it is the verbal correspondence between the wider contexts which has to be established here. 8 Cf. C. K. Barrett, The Holy Spirit and the Gospel Tradition (London: SPCK, 1947), 78.

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here. In any case one should remember that the note in Luke 10.8 (‘eat whatever is set before you’) is widely regarded as a secondary insertion into the tradition, possibly via dependence on the Pauline tradition (cf. 1 Cor 10.27).9 Thus in this case the direction of dependence may be the other way round.10 The link via ȝȚıșȩȢ is a stronger one, but this involves the one point at which Paul himself acknowledges his use of Jesus tradition (1 Cor 9.14). Fjärstedt’s references to 1 Cor 9.17, 18 do seem to be valid, and hence show that the form of the saying which Paul alludes to (but does not quote) in 1 Cor 9.14 contained ȝȚıșȩȢ as in Luke 10.7, rather than IJȡȠijȒ as in Matt 10.10.11 The remaining verbal links adduced by Fjärstedt are more tenuous. ĬİȡȚıȝȩȢ/șİȡȓȗȦ is used differently in the two contexts. In Luke 10 it refers to the eschatological ‘harvest’ of the mission, with powerful OT imagery in the background.12 In 1 Cor 9.11 the reference is to a mundane harvesting of IJ੹ ıĮȡțȚțȐ. Again Allison’s general criticism of Fjärstedt, that ‘words count for little if ideas are not similar’ (p. 8) seems applicable here. The link via İ੝ĮȖȖȑȜȚȠȞ is extremely tenuous. There is no verbal overlap between İ੝ĮȖȖİȜȓȗȠȝĮȚ (1 Cor) and ਵȖȖȚțİȞ ਲ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ (Luke 10), and no evidence to show that Paul (or Luke) regarded them as synonymous. Ǽ੝ĮȖȖİȜȚȗȩȝİȞȠȚ in Luke 9.6 is almost certainly due to LukeR of Mark 6.12, and hence, assuming conventional relationships between the gospels, cannot possibly be the source of Paul’s language here. In any case, the strongly Pauline nature of the use of the İ੝ĮȖȖİȜ- word group is quite sufficient to account for its presence in a Pauline letter. It may be that any 9 S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 407, regards it as LukeR; also P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 276–281; R. Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums (BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 218, regards it as possibly Q material, though still stemming from a later period when the Gentile mission was under way. (Fuller bibliographical details in Schulz and Laufen.) Allison himself recognises the secondary nature of the reference and thus discounts it in any attempt to show Paul’s use of synoptic tradition. 10 The general problem of which way dependence lies is not raised by Fjärstedt. Allison discusses the problem in general terms (p. 12 n. 64) but not in relation to this item. Elsewhere, in discussing the parallels between Rom 12 and Luke 6, he appears to assume that the problem is solved simply by showing that the gospel material is dominical (p. 12). But that shows nothing. The gospel tradition could still have been mediated through the Pauline tradition even though ultimately deriving from Jesus. The ultimate origin of both traditions says nothing about their relationship to each other. 11 Contra Dungan, Sayings, 79–80. Cf. F. F. Bruce, Paul, Apostle of the Free Spirit (Exeter: Paternoster, 1977), 107; also my ‘1 Corinthians and Q’, JBL 102 (1983) 607– 619, on p. 612. 12 Cf. Schulz, Q, 410; Hoffmann, Studien, 289.

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dependence here lies the other way round.13 Finally, țȘȡȪııİȚȞ in Luke 9.2 also seems to be due to LukeR; in any case it is not a very distinctive word. Further its presence in Luke 9 can scarcely assist in establishing the theory that 1 Cor 9 is reminiscent of the block in Luke 10. The parallels in ideas adduced by Fjärstedt are also rather tenuous. One may accept the parallel associated with rewards: but this only confirms what is accepted anyway, viz. that Paul knew the saying about rewards (1 Cor 9.14) in some form. The idea of hindrances is common to both texts, but it is a very different kind of hindrance in each case. In 1 Cor 9, standing on one’s rights may be a hindrance; in Luke 10 it is a matter of clothing (though here it is not really clear that these are forbidden because they would hinder the progress of the gospel: rather, it may be more of an acted parable to proclaim the imminence of the Kingdom and the consequent trust in God which is now possible).14 The parallel between Paul and Barnabas and the ਕȞ੹ įȪȠ of Luke 10.1 is very weak: Paul in 1 Cor 9 is arguing about the situation as it affects all apostles, not just two. Allison tries to strengthen Fjärstedt’s case by further considerations. He claims that support for the theory is gained by the work of Dungan ‘in which it is shown that Paul not only uses the synoptic saying on support but knows how it was interpreted in the tradition common to Matthew and Luke’ (p. 13). This, however, reveals a misunderstanding of Dungan’s work. Dungan seeks to show that Paul’s use of the saying coincides with that of the evangelists Matthew and Luke in that all three authors relativize the saying (Matthew by adding Matt 10.8b, Luke by creating Luke 22.35– 36, Paul by refusing to obey it). In fact it is doubtful how much common ground there really is here.15 But Dungan’s thesis does not concern the redactional interests of a ‘tradition common to Matthew and Luke’.16 For those who accept the Q hypothesis, there is no hint of any relativization of the saying by Q.17 Allison goes on to claim that the theory that Paul knew the saying is also shown by the fact that the workman saying was an 13

Although I am not convinced that the author of Luke-Acts was a companion of Paul, it is undeniable that he belongs within the Pauline ‘trajectory’ and is part of the deutero-Pauline ‘school’. It is thus not unreasonable to postulate some influence of Pauline traditions, or Pauline terminology, on Luke’s work: cf. Acts 9.20 (though here the influence is more self-conscious), also Luke 21.34–36, cf. 1 Thess 5.3. 14 Cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 324 ff.; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 253. 15 According to Dungan, Matthew and Luke are seeking to limit/modify the validity of the saying (by making it not apply to money, or by limiting its validity to the pre-Easter period). Paul accepts the saying as of unlimited validity but simply says that he will not use it. Cf. Dungan, Sayings, 76: ‘Paul does not react against the regulation himself.’ But, according to Dungan, Matthew and Luke do. 16 In fact he argues against the existence of such a source. 17 The Q community presumably regarded the sayings of Jesus as still fully valid.

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integral part of the narrative: ‘the saying on support did not circulate in isolation’ (p. 13). In a footnote Allison states that ‘1 Tim 5.18 and Did 13.1–2 are not evidence to the contrary’. But this is quite arbitrary. 1 Tim 5 and Did. 13 do provide evidence that at a later stage the saying did circulate in isolation.18 The question is where Paul lies on the trajectory of the gradual separation of the saying from its context. There is thus nothing in considerations of this sort to indicate that Paul knew the wider context in which the workman saying now appears in the synoptic gospels.19 Allison seeks to strengthen the case for his general theory by referring to two further possible allusions to the mission discourse elsewhere in the Pauline corpus: Rom 16.19 may allude to Matt 10.16 and 1 Thess 4.8 may allude to Luke 10.16 (p. 13). However, there is the overall methodological problem inherent in Allison’s method, as noted above: such allusions, even if established, are from widely different contexts in the Pauline corpus; hence they do not necessarily show that Paul derived them from the same synoptic context. But in any case it is rather doubtful if these really are allusions to Jesus tradition. 1 Thess 4.8 does share the language of ਕșİIJȑȦ with Luke 10.16, and it is probably the case that a saying like Luke 10.16 (with ਕșİIJȑȦ) formed a conclusion to the mission discourse in Q (cf. Matt 10.40).20 However, whilst a link between the two sayings is possible,21 it is just as likely that they represent independent adoptions of the shaliah

18 There is no evidence that the full synoptic tradition was known to the author of 1 Timothy. The case of the Didache is more difficult. The consensus of modern critical opinion seems to be that the Didache is independent of the synoptic gospels: cf. J.-P. Audet, La Didachè. Instructions des Apôtres (Paris: Gabalda, 1958), 166–167; H. Köster, Synoptische Überlieferung bei den Apostolischen Vätern (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1957), 159 ff.; W. Rordorf & A. Tuilier, La doctrine des Douze Apôtres (SC 248; Paris: Cerf, 1978), 83 ff., esp. p. 88: ‘A cet endroit celle-ci [the Didache] cite un proverbe de portée générale qui n’est pas nécessairement propre au texte évangelique.’ (Similarly Köster, Synoptische Überlieferung, 212–213; Audet, Didachè, 179.) 19 Allison also refers to the questions of which versions of the saying Paul might have known. He admits that Fjärstedt’s and Dungan’s results might appear to cancel each other out, since Fjärstedt claims that Paul is close to the version of Luke 10, whereas Dungan claims that Paul is closer to Matt 10. But Allison sees this as no difficulty, since ‘each version contains early and late elements. It is only to be expected that Paul shows contact with more than one account’ (p. 13). But this is special pleading. Allison’s general point is only valid if the points of contact with each account are different in each case and refer to the ‘early’ elements of each version. In fact Fjärstedt and Dungan are mutually contradictory here since they are referring to the same point of contact. Both cannot be right, and both rely on their results here as an integral part of a more wide-ranging theory. 20 See the detailed arguments of D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Poor on Earth and the Son of Man in Heaven’, BJRL 61 (1979) 355–397, on p. 358; also Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 230–233, with further bibliography. 21 So B. Rigaux, Les épîtres aux Thessaloniciens (Paris: Gabalda, 1956), 514.

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principle.22 In any case, the Christological reference is lacking in 1 Thessalonians so that substantively the parallel is not great. To see similar uses of common ideas as indicative of literary dependence is to run the risk of ‘parallelomania’.23 The possible allusion to Matt 10.16 in Rom 16.19 is even more remote. The verbal agreement is not exact (ijȡȩȞȚȝȠȢ in Matthew, ıȩijȠȢ in Romans).24 The often quoted tradition from Midr. Cant. 2.14 (‘God saith of the Israelites, Towards me they are as sincere as doves, but towards the Gentiles they are as prudent as serpents’) probably shows that the imagery of the saying in Matt 10.16 was widely known.25 It would probably be correct to see this as originally an isolated proverbial-like saying.26 Thus even if some relationship between Matt 10.16 and Rom 16.19 were granted, it would not necessarily show that Paul knew the saying specifically as part of the mission discourse, or even as a saying of Jesus. But the existence of an allusion to the gospel tradition is by no means certain: such a theory depends heavily on the common use of ਕțȑȡĮȚȠȢ, a word which Paul can use independently in Phil 2.15.27 The theory that Paul knew the mission discourse in a form akin to its present form in the synoptics is thus weak. All that seems certain is that Paul knew and used one saying, the workman saying, from this discourse. But there is no solid evidence to show that Paul knew the wider context in which that saying is now set in the synoptic tradition. It is just as likely that Paul knew this as an isolated saying.28 33

22 So E. Best, The First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians (London: A&C Black, 1972), 169. 23 Cf. S. Sandmel, ‘Parallelomania’, JBL 81 (1962) 1–13. In fact Allison accuses Fjärstedt of just this in some of the latter’s alleged parallels (p. 8 and n. 43). 24 C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. Volume II (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1979), 802. 25 D. Zeller, Die weisheitlichen Mahnsprüche bei den Synoptikern (FzB 17; Würzburg: Echter, 1977), 136, speaks of ‘die sprichwörtliche Verbreitung der Bilder’. 26 Cf. R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1972), 81. 27 Cf. E. Käsemann, Commentary on Romans (London: SCM, 1980), 418. 28 Cf. also Köster, Synoptische Überlieferung, 213.

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XVI Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians Study of Jesus tradition in the Pauline corpus is ‘only one aspect of a much larger discussion about “Jesus and Paul”’.1 Further, it has rightly been pointed out that any verbal agreements between Jesus and Paul, or indeed instances where it could be shown that Paul uses Jesus traditions, do not necessarily establish a deeper continuity at the level of the substance of what is said. Conversely a failure by Paul to cite Jesus does not mean that there is no fundamental agreement between Jesus and Paul.2 Nevertheless, study of Jesus traditions in Paul is important both for the study of Paul and also for the study of the development and use of traditions about Jesus in the period prior to the writing of the present gospels. 1 Thessalonians is of particular importance in this discussion since the letter is (probably) the earliest document we possess in the NT.3 Thus the identification of earlier traditions within the letter may provide ‘a significant point of reference in bridging the gap between the Jesus event and the written New Testament’.4 1 F. Neirynck, ‘Paul and the Sayings of Jesus’, in A. Vanhoye (ed.), L’apôtre Paul. personnalité, style et conception du ministère (BETL 73; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1986), 265–321, on p. 265. 2 A. J. M. Wedderburn, ‘Paul and Jesus. Similarity and Continuity’, NTS 34 (1988) 161–182, on p. 161, referring to N. Walter, ‘Paulus und die urchristliche Jesustradition’, NTS 31 (1985) 498–522, esp. pp. 499, 518. 3 Following conventional datings and assuming (with most) that Galatians is later than 1 Thessalonians. However, the issue is immaterial to the present discussion. 4 R. F. Collins, Studies in the First Letter to the Thessalonians (BETL 66; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1984), 17. In this paper I have confined attention to 1 Thessalonians. I remain convinced that 2 Thessalonians is pseudonymous: cf. W. Trilling, Untersuchungen zum zweiten Thessalonicherbrief (Leipzig: St. Benno, 1966), and his Der zweite Brief an die Thessalonicher (EKKNT 14; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1980), 22–26; J. A. Bailey, ‘Who Wrote II Thessalonians?’, NTS 25 (1978/79) 131–145. Pace I. H. Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians (London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1983), 28 ff., and others. However, the nature and extent of possible synoptic tradition in 2 Thess are such that they do not significantly affect the issue discussed here. It is true that there are a number of possible echoes of the synoptic apocalyptic discourse in 2 Thessalonians (cf. Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 278–279); but for the most part they are usually regarded as simply confirming theories about the possible allusions to the apocalyptic discourse in 1 Thessalonians. The latter problem forms the burden of the present paper. Generally the primary evidence for the problem of Paul’s possible use of Jesus tradition in the Thessalonian letters has been seen in the parallels between the

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Any study of the use of Jesus traditions outside the canonical gospels raises a number of important methodological problems. No one today would doubt that traditions about Jesus underwent a long, and probably highly complex, process of development before reaching their present form in the canonical gospels. So too, after the writing of those gospels, Jesus tradition continued to circulate and be used.5 Clearly Paul ‘touches’ this developing tradition at more than one point (cf. 1 Cor 7.10–11; 11.23–25). The problem then arises of how legitimate it is to use the evidence of Paul’s own letters in reconstructing the history of the development of Jesus tradition. Should that history be reconstructed independently of Paul, and Paul’s evidence then be made to fit into this reconstruction? Or can the Pauline evidence be used in the actual reconstruction of the history of the tradition? The latter option has been argued for strongly by some in recent years.6 There is however more than one problem involved here and it may be worthwhile distinguishing between different cases carefully. All would agree that not all ‘Jesus tradition’7 in the gospels goes back to the preEaster Jesus. Further, genuine (i.e. dominical) tradition may be preserved independently by strands of the tradition other than those leading to the synoptic gospels. Theoretically, there is no methodological problem in arguing that genuine sayings of Jesus may have been preserved quite independently of the synoptic gospels in a trajectory emerging elsewhere, e.g. in Paul or in a non-canonical gospel. Problems do however arise in cases where Paul overlaps, or appears to overlap, with the development of the tradition leading to our gospels. At times Paul explicitly cites a tradition as ‘Jesus tradition’ (cf. 1 Cor 7.10– 11; 11.23–25); elsewhere, however, it is modern scholarship which claims that a verbal parallel between Paul’s language and the wording in one (or more) of the gospels is due to the fact that Paul has alluded to a form of Jesus tradition known to him. Such a procedure is of course perfectly synoptic gospels and 1 Thessalonians. It is certainly here that the most striking parallels are to be found. 5 The precise form is of course much debated. Cf. the survey of the modern debate by F. Neirynck in his recent introduction to the re-edition of É. Massaux, Influence de l’Évangile de saint Matthieu sur la littérature chrétienne avant saint Irénée (BETL 75; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1986), vii–xix. 6 Cf. the general approach of D. Wenham, The Rediscovery of Jesus’ Eschatological Discourse (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984), and more generally R. J. Bauckham, ‘The Study of Gospel Traditions outside the Canonical Gospels. Problems and Prospects’, in D. Wenham (ed.), The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985), 369–403, esp. pp. 380, 383 and the references to H. Koester. See too B. Orchard, ‘Thessalonians and the Synoptic Gospels’, Bib 19 (1938) 19–42, on pp. 38–39: one’s solution to the Synoptic Problem must take account of the Pauline data. 7 By ‘Jesus tradition’ I mean tradition which was thought to stem from the pre-Easter Jesus. Whether it does or not is another matter.

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legitimate. But to what extent can one go further and use this ‘result’ to modify theories about the development of the tradition worked out before the Pauline evidence was considered? Can one, for example, use the evidence of Paul alone to justify claims that features in the gospels, which might otherwise be regarded as due to the redactional activity of the evangelists, are in fact due to the use of earlier traditions? Clearly no answer can be given in advance which will cover all possible cases. However certain guidelines may be suggested. One should perhaps distinguish between explicit and implicit citations in Paul. If Paul explicitly cites a tradition about Jesus, it is surely legitimate to use this evidence in seeking to analyse parallel traditions which occur in the gospels. If however Paul only appears to cite a tradition, then it becomes rather harder to justify using the Pauline evidence in this way. For there is no direct, independent warrant for so using it. To point to a possible parallel between Paul and a feature usually regarded as redactional in the gospels, and then to claim both that Paul is alluding to Jesus tradition and that the Pauline evidence shows that the gospel material is pre-redactional, is to argue in a potentially dangerous circle. In the case of possible implicit allusions to Jesus traditions in Paul, one should perhaps first of all seek to analyse the synoptic parallels in their own right and only bring the Pauline evidence into the discussion secondarily.8 It may be of course that subsidiary evidence can be adduced to support the theory that Paul is citing Jesus tradition. For example, vocabulary considerations may show that Paul is citing traditions. However, there is still the problem of whether Paul thinks of these as Jesus traditions. We must also bear in mind the possibility that any dependence is not necessarily only one way. The simple fact that Paul pre-dates the gospels (assuming conventional datings) should make us at least alive to the possibility that any line of dependency may run from Paul to the gospels rather than from Jesus (or an early tradition) to Paul and the gospels separately.9 One must also bear in mind the obvious fact that the writings of the NT do not come to us out of a total cultural vacuum. Paul and the evangelists were all first century Greek writers in varying degrees of contact with Judaism. Thus one cannot consider any and every verbal parallel between Paul 8

Cf. the remarks of F. Neirynck in relation to the not dissimilar problem of the relationship between John and the synoptics: the question of whether John depends on the synoptics themselves or on prior traditions ‘is primarily a question of Synoptic criticism’. See his ‘John and the Synoptics’, in his Evangelica (BETL 60; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 379. 9 Cf. Wedderburn’s review of the Wenham (ed.) volume (n. 6 above) in JTS 37 (1986) 542; see too below on 1 Thess 5.3 and Luke 21.34–36. Dependence of Matthew on Paul is argued for strongly by M. D. Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew (London: SPCK, 1974), 154 ff.

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and the gospels in isolation. Some parallels may be due to the use of otherwise common vocabulary or ideas. One must always beware of assuming some kind of literary relationship between Christian documents too quickly. One other introductory problem to be borne in mind is the possible existence of later interpolations in the text of 1 Thessalonians. Several of the most striking parallels between 1 Thessalonians and the gospels occur in passages which others have argued are possibly later additions to the text, notably 2.14–16 and 5.1–11.10 Some of the relevant arguments will be noted later, but the assumption in the rest of this paper will be that these passages can be taken as part of the original text of 1 Thessalonians.11

1. Isolated Verses Part of the fascination of the phenomenon of the parallels between 1 Thessalonians and the synoptic tradition is that many of the parallels occur together both in Paul and in the gospels, above all in the eschatological discourses. This raises the possibility that Paul had contact with the history of the development of the synoptic tradition at a time when the editorial process of putting that tradition together in something like its present form was already under way.12 There are however a few parallels between 1 Thessalonians and the synoptic gospels involving only isolated verses in each context. These cases are perhaps of less interest in the present discussion since their very isolation means that they cannot so easily be used to build up any theory of an overlap between Paul and specific points in the history of the editing and collecting of the synoptic tradition. However, none of these alleged parallels is very convincing when examined critically. 10 For 2.13–16, cf. B. A. Pearson, ‘1 Thessalonians 2:13–16. A Deutero-Pauline Interpolation’, HTR 64 (1971) 79–94; for 5.1–11, cf. G. Friedrich, ‘1 Thessalonicher 5,1–11, der apologetische Einschub eines Späteren’, ZTK 70 (1973) 288–315. The whole issue is discussed with full bibliography in Collins, Studies, 124 ff.; also for 2.13–16, see J. Coppens, ‘Miscellanées bibliques. LXXX. Une diatribe antijuive dans 1 Thess. II.13–16’, ETL 51 (1975) 90–95; for 5.1–11(10), see B. Rigaux, ‘Tradition et rédaction dans 1 Th. V.1–10’, NTS 21 (1975) 318–340, and J. Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11. Its Authenticity, Intention and Message’, Bib 60 (1979) 71–90. 11 I also leave aside here the question of whether 1 Thessalonians represents the endresult of the compilation of more than one letter. On this see Collins, Studies, 114 ff.; also E. Best, A Commentary on the First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians (London: A&C Black, 1972), 30–35. 12 However, some might wish to argue that the ‘block’ of tradition used by Paul goes back to Jesus himself.

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1.1 1 Thess 4.8 1 Thess 4.8 (‘Whoever rejects [ਕșİIJ૵Ȟ] this rejects [ਕșİIJİ૙] not human authority but God’) has been seen by some as possibly reflecting the same Jesus tradition as that reflected in Luke 10.16 and pars.13 The saying in the gospels is probably a Q saying and it may well be that the use of ਕșİIJȑȦ in Luke may preserve the more original (i.e. Q) wording.14 However, despite the superficial agreement in vocabulary here (e.g. in using ਕșİIJȑȦ), there seems little which is distinctive enough to justify the theory that Paul is dependent on Jesus tradition here. There is for example no Christological reference at all in 1 Thessalonians. Thus whilst a link between the two sayings is possible, it seems much more likely that both represent independent adoptions of the shaliah principle.15 Thus it would seem more appropriate to see the parallel in wording here as due to a common milieu of ideas, rather than to any direct literary relationship being involved. 1.2 1 Thess 5.13 The exhortation to ‘live at peace’ (İੁȡȘȞİȪİIJİ) with each other has been seen by some as an allusion to the exhortation attested also in Mark 9.50.16 However İੁȡȘȞİȪȦ is a Pauline word (cf. Rom 12.18; 2 Cor 13.11) and it is just as likely that both Mark and Paul depend here on a common catechetical tradition.17 Again there seems little that is distinctive enough to justify the claim that Jesus tradition is present. 13

Cf. W. D. Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism (London: SPCK, 1955), 139; D. C. Allison, ‘The Pauline Epistles and the Synoptic Gospels. The Pattern of the Parallels’, NTS 28 (1982) 1–32, on p. 20; B. Rigaux, Les épîtres aux Thessaloniciens (Paris: Gabalda, 1956), 514; Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 114. 14 See S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 457– 458; R. Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums (BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 230–233 and others. 15 Cf. Best, Commentary, 169. T. Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher (EKKNT 13; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1986), 166, also points out that the synoptic verse has to do with grounding the authority of the disciples rather than simply referring to the real origin of the command in question, as in Paul. Thus Holtz argues that not even an indirect relationship should be postulated here. 16 Davies, Paul, 139; Allison, ‘Pauline Epistles’, 14. Even V. P. Furnish, Theology and Ethics in Paul (Nashville: Abingdon, 1968), who is generally sceptical about finding parallels between Paul and Jesus traditions, concedes that there may be an allusion to Jesus tradition here (p. 54). 17 Cf. Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 284, who also cites Wendling and Taylor as suggesting possible Pauline influence on Mark. Cf. too Best, Commentary, 228. Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 149, speaks of ‘a common piece of exhortation in the early church’. Allison’s theory that this is part of the evidence showing Paul’s knowledge of the whole section in Mark 9.33–50 is unconvincing. See the discussion in Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 282–286. The section in Mark 9.33–50 is more likely to be a Markan composition.

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1.3 1 Thess 5.15 ‘See that you repay no one evil for evil, but pursue good …’ has been regarded by some as alluding to the sayings in the Sermon on the Mount/ Plain about love of enemies and non-retaliation.18 However, v. 15a (‘see that you repay no one evil for evil’) has a close verbal parallel in Joseph and Aseneth (23.9; 28.4, 14; 29.3) so that the ultimate origin of the exhortation is more likely to be Jewish paraenetic tradition.19 Whether one should see a strong impulse to use this tradition from Jesus’ sayings about non-retaliation (which are couched in rather different terminology in the gospels) seems uncertain and unprovable.20 Once again a theory of dependence on Jesus tradition by Paul cannot be shown. 1 Thess 5.15b may also reflect common paraenetic tradition, perhaps based on Ps 33.15 LXX (cited explicitly in 1 Pet 3.11 immediately after the exhortation [parallel to 1 Thess 5.15a] not to repay evil for evil in 1 Pet 3.9).21 However, there is little evidence to trace back this tradition in any way to specifically Jesus tradition.22 Apart from these isolated verses, there is, as noted above, a series of parallels between a number of verses in 1 Thessalonians and a block of sayings which appear together in at least some strands of the gospel tradition. This concerns the eschatological teaching in 1 Thess 4.13–5.11 and the eschatological discourse(s) in the synoptic gospels, especially in Matt 24–25. For some, the theory of a positive link between Paul and an extended block of Jesus tradition here is supported by the possible parallel between 1 Thess 2.14–16 and the tradition of the woes which precede the eschatological discourse in Matthew, viz. Matt 23.29–39.

2. 1 Thess 2.14–16 The similarities between 1 Thess 2.14–16 and the synoptic woes tradition, especially in its Matthean form (Matt 23.29–39), have long been noted. 18

Davies, Paul, 139; Allison, ‘Pauline Epistles’, 11; Furnish, Theology, 54; cf. too J. Piper, ‘Love Your Enemies’. Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and the Early Christian Paraenesis (SNTSMS 38; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); F. F. Bruce, 1 & 2 Thessalonians (WBC 45; Waco: Word, 1982), 124. 19 Piper, Love Your Enemies, 39, 49; also C. Burchard, Untersuchungen zu Joseph und Aseneth (WUNT 8; Tübingen: Mohr, 1965), 100. Cf. too Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 255. For similar sentiments, see Prov 20.22; 24.29; 25.21–22; Arist. 277; T. Benj. 4.2–3; T. Jos. 18.2; T. Gad 6.7. 20 Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 300. Paul’s alleged knowledge of this block of teaching elsewhere (e.g. in Rom 12) is also doubtful: see Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 295–303 contra Allison. 21 The existence of a common paraenetic tradition here is argued for by Piper, Love Your Enemies, 13–14. 22 Pace Piper. Cf. Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 300.

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Orchard pointed to a number of parallels here and the same evidence has been referred to by several others since.23 Orchard refers to the same key words being used in both passages: ਕʌȠțIJİȓȞİȚȞ, ʌȡȠijȒIJĮȢ, (ਥț-)įȚȫțİȚȞ, and (ਕȞĮ-)ʌȜȘȡȠ૨Ȟ. Also the key ideas are the same: (1) ‘The Jews … that drove us out’ (1 Thess 2.15) is parallel to Matthew’s ‘you shall drive them from city to city’ (Matt 23.34). (2) The ‘filling up of their sins’ (1 Thess 2.16) is parallel to ‘fill up the measure of your fathers’ (Matt 23.32). (3) Both texts refer to ‘killing the prophets’ (Matt 23.34, 37; 1 Thess 2.15). (4) Paul’s talk of God’s wrath coming on the Jews İੁȢ IJȑȜȠȢ agrees with Matt 23.36, 38; 24.2. Not all of these parallels are however equally convincing. The last suggested parallel ([4] above) is perhaps the least close. Paul talks of an event which has already come (਩ijșĮıİȞ), however hard that is to interpret.24 Matt 23 speaks of a destruction of Jerusalem that is to come in the future. Wenham uses the alleged Matthean parallel to interpret the difficult Pauline statement.25 However, this is methodologically dangerous. Until one has established that the two texts form a genuine, substantive parallel, one cannot use the details of one to determine the exegesis of the other. It is very hard therefore to correlate the two texts without forcing the grammar of Paul’s language.26 23 See Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 20–23; R. Schippers, ‘The Pre-Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians II 13–16’, NovT 8 (1966) 223–234, esp. pp. 231 ff.; D. Wenham, ‘Paul and the Synoptic Apocalypse’, in R. T. France & D. Wenham (eds.), Gospel Perspectives. Vol. II (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981), 345–375, on pp. 361–362, and his Rediscovery, 351–352; K. P. Donfried, ‘Paul and Judaism. 1 Thessalonians 2:13–16 as a Test Case’, Int 38 (1984) 242–253, esp. pp. 248–249; cf. too Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 82; also Best, Commentary, 121–122: it is ‘probable that Paul and Matthew are using the same piece of tradition’. The parallels are noted by Pearson, ‘1 Thessalonians 2:13–16’, 92–94, though there to argue for the post-Pauline nature of 1 Thess 2.13–16. 24 Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 80: ‘The verb is in the past tense and in no way can it be turned into a future’. Cf. too Holtz, Thessalonicher, 108. It is now generally accepted that ਩ijșĮıİȞ is not the same as ਵȖȖȚțİȞ: cf. W. G. Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment (London: SCM, 1957), 106–107. 25 Rediscovery, 201: ‘In view of the probable echoes in this passage of Mt 23,29–38 & par. (traditions that refer to the destruction of Jerusalem in the synoptics), it is possible that Paul was speaking here prophetically of the imminent destruction of Jerusalem’. Cf. too Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 22. 26 In his later book, Wenham suggests that 1 Thess 2.16c may also be parallel to Luke 21.23 (cf. too Rom 11.25) (Rediscovery, 199–203) as part of his case that Luke 21.23 may be part of the alleged original eschatological discourse. However, the verbal parallel is minimal (only ੑȡȖȒ) and the two verses can only be made to agree in substance by interpreting İੁȢ IJȑȜȠȢ in a very unusual way (as ‘until the end’). Luke 21.23 is much more likely to be LukeR of Mark.

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(2) above – the common use of (ਕȞĮ-)ʌȜȘȡȠ૨Ȟ – is regarded by Wenham as ‘the most distinctive parallel’.27 There are however problems with this. First, the Matthean parallel in Matt 23.32 has no counterpart in Luke and is widely regarded as due to MattR, being part of Matthew’s consistent attempt throughout this section to emphasise the continuing guilt and sin of the present Jewish nation.28 On conventional datings, Paul cannot then be dependent on MattR.29 Wenham seeks to avoid this problem by arguing that Matt 23.32 may be pre-redactional. In his earlier article, this is simply stated as a general ‘possibility’ that ‘in some respects’ Luke may be secondary here.30 In his later book, the argument is more explicit: that Matt 23.32 was present in the pre-synoptic tradition is ‘quite possible, even (in view of the Pauline evidence) probable’.31 This raises sharply the methodological problem noted earlier. How far can Paul’s own letters be adduced as evidence in assessing the problems of the tradition-history of the synoptic data? Until a clear link between the traditions here has been established, one should perhaps be very cautious. In fact there is no need at all to appeal to any connection between the two passages via Jesus-tradition. The language of ‘filling up’ in this context can be explained quite adequately on the basis of parallel terminology in the LXX and elsewhere. Holtz calls it ‘eine biblizistische Redeweise’.32 There is thus no need to see any direct relationship between Paul and Matthew here beyond the use of a common idea in Judaism. The remaining parallels between 1 Thess 2 and Matt 23 reduce to the common idea of ‘killing the prophets’. However, the idea that all the prophets suffered violence, if not death, had evidently become wellestablished in Jewish thought at this period.33 The idea also recurs within the NT not only in Matt 23 and 1 Thess 2: cf. Acts 7.52; Mark 12.1 ff., as 27

‘Synoptic Apocalypse’, 361; Rediscovery, 351. See O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967), 29; P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 163; Schulz, Q, 109; D. Garland, The Intention of Matthew 23 (NovTSup 52; Leiden: Brill, 1979), 166–167, and many others. 29 The redactional nature of Matthew’s text, and the close parallelism with Paul is part of Goulder’s argument that Matthew is dependent on Paul here: see his Midrash, 165. 30 ‘Synoptic Apocalypse’, 373 n. 55. One presumes that the omission of Matt 23.32 by Luke is in mind. 31 Rediscovery, 351 (my italics). 32 Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 107, cf. Gen 15.16; Dan 8.23; 2 Macc 6.14. Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 445: ‘l’expression est biblique’. See too Best, Commentary, 118; Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 80: Paul ‘is using an idea which was current in apocalyptic thinking and early Christianity’. 33 See H. A. Fischel, ‘Martyr and Prophet’, JQR 37 (1946/47) 265–280, 363–386, and the detailed study of Steck, Israel, who provides very full documentation. 28

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well as several other Q texts.34 Given the evident widespread use of this motif within Judaism and early Christianity it would seem precarious to try to build a lot on the parallel between Paul and Matthew here. What is distinctive about Q’s use of this tradition is the link with Wisdom themes, whereby personified Wisdom becomes the agent who sends the prophets.35 But there is no trace of this in 1 Thess 2. There is thus no clear link between Paul and synoptic tradition beyond the common use of a motif which was widespread in Judaism and Christianity. Paul’s language can thus be adequately explained on the basis of this background.36 The parallels between 1 Thess 2 and Matt 23 thus turn out to be mostly insignificant for the present purposes. Both Paul and the gospel tradition share a common fund of ideas and terminology from the OT and Judaism, and this common background seems quite adequate to explain any overlaps in language which exist here. There seems little reason to postulate any clear link between Paul and synoptic tradition at this point.

3. 1 Thess 5 The eschatological teaching in 1 Thess 5.1–11 has perhaps the most striking number of parallels to the synoptic tradition and it is on this passage that a great deal of scholarly attention has been focused. Many have noted a series of parallels between 1 Thess 5 and synoptic tradition. Further, the synoptic parallels themselves, in at least some strands of the tradition, occur in close proximity to each other. Hence some have argued that Paul knew and used here an extended block of Jesus tradition which is related to the eschatological discourse(s) in the synoptic gospels.37 Thus Orchard finds it significant that so many parallels in 34

See Steck, Israel, passim. See Steck, Israel, 107, 224–225; also my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 164 with further references. 36 Cf. too Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 447; Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 104. 37 See variously Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’; L. Hartman, Prophecy Interpreted (Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1966), 178 ff.; G. H. Waterman, ‘The Sources of Paul’s Eschatological Teaching on the 2nd Coming of Christ in 1 and 2 Thessalonians’, JETS 18 (1975) 105– 113; Wenham, ‘Synoptic Apocalypse’, and the relevant sections of his Rediscovery; L. Aejmelaeus, Wachen vor dem Ende. Die traditionsgeschichtlichen Wurzeln von 1. Thess 5:1–11 und Luk 21:34–36 (Helsinki: Finnische Exegetische Gesellschaft, 1985), 58 ff. Perhaps surprisingly, Allison, whose article (n. 13 above) is devoted to finding evidence for the existence of blocks of synoptic tradition known to Paul, does not discuss 1 Thess 4–5 as a possible ‘block’. He regards 1 Thess 5.2/Luke 12.39 as an isolated parallel; the parallel to 1 Thess 5.3 is not mentioned. Neirynck’s ‘Sayings’ article is in large measure a 35

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1 Thess 5 occur together in Matt 24. Hartman claims that Paul knew the expanded version of the ‘midrash’ on Dan 7 which, he believes, underlies the synoptic eschatological discourse. Wenham reconstructs a pre-synoptic primitive eschatological discourse which Paul knew (and which the Pauline evidence can sometimes be used to reconstruct). Aejmelaeus claims that Paul used a well-defined block of Herrenworte. Not all these scholars relate their claims to other theories about the development of the synoptic tradition. However, Orchard’s theories clearly fit his (later) espousal of the Griesbach hypothesis whereby Matthew’s Gospel is the earliest.38 Wenham explicitly states that his total analysis might throw into question traditional solutions to the Synoptic Problem.39 Only Aejmelaeus wrestles with the problem in depth, seeking to reconcile his theories with traditional synoptic source theories.40 Few would deny that Paul is heavily dependent on earlier tradition in this section of 1 Thessalonians.41 What is then striking is the number of instances where Paul’s traditions seem to overlap with synoptic traditions. The following parallels are frequently noted in this context: A

v. 1

B

v. 2

C

v. 3a

D

v. 3b

E

vv. 5–6

F

vv. 6–7

1 Thess 5 ʌİȡ੿ į੻ IJ૵Ȟ ȤȡȩȞȦȞ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ țĮȚȡ૵Ȟ The Day of the Lord comes like a thief in the night. When they say peace …  Sudden destruction will come upon them unawares. Call to watch (ȖȡȘȖȡȠİ૙Ȟ) and not to sleep (țĮșİȪįİȚȞ)  Warnings against drunkenness and calls to be ‘sober’ 

Synoptics Matt 24.36: no one knows ʌİȡȓ that hour. Matt 24.43–44/Luke 12.39–40 cf. Matt 24.37–39/Luke 17.26–30 Luke 21.34–36 cf. Matt 24.42; Mark 13.34–36; Luke 12.36–38 cf. Matt 24.45–51/Luke 12.42–46; also Luke 21.34.

response to Allison and hence he does not deal in great detail with the material in 1 Thessalonians (see pp. 278–281). 38 Orchard is explicit about this in his recent ‘The Formation of the Synoptic Gospels’, DownRev 106 (1988) 1–16, on p. 9. Orchard evidently became a supporter of the Griesbach hypothesis well after the time of his Biblica article of 1938. 39 Rediscovery, 369–370. 40 See below. 41 See especially Rigaux, ‘Tradition’; Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’; Collins, Studies, 154 ff. This seems to be the most satisfactory explanation of the existence of many unPauline features in this passage. Rather than viewing the section as non-Pauline in its entirety (so Friedrich [n. 9 above]), it seems better to regard it as due to Paul’s adaptation of tradition. Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 19–20, also points to characteristic Pauline vocabulary here as well as to parallels with 2 Thessalonians which would be hard to explain if this section were not a genuine part of 1 Thessalonians.

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One may perhaps deal initially with the first alleged parallel (A above). In fact very few today would follow Orchard in seeing a genuine parallel here.42 The use of ʌİȡȓ differs: in Paul the ʌİȡȓ phrase serves as a ‘title’ for the paragraph as a whole, whereas in the gospels it is linked firmly with the verb. Also the use of ʌİȡȓ to introduce a topic in this way is quite normal for Paul: cf. 1 Thess 4.9; 1 Cor 7.1, 25; 8.1; 12.1; 16.1 and possibly 1 Thess 4.13. Further the use of ȤȡȩȞȠȚ țĮ੿ țĮȚȡȠȓ (which does not agree with the synoptic wording) represents a stereotyped pairing in sapiential and apocalyptic language.43 If this is the case, then it should alert us to the fact that Paul may be dependent on more than one ‘source’ for his vocabulary in this section. Hence one should not necessarily be looking for a single source (e.g. a version of the synoptic eschatological discourse) to explain all the non-Pauline features in this passage. The last of the alleged parallels (F) connects Paul’s language in 1 Thess 5.6–7 about being sober/drunk with the behaviour of the wicked servant in the parable in Matt 24.45–51/Luke 12.42–46 where the wicked servant is depicted as getting drunk instead of watching for his master (Matt 24.49/ Luke 12.45).44 However, the parallel again seems to be weak when examined closely. Paul’s primary exhortation here is to be ‘sober’ which in turn seems to have been generated by the call to ‘watch’ in v. 6b (ȖȡȘȖȠȡ૵ȝİȞ). The coupling of ‘watching-sleeping’ with ‘being sober-drunk’ is probably traditional,45 and it is quite clear that at least the positive halves of each contrast here, i.e. ‘watching’ and ‘being sober’, are intended by

42

The parallel was claimed by Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 26–27; also Waterman, ‘Sources’, 109; but cf. Wenham, ‘Synoptic Apocalypse’, 366–367; Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 63 and others. 43 See Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 553–554, and ‘Tradition’, 322; Collins, Studies, 163; also T. Holtz, ‘Traditionen im 1. Thessalonicherbrief’, in U. Luz & H. Weder (eds.), Die Mitte des Neuen Testaments (FS E. Schweizer; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983), 55–78, on p. 67. 44 See Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 30. Wenham, Rediscovery, 110, relates Paul’s language to Luke 21.34 (cf. too Hartman, Prophecy, 192). Waterman, ‘Sources’, 111, relates Paul’s language to both passages. The parallel between 1 Thess 5 and Luke 21.34–36 will be discussed below. See too Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 67–68. Aejmelaeus concedes that the parallel is not close and anyway the reference to drinking could have been prompted by Matt 24.38 par. On this, see n. 49 below. 45 See Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 329–330. See too the examples listed by E. Lövestam, Spiritual Wakefulness in the New Testament (Lund: Gleerup, 1963), 55–56, referring to Isa 29.9–10; Plutarch, Mor. 781D, 800D; Philo, Somn. 2.160–162; Corp. Herm. 1.27. Cf. too H. Preisker, ȝȑșȘ, TWNT 4 (1942), 551–552. Whether the coupling reflects a specifically baptismal context (cf. W. Harnisch, Eschatologische Existenz [FRLANT 110; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973], 133–134, with further references) is more uncertain.

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Paul not to be taken in a literal sense.46 In any case the overriding idea of Paul here is that Christians are ‘of the day’, or ‘of the light’; by contrast, Christians are not ‘of the night’. Drunkenness and sleep are then brought in by Paul as typical night-time activities.47 Thus Paul’s train of thought seems to lead from the idea of Christians as ‘sons of light/day’ to the theme of watching and sobriety and hence (negatively) to drunkenness. It is not the other way round. Given the traditional association of the sober-drunk motif with the watch-sleep motif, and Paul’s own train of thought, it seems inappropriate to link Paul’s language with the synoptic tradition and to see the impetus for Paul’s language deriving from the parable of the watching servants. The parallel between 1 Thess 5.3a and Matt 24.37–39/Luke 17.26–30 is also very uncertain.48 Many commentators also refer to Jer 6.14 as an important parallel and this certainly seems closer to 1 Thess 5.3 in terms of substance. Both Jer 6 and 1 Thess 5 refer to people who explicitly deny the existence of any imminent crisis by referring to the existing ‘peace’. Matt 24/Luke 17 is rather different: there is nothing here of people explicitly denying a crisis. They are described as simply carrying on their normal business,49 and being totally unaware of any imminent catastrophe. One can of course argue that perhaps there is an implicit denial. But it is not stated here and the parallel remains at best very general with no verbal overlap to justify the theory of some direct link between the two contexts.50 A large number of commentators agree that at least one of the parallels mentioned above, i.e. Paul’s image of the Day of the Lord coming as a thief (1 Thess 5.2, cf. B above), represents one instance of a real link between Paul and the Jesus tradition in the synoptics (Matt 24.43/Luke 46 See Lövestam, Wakefulness, 56; Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 329. Whether the ‘drunkenness’ is also metaphorical is more debatable: cf. Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 330 contra Lövestam, ibid. 47 Cf. Best, Commentary, 212: ‘The controlling thought is night: the Thessalonians must beware of the activities, metaphorically interpreted, which belong to it.’ Also Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 330: ‘Le thème de l’ébriété est tout à fait secondaire. Il rehausse par antithèse la vigilance consciente et vive.’ 48 The general parallel is often noted: cf. Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 27; Hartman, Prophecy, 193; Waterman, ‘Sources’, 110; Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 80, 84; Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 64–66; cf. also Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 215. 49 Cf. my Revival, 169–170. It is probably wrong to see a parallel between the ‘drinking’ here and the drunkenness referred to in 1 Thess 5.7 (cf. Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 68, 89). The drinking of Matt 24.38/Luke 17.27 is simply normal activity to quench thirst. No idea of drunkenness is implied. 50 Orchard’s additional appeal (‘Thessalonians’, 27) to the fact that both Paul and the synoptics use the general 3 rd person plural seems too general to bear any weight here. The actual verbs used are still very different. Cf. Collins, Studies, 165: the impersonal verb ‘is a common feature of the apocalyptic style’.

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12.39).51 It is well known that such a use of the thief imagery occurs prominently in Christian texts (cf. also 2 Pet 3.10; Rev 3.3; 16.15; GThom. 21) but has not been paralleled in non-Christian texts. Thus many assume that Paul derived his image from a tradition of a saying of Jesus known to him, and the ਕțȡȚȕ૵Ȣ introducing 1 Thess 5.2 may indicate that Paul is referring to something which he expected his readers to recognise.52 Whether the parable in fact goes back to the historical Jesus is a question which may be left on one side here. All that matters is that Paul seems to be quoting a tradition which he may well have accepted as Jesus tradition. Independent use of the same (unusual) image in Paul and the gospel traditions seems implausible; and the fact that Paul seems to be quoting a tradition makes it equally implausible that Paul has invented the image himself. But how much else was connected with this saying in Paul’s tradition? Perhaps the most important element in the present discussion concerns the link in both 1 Thess 5 and the synoptic contexts between the thief imagery and the motif of watching/sleeping.53 Paul attests such a link in vv. 2, 4, 6. The gospels also attest such a link in various ways. The Matthean version of the parable of the thief is preceded by the explicit exhortation to ‘watch’ (Matt 24.42).54 Matt 24.42 is probably MattR of Mark 13.34–36.55 However, many have argued that Mark 13.34–36 may reflect a (somewhat garbled) version of an earlier parable of a doorkeeper, attested also in Luke 12.36–38 (which also precedes the parable of the thief in Luke). The position of the parable of the doorkeeper in Luke, together with some reminiscences of the parable’s wording in Matthew’s version of the 51

Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 27–28; Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 557 and ‘Tradition’, 324; Hartman, Prophecy, 192; Waterman, ‘Sources’, 110; Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 81–82; Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 133; Wenham, Rediscovery, 54–55; Collins, Studies, 164–165; Holtz, ‘Traditionen’, 67; Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 28 ff. (further literature on p. 29 n. 3). 52 Cf. Hartman, Prophecy, 192; Holtz, ‘Traditionen’, 67; Wenham, Rediscovery, 55, who also connects it with the opening of the synoptic parable itself ਥțİ૙ȞȠ į੻ ȖȚȞȫıțİIJİ. The main opponent of such a view is Harnisch who sees here a piece of Jewish apocalyptic tradition, otherwise unattested (Existenz, 84 ff., esp. the conclusion on p. 94). Most however have agreed implicitly with Rigaux’s rhetorical question: ‘mais n’est-ce pas une position de désespoir?’ (‘Tradition’, 324). Certainly Harnisch’s form of argumentation – that since an origin in non-Christian Judaism cannot be excluded, such an origin must be assumed – is logically very unconvincing: cf. Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 81–82. 53 Cf. Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 30; Wenham, Rediscovery, 54–55; Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 58 ff. 54 So Orchard. 55 Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 61 n. 3: ‘eine weit verbreitete Meinung bei den Forschern’. One exception would of course be Orchard who regards Mark as dependent on Matthew here, Hence the difficulty above would not apply on his espousal of the theory of Matthean priority.

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parable of the thief, may indicate that the doorkeeper parable belonged to Q and was omitted by Matthew.56 Hence the parable of the thief may have been connected quite early with another parable, that of the doorkeeper, which exhorted the listeners to ‘watch’ and not to ‘sleep’.57 Does Paul then attest the same link? The parallel between Paul and the synoptics is however less certain when examined closely. Paul uses the imagery in such a way that for him ‘watching’ (ȖȡȘȖȠȡİ૙Ȟ) is an activity which is not appropriate for the ‘night’ but for the ‘day’. Christians as children of the ‘light’/‘day’ must behave accordingly, and the natural day-time activity is being awake/ watching. By contrast Christians must not be of the ‘night’, and the characteristic activity of ‘night’ is ‘sleeping’ (v. 7). This is quite unlike the synoptic texts where the doorkeeper (and hence the Christian disciple) is to watch precisely in the night. īȡȘȖȠȡİ૙Ȟ looks as if it is being used rather differently in the two contexts: in Paul, it refers to the ‘being awake’ which characterises day-time existence, as opposed to sleeping at night; in the synoptics it refers to ‘watching’ and staying ‘alert’ during the night-time watch. Undoubtedly both usages are metaphorical, both referring to a kind of ‘spiritual’ wakefulness.58 However, the rather different nuances to the metaphor speak against any direct link between the traditions here. It could be that Paul is simply influenced by the words of his source and has used them, somewhat unreflectively, in a rather different way. 59 However one is then in the area of uncontrollable hypotheses. Paul’s thought seems to be dominated by the idea of the Day of the Lord, for which the natural antithesis is night: it is this which seems to trigger off his use of waking/ watching language, ȖȡȘȖȠȡİ૙Ȟ being typical day-time activity. Given the obvious OT background of the Day of the Lord, and the traditional associations of sleep with night and hence ‘waking’ with day,60 there seems no good reason to look elsewhere for his choice of vocabulary here. 56 See my Revival, 182, for details and the Matthean reminiscences in ਥȖȡȘȖȩȡȘıİȞ and ijȣȜĮțૌ. Wenham too (Rediscovery, ch. 1) uses Luke 12 and the Matthean reminiscences as evidence for the existence of a doorkeeper parable in his presumed presynoptic discourse (though he is less inclined to talk of Q); cf. too Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 58–59. 57 Reconstructions of the parable vary. Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 59, cites that of A. Weiser, Die Knechtsgleichnisse der synoptischen Evangelien (SANT 29; München: Kösel, 1971), 131 ff. Wenham too offers a reconstruction (Rediscovery, 40) which, though differing in part from that of Weiser, still retains the key ideas of watching and sleeping. My own suggested reconstruction of Q (Revival, 188) followed the Lukan wording closely which includes the ‘watching’, though not the ‘sleep’. 58 Cf. Lövestam, Wakefulness, 55 ff. (for 1 Thess 5), 95 (for Luke 12). 59 Elsewhere, Aejmelaeus argues for such an influence of OT language on Paul, e.g. in 1 Thess 5.3. 60 Cf. Lövestam, Wakefulness, passim, esp. pp. 25 ff.

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The remaining parallel to be examined concerns 1 Thess 5.3 and Luke 21.34–36. This is noted by almost all commentators. Yet it is perhaps the most difficult to assess. The use in both contexts of ĮੁijȞȓįȚȠȢ, ਥijȚıIJȐȞĮȚ, ਥțijİȪȖİȚȞ is striking as is the general agreement in substance between the two passages. However, explanations of the agreements differ. Some argue that Paul is quoting, or alluding to, a saying of Jesus.61 Others have argued that Luke is dependent on Paul here.62 Aejmelaeus, whose book is devoted primarily to this question, has argued in great detail that Paul’s language in this verse is heavily indebted to the LXX, especially to Isa 13 and Jer 6.63 Aejmelaeus also notes a number of parallels with Wisd 17–18. He thus concludes that Paul himself has created the verse with the language of the OT texts preying on his mind. If then the verse is primarily Pauline, the parallels in Luke 21 are, according to Aejmelaeus, due to Lukan dependence on Paul. The question of the relationship of Luke to Paul will be discussed shortly and can be considered independently. However, Aejmelaeus’s case for the Pauline origin of v. 3 is not altogether convincing. Many have pointed to the high number of unusual words in the verse as indicating a pre-Pauline origin.64 Whilst some of these might be explained by Paul’s reminiscence of LXX language, it is still very odd that Paul should have suddenly produced such a ‘burst’ of Septuagintal language in this one verse, using vocabulary which in many respects is so unusual for him. Further, the verse clearly seems to disrupt the flow of Paul’s own argument at this point. Verse 3, together with v. 2, describes the Day of the Lord in altogether negative terms as something to be dreaded. Yet Paul’s own concern is to provide reassurance for the Thessalonians. Hence Paul switches very abruptly in v. 4.65 The most natural explanation is that v. 3 is part of Paul’s tradition and that Paul’s own modifications and application

61

Cf. Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 559; Hartman, Prophecy, 192; Waterman, ‘Sources’, 110; Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 83–84; Marshall, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 134; Wenham, Rediscovery, 110 ff.; Holtz, ‘Traditionen’, 67–68. 62 Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 29, and in most detail Aejmelaeus, Wachen, passim. 63 Wachen, 38–47. The parallels are often noted: cf. Wenham, Rediscovery, 113. However, Aejmelaeus’ claim (p. 42) that 1 Thess 5.3a is inspired primarily by Jer 6.14 does not square easily with his attempt to see Matt 24.37–38/Luke 17.26–27 as also parallel at this point: cf. above. 64 Cf. Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 325; Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 82–83; Collins, Studies, 165; cf. İੁȡȒȞȘ used in a non-religious sense, ਕıijȐȜİȚĮ, ĮੁijȞȓįȚȠȢ, ਥijȚıIJȐȞĮȚ, ੩įȓȞ, ȖĮıIJȒȡ, Ƞ੝ ȝȒ. 65 For this switch, cf. Plevnik, ‘1 Thess 5,1–11’, 71, 78; Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 209; Collins, Studies, 166.

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of his tradition come to the fore in vv. 4 ff. Thus the theory that v. 3 itself is a Pauline creation in toto is rather problematic.66 Aejmelaeus’ other main claim is however very attractive. He builds a powerful case for seeing Luke 21.34–36 as a LukeR creation based on (amongst other texts) 1 Thess 5.3.67 Others too have argued for a great deal of LukeR activity in Luke 21.34–36 and much of this section can be explained as LukeR of Mark 13.33–37.68 However, the similarities between Luke 21 and 1 Thess 5 are too great to be regarded as coincidental and, assuming conventional datings, Paul writing in the 50s cannot be dependent on Luke writing after 70 CE. Hence either Paul and Luke are dependent on a common tradition or Luke is dependent on Paul. Some have argued for the former option, appealing in particular to the evidence of Luke’s reference to a ‘snare’ (ʌĮȖȓȢ) which is parallel to Paul’s reference to ‘travail’ (੩įȓȞ). Hartman has argued that the two Greek words may represent possible translations of different pointings of the same Hebrew root OE[, OE[H = ‘travail’, and OE[ meaning a trap.69 Hence Paul and Luke may represent different Greek versions of a Semitic Vorlage. This is however rather doubtful. Wenham points out that the variation could be due to a change by Paul.70 Aejmelaeus makes the more telling point that ʌĮȖȓȢ is never used in the LXX to translate OE[H.71 In fact ੩įȓȞ occurs in Isa 13.8 and Paul’s language in 1 Thess 5 has many parallels in Isa 13;72 also ʌĮȖȓȢ occurs in Isa 24.17 and Luke 21.34–36 has many parallels with Isa 24.17–20.73 Hence both NT versions can be adequately explained by the influence of (different) texts from Isaiah on each writer and the different wordings can probably tell us nothing about the relationship between the texts.

66 For Paul as dependent on tradition here, cf. Harnisch, Existenz, 74–75; Rigaux, ‘Tradition’, 325; Collins, Studies, 165. 67 Wachen, 99–130. 68 Cf. J. Zmijewski, Die Eschatologiereden des Lukasevangeliums (BBB 40; Bonn: Hanstein, 1972), 187 ff.; F. Keck, Die öffentliche Abschiedsrede Jesu in Lk 20,45–21,36 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1976), 270–282; J. Dupont, ‘La parabole du maître qui rentre tard dans la nuit (Marc 13,34–46)’, in his Études sur les évangiles synoptiques. Part 1 (BETL 70; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1985), 502–503. For the theory that Luke 21.34–36 is a ‘late’, Hellenistic creation, cf. R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 119. 69 Hartman, Prophecy, 192, followed by Holtz, ‘Traditionen’, 67. Cf. Ps 17.5–6 LXX where OE[ is mistranslated by ੩įȓȞ. 70 Rediscovery, 112–113. He refers to the fact that both words occur together in Ps 17.6 LXX and both occur in eschatological contexts (cf. Isa 13.6–7; 24.17). 71 Wachen, 121. 72 See Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 41–42. 73 Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 102–103; cf. also Lövestam, Wakefulness, 123–125.

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Although many have argued that Paul and Luke depend on common tradition here (cf. n. 61 above), a strong case can be made for seeing a more direct relationship involved here. Aejmelaeus has shown that it is not necessary to appeal to anything more than LukeR to explain the Lukan text. Although Aejmelaeus’ argument that 1 Thess 5.3 itself is due to Paul is less convincing (cf. above), a stronger argument for his overall theory of Luke’s dependence on Paul may be provided by the fact that Luke 21 shows affinities not only with 1 Thess 5.3 itself, but also with Paul’s use of the verse in its wider (i.e. Pauline) context. Luke 21.36 states in positive form (‘so that you may be able to escape …’) what is in one sense wholly negative in Paul (‘they will not escape’). The verbal agreement (using ਥțijİȪȖİȚȞ) is with 1 Thess 5.3, but the substantive agreement is with Paul’s continuation in vv. 4–8,74 where Paul exhorts the Thessalonians not to be in the situation described in v. 3. However, this represents Paul’s use of his tradition. Thus it is more likely that Luke is dependent on Paul rather than on Paul’s tradition.75 The same may be implied by Luke’s reference to being ‘drunk’ in 21.34 which overlaps with Paul’s reference to drunkenness later in 1 Thess 5. Arguments are clearly reversible here. Some have argued that the similarity in language here shows Paul’s dependence on the same tradition which appears in Luke 21.76 Aejmelaeus argues that Luke’s language may have been generated by the association of Mark 13.33–37 with his Q tradition in Luke 12.35–38 which in turn was connected in Q with Luke 12.42–46.77 This however seems unlikely here since there are no other comparable examples of Luke’s being influenced by neighbouring passages within his Christian tradition to make the kind of verbal associations proposed.78 In fact Paul’s use of the drunkenness motif seems to have been generated by the reference to the ‘night’ which in turn is the counterpart to the ‘Day’ of the Lord (cf. above). Luke too has the ‘Day’ but no reference to the ‘night’. It is thus hard to see how Paul’s progression of thought could have been generated from a tradition similar to Luke 21.34–36 with the references there to the ‘Day’ and drunkenness. The two motifs appear in Paul as parts of a rather more deeply embedded thought progression. Further, since 74

Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 121. One does not have to postulate Luke’s personal acquaintance with Paul (so Orchard) for such a theory. On any showing Luke is part of the (deutero-) Pauline ‘school’ and clearly in touch with traditions about Paul. 76 Cf. Wenham, Rediscovery, 110; also Lövestam, Wakefulness, 128. 77 Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 106. 78 The situation is perhaps rather different with the LXX since the influence of Septuagintal language on Luke is undisputed. Aejmelaeus’ claim (Wachen, 102 ff.) that Luke’s language here is heavily influenced by the LXX, especially Isa 24, seems more convincing. 75

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vv. 4–8 represent Paul’s use of the tradition in v. 3, changing the emphasis from warning to encouragement (cf. above), it may be that the thought progression is Paul’s. Hence the conjunction of themes is due to Paul, and Luke’s similar conjunction of the same themes may thus indicate Luke’s dependence on Paul here. Paul in 1 Thess 5.1–11 is thus clearly dependent on tradition. But there is no clear evidence that he is dependent on Jesus tradition for anything more than the thief image in v. 2. Rather, the traditions used seem to be of disparate origin. 35

4. 1 Thess 4.15–17 The theory that Paul made use of a block of sayings of Jesus is confirmed for some by the evidence of 1 Thess 4.15–17, seen as parallel to Matt 24.30–31 (cf. especially the reference to the trumpet etc.79). Further influence from the same synoptic context has been seen in the agreement between Paul’s reference to the living being caught up to ‘meet’ the Lord in the air (İੁȢ ਕʌȐȞIJȘıȚȞ) and the wording of the parable of the ten virgins (Matt 25.1–13, which in Matthew immediately follows the discourse in Matt 24), where the five wise virgins go out to ‘meet’ (İੁȢ ਕʌȐȞIJȘıȚȞ) the bridegroom.80 As a further possibility, Paul’s language of the living being ‘caught up’ (ਖȡʌĮȖȘıȩȝİșĮ) is reminiscent of the sayings in Matt 24.40– 41/Luke 17.34–35 which speak of one person being taken and one left.81 The parallels with Matt 25.1–13 seem particularly weak. The use of ਕʌȐȞIJȘıȚȢ in both contexts should probably not be pressed. The word is a common one. Much discussion has taken place about the possible significance of the word in Paul in relation to the usage describing the ‘meeting’ of people going out to meet a special dignitary coming to a city.82 How79 Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 23–24; Hartman, Prophecy, 189–190; Waterman, ‘Sources’, 108–109; Wenham, Rediscovery, 305–306; Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 79–80. 80 Mentioned as a possible parallel by Orchard, ‘Thessalonians’, 23–24; Holtz, Der erste Brief an die Thessalonicher, 190; Waterman, ‘Sources’, 109; Wenham, Rediscovery, 89, who also sees the archangel’s shout as possibly parallel to the cry in the parable (Matt 25.6). 81 Cf. Hartman and Wenham. Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 66, sees the synoptic text as closer to 1 Thess 5.1–11 with the reference to night and sleeping (especially if Luke 17.34 is more original than Matt 24.40). 82 See E. Peterson, ‘Die Einholung des Kyrios’, ZST 7 (1930) 682–702, and ਕʌȐȞIJȘıȚȢ, TWNT 1 (1933), 380; J. Dupont, ȈȊȃ ȋȇǿȈȉȍǿ. L’union avec le Christ suivant saint Paul (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1952), 64 ff.; Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 230–234; R. H. Gundry, ‘The Hellenization of Dominical Tradition and the Christianization of Jewish Tradition in the Eschatology of 1–2 Thess’, NTS 33 (1987) 161–178, on p. 165.

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ever, Dupont’s observation that the phrase is a very common one, occurring about 129 times in the LXX, still has value.83 One cannot deduce very much about possible literary links between two contexts on the basis of such a common phrase. In any case the parable may not be that early. Donfried has argued quite persuasively that the parable is a Matthean construct84 and hence would not have been available to influence Paul. The alleged parallel is thus too weak to bear any weight in the present discussion. The parallel between believers being ‘caught up’ in 1 Thess 4.17 and the images in Matt 24.40–41 also seems very tenuous. It is not clear whether the one ‘taken’ in Matt 24 is taken away for salvation or for condemnation. Further, Paul’s language has no reference to a contrast between those taken and those left. Such an idea is simply not in view at all. The verbal agreement between Paul and the synoptics is minimal and the parallel should probably not be pressed. The alleged parallel between 1 Thess 4.16–17 and Matt 24.30–31 also creates problems in relation to the theory that Paul was using a block of Jesus tradition here. It is clear that the closest parallel is between Paul and Matthew (rather than, say, between Paul and Mark: only Matthew has the ‘trumpet’). However, without the Pauline evidence, Matt 24.30–31 is usually regarded as MattR of Mark. Further, the connection of Matt 24.30– 31 with Matt 24.37–41, 43–44, which is allegedly also attested by Paul, is usually assumed to be a redactional combination of Markan and Q material. Some ignore this difficulty completely. Wenham solves the problem by postulating the existence of a pre-synoptic discourse made up of elements which appear in various places in the gospels.85 Aejmelaeus alone gives serious attention to the problem on the basis of a relatively orthodox synoptic source-critical theory. Aejmelaeus’ answer is to argue that in fact the connection between Matt 24.30–31 and 24.37 ff. may derive from Q, or at least from a stage in the development of the tradition leading to Q.86 At

83 Dupont, Union, 67–68. See too P. Siber, Mit Christus leben (ATANT 61; Zürich: TVZ, 1971), 54. 84 K. P. Donfried, ‘The Allegory of the Ten Virgins (Matt 25:1–13) as a Summary of Matthean Theology’, JBL 93 (1974) 415–428. The reconstruction of a pre-Matthean version of the parable by W. Schenk, ‘Auferweckung der Toten oder Gericht nach den Werken. Tradition und Redaktion in Matthäus xxv 1–13’, NovT 20 (1978) 278–299, is somewhat arbitrary. 85 Wenham’s whole thesis appears to be based on a general premise that the gospel writers were very conservative about creating or changing their traditions: they only omitted bits here and there. Hence the justification for rediscovering the original whole by adding all the various bits we now have together. 86 Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 79 ff. Elsewhere (p. 69), in discussing the Q parallels to 1 Thess 5, Aejmelaeus makes it quite clear that he is not postulating a link between Paul and Q itself, since Paul shows no knowledge of Q-redactional elements, but rather with

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first sight there seems to be a clear seam between v. 36 and v. 37 of Matt 24 as Matthew switches from Mark to Q. However, Matthew has already used Q material in vv. 26–27. Hence it is possible that the switch between sources occurred earlier in Matt 24 and that Q also contained a version of the saying in Matt 24.30–31/Mark 13.26, this Q version being reflected in Matthew. This however seems unlikely. There is no direct evidence of any Q influence in Matt 24.30–31 (e.g. there are no agreements with Luke in the relevant parts of Matthew). Further, vv. 26–28 in Matt 24 disrupt the sequence of thought, bringing in a reference to the parousia too early.87 But what applies to Matthew applies also mutatis mutandis to Q if Q contained a version of vv. 30–31. Hence the alleged Q sequence becomes equally difficult. The problem can be solved in source-critical terms for Matthew by ascribing the various elements to separate sources, Mark and Q. However, there is no reason to suppose that such a combination of sources had already taken place in Q. Thus the attempt to ascribe Matt 24.30–31 to Q has little independent support apart from the theory it is trying to establish. The alleged parallel between 1 Thess 4 and Matt 24 creates great problems too in terms of Pauline exegesis. Much discussion has taken place concerning where exactly Paul’s tradition is to be located in 1 Thess 4, and also why he cites it, i.e. what the situation addressed is. There is today a fairly widespread consensus on these questions. Paul is addressing a situation where the Thessalonian Christians are in a state of grief about some of their number who have died, thinking that the latter will miss out on the eschatological blessings.88 To meet this need, Paul quotes an authoritative statement ‘by the word of the Lord’. Further, most agree that the statement concerned is to be found in vv. 16–17a, v. 17b being Paul’s own summary conclusion and v. 15 being Paul’s own paraphrase of the tradition.89 an earlier stage of the Q tradition: ‘Auf diese Weise scheint Paulus Licht auf die Vorgeschichte der Q-Quelle zu werfen’ (p. 71, my stress). 87 See my Revival, 170, with further references. 88 The problem seems to be deeper than simply anxiety about the relative time scale of when the dead will be saved: cf. W. Marxsen, ‘Auslegung von 1 Thess 4,13–18’, ZTK 60 (1969) 22–37, on p. 36; Marshall, 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 121. G. Lüdemann, Paul – Apostle to the Gentiles. Studies in Chronology (London: SCM, 1984), 210–211. The view that Paul is countering some kind of Gnostic threat (cf. W. Schmithals, Paul and the Gnostics [Nashville: Abingdon], 1972), 123 ff.; Harnisch, Existenz, passim) has been powerfully opposed by N. Hyldahl, ‘Auferstehung Christi. Auferstehung der Toten (1 Thess 4,13–18)’, in S. Pedersen (ed.), Die paulinische Literatur und Theologie. The Pauline Literature and Theology (Århus & Göttingen: Forlaget Aros & Vandenhoeck & Rurecht, 1980), 119–135, esp. pp. 124–126; cf. too U. Luz, Das Geschichtsverständnis des Paulus (München: Chr. Kaiser, 1968), 320–321; Lüdemann, Paul, 206 ff. 89 See Rigaux, Thessaloniciens, 539; J. Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus (London: SPCK, 1957), 64–65; P. Hoffmann, Die Toten in Christus (NTAbh 2; Münster: Aschen-

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It is well known that the phrase ਥȞ ȜȩȖ૶ țȣȡȓȠȣ is ambiguous. Paul could be referring to (a) a saying of the historical Jesus (whether genuine or not is immaterial: all that matters is what Paul thinks), or (b) a saying of a Christian prophet claiming to give the voice of the risen Lord.90 These two possibilities can be subdivided further: Paul could be citing: (a) (i) a saying which is preserved elsewhere (e.g. in the gospels),91 (a) (ii) a saying not preserved elsewhere, i.e. an agraphon,92 (b) (i) an oracle of another Christian prophet,93 (b) (ii) an oracle of Paul himself qua prophet.94 In the abstract each option is possible. However, the unusual vocabulary in vv. 16–17a would seem to suggest that Paul is citing a tradition which is not his own.95 Thus (b) (i) above seems more likely than (b) (ii). For the present purposes, what is important is the question of whether option (a) (i) above is tenable and, if so, whether a saying such as Matt 24.30–31 lies behind Paul’s words here. At this point one must take note again of the situation addressed by Paul. Further, it would seem most plausible to assume that Paul’s decision to cite his tradition here indicates that the latter relates directly and positively to the situation addressed. Otherwise there would be little point in citing it. With this in mind it seems very improbable that a saying like Matt 24.30–31 could be the tradition cited by Paul here. For Matt 24.30–31 says nothing about the resurrection dorff, 1966), 219–220; Luz, Geschichtsverständnis, 328–329; Siber, Mit Christus leben, 35; Lüdemann, Paul, 221 ff.; D. E. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), 253 ff. Most recently, Holtz has argued that the tradition cited is to be found in v. 15 (‘Traditionen’, 61–62, cf. too H.-A. Wilcke, Das Problem eines messianischen Zwischenreichs bei Paulus [ATANT 51; Zürich: Zwingli, 1967], 132); but the predominance of Pauline language in v. 15 (cf. Lüdemann, Paul, 222; Siber, Mit Christus leben, 36–37) seems to make the theory of a Pauline summary preceding the citation more plausible (and more economical) than Holtz’s assumption of two separate traditions cited in vv. 15 and 16–17. 90 The parallels with prophetic sayings (e.g. 1 Kings 13.1, 2, 5, 32; 21.35) are frequently noted. 91 Cf. at n. 79 above, and also the discussion on John 11.25–26 below. 92 Notably, Jeremias, Unknown Sayings, 64–67; Wilcke, Problem, 131; Holtz, Thessalonicher, 184. 93 Probably the most popular view: see Luz, Geschichtsverständnis, 328–329; Siber, Mit Christus leben, 41–42; Harnisch, Existenz, 44–45; Hoffmann, Toten, 219; Best, Commentary, 193–194; Collins, Studies, 159. 94 C. L. Mearns, ‘Early Eschatological Development in Paul. The Evidence of I and II Thess.’, NTS 27 (1980/81) 137–151, esp. p. 141; O. Hofius, ‘Unbekannte Jesusworte’, in P. Stuhlmacher (ed.), Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), 360; Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 311. 95 Cf. Siber, Mit Christus leben, 37; Luz, Geschichtsverständnis, 328; Lüdemann, Paul, 222–224. Unique, or rare, in Paul are the use of țȑȜİȣıȝĮ, ਕȡȤȐȖȖİȜȠȢ, țĮIJĮȕĮȓȞİȚȞ in relation to the parousia, ਕȞĮıIJોȞĮȚ for the resurrection, ʌİȡȚȜİȓʌİıșĮȚ.

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of the living and the dead and the relative order of the two. Yet it is this which is the key point for Paul’s argument.96 This is not to deny that Paul may well have altered his tradition here, and many have attempted to reconstruct an earlier form of the logion by peeling away Paul’s redactional additions.97 Yet it still seems strange that Paul should cite the tradition as an authoritative answer to the problem faced by the Thessalonians if the tradition itself said nothing relevant to the situation and all relevance is supplied by Paul’s own redactional adaptations. Further, the elements in 1 Thess 4.16–17 which clearly relate the saying to the Thessalonian problem by speaking of the resurrection of the dead, and the relationship of the living and the dead at the parousia, are not all clearly redactional.98 Thus the source-critical analysis of 1 Thess 4.16–17 itself, and the general irrelevance of Matt 24.30–31 to the Thessalonian situation, make it improbable that the saying adduced by Paul here is a tradition related in some way to Matt 24.30–31.99 In view of these difficulties one should perhaps note the suggestion that the ȜȩȖȠȢ țȣȡȓȠȣ is not a synoptic saying, but a logion preserved in John 11.25–26. This was argued by P. Nepper-Christensen and the theory has recently been defended again by R. H. Gundry.100 Both point out that the Johannine text speaks of the dead and the living, just as 1 Thess 4 does. In this John 11.25–26 seems a more plausible candidate for consideration as the background for Paul’s language than any of the synoptic texts proposed in the past. However, the theory demands that, on conventional datings, the logion in John 11.25–26 must reflect a pre-Johannine saying in order to

96 Cf. Gundry, ‘Hellenization’, 164; Hofius, ‘Jesusworte’, 360; Hyldahl, ‘Auferstehung’, 130, though Hyldahl thinks that the decisive application of the tradition is due to Paul’s own adaptation, referring to Dan 12.2. But why then does Paul appeal to the tradition in the first place? The same applies to Lüdemann’s proposal (Paul, 232–233) that Paul has radically altered his tradition by interchanging the relative order of the withdrawal of the living and the resurrection of the dead. Cf. the critique by Gundry, ‘Hellenization’, 178. Aejmelaeus, Wachen, 84, seeks to avoid the problem by arguing that the trumpet blast in Matt 24.30–31 is intended to wake the dead, and hence the dead are implied in Matt 24. But it is doubtful if one can be quite so precise about the function of the eschatological trumpet. Cf. Siber, Mit Christus leben, 48, for the very varied function of the trumpet in different texts. 97 See Neirynck, ‘Sayings’, 309–311, summarising the views of Jeremias, Luz, Siber, Lüdemann, Harnisch and Aune. 98 E.g. the phrase ȗ૵ȞIJİȢ Ƞੂ ʌİȡȚȜİȚʌȩȝİȞȠȚ is ascribed by most to the tradition. 99 So too the similar imagery (e.g. the trumpet) should be seen as simply part of the stock Jewish eschatological framework. Cf. B. Lindars, ‘The Sound of the Trumpet. Paul and Eschatology’, BJRL 67 (1985) 766–782, on p. 774. 100 P. Nepper-Christensen, ‘Das verborgene Herrenwort’, ST 19 (1965) 136–154; Gundry, ‘Hellenization’.

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have been available to Paul. Both scholars seek to justify this in different ways. Nepper-Christensen argues that the verses in John interrupt the Lazarus story in that they do not follow on from Martha’s comment in v. 24, nor does Martha’s reply in v. 27 really relate to the saying.101 This is however unconvincing. Martha’s failure to understand fully in v. 24 is in line with John’s narrative technique whereby a discourse is often enabled to develop precisely on the basis of someone’s failure to understand.102 Further, Martha’s reply in v. 27 should probably not be seen as a misunderstanding (in Johannine terms) of vv. 25–26: by making the person of Jesus central in her confession of faith, Martha shows that she has understood the saying properly. 103 There is thus little justification for seeing vv. 25–26 as an independent, pre-Johannine saying on the grounds that it disrupts the present context. Gundry reconstructs a pre-Johannine version of the saying which, he claims, corresponds to Paul’s tradition in 1 Thess 4 when the latter has been purged of its Pauline additions. Gundry’s reconstruction of the preJohannine saying runs as follows: ‘The one who has died will rise and the one who is alive will never die’. ‘Jesus was referring to “the last day” … and to being physically dead or alive at that time.’104 Such a theory is however not easy to accept in its entirety in terms of either the Johannine or the Pauline texts. In relation to Paul, Gundry has to posit extensive redaction of the tradition by Paul. It may be that some of Paul’s language can be explained in this way, 105 though the wholesale revision of the tradition envisaged by Gundry makes it difficult to see how Paul could still be seen by others as appealing to an authoritative tradition. Further, some elements which are often ascribed to Paul’s tradition here, e.g. the use of ʌİȡȚȜİȓʌİıșĮȚ and ਖȡʌȐȗİȚȞ,106 are not easily seen as redactional. 101

‘Herrenwort’, 152–153. Cf. R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John I–XII (AB 29A; New York: Doubleday, 1966), cxxxvi: ‘The misunderstanding usually causes Jesus to explain himself more thoroughly and to unfold his doctrine …’ Cf. John 3.9; 4.11; 5.7; 6.7 etc. 103 See R. Bultmann, Das Evangelium des Johannes (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1941), 308; B. Lindars, The Gospel of John (London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1971), 396. 104 ‘Hellenization’, 165. 105 Gundry makes much of the Hellenistic parallels noted by Peterson (n. 82 above) about dignitaries visiting Hellenistic cities as explaining much of Paul’s language here (e.g. Jesus as țȪȡȚȠȢ, cf. the Emperor, the use of ʌĮȡȠȣıȓĮ). 106 Cf. Luz, Geschichtsverständnis, 328–329; Siber, Mit Christus leben, 37; Lüdemann, Paul, 222, 224. Gundry explains the use of ਖȡʌȐȗİȚȞ as due to Paul’s twisting of Hellenistic language whereby the dead could have been thought of as ‘snatched away’: ‘the snatching up of togetherness will replace the snatching away of separation’ (‘Hellen102

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There are also problems in Gundry’s argument about the pre-Johannine nature of John 11.25–26 itself. The İੁȢ IJઁȞ Įੁ૵ȞĮ phrase is more naturally ascribed to John himself (12 times in the Gospel). Further, it is hard to see how anyone would have thought of such a reconstruction without the Pauline evidence, for the whole saying seems to be Johannine through and through.107 At the level of John, the saying clearly uses ȗ૵Ȟ in a transferred sense. The ‘life’ which Jesus ‘is’ is the resurrection life, or eternal life; hence the one who believes in Jesus will ‘live’ (v. 25) in the sense of living the new, eternal life. Verse 26 then seems to take this one stage further. ੒ ȗ૵Ȟ of v. 26a is the person who has eternal life. It is not the person who is physically alive (e.g. at the parousia). Arguably the whole of vv. 25–26 is an explication of the basic ‘I am’ saying of v. 25a.108 It is thus very hard to abstract vv. 25b–26 from v. 25a and Gundry himself agrees that v. 25a is too Johannine to be regarded as anything other than due to John himself. Thus the whole of vv. 25–26 would seem to be too Johannine to be split up in the way suggested by Gundry. The attempt to see John 11.25–26 behind 1 Thess 4 therefore seems unconvincing. The Johannine saying is too Johannine to be anything other than a Johannine creation in toto. In conclusion, attempts to identify the tradition cited by Paul in 1 Thess 4.16–17 with tradition attested elsewhere in Jesus tradition seem unsuccessful. Further, the theory that Paul reproduces a revelation given to himself seems to founder on the extent of un-Pauline language here. Hence either Paul believes he is citing a saying of the historical Jesus to which we do not have independent access elsewhere, or (more probably) he is citing a tradition of a prophetic saying claimed to have been received by (another) prophet. In either case, 1 Thess 4.16–17 probably does not contribute positively to the problem of the relationship between Paul and the synoptic tradition. * This essay has sought to discuss the theory that Paul had access to a block of Jesus tradition which he used in 1 Thess 4–5. I have tried to argue that this theory is unconvincing. Paul appears to have known perhaps one isolated tradition as a ‘Jesus tradition’ (in 5.2). The rest of Paul’s language can be most adequately explained by Paul’s use of other traditions and his own ideas.

ization’, 168, referring to A. J. Malherbe, ‘Exhortation in First Thessalonians’, NovT 25 [1983] 255–256). 107 For example, no reconstruction of the Signs Source of which I am aware has suggested that (parts of) John 11.25–26 should be ascribed to John’s source here. 108 Brown, John, 434; cf. too Lindars, John, 395.

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XVII Paul and Jesus Tradition The Evidence of 1 Corinthians 2.9 and Gospel of Thomas 17 The debate about the relationship between ‘Paul and Jesus’ is a perennial and wide-ranging one, with many different issues potentially at stake. One (and only one) aspect of the debate concerns the possible extent to which Paul may have known and used traditions about Jesus in his own letters. The identification of such traditions might give us insight into Paul and his own tradition as well as possibly providing a valuable source for the Jesus tradition itself. For many too, the existence of such traditions is important in establishing how far there is substantive continuity between Paul’s teaching and the teaching of Jesus. However, even when parallels between Paul’s words and Jesus tradition can be established, one must be wary of deducing too much too quickly. Modern gospel study has long accepted as axiomatic the possibility that some traditions in the gospels were read into the Jesus story and placed on the lips of Jesus secondarily. Thus a parallel between Paul and Jesus tradition might not necessarily show that Paul was dependent on the Jesus tradition and/or the historical Jesus himself. Rather, the line of dependency may go the other way: sayings may have been read into the gospel tradition from the Pauline letters.1 In a few instances, Paul himself makes clear that he is quoting, or alluding to, Jesus tradition (cf. 1 Cor 7.10; 9.14; 11.23). In other instances, Paul’s language is less clear and it is uncertain whether he is intending to allude to Jesus tradition or not (cf. Rom 14.14; 1 Thess 4.15).2 Much of the debate then focuses on a number of instances where Paul’s words provide a parallel to similar words or ideas in the Jesus tradition, with discussion

1 Cf. M. D. Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew (London: SPCK, 1974), 153– 170, on the parallels between Matthew and Paul as perhaps going from Paul to Matthew (though not necessarily directly), rather than vice versa. 2 Rom 14.14 (‘I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus …’) and 1 Thess 4.15 (‘this we say by a word of the Lord’) can both be taken as referring to alleged teaching of Jesus, but need not do so.

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then on whether Paul might have been aware of the existence of such parallels or not.3 In many of the discussions to date,4 the possibility that Paul might have used Jesus tradition is often discussed in relation to possible parallels between Paul and the synoptic gospels. It has however been a feature of recent studies of the historical Jesus that more openness is now shown to non-canonical sources as possibly providing just as valuable access to the historical Jesus as the canonical gospels in (what later became) the ‘New Testament’.5 Above all the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.) has been seen by many as a source independent of the synoptics and incorporating valuable early tradition. In the light of these new developments in Jesus research, the question of ‘Paul and Jesus’ may take on rather different contours if one takes seriously the possibility that the ‘Jesus’ side of the balance should not be confined to the canonical texts alone. Thus James Robinson has (in my view rightly) criticised the approach of N. Walter in his discussion of the issue of Paul’s possible use of Jesus traditions, where Walter focuses solely on canonical material to identify possible Jesus traditions.6 Robinson’s cited example of one piece of evidence omitted in this way was 1 Cor 2.9, a saying apparently quoted as scripture by Paul:7 ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him’. A very similar saying is ascribed to 3

The closest parallels are probably Rom 12.14 cf. Matt 5.44; Rom 12.17 cf. Matt 5.39–41; Rom 13.7 cf. Mark 12.13–17 pars.; Rom 13.8–10 cf. Mark 12.28–34 pars.; 1 Cor 13.2 cf. Matt 17.20; 21.21 pars.; 1 Thess 5.2 cf. Matt 24.43//Luke 12.39. 4 Cf. N. Walter, ‘Paulus und die urchristliche Tradition’, NTS 31 (1985) 498–522 (ET in A. J. M. Wedderburn [ed.], Paul and Jesus. Collected Essays [JSNTSup 37; Sheffield: JSOT, 1989], 57–80); F. Neirynck, ‘Paul and the Sayings of Jesus’, in his Evangelica II (BETL 99; Leuven: Peeters, 1991), 511–568; idem, ‘The Sayings of Jesus in 1 Corinthians’, in R. Bieringer (ed.), The Corinthian Correspondence (BETL 125; Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 141–176; M. Thompson, Clothed with Christ. The Example and Teaching of Jesus in Romans 12.1–15.13 (JSNTSup 59; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991); J. D. G. Dunn, ‘Jesus Tradition in Paul’, in B. D. Chilton & C. A. Evans (eds.), Studying the Historical Jesus. Evaluations of the State of Current Research (Leiden: Brill, 21998), 155–178; D. Wenham, Paul. Follower of Jesus or Founder of Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995). 5 Cf. H. Koester, ‘Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels’, HTR 73 (1980) 105–130; idem, Ancient Christian Gospels (London: SCM, 1991); J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991); and the work of the Jesus Seminar, especially R. W. Funk & R. Hoover (eds.), The Five Gospels. The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Polebridge, 1993). See also the collection of essays entitled ‘The Historical Jesus and the Rejected Gospels’, in Semeia 44 (1988). 6 J. M. Robinson, ‘The Study of the Historical Jesus after Nag Hammadi’, Semeia 44 (1988) 45–55, esp. pp. 47–48. Cf. Walter, ‘Paulus und die urchristliche Tradition’ (n. 4 above). 7 It is introduced with țĮșઅȢ ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ ‘as it is written’, which is usually taken as a fairly standard indication on Paul’s part that he is intending to cite scripture. See below.

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Jesus in GThom. 17: ‘Jesus said “I shall give you what no eye has seen and what no ear has heard, and what no hand has touched and what has never occurred to the human mind”’.8 S. Patterson has taken this further and suggested that a number of sayings now found in GThom. alone may lie behind Paul’s words at various points in his letters.9 Methodologically, Robinson and Patterson are quite right to question the restriction to canonical texts in discussing the issue of Paul and Jesus tradition. Nevertheless, while all such parallels should in principle be discussed, it remains to be seen what such parallels might imply. Further, one clearly cannot make a blanket judgement covering every instance. Each case must be considered on its own merits. For this essay I shall confine attention to the parallel noted by Robinson between Paul’s words in 1 Cor 2.9 and GThom. 17. * Paul’s apparent quotation in 1 Cor 2.9 has long been a notorious crux. Paul appears to imply that he is quoting a text from scripture (cf. țĮșઅȢ ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ) and yet the words used do not correspond precisely with any known version of a single scriptural text. The closest parallel is often said to be the words from Isa 64.4 (LXX 64.3): ‘From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him.’ This contains the reference to no eye seeing and no ear hearing; but it does not contain an equivalent to ‘what has never occurred to the human mind’ (literally ‘what has not arisen in the heart of man’),10 and it has a quite different object of what it is that no eye has seen and no ear heard: in Isaiah it is any other God beside Yahweh himself, in Paul it is the things that God has prepared for those who love him.11 The location of the apparent quotation has been a problem since very earliest times: and as early as Origen the claim was made that Paul 8 ET from B. Layton (ed.), Nag Hammadi Codex II,2–7 together with XIII,2, Brit. Lib. 4926(1) and P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655 (NHS 20; Leiden: Brill, 1989), 61. The saying is not extant in the Greek fragments and hence only available in Coptic. Any comparison involving the finer detail of the wording is thus impossible. 9 S. J. Patterson, ‘Paul and the Jesus Tradition. It Is Time for Another Look’, HTR 84 (1991) 23–41. 10 There is a similar phrase in Isa 65.17 (LXX 65.16): cf. C. K. Barrett, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (London: A&C Black, 1971), 73; A. C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2000), 251 and others. 11 See all the standard studies of Paul’s use of the OT: e.g. O. Michel, Paulus und seine Bibel (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1929), 34–36; E. E. Ellis, Paul’s Use of the Old Testament (repr. ed. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981), 34–35; D.-A. Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums. Untersuchungen zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus (BHT 69; Tübingen: Mohr, 1986), 37–38; C. D. Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture (SNTSMS 69; Cambridge: CUP, 1992), 188–189.

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was citing a lost apocryphal work of Elijah (‘in secretis Eliae prophetae’),12 though this has now been shown to be rather implausible.13 The ‘quotation’, together with its parallel in GThom. 17 (and possible parallels elsewhere, e.g. in Q 10.23–24 and Dial. Sav. 140), has however been a key element in the theories of H. Koester (and, following him to some extent, S. Patterson). In a number of different publications over several years, Koester has argued that Paul here may be using a saying which was known to both himself and the Corinthians, the latter using it to justify their own theological perspective. In some of his publications, Koester implies quite clearly that this saying was known to Paul and to the Corinthians as a saying of Jesus, stemming from a sayings collection which is more primitive than the canonical gospels and which may underlie the Sayings Source Q. Thus in a much quoted section of an early essay, originally published in 1968, Koester states: The basis of the Gospel of Thomas is a sayings collection which is more primitive that the canonical gospels … The relation of this ‘sayings gospel,’ from which the Gospel of Thomas is derived, to the synoptic sayings source Q, is an open question … But it must have been a version of Q in which the apocalyptic expectation of the Son of man was missing, and in which Jesus’ radicalized eschatology of the kingdom and his revelation of divine wisdom in his own words were dominant motifs. Such a version of Q is, however, not secondary, but very primitive. At least Paul’s debate with his opponents in 1 Corinthians seems to suggest that the wisdom theology which Paul attacked relied on this understanding of Jesus’ message. These opponents propagated a realized eschatology. They claimed that divine wisdom was revealed through Jesus. And at least one saying which Paul quotes in the context of his refutation is indeed found in the Gospel of Thomas 17 (1 Cor 2:9).14

The same theory is propounded in his more recent Ancient Christian Gospels15 where Koester discusses the case of 1 Cor 2.9 under the rubric of ‘The Collection of the Sayings of Jesus. Sayings of Jesus in early Christian writings’ (my stress). He also claims here that the saying is quoted frequently (‘in Gnostic writings’) elsewhere (p. 59) and that ‘it has made its way into the Synoptic Sayings Source in a somewhat altered form in which it appears in Matt 13.16–17/Luke 10.23–24’ (ibid.). Koester concludes this section by claiming that ‘wisdom sayings of Jesus must have been the vehicle by which the Corinthians claimed to have received this salvation [= the rev12

Comm. in Matth. 27.9 (GCS 38, 250). See the detailed study of J. Verheyden, ‘Origen on the Origin of 1 Cor 2,9’, in R. Bieringer (ed.), The Corinthian Correspondence (BETL 125; Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 491–511. Verheyden also gives full details of modern discussions of the origin of Paul’s ‘citation’ here. 14 H. Koester, ‘One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels’, HTR 61 (1968) 203–247, repr. in J. M. Robinson & H. Koester, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 158–204, quotation here from p. 186. 15 H. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 58–59. 13

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elation communicated to them through ‘wisdom’] … A collection of such sayings must have been known to both Paul and the Corinthians’ (p. 60, my stress). However, in an essay published in 1980, Koester argued rather differently. He again referred to the similarity between 1 Cor 2.9 and Q 10.23– 24 (as well as other parallels, e.g. between 1 Cor 2.7 and Matt 13.35), but here he claimed that these might go back to a lost sapiential book that ‘circulated under the authority of an Old Testament figure’, and then (only) ‘at a subsequent stage of the development, material from this sapiential book – once it had been used by gnosticising Christians in the time of Paul – was incorporated into the tradition of sayings of Jesus whence it eventually came to Matthew and Luke and to the Gospel of Thomas’.16 This suggests a rather different model: Paul and the Corinthians may have used a common saying, but this was known to them not as a saying of Jesus but as a saying attributed to an OT figure; the attribution to the saying to Jesus was then a feature of the later tradition (although this had already happened by the time of Matthew/Luke). Patterson’s model seems to be closer to that of the early and late (rather than the middle) Koester. For Patterson, ‘Paul quotes a saying [i.e. of Jesus?] from the Gospel of Thomas’,17 and the omission of the attribution to Jesus is considered to reflect a natural change in the course of oral transmission: ‘The version of the saying quoted here by Paul is not paralleled word-for-word in Thomas but reflects the sort of differences one would expect to have resulted from oral transmission’.18 There are here a number of issues which should perhaps be separated logically. First, what is ‘the’ saying which is under discussion? Second, was the saying quoted in 1 Cor 2.9 known to Paul as a saying of Jesus? Third, was the saying known also to the Corinthians? If so, did they know it as a saying of Jesus? Fourth, has Paul modified the quotation in citing it, perhaps adapting it to suit his own argument? What then is the relationship between Paul’s version of the saying in 1 Cor 2 and that in GThom. 17? Some of these questions may of course be unanswerable. But if so we

16 H. Koester, ‘Gnostic Writings as Witnesses for the Development of the Sayings Tradition’, in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism. Vol. I. The School of Valentinus (Leiden: Brill, 1980), 238–261, on pp. 249–250. Again my stress. 17 ‘Paul and the Jesus Tradition’, 36. Similar in general terms is C. L. Mearns, ‘Early Eschatological Development in Paul. The Evidence of 1 Corinthians’, JSNT 22 (1984) 19–35: ‘… in 1 Cor. 2.9 Paul cites the Gos. Thom. 17, showing he could have known this sayings-source as well as Q’ (p. 31). 18 Patterson, ‘Paul and the Jesus Tradition’, 37. Patterson does not specify any further about the changes he has in mind. However, the statement appears to imply that all the major differences are to be explained in this way.

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should perhaps have the courage to say so (or at least admit to the speculative nature of any answers we might give).

1. What Is ‘the’ Saying in Question? It is widely recognised that Paul’s saying which he ‘quotes’ is both (i) unusual in relation to previous (scriptural) texts, but also (ii) has many parallels in other writings.19 Its unusual nature has already been noted above: in particular, the extra phrase ‘what has not arisen in the heart of man’ serves to distinguish the saying from any known single OT text. Further, the many parallels noted in other texts are usually identified as such on the basis of the unusual collocation of the references to ‘eye has not seen/ear has not heard’ and ‘has not arisen in the heart of man’ (or some close equivalent). Without such a collocation, it is rather hard to maintain that one still has the ‘same’ saying in view.20 In particular, it is hard to justify the claim that a common reference to eyes seeing (or not) and ears hearing (or not) is on its own enough to claim that one is dealing with the same saying. This simple collocation is by no means unique and there are many examples of such a juxtaposition in texts throughout Jewish and Christian scripture.21 This then makes it rather hard to see any close connection between the saying of 1 Cor 2.9 and the Q saying in Q 10.23–24. Q 10.23 (‘Blessed are the eyes which see the things which you see’ [Luke]/‘Blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear’ [Matthew]) has a common reference to eyes seeing and ears hearing. However, such a conjunction is scarcely very distinctive,22 and on its own is barely enough to justify any claim that one has 19 These are most fully set out in M. E. Stone & J. Strugnell, The Books of Elijah. Parts 1–2 (Missoula: Scholars, 1979), 42–73. Many are also discussed in Verheyden, ‘Origen’. See too W. D. Stroker, Extra-Canonical Sayings of Jesus (Atlanta: Scholars, 1989), 184–190; there are also a number of parallels in apocalyptic texts noted by K. Berger, ‘Zur Diskussion über die Herkunft von 1 Kor ii. 9’, NTS 24 (1978) 270–283. 20 Clearly there are problems in identifying an exact form of a saying which must have changed in the course of oral transmission and/or repetition. (Cf. especially the work of J. D. Crossan, In Fragments. The Aphorisms of Jesus [San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1983], and also his Historical Jesus.) Nevertheless one does need some common features to justify any claim that one is indeed dealing with different forms of a single identifiable saying, rather than simply separate sayings. 21 Cf. Ps 115.15; Isa 6.10; 66.8, 19; Jer 4.21; 5.21; 42.14; Lam 1.18; Ezek 1.27–28; 12.2; Matt 11.4 and par.; Mark 4.12 and pars.; 8.18 and pars.; Luke 12.20; Acts 4.20; 1 John 1.1, 13; Rev 9.20; 22.18; see also Berger, ‘Diskussion’, 277. 22 Cf. D. Wenham, Paul. Follower of Jesus or Founder of Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), who is generally very ready to see parallels between Paul and Jesus, and also accepts that the two sayings (Q 10.23–24 and 1 Cor 2.9) are ‘thematically rather

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here the same underlying tradition. Further, I argued in an earlier publication that the contents of the two sayings are rather different: 1 Cor 2.9 refers to things which people have not even been able to conceive and which still lie in the future; Q 10.23–24 speaks of things which people did conceive of (especially v. 2423) and longed for in the past, and which have now materialised in the present experience of Jesus’ disciples.24 It thus seems unjustified to refer to Q 10.23–24 as another version of the same saying as 1 Cor 2.9. So too any alleged parallel in the Nag Hammadi tractate The Dialogue of the Saviour (Dial. Sav.) is doubtful. At one point, this (very fragmentary) text reads ‘The Lord said, [You have] asked me for a word [about that] which eye has not seen, nor have I heard about it, except from you …’ (140.1–4). Again we have a joint reference to (not) seeing and hearing but nothing equivalent to the ‘arising in the heart of man’. The content is not dissimilar to that of 1 Cor 2.9 in one way, at least with respect to ‘eyes seeing’ as implying that what is under discussion has not been conceived (‘seen’) by humans before. Yet the reference to ears/hearing is unusual in that apparently here the speaker (= Jesus) says that he has not heard of it, although his disciples have (‘except from you’)! Given the highly fragmentary nature of the text, and given too the lack of any parallel corresponding to the ‘arise in the heart of man’ phrase, it seems hard to claim with any certainty that Dial. Sav. here provides a genuine parallel to the saying in 1 Cor 2.9. But in any case it is uncertain how much value this would have in the present discussion. I have tried to argue elsewhere that Dial. Sav. appears to show a rather developed form of the tradition of sayings of Jesus and to presuppose at least the final redacted forms of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.25 It may thus be a relatively late witness to any form of the sayings similar’ (p. 132), concedes that ‘the overlapping terminology is commonplace – hearing, seeing, eyes’ (p. 133). 23 ‘Many prophets desired to see the things which you see’. Koester in fact argues that this may be a secondary elaboration of the saying, but the first part of the saying (Q 10.23) ‘parallels 1 Cor 2.9 … very closely’ (Ancient Christian Gospels, 59). In fact it is v. 24 which speaks of people not seeing or hearing things; v. 23 is worded entirely positively in terms of people (‘you’) actually seeing (and possibly hearing). Of this there is only a hint in 1 Cor 2.9 (though it is implied more clearly in what follows in 1 Cor 2.10 ff.: see below). 24 See my ‘1 Corinthians and Q’, JBL 102 (1983) 607–619, on p. 616. One might also note that, if one were to look for an OT background which might illuminate Q 10.23–24, it is more likely to be in a text such as Isa 6.9–10 rather than Isa 64.4 (probably the closest OT parallel to 1 Cor 2.9: cf. above): see e.g. D. C. Allison, The Intertextual Jesus. Scripture in Q (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 116. 25 See my Nag Hammadi and the Gospel Tradition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 128–135.

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tradition. Any parallel between Dial. Sav. and Q 10.23–24 may simply be due to the dependence (probably at a number of stages removed) of Dial. Sav. on the canonical Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Dial. Sav. thus does not necessarily provide any independent attestation for the early provenance of the saying. The same may apply to GThom. It is well known that there is a great debate about the relative age of the gospel and/or of the traditions it preserves.26 A case can be (and on many occasions has been) made for regarding GThom. as a relatively late text, presupposing the redacted forms of the synoptic gospels.27 But in any case, hopefully enough has been said to show that the claim of e.g. Patterson, that the saying in GThom. is ‘a saying whose antiquity is assured by its independent multiple attestation in Q (Matt 13:16–17//Luke 10:23–24), 1 Cor 2:9, DialSav 140.1–4, as well as in many other sources of later date’,28 is at least questionable. It is doubtful whether Q 10.23–24 represents the same saying at all; the same might apply in the case of Dial. Sav., but in any case the nature of this text may not imply any independent attestation at all. The fact that ‘the’ saying is widely attested is unquestionable: there are many instances (including the distinctive combination of ‘eyes [not] seeing + ears [not] hearing’ and ‘not arising in the heart of man’) in a wide range of sources. Most of these are relatively late and some may well reflect influence from 1 Cor 2.9 (or GThom. 17: cf. below): certainly such influence cannot be excluded very easily given the relative dates of the sources concerned. This is not to say that all such parallels are dependent on Paul (or Thomas). At least one version of the saying is agreed as providing independent attestation, viz. Ps.-Philo 26.13.29 Others too may provide independent attestation of the saying, but this is rather less certain.30 We 26

The two are not of course identical! I myself have argued for this in my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume); also ‘Das Thomasevangelium und die synoptischen Evangelien’, BTZ 12 (1995) 186–200. 28 The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1993), 233. 29 Cf. Koch, Schrift, 37–38; W. Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther (EKKNT VII/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1991), 246; also B. A. Pearson, The Pneumatikos-Psychikos Terminology in 1 Corinthians (SBLDS 12; Missoula: Scholars, 1973), 35; M. Philonenko, ‘Quod oculus non videt. 1 Cor 2.9’, TZ 15 (1959) 51–52. 30 Fee’s suggestion (The First Epistle to the Corinthians [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987], 109) that the fact that the saying appears to be reflected in Asc. Isa. 11.34 indicates that Paul cannot have created this de novo is scarcely convincing, given that this part of Asc. Isa. is almost certainly written under Christian influence: whether Paul created the saying himself is another issue, but the occurrence of the parallel in Asc. Isa. is probably simply due to dependence on Paul (cf. Verheyden, ‘Origen’, 510). (In any case the allusion is only present in some versions of the text [one Latin version and the 27

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have then a form of the saying attested at least in Paul, Ps.-Philo and in Thomas. But what form was it known as: in particular, was it known as a saying of Jesus? Clearly if we allow the possibility that Ps.-Philo 26.13 provides an independent attestation of the tradition, we cannot say that it was known to the author of Ps.-Philo as a saying of Jesus! Ps.-Philo is usually dated far too early to allow such a possibility,31 and no Christian influence has (as far as I am aware) been detected in the work. Thus Ps.Philo indicates that the ‘saying’ was probably known independently of the Christian tradition.32 The evidence seems clear that a version of ‘the’ saying (defining the saying as comprising references to eyes seeing, ears hearing and also the reference to ‘arising in the heart …’) did exist. However, apart from Ps.Philo, most of the evidence is rather late. Further, there is no evidence that is unambiguously early where the saying is explicitly placed on the lips of Jesus. What then can we say of Paul?

2. Did Paul Know the Saying as a Saying of Jesus? It is very difficult to establish any case that Paul knew the saying as stemming from Jesus. Certainly any suggestion that this is implied by anything Paul says explicitly can surely be dismissed very quickly. As has been pointed out by many commentators and others, the introductory formula used by Paul suggests that he at least thinks that he is (or claims to be) Slavonic: see M. Knibb, in J. H. Charlesworth, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Vol. 2 [New York: Doubleday, 1985], 176.) Others have suggested that e.g. the slightly different forms of the saying apparently reflected in Apost. Const. 7.32.5 and Clement, Protr. 10.94.4 may reflect Paul’s possible source here rather than Paul himself (cf. E. Schürer et al., The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ. Vol. III.2 [rev. ed. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1987], 800; Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 246 n. 139 suggests that the Clement passage and also 2 Clem. 11.7 may be independent of 1 Cor 2.9). The version in Apost. Const. 7 has also been suggested as perhaps witnessing to the (probably lost) ending of the Didache (so A. Garrow, The Gospel of Matthew’s Dependence on the Didache [Oxford D. Phil. thesis, 2000], 53–59). However, all this is a little speculative and difficult to establish with any certainty. The relative dates of the material make it difficult to exclude the possibility that the parallels are simply due to dependence on the text of 1 Corinthians itself, with the variations simply arising from inexact ‘quotations’. 31 ‘A date around the time of Jesus seems most likely’, according to D. J. Harrington, in Charlesworth, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2.299. 32 It is though not ‘quoted’ as a specific saying, from scripture or elsewhere, but simply presented as part of the words of God to Kenaz: ‘And then I will take those and many others better than they are from where eye has not seen nor has ear heard and it has not entered into the heart of man, until the like should come to pass in the world.’

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quoting Jewish scripture. There is no other instance in Paul’s letters where he implies that any saying of Jesus has scriptural status. We have already noted that Paul does (occasionally) refer to Jesus traditions; but these references are quite different in form from his references to scripture. For Paul, all the references to Jesus tradition include verbs of speaking (or equivalent) attributed to Jesus.33 By contrast, references to scripture are generally introduced by a verb implying writing (e.g. ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ). The Jesus tradition for Paul thus recalls things ‘said’ or done by Jesus. It is not yet a written text. It is thus very difficult to see how the evidence of 1 Cor 2.9 itself can be taken as implying that Paul thought that he was reproducing a saying of Jesus.

3. Was the Saying Known to the Corinthians? If So, Was It Known as a Saying of Jesus? Both questions are extremely hard to answer with any degree of certainty. It is widely agreed that at some points in 1 Corinthians, Paul appears to take up words and ideas of the Corinthians he is addressing in order to modify them, at times probably quoting what they have said or claimed (cf. e.g. at 7.1; 8.1, 4). The section in 2.6–16 (within which the saying appears) presents particular difficulties of interpretation. Paul here suddenly seems to go back on what he has said up to this point in the letter in denying the value of any kind of special ‘wisdom’. Thus in 2.6 Paul appears to perform a volte face and claims that there is a form of ‘wisdom’ for the ‘mature’. Many have argued that Paul here may be taking up the language and argumentation of the Corinthians, perhaps to invert such arguments later by denying that they have any claim to this special wisdom (cf. 3.1). Further, perhaps Paul himself would claim that, however much he may use the language of the Corinthians in apparently speaking of a higher form of wisdom, at the end of the day the only true wisdom is that of the gospel of Christ crucified. Hence for Paul, the rhetorical question of 2.16 ‘who has known the mind of the Lord?’ is answered positively in relation to Christ, who is and remains the crucified one.34 33

Cf. 1 Cor 7.10 (implying that Jesus ‘said’); 9.14 (‘commanded’); 11.23 (‘said’). See, with varying nuances, the commentaries on 2.6–16, e.g. H. Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 57–60; Fee, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 100; Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 252; also D. Lührmann, Das Offenbarungsverständnis bei Paulus und in paulinischen Gemeinden (WMANT 16; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1965), 133–140; R. W. Funk, ‘Word and Word in 1 Cor 2:6–16’, in his Language, Hermeneutic and Word of God (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), 275–303; Pearson, Pneumatikos, 30–35; J. Murphy O’Connor, Paul. A Critical Life (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 283 and many others (some listed in Schrage, Der erste 34

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In all this, it is indeed possible to see Paul perhaps modifying the Corinthian viewpoint by the end of the section. The fact that Paul may be taking up Corinthian language suggests that it is at least plausible (though one cannot say more!) to think of the saying in 2.9 already being part of the Corinthian armoury.35 But in what form? Might the Corinthians have thought that this was a saying of Jesus? There is a strong case to be made for the belief that the use of Jesus tradition was a critical issue at Corinth and that the Corinthians were at times appealing to Jesus tradition to legitimate their views.36 However, there is nothing in Paul’s language, on the surface at least, to suggest that the saying cited in 2.9 was regarded by the Corinthians as a saying of Jesus. As we have seen, Paul himself cites the saying as one from scripture. On the surface, therefore, there is simply no evidence to suggest that the Corinthians believed that this was a saying of Jesus. Yet the question just considered could be raised in a slightly different form. Could it be that Paul has deliberately changed the form of the quotation as used by the Corinthians in order subtly to subvert their position? Could it be that many, if not all, the differences between 1 Cor 2.9 and the version of the saying in (say) GThom. 17 are due to such Pauline modifications?

4. Pauline Modifications? The Relationship of 1 Cor 2.9 to GThom. 17 There are three main differences between 1 Cor 2.9 and GThom. 17. These are (i) the extra phrase ‘what no hand has touched’ in GThom. 17 and missing in 1 Cor 2.9, (ii) the phrase ‘the things which God has prepared for those who love him’ in 1 Cor 2.9 and absent from GThom. 17, and (iii) the fact that the saying is ascribed to Jesus in GThom., but not in 1 Cor 2.9. I take the final point first. Brief an die Korinther, 241 n. 95; though see Schrage’s own comment on the passage as a whole: ‘eine deutliche Auseinandersetzung wird aber nicht erkennbar’ [p. 241]). The unusual nature of Paul’s language has led at least one scholar to argue that the whole section is a non-Pauline interpolation: cf. W. Widman, ‘1 Kor 2.6–16. Ein Einspruch gegen Paulus’, ZNW 70 (1979) 44–53; for a reply, see J. Murphy O’Connor, ‘Interpolations in 1 Corinthians’, CBQ 48 (1986) 81–94, on pp. 81–84. 35 However, Lührmann, Offenbarungsverständnis, 136, claims that it is in vv. 8b and 9 that Paul introduces his own correction to the Corinthian viewpoint. 36 Cf. J. M. Robinson, Trajectories, 40–43; also my ‘1 Corinthians and Q’, 619. One can point to the unusually high number of explicit references to sayings of Jesus by Paul in 1 Corinthians compared with the other letters; also 4.8 and 13.2 may be allusive reflections by Paul of appeals by others to sayings of Jesus.

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4.1 A Saying of Jesus? In general terms it would seem very unlikely that Paul would modify a Jesus tradition in this way. It may also be worth noting that the saying is not always clearly attributed to Jesus in the subsequent tradition. It is true that the Manichean Turfan fragment M 789 has a version of the saying which is very similar to that in GThom. 17 (‘I will give you what you have not seen with your eyes, nor heard with your ears, nor grasped with your hand’),37 attributing the saying to Jesus and also having the extra phrase about hands touching/grasping, as well as omitting the final phrase as it appears in 1 Cor 2.9. This does however simply serve to show the link between Manicheans and GThom., a fact which few today would dispute. The close parallel here simply shows the influence of the GThom. upon later Manicheans and it can scarcely show anything about an earlier form of the saying. Elsewhere however it is sometimes less clear whether the saying is attributed to Jesus or not, since the saying (or the activity implied in the last phrase) is attributed to an ambiguous ‘Lord’ who could be God or Jesus.38 In Acts Pet. 39 (10), the saying is (probably) regarded as one of Jesus. In many other cases the situation is unclear (cf. 1 Clem. 34.8; 2 Clem. 14.5) or the context seems to be more theocentric than christocentric (cf. 2 Clem. 11.7; Acts Thom. 36; Asc. Isa. 11.34; Apost. Const. 7.32.5).39 It certainly seems highly unusual that a saying attributed to Jesus in the earlier tradition should develop secondarily to become one where no reference to Jesus is mentioned and the saying is implicitly predicated of God.40 Rather, an attribution to Jesus seems more likely to be a feature of the secondary development of the tradition.41

37

See E. Hennecke (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1 (London: SCM, 1963),

300. 38

As e.g. in Ep. Tit. (in Hennecke [ed.], New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 2 [London: Lutterworth, 1965], 144). 39 There is thus no clear evidence that by the time of 1 Clement the saying was regarded as a saying of Jesus. 40 Patterson’s implied claim that this is a natural stage in the development of an oral tradition (n. 18 above, if indeed that is what he intends) is undocumented. 41 Cf. J. Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus (London: SPCK, 1957), 29, in relation to the saying ‘where I find you, there I will judge you’, attributed to Jesus in Justin, Dial. 5.47, and widely attested elsewhere but not as a saying of Jesus. Cf. too R. McL. Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas (London: Mowbrays, 1960), 103; B. Dehandschutter, ‘L’évangile de Thomas comme collection de paroles de Jésus’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982), 507–515, on p. 513.

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Could it be though that it is Paul who has made the change away from a saying of Jesus, as part of his attempt to undermine the Corinthian viewpoint? There is however nothing in the text of 1 Cor 2 to suggest that Paul is trying to undermine a Corinthian appeal to specifically Jesus tradition here. Two points may be noted. First, the fact that Paul introduces the saying with țĮșઅȢ ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ would probably enhance, but certainly not undermine, the status of the saying. It is true that elsewhere Paul can at times adopt a position of critical distance in relation to Jesus tradition,42 but there is no evidence that he is doing so here. Indeed the second point to make here is that Paul here gives no indication at all that he is seeking to undermine a possible use of the saying to support a Corinthian viewpoint. We have already seen that, in the passage as a whole (2.6–16), or in relation to the passage placed within its broader context (2.6–16 within 2.1–5 and 3.1–4), there may be some critique by Paul of the Corinthians. But there is no hint of such a critique in the appeal to the saying or its immediate context. Indeed, if there is any kind of modification implied in Paul’s flow of argument in going from v. 9 to v. 10, it could be argued that v. 10 might be seen to modify v. 9 in a way that would be even more conducive to the Corinthians’ views by speaking of the revelation which God has given them through his Spirit.43 Elsewhere, where Paul cites a quotation of the Corinthians and critiques it, the critique is clear and (usually) immediate: thus in 1 Cor 8.1–2 the Corinthian slogan about ‘knowing’ is immediately qualified in v. 2 by the counter-claim that knowledge, which ‘puffs up’, is inferior to love, which ‘builds up’. Of this there is nothing in 1 Cor 2.9 or its immediate context.44 This may be supported by the introduction to the quotation in the use of ਕȜȜȐ at the start of v. 9. The force of the ਕȜȜȐ here has been much debated, 42 Cf. 1 Cor 9.14–15: Paul cites a saying of Jesus, claiming that Jesus had ‘commanded’ Christian missionaries to receive payment for their work (v. 14); but he then immediately says that he will ignore this command in his own case. 43 The precise relationship between vv. 9 and 10 is debatable, partly because of a textual variant at the start of v. 10: some manuscripts read įȑ while others have ȖȐȡ. Hence v. 10 could be seen as perhaps in contrast with v. 9 (if one reads įȑ and takes it in an adversative sense) or as simply clarifying v. 9 (if one reads ȖȐȡ, or indeed if one reads įȑ but without a strong adversative sense). For the latter, see e.g. Lührmann, Offenbarungsverständnis, 116; Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 256 (both reading ȖȐȡ). But either way, there is no evidence that what Paul says in v. 10 constitutes any kind of critique by Paul of the Corinthian viewpoint, whether as expressed in the use of v. 9 or otherwise. Thus Thiselton, First Epistle, 252, argues that Paul’s argument is closest to the Corinthian viewpoint in vv. 10, 11 (and hence any case that Paul might be citing the Corinthians’ words is strongest at this point in the section). 44 Cf. Schrage’s comment on the whole passage, that there is no ‘deutliche Auseinandersetzung’ identifiable here (n. 34 above).

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though it would seem clear that, in some sense at least, the citation introduced in this way is regarded positively in contrast with some aspect regarded negatively in the immediately preceding context.45 Frid has argued persuasively that the contrast is with the lack of knowledge (by the ‘rulers’) mentioned in v. 8: thus there is an implied ‘but we know’ presupposed in the (somewhat elliptical) ਕȜȜȐ.46 But whatever the precise nuance implied, it seems clear that the quotation is being used positively, not negatively, by Paul in his argument at this point. All this suggests that the quotation as cited by Paul is used thoroughly positively; further, there is no suggestion that, if it were also being used by the Corinthians, its use is being questioned by Paul. Nor is there the slightest hint that the fact that this is not presented as a saying of Jesus has any significance, positive or negative, at all. 4.2 ‘What no hand has touched’ As we have seen, GThom. 17 contains this phrase, whereas 1 Cor 2.9 does not. Again a glance at the broader picture may be revealing. The phrase (or an equivalent to it) appears only in the Turfan fragment (apart from GThom.). None of the (many) other occurrences of what are normally regarded as examples of ‘the’ saying contains it.47 Further, the presence of the extra phrase may imply a rather different meaning for the saying as a whole compared with the version of the saying in 1 Cor 2. In Paul, the stress is on the fact that the things referred to are inconceivable by human beings. The Thomas version suggests rather that

45 For the ਕȜȜȐ as implying a contrast with, rather than support for, what precedes, see Lührmann, Offenbarungsverständnis, 116; Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 247, 255–256. 46 B. Frid, ‘The Enigmatic ǹȁȁǹ in 1 Corinthians 2.9’, NTS 31 (1985) 603–611. 47 I remain unpersuaded by the argument of T. Onuki, ‘Traditionsgeschichte von Thomasevangelium 17 und ihre christologische Relevanz’, in C. Breytenbach & H. Paulsen (eds.), Anfänge der Christologie (FS F. Hahn; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 399–415, arguing that 1 John 1.1 represents an affirmation in positive terms of the saying expressed negatively in GThom. 17. See the detailed reply by I. Dunderberg, ‘John and Thomas in Conflict?’, in J. D. Turner & A. McGuire (eds.), The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years. Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration (NHMS 44; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 361–380, on pp. 365–370. Any overlap in language is scarcely significant, and in any case 1 John does not have a reference to ‘arise in the heart’. If there is any literary relationship involved, it might be from 1 John to GThom.: GThom.’s version could simply represent an amalgam of 1 Cor 2.9 and 1 John 1.1. Also any possible ‘parallel’ in the Muratorian Canon, lines 29–31, is surely just coincidental (see Dunderberg, ‘John and Thomas’, 369).

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what is in mind is essentially nothing to do with this world.48 As such, this would be all of a piece with the generally negative attitude to the world which pervades much (if not all) of GThom.49 If GThom.’s version were primary and Paul’s secondary, one would have to argue that the subsequent tradition (with the exception of the Turfan fragment) has been heavily, if not exclusively, dominated by the Pauline version. On the other hand, the fact that the difference here is thoroughly in line with Thomas’s own viewpoint makes it perhaps easier to regard the extra phrase as due to Thomas’s own redaction of the saying, bringing it into line with his own theological perspective. Certainly it is hard to envisage the reverse process and to see the omission of the phrase as being due to Paul’s redaction of the saying. In very general terms, one might argue that the GThom. version, with its somewhat world-denying stance, might have been congenial to the Corinthians and would correlate with their apparent radical asceticism in relation to marriage as reflected in 1 Cor 7.1. However, it is hard to see any of this behind Paul’s citation here. The context in 1 Cor 2 has nothing to do with asceticism at all. It is about the true nature of ‘wisdom’ which evidently for the Corinthians is being located in concerns about thoroughly thisworldly status and esteem. Further, even if asceticism were an issue here, it is hard to see that simply deleting the ‘hands not touching’ phrase would be regarded as significant. Even without the phrase, the saying is open to the interpretation it seems to have in Thomas. It is thus hard to see that the omission of the phrase on its own would have been read as changing any overall interpretation of the saying very radically. It is then very doubtful whether the extra phrase in GThom. about hands not touching represents an original, or earlier, form of the saying which Paul has abbreviated. There are no clear reasons why Paul should have done so; conversely, it seems entirely plausible to posit Thomas as having added the phrase as it coheres so well with the overall outlook of GThom. Given the very uneven occurrence of the phrase in versions of the saying elsewhere, it seems easiest to assume that the version in GThom. is a secondary development of the tradition (with subsequent influence in a limited sphere) and that, in this instance, the version in 1 Cor 2.9 is more original.

48 Cf. B. Gärtner, The Theology of the Gospel of Thomas (London: Collins, 1961), 147–149; also Dunderberg, ‘John and Thomas’, 366: ‘This clause adds conveniently to the non-concrete nature of what Jesus promises to give to his followers.’ 49 See A. Marjanen, ‘Is Thomas a Gnostic Gospel?’, in R. Uro (ed.), Thomas at the Crossroads (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 107–139. Marjanen shows well the pervasive negative attitude to the world in GThom. Whether this is ‘Gnostic’ is partly a matter of semantics and how one defines the term ‘Gnostic’.

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4.3 The Final Clause in 1 Cor 2.9 Pearson has argued that the final clause in 1 Cor 2.9 (‘what God has prepared for those who love him’) may be a Pauline addition to the saying, arguing partly on the basis of the absence of the clause from GThom. 17.50 In addition he argues that this addition can be seen as part of Paul’s correction of the Corinthian viewpoint by implicitly supplying an ‘eschatological reservation’ to critique the Corinthian claims to possess everything in the present: Paul’s extra clause emphasises the future possession (‘the things that God has prepared’) of the blessings promised for those who love God.51 Once again, such a theory is hard to sustain in precisely this form. Whilst it may be the case that elsewhere in 1 Corinthians Paul is anxious to stress the futurity of aspects of Christian existence, especially resurrection (cf. 1 Cor 15),52 there is no indication that this is an issue here in 1 Cor 2. In fact all the stress (by Paul!) in this context is on what Christians have received. This is clear in v. 10: the things that God has ‘prepared’ for those who love him have been ‘revealed’ to ‘us’ through the Spirit. As already noted, there is debate about whether v. 10 simply expands v. 9 or contrasts with it (cf. above). But either way, v. 10 makes it clear that, for Paul, the ‘things prepared’ referred to in v. 9 are a matter of present reality and not just a matter of future hope. There could be an element of critique implied by Paul in claiming that these things are revealed through the Spirit: the Spirit (for Paul at least) is common to all Christians, not just an elite group (cf. 1 Cor 12–14);53 but the Corinthians’ own behaviour may be disqualifying them already from being regarded as ‘spiritual’ (cf. 3.1!). Nevertheless,

50 Pearson, Pneumatikos, 108 n. 69: ‘Note also that in Thomas 17, the last part of the quotation is missing, another indication that Paul is adding this to a form of the quotation used by his opponents. The use of this quotation in Thomas and by Paul’s opponents is probably very similar.’ On p. 35 he also appeals to the redundant ੖ıĮ at the start of the phrase as an indication that the phrase is a secondary addition. For at least the last phrase as a Pauline addition, see too J. Reiling, ‘Wisdom and the Spirit. An Exegesis of 1 Corinthians 2,6–16’, in T. Baarda et al. (eds.), Text and Testimony (FS A. F. J. Klijn; Kampen: Kok, 1988), 200–211, on pp. 204–205. 51 Cf. Pearson, Pneumatikos, 35 52 I am aware that this is disputed. See my ‘The Corinthians Who Say “There is No Resurrection of the Dead”’, in R. Bieringer (ed.), The Corinthian Correspondence (BETL 125; Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 247–275 for a defence of this view. 53 Cf. Lührmann, Offenbarungsverständnis, 135. On pp. 138–139, Lührmann also sees a similar critique of the Corinthians in Paul’s phrase ‘those who love God’: since ‘loving God’ is essentially a gift from God, it is a matter of divine grace, not something which can be claimed by the Corinthian pneumatics as a right. But in that case one might at least expect a passive verb (e.g. ‘loved by God’)! If there is really a critique here, it is very veiled.

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Paul’s contrast here is not between present and future but between (truly) spiritual and non-spiritual. There thus seems to be no justification for the theory that Paul himself adds the final clause to bolster his own critique of the Corinthians by stressing the future nature of the hope expressed in v. 9. That there is some critique of the Corinthians in the passage as a whole seems very likely. But Paul’s critique is not apparently mounted at this point in the argument,54 nor is it sustained by arguments about the future nature of eschatological hope. The argument then that Paul adds the final clause in v. 9 for reasons such as those suggested by Pearson seems unsustainable. * To conclude, the saying in 1 Cor 2.9 may have been known and used by the Corinthians. But there is nothing to suggest that it was known as a saying of Jesus. Equally, there is nothing to suggest that Paul knew the saying in the form of a saying of Jesus. Further, there is no evidence to suggest that Paul has modified the saying in any way as part of his attempt to ‘correct’ and modify the Corinthians’ behaviour. The different form of the saying in GThom. 17 may well be due to Thomas’s own redaction: the addition of the ‘hands not touching’ clause is in line with the general attitude to the world shown in GThom. generally. That the ascription of the saying to Jesus represents a secondary development is also likely (though not provable with any degree of finality); certainly a reverse development seems intrinsically implausible and is not paralleled elsewhere. In sum, it appears that the version of the saying in GThom. 17 represents a secondary development of the tradition compared with the version which Paul gives in 1 Cor 2.9. Any line of development between the Pauline epistles and the gospel tradition thus seems to have gone in this case from Paul to the gospel tradition and not vice versa. In any study of ‘Paul and Jesus’, this particular parallel will probably tell us more about the developing Jesus tradition than it will about Paul.

54 Hence I am less persuaded by e.g. Lührmann, Offenbarungsverständnis, 134–139, that Paul is mounting a subtle critique of the Corinthians at almost every point in this section. E.g. he argues that, in v. 9, Paul is implicitly critiquing the Corinthians by insisting that any dualism is not a cosmological one separating God and those with the Spirit from the demons, but rather the radical divide between God and all human beings (p. 139). This seems unnecessarily complicated and forced. Cf. too Schrage, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 246.

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XVIII Thomas and the Synoptics The problem of the relationship between the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.) and the synoptic canonical gospels has not yet been definitively solved. Indeed the whole discussion is in danger of reaching a position of stalemate, and very differing claims are made about what constitutes the ‘majority’ view. Thus K. Rudolph wrote in 1969: Die überwiegende Mehrzahl der Forscher ist inzwischen übereingekommen, die … Hypothese [of dependence on the canonical gospels] fur die sachgemäße zu halten.1

Just under 10 years later, G. Macrae asserted: It now appears that a majority of scholars who have seriously investigated the matter have been won over to the side of Thomas’ independence of the synoptic gospels. 2

However, it is not clear that any significantly new work on the subject in favour of GThom.’s independence appeared between 1969 and 1978 (nor indeed since then). There is a danger of the whole debate becoming polarised, with scholars taking up preconceived positions and no longer feeling the need to debate the issue in detail. The question of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptics has considerable importance in a number of areas. In earlier discussions, the prime issue was often felt to be whether GThom. provided an independent source enabling us to discover genuine information about Jesus, and this continues to be an important issue.3 The question is also significant in 1 Ȁ. Rudolph, ‘Gnosis und Gnostizismus. Ein Forschungsbericht’, ThR 34 (1969), 121–175, 181–231, on p. 189. 2 G. Macrae, ‘Nag Hammadi and the New Testament’, in Ǻ. Aland (ed.), Gnosis (FS Ǿ. Jonas; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 144–157, on p. 152, cited with approval by R. McL. Wilson, ‘Nag Hammadi and the New Testament’, NTS 28 (1982) 289– 302, on p. 297. Similarly, the independence of GThom. is assumed without question to be standard critical orthodoxy by S. L. Davies, The Gospel of Thomas and Christian Wisdom (New York: Seabury, 1983), 5; cf. too J. M. Robinson, ‘On Bridging the Gulf from Q to the Gospel of Thomas (or Vice Versa)’, in C. W. Hedrick & R. Hodgson (eds.), Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism and Early Christianity (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1986), 127–175, on p. 151. 3 See, for example, the use of GThom. by J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, 1963); also J. D. Crossan, ‘The Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen’, JBL 90 (1971) 451–465, and ‘The Seed Parables of Jesus’, JBL 92 (1973) 244–266.

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discussions about the detailed tradition history of individual sayings or groups of sayings. Quite often, the independence of GThom. seems to be quietly assumed, so that the evidence of GThom. can be used to throw light on the pre-redactional history of the tradition.4 The precise identification of GThom.’s traditions is of course also of value in the interpretation of GThom. itself. In view of the importance of the topic, it seems worthwhile to reconsider the problem, looking at some of the general principles involved, as well as at some particular texts. I shall suggest at the end of this essay that the problem is probably ultimately insoluble; but if so, it is important to see why this should be so, and to see also what are the limits of the claims which we can make in relation to the problem. Much of the detailed debate took place in the late 1950s and early 1960s, in the initial flush of enthusiasm which followed the publication of the Coptic text of GThom. found at Nag Hammadi, and since then the terms of reference used in much of the debate have not changed very much. Many have been content to assume the dependence of GThom. on the synoptics as a working hypothesis, and then to explain the differences between GThom. and the synoptics as due to a gnosticising redaction.5 The only 4 For an example taken at random, see R. Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums (BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 178, who appeals to the fact that the parables of the mustard seed and the leaven are separate in GThom. as an indication that these parables were also separate in the tradition prior to Q. This example could be multiplied several times over. See too the discussion of Dunn below. 5 This methodological approach is adopted in the very influential works of E. Haenchen, ‘Literatur zum Thomasevangelium’, ThR 27 (1961) 147–178, 306–338, and Die Botschaft des Thomas-Evangeliums (TBT 6; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1961). Cf. too R. M. Grant & D. ȃ. Freedman, The Secret Sayings of Jesus (London: Collins, 1960). Similar approaches can be found in a series of articles by Ǻ. Dehandschutter ‘Les paraboles de l’évangile selon Thomas. La parole du trésor caché (log. 109)’, ETL 47 (1971) 199–219; ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas. Témoin d’une tradition prélucanienne?’, in F. Neirynck (ed.), L’Évangile de Luc (BETL 32; Gembloux: Duculot, 1973), 287–297; ‘La parabole des vignerons homicides (Mc., XII, 1–12) et l’Évangile selon Thomas’, in M. Sabbe (ed.), L’Évangile selon Marc (BETL 34; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1974), 203–219; ‘La parabole de la perle (Mt 13,45–46) et l’Évangile selon Thomas’, ETL 55 (1979) 243– 265; ‘L’Évangile de Thomas comme collection de paroles de Jésus’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 507–515. The article of A. Lindemann, ‘Zur Gleichnisinterpretation im Thomas-Evangelium’, ZNW 71 (1980) 214–243, continues the approach of Haenchen, modifying some details of interpretation. Cf. too the recent articles of Ǻ. D. Chilton, ‘The Gospel according to Thomas as a Source of Jesus’ Teaching’, and C. L. Blomberg, ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Parables of the Gospel of Thomas’, both in D. Wenham (ed.), Gospel Perspectives. Vol. 5. The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Sheffield: JSOT, 1985), 155–175, 177–205 respectively. For others who have argued the case in more detail, see below, esp. n. 35.

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detailed attempt to prove the dependence of GThom. on the synoptics comprehensively has been the monograph of Schrage.6 Yet Schrage’s approach to the problem has been criticised by many.7 Schrage’s method was to compare the Coptic text of GThom. with the Coptic versions of the synoptic gospels. Agreement between GThom. and the synoptics was then taken as an indication of GThom.’s dependence. Clearly things are more complicated than Schrage appeared to allow for at times. The Coptic text of GThom. is almost universally recognised as a (relatively late) translation of the Gospel into Coptic, probably from Greek.8 Certainly the existence of the Oxyrhynchus papyri fragments (P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655) shows that the Gospel existed in Greek at an early date.9 At the very least then, one must allow for the possibility that, in the process of translation, the language of GThom. was assimilated to that of the Coptic NT. Further, a detailed comparison of the Coptic text of GThom. with that of the P. Oxy. fragments shows that the one is not always an exact translation of the other. The most obvious difference concerns the position of the saying about ‘splitting the wood’, which appears in the P. Oxy. 1 text as part of log. 30,10 but as part of log. 77 in the Coptic text. Further, the Coptic text is considerably shorter in logia 5, 36. How far these changes are due to 6 W. Schrage, Das Verhältnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelienübersetzungen (BZNW 29; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964). 7 See especially the reviews by R. McL. Wilson, VC 20 (1966) 118–124; H.-M. Schenke, TLZ 93 (1968) 36–38; H. Quecke, Le Muséon 78 (1965) 234–239; also J.-E. Ménard, L’Évangile selon Thomas (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 23 (= ‘La tradition synoptique et l’Évangile selon Thomas’, in F. Paschke [ed.], Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen [TU 125; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1981], 410–426, on p. 425; this article simply repeats a section of Ménard’s commentary). 8 The Coptic manuscript from Nag Hammadi can be dated fairly accurately to around the middle of the 4 th century. Greek is usually assumed to be the original language of GThom., although Aramaic or Syriac influence is accepted by all. It is usually assumed that GThom. emanates from a Syrian milieu, perhaps from the city of Edessa. The links of GThom. with Syria are summarised by Ménard, Évangile, 13–25. 9 For detailed discussion of the P. Oxy. fragments in relation to the Coptic text, see J. A. Fitzmyer, ‘The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus and the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas’, in his Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament (London: Chapman, 1971), 355–433. The P. Oxy. fragments are generally dated around the early part of the 3rd century (cf. Fitzmyer, ‘Logoi’, 356–357). It is accepted by most today that these fragments represent an earlier form of the tradition of the text of GThom. than the Coptic text from Nag Hammadi. The theory (of G. Garitte) that the Greek fragments are derived from the Coptic text is not usually accepted today: see the detailed discussion in Haenchen, ‘Literatur’, 157 ff. 10 I use the standard numbering of the sayings in the Coptic version. English translations of GThom. are taken from the editio princeps, A. Guillaumont, Ǿ.-Ch. Puech, G. Quispel, W. C. Till, Y. Abd al Masih (eds.), The Coptic Gospel according to Thomas (Leiden & London: Brill & Collins, 1959), unless otherwise stated.

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conscious adaptations is not clear. It is often noted that the position of the ‘split the wood’ saying in log. 77 of the Coptic text seems to be due to a link-word connection via the Coptic word % which occurs in both halves of log. 77 of the Coptic text. Moreover, such a link is only possible in Coptic where the same word % can mean both ‘attain’ (as in 77a) and ‘split’ (as in 77b). Hence the change in order must have taken place no earlier than the stage of translation of the text into Coptic.11 The shorter Coptic text in logia 5, 36 has also been explained as possibly due to deliberate abbreviation by a gnosticising redactor.12 However, whatever one decides about possible reasons for the differences between the versions, it is clear that the present Coptic text of GThom. represents a later stage of development. The text of GThom. must have been fairly fluid. The Gospel was widely known;13 indeed the very fact of its translation into Coptic testifies to its use. Thus one cannot jump too quickly from the evidence of the present Coptic text to conclusions about the presumed underlying (Greek?) original.14 Schrage himself was fully aware of these problems, and at one point admitted that agreements between the Coptic text of GThom. and the Coptic texts of the NT would only show a relationship at the level of the Coptic versions.15 However, he then immediately went on to say that dependence at the level of the Coptic texts probably also implies dependence

See Ȁ. Ǿ. Kuhn, ‘Some Observations on the Coptic Gospel according to Thomas’, Le Muséon 73 (1960) 317–323, on pp. 317–318; followed by Haenchen, ‘Literatur’, 161– 162, 309–310; Schrage, Verhältnis, 82, and others. 12 Cf. Ménard, Évangile, 86, 135. In log. 5, the P. Oxy. text may have contained a reference to the resurrection (though the papyrus is damaged at the crucial point: the text is often completed with reference to some words found on a burial shroud at Behnesa near to Oxyrhynchus: cf. Puech, in E. Hennecke [ed.], New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1 [London: SCM, 1963], 300). In log. 36, the longer P. Oxy. text contains the sayings (similar to Matt 6.25 ff.) that God will care for the body and physical needs. However, Haenchen has pointed out that a reference to resurrection as such need not be un-Gnostic (cf. Botschaft, 36, cf. also CG I,4 45.25 ff.). Nevertheless, the possibility that the Coptic translator was more than just a mechanical transcriber is suggested by Kuhn, ‘Some Observations’, 322–323. 13 See the list of references by Puech in Hennecke (ed.), Apocrypha, 1.278 ff. 14 This is stressed very strongly by Robinson, ‘On Bridging the Gulf’, 160 ff. 15 Verhältnis, 15. See too J.-M. Sevrin, ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas. Paroles de Jésus et révélation gnostique’, RTL 8 (1977) 265–292, who says that Schrage’s work has shown clearly that there is a link between the Coptic text of GThom. and the Coptic versions of the NT. The crucial question is whether one can go one stage further. 11

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at the level of the underlying Greek versions as well.16 The non sequitur here has not passed unnoticed.17 Schrage’s approach has also been criticised for its very free use of different Coptic versions of the gospels. Different manuscripts, and different versions (including the fayyumic and bohairic versions) were all cited freely. Thus, as Wilson says, Schrage almost proved too much in his assertions about the dependence of GThom., since GThom. must have been dependent on a whole variety of different Coptic translations.18 One must concede to Schrage that an ‘innerkoptischer Vergleich’ is indispensable if one is not to let the discussion become hopelessly vague. Nevertheless, one must perhaps be rather more sensitive than Schrage was to the possibility of secondary assimilation to the canonical texts in the course of the history of the transmission of the text of GThom., and to the complexity of the history of the Coptic text of the NT. How one can determine which agreements between GThom. and the synoptics are due to secondary scribal assimilation and which are original is very difficult to say in the abstract. Each case must be judged on its own merits and an element of subjectivity in judgement is inevitable. However, it would seem that one should not be laying any great store by tiny details in the text which are totally insignificant in substance. A difference between a țĮȓ and a įȑ, or an $% and a , can scarcely bear any weight in this argument (cf. n. 81 below). In any case it is extremely unlikely that Coptic translators were so precise in their work as to enable us to make such fine distinctions.19 One should probably therefore concentrate on rather larger units in the text, looking at words or phrases that bear a significant weight of meaning. It may also be the case that parallels between GThom. and Mark (and possibly Luke) are rather more significant than parallels between GThom. and Matthew. Generalisation here is of course all too easy and probably highly dangerous. But if it is the case that Matthew’s Gospel was the most widely used,20 assimilation of the wording of GThom. to a Coptic version 16

Schrage, Verhältnis, 15. See ȉ. Schramm, Der Markus-Stoff bei Lukas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 12; J. Horman, ‘The Source of the Version of the Parable of the Sower in the Gospel of Thomas’, NovT 21 (1979) 326–343. 18 Wilson, ‘Review’ (n. 7 above), 122. 19 Cf. Horman, ‘Source’, 328–329, who shows that the Coptic versions are at times quite imprecise in their translations (always assuming that we have the exact Greek texts from which they were translating!). 20 For the earlier period, cf. É. Massaux, Influence de l’Évangile de saint Matthieu sur la littérature chrétienne avant saint Irénée (repr. Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1986); W.-D. Köhler, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums in der Zeit vor Irenäus (WUNT 2.24; Tübingen: Mohr, 1987). But even later, evidence for interest in, and 17

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of Matthew would not be unexpected. Assimilation to a Coptic version of Mark would be less likely (especially in cases where there is a Matthean parallel) and hence parallels between GThom. and Mark might be more noteworthy. There have of course always been a considerable number of scholars who have claimed that GThom. is independent of the synoptics. The most forceful advocate of this view has been G. Quispel who, in a series of studies, has maintained consistently that GThom. is dependent on sources which are independent of the canonical gospels; these sources include the Gospel of the Hebrews (GHeb.) which provides much of the synoptic-type material in GThom. Evidence of GThom.’s independence is to be found in various readings which GThom. shares with other early Christian sources such as the Diatessaron, the Western text, the Pseudo-Clementine writings, the Heliand etc.21 Quispel’s detailed theories about the GHeb. have not attracted any great following in the discussion since the 1960s,22 and his use of very diverse witnesses to support his case has brought considerable criticism.23 Neveruse of, Mark’s Gospel is the exception rather than the rule; cf. the relatively small number of MSS of the Coptic text of Mark which have survived: see the catalogue in Liste der koptischen Handschriften des Neuen Testaments. Band I/1. Die sahidischen Handschriften der Evangelien (bearb. von F. J. Schmitz, G. Mink; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1986). 21 The most important of Quispel’s works are ‘The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament’, VC 11 (1957) 189–196; ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas et les Clémentines’, VC 12 (1958) 181–196; ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas et le Diatessaron’, VC 13 (1959) 87–117; ‘Some Remarks on the Gospel of Thomas’, NTS 5 (1959) 276–290; ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas et le “Texte Occidental” du Nouveau Testament’, VC 14 (1960) 204–215; ‘Heliand und das Thomasevangelium’, VC 16 (1962) 121–151; ‘The “Gospel of Thomas” and the “Gospel of the Hebrews”’, NTS 12 (1965) 371–382; more recently, see the restatement of his views in ‘The Gospel of Thomas Revisited’, in Ǻ. Barc (ed.), Colloque internationnal sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Leuven: Peeters, 1981), 218–266, where he adds a further source (a ‘Hermetic anthology’) to those which he had postulated in earlier works. 22 Though cf. W. C. Till, ‘New Sayings of Jesus in the Recently Discovered “Gospel of Thomas”’, BJRL 41 (1958/59) 446–458; H. Montefiore, ‘A Comparison of the Parables of the Gospel according to Thomas and of the Synoptic Gospels’, NTS 7 (1961) 220–248. 23 See Haenchen, ‘Literatur’, 162–169; Dehandschutter, ‘Les paraboles’, 202–203 n. 11. The most serious problem of Quispel’s hypothesis is that there is so little direct evidence of the contents of GHeb. Quispel also has to assume that various references to (a) Jewish Christian gospel(s) by the Fathers all refer to a single work, the GHeb. (For the problems here, and a rather different solution, see Ph. Vielhauer, in Hennecke [ed.], Apocrypha, 1.117 ff.) The well-known link between GThom. log. 2 and the GHeb. as recorded by Clement (Strom. 2.9.45; 5.14.96) is really the only positive link between the two texts. Any claim that other parts of GThom. derive from GHeb. must remain conjectural. So too the many links which Quispel has discovered in various versions of the Diatessaron, the Pseudo-Clementines etc. cannot bear the full weight of Quispel’s theory. Such links may well show that GThom.’s text has links with various other textual

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theless, even if Quispel’s alternative explanations about the sources of GThom. are not shared by others, his general claim about the independence of GThom. from the synoptics still commands considerable support from scholars such as H. Koester, J. D. Crossan and others.24 Amongst the arguments of those who advocate this view, two particular points are frequently made. First, it is said that the order of GThom. represents decisive evidence against the theory that GThom. is dependent on the synoptics: if Thomas knew the synoptics, there seems to be no good reason for his having broken up the canonical order at almost every point and reordered the material in such a way that no coherent order can now be discerned.25 Such an argument is, however, not altogether convincing. First, there is the problem of the secondary nature of the Coptic text of GThom. (cf. above). The evidence of the P. Oxy. fragments shows that, at least at one traditions in early Christianity. But this does not show that these traditions are all to be based on a source/sources independent of the canonical gospels. As Haenchen says (in a slightly different context), ‘man soll die Frage der Textform scharf scheiden von der Frage nach der Quelle’ (‘Literatur’, 175). Cf. too Chilton, ‘Gospel according to Thomas’, 159–160. 24 See Ǿ. Koester, ‘Gnomai Diaphorai. The Origins and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity’, in J. M. Robinson & H. Koester, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadephia: Fortress, 1971), 114–157; ‘Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels’, HTR 73 (1980) 105–130; Einführung in das Neue Testament (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1980), 587; ‘Three Thomas Parables’, in ǹ. Ǿ. Ǻ. Logan & A. J. M. Wedderburn (eds.), The New Testament and Gnosis (FS R. McL. Wilson; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1983), 204–213; ‘Überlieferung und Geschichte der frühchristlichen Evangelienliteratur’, ANRW 25.2, 1495; J. D. Crossan, ‘Wicked Husbandmen’ and ‘Seed Parables’, also his Four Other Gospels (Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985). For others, see Jeremias, Parables; Montefiore, ‘Comparison’; J. Ǿ. Sieber, A Redactional Analysis of the Synoptic Gospels with regard to the Question of the Sources of the Gospel of Thomas (PhD dissertation, Claremont, 1965); Macrae, ‘Nag Hammadi’; Davies, Thomas; Schramm, MarkusStoff; R. Cameron, The Other Gospels (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1982), 24. See too the detailed discussion of individual texts by Horman, ‘Source’; W. L. Petersen, ‘The Parable of the Lost Sheep in the Gospel of Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 23 (1981) 128–147; W. G. Morrice, ‘The Parable of the Dragnet and the Gospel of Thomas’, ExpT 95 (1984) 269–273. Perhaps too is to be included here Wilson (cf. n. 2 above) who has contributed many works to the subject: his views are best summarised in his Studies in the Gospel of Thomas (London: Mowbray, 1960), where he argues for some measure of independence, though not entirely, cf. his ‘Thomas and the Synoptic Gospels’, ExpT 72 (1960) 36–39: ‘it must be admitted that knowledge of our Gospels at some stage appears highly probable’ (p. 39, his italics). 25 The point is made frequently by Wilson, Studies, 51, 54, 147, and elsewhere. See too Montefiore, ‘Comparison’, 238 ff.; Schramm, Markus-Stoff, 15–16; Sieber, Analysis, passim; Crossan, Four Other Gospels, 35; Robinson, ‘On Bridging the Gulf’, 165; Ph. ȇ. Meerburg, De structuur van het Koptische Evangelie naar Thomas (diss. University of Amsterdam; Maastricht: Boosten & Stols, 1964).

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point, a Coptic translator (or a later editor) changed the order of the text for no better reason than that of a Stichwort link. There must therefore be a measure of uncertainty as to how far we know what the original order of GThom. was.26 Secondly, many have pointed out that the order of several other parts of GThom. may be determined by link-words.27 One must therefore be alive to the possibility that the order of GThom. is a somewhat artificial one (at least by modern standards), but that it nevertheless has its own logic. Others too have sought to find more comprehensive explanations of the order of GThom.28 It may indeed be that the order of GThom. is extremely well conceived, but we have not yet discovered its secret.29 Moreover, statements to the effect that the order of GThom. has no internal logic are both unlikely to be true and also not ultimately very helpful. Such a claim is inherently unlikely if one is also asserting (as most do) that the contents of the individual sayings have been subjected to some conscious editing process. It seems implausible to posit conscious redactional activity at the level of the contents of the individual sayings, but to deny any such activity at the level of order. Further, the claim that GThom. has no logical order of its own, and hence the order of GThom. must reflect the order of a source (which therefore cannot be the synoptic gospels), really only pushes the problem one stage further back. What are we to make of the equally formless source(s) which lie(s) behind GThom.? If the formlessness of GThom. is problematic, ascribing the order to a prior source merely transfers the problem. It does not solve it. Arguments based on the order of the material in GThom. are thus not very convincing in defending the view that GThom. is independent of the synoptics. The second general argument that is frequently used to support the independence of GThom. is the claim that GThom. never shows any links with redactional material in the synoptic gospels.30 Thus T. Schramm states:

26 See on log. 77b above. On the other hand this is the only instance of variation in order between the Greek and Coptic texts. The precise agreement in order elsewhere could be taken as indicating that the Coptic text has preserved the order quite accurately. 27 See Haenchen, ‘Literatur’, 310–311 and Botschaft, 12–13; Dehandschutter, ‘Les paraboles’, 211. 28 Cf. Y. Janssens, ‘L’Évangile selon Thomas et son caractère gnostique’, Le Muséon 75 (1962) 301–325; Ménard, Évangile, 48–51; Dehandschutter, ‘Parabole de la perle’, 244 ff.; D. H. Tripp, ‘The Aim of the “Gospel of Thomas”’, ExpT 92 (1980) 41–44; Chilton, ‘Gospel according to Thomas’, 161–162; Meerburg, De structuur. 29 To take what may be a totally inappropriate parallel, a series of gospel lectionary readings for the Sundays between Trinity Sunday and Advent Sunday might look equally random in their ordering if one did not know the key. The possibility that GThom. is a lectionary text is toyed with by Tripp, ‘Aim’. 30 See Koester, Trajectories, 181–182; ‘Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels’, 114; ‘Three Thomas Parables’, passim; ‘Überlieferung’, 1495; Crossan, Four Other Gospels,

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Der Beweis einer literarischen Abhängigkeit wäre erst erbracht, wenn ein sicher auf die Hand der Evangelisten zurückzuführendes, d. h. ein endredaktionelles Element bei Th nachgewiesen werden könnte. Das ist bisher nicht gelungen.31

In general terms this is a very reasonable way to argue, and the criterion employed is a very appropriate one.32 Sometimes appeals have been made to parallels between GThom. and the synoptics as evidence of direct dependence by GThom. The possibility that both might depend on common traditions has sometimes been ignored.33 Thus analysis of the parallels between GThom. and the synoptics must be accompanied by detailed synoptic analysis. It is at this point that the whole debate can become extremely complex, arguments can become circular, and one is in danger of ending up in a stalemate position. The question is: how can one determine what is redactional in the gospels? Sieber’s thesis (n. 24 above) is often cited as a good example of an analysis showing that GThom. does not share the redactional traits of the synoptic evangelists. Yet Sieber confined attention to features which are universally recognised as redactional and which have a significant theological content. (For example, įȚțĮȚȠıȪȞȘ in Matthew is widely regarded as MattR, especially in Matt 5.6, and in GThom.’s parallel to this beatitude in log. 69, GThom. has no mention of ‘righteousness’.34) However, Sieber tended to ignore the smaller, theologically less significant, details in the gospels. But it is recognised by most that the evangelists’ redactional activity was not confined to such theological ‘bombshells’ as įȚțĮȚȠıȪȞȘ!

36–37, and argued in detail in relation to the parables discussed in the articles noted in n. 3 above. 31 Schramm, Markus-Stoff, 20; similar claims are made by Horman, ‘Source’; Petersen, ‘Lost Sheep’; Cameron, Other Gospels, 24. 32 I have used such a criterion in my Nag Hammadi and the Gospel Tradition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), passim; cf. too Schrage, Verhältnis, 4; Ǿ. Ȁ. McArthur, ‘The Dependence of the Gospel of Thomas on the Synoptics’, ExpT 71 (1960) 286–287. 33 Cf. the claims made by some that knowledge of Mark’s Gospel by GThom. is indicated by the parallel to Mark 4.26–29 in GThom. 21 (cf. Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 180 ff.), the parable being unique to Mark. I shall be arguing later that GThom. does presuppose Mark’s Gospel, but it is insufficient simply to point to the parallels between GThom. and the material peculiar to Mark unless it can be shown that the material in question is redactional in Mark. The same methodological point must probably be said about much of the work of Schrage. All too often Schrage refers to parallels between GThom. and the synoptics as evidence of dependence without showing whether the relevant material is redactional. Cf. Schramm, Markus-Stoff, 21. 34 Sieber, Analysis, 35.

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The fact is that some have tried to show that redactional features in the gospels reappear in GThom.35 Yet at almost every point it is possible to argue that the feature in question is not redactional in the gospels. Clearly the identification of what is redactional depends on one’s solution to the Synoptic Problem. Hence advocates of the Griesbach hypothesis will not necessarily agree with advocates of the theory of Markan priority about where redactional material is to be found.36 Even on the basis of a relatively classic form of the Two Source theory, there can be disagreements about what is redactional. Within the material usually ascribed to ‘Q’ on the Two Source theory, there is obviously uncertainty about the precise wording of Q, with corresponding doubt as to whether Matthew’s or Luke’s version is more original and which is redactional. Yet there is a further problem of whether the form of Q used by Matthew was verbally identical with that used by Luke. If so, then if either Matthew or Luke could be identified as preserving the Q version, the other (Luke/Matthew) would be redactional.37 On the other hand, some have argued that Q was available to Matthew and Luke in slightly different forms: a Qmt and a Qlk. Hence variation in wording between Matthew and Luke may be due to the traditions underlying the two gospels and neither version is necessarily redactional at any one point.38 To see how this might affect the discussion of GThom., consider log. 39a: The Pharisees and the scribes have received the keys of knowledge, they have hidden them. They did not enter, and they did not let those (enter) who wished.

This is clearly close to the saying in Matt 23.13/Luke 11.52, and moreover, closer to the Lukan form of the saying in having no object of the verb ‘to enter’ and in mentioning the key(s) of knowledge. Now many would argue that Luke’s version is not original here: Luke’s bald reference to ‘entering’ seems to presuppose Matthew’s reference to the Kingdom. Thus Matthew’s version is widely regarded as preserving the Q version more accurately.39 Yet it could be argued that Luke’s use of ‘knowledge’ here is not 35

See McArthur, ‘Dependence’; H. Schürmann, ‘Das Thomasevangelium und das lukanische Sondergut’, BZ 7 (1963) 236–260; see too Schrage, Verhältnis, 4 (though see previous note); also his ‘Evangelienzitate in den Oxyrhynchus-Logien und im koptischen Thomas-Evangelium’, in W. Eltester (ed.), Apophoreta (FS E. Haenchen; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964), 251–264. 36 In what follows, I have assumed the Two Source theory. 37 This tends to be the assumption of, for example, S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972). 38 Cf. J. ȇ. Brown, ‘The Form of “Q” Known to Matthew’, NTS 8 (1961) 27–42; also G. Strecker, ‘Die Antithesen der Bergpredigt (Mt 5,21–48)’, ZNW 69 (1978) 36–72. 39 See Schulz, Q, 110 with further references; Schrage, Verhältnis, 92.

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particularly Lukan. Luke has only one other use of the word (Luke 1.77), so that it is at least arguable that Luke’s text here is pre-Lukan and hence due to a ‘Qlk’ tradition.40 Similar problems arise in the case of Markan material. At first sight the problems here would appear to be less, since, assuming Markan priority, Matthew’s/Luke’s deviations from Mark in triple tradition material can presumably be taken as evidence of MattR/LukeR respectively. However, one has only to think of the classic Mark-Q overlaps to realise that parallel, but independent, traditions may have overlapped with each other. Thus the versions of Matthew/Luke, where they differ from Mark, may at times be due to the use of a tradition independent of Mark. To take another example from GThom., log. 31 reads: No prophet is acceptable in his village, no physician heals those who know him.

This is very similar to the logion in Luke 4.24. Further, the case for a link between these two sayings is considerably strengthened by the fact that this is one of the few sayings recorded in P. Oxy. 1, so that we have a Greek version of GThom. to compare with Luke. Here it is striking that both the P. Oxy. text and Luke use įİțIJȩȢ; further, many have argued that įİțIJȩȢ in Luke 4.24 is LukeR, the whole verse being Luke’s redactional equivalent of Mark 6.4, redacted in the light of the Isaiah quotation in Luke 4.17–19 (įİțIJȩȢ in v. 19). Hence GThom. presupposes LukeR and is thus shown to be dependent here on Luke’s Gospel.41 However, this synoptic analysis is not universally accepted, and others have argued (e.g. on form-critical grounds) that Luke is quite independent of Mark at this point.42 The complexity of the question of Luke’s sources in this passage does at least render the problem of GThom.’s relationship to Luke here debatable.43 More methodological problems arise where at first sight the synoptic evidence would appear to be clear-cut. For example, GThom. 14 concludes with the words: 40 So Sieber, Analysis, 250. The un-Lukan nature of Luke’s version is also noted by ǿ. Ǿ. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke (Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), 507 (though here arguing for the greater originality of Luke’s version over against Matthew). I am not convinced myself, but I am simply attempting to illustrate the methodological problems. 41 So McArthur, ‘Dependence’, 287; Schürmann, ‘Thomasevangelium’, 237–238; Schrage, Verhältnis, 75–76 and ‘Evangelienzitate’, 264; Ménard, Évangile, 127. 42 Koester, Trajectories, 131, appealing to R. Bultmann, Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (FRLANT 29; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 41958), 30–31; also Sieber, Analysis, 21. However, on Bultmann’s argument, see J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB 28; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 527–528. 43 Again I would side with those who would see Luke’s version here as LukeR, but the text is clearly open to more than one interpretation in this context.

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For what goes into your mouth will not defile you, but what comes out of your mouth, that will defile you.

This form of the saying is extremely close to that of Matt 15.11 and agrees with Matthew at those points where Matthew differs from the synoptic parallel in Mark 7.15 (cf. the explicit references to the ‘mouth’). Further, this passage is not usually considered to be one where it is necessary to invoke a theory of overlapping sources to explain the synoptic data. Thus one would appear to have a clear link between GThom. and MattR, showing that GThom. presupposes Matthew’s finished Gospel.44 However, overlapping sources are invoked by Sieber to avoid what would otherwise be a problem for his overall thesis.45 In another context, J. D. G. Dunn has reversed the form of argument completely. Dunn claims that, in general, GThom. has many parallels with Q sayings in the gospels; hence, in this instance, GThom.’s links with Matt 15.11 are to be explained by the fact that Matt 15.11 derives from Q and we have a Mark-Q overlap.46 Methodologically a similar kind of argument is proposed in more general terms by Schramm. After asserting (somewhat apodictically) that no one has ever succeeded in showing the existence of synoptic redactional elements in GThom., Schramm admits in a footnote that some have tried to do so, but he then seeks to neutralise these results by claiming that they are based on too rigid a theory of Markan priority: Wenn man von der starren Mk-Hypothese ausgeht und alle Zusätze zum Mk-Text bei Mt und Lk für spezifisch mat bzw. luk hält, fällt es natürlich weniger schwer, die Abhängigkeit des Th-Ev von den Großevangelien zu ‘beweisen’. Aber selbst dafür gibt es nur vereinzelte Belege. Mit der Einsicht in die Unhaltbarkeit der starren Mk-Hypothese wird diese Voraussetzung vollends hinfällig.47

Now neither Schramm nor Dunn is dealing primarily with the problem of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptics: both are concerned with establishing the existence of pre-redactional stages in the synoptic tradition – Schramm in regard to Luke’s Gospel, Dunn in regard to the individual saying in Matt 15.11. Nevertheless both are making some quite

44

Cf. McArthur, ‘Dependence’, 286; Ménard, Évangile, 101. Analysis, 192–193. 46 J. D. G. Dunn, ‘Jesus and Ritual Purity. A Study of the Tradition History of Mk 7,15’, in À cause de l’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 251–276, on p. 263. For the alleged link between GThom. and Q, see his Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (London: SCM, 1977), 284–285. 47 Markus-Stoff, 20. A similar view is suggested by R. J. Bauckham, ‘The Study of Gospel Traditions outside the Canonical Gospels. Problems and Perspectives’, in Gospel Perspectives (as in n. 5 above), 5.369–403, where he argues that one should not conclude that Matthew’s/Luke’s deviations from Mark are always due to MattR/LukeR: the evidence of parallels in other texts, outside the gospels, could indicate otherwise. 45

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sweeping assumptions about the nature of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptics, and the whole approach is dangerously circular. It may be that Matthew and Luke used independent traditions parallel to Mark at times but until the whole question of the precise relationship between GThom. and the synoptics is fully clarified, one cannot use the evidence of GThom. to make decisions about the pre-redactional history of the synoptic tradition. If one wishes to assert that Matthew/Luke had independent traditions available, there must be reasons for making such a claim, beyond simply the evidence of the text of GThom. For example, one could appeal to a sudden burst of Matthew-Luke agreements against Mark to justify a claim of the existence of a Mark-Q overlap. One could appeal to features in a gospel which are uncharacteristic of the author (cf. Luke 11.52 above). One could appeal to form-critical considerations (cf. Luke 4.24 above). However, when such arguments cannot be adduced, the assumption must in the first place be that Matthew’s and Luke’s deviations from Mark are due to MattR and LukeR respectively. What seems clear from this survey of past discussions of the problem is that any claims about the dependence of GThom. on the synoptics can only have force if they are accompanied by a detailed analysis of the synoptic data. Referring to the parallels alone is simply not enough, since the existence of a parallel cannot by itself distinguish between the possibilities of GThom. (or GThom.’s tradition) diverging from the synoptic trajectory after or before the stage of synoptic redaction. * In the second half of this article, I offer some examples where the present text of GThom. appears to presuppose the redactional activity of the synoptic evangelists. As has been noted, several scholars have tried to do this and hence, in view of what has already been written about some of the texts considered here, the discussion can be relatively brief. 38

1. GThom. 5 GThom.’s version of this logion has long been noted as having links with the synoptics, and probably with redactional material there. The final phrase of the saying in GThom. reads ‘there is nothing hidden that will not be manifest’. A version of the saying is also preserved in the P. Oxy. 654 fragment where the relevant part of the saying reads [Ƞ੝ ȖȐȡ ਥıIJ]ȚȞ țȡȣʌIJઁȞ ੔ Ƞ੝ ijĮȞİ[ȡઁȞ ȖİȞȒıİIJĮȚ]. Although the papyrus is fragmentary, enough of the text is visible to make it clear that the synoptic version which is closely parallel is Luke 8.17; further, GThom. agrees here with Luke’s redaction of Mark (no IJȚ, ੔ Ƞ੝ for ਥ੹Ȟ ȝ੽ ੆ȞĮ). Thus GThom. shows links with LukeR

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and appears to presuppose Luke’s finished Gospel here.48 The evidence of the P. Oxy. fragment ensures that the link with the Lukan text pre-dates the translation of GThom. into Coptic, so that the link is not due simply to assimilation by the Coptic translator. (One could argue that the parallel is due to assimilation by a scribe of the Greek text of GThom.; but then one is in the realm of pure conjecture regarding the original text of GThom.) On the other hand, one could argue that the agreement with Luke against Mark is a very small one and does not involve a significant unit of meaning. Nevertheless, the existence of the verbal agreement in Greek must have some force here. 39

2. GThom. 16 Another link with LukeR material may be shown in GThom. 16: Men possibly think that I have come to throw peace upon the world, and they do not know that I have come to throw divisions upon the earth, fire, sword, war. For there shall be five in a house, three against two and two against three, the father against the son and the son against the father, and they shall stand as solitaries.

The language here is clearly close to that of Matt 10.34–35/Luke 12.51–53. Further, the use of įȚĮȝİȡȚıȝȩȢ in Luke 12.51 (paralleled here in GThom.: the same word %! is used in GThom. as in Luke sah) is widely regarded as secondary to Matthew’s more vivid and concrete ȝȐȤĮȚȡĮ here, and also probably due to LukeR in view of the relatively frequent use of the įȚĮȝİȡȚȗ- root in the Lukan writings.49 (In fact, GThom. has Matthew’s ‘sword’ as well, so that his version seems to be a conflation of the two synoptic versions.50) Further, in explicitly naming divisions – the numerical division of 3:2 and 2:3, and the reciprocal pairing of son against father and father against son – GThom. also agrees with Luke 12.52–53 against Matthew. Once again Luke’s version is probably redactional. Matthew’s version of the divisions within the family adheres closely to the wording of Mic 7.6. Luke’s version, which adds the hostility of the older generation to the younger, is much more likely to be a secondary expansion, and the extra words (3 against 2 and 2 against 3) in v. 52 are also likely to be Lukan, added to clarify Luke’s redactional reference to the ‘divisions’

48

Cf. McArthur, ‘Dependence’, 287; Schrage, ‘Evangelienzitate’, 259–260. See Schrage, Verhältnis, 59; Schürmann, ‘Thomasevangelium’, 244–245; Schulz, Q, 258, with further bibliography. įȚĮȝİȡȓȗȦ appears 6 times in Luke-Acts, once only in Matthew and Mark, both echoing Ps 22.19 (Matt 27.35; Mark 15.24). 50 Cf. Wilson, Studies, 34, 72. 49

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brought by Jesus.51 Thus again GThom. shows links with material that is LukeR. Further, the substance of the agreement is not trivial, and the fact that this is an agreement against the (more popular?) Matthean version renders the theory of a later scribal assimilation less likely. Quispel has sought to show that GThom. may here be preserving an independent saying. He appeals to the Semitic structure of the saying in GThom., and to the mention of ‘war’ here: this occurs in several allusions to the saying in the Ps.-Clementine writings (e.g. Rec. syr. 2.26.6) and hence may be an indication that the saying comes to GThom. from a Jewish Christian source, since ‘war’ and ‘sword’ are translation variants of the Aramaic word DEU[.52 These arguments are however unconvincing. The Semitic structure (or, as Guillaumont argued, the close affinity with the old Syriac versions) only shows that GThom. emanates from a Syriac milieu. This represents standard critical opinion today, but it does not prove that the saying comes from an independent source.53 The appeal to Aramaic also fails to support Quispel’s case, for GThom. has both ‘sword’ and ‘war’. If DEU[ underlies the Greek saying, it may be that the references to ‘war’ elsewhere in the tradition imply that a variant form of the saying was current elsewhere. But GThom. has both equivalents for the alleged single original Aramaic word. GThom. thus appears to conflate the alleged parallel version with the synoptic version. In fact ‘war’ is easily explicable as a natural, secondary expansion;54 but even if this is denied, GThom. still seems to show dependence on the synoptic form of the saying. Further, GThom.’s truncated version, mentioning only the male members of the family but also including the 3:2 and 2:3 divisions, seems to presuppose the longer Lukan text.55 Thus again GThom. presupposes Luke’s redactional activity. 40

51 So Schulz, Q, 258–259; J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke X–XXIV (AB 28A; New York: Doubleday, 1985), 994; C.-P. März, ‘“Feuer auf die Erde zu werfen, bin ich gekommen.” Zum Verständnis und zur Entstehung von Lk 12,49’, in À cause de L’Évangile (see n. 46 above), 479–511, on p. 505. 52 ‘Some Remarks’, 279; ‘Clémentines’, 189; Makarius, das Thomasevangelium und das Lied von der Perle (Leiden: Brill, 1967), 108. For the Semitic structure, Quispel appeals to A. Guillaumont, ‘Sémitismes dans les logia de Jésus retrouvés à Nag Hamâdi’, Journal Asiatique 246 (1958) 113–123, on p. 119. 53 Cf. Ménard, Évangile, 11. 54 Cf. Schrage, Verhältnis, 58, who also refers to Tertullian, Adv. Marc. 4.29.14. Quispel also makes much of the phrase ‘on the earth’ as appearing in the version of the Ps.Clementines. I find this argument hard to follow: both Matthew and Luke mention this too. 55 Cf. Guillaumont, ‘Sémitismes’, 122. Quispel’s suggested reconstruction of the saying presupposed by GThom. here has to add the references to mother, daughter etc. (Makarius, 108).

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3. GThom. 55 Whoever does not hate his father and his mother will not be able to be a disciple to me, and (whoever does not hate) his brethren and his sisters and (does not) take up his cross in my way will not be worthy of me.

The parallel with Matt 10.37–38/Luke 14.26–27 is often noted. Further, GThom. agrees with both Matthew and Luke in their respective endings to the saying: Matthew has ‘… is not worthy of me’, Luke has ‘… cannot be my disciple’. Since both endings cannot be original, GThom. clearly shows agreement with one secondary ending.56 Moreover, although there is always a theoretical possibility that both Matthew and Luke are preredactional (cf. above), this seems an unnecessary and unlikely hypothesis here since it is almost universally agreed that Matthew’s ending here is MattR, Matthew being fond of the ਙȟȚȠȢ terminology (cf. Matt 10.11, 13 diff Luke) and softening Luke’s harsher version.57 It is also likely that Luke’s longer version which refers to more relatives, including brothers and sisters (Matthew mentions only parents and offspring), is also redactional.58 Thus GThom. shows links with elements of both MattR and LukeR here. Quispel again seeks to justify the existence of an independent version here, appealing to some grammatical points as indicating an Aramaic original.59 However, these only show that the text of GThom. emanates from a Semitic milieu; a Syriac Sitz im Leben for GThom. will account for this quite adequately without our having to postulate an independent source.60 The final two examples concern parallels between GThom. and Mark’s Gospel and will be considered in more detail. 41

4. GThom. 20 The parable of the mustard seed appears in GThom. 20 and in all three synoptic gospels, and it provides, by almost universal consent, one of the classic examples of a Mark-Q overlap: Luke 13.18–19 is usually taken as reproducing almost exactly the Q form of the parable, while Matt 13.31–32 56 So Schrage, Verhältnis, 121, though he assumes without question that ‘secondary’ means ‘redactional’. Sieber, Analysis, 119, argues that neither ending is redactional. 57 See Schulz, Q, 447; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 303–304. 58 Schulz, Q, 447; Fitzmyer, Luke X–XXIV, 1063–1064. 59 Cf. ‘Some Remarks’, 287. He refers to the dative construction ‘disciple to me’, the repetition of the possessive pronouns, and the omission of the negative with ‘take up’. 60 However, some of the features isolated by Quispel may simply be Copticisms: see Kuhn, ‘Some Observations’, 321–322; Wilson, Studies, 137; also A. Guillaumont, ‘Les Sémitismes dans L’Évangile selon Thomas. Essai de Classement’, in Studies in Gnosticism and Hellenistic Religions (FS G. Quispel; Leiden: Brill, 1981), 190–204, on p. 192.

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represents a conflation of the Markan and Q forms.61 What is striking about the version in GThom. is that it is very close to the Markan version. The differences between the Markan and Q versions are well-known: Mark gives a general statement in the present (a ‘Gleichnis’), Q gives a story in the past (a ‘Parabel’). Mark explicitly states the contrast between the mustard seed ‘being smaller than all the seeds on the earth’ and the end product being ‘larger than all the shrubs’; Q leaves the contrast as implicit. In Mark, the seed grows into a bush and produces branches so that birds come and rest in its shade; in Q the mustard seed becomes a great tree so that birds come and nest in the branches. In each case here, GThom. agrees with Mark against Q: thus the seed is explicitly said to be ‘smaller than all the seeds’; it also falls on the ‘earth’ (rather than being sown in a ‘field’ [Matthew] or a ‘garden’ [Luke]). It produces a large ‘branch’ and provides ‘shelter’ for the birds.62 Thus GThom. is significantly closer to the Markan form of the parable than to Matthew or Luke, and this has frequently been observed.63 What does not appear to have been noted explicitly before is that some of these features may be due to Mark’s redaction. Clearly any claims to be able to identify features of MarkR can only be tentative. We do not have Mark’s source available to be able to make precise comparisons via a synopsis. Nevertheless, a strong case can be made for the note about the mustard seed as ‘smaller than all the seeds’ being at least secondary in the tradition. The smallness of the mustard seed was proverbial in Palestine.64 Hence the very choice of a mustard seed implies that a contrast is intended. Thus the phrase ȝȚțȡȩIJİȡȠȞ ੓Ȟ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ ıʌİȡȝȐIJȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥʌȓ IJોȢ ȖોȢ in Mark has all the hallmarks of a secondary addition to the parable, added to explain the significance of the mustard seed for Gentile readers.65 The 61

Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 174–175. Sieber, Analysis, 171–172, regards it as significant that the Greek loan word used here in GThom. (ıțȑʌȘ) is not the same as the Greek of Mark (ıțȓĮ) and deduces that the two versions are not related. This is a very dubious argument. It is in general dangerous to assume that Greek loan words in Coptic must derive from the same Greek word in an original Greek text. Kuhn (‘Some Observations’, 318–319) has pointed out that ʌIJȫȝĮ in the Greek NT is regularly ‘translated’ by "% in the sahidic NT. Cf. too J. M. Plumley, ‘Limitations of Coptic (sahidic) in Representing Greek’, in Ǻ. M. Metzger, The Early Versions of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), 147. 63 The observations of L. Cerfaux, ‘Les paraboles du royaume dans l’Évangile de Thomas’, Le Muséon 70 (1957) 311–327, on pp. 311–312, are often noted. Cf. also Wilson, Studies, 90; Schrage, Verhältnis, 62–63; Lindemann, ‘Gleichnisinterpretation’, 225; Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 187. 64 Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 179; C.-Ǿ. Hunzinger, ıȓȞĮʌȚ, TWNT 7.289. 65 Cf. Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 179; V. Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark (London: Macmillan, 1952), 270; Ǿ.-W. Kuhn, Ältere Sammlungen im Markusevangelium (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971), 100; H.-J. Klauck, Allegorie und 62

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secondary nature of the phrase is also indicated by the well-known grammatical difficulties which the phrase causes (a neuter phrase agreeing with an implied ıʌȑȡȝĮ, in apposition to a masculine țȩțțȠȢ), by the fact that Ȗો in the phrase has a different meaning from Ȗો in the surrounding context (Ȗો in v. 31b is the whole earth, in v. 31a it is the land on which the seed is sown), and by the fact that ıʌĮȡૌ has to be repeated. Further, Crossan has shown that this repetition of a phrase is characteristic of Mark’s technique when Mark inserts a saying into his source material.66 If so, then one must ascribe the addition of the phrase to MarkR.67 It is now noteworthy that GThom. shows verbal agreement with just that part of the parable which may be due to MarkR, i.e. the phrase about the mustard seed being ‘smaller than all the seeds’. Crossan himself appears to want to evade the force of his own argument about the Markan origin of the ȝȚțȡȩIJİȡȠȞ phrase. He says that the contrast in GThom. ‘appears in more sober fashion’ and that GThom.’s ending is more original, so that GThom. is not dependent on the synoptic versions.68 But whatever one makes of the ending of the parable, the very presence of the size phrase in GThom. presupposes the existence of the Markan version, if it was Mark himself who introduced the phrase into the tradition.69 Whether the other features where GThom. agrees with Mark are due to MarkR is harder to say. Certainly a strong case can be made for the theory that Mark’s reference to the seed ‘producing great branches’ is secondary to Q’s ‘becoming a tree’.70 It is often argued that Mark’s version is more ‘true to life’ and hence more original: mustard seeds do not produce trees, Allegorese in synoptischen Gleichnistexten (Münster: Aschendorff, 1978), 217; Ǿ. Weder, Die Gleichnisse Jesu als Metaphern (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 104– 105. 66 ‘Seed Parables’, 256, referring to J. R. Donahue: see his Are You the Christ? (Missoula: SBL, 1973), 77–78, 241 ff. The repetition also provides a good example of duality, which is very characteristic of Mark: cf. F. Neirynck, Duality in Mark (BETL 31; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1972), 98, and see the whole section, pp. 97–101, for similar examples elsewhere in Mark. 67 So Taylor, Klauck, Crossan. See too J. Lambrecht, ‘Redaction and Theology in Mark IV’, in M. Sabbe (ed.), L’Évangile selon Marc (BETL 34; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1974), 269–307, on p. 293. However, Kuhn, Weder and Laufen take it as preMarkan. 68 ‘Seed Parables’, 258. 69 The inconsistency in Crossan’s argument is also noted by F. Neirynck, ‘The Apocryphal Gospels and the Gospel of Mark’, in J.-M. Sevrin, The New Testament and Early Christianity (BETL 86; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1989), 123–175, on p. 137. 70 So Lambrecht, ‘Redaction’, 295; also Ǿ. Ȁ. McArthur, ‘The Parable of the Mustard Seed’, CBQ 33 (1971) 198–210, on p. 206, contra Klauck, Allegorie, 212–213; Weder, Gleichnisse, 131; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 180.

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but they do produce branches.71 However, such an argument appears to reflect an assumption about Jesus’ parables, viz. that they are always ‘true to life’, and such an assumption is rather questionable.72 If all that Jesus wanted to say here was that ‘big things come from very small things’, the parable is rather banal. Much more striking is the Q version which asserts that out of the most unlikely of beginnings, a minute mustard seed, will come not only something large, but something that surpasses all expectations, the mighty tree of the Kingdom of God Himself. This is not necessarily simply a natural process but the result of a divine miracle.73 On this reading, the ‘tree’ of Q may be original, and the reference to the ‘bushes’ in Mark would be a secondary change, bringing the parable back into the realm of the natural. It is true that there is no indication as to whether this was due to Mark himself or to a pre-Markan editor; but in view of the link with MarkR already established, it seems simplest to assume that this feature of the parable also came to GThom. via the medium of Mark’s Gospel and not via Mark’s tradition. Virtually all the features in the parable which are peculiar to GThom.’s version can be explained relatively easily on the assumption that GThom. has rewritten the parable in a gnosticising way. We know that the parable was used by other Gnostics.74 The fact that the earth in which the seed is sown is called the ‘tilled’ earth, and that it is the earth, not the seed, which produces the branch, are often noted.75 The ‘tilled’ earth is usually linked with the note about the ‘good’ earth in GThom.’s version of the parable of the sower (cf. below): both then refer to the true Gnostic who must then not only receive the seed, i.e. the saving revelation, but must also be prepared to live out the consequences in action.76 Further the fact that the branches of the Markan version have now become a single ‘large branch’

71 Cf. Jeremias, Parables, 31; Laufen, Doppelüberlieferungen, 180. Cf. too Crossan’s rhetorical question ‘Why begin with a mustard seed if one intends to end with a tree rather than a bush?’ (‘Seed Parables’, 255); also R. J. Bauckham, ‘The Parable of the Vine. Rediscovering a Lost Parable of Jesus’, NTS 33 (1987) 84–101, on p. 94, who argues for the greater originality of GThom. here because it is more true to life. 72 Cf. my Reading the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1987), 108–109. 73 The extraordinary features of the parable are stressed by R. W. Funk, ‘The Looking Glass Tree is for the Birds’, Int 27 (1973) 3–9; see too my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 84, with further references. Even Bauckham concedes that there is ‘a suggestion of the eschatological world-tree in the original parable’. If so, such a suggestion should alert us to a possibly rather violent use of imagery. 74 See Dial. Sav. (CG III.5) 144.6–7; Exc. Theod. 1.3, and my Nag Hammadi, 160. 75 Ménard, Évangile, 109; Lindemann, ‘Gleichnisinterpretation’, 225. 76 Haenchen, Botschaft, 46; Schrage, Verhältnis, 65.

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probably reflects the high evaluation of the true Gnostic who receives the saving Gnosis.77 Whether GThom.’s version of the parable is dependent on the versions in Matthew and Luke is harder to say. It might be that GThom.’s reference to the size of the seed came to him via Matthew rather than Mark, although it is striking that many other features which are peculiar to Mark also reappear in GThom. (the branch(es), the falling on the ‘earth’, and the ‘shelter’ for the birds). It is sometimes claimed that GThom.’s reference to the Kingdom as the ‘Kingdom of heaven’ here betrays the influence of Matt 13.31 since GThom. uses the phrase only twice elsewhere (log. 54, 114).78 This, however, seems rather doubtful. It is well-known that GThom. has an aversion to using the word ‘God’ for the ultimate deity: the word may have been understood by him as a reference to the Demiurge.79 Further, the fact that GThom. does have ‘Kingdom of heaven’ twice elsewhere (one occurrence being at what is arguably the climax of the whole work, i.e. at the very end) may show that GThom. was quite happy with the phrase.80 Hence one can just as easily ascribe its presence here to GThom.’s own rewriting of a more original ‘Kingdom of God’. Other links with Matthew are hard to find.81 The introduction to the parable – formulated in GThom. as a simple request to Jesus by the disciples, rather than as a double question by Jesus as in Mark – is quite close to the Lukan version.82 Yet it would probably be dangerous to place too much weight on this. Assimilation to the text of the gospels may well have taken place here, and in any case Luke’s form of the question is not easily seen as LukeR.83 In fact the question of the dis77

Schrage, Verhältnis, 66. Schrage, Verhältnis, 62; Ménard, Évangile, 109; Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 186–187. 79 Cf. GThom. 100, where ‘God’ seems to be clearly inferior to Jesus. 80 Sieber, Analysis, 171–172, rightly says that the phrase in GThom. proves nothing. 81 Schrage, Verhältnis, 63, sees Matthean influence in the omission of IJ૵Ȟ ਥʌ੿ IJોȢ ȖોȢ and in the # for Mark’s țĮ੿ ੖IJĮȞ. In both cases GThom. agrees with Mark sah, but since both are due to Matthean influence, this is indirect evidence for GThom.’s dependence on Matthew. This argument is scarcely convincing. The fact that GThom. agrees with Mark sah cannot be used to justify dependence on Matthew. In any case the omission of IJ૵Ȟ ਥʌ੿ IJોȢ ȖોȢ is easily explained as independent abbreviation, and one cannot place any weight at all on a difference between țĮȓ and įȑ (cf. above, and see Plumley, ‘Limitations’, 149). Schrage also claims (Verhältnis, 64) that only in some witnesses of Matthew (including the sahidic) and in GThom. is a ‘big tree’ mentioned. Again this is unconvincing. Matthew sah does have  as does Luke sah, corresponding precisely to the Greek įȑȞįȡȠȞ, and it is just this which GThom. does not have: GThom. has a ‘branch’ (#!). 82 Schrage, Verhältnis, 62 refers to the use of ##% twice in GThom., 3 times in Luke sah (corresponding precisely to the Greek (IJȓȞȚ ੒ȝȠȓĮ … IJȓȞȚ ੒ȝȠȚȫıȦ … ੒ȝȠȓĮ ਥıIJȓȞ). 83 See my Revival, 84. 78

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ciples in GThom. is scarcely different from the first of Mark’s two questions, so that there is no need to look outside Mark to explain the text of GThom. here. The result of this analysis is that the text of GThom. 20 seems to presuppose the Markan text of the parable of the mustard seed. Further, GThom. shows knowledge of elements which may be redactional in Mark and hence presupposes Mark’s finished Gospel. 42

5. GThom. 9 The parable of the sower in GThom. and the synoptics was the subject of the detailed analysis of J. Horman (n. 17 above), and some of the results of his work can be used here. Horman shows very clearly that, for the most part, the Coptic version of GThom. agrees very closely with the Coptic versions of the synoptics, and indeed that these follow very closely the Greek versions of the gospels. Hence the supposed Greek version underlying GThom. must have been very closely related to the Greek versions of the synoptics.84 However, at one point GThom. seems to depart dramatically from the text of the synoptics. This is the part of the story dealing with the seed which fell upon the rock (Mark 4.5–6/Luke 8.6). Mark’s version is very long and cumbersome; Matthew repeats Mark almost verbatim, while Luke abbreviates Mark quite considerably here. GThom. too is much shorter than Mark, though Horman shows clearly that GThom.’s abbreviated version is not related to the short Lukan version.85 Luke’s version is basically just a rewriting of Mark, cutting out much of Mark’s redundancy and replacing ਥȟĮȞȑIJİȚȜİȞ by ijȣȑȞ and ૧ȓȗĮȞ by ੁțȝȐįĮ. GThom.’s version is 84 Hence the theory of an independent Aramaic tradition here would be excluded. The latter theory has been advocated by Quispel, and the parable provides perhaps his most famous example of variant translations of an Aramaic original: the sower ‘throws’ his seed ‘on’ () the road, rather than ‘by’ (ʌĮȡȐ) the road as in the synoptics, the two prepositions being translation variants of an Aramaic O>. The stock answer to Quispel has been that the Greek ʌĮȡȐ can mean both ‘by’ and ‘on’ (Haenchen, ‘Literatur’, 167 and Botschaft, 45; repeated by Schrage, Verhältnis, 45; Ménard, Évangile, 92). Horman, ‘Source’, 336, points out how weak the evidence for this is, though he agrees that the theory of an Aramaic original is unnecessary: the synoptic ʌĮȡȐ could be seen as difficult and in need of ‘correction’. Quispel’s other arguments here, e. g. appealing to an alleged parallel in 1 Clem. 24, is also unconvincing. Haenchen points out that the version in 1 Clem. is not that close. The agreement between GThom. and other witnesses may only show that the text form known to GThom. was widespread – but this does not show the existence of an independent version of the parable. Cf. Haenchen’s comment cited in n. 23 above. 85 ‘Source’, 339–340.

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quite different: the seeds on the rock ‘did not send down root into the earth, nor did they send up ears to heaven’.86 Horman seeks to explain the texts by appealing to Crossan’s work on the parable. Crossan argues that the strangely overloaded Markan version is due to Mark’s adding extra material to a shorter original. In particular, Mark added the extra references in vv. 5b, 6b, thereby changing the image slightly from a seed which does not survive the first morning’s heat to a seed which grows for a while but then withers. The purpose of this Markan insertion is to align the parable more closely with the interpretation which follows (cf. especially įȚ੹ IJઁ ȝ੽ ਩ȤİȚȞ ૧ȓȗĮȞ [v. 6b] with Ƞ੝ț ਩ȤȠȣıȚȞ ૧ȓȗĮȞ [Ȟ. 17]).87 The Markan nature of the extra phrase is also indicated by the fact that the double įȚ੹ IJઁ ȝ੽ ਩ȤİȚȞ phrase provides a very good example of duality, a feature which is thoroughly characteristic of Mark’s style.88 Horman appeals to Crossan’s work, claiming that GThom. deviates from the synoptic account at just the point where MarkR is evident. Hence GThom. must be independent of the synoptics.89 It is however unfortunate that Horman did not carry on with the detailed comparison of the relevant texts in the way that characterised his argument up to this point in his article. For GThom.’s agreement with the synoptics does not cease completely after the note that some seed fell upon the rock. The next phrase in GThom. says that ‘they did not send down root in the earth’. The first part of this shows a striking agreement in Coptic between GThom. and Mark sah (GThom. $$, Mark $$).90 Whether one can make much of this verbal agreement is uncertain, since one must allow for the possibility of scribal/translational assimilation to the Gospel text.91 Nevertheless, Crossan’s argument is that the whole reference to the ‘root’ in Mark 4.6 is MarkR, assimilating the parable to the interpretation. It then becomes highly significant that GThom. does betray a link with this element of MarkR in the parable by mentioning the root. Thus, far from deviating from the text of Mark where Mark intervenes, GThom. seems to pick up (presumably by chance) precisely Mark’s redactional element.

86

Giving a slightly more literal translation than that of the editio princeps. ‘Seed Parables’, 245–247. 88 Cf. Neirynck, Duality, 77, 102. For v. 6b as MarkR, see too Lambrecht, ‘Redaction’, 299. 89 Cf. too Lindemann, ‘Gleichnisinterpretation’, 223, who argues that there was another version of the parable known to GThom. on the basis of the ‘filling’ of the hand and the ‘worm’. But these may be secondary changes: see below. 90 Noted by Schrage, Verhältnis, 45. 91 Cf. above. But would one expect assimilation to the text of Mark? Assimilation to Matthew would not be unexpected, but Matthew sah is different ($). 87

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Since Mark’s version is very close to Matthew here, it is impossible to say whether the tradition has come to GThom. from Mark or Matthew. (However, the close agreement between GThom. and Mark sah, noted above, suggests that someone at some stage was aware of the parallel between GThom. and Mark.) GThom.’s version could just as well be dependent on the Markan version as mediated through Matthew (and perhaps several other intermediary stages too!). The situation is not analogous to that of the parable of the mustard seed where GThom. shows affinities with Mark’s Gospel alone. Still GThom. does have verbal agreement with elements in the synoptic tradition which owe their presence in the tradition to MarkR. Other features of GThom.’s parable can be explained as a result of a gnosticising redaction.92 The sower ‘filling his hand’ may be either ‘an attempt to indicate the fulness or completeness of the sowing (of seeds or spirits)’, or an oblique reference to the Gnostic concept of fulness.93 The seed on the rock which ‘sent no ear up to heaven’ ‘seems surely to reflect the doctrine of the heavenward ascent of the good seed, the true Gnostic’.94 The ‘worm’ which eats the seed among the thorns may be the worm of Gehenna, or perhaps more convincingly, the corrupting influence of the world.95 The ‘good earth’ is probably the inner soul of the Gnostic,96 and as in the parable of the mustard seed, it is the earth, not the seed, which produces the fruit.97 There is thus nothing in GThom. which cannot easily be explained as due to a gnosticising redaction of the synoptic parable. The above analysis has shown that there are a number of places where GThom. shows agreement with elements which are probably redactional in the synoptic gospels. Moreover, GThom. shows links with material that is due to the redactional activity of all three synoptic evangelists. It would be tempting to deduce from this that GThom. is dependent on the synoptics in toto. Such a conclusion would of course be premature. The possibility of secondary scribal assimilation can never be eliminated so that an element of uncertainty must inevitably remain. Further, the existence of a parallel between GThom. and a redactional element in the synoptics can only show possible dependence of GThom. on the synoptics at that point. It cannot show that all the synoptic-type logia in GThom. are due to dependence on the synoptics. As Wilson has noted on several occasions, we may have to 92

Pace Horman, ‘Source’, 343. Grant & Freedman, Secret Sayings, 122, for the first possibility, Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 185, for the second. 94 Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 185. 95 Grant & Freedman, Secret Sayings, 122, for the first, Blomberg, ‘Tradition’, 186 for the second. 96 Haenchen, Botschaft, 45. 97 Ménard, Évangile, 93; Lindemann, ‘Gleichnisinterpretation’, 223. 93

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reckon with a growth in GThom.: some logia may be due to dependence on the synoptics, others may represent independent lines of tradition.98 Each logion must be tested on its own merits. On the other hand, one should remember that GThom. was not written for the amusement of 20th-century critical scholarship. GThom. was written for use by a Christian group (one presumes) and hence the author was almost certainly blissfully unaware when he was echoing redactional material in our synoptic gospels, and when he was echoing traditional material. Further, one should not make too hasty assumptions about the form in which synoptic tradition was known to Thomas: e.g., it may have been known in the form of a single harmonised text rather than as three separate gospels.99 (This is also relevant in discussing the order of GThom. and whether Thomas knows the synoptic order: GThom. could easily be ‘postsynoptic’, but dependent on a source which is also post-synoptic in the sense of presupposing the present synoptic gospels.) But it is almost inevitable that, if GThom. is dependent on our gospels (at however many stages removed) for its synoptic-type material, not every saying will conveniently contain a parallel to a redactional element in the synoptic gospels. It is far more likely that sometimes GThom. will parallel only traditional elements. This being so, the problem of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptics is probably ultimately insoluble. GThom. may be dependent on the synoptics on every occasion where there is a parallel; but the nature of the evidence means that this can probably never be clearly proved today. Nevertheless, the fact that GThom. sometimes shows parallels with redactional material in the synoptics indicates that there is a measure of dependence between our version(s) of GThom. and our synoptic gospels. At the very least, that should prevent us from making any sweeping generalisations about GThom.’s independence and from making further deductions based on such a theory. 43

98 Wilson, Studies, 51–52, 92, also his critique of Schrage, VC 20 (1966) 120, also Robinson, ‘On Bridging the Gulf’, who pleads for general independence of GThom. with the possibility of later scribal assimilation in some parts. See too Dehandschutter, ‘Tradition prélucanienne’, 289, and his discussion of McArthur’s work. 99 Here surely lies the value of the evidence collected by Quispel, showing how GThom. has links with harmonised texts, many of which stem from a Syriac milieu: see Chilton, ‘Gospel according to Thomas’, 160.

44

XIX Q and Thomas – Evidence of a Primitive ‘Wisdom Gospel’? A Response to H. Koester In his recent book Ancient Christian Gospels (London & Philadelphia, 1990), H. Koester draws together materials from a large number of his earlier studies on various aspects of early Christian literature. Much space is given to discussions of both Q and the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.), and in particular some considerable attention is devoted to the question of the relationship between them (pp. 86–99).1 It is on this specific issue that this present essay is focused. Koester’s name is well-known for his advocacy of the view that Q and GThom. are related in some way or other. Building upon the work of J. M. Robinson concerning the possible genre of Q,2 Koester suggested in the 1960s that Q and GThom. are both based upon a ‘wisdom gospel’ with perhaps Q and GThom. representing its Western and Eastern developments respectively. 3 During the course of his argument he also claimed that some parts of Q represented secondary additions to this formative wisdom gospel: in particular, the apocalyptic sayings, especially the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings, which are absent from GThom. and are foreign to the genre of a ‘wisdom gospel’, must be secondary accretions in the growth of Q. Since Koester first published his suggestions, several developments of Q studies have taken place. There has, for example, been a noticeable trend 1

Page references in the text are to Koester’s book unless otherwise stated. For a detailed discussion of other aspects of Koester’s book, especially in relation to the Gospel of Mark, see F. Neirynck, ‘The Minor Agreements and Proto-Mark. A Response to H. Koester’, ETL 67 (1991) 82–94, repr. in his Evangelica II (BETL 99; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991), 59–73. 2 J. M. Robinson, ‘LOGOI SOPHON. On the Gattung of Q’, in idem & H. Koester, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 71–113 (German original, 1964). 3 See his essays ‘Gnomai Diaphorai. The Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity, HTR 58 (1965) 279–317, and ‘One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels’, HTR 61 (1968) 203–247; both were reprinted in Trajectories, 114– 157, 158–204. Page references are to the reprinted version. See especially Trajectories, 136.

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in recent years to postulate a history in the development of Q, thinking of Q-tradition + Q-redaction, or of Q1 + Q2 + Q3, or of even more complex models. In some respects, Koester’s earlier suggestions acted as a catalyst for this more recent aspect of Q study, and certainly one of the most recent full-length studies of Q represents an attempt to give some detailed justification for Koester’s general theories about the growth of Q itself.4 In his most recent book, Koester again returns to the subject of Q and its relationship with GThom. The same topic is also the object of discussion in part of Koester’s contribution to the Festschrift for J. M. Robinson, also published in 1990.5 In many respects his basic theory has remained unchanged. However, in a number of smaller ways, Koester has modified his position and hence, in the light of the significance which his work has had, it may be worthwhile to examine this recent work in more detail. Further, given the more detailed treatment devoted to the topic in his new book as compared with the earlier article, I shall focus attention here primarily on the longer discussion in the former. In his earlier work, Koester relied on the (possibly rather blunt) single criterion of ‘apocalyptic’ sayings being secondary in Q. His argument here has not escaped criticism.6 But in his recent book, the approach is slightly different: he now relies heavily on the work of those whose contributions appeared after his essays of the 1960s and who have argued for the existence of different layers in Q. Koester bases himself almost exclusively on the works of D. Lührmann and J. S. Kloppenborg as having ‘demonstrated’ that Q was composed in at least two stages (p. 87).7 In particular he claims that both Lührmann and Kloppenborg have shown that the idea of Jesus as the future Son of Man does not belong to the oldest layer within Q but only to a secondary editing of the earlier wisdom-type material.8 4 I refer to J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). A key part of Kloppenborg’s theory about the growth of Q is that at a formative stage in the development of Q, Q had the form of a ‘wisdom instruction’. Kloppenborg is at times critical of Koester (cf. n. 6 below), but nevertheless his conclusions about Q serve to buttress Koester’s overall theory. 5 See his ‘Q and Its Relatives’, in J. E. Goehring, C. W. Hedrick, J. T. Sanders, H. D. Betz (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings. In Honour of James M. Robinson (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 49–63, esp. pp. 55–63. 6 Cf. for example the remarks of Kloppenborg, Formation, 38–39, on Koester’s methodology: he points out that Koester’s approach is somewhat question-begging in that GThom. itself acts for Koester as the prime example of the genre ‘wisdom gospel’ by which Q can then be judged. 7 D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969); Kloppenborg, Formation. 8 In fact it is rather doubtful whether Lührmann can be claimed in support of this view. Kloppenborg’s general theory is indeed not far from Koester’s in that Kloppenborg does separate Q into an earlier sapiential Q1, later edited and expanded by a more escha-

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Koester proceeds by claiming that there are 46 parallels between Q and GThom., ‘but the typical apocalyptic perspective of the later redaction of Q does not appear in any of these sayings’ (p. 87).9 Further, ‘in a number of instances Thomas has clearly preserved a more original form of the saying’ (p. 89), a claim which Koester seeks to substantiate with a large number of examples and analyses.10 Further support for this general thesis is found in the comparison of the parables which appear in Q and GThom. (pp. 96– 99). Thus Koester concludes that Q and GThom. are linked at a very early stage in the development of the tradition: GThom. is dependent either on the earlier, pre-redactional stage of Q itself, or (more probably) on one or more early collections of sayings which fed into Q (p. 95, cf. too p. 150). Koester’s evidence is impressive in its scope. However, when examined critically, it becomes rather more fragile. Occasionally the alleged parallel between Q and GThom. seems rather forced. For example, GThom. 6 (‘Do not do what you hate’) is said to be parallel to the Golden Rule of Q 6.31.11 Koester himself concedes (p. 89 n. 2) that this parallel can only be maintained by expanding the Thomas text to read ‘Do not do (to others) what you hate (to be done to you)’. However, this is scarcely the most natural reading of the text of GThom. and it seems better to take GThom. 6 as displaying no parallel at all to Q 6.31. Some of the other parallels between GThom. and ‘Q’ claimed by Koester turn out to be not clearly part of ‘Q’. At least two of the examples listed by Koester (GThom. 20/Q 13.18–19; GThom. 44/Q 12.10) concern texts where there is a Markan parallel as well (Mark 4.30–32/Q 13.18–19; Mark 3.28– 29/Q 12.10), and in both cases GThom. seems to be closer to the Markan

tologically oriented Q2 stage, and that most of the Son of Man sayings come in at the later Q2 stage. Lührmann also divides Q into a Q1 and a Q2 (or perhaps better simply a Qtradition and a Q-redaction). Q’s redaction is dominated by polemic against ‘this generation’. But Lührmann does not suggest that the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings all enter Q only at this redactional stage. In fact Lührmann himself claims that the identification of Jesus with the Son of Man had already taken place in Q’s tradition and hence Son of Man ideas were rather peripheral for Q’s redaction. See Redaktion, 40–41, 85–86 (as indeed was recognised by Koester himself in the 1971 reprint of his ‘One Jesus’ article: see Trajectories, 171). 9 In ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 55, Koester is slightly more cautious about the number of parallels, saying that the number is 36, but possibly might be increased to 45 if some Sondergut passages are assigned to Q. Cf. below. 10 In ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 60, Koester is even stronger in his claims about the greater originality of GThom.: ‘It can be said with confidence that the Q parallels in the Gospel of Thomas always represent, or derive from, more original forms of those sayings.’ 11 All quotations from Q are also from the Lukan version, without necessarily making any assumptions about the precise original (Q) wording in any one instance. The quotations from GThom. are all as given by Koester except where stated.

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version than the Q version.12 Hence these examples may tell us more about a possible relationship between GThom. and the Markan tradition than about any relationship involving Q’s trajectory. More significant are a not inconsiderable number of cases where GThom. displays an alleged parallel with a saying which appears in Matthew or Luke alone. Thus in his list of 46 parallels between GThom. and ‘Q’, Koester lists the parallels in GThom. to Matt 5.8, 10; Luke 11.27–28; 12.13–14; 12.16–21; 12.35; 12.49; 17.20–21. In some cases Koester claims that the saying may have been part of Q and that one of the later evangelists omitted the saying from Q. However, Koester often gives little independent justification for this. In the case of Luke 12.13–14 and 12.16– 21, he claims that ‘in style and wording’ the sections are closely related to the following Q section in Luke 12.22–46 (p. 88).13 Over the question of Luke 12.35, or 12.35–38, Koester seems more ambivalent and gives different views in different places about whether some or all of these verses should be regarded as part of Q.14 In the case of other parallels between Sondergut material and GThom., Koester argues rather differently, suggesting that the very existence of the parallel in GThom. indicates that the saying in question formed part of Q. Thus on Luke 17.20–21, Koester says: ‘Luke 17:20–21 is not included in Q by most scholars … But the occurrence of the close parallel in Gos. Thom. 113 (see also Gos. Thom. 3) should prompt a reconsideration of this question’ (p. 89 n. 1). Later this ‘criterion’ becomes even more explicit: ‘That a saying attested only once

12 For the parable of the mustard seed, see my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume), on pp. 149–153 (above, pp. 374–379). For Q 12.10, see below. On the relationship between Mark and GThom., cf. too F. Neirynck, ‘The Apocryphal Gospels and the Gospel of Mark’, in J.-M. Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament in Early Christianity (BETL 86; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1989), 123–175, esp. pp. 133–140, repr. in his Evangelica II (n. 1 above), 715–772, on pp. 725–732, together with additional notes on more recent literature (including Koester) on pp. 768–769. 13 Koester refers to Kloppenborg, Formation, 215 (sic: = 216?). Kloppenborg supports this view, arguing for the coherence of 12.13–14 with Q 9.57–62, and of 12.16–21 with Q 12.33–34 + 16.13. Any coherence with Q 12.22–46 would however damage Koester’s case that links between Q and GThom. relate to early material in Q: much of Q 12.22–46, especially Q 12.42–46, may be part of the later Q stratum, as Koester himself claims (p. 97). 14 On p. 88 Koester lists ‘?Q 12:35’ as parallel to GThom. 21c. On p. 91 the material in Luke 12.36–38 is said to be ‘a secondary Lukan composition without a parallel in Matthew’. On p. 96 the parable of 12.35–38 is listed among the parables of Q but without a parallel in GThom., and on p. 97 is said, if indeed part of Q, to be clearly Q-redactional. On p. 146 n. 2, a Q origin for 12.35–38 seems however to be dismissed.

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in the parallel tradition may have been present in Q can be confirmed in numerous instances by a parallel in the Gospel of Thomas’ (p. 134).15 The argument here is in danger of becoming perilously circular. Koester is attempting to show that GThom. has strong links with Q material; and yet in cases where it is uncertain whether the synoptic material is in fact part of Q, the issue is apparently decided by reference to the theory that is to be established by the result. Now it may be that in some instances a strong case can be made, independently of the parallel in GThom., for regarding a saying of Matthean or Lukan Sondergut as part of Q.16 But methodologically, independent justification for such a theory should precede the use of such a ‘result’ before making subsequent claims about the relationship between so-called ‘Q’ and GThom. Koester’s claims in his new book certainly go beyond his earlier claims where he appeared less concerned to make the parallels between ‘Q’ and GThom. quite so extensive.17 Thus when Koester claims at the end of his new study on the relationship between Q and GThom., ‘it is remarkable that there are no Thomas parallels to any of the materials which Luke drew from his special source’ (p. 95), such a claim reflects in part his methodology: all the L parallels to GThom. have been quietly transferred to Q, as often as not simply on the grounds that GThom. contains a parallel. In relation to Matthew, Koester accepts that there are a few parallels between GThom. and material peculiar to Matthew (cf. pp. 103–107), though ‘some of these may have been Q materials’ (p. 107). Of these only Matt 5.8, 10 is listed explicitly among the parallels between ‘Q’ and GThom.18 It is however rather doubtful if this parallel is apt in this context. GThom. 69a (the parallel cited by Koester) reads ‘Blessed are those who have been persecuted in their hearts’. This is rather far from the blessing on the ‘pure in heart’ of Matt 5.8. It is perhaps closer to Matt 5.10’s blessing on those ‘persecuted for the sake of righteousness’. But there is almost 15 Cf. too p. 150. In his discussion of Q itself, this criterion is used not infrequently to ascribe sayings in Matthew or Luke alone to Q: cf. for example p. 137 on Matt 5.10; 15.13, p. 140 on Matt 10.16b, p. 143 on Luke 11.27–28 etc. and see the discussion below. Methodologically similar is Koester’s argument in an appendix to ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 62–63, where he claims that the text of GThom. can be used to reconstruct the Q version in cases where Matthew and Luke disagree: the version which agrees with GThom. can, precisely because of the agreement, be taken as representing the more original Q version. 16 For example, a large number of Sondergut passages are assigned to Q in the work of H. Schürmann: see the survey in F. Neirynck, ‘Recent Developments in the Study of Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 29–75, on pp. 38–39, repr. in his Evangelica II (n. 1 above), 409–464, on pp. 418–419. 17 Cf. Trajectories, 170, where Luke 11.27–28 and 17.20–21 are not pressed into Q. 18 Though cf. n. 15 above: other M or L traditions are often later ascribed to Q precisely because of the existence of a parallel in GThom.

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unanimous agreement that Matt 5.10 is due to MattR: the reference to ‘righteousness’ here, and the close links with Matt 5.3, 11, have suggested to most commentators that this beatitude is a redactional creation by the evangelist.19 Thus, if it is appropriate to regard GThom. 69a as parallel to Matt 5.10 this is far from showing a link between GThom. and Q, let alone an earlier form of Q or one of Q’s sources: rather it betrays a link between GThom. and MattR which indicates dependence of GThom. on Matthew’s finished Gospel. It is this theory of the dependence of GThom. on the redactional activity of the synoptic evangelists and hence on the finished synoptic gospels that Koester seeks so strenuously to counter. In particular this is the thrust of his detailed analyses and arguments that ‘in a number of instances Thomas has clearly preserved a more original form of the saying’ (p. 89). Koester seeks to justify this assertion by considering a limited number of the parallels between ‘Q’ and GThom. which he adduces. However, one presumes that he regards the examples selected for discussion as providing the strongest indications of his theory. I turn therefore to a consideration of some of the examples he cites and his accompanying argumentation.

1. GThom. 68/Q 6.22 GThom. 68 Blessed are you when you are hated and persecuted, and no place will be found, wherever you have been persecuted.

Q 6.22 Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you and reproach you and cast out your name as evil on account of the Son of Man.

Koester claims that the phrase ‘and cast out your name as evil on account of the Son of Man’ is ‘certainly Lukan’, being missing in the parallel in Matt 5.11. Further, the reference to ‘persecution’ has disappeared in Luke’s redaction of the beatitude preserved in Matt 5.11 (p. 87). It is however very doubtful if these arguments can sustain the view that GThom. represents a more original form of the beatitude. The origin of the reference in Luke to ‘casting out your name as evil’ is disputed,20 but it seems likely that Matthew’s ‘speak all manner of evil against you’ is a 19 R. A. Guelich, The Sermon on the Mount (Waco, Tex.: Word, 1982), 93; G. Strecker, Die Bergpredigt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 44; U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7) (EKKNT I/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985), 200; W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 459, and many others. 20 See my ‘The Beatitudes. A Source-Critical Study’, NovT 25 (1983) 193–207, on p. 202.

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substantive parallel to the Lukan phrase. Hence some such phrase must have stood in Q. Thus GThom. lacks not just an element of possible LukeR but of the Q version itself. The same applies to the phrase ‘for the sake of the Son of Man’. Again Matthew has a parallel in the phrase ‘for the sake of me’. As before there is debate as to which is more original (though majority opinion would probably opt for a reference to ‘Son of Man’ here being already present in Q).21 However, GThom.’s lack of any parallel again shows a failure to parallel Q, not just LukeR. There is moreover little evidence that these phrases belong to a later stage of the editing of Q. It is widely agreed that a Q-editor may have glossed this beatitude by adding the final reference to the persecution of the prophets in Q 6.23c, thereby introducing the theme of the violence suffered by the prophets, a theme characteristic of the later Q-redaction (or Q2).22 However, it cannot easily be shown that the reference to ‘evil’, or the ਪȞİțİȞ phrase, are secondary. 23 Thus there is little to indicate that GThom. shows links with an earlier, pre-Q version of the beatitude. All that can be said with confidence is that GThom. is considerably shorter. However, the question of the stage in the synoptic trajectory with which GThom. is connected with can perhaps be answered by reference to Koester’s other observation about the presence of ‘persecution’ language in the GThom. version. These references to being ‘persecuted’ in GThom. 68 and Matt 5.11, but not in Luke 6.22, may in fact tell against Koester’s overall case rather than for it, for įȚȫțȦ in Matt 5.11 may well be due to MattR. Matthew is fond of the verb24 and he may well have replaced Q’s ‘hate you’ with this reference to ‘persecution’. Koester’s claim that the verb disappears because of LukeR is hard to substantiate. Luke’s parallel at this point speaks of ‘hating’ and ‘separating’; but neither ȝȚıȑȦ nor ਕijȠȡȓȗȦ is easy to ascribe to LukeR and there is no clear reason why Luke should have avoided the use of įȚȫțȦ if it were in his source.25 Hence GThom.’s ‘Blessed are you 21 Cf. Lührmann, Redaktion, 55; S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 453; Luz, Matthäus, 1.202; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.462 and many others. 22 Cf. O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967), 258–259; Kloppenborg, Formation, 173; M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988), 258. 23 Kloppenborg has also recently argued that the ਪȞİțİȞ phrase may be secondary: see his ‘Blessing and Marginality. The Persecution Beatitude in Q, Thomas and Early Christianity’, Foundations and Facets Forum 2 (1986) 36–56, on pp. 45–46, appealing to C. Colpe, TWNT 8.406 n. 308. However, the phrase seems to be essential to make clear that those being persecuted are Christians: cf. Sato, Q und Prophetie, 258. 24 He uses it 7 times, and the usages in Matt 5.10, 44 are probably redactional: cf. Schulz, Q, 452–453, and others mentioned there in n. 371; also my ‘Beatitudes’, 203; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.461. 25 See my ‘Beatitudes’, 203.

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when you are hated and persecuted’ may well show a link with MattR. Far from showing a more original form of the saying, GThom. may betray a link with one of the latest forms of the beatitude, at least in its synoptic trajectory.

2. GThom. 95/Q 6.34 GThom. 95 If you have money, do not lend it at interest, but give [it] to one from whom you will not get it back.

Q 6.34 If you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to receive as much again.

Koester claims that the ending to Luke 6.34 (the ‘sinners’ clause) is a secondary addition and that GThom. is closer to Matt 5.42 which is nearer to the original form of the saying (p. 90). The situation here is complex and by no means clear-cut. Luke 6.34 may well be a redactional development of the saying preserved in Matt 5.42, although Matt 5.42 has a Lukan parallel in Luke 6.30 so perhaps one should label the possible parallel in Q as ‘Q 6.30’ rather than ‘Q 6.34’.26 Further, Koester is probably right to claim that Matt 5.42 represents a more original form of the saying. However, GThom. 95 does appear to be rather closer to Luke 6.34 than to either Matt 5.42 or Luke 6.30. It is only in Luke 6.34 that the idea is explicitly mentioned of some kind of return of a loan or gift. Matt 5.42 simply exhorts the listeners not to refuse someone who wishes to borrow; Luke 6.30 is confused, probably due to Luke’s conflation of the idea of a robbery (from the previous verse) with that of a loan.27 Luke 6.34 however spells out explicitly that ‘loans’ are to be given to those from whom one does not expect repayment: in other words, ‘loans’ are to be really free gifts. In Luke this is all part of a Lukan critique of a reciprocity ethic, as Van Unnik has shown.28 And it is precisely the explicit reference to refusing to expect recompense that appears in GThom. here (‘give to one from whom you will not get it back’). Further, GThom. does have a reference to ‘interest’. It is at least possible that the reference to receiving in Luke 6.34 is also to the idea of receiving interest on a 26

As indeed Koester himself does in ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 57. See my ‘Synoptic Tradition in the Didache’, in Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament in Early Christianity (n. 12 above), 197–230, on pp. 228–229, with further bibliographical details. 28 W. C. Van Unnik, ‘Die Motivierung der Feindesliebe in Lukas VI 32–35’, NovT 8 (1966) 284–300, repr. in his Sparsa Collecta. Part One (NovTSup 29; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 111–126. 27

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loan.29 Thus GThom.’s version seems to show links with Luke’s own redactional development of the saying, not with the more original form.

3. GThom. 47/Q 16.13 GThom. 47 It is impossible for a man to mount two horses or stretch two bows. And it is impossible for a servant to serve two masters; otherwise he will honour the one and treat the other contemptuously.

Q 16.13

No servant can serve two masters for either he will hate the one and love the other or he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.

Koester’s third example is probably more ambiguous here. He claims that the version in GThom. is more original in not having the unnecessary duplication of ‘hate the one and love the other’ and in not having the (secondary) application of the saying to God and mammon, a phrase which Thomas would surely have included had he known it.30 The latter point may have some force. The first point is more debatable: is the extra phrase in the synoptic version an ‘unnecessary duplication’, or an example of (original?) Semitic parallelism?31 In any case, the extra phrases which are not in GThom. are in both Matthew and Luke and hence in Q. GThom. is thus according to Koester to be linked with a pre-Q version rather than with Q. This would of course be quite consistent with Koester’s overall theory. However, there is little evidence that these extra phrases in Q are to be connected with the apocalyptic Son of Man sayings or the judgment theme usually associated with the Q-redaction (or Q2). Kloppenborg in fact links the saying (with its critique of wealth in the mammon phrase) firmly with the radicalized wisdom of his earlier Q1 stage.32 There is thus little justification for the implied development of the saying within the Q tradition apart from the evidence of GThom. itself. The argument is thus in danger of becoming circular.

29 Cf. the survey of opinion in G. Stählin, TWNT 3.345; also F. Bovon, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (EKKNT III/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1989), 317–318. 30 Page 90, appealing to R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 87. 31 Cf. J. Jeremias, New Testament Theology (London: SCM, 1971), 15. 32 Cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 235, 320.

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4. GThom. 89/Q 11.39–40 GThom. 89

Q 11.39–40

Why do you wash the outside of the cup?

Do you not realise that he who made the inside is the same one who made the outside?

Now you Pharisees cleanse the outside of the cup and the dish, but inside you are full of extortion and wickedness. You fools! Did not he who made the outside make the inside also?

Koester observes that in GThom. the saying is not directed against the Pharisees and it is not polemical, such phrases as ‘you are full of extortion and wickedness’ and ‘you fools!’ being missing (p. 92). It is however by no means so clear that this implies that the version in GThom. is more original. It is just as likely that the saying lost its polemical thrust secondarily as the tradition left an earlier context of Jewish-Christian hostile debate and became part of intra-Christian instruction. One may also note that the saying is ascribed by Kloppenborg to the more polemical Q2 stage.33 Lührmann argues that the Q-redactional stage broadens out the earlier polemic against Jewish leaders so that the attack is directed against ‘this generation’, which he interprets as ‘all Israel’.34 Lührmann’s theory that the polemic here may represent a number of different phases and levels of hostility is also the view of Schürmann.35 However, nothing in these analyses supports the view that the polemical sayings represent secondary adaptations of originally unpolemical versions of the sayings concerned. Thus this example cannot give any firm support to Koester’s theory of a link between GThom. and pre-Q forms of the tradition.

5. GThom. 39/Q 11.52 GThom. 39

Q 11.52

The Pharisees and scribes have taken the keys of knowledge.

Woe to you lawyers (Luke)/scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! (Matthew) for you have taken away the keys of knowledge and hidden them.

You yourselves did not enter and you prevented those who were trying to enter.

They themselves have not entered nor have they allowed to enter those who wish to.

33

Formation, 139 ff. Redaktion, 24–48. 35 H. Schürmann, ‘Die Redekomposition wider “dieses Geschlecht” und seine Führung in der Redequelle (vgl. Mt 23,1–39 par Lk 11,37–54). Bestand – Akolouthie – Kompositionsformen’, SNTU 11 (1986) 33–81. 34

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Koester’s fifth example is less convincing: He claims that the mention of ‘scribes and Pharisees’ in both GThom. and Matthew (but not Luke) is likely to reflect Q usage, but that GThom. does not have the typically Matthean ‘hypocrites’ (p. 92). The question of whether ‘scribes and Pharisees’ is the Q wording or (as is usually taken) MattR is clearly debatable. The context of the saying in Q also, as with the previous example considered, raises some difficulty for Koester’s general theory that GThom. only parallels material in the earlier stage of Q: for this saying is again usually regarded as part of Q’s later, polemical stage.36 For the rest, Koester asserts that ‘Thomas preserves the original form of this saying’ (p. 92). Such a claim is however highly questionable. GThom. is clearly close to the Lukan version of the saying in having no object for the verb ‘to enter’ and in mentioning the keys of ‘knowledge’. Luke’s version here is however widely regarded as secondary: Luke’s bald reference to ‘entering’ seems to presuppose Matthew’s reference to the Kingdom, and the qualification of the keys (in Matthew the keys of the Kingdom) as ‘keys of knowledge’ looks very much like a secondary gloss introducing somewhat alien ideas into the saying.37 Thus it is Matthew’s version which probably preserves the Q version more accurately and GThom. 39 parallels the secondary Lukan version. Whether the Lukan version is LukeR is uncertain. The reference to ‘knowledge’ is not that common in Luke (cf. only Luke 1.77) so it may be that the saying developed in the pre-Lukan tradition before reaching Luke. Nevertheless the text can give little support to the theory of a link between GThom. and a pre-Q stage of the synoptic tradition.

36 Cf. n. 33 above. In ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 59, Koester claims that the woe form here ‘is not necessarily a structural part of the tradition of sayings about the Pharisees’, appealing in part to Kloppenborg, Formation, 144. It is true that the ‘woe’ phrase can be subtracted each time from the sayings, leaving a self-contained unit – in that sense it is not a ‘structural’ part of the saying. But whether any part of a saying that can be deleted grammatically should be so deleted is another matter. Koester’s appeal to Kloppenborg is also of doubtful value. Kloppenborg himself in claiming that ‘the woe-oracle form is a secondary construction of Q redaction’ (the sentence cited by Koester) is referring to the addition of the oracle in Q 11.49–51 to the woe of 11.47–48, not to the woe as such. 37 See Schulz, Q, 110 and others mentioned there; D. E. Garland, The Intention of Matthew 23 (NovTSup 52; Leiden: Brill, 1979), 125. In ‘Q and Its Relatives’, 62, this is one of the examples where Koester explicitly uses GThom. to reconstruct Q, arguing that the reference to knowledge must have been in Q because of the parallel in GThom. Cf. above for the circularity here.

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6. GThom. 44/Q 12.10 GThom. 44 Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven and whoever blasphemes against the Son will be forgiven and whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven either on earth or in heaven.

Q 12.10

And everyone who says a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven but the one who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven (Matthew: either in this age or the age to come).

One may again note that Kloppenborg assigns this saying too to the later Q2 stage with the saying acting as a secondary gloss (along with Q 12.8–9) to the earlier Q1 section in Q 12.2–7 + 12.11–12.38 Koester notes all the difficulties of the Q version of the saying which allows ‘speaking against the Son of Man’ as forgivable. He claims that the most original form of the saying spoke of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit uttered by a ‘son of man’ as being the unforgivable sin (p. 93). This is quite possible though it aligns the GThom. version more closely with the Markan form of the saying (Mark 3.28–29): hence GThom. seems more closely linked with the Markan trajectory than the Q tradition (though presumably underlying both Q and Mark must have been an earlier single saying). However, although GThom. (and Mark) may be more original in relation to the ‘Son of Man’ element, there are other aspects in which GThom. (and Mark) look to be secondary. GThom. may lack the reference to the Son of Man as such, but this version still has the equally difficult idea that blasphemy against the Father and the Son is forgivable whereas blasphemy against the Spirit is not. And GThom.’s trio of Father, Son and Holy Spirit looks to be very highly developed in its Christian trinitarian language – certainly more developed than Q’s (and Mark’s) simple two-fold contrast of blaspheming/speaking against the Holy Spirit and doing the same to the Son of Man/other people. Further, GThom. is notable in referring to ‘blasphemy’ here. This aligns GThom. again with the Markan form of the saying against the Q version which probably had ‘speaking against’ consistently.39 Moreover, the language of ‘blaspheming’ may well be secondary compared with the Q version.40 Thus far from being a primitive form, GThom. 44 seems to represent

38

Kloppenborg, Formation, 208–216. Schulz, Q, 246 and others mentioned there; B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man (London: SPCK, 1983), 35. 40 See H. E. Tödt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Überlieferung (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1959), 286: the word is frequent in Mark but not easily translatable into a Semitic equivalent. 39

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a more developed form of the saying. Once again there is little evidence for a link between GThom. and any pre-Q (or even any pre-Mark) stage of the tradition.

7. GThom. 10, 16/Q 12.49, 51–53 GThom. 10 I have cast fire upon the world, and see, I am guarding it until it blazes. GThom. 16 People think, perhaps, that it is peace which I have come to cast upon the world. They do not know that it is dissension which I have come to cast upon the earth: fire, sword and war. For there will be five in a house: three will be against two, and two against three, the father against the son and the son against the father.

Q 12.49 I came to cast fire upon the earth and would that it were already kindled. Q 12.51–53 Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.

For henceforth in a house there will be five divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided, father against son, and son against father, mother against her daughter, daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.

Koester appeals to these two sets of parallels as further proof of his theory although the analysis he gives may need rather more detail to be convincing. Luke 12.49 is not self-evidently Q material, there being no parallel in Matthew, though such a theory can be strongly argued on other grounds.41 Koester also points to the lack of parallel in GThom. to Luke 12.50 which he claims (as indeed would many) is LukeR. The remaining parallel between GThom. 16 and Q 12.51–53 I have examined in detail elsewhere.42 Koester claims that ‘instead of Luke’s “division” (vs. 51) Gos. Thom. 16 has “fire, sword, and war”, probably an expansion of the original reading of Q, “sword”, which is preserved in 41 On p. 147 Koester discusses the problem briefly: he claims that the verse has no Lukan features (but this does not distinguish between an origin in Q or in L!), that Matthew’s omission can be explained, and then says ‘see also the parallel in Gos. Thom. 10’. The only positive support for the theory that the verse belongs to Q appears to be the presence of the parallel in GThom. See however C.-P. März, ‘“Feuer auf die Erde zu werfen, bin ich gekommen …” Zum Verständnis und zur Entstehung von Lk 12,49’, in À cause de L’Évangile (FS J. Dupont; Paris: Cerf, 1985), 479–511. 42 See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 146 (see above, pp. 372–373).

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Matt 10:14 [sic, = 34?]’ (p. 94). However, GThom. too mentions ‘divisions’;43 Luke is widely regarded as secondary here,44 but either way GThom. shows links with both synoptic versions here. Hence whichever is more original and whichever is secondary, GThom. betrays a link with the secondary version as well as the more original. Moreover, the reference to the ‘three against two and two against three’ in Luke 12.52 is more likely to be a redactional expansion clarifying the explicit divisions mentioned (from Mic 7.6) than an original feature.45 GThom. gives a much abbreviated list of divisions, mentioning only sons and fathers but retaining the ‘three against two and two against three’. The Micah allusion is almost certainly original, but this appears to have been all but lost in the GThom. version. Thus again GThom. appears to represent a later version of the saying: rather than linking with a pre-Q version, it seems to presuppose LukeR.46

8. Parables in Q and the Gospel of Thomas In another section of his study (pp. 96–99), Koester discusses parables in Q and GThom. He claims that GThom. has no parallel to the parables of the later stages of Q’s growth, and that those parables shared by Q and GThom. all belong to the early composition of Q. This is however uncertain. GThom. does have a version of the parable of the great supper (GThom. 64/Q 14.16–24) which is assigned by Kloppenborg at least to the later polemical stage of Q.47 So too the parable of the thief (GThom. 21/Q 12.39–40) is assigned by Kloppenborg to his Q2.48 Other parallels may not be Q at all: for example, Luke 12.16–21 is listed here as a Q-GThom. parallel despite the lack of a parallel in Matthew (cf. above). With regard to the parables themselves, Koester again argues that the GThom. version is often more original. For example, he claims that the parable of the thief in GThom. is more original because it lacks the (secondary) Son of Man application in Q 12.40 and does not omit the purpose of the thief’s coming, i.e. to steal the owner’s goods. Hence Q may have

43 The same word is used in the Coptic text of GThom. and in Luke sah here. The use of ‘dissensions’ in the translation of GThom. and ‘divisions’ in Luke may be misleading. 44 See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 146 n. 49 (above, p. 372) for details. 45 Tuckett, ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 146 n. 49 (above, p. 372). 46 I leave aside here the remaining parallel, between GThom. 91 and Q 12.56, discussed by Koester. Apart from the text-critical problems of the Matthean parallel to Luke 12.56 in Matt 16.3 (raising doubts about whether the saying was indeed part of Q), the evidence seems to me to be not strong either way in the present discussion. 47 Kloppenborg, Formation, 229–230. 48 Kloppenborg, Formation, 148.

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abbreviated the story to add the later reference to the Son of Man (p. 98). Such a reconstruction of the tradition history of the parable is possible but by no means necessary. The very fact that it is a ‘thief’ who is breaking into a home inevitably implies the purpose of stealing without this having to be spelt out explicitly. GThom. may lack the interpretation of Q in terms of the coming of the Son of Man; but it has its own application of the parable: ‘Be on your guard against the world. Gird yourselves with great strength lest the robbers find a way to get to you’. This could just as well be a secondary, gnosticising application of the parable replacing the Christological claim in the (earlier?) Q version. GThom.’s version of the parable of the great supper (GThom. 64/Q 14.16–24) may also not support Koester’s case. Koester can refer to the fact that GThom. has no parallel to the clearly redactional elements in the synoptic versions, e.g. the burning of the city of the murderers (Matt 22.7) and the double mission of the servants (Luke 14.23). In these respects GThom. might be thought to represent a more original version of the parable. However, at another point GThom.’s version may be less original. This relates to the excuses made by the guests. Much discussion has been generated by these excuses and what precisely is in mind: in particular there is the question whether the guests are giving a final refusal or are simply asking for more time before they come to the meal. Linnemann has made a strong case for the view that the latter was in mind originally: the guests are simply asking for more time and say they will come along later.49 But then the third excuse in Luke is extremely odd. The guest who pleads his recent marriage is not asking for a little more time before coming, but is refusing to come at all. Hence this third excuse in Luke has sometimes raised critical suspicions of being a secondary, possibly Lukan, modification.50 The implied ascetic critique of marriage would tie up with other elements in the Lukan writings (cf. the references to ‘leaving all’ by disciples in the Gospel, and the addition of the ‘wife’ to the people left by the disciples in Luke 18.29 diff Mark 10.29).51 The point here is that in the version of the parable in GThom. 64, there is again a reference to marriage in one of the excuses. The excuse is not quite the same as in Luke (it is a friend’s wedding to which the guest has been invited), though the situation

49 E. Linnemann, Parables of Jesus. Introduction and Exposition (London: SPCK, 1966), 89. 50 For the excuse as secondary, cf. Linnemann, Parables of Jesus, 89; J. Dupont, ‘La parabole des invités au festin dans le ministère de Jésus’, in his Études dans les évangiles synoptiques (BETL 70B; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1985), 667–705, on p. 687. 51 Cf. L. Schottfroff & W. Stegemann, Jesus von Nazareth – Hoffnung der Armen (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1978), 110.

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presupposed implies, as in Luke, that the guest is refusing to come at all, rather than simply asking for more time. This may then indicate a further link between GThom. and LukeR, though the evidence is admittedly not very strong. * The conclusion of this survey is that Koester’s theory of a link between GThom. and a pre-Q stage of the synoptic tradition seems to be not proven. Despite Koester’s attempt to show a massive linkage between the two strata of the tradition, the evidence will not always bear the weight which is placed upon it. Not all the parallels are sufficiently close to count as parallels at all. Several of the parallels involve traditions which are not clearly Q (or are only assigned to Q on the basis of the theory for which they are meant to provide the evidence). Nor is it easy to show that the parallels which do exist between GThom. and Q always involve sayings which belong to the earlier (or earliest) stage of Q’s growth. In Koester’s lists of parallels, there are a number of occasions where the parallel on the Q side involves a tradition which is usually assigned to the later, redactional (or Q2) stage of Q. This would seem to be the case for Q 11.39–40; 11.52; 12.10; 12.39; 12.49; 12.51–53; 12.56; 14.16–24; 17.34 (following Kloppenborg’s own analysis), and I would perhaps add Q 9.58; 10.2; 10.8– 9; 12.2–3 as verses which seem to cohere closely with those often assigned to Q2. Koester himself concedes (p. 95 n. 4) that at times his authorities, Lührmann and Kloppenborg, may disagree with him about the placing of an individual saying in the stratification of Q. But there seem to be an uncomfortably large number of exceptions to the general ‘rule’ that Koester is concerned to try to establish, viz., that GThom. links only with earlier traditions in Q and not with Q’s redaction. More importantly, there are a significant number of occasions when GThom. shows links not only with Q but with the redactional activity of the synoptic evangelists. (Cf. above on Matt 5.10; 5.11; Luke 6.34; 11.52; 12.51; possibly Luke 14.16 ff.; Mark 3.28–29.) This would seem to be the clearest indicator of all that GThom. is dependent on the finished synoptic gospels. Hence it is probably much the simplest solution to assume that the other links between GThom. and the synoptics, in instances where Thomas does not so conveniently (for us!) choose to echo redactional features in the gospels, are to be explained in the same way. Rather than being evidence of any proto‘wisdom gospel’, the similarities between GThom. and the synoptic gospels may be more easily explicable by dependence of the former on the latter. Koester himself objects strenuously to such a conclusion, asserting that one of the most recent defenders of the view of GThom.’s dependence on the synoptics, K. D. Snodgrass, has failed to show any ‘consistency’ of de-

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pendence,52 though he also accepts the possibility that some influence from the synoptics may have affected the later textual tradition of GThom.53 In relation to the latter point, however, we have only one manuscript of the complete text of GThom.; assertions about the state of the text prior to the influence of scribal assimilations must therefore remain somewhat speculative. We can only work with the manuscript evidence which we have and the number of times that GThom. appears to reflect the redactional activity of the synoptic evangelists seems too great to be ascribed very easily to later scribal assimilation on every occasion.54 In relation to Koester’s plea for ‘consistency’ in any pattern of alleged dependence, it is not clear what would count as ‘consistent’ in this context. In an earlier study I have tried to show that GThom. shows dependence on Mark’s Gospel. In that study, and in the remarks given here, I have tried to show that GThom. also shows agreement with MattR and LukeR at times. Whether we can find ‘consistency’ here is at one level a matter of semantics. I would claim that we do find a widespread evidence of dependence on the finished synoptic gospels that seems to be too deep-seated to be explained simply by scribal glosses in the later textual tradition of the text of GThom. Further, as I have argued elsewhere, we must remember that the author of GThom. presumably did not write for a later audience of source critics, leaving a neat trail of clues in the form of redactional elements from the gospels in his own text.55 Hence the pattern of similarities with the texts of the gospels is in a sense bound to be rather random. Even the preponderance of parallels with Q is perhaps not all that surprising: given that, for whatever reason, GThom. is interested in sayings of Jesus, there is simply more such material available in Q than in, say, Mark and hence the greater number of parallels is not unexpected. If the arguments presented here are accepted, then the appeal to agreements between ‘Q’ and GThom. as evidence for the existence of an underlying ‘wisdom gospel’ seems unconvincing. Whether the evidence of Q itself is sufficient to establish the existence of such a wisdom gospel (as 52 Page 85, referring to K. D. Snodgrass, ‘The Gospel of Thomas. A Secondary Gospel’, Second Century 7 (1989–90) 19–38. A similar reference to the lack of any ‘consistent’ pattern of dependence is made in the recent introduction to the text of GThom. in J. S. Kloppenborg, M. V. Meyer, S. J. Patterson, M. G. Steinhauser, Q-Thomas Reader (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 86. 53 Pages 85–86 n. 5. Cf. too Kloppenborg et al., Q-Thomas Reader, 86–87. 54 On at least one occasion, a link can be shown between the text of one of the Greek papyrus fragments of GThom. and LukeR of Mark: cf. my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 145–146 (above, pp. 371–372), in relation to the parallel between GThom. 5 and Luke 8.17. Links between the text of GThom. and synoptic redaction are thus in evidence at the earliest stage of the textual tradition of GThom. to which we have access. 55 See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 157 (above, p. 382).

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Kloppenborg has argued) is another issue and cannot be discussed here. But even if this were established, the argument of this note is that there is no clear evidence linking GThom. to such a proto-gospel source. Rather, the versions of the sayings of Jesus recorded in GThom. and showing parallels with the synoptic tradition in Q may be witness to the post-synoptic development of the tradition (without being any the worse for that!).

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XX The Gospel of Thomas – Evidence for Jesus?1 The problem of the significance of the non-canonical gospels is a much debated one for contemporary study of both Jesus and early Christianity. In one article, it is impossible to treat the whole of such a subject and hence one cannot consider every text, or even every aspect of a single text. For the most part attention here will be focused on one particular noncanonical gospel, the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.), and its possible significance for the study of the historical Jesus. I am fully aware that this ignores other important aspects of study of the GThom., and that there are other non-canonical texts which may be equally important. But constraints of time and space mean that one cannot cover everything! I start with some more general remarks. * In historical study of Jesus himself and of early Jesus traditions, attention has usually been focused on the four NT gospels, with priority in any search for authentic Jesus materials being given to the synoptic gospels.2 There will always be debate about how reliable the canonical gospels are as sources for Jesus, and opinions inevitably differ; but for the most part it is assumed that they are all that we have available as our main evidence. However, such a restriction of attention to the NT texts has been radically called into question in recent years especially in relation to study of the gospels and of Jesus. Many scholars (especially in the United States) are now of the view that certain non-canonical writings may be just as important in providing evidence of the earliest traditions about Jesus as the canonical gospels. The texts often appealed to in this context include Papyrus Egerton 2, the Gospel of Peter, the ‘Secret Gospel of Mark’, as well as texts which have now become available to us as a result of the discovery of 1 A slightly shortened version of a lecture given on 28 February 1997 in the University of Leiden to the Theological ‘Dispuut’ Tandem Fit Surculus Arbor R.E.P. I am grateful for the questions and comments following the lecture, especially from my respondent, Prof. M. de Jonge. 2 In relation to the Fourth Gospel, I follow the standard consensus view today, viz. that although John might contain an odd element of authentic material, as a whole it represents a secondary reworking of the tradition by a highly distinctive later Christian writer.

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the Nag Hammadi library in 1945, pre-eminent among which (for this context) are the Gospel of Thomas, the Dialogue of the Saviour and the Apocryphon of James. Scholars who have defended such a general view have often offered some quite far-reaching conclusions.3 Within North American scholarship, H. Koester has long argued that we should take more seriously the importance and relevance of apocryphal material in the study of early Christianity.4 Many apocryphal writings may stem from an early stage in the development of the tradition. Further, in relation to actual manuscripts, non-canonical texts are attested in the earliest manuscripts as well as, if not better than, the canonical texts. Koester himself does not argue that these texts necessarily give us access to material that goes back to Jesus himself, but that this is not the only material that is ‘historically valuable’.5 For Koester, the historical value of these texts is that they give us access to the history of early Christianity. The question of whether such traditions might go back to Jesus himself is however raised more positively by several other scholars. The ‘Jesus Seminar’ in the States has recently published the results of its deliberations about the authenticity of the sayings of Jesus. Significantly, the book is called The Five Gospels, the five being the four canonical gospels together with GThom.6 Thus GThom. is given potentially equal value and weight as each of the canonical gospels in being a possible source for genuine sayings of Jesus. It is thus assumed that GThom. belongs to an early stage of the tradition, and further, that GThom. is independent of our canonical gospels and may well contain authentic traditions of the sayings of Jesus. Such an approach is also developed in J. D. Crossan’s work on Jesus.7 Crossan 3 For a range of such views, see the articles in Semeia 44 (1988), a whole issue of the journal with the general title The Historical Jesus and the Rejected Gospels. 4 Cf. his ‘Apocryphal and Canonical Gospels’, HTR 73 (1980) 105–130, for a forceful presentation of his views; also more generally, his Ancient Christian Gospels (London: SCM, 1990). 5 See his ‘The Extracanonical Sayings of the Lord as Products of the Christian Community’, Semeia 44 (1988) 57–77 (German original 1957), on pp. 57–58. In part, Koester’s debate is with J. Jeremias and his study of the non-canonical sayings of Jesus (cf. his Unknown Sayings of Jesus [London: SPCK, 1957]) and Jeremias’ implicit claim that what is ‘historically valuable’ is what might be authentic material going back to the pre-Easter Jesus. 6 R. W. Funk & R. W. Hoover (eds.), The Five Gospels. The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1993). 7 J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1991). For a detailed discussion of Crossan’s methodology, see my ‘The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology’, in S. Maser & E. Schlarb (eds.), Text und Geschichte (FS D. Lührmann; Marburg: Elwert, 1999), 257–279 (pp. 421–446 in this volume).

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too assumes that some traditions in GThom. are very early, especially those sayings which overlap with the synoptics. The picture which emerges is characterised above all by the aphoristic sayings of Jesus and Jesus himself appears in the guise of a Cynic sage (for Crossan a Cynic ‘peasant’) and not as a figure influenced by Jewish eschatology or Jewish apocalyptic. The whole problem of the relevance of non-canonical texts for understanding Jesus is clearly an enormous one. Further we cannot answer the question of such relevance with a simple blanket ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to cover all cases. The situation regarding one text may not be the same as the situation regarding another text. What we may decide about texts such as Papyrus Egerton 2, or the Gospel of Peter, should not necessarily determine what we might decide about GThom.8 What applies in the case of one text will not necessarily apply in the case of all non-canonical texts. Each text must be considered separately and on its own merits. In general terms I am much in sympathy with the overall approach of Koester in arguing that the primary value of the non-canonical texts is that they enable us to have insight into a part of the history of early Christianity (and this is so whatever we may decide about the reliability or otherwise of Jesus traditions they contain). However, there is still the question of exactly how early is the ‘early’ Christianity they illuminate. What precisely is the stage of early church history which they throw light on? Do they in fact witness to the stage in the development of the tradition which precedes the canonical gospels? Or do they in fact belong within the development of the tradition after the canonical gospels? A later dating does not imply that these texts are worthless. It simply means that they can and should illuminate a later, rather than an earlier, period of Christian history. Some of Koester’s complaints about the way in which others have sidelined the apocryphal gospels by dating them relatively late seems to betray an incipient (neo-Protestant?) bias which almost automatically privileges the early and denigrates the late. But there is no reason at all why this should be so (unless of course one wishes to espouse such a ‘Protestant’ view of things, which would always privilege the earliest form and regard anything and everything subsequent to that as a disastrous come-down from the period of pristine purity!)9

8 It is perhaps one of the slight weaknesses in the otherwise excellent discussion of J. P. Meier of the value of non-canonical texts for discovering information about Jesus, that he seems to allow the discussion about a text such as GThom. to be influenced by the results concerning other texts such as the Gospel of Peter. See his A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume One (New York: Doubleday, 1991), ch. 4 (‘The Agrapha and the Apocryphal Gospels’), 112–166, on p. 130. 9 Cf. too Meier, Marginal Jew, 1.166, who also suggests that, at least in the States, such a reaction may be related to a general lack of interest in Patristic studies.

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There is not enough space to consider here all the texts which have been brought into the debate in recent years. Nevertheless it is probably fair to say that the extant parts of many of these texts are not very extensive. As such they cannot by themselves provide us with much that would significantly change our picture of Jesus. There is however one text which may, simply by virtue of its extent, be in a rather different category in this debate. This is GThom. which has always played a key role here. Ever since the discovery of the full text of the Gospel in 1945 in the Nag Hammadi library, many scholars have claimed that the GThom. may be itself, or contain, a very primitive collection of the sayings of Jesus. Thus for some, the Gospel reflects a very early stage of development of the synoptic tradition, there being perhaps a link between the Gospel and one of the sources of our synoptic gospels, e.g. the Sayings Source ‘Q’.10 For others, Thomas may contain traditions that are quite independent of our synoptic gospels, at times parallel to them, at times supplementing them with new traditions which were otherwise unknown.11 As noted above, GThom. is given a place potentially equal to that of the canonical gospels in the work of the Jesus Seminar; and indeed at times sayings in GThom. are very highly regarded in the decisions made. Thus for example, the version in GThom. of the parables of the mustard seed, the great supper and the tenants of the vineyard (GThom. 20, 64, 65)12 are regarded as at least as close to the words of Jesus as the versions which appear in the synoptic gospels; and the sayings in GThom. 97, 98 and 113, which have no clear parallels in the canonical gospels, are regarded as potentially authentic sayings of Jesus.13 So too Crossan includes 7 sayings which appear in GThom. alone in the sayings he lists as comprising ‘The Gospel of Jesus’.14 Thomas has also been influential in many people’s reassessment of the person of Jesus which has taken place over recent years. For a long time, ever since the start of the 20th century, a standard paradigm was assumed to be that Jesus was to be seen within the broad parameters of Jewish eschatology and/or apocalyptic (cf. the work of J. Weiss, A. Schweitzer). For a variety of reasons this is now seriously challenged by a number of 10

Cf. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 86–95. Cf. many writings of G. Quispel (see n. 21 below). 12 I give the references in GThom. using the by now standard numbering of the sayings into 114 different logia. 13 The version of the parable of mustard seed is coloured red, indicating an accurate record of what Jesus said. The others are all coloured pink, indicating broad agreement in substance with what Jesus said. 14 Historical Jesus, xiii–xxvi. The sayings are GThom. 25, 42, 47, 58, 77, 97, 98. Cf. F. Neirynck, ‘The Historical Jesus. Reflections on an Inventory’, ETL 70 (1994) 221– 234, on p. 224. 11

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scholars today.15 Thus many today would wish to question the paradigm, and replace it with an idea of Jesus as a teacher of wisdom, perhaps of some kind of ‘subversive wisdom’, but not one where Jewish eschatology is dominant. Part of this is due to the influence of the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.), as well as recent research on the Sayings Source Q (see below).16 Thus for many, it is regarded as significant that Thomas is not governed by an eschatological view, but presents Jesus much more as a teacher of wisdom. Hence, it is argued, the old paradigm is shifting significantly, and the influence of Thomas (amongst other factors) has produced a radical shift in our understanding of the historical Jesus. We shall examine the question of the relevance of GThom. for Jesus research later. However, we may note here that such claims, insofar as they relate to the GThom., are making some fairly massive assumptions about the nature of that Gospel. Such claims must implicitly assume that GThom. is independent of the canonical gospels, and either that it is itself, or that it contains, a very early version of the tradition of Jesus’ sayings. How convincing is such a theory? In order to look at this in a little more detail, we must consider a few elementary facts about GThom. itself.

1. The Gospel of Thomas The text which we know today as the Gospel of Thomas appears as the second text in Codex II of the Nag Hammadi library, where the text is preserved in a Coptic translation. One of the first discoveries associated with this text was that it represented a Coptic version of the text from which three Greek fragments from Oxyrhynchus (P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655), known since the start of the 20th century, also form parts. It is also now almost universally agreed that the Coptic text represents a translation from the Greek and that the original language of the Gospel was probably Greek. The existence of GThom. has been known about for a very long time. Patristic writers refer to such a gospel at a number of places: for example Hippolytus (c. 225–235 CE) appears to cite a version of GThom. 4 (Ref. 5.7.20). Thus the Gospel must have been in existence in the early 3rd century, a fact indicated anyway by the date of the extant manuscripts we have. (The Coptic MS from Nag Hammadi probably dates from c. 350 CE; the Greek fragments can be dated to c. 200–250 CE.) 15 See the essays surveying the present state of debate in M. Borg, Jesus in Contemporary Scholarship (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994). From a rather different perspective, see also B. Witherington III, The Jesus Quest. The Third Search for the Jew of Nazareth (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1995). 16 Borg, Jesus, 8, 157 n. 11.

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The Greek fragments and the Coptic text of Thomas do not correspond exactly. The order of the sayings is at one point different: one half of what is (in the usual numbering of the sayings) saying 77 in the Coptic text appears as part of saying 30 in the Greek fragment P. Oxy. 1.17 This means that the Coptic text cannot be an exact reflection of the original text of the Gospel. We know too from the allusions to the Gospel by patristic writers that the Gospel was popular and probably circulated widely, a fact indicated anyway by the existence of our manuscripts: none of the three Greek fragments is from the same manuscript as the others; and it seems likely that the Coptic manuscript from Nag Hammadi is not a direct copy of any one of our three Greek fragments. Further, the very existence of the Coptic manuscript indicates that the Gospel was popular and thought to be worth translating. All this suggests that the Gospel circulated widely, that it was copied not infrequently and that the text may have been a little fluid. Thus behind our present manuscripts may lie a long and complex history of the text of the Gospel. We must not however forget that, for large parts of the text of the Gospel, the Coptic manuscript is our only source of information. The manuscript may be a reliable, or an unreliable, witness to the ‘original’ text of the Gospel; but we are often simply not in a position to be able to say exactly how reliable or unreliable it is.18 Thus in relation to any claims about a possible ‘original’ text of GThom. differing in some way from the present Coptic manuscript (cf. below), it must be borne in mind that such an alleged earlier version remains purely hypothetical and that there is no direct evidence for the existence of such a version of the text. As is well known, GThom. contains a series of sayings of Jesus, all introduced by a simple ‘Jesus said’ (or possibly ‘Jesus says’). There is virtually no narrative element, no passion narrative, no miracle stories. Everything is focused on Jesus’ sayings and the introduction makes it clear that the correct interpretation of the sayings is the key to ‘life’: ‘Whoever discovers the interpretation of these sayings will not taste death’ (GThom. 1). In terms of genre, GThom. is quite different from the canonical Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, but perhaps more similar to the Sayings Source ‘Q’ as some kind of ‘sayings collection’, though there are also some significant 17

The difference in ordering is usually thought to have happened after the text was translated into Coptic. The two sayings in the present Coptic text at saying 77 are linked by a catchword connection, the link only being possible in Coptic where the word (poh) can have two different meanings, ‘attain’ and ‘split’. The double meaning is not possible in Greek. 18 In some instances it may be possible to check the reliability of the Coptic manuscript by comparing it with the Greek fragments at the points where they overlap. But the fragments are at times extremely fragmentary (especially P. Oxy. 655). Indeed at times the gaps in the Greek fragments have had to be filled out by reference to the Coptic text!

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differences. In assessing the relevance of GThom. for study of the historical Jesus, a key question has been: what is the relationship between GThom. and the canonical gospels, especially the synoptic gospels? Ever since the discovery of the full text of GThom. in 1945, a wide range of answers has been given to this question.19 Moreover, the answers have sometimes tended to divide along national boundaries. The majority of German scholars would probably follow the early studies of E. Haenchen and W. Schrage and assert that GThom. is dependent on the synoptics.20 Hence GThom. is primarily a witness to the development of the traditions about Jesus after the time of the canonical gospels. In America, the situation is seen rather differently with many arguing strenuously that GThom. is basically independent of the synoptics and hence a potential witness to the historical Jesus. And in the Netherlands, G. Quispel has for many years also been a passionate supporter of this view, arguing that GThom. depends for his material on two main sources, a Jewish Christian gospel and the Gospel of the Egyptians.21 Two recent, and very different, full-length studies have appeared in the last few years examining the problem afresh, one arguing for (or presupposing) GThom.’s dependence (M. Fieger), the other making a strong case for GThom.’s basic ‘autonomy’ or independence (S. J. Patterson).22 The debate can become quite technical, and there is no time to go into great detail here. Everyone agrees that the question is related to two or three key issues: (i) How can one explain the order of the sayings in GThom. if GThom. is dependent on the synoptics? GThom.’s order seems to bear no relation to the order of parallel sayings in the synoptics, and this for many is a strong argument in favour of GThom.’s independence. (ii) Does GThom. show any awareness of redactional elements in the synoptics? If so that 19 See the survey in F. T. Fallon & R. Cameron, ‘The Gospel of Thomas’, ANRW 2.25.6, 4196–4251. 20 E. Haenchen, Die Botschaft des Thomas-Evangeliums (TBT 6; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1961); W. Schrage, Das Verhältnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelienübersetzungen (BZNW 29; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964). 21 See G. Quispel, ‘The Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament’, VC 11 (1957) 189–207; Makarius, das Thomasevangelium und das Lied der Perle (Leiden: Brill, 1967); ‘“The Gospel of Thomas” and the “Gospel of the Hebrews”’, NTS 12 (1966) 371– 382; ‘The Gospel of Thomas Revisited’, in B. Barc (ed.), Colloque international sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Quebec & Louvain: Presses de l’Université Laval & Peeters, 1981), 218–266; also his review article in VC 45 (1991) 78–87 (his ‘last word’ on the subject). In his earlier writings, Quispel identified one of the sources as the Gospel of the Hebrews. He has been rather more reticent about such a precise identification in his more recent writings. 22 M. Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium. Einleitung, Kommentar, und Systematik (NTAbh 22; Münster: Aschendorff, 1991); S. J. Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1993).

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would maybe show that GThom. is dependent (at however many stages removed)23 on the synoptics; if not, it would be at least an indicator that GThom. is independent. (iii) At times GThom. seems to show an earlier form of the tradition in question. GThom.’s version of some of the parables are sometimes striking in this respect, for example the versions in GThom. of the parable of the wicked tenants (GThom. 65). Prior to the discovery of GThom., many scholars had argued that the parables in the canonical gospels had undergone a process of adaptation and, above all, allegorisation; these secondary changes could then be stripped away to recover the parables as told by Jesus.24 In relation to the parable of the wicked tenants, the version of GThom. when it came to light seemed to coincide almost exactly with the original parable of Jesus as suggested by scholars such as Dodd, Jeremias and others, lacking amongst other things the apparently allegorical allusion to Isa 5 at the start.25 I am not convinced that any of these factors really tells in favour of GThom.’s independence. On the question of order ([i] above), there is at one level a problem about the order of the sayings in GThom. whatever one decides about the issue of GThom.’s relation to the synoptics. Someone somewhere must have changed or created either the synoptic order or GThom.’s order to produce the other (probably with a number of stages in between). It is true that in one way GThom.’s order seems a little haphazard; yet it may have its own logic (probably based on catchword connections).26 It may indeed have a very good logic based on reasons which have escaped us all so far! Hence it is by no means impossible that GThom.’s ordering of the sayings is secondary to that of the synoptics. Indeed at one point I believe that this is demonstrably the case. GThom. has parallels to some of the ‘Q’ Beatitudes: GThom. 54 (‘Blessed are the poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven’) is close to the first synoptic beatitude (Luke 6.20 par.); GThom. 68 + 69a (‘Blessed are you when you are hated and persecuted, and no place will be found, wherever you have 23

By ‘dependent’ I do not necessarily mean directly dependent in the sense of making a direct copy of the other text(s) which are actually propped up on a desk in front of the writer. If GThom. is dependent on the synoptics, the nature of the dependence is almost certainly considerably more indirect, with Thomas probably knowing the synoptic material perhaps at more than one stage removed from the texts of the gospels themselves, perhaps in the form of some harmony. This may well be the real reason for the large number of parallels shared by GThom. with a range of other early Christian texts, as identified on so many occasions by Quispel (n. 21 above). 24 See especially C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 1935); J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, 1954). 25 Cf. R. McL. Wilson, Studies in the Gospel of Thomas (London: Mowbray, 1960), 101. 26 See Haenchen, Botschaft, 12–13; Patterson, Gospel of Thomas, 100–102 and others.

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been persecuted … Blessed are those who have been persecuted in their hearts’) is close to the fourth Q beatitude on persecution (Luke 6.22–23 par.); and GThom. 69b (‘Blessed are those who are hungry, that the stomach of the one in want may be filled’) is close to the Q beatitude on the hungry (Luke 6.21 par.). However, most would agree that, in the synoptic tradition, the first three Q beatitudes (on the poor, the mourners, and the hungry) belong integrally together; the fourth is a secondary expansion of these three primary beatitudes, added certainly by the stage of Q and probably already at a preQ stage.27 Yet GThom. has no parallel to the second Q beatitude (on the mourners) and has broken up the original trio into sayings which are now widely separated.28 GThom.’s order here thus seems to betray a later stage of the developing tradition. The question of whether GThom. preserves more original forms of e.g. the parables of Jesus ([iii] above) is not necessarily a straightforward one to answer. In general terms, shorter versions of a tradition are not always more original than longer versions.29 In any case, as Meier points out, the very essence of GThom. is not to explain or clarify the meaning of the sayings recorded. The Jesus of GThom. gives secret sayings and the aim of the reader is to find their proper interpretation.30 The tendency in GThom. is thus to stress the enigmatic nature of the sayings, including the parables. Moreover, all stress is placed on the individual reader. There is little place in GThom. for an idea of salvation history, of Israel as the chosen nation, or of any real importance being ascribed to Jesus’ earthly ministry. It is thus perhaps not surprising that some clarifying explanatory (even allegorical) features in the canonical gospels do not appear in GThom. Thus in the parable of the wicked tenants, for example, the clear allusion to the allegory of Isa 5 (in at least the Markan and Matthean versions of the opening of the parable: Mark 12.1/Matt 21.33) does not appear in GThom. 65. The feature may be ‘allegorical’ in that the story gives a special significance to this element. The parable is thereby clearly directed at the Jewish people (or their leaders) and criticises their failure to respond to God’s messengers. But this is not necessarily a secondary allegorising element in a pure27 Cf. D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 86–87, 91, and others. 28 Logion 54 is clearly separate from 68+69. Moreover, it is not clear if the introductory formula ‘Jesus said’ in log. 69 serves to make a sharp break with log. 68 or not. 29 Cf. Meier, Marginal Jew, 1.132, who refers to Matthew’s fairly uniform tendency to abbreviate secondarily Mark’s accounts of the miracles of Jesus; cf. too Matthew’s secondary abbreviation of the divorce saying (Mark 10.11–12/Matt 19.9). 30 Cf. the Prologue and first saying of GThom.: ‘These are the secret sayings that the living Jesus spoke and Didymus Judas Thomas recorded. And he said, “Whoever discovers the interpretation of these sayings will not taste death”.’

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ly non-allegorical story. In any case, the theory of a purely non-allegorical original form of every parable, which allegedly originally contained one and only one point, is perhaps as arbitrary and unjustified a theory as the heavily allegorised interpretations of the parables it was intended to counter.31 Further, it is just as likely that GThom.’s version of the parable of the wicked tenants is due to Thomas’ redaction of the parable to develop his own ‘gnostic’ ideas about the lack of value in the material world.32 Thus it is doubtful if we can build too much on the allegedly more original shorter form of individual sayings or parables in GThom. On the question of whether redactional elements of the synoptics appear in GThom. ([ii] above), again differing views have been proposed. Some have claimed that GThom. shows virtually no parallels to redactional synoptic material.33 On the other hand, others (myself included) have argued elsewhere that there may be quite a number of such parallels in GThom.: in a series of examples, GThom. can be shown to parallel redactional elements in all three synoptic gospels.34 And indeed at one point, the parallel can be shown to be present between one of the synoptic gospels (Luke) and the text of GThom. in Greek in one of the P. Oxy. fragments.35 Sadly the state of the P. Oxy. fragments is such that we cannot make such detailed comparisons at other points so easily: hence we have to rely on a more indirect comparison, comparing the texts of our Greek canonical gospels with that of the text of GThom. in (Coptic) translation. In fact few today would deny that one or two such synoptic redactional elements do reappear in GThom. The difference is to know how to interpret them. Thus Patterson, in his recent book advocating the basic independence (or as he calls it ‘autonomy’) of GThom., concedes that there may be a few instances of redactional synoptic elements appearing in GThom. But he argues that these are probably due to later developments in the textual history of GThom., assimilating the text of GThom. to the better known texts of the canonical gospels, possibly at, or after, a time when the text 31 See J. W. Sider, ‘Rediscovering the Parables. The Logic of the Jeremias Tradition’, JBL 102 (1983) 61–83; ‘Proportional Analogy in the Gospel Parables’, NTS 31 (1985) 1– 23; H.-J. Klauck, Allegorie und Allegorese in synoptischen Gleichnistexten (NTAbh 13; Münster: Aschendorff, 1978). 32 See J.-M. Sevrin, ‘Un groupement de trois paraboles contre les richesses dans l’Évangile selon Thomas 63, 64, 65’, in J. Delorme (ed.), Les paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives nouvelles (Paris: Cerf, 1989), 425–439. 33 Reference is frequently made in this context to the Claremont dissertation of J. H. Sieber, A Redactional Analysis of the Synoptic Gospels with Regard to the Question of the Sources of the Gospel of Thomas (PhD dissertation, Claremont, 1965). 34 See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume). 35 GThom. 5 has the exact form of Luke 8.17, which is Lukan redaction of Mark 4.22. See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, 145–146 (above, pp. 371–372).

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was translated into Coptic. James Robinson and others have also made very similar claims.36 Such a theory is theoretically possible. But it has to be invoked an uncomfortably large number of times.37 Moreover, on many occasions there are few, if any, other independent reasons for suggesting such a theory. In one instance at least, one can show that the parallel with the synoptic redactional material predates the translation of the text into Coptic (cf. above on GThom. 5). Further, there is no direct evidence for such assimilations in the textual history of GThom. Sadly, our evidence for that history is woefully thin: we only have one manuscript! A theory such as Patterson’s or Robinson’s has to presuppose a kind of ‘Ur-Thomas’, a pristine and pure text of GThom. uncontaminated by later corruptions, which lies behind our only full manuscript copy of the text. This is of course possible, but it is dangerous to rely on a hypothetical pure Ur-text, and the alleged differences between this and our one manuscript, too much. No doubt some corruption has taken place in the course of the transmission of the text. This is clear at a number of places where the present Coptic text has long been suspected of being corrupt. But there is a danger of taking this too far into what becomes in the end a circular argument: GThom.’s independence from the synoptics is meant to be shown from the text of GThom., and yet embarrassing counter-evidence is simply pushed aside with a claim that this is not part of the true text of GThom., often with little other reason than that the evidence does not fit the theory being proposed. For myself, the more persuasive view is that, at several point, the text of GThom. does show parallels with redactional elements in the gospels, and hence is probably at these points a witness to the later, i.e. post-synoptic, development of the tradition. One must of course enter a small caveat here and say that it is only at these points that GThom. is shown to be post-synoptic. It could be, for example, that at other points, GThom. preserves an independent form of the tradition, and GThom. might have an earlier or more reliable version of some of the sayings recorded.38 Yet perhaps Occam’s razor can and should 36

See Patterson, Gospel of Thomas; also J. M. Robinson, on several occasions: cf. his ‘On Bridging the Gulf from Q to the Gospel of Thomas (or Vice Versa)’, in C. W. Hedrick & R. Hodgson (eds.), Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism and Early Christianity (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1986), 127–175, on p. 151; also his ‘Die Bedeutung der gnostischen Nag-Hammadi Texte für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft’, in L. Borman et al. (eds.), Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World. Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 23–41, on p. 30. 37 Patterson concedes c. 5 such cases of wording, rather more in relation to order (Gospel of Thomas, 92–93). Robinson talks of ‘eine beträchtliche Anzahl’ of such examples (‘Bedeutung’, 30). 38 See Wilson consistently in many publications.

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be applied. The fact that GThom. shows itself to be post-synoptic at a number of points in places where we can recognise this may suggest that it is more reasonable to assume that it is post-synoptic in other places where we cannot so easily determine things. GThom. was not written for us to be able to play our scholarly games with the text. Nor was it written like some detective story with just enough clues for us to be able to solve the problem of the origins of each and every logion in it neatly and fully. There may well be instances where the evidence is ambiguous, with no clear indicator as to whether GThom. is dependent on the synoptics or not. Yet the fact that in so many instances GThom. is shown to be dependent on the synoptics suggests that we should perhaps take the theory of dependence as a working hypothesis in more ambiguous cases as well.

2. The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus What difference can/might our theories about GThom. make in our assessment of the person of Jesus? At some points at least, GThom. has access to independent traditions. This is clear just by reading the text of the Gospel: not every saying in GThom. has a synoptic (or Johannine) parallel! And the likelihood is that GThom. has not invented everything that is not in the canonical gospels. Clearly then GThom. has access to other traditions; and it may be that in some of these cases, GThom. does preserve authentic traditions about Jesus not otherwise attested. One such example is thought by some to occur in GThom. 82 (‘he who is near me is near the fire; he who is far from me is far from the Kingdom’), a saying apparently also known independently of Thomas to Origen.39 On the other hand, nearly all would agree that in its present form, the text of GThom. has been overlaid with sayings and ideas placed on Jesus’ lips which are somewhat alien to those of the historical Jesus himself. Whether these are to be regarded as ‘gnostic’ (or ‘Gnostic’) is a matter of intense debate and partly depends on how one defines the word ‘gnostic’ (with or without a capital G). But few would want to claim sayings such as GThom. 77a (‘I am the light that is over all things; I am the all: from me all came forth and to me all attained’) as a genuine saying of Jesus. On any

39 See C. W. Hedrick, ‘Thomas and the Synoptics. Aiming at a Consensus’, Second Century 7 (1989–90) 39–56, on pp. 44–45. The saying was highly regarded in relation to its possible authenticity by Jeremias, Unknown Sayings, 66–73. However, the Jesus Seminar was inclined not to include it because of a near parallel in a proverb of Aesop ‘Whoever is near to Zeus is near the thunderbolt’ (Funk & Hoover [eds.], Five Gospels, 517).

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showing, the text of GThom. has been overlaid with more speculative ideas and sayings of a ‘gnostic’ type placed on the lips of Jesus.40 In the early days of Thomas scholarship, it is probably fair to say that, for those who did advocate GThom.’s independence from the synoptics, the actual gain in terms of historical Jesus study was relatively meagre. The material in GThom. was sifted and carefully analysed; but in assessing the historical value of sayings attributed to Jesus in GThom., one general criterion was how far such sayings cohered with the general picture from the canonical gospels. Then those sayings in GThom. were accepted as potentially authentic if they fitted in with the picture of Jesus we had from elsewhere. The almost inevitable result was that sayings of Jesus in GThom. reinforced the already existing picture of Jesus from the canonical gospels. GThom. (simply) ‘confirmed’ the already existing picture.41 Nevertheless, since those early days, a rather different slant has been adopted by those advocating GThom.’s independence or autonomy. In particular, GThom.’s lack of apocalyptic elements, notably the absence of eschatological Son of Man (SM) sayings, has been exploited by some to cast a radical question mark against what, since the start of the 20th century, has been the dominant paradigm for interpreting the historical Jesus, viz. Jewish eschatology and/or apocalyptic. So too the dominance in GThom. of the aphoristic wisdom sayings has been used by some to see this as the central core in the teaching of Jesus (see above). This is also connected at times with theories about the synoptic Sayings Source Q. In particular, reference is often made to the theory of John Kloppenborg, viz., that the Sayings Source Q underwent a history of development: in an early stage (Q1), the source was dominated by a sapiential perspective, full of wisdom-type aphorisms; only in a later (Q2) stage did the apocalyptic material (including sayings about the eschatological SM) enter into the Q tradition. Thus the earliest form of Q is sapiential; the eschatological elements are part of the secondary growth to the tradition.42 Koester had earlier claimed that this might also be indicated by the fact that GThom.

40

On the question of whether GThom. is ‘gnostic’/‘Gnostic’, cf. Meier, Marginal Jew, 1.125–127. It has been a consistent part of Quispel’s claims about GThom. that the text is fundamentally encratite, but not Gnostic (though he concedes that the present form of the text has been overlaid with a few gnostic-type sayings); see also A. D. DeConick, Seek to See Him. Ascent and Mysticism in the Gospel of Thomas (Leiden: Brill, 1996), ch. 1. 41 Cf. Quispel, ‘Gospel of Thomas and the New Testament’, 207; Patterson, Gospel of Thomas, 221. A similar general point is made by Meier, Marginal Jew, 1.114, in relation to the isolated non-canonical sayings claimed by Jeremias as authentic: ‘nothing new is added to our picture [of Jesus]. A great deal of effort over dubious material produces absolutely no significant new data.’ 42 J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987).

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too contains no eschatological SM sayings.43 Hence, he argues, both GThom. and Q go back to a common ‘wisdom gospel’ where the apocalyptic SM tradition was absent. Koester himself does not deal with the question of the historical Jesus so much in his earlier writings.44 However, others have taken this step quite explicitly. In the work of B. Mack, the Jesus of the early Q1 stage (and GThom.) is equated with the historical Jesus.45 So too, in Crossan’s reconstruction, the aphoristic wisdom sayings play a crucial role. Thus Marcus Borg in his recent survey of Jesus scholarship claims that a new consensus is emerging (at least in North American scholarship!) whereby eschatology is no longer seen as determinative for Jesus.46 Rather, Jesus is seen above all as a teacher of wisdom, of some kind of ‘subversive wisdom’, and the apocalyptic SM tradition is regarded as a secondary, inauthentic late-comer into the tradition. There is not enough space to discuss such theories in detail here. There are though a number of questions to raise against such a reconstruction. The claim to represent the view about the non-eschatological Jesus as a ‘majority’ North American view has been questioned by other North Americans,47 and many would be unhappy about writing off eschatology from the historical Jesus.48 But there is a basic methodological problem here concerning the appeals both to Q and to GThom. In relation to Q, there is a fundamental error in equating tradition history and literary history. Kloppenborg himself is absolutely clear about such a distinction.49 His own theory concerns only the literary history of the Q document (assuming it was a document); his case is that in the course of the development of Q, wisdom material was expanded with other eschatological/apocalyptic material. But this on its own says absolutely nothing about the absolute age of the traditions involved. Thus the eschatological ‘Q 2’ material could perfectly well be fully authentic. It is simply a late-comer 43 See his ‘One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels’, in Koester & J. M. Robinson, Trajectories through Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 186–187. 44 Cf. his critique of Jeremias about what is ‘historically valuable’ (n. 5 above). More recently, see his ‘Jesus the Victim’, JBL 111 (1992) 3–15. 45 B. Mack, The Lost Gospel. The Book of Q and Christian Origins (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993). 46 See Borg, Jesus, 8, 157 n. 11; cf. too Patterson, Gospel of Thomas, 231. 47 See M. E. Boring, ‘The “Third Quest” and Apostolic Faith’, Int 50 (1996) 341–354, on pp. 344–345; J. P. Meier, ‘Dividing Lines in Jesus Research Today’, Int 50 (1996) 355–372, on p. 359. Also, more generally, Witherington, Jesus Quest, chs. 2–4. 48 Cf. J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume 2 (New York: Doubleday, 1994); also his Interpretation article (see previous note); D. C. Allison, ‘A Plea for Thoroughgoing Eschatology’, JBL 113 (1994) 651–668. Cf. too the full-scale study of E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985). 49 See his Formation, 244–245.

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into Q. Equally, the ‘Q1’ material is not ipso facto guaranteed as authentic simply because it is Q1 rather than Q2. Much more therefore needs to be done before one can simply translate Kloppenborg’s theory about the growth of Q into a paradigm for the growth of the synoptic tradition generally. 50 So too appeals to GThom. in this context are probably somewhat premature. GThom. may indeed rarely use the term SM, and never uses the term in the sense of the eschatological SM sayings of the synoptic gospels.51 Nevertheless we cannot on that basis simply dismiss all the eschatological SM sayings in the gospels as inauthentic. Nor can we appeal to a Kloppenborg-type stratigraphy of Q for the same result (see above). In fact the very difficulty of the eschatological SM sayings in the gospels (do they suggest that Jesus looked for someone else to vindicate his cause? Would later Christians have placed sayings on the lips of Jesus that seem to imply this? Why is there so little SM language outside the gospel tradition?) still suggests to many that these are genuine sayings of Jesus.52 Further, the fundamental source-critical question of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptics cannot be avoided. If GThom. is in fact dependent on the synoptics, then any parallels between GThom. and synoptic tradition simply reflects Thomas’s later use of that material, coupled maybe with a conscious avoiding of other (eschatological) material (perhaps in the light of his radical views stressing the importance of knowledge by the individual reader and playing down all ideas of the importance of history). The earliest strand of the material is thus not necessarily only the material paralleled in GThom. Rather, all the material in the other canonical (primarily synoptic: cf. n. 2 above) texts comes into view as potentially capable of contributing to our picture of Jesus. In particular, it is rather harder to write off eschatology from the historical Jesus in the way some have tried to do. Certainly, the alleged absence of eschatology from GThom.’s portrayal of Jesus has to be treated with some care. Moreover, the question of eschatology in the teaching of Jesus cannot be confined to the issue of the eschatological SM sayings alone.53 We have 50 In any case, Kloppenborg’s theory about strata in Q is at least questionable: see my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 70–73. 51 The only occurrence of the term is in GThom. 86, parallel to Matt 8.20/Luke 9.58. 52 On the SM sayings in general, see M. de Jonge, Jesus, the Servant-Messiah (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1991), 50–54. See too his ‘Jesus’ Rôle in the Final Breakthrough of God’s Kingdom’, in H. Lichtenberger (ed.), Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion. Band 3 (FS M. Hengel; Tübingen: Mohr, 1996), 265–286, esp. pp. 282– 285. 53 As is implied at times by Borg: cf. his Jesus, 8, 51–53, 84–86 etc. The statement on p. 53 is typical: ‘With the disappearance of the coming Son of man sayings as authentic words of Jesus, the primary exegetical reason for thinking that Jesus expected the imminent end of the world disappears.’

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to focus on kingdom language as well. GThom. certainly contains talk about the Kingdom, and also discussions about the events of the End-time, clearly presupposing an eschatological viewpoint. However, on a number of occasions GThom.’s Jesus seems to be deliberately correcting an earlier eschatological viewpoint.54 Thus GThom. already presupposes an eschatological paradigm for interpreting the Jesus tradition and seems to be wanting to modify it secondarily in terms of a more radical ‘realised’ eschatology focused on knowledge of oneself and one’s origins. Thus GThom.’s non-eschatological Jesus is not so much a reflection of an original Jesus untainted by subsequent Christian eschatology; rather, GThom.’s Jesus is already a heavily interpreted Jesus, modified away from an earlier, eschatological prototype. Rather than reflecting an original, non-eschatological viewpoint of the historical Jesus, GThom. probably reflects a secondary reaction against a prior eschatological outlook which is certainly earlier (at least logically) than GThom. itself. And, in view of the consistent attestation of such a view in all the major strands of the synoptic tradition, such a view has every chance of going back to Jesus himself.55 Thus attempts to remove eschatology from Jesus, and to see Jesus as a Cynic sage or a teacher of wisdom (subversive or otherwise) seem to be not convincing. kingdom language (with or without the eschatological SM sayings) is the hallmark of the historical Jesus, however unpalatable or ‘unmodern’ we may find that.56 If then GThom. is primarily post-synoptic in the sense of being dependent (at probably a number of stages removed) from the synoptics for the material shared with them, then the primary (i.e. earliest) sources available to us for reconstructing Jesus remain the traditional quartet of Mark, Q, M and L (which may be rather unexciting, but may be all that we have!).57

54 J. D. Crossan, ‘Divine Immediacy and Human Immediacy. Towards a New First Principle in Historical Jesus Research’, Semeia 44 (1988) 121–140, on p. 124; Koester, ‘Jesus the Victim’, 7. Cf. GThom. 3, 18, 51, 113; also more generally 24, 37, 43, 52, 91. 55 In general terms, cf. de Jonge, Jesus; the restatement of the evidence by Allison, ‘Plea’, is valuable though scarcely novel (as he himself readily admits). The ambiguity of ‘Kingdom’ language is well brought out by Crossan, Historical Jesus, 283–292. But I remain persuaded that sayings like Mark 1.15; 9.1; 14.25, and Q sayings about the Kingdom such as Luke 6.20; 11.2 par. etc. are inescapably eschatological. More generally on the Q material and the importance of eschatology in Q, see my Q and the History, 139–165. 56 Cf. A. Schweitzer’s well known delineation of the strangeness of Jesus: ‘The historical Jesus will be to our time a stranger and an enigma … He passes by our time to return to His own’ (The Quest for the Historical Jesus [London: A&C Black, 1926], 397); also Allison, ‘Plea’, 668. 57 By expressing things this way, I do not intend necessarily to make any presumptions about the nature of the so-called ‘M’ and ‘L’ material in the gospels. However, on

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As I have already noted, this does not of course preclude the possibility of other authentic traditions being preserved elsewhere, possibly in texts such as GThom. But the fact remains that it is totally impossible to accept all sayings ascribed to Jesus in all non-canonical texts as authentic; and hence we have to have some criterion for determining which such sayings might be authentic. Inevitably, one criterion will have to be the coherence which such a saying must show in relation to the primary material found in the synoptics. It is thus inevitable that any such non-canonical material we are likely to accept as possibly authentic is unlikely to change our overall picture of Jesus in any substantial way. For one will only accept material that coheres with the already existing picture (cf. above). I certainly remain unconvinced by what amounts to effectively a general application of the criterion of dissimilarity which is implied in the work of the Jesus Seminar.58 According to this, material showing a non-eschatological Jesus is taken as authentic, almost precisely because it shows Jesus distinct from the eschatological/apocalyptic preaching of John the Baptist and of the earliest Christians. However, enough has been written on the criterion of dissimilarity for us to be fully aware of its pitfalls and shortcomings. A totally ‘dissimilar’ Jesus really ultimately fails to be historically convincing, if only because Jesus is cut off from his historical context – both his prior roots and his subsequent followers – so violently. When too part of the historical roots include the figure of John the Baptist, the picture becomes even more unconvincing. One of the least contested facts about Jesus was that he voluntarily underwent baptism by John.59 At the very least, this must surely show a positive attitude by Jesus to John and to all that John was advocating. A radical split between Jesus and John does not really seem credible.60 Similarly, the overall picture of an early Christian community following Jesus that totally failed to understand the import of any showing, account must be taken of this material as at least potentially witnessing to the historical Jesus. In the discussion after this paper was given as a lecture, the question of whether Paul should be included in this context was raised. I would be very open to the idea of including the Pauline evidence, especially the (rare) instances where Paul cites Jesus traditions. The evidence in relation to other examples is more uncertain since parallels between Paul and Jesus tend to be rather general, and the differences between the two are sometimes as striking as the similarities. 58 See my review of The Five Gospels, JTS 46 (1995) 250–253. More generally on this criterion, see now G. Theißen & D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Freiburg/Switzerland & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). 59 Cf. Sanders, Jesus, 11. 60 Unless of course one follows the theory of Crossan, Historical Jesus, ch. 11, who argues that Jesus started his ministry agreeing with John, but later changed his mind and rejected John’s apocalyptic approach (pp. 237, 259 etc.).

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Jesus’ message by interpreting it in wholly alien terms of eschatology strains credulity. * Texts like GThom. have much to teach us. They throw desperately needed light on segments of early Christianity about which we are woefully ignorant. But we must ensure that the light they shed is lighting up the right place! An alternative title for this paper might have been ‘Putting Thomas in His Place’. I did not choose this, partly because the phrase ‘putting someone in their place’ has a slight double meaning in English: to put someone in their place implies an element of putting them down, trying to make them think they are less important than they maybe think they are. In relation to GThom., I do not want to do Thomas down. I would though suggest that we should ‘put Thomas in his place’ in the sense of putting the text into its proper historical context if we are to understand it aright and not misinterpret it. We must be fair to Thomas! And I wonder if the ‘place’ of GThom. is in fact much nearer the place where the full text was found, i.e. in a context of other ‘gnostic’ texts dating (probably) from the second century CE or later, and illustrating the ways in which Jesus traditions (and other traditions) were used by heterodox Christians to develop their own (at times rather strange) ideas. It is perhaps that area on which GThom. throws light for us – and the Gospel is none the worse for that! – rather than on the figure of Jesus of Nazareth himself in his first century Galilean context. 46

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XXI The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology John Dominic Crossan’s book The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1991) has been widely acclaimed and rightly occupies a leading place among the studies about the historical Jesus published in recent years.1 Crossan has earned high praise and much comment for many aspects of his work, including his ability and willingness to exploit to the full many sociological and anthropological studies in seeking to build up a portrait of Jesus. Crossan’s book is however not a bolt from the blue. In terms of his own scholarly work, some of his theories and claims here continue and develop work published earlier (e.g. his work on the aphorisms of Jesus, and his theories about some of the apocryphal gospels, especially the Gospel of Peter).2 And within the broader stream of American scholarship, Crossan’s book represents a significant trend amongst some NT American scholars who have sought to distance the historical Jesus from ideas of eschatology and/or apocalyptic, and to see the primary material in the tradition as the more

1 The renaissance of Jesus studies in recent years has led some to speak of a ‘Third Quest’ of the historical Jesus. On any showing, Crossan is a leading figure in this renaissance (though different scholars define the ‘Third Quest’ in different ways!). Cf. M. Borg, Jesus in Contemporary Scholarship (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994), 34: ‘It could be the most important book on the historical Jesus since Albert Schweitzer’s Quest of the Historical Jesus’. Borg’s book reviews many of the leading figures in the socalled ‘Third Quest’ sympathetically. A rather more critical review is provided by B. Witherington III, The Jesus Quest. The Third Search for the Jew of Nazareth (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994). Important aspects of Crossan’s general approach are also searchingly examined in J. Schröter, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Sayings Tradition. Comments on Current Research’, Neotestamentica 30 (1996) 151–168; see also N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK, 1996), 44–65, for an extended analysis of Crossan’s work. Among the many reviews of Crossan’s book, the penetrating comments of B. Meyer, CBQ 55 (1993) 575–576, are noteworthy. 2 Cf. J. D. Crossan, In Fragments. The Aphorisms of Jesus (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1983); Four Other Gospels. Shadows on the Contours of the Canon (Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985); The Cross that Spoke. The Origins of the Passion Narrative (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988).

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‘sapiential’ sayings. This trend comes out most strongly in the work of the Jesus Seminar in their book The Five Gospels.3 Crossan’s overall picture of Jesus is a striking, and in many respects novel, one. His view that Jesus is a ‘Jewish Cynic peasant’ is quite different in many aspects from the more ‘traditional’ view in historical Jesus research of Jesus as an eschatological preacher. Crossan’s book has also been widely acclaimed because of its careful and explicit attention to the question of methodology in study of the historical Jesus. Crossan takes some considerable care to set out and explain the method he adopts in his book, and challenges those who would disagree with him to be equally candid over questions of methodology. It is then primarily at the level of methodology that I wish to focus in this essay. Thus I am not so concerned with the question of the picture of Jesus as such which emerges, though one important aspect will form the focus of part of this essay; I am more concerned with the criteria and methodology used to justify the end-result claimed. Crossan sets out his general approach in an introductory Prologue (pp. xxvii–xxxiv),4 supplemented by a number of Appendices at the end of his book. I leave on one side here his use of anthropological models and typologies, and focus primarily on his use of sources. Crossan starts this section of his discussion by stressing the importance of establishing an ‘inventory’ of the available sources providing possible information about Jesus. In Crossan’s case, the inventory consists of a very large number of texts, including several non-canonical gospels and other texts known from elsewhere. Crossan’s next stage is to sort these out into different strata on the basis of their chronology. Thus he distinguishes four main strata (I 30– 60 CE, II 60–80 CE, III 80–120 CE, IV 120–150 CE) and assigns each text in the inventory to one of the strata on the basis of the alleged date of composition. Coupled with this is a set of assumptions and claims about the possible literary relationships between the various texts. Crossan does not stop to argue any individual case in detail. (Some of the relevant argumentation comes in his earlier works: cf. n. 2 above.) He is also fully aware that his own views about some details may well not be followed by others. Nevertheless, clarity on the views adopted is essential. ‘Every step of that inventory is more or less controverted, but that fact demands rather than excuses a clear stand on each problem’ (p. xxxi). The next stage is to classify each ‘complex’ of the Jesus tradition in relation to its attestation in the now stratified ‘database’. Crossan looks above all for independent attestation. Moreover, he focuses on what he 3 R. W. Funk & R. W. Hoover (eds.), The Five Gospels. The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1993). 4 Page references in brackets are to Crossan’s Historical Jesus.

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calls ‘complexes’ rather than individual sayings.5 The analysis of the attestation of complexes in the sources can now produce a hierarchy of attestation. Pride of place initially goes to those complexes which are attested in the earliest stratum of texts. ‘The investigation must begin with the first stratum and work from there to the second, third and fourth. But this step emphasizes the tremendous importance of that first stratum’ (p. xxxii, my stress). Crossan is fully aware of the dangers of assuming that authentic Jesus material can only be found in the first stratum, or that all material there is necessarily authentic. Nevertheless it is this material which provides the methodological starting point. ‘My method postulates that, at least for the first stratum, everything is original until it is argued otherwise’ (p. xxxii, my stress). From this, Crossan now uses another key criterion: the highest seriousness is to be given to complexes which are independently attested most frequently. Again, this cannot be taken as a rigid rule, but it determines the way in which the material as a whole is to be approached. These two criteria together mean that complexes which are both multiply attested and attested at least once in the earliest stratum are accorded a very high degree of importance. It is then these that provide ‘th[e] book’s basic database’ (p. 434), and the assumption should therefore be that these are probably authentic unless they can be shown to be otherwise. A corollary of this is what Crossan calls the ‘bracketing of singularity’ (p. xxxii): traditions which are attested in only one independent source are not to be taken, at least initially, as part of the primary evidence for Jesus. Thus Crossan explicitly back-tracks on some of his own earlier work which sought to build up a picture of Jesus on the basis of such singly attested traditions as the parable of the Good Samaritan.6 Crossan’s book clearly does not – and cannot – cover every issue and every decision made about authenticity. He does provide in an Appendix a list of what he regards as the whole Jesus tradition with a decision about the authenticity of each complex indicated by a ‘+’ or a ‘–’. Certainly within this list, there are a large number of complexes which are singly attested and which are marked with a ‘+’, indicating that Crossan believes that they are authentic. These include seven passages attested in the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.) alone.7 Further, there are a number of complexes which Crossan lists as multiply attested, with attestation in the earliest stratum (according 5

Cf. his earlier work on the ‘aphorisms’ of Jesus. Cf. his earlier In Parables. The Challenge of the Historical Jesus (New York: Harper & Row, 1973). 7 See F. Neirynck, ‘The Historical Jesus. Reflections on an Inventory’, ETL 70 (1994) 221–234, on p. 224. Other singly attested passages which are also accepted as authentic include a relatively large number of parables. 6

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to Crossan’s own datings) which are marked here with a ‘–’, indicating that Crossan thinks they are inauthentic. Some of these are explicitly discussed by Crossan (see below), but others are not (e.g. the complexes entitled by Crossan 11 ‘Climax of Sins’, 14 ‘Eye, Ear, Mind’, 33 ‘The Golden Rule’ etc.)8 and it is not so clear how or why Crossan has made these decisions. Crossan’s methodology appears at one level to have a high degree of rigour. It seems to give – and indeed to want to give – a measure of ‘scientific’ ‘objectivity’ to the results claimed. Crossan himself at one point appears to try to refute this: My methodology does not claim a spurious objectivity; almost every step demands a scholarly judgement and an informed decision. I am concerned, not with an unattainable objectivity, but with attainable honesty. My challenge to my colleagues is to accept those formal moves or, if they reject them, to replace them with better ones. They are, of course, only formal moves, which then demand a material investment. (p. xxxiv)

Yet this is perhaps slightly disingenuous. It seems clear that Crossan is claiming some degree of objectivity for his results.9 He himself claims that his insistence on accepting primarily multiply attested traditions ‘pushes the trajectory back as far as it can go with at least formal objectivity’ (p. xxxiii); and he heavily criticises earlier Jesus research for being way behind the times in terms of methodological awareness, like an archaeologist digging at random: ‘without scientific stratigraphy … almost any conclusion can be derived from almost any object’ (p. xxviii, my stress). It seems clear that Crossan hopes that his own work will not suffer the same pitfalls, and that hence his is a stratigraphy that is ‘scientific’. So too the language of the sayings providing a ‘basic database’ suggests (at least to an English eye/ear) a claim to have a set of solid, scientific ‘facts’, or pieces of information, on which to base logically subsequent theories. The use of such loaded words seems quite deliberate and suggests that Crossan is making some sort of claim to be both ‘scientific’ and ‘objective’ in his approach.10 8

The numberings of the complexes are Crossan’s own and are included here simply to assist in cross-referencing with Crossan’s book itself. 9 See Witherington, Jesus Quest, 82; cf. also Meyer’s review, CBQ 55 (1993) 575. 10 There may be an element of tension in Crossan’s work between what is said here and some of his more post-modernist leanings (cf. his own rejection of an older-style ‘uncommitted, objective, dispassionate historical study’ [p. 423]). On this see the somewhat satirical essay of N. T. Wright, ‘Taking the Text with Her Pleasure. A Post-Modernist Response to J. Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Peasant’, Theology 96 (1993) 303–310, and the rather more sober reply by C. Marsh, ‘Is Wright Right about Michelle?’, Theology 96 (1993) 455–461; also Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 54–55, and the broader discussion of C. Marsh, ‘Quests of the Historical Jesus in New Historicist Perspective’, Biblical Interpretation 5 (1997) 403–437, esp. p. 406.

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Nevertheless, behind these claims, and indeed behind much of what is presented here as the starting points in a long and detailed analysis of the Jesus tradition, lies a whole set of presuppositions and assumptions. Crossan claims that his discussion of method is only dealing with the formal moves he makes (cf. above). This may be so, but in many spheres, ‘form’ and ‘content’ are not always easy to distinguish; and the ‘formal moves’ made by Crossan very often have built into them a large number of preceding presuppositions. As already noted, Crossan himself is fully aware of this; nevertheless, they are rarely if ever discussed explicitly yet they have an enormous influence on the discussion, as I shall try to show. Crossan’s formal methodology involves a mathematical element, by counting the number of witness attesting a complex in the tradition. This means at the very least that one must be clear what one is counting and why. Thus I consider first some general features of Crossan’s approach in his analysis of the sources used as evidence, and of the individual units (‘complexes’) into which the Jesus tradition is divided.

1. Sources 1.1. Crossan sees as a first step a declaration of ‘all the major sources and texts … to be used’ (p. xxxi). Crossan refers just before this to ‘the textual problem derived from the very nature of the Jesus tradition itself’ and so one assumes that the sources to be used are sources of the Jesus tradition. At this level alone, some of Crossan’s work raises questions. What counts as ‘Jesus tradition’? It is presumably uncontroversial to include here all textual evidence which purports to be evidence of things said or done by Jesus. Further, most ‘historical Jesus’ research assumes that the prime aim is to recover the pre-Easter Jesus; hence the focus of attention would/ should be the material purporting to go back to the pre-Easter Jesus. And indeed most Jesus research implicitly assumes that this is the only evidence allowable. Yet Crossan includes at various places a number of witnesses to individual complexes of Jesus tradition which do not present themselves explicitly as witnesses of things said or done by Jesus. In other cases, there are traditions which are not claimed to go back to the pre-Easter Jesus. Thus the evidence of Paul is cited not infrequently, not only in places where Paul does explicitly cite Jesus (e.g. 1 Cor 9.14; 1 Thess 4.13–18 [perhaps: see below]), but also a wide range of other Pauline texts such as 1 Cor 1.19; 2.7; 2.8; 10.27; 13.2; 15.6; 1 Thess 2.15; 5.2 etc., where no such explicit citation claim is made. Texts from Revelation, which refer to what appear to be sayings of the risen Jesus (e.g. 3.3, 5 etc.) are also cited as part of Crossan’s evidence. So too texts from the Didache, Hermas, James and other early Christian sources are cited, often as independent

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witnesses of the Jesus tradition.11 Now many such cases are at least debatable. 1 Thess 5.2 may be intended to echo Jesus tradition, but it is not explicitly doing so.12 But in texts such as James, the Didache and Hermas, as well as in much of the Pauline evidence, the nature of the parallels between what is said in those texts and similar material in the gospels is a highly controversial one. The justification for taking many of these as witnesses of the Jesus tradition to recover the historical Jesus is thus very questionable. There is a real danger of confusing (possible) parallels with citations, and sliding too quickly from one to the other. 1.2. A further point concerns the ‘sources’ or ‘texts’ used by Crossan in his inventory as separate items (and which therefore affect his results significantly when counting the number of independent witnesses). Some ‘texts’ are actual manuscripts we possess, e.g. papyri scraps such as ‘the Egerton Gospel’,13 P. Vindob. G. 2325 (the Fayyum fragment), P. Oxy. 1224, P. Oxy. 840, as well as the canonical gospels of the NT. Others are documents of which we possess no manuscript copy, but whose existence (and a little of the content) is known from citations in patristic writers, e.g. the Gospel of the Hebrews, the Gospel of the Egyptians. Others are sources which are believed to lie behind the texts we have in manuscript form, e.g. two postulated strata in the Gospel of Thomas, the ‘Cross Gospel’ (lying behind the present text of the Gospel of Peter), a supposed ‘miracles collection’ (lying behind Mark and John). Others again may be strata believed to lie behind sources which lie behind extant texts, e.g. Q1 and Q2 lying behind Q, the source believed to lie behind Matthew and Luke. Further, there is in Crossan’s inventory a curious lack of uniformity about how much source criticism is implicitly undertaken in producing the ‘data’. The matter has considerable significance given the ‘tremendous importance’ ascribed to the earliest stratum (cf. above). Some traditions can only be ascribed to this earliest stratum via some source-critical discussions (supremely GThom., also Q).14 Others are denied this option by 11 E.g. Jas 2.5 is cited as independent attestation of the beatitude in Q 6.20 and GThom. 54 (p. 270); Hermas, Mand. 9.20.2–3 is cited as an independent witness to Mark 10.23–27 (p. 274); Did. 16.6–8 is cited as a witness to sayings (of Jesus!) about Jesus’ apocalyptic return (p. 245 and see below). 12 The case is probably stronger in the case of 1 Thess 5.2 than in other instances of parallels between what Paul says and Jesus tradition. See my ‘Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians?’, in R. F. Collins (ed.), The Thessalonian Correspondence (BETL 87; Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 160–182 (pp. 316–339 in this volume), on p. 171 (above, p. 328). 13 = Papyrus Egerton 2, now expanded by P. Köln 255. The description of this as the Egerton Gospel’ seems new in Crossan’s work: see Neirynck, ‘Reflections’, 229. 14 For GThom., only the earlier layer is placed in the earliest stratum. Crossan does not place the different stages of Q in different chronological strata: both are in the ear-

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virtue of a (mostly silent) decision not to make any source-critical proposals about the texts in which they now appear. Thus the parable of the Good Samaritan is listed as appearing only as early as the third stratum (p. 449, though Crossan takes it as authentic). It does of course surface in an extant text (the Gospel of Luke) which is here dated (fairly uncontroversially) to the period 80–120 CE, i.e. in the third stratum. Yet, as Crossan himself is full aware, a powerful case can be mounted for the parable coming to Luke from earlier tradition (partly on the basis of a certain mismatch between the parable itself and Luke’s use of it).15 Why does one not then postulate sources behind the ‘M’ and ‘L’ materials in Matthew and Luke? So too the story about picking corn on the Sabbath in Mark 2.23–26 is taken as singly attested in the second stratum (p. 444, where it is judged to be inauthentic). Again, a strong case can be made for Mark 2.23–26 representing the end process of what was probably a complex development in its tradition history prior to Mark.16 Again, as with the ‘M’ and ‘L’ material, why not postulate sources behind Mark?17 If Q is allowed as a source behind Matthew and Luke, and even Q1 and Q2 are admitted as sources behind Q, if two strata are admitted behind GThom., if a Cross Gospel behind the Gospel of Peter is allowed, why is a similar possibility denied to traditions in the canonical gospels apart from Q? The very way in which the evidence is being constructed thus seems to be privileging some parts of the tradition, notably Q and GThom., and introducing a bias against other parts, especially the canonical synoptic gospels. The nature of the sources and relationships asserted here is also controversial. In one way Crossan is quite open and explicit about this (cf. above). Yet the claims implicitly made in the inventory cover a very wide range when measured against a kind of ‘scholarly plausibility’. 18 Thus the existence of Q, although denied by some, would be accepted by very many today and is clearly a theory with a long pedigree in critical scholarship. A division of Q into Q1 and Q2 would be accepted by far fewer, but clearly liest stratum. Nevertheless, the very existence of Q depends on a source-critical analysis of Matthew and Luke. 15 See Crossan’s own earlier article ‘Parable and Example in the Teaching of Jesus’, NTS 18 (1972) 285–307, esp. pp. 287–291. 16 D. Lührmann, Das Markusevangelium (HNT 3; Tübingen: Mohr, 1987), 64, gives a succinct summary. 17 To be fair, Crossan does postulate one such source, viz. the ‘miracles collection’ possibly lying behind Mark and John. On this see below. However, the possibility of other pre-Markan traditions is not discussed. It is possible too that many such traditions are, on Crossan’s presuppositions, only singly attested, and hence would not come into consideration. However, Crossan himself does admit at least some traditions which are singly attested as authentic: cf. n. 7 above. 18 I mean by this the extent of scholarly backing Crossan could claim if he were in the business of giving footnotes (which he generally is not!).

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also represents a viable option by a significant number of other Q scholars.19 The existence of a ‘Cross Gospel’ behind the Gospel of Peter might be more controversial, in that Crossan has persuaded very few others of the correctness of his theory, though he himself has published a detailed defence of it.20 On the other hand, other theories implied here are far more uncertain and yet are presented almost as a fait accompli with virtually no backing at all. Thus Crossan’s claim about a collection of miracle stories behind Mark and John (pp. 310–312) is based solely on an alleged common sequence of five stories in the two ‘gospels’.21 Yet of the five allegedly in Mark, one has to be imported from the ‘Secret Gospel of Mark’; moreover, apart from the feeding story and the walking on the water, none appears in the same context in both Gospels; and the theory bears no relation to other theories proposed about possible collections of miracle stories in either Mark or John.22 And yet this alleged Miracles Collection is placed by Crossan in the highly privileged first stratum. Perhaps even more important in Crossan’s overall presentation are his implied theories about GThom. Crossan claims that behind the present text of GThom. lie two layers. ‘These twin layers are identified, but tentatively and experimentally, as follows: the earliest Jesus-layer is now discernible primarily in those units with independent attestation elsewhere and is placed in the first stratum’ (pp. 427–428, my stress). The rest of the material in GThom. is placed in the second stratum. Crossan admits that this is a ‘rather crude stratification’ (p. 428) and one might agree. Theories about strata within GThom. have been current for many years;23 but few others have advocated such a criterion as Crossan’s for distinguishing strata within GThom. in quite this way.24 In fact, since in the vast majority of cases the 19 The seminal work in this respect is that of J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). All such work of a redaction-critical nature on the Q material is deeply indebted to the pioneering work of D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969). 20 Crossan, The Cross that Spoke. But see n. 27 below. 21 Mark 2.1–12//John 5.1–8; Mark 6.33–44//John 6.1–15; Mark 6.45–52//John 6.16– 21; Mark 8.22–26//John 9.1–7; Secret Gospel of Mark 1v20–2r11a//John 11.1–51. 22 For John, cf. the well-known theory of the existence of a Signs Source. For Mark, I know of no other proposal that precisely these miracles formed a pre-Markan collection. See the critique of Neirynck, ‘Reflections’, 225, who calls Crossan’s argument here ‘extremely weak’. 23 See, for example, the theories of G. Quispel, e.g. in ‘The Gospel of Thomas Revisited’, in B. Barc (ed.), Colloque international sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Quebec & Louvain: Presses de l’Université Laval & Peeters, 1981), 218–266 (and in many other places). 24 Crossan’s theory is very similar to that of H. Koester (cf. his Ancient Christian Gospels [London: SCM, 1990], 75–113, and elsewhere), who also posits two strata with-

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only ‘independent attestation elsewhere’ for sayings in GThom. is to be found in the synoptic gospels (and often in Q), and since GThom.’s independence from the synoptic tradition is assumed without question, the procedure leads to an almost inevitable result. This material, on the basis of the assumption of GThom.’s independence, is ipso facto multiply attested; and the criterion adopted for distinguishing between an earlier and a later stratum in GThom. then assigns this material to the earliest stratum by definition. The way in which Crossan appears to have, somewhat arbitrarily, set up his criterion for distinguishing layers within GThom. thus inevitably leads to a privileging of the GThom. material shared with the canonical gospels in his presentation of the historical Jesus. 1.3. Similar considerations apply in relation to the dating of the texts used by Crossan. Again Crossan is fully aware that many of his claims are controversial. Thus he lists texts such as P. Oxy. 1224, the Gospel of the Hebrews, the Egerton Gospel, as well as ‘GThom.1’, in the earliest stratum (i.e. 30–60 CE). Several of these claims are very uncertain. Neirynck comments drily that ‘the dating of the writings fragmentarily preserved in the papyri mentioned above cannot be more than a guess’.25 He refers to P. Sellew’s dating of P. Oxy. 840 (‘sometime before 200 CE’) as ‘an educated guess’, and R. J. Miller’s dating of P. Oxy. 1224 (‘as early as the 50’s’) as ‘more imaginative guesswork’.26 Much of this may however not make that much difference. The very fact that many of these texts are so fragmentary that they contain very little by way of substance. Thus a decision for or against an early date can only affect a relatively small amount of material.27 It is however once again GThom. which provides a more important text in this regard, if only because GThom. contains so much more by way of substance than other non-canonical texts. As already noted, Crossan advocates a division of the material in GThom. into two strata; he also assigns the earlier layer to the very early first stratum. The two issues in GThom., but argues to this position on the basis of an analysis of the individual sayings and a comparison of them with their synoptic counterparts. Whether this is meant to lie behind Crossan’s rather cryptic statement is not very clear. 25 Neirynck, ‘Reflections’, 232. 26 Neirynck, ‘Reflections’, 232. Cf. R. J. Miller (ed.), The Complete Gospels. Annotated Scholars Version (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992), 412 (for Sellew), 416 (Miller). 27 I leave aside here a discussion of the passion narratives and Crossan’s theory that all the canonical passion narratives can be traced back to a primitive source in the postulated ‘Cross Gospel’ lying behind the Gospel of Peter. Crossan’s theories about the Gospel of Peter have been extensively critiqued by R. E. Brown, ‘The Gospel of Peter and Canonical Gospel Priority’, NTS 33 (1987) 321–343; idem, The Death of the Messiah (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 1317–1349; also Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 60–61.

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(stratification and dating) are logically distinct, though Crossan seems to confuse them.28 It would, for example, be quite possible for an early layer in GThom. to be dated relatively late. But the dating of this alleged layer in GThom. now gives it unprecedented priority in Crossan’s reconstruction of Jesus, for ‘GThom.1’ and Q are the main sources of any substance in the first stratum. Since it is only material in this first stratum which Crossan is prepared to consider initially as potentially authentic, the result is that the GThom. material is supremely privileged. Further, since the very definition of GThom.1 means that it is multiply attested, and Crossan’s method is to focus on multiply attested complexes and to bracket off singly attested tradition, the inevitable result is that the GThom. material emerges as the most significant. GThom. thus assumes an enormous importance in the reconstruction of Jesus, by virtue of a number of assumptions and presuppositions that remain rather buried and hidden in Crossan’s book. One should also perhaps note at this point that many of these assumptions about GThom. are highly controversial. Crossan’s use of GThom. depends in part of a theory of GThom.’s independence from the synoptics (thus implying that a tradition occurring in both GThom. and the synoptics is multiply attested),29 and also in part on the dating of GThom. (thus implying that any such tradition is attested in the earliest stratum). The independence of GThom. from the synoptic tradition is indeed asserted by many, but equally it is opposed by a large number of other scholars.30 So too the dating of virtually half of the material in GThom. to such an early period of 30–60 CE would be regarded by many as somewhat optimistic. The dating of the present full text of GThom. is highly controversial, and few would be so confident as to date a source behind the present text with quite such precision (especially when the nature of the material, viz. generalised gnomic sayings, is so unspecific). Crossan may have made quite a lot of his ‘formal moves’ in his discussion of methodology. Far more significant is some of the ‘material investment’ which lies behind the formal moves he makes. 28 Cf. his statement that his ‘rather crude stratification emphasizes how much of this collection [i.e. GThom.] is very, very early’ (p. 428). Cf. Neirynck’s comment that ‘it is less clear’ to him why this is so! (‘Reflections’, 233) 29 The general point that traditions are only ‘multiply’ attested in sources if one assumes that the sources are mutually independent is also noted by C. A. Evans, Jesus and His Contemporaries (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 16. 30 Fort the most recent, detailed defence of GThom.’s independence, see S. J. Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1993). I have argued in detail for a theory of GThom.’s dependence in ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume). See the general survey of opinion in F. T. Fallon & R. Cameron, ‘The Gospel of Thomas’, ANRW 2.25.6, 4196–4251, on p. 4216, with more details of names of those supporting the various views.

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2. Complexes A number of similar or related problems of definition arise in relation to the individual units into which Crossan divides the material. Crossan works with what he calls ‘complexes’ rather than individual sayings. A ‘complex’ is clearly something broader than a saying and less easy to pin down. Nevertheless, there are problems on how to define complexes, above all on how to separate one complex from another and/or when to include individual texts as witnesses to a single complex. This clearly becomes significant when one starts counting attestations numerically and applying the procedure of ignoring singly attested complexes. To illustrate some of the problems, I take the single complex called by Crossan 2 ‘Jesus’ Apocalyptic Return’. This is of considerable importance to Crossan as his analysis of it forms a key part of his claim that eschatology and/or apocalyptic was not determinative for Jesus (pp. 243–247). Crossan sees here six independent witnesses: (1) 1 Thess 4.13–18, (2) Did. 16.6–8, (3) Matt 24.30, (4) Mark 13.24–27 and pars., (5) Rev 1.7; 1.13; 14.14, (6) John 19.37. Comments about this list can be made in relation to some of the general points already made. Thus 1 Thess 4 may be a quotation of Jesus tradition, but this is not certain; and even if it is, it is by no means clear how far it is a citation rather than a paraphrase.31 Did. 16 makes no explicit claim at all to be reproducing part of Jesus tradition. In addition, the independence of Did. 16 from Matt 24 is at least debatable.32 The texts from Revelation make no claim to be statements made by Jesus: they are visions/claims made by the author of Revelation about Jesus. So too John 19.37 is not an alleged statement by Jesus, but a comment by the evangelist.

31 See the detailed discussion of the various possibilities in my ‘Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians?’, 176–182 (above, pp. 333–339). Crossan bases a lot on the fact that Paul uses ‘Lord’ and not ‘Son of Man’ (SM) here. But whether we really do have a verbatim citation here, enabling us to be so precise about the nature of the wording, must remain very doubtful. In any case it is questionable whether any saying of Jesus himself which Paul might have been quoting would have had Jesus speak of ‘the Lord’ in the 3 rd person to refer to himself throughout. Such would be quite unparalleled in the rest of the Jesus tradition. 32 The case for the independence of Did. 16 is made strongly by J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Did 16,6–8 and Special Matthean Tradition’, ZNW 70 (1979) 54–67. For the theory that Did. is dependent on the synoptics (here and elsewhere), see my ‘Synoptic Tradition in the Didache’, in J.-M. Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament and Early Christianity (BETL 86; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 197–230, esp. pp. 200–208; also A. Lindemann, ‘Die Endzeitrede in Didache 16 und die Jesus-Apokalypse in Matthäus 24–25’, in W. L. Petersen, J. Vos, H. J. de Jonge (eds.), Sayings of Jesus. Canonical and Non-Canonical (FS T. Baarda; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 155–174.

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What is it though that holds all these texts together so that they can/ should be considered as part of a single ‘complex’? Clearly the texts cited are not versions of a single identifiable saying and Crossan does not claim this. Rather, they are presumably linked by Crossan because he thinks they form a thematic unity, focusing on ‘Jesus’ apocalyptic return’. Yet here too questions arise. Rev 1.7, 13; 14.14 are not necessarily to do with an ‘apocalyptic return’ of Jesus. Much depends on how one defines ‘apocalyptic’ though Crossan seems to assume that this is a reference to a future event. But at least Rev 1.13 seems to be a vision that the seer has in the present.33 So too John 19.37 is a description not of any future event at all, but of the crucifixion of Jesus. The verse is included by Crossan here only because of the theory he puts forward about the origin of the reference to ‘seeing’ in the other apocalyptic texts. According to Crossan, this verb is an allusion to Zech 12.10 and its original reference in the tradition is to the crucifixion of Jesus, as in John 19. The references to ‘seeing’ Jesus returning at the parousia are then the result of a secondary development whereby the application is shifted from the cross to the parousia, and allusion to Dan 7.13 is also incorporated. One can discuss this theory of an alleged development of the tradition and its merits.34 But it seems that John 19.37 can only with some considerable difficulty be said to be concerned with Jesus’ ‘apocalyptic return’. As a ‘complex’ this set of texts is far more amorphous than that. One might call the group something like ‘The development – and disappearance – of Zech 12.10’. But the texts are clearly not all to do with Jesus’ apocalyptic return. Nor are they appropriately all part of ‘Jesus tradition’ in the sense of being things allegedly said by the pre-Easter Jesus. In fact there are of course many other texts which are much more closely related to the general theme of Jesus’s apocalyptic return. These could include sayings such as Q 17.23–24, 17.26–27, Mark 14.62, Luke 21.34– 36, as well as parables such as Q 12.39–40 and 12.42–46. Yet in Crossan’s division of the material, these are assigned to different complexes. Thus Q 17.23–24 is listed as 174 ‘As With Lightning’35, Q 17.26–27 and Luke 33

It is not quite so clear if Rev 1.7 and 14.14 are to be interpreted as referring to the present or the future. 34 The theory is that of N. Perrin: see his ‘Mark xiv.61. The End Product of a Christian Pesher Tradition?’, NTS 13 (1966) 150–155. It is though perhaps slightly odd that, for all his insistence on the importance of taking chronology seriously, Crossan’s theory makes the latest text (John) a witness to the earliest form of the tradition, and the earliest text (1 Thessalonians) attests the latest form of the tradition (with Zech 12.10 disappearing from view and Dan 7 just in sight). 35 Though there is some confusion: Luke 17.23 is also listed under 8 ‘When and Where’, and the discussion on p. 282 clearly also assumes that this includes the lightning saying in v. 24.

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17.28–30 are listed separately as 176 ‘As with Noah’ and 177 ‘As with Lot’; Mark 14.62 appears as part of the unit Mark 14.53, 60–65 and pars. entitled ‘Priest’s Question’. Moreover, as these are only singly attested (according to Crossan), they are never discussed explicitly.36 In fact, however, one could argue that they are all to do (broadly) with Jesus’ apocalyptic return, and belong in this ‘complex’ of ideas, even if they are (manifestly) not versions of a single saying. Certainly they would seem to have far more to do with this theme than, say, John 19.37! In looking for multiply attested traditions or complexes, it is clear that much depends on how one defines a complex and how one divides the material of the tradition up into different complexes. At one point, Crossan himself allows himself the luxury of accepting as authentic what appears in two singly attested complexes: on p. 260 he takes the contrast between Jesus and John the Baptist implied in Mark 2.18–20 and Q 7.31–35 as authentic on the grounds that ‘they evince double attestation not of the same text but of the same theme’ (my stress). Yet if multiple attestation is allowed of broader themes as well as of ‘the same text’,37 then the same could apply to such a widely attested theme as ‘Jesus’ apocalyptic return’.38 In the course of his preliminary discussion and his subsequent analysis, Crossan makes much of his methodological frankness and openness about the formal moves he makes. Yet just as, if not more, important may be the prior assumptions, definitions and division of the material which are the essential prerequisites before any formal moves involving attestation are made. * In the next part of this essay I consider Crossan’s own analysis of one particular important part of the Jesus tradition to see how his own criteria are applied in practice. This concerns the eschatological or apocalyptic elements in the tradition, most of which Crossan claims are not authentic to Jesus. 48

3. Jesus and John Crossan starts his discussion by considering the person of John the Baptist and his relationship to Jesus. He argues (uncontroversially) that Jesus was baptised by John, and that this action must therefore indicate a measure of agreement between Jesus and John’s apocalyptic preaching, at least at the 36

Though see below on Luke 17.23–24. Though several of Crossan’s complexes are manifestly not the same ‘text’! 38 Cf. too Witherington, Jesus Quest, 66–67. 37

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time of the baptism (pp. 232–237). Such agreement with John is also indicated by sayings such as Q 7.24–28a. However, Q 7.28b (‘the least in the Kingdom is greater than he [John]’) Crossan takes as contrary to the high praise of John implied in v. 28a (‘Among those born among women, there is none greater than John’).39 Hence Jesus must have changed his views and broken with John’s preaching (pp. 237–238). Crossan thus lands up with the methodologically somewhat uncomfortable picture of two seemingly irreconcilable traditions, both of which are deemed to be authentic: hence there are two radically different Jesuses, an early Jesus and a late Jesus. Both are the historical Jesus; but as with Q1 and Q2, and GThom.1 and GThom.2, we now seem to have a Jesus1 and a Jesus2! Yet in all Crossan’s subsequent work, the ‘Jesus1’ drops out of sight completely. All attention is focused on the non-eschatological ‘Jesus2’ who is different from John. As we shall see, Crossan argues strenuously that all the apocalyptic elements in the tradition are inauthentic. The possibility that such elements are historical and go back to an early Jesus, prior to the break with John, is never raised again. One wonders if in fact the real criterion at work in slightly disguised form is rather more a criterion of dissimilarity, akin to that adopted by the Jesus Seminar in their discussion of the Jesus material in the gospels, a seminar of which Crossan was an active member. Here a key factor in the discussion is frequently an appeal to the dissimilarity between Jesus and the apocalyptic preaching of both John and later Christians.40 We shall see later that underlying other decisions of Crossan may be rather more the criterion of dissimilarity than is usually acknowledged.

4. ‘Apocalyptic’ Traditions The discussion of Jesus and John leads into a treatment of what Crossan sees as an immediate difficulty for the theory of a Jesus who rejected John’s apocalyptic preaching, viz. the sayings about an apocalyptic Son of Man (SM) (pp. 238–259). Crossan thus seeks to show that none of the sayings about an apocalyptic SM is authentic. A key part of his argument is to appeal to the number and distribution of the references to the apocalyptic SM in his inventory. The apocalyptic SM occurs in 18 complexes, 6 of which have plural attestation. ‘As usual, I focus my analysis on these latter complexes’ (p. 243): i.e. all singly attested complexes are not discussed. 39 Crossan is by no means alone in driving a wedge between Q 7.28a and 7.28b, though it may not be necessary: see my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 130–136, esp. p. 134. 40 See Funk & Hoover (eds.), Five Gospels, 4 and passim; cf. my review in JTS 46 (1995) 250–253.

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Further, Crossan claims that it is striking that in each complex, the actual phrase SM occurs in at most only one version each time. ‘That striking phenomenon will be of crucial importance for my analysis’ (p. 243).41 Yet such general – and quite bold – generalisations cover a number of quite controversial prior decisions, as we shall see. Crossan sees as a key task in his attempt to deny the authenticity of the apocalyptic SM sayings the analysis of what he takes as multiply attested complexes with support in the earliest stratum. Thus he considers first the complex called ‘Jesus’ apocalyptic return’. 4.1. I have already considered some aspects of Crossan’s treatment of this earlier (see above). But the claim that the apocalyptic SM occurs in only one of the six witnesses is also rather questionable. It is true that the phrase ‘SM’ does not occur in what Crossan takes as the earliest source, viz. 1 Thess 4 (though, as we have noted, it is not at all clear how far this is a precise quotation of Jesus tradition by Paul: hence it is not at all certain that we can rely on Paul’s use of the word ‘Lord’ here as clear evidence that the tradition possibly cited did not use ‘SM’.) But the other witnesses are less clear. As noted above, there is debate about the relationship between Did. 16 and Matt 24.30; yet Matt 24.30 does use the phrase ‘SM’. It is possible that both reflect a common source (so Crossan, pp. 245–246) and also possible (though no more: see n. 34 above) that Did. 16’s version, without ‘SM’, more accurately reflects the wording of the source. But even on Crossan’s own presuppositions, Matt 24.30, cited as one of the six witnesses to the complex, does contain the phrase ‘SM’. So too does Mark 13.24–27 and parallels, as do Rev 1.7, 13 and 14.14. Crossan tries to distinguish between a ‘titular’ use of the phrase ‘SM’ and the usage in Revelation: the texts in Revelation ‘show explicitly a usage of Dan. 7:13 in which Jesus is still ‘one like a son of man’, that is, not a titular Son of Man but simply identified and equated with the heavenly figure of that apocalyptic vision’ (p. 247, cf. pp. 238–243). Yet this seems somewhat special pleading. Many would argue that the origin of the gospel use of the phrase SM lies precisely in Dan 7 itself. It may indeed be the case that it is hard, if not impossible, to find a ‘SM concept’ outside and independently of Dan 7; and in this sense ‘SM’ is not a ‘title’. Nevertheless, if Jesus traditions use the phrase ‘SM’, or ‘one like a son of man’, in clear allusion to Dan 7 in a context which one might call ‘apocalyptic’, it is hard to see how this can then be denied as being a reference to an ‘apocalyptic SM’.

41 In his first complex analysed, Crossan changes this slightly to the claim that ‘the titular Son of Man stems only from one single source, Mark’ (p. 243), which is a rather different claim. For the importance of this criterion, see too Borg, Jesus, 8.

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We have already noted that, within Crossan’s six alleged testimonies to the complex ‘Jesus’ apocalyptic return’, John 19.37 scarcely belongs happily (see above): it is more a witness to Crossan’s alleged theory of the origin of the reference to ‘seeing’ in the texts that do actually speak of Jesus’ apocalyptic return. Thus of Crossan’s alleged six witnesses, at most five actually refer to Jesus’ apocalyptic return; and of these, three (Mark 13; Matt 24.30a; Revelation) do speak of Jesus as ‘SM’. Thus even on Crossan’s own presuppositions about sources and witnesses, the phrase SM used in an apocalyptic context to refer to Jesus’ return seems far more deeply embedded in the tradition than Crossan allows. 4.2. The next complex treated by Crossan is what he calls ‘Before the Angels’, for which he sees independent attestation in (1) Q 12.8–9 (also 2 Clem. 3.2 from Matt 10.32), (2) Mark 8.38 and pars., (3) Rev 3.5 and (4) 2 Tim 2.12. Again a number of questions arise. 2 Tim 2.12 makes no claim to be any kind of citation of Jesus tradition. It is simply a statement by the author that Jesus will deny those who deny him. It can scarcely be counted as a witness to ‘Jesus tradition’ (at least as commonly understood). So too the status in Rev 3.5 in this context is uncertain, since it makes no claim to be a citation of the ‘historical’ (i.e. pre-Easter) Jesus. Even more uncertain is Crossan’s claim that only one of his ‘texts’, viz. Mark 8.38, witnesses the use of ‘SM’ here. The Q version Q 12.8 is usually assumed also to refer to Jesus as SM here. The reconstruction of any Q wording is of course debatable in any one instance. The Lukan version in Luke 12.8 (with the reference to Jesus as SM) is widely accepted as preserving the Q version, though a minority have argued that Matthew’s version (with ‘I’ instead of ‘SM’) may be original.42 Crossan however argues that the original Q version of Q 12.8 is found in neither Matthew nor Luke: rather, in parallel to Q 12.9 (taken as best preserved in Luke 12.9), Crossan claims that the Q version of v. 8 read a simple passive: ‘Every one who acknowledges me before men will be acknowledged before the angels of my Father’ (p. 248). The main justification is an appeal to the alleged standard form of the ‘Sentences of Holy Law’ as isolated by Käsemann (cf. 1 Cor 3.17 etc.).43 Käsemann’s isolation of such a well-defined form, and his deductions about its Sitz im Leben, has of course been strongly questioned by others;44 but whatever one makes of it, the fact remains that the 42

See my Q and the History, 248–249. Cf. E. Käsemann, ‘Sentences of Holy Law in the New Testament’, in his New Testament Questions of Today (London: SCM, 1969), 66–81 (German original in NTS 1 [1955] 248–260). 44 See K. Berger, ‘Zu den sogenannten Sätzen Heiligen Rechts’, NTS 17 (1970) 10– 40; also E. Schweizer, ‘Observance of the Law and Charismatic Authority in Matthew’, NTS 16 (1970) 213–230, on p. 226 n. 3. 43

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alleged Q wording is found in neither of the two witnesses we have for Q. The claim that only one SM reference appears in the sources of the complex thus depends heavily on a hypothetical reconstruction of one source for which there is no direct textual evidence. In a brief corollary in the final summary paragraph, Crossan claims that ‘In all this, we are quite removed from the historical Jesus; the form of [this complex] is an apocalyptic sanction from the early church’ (p. 249). It is not at all clear how this has been deduced from the preceding discussion of the development of the tradition within the complex itself. One presumes that Crossan is following the form-critical assertion of Käsemann, who claimed that the form was used exclusively by post-Easter Christian prophets. But whether this is still sustainable (especially in the light of Berger’s critique showing how the form may be more at home in the wisdom tradition) is not certain. One could perhaps note here that using a more conventional dating of the texts, and a different reconstruction of Q, would produce a very different scenario. If Q 12.8 (as many have argued) is best preserved in the SM form of the saying in Luke 12.8, then SM is attested in two of the four witnesses. If Rev 3.5 is to be taken as a witness of the same complex, then its relatively late date would simply indicate a change in the developing tradition, away from ‘SM’ terminology to ‘I’ terminology, in a trend thoroughly consistent with Matthew’s presumed change of SM in Q 12.8 to ‘I’ in Matt 10.32. (2 Tim 2.12 on any showing is not part of what is conventionally called ‘Jesus’ tradition, but simply a statement made by someone else about Jesus.) Far from being clearly secondary, the SM reference may be very deeply embedded in the earliest tradition to which we have access. 4.3. A third complex discussed by Crossan in this context is what he calls ‘Knowing the Danger’, including here as witnesses (1) 1 Thess 5.2 (and 2 Pet 3.10), (2) GThom. 21, 103, (3) Q 12.39–40, (4) Rev 3.3; 16.15. Again there is the problem of how far all this is evidence of Jesus tradition. 1 Thess 5.2 is not cited as anything said by Jesus himself; and Rev 3.3 and 16.15 are presumably presented as claims of the risen Jesus. With regard to the use of SM, the uniqueness of the Q reference in this complex now seems to become itself the criterion by which Crossan deduces the nature of the development of the tradition: ‘Only in the Sayings Gospel Q is the thief identified as the Son of Man. I conclude that the Son of Man as Thief is not at the start of that stream of tradition’ (p. 251). Thus the alleged uniqueness of SM references in each complex seems now to have become the main (or only) criterion for rejecting their authenticity and deciding about the nature of the development of the tradition. As such the discussion is in danger of becoming dangerously circular.

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4.4. Another complex discussed by Crossan here is called ‘The Unknown Time’, in which Crossan includes (1) Mark 13.33–37 (and Matt 24.42 and 25.13 as dependent on Mark), (2) Luke 12.35–38, (3) Luke 21.34–36, (4) Did. 16.1, again claiming that SM only appears once, viz. in Luke 21 (p. 254). As before, one could raise questions about the implied claims about the independence of these witnesses. For example, Did. 16 could well be dependent on Luke 12.45 But more important may be the way in which individual traditions have been assigned to complexes. Thus it is very hard to see why Luke 21.34–36 should belong here. Mark 13.33–37 and Luke 12.35–38 clearly represent some version of a parable of Jesus (about a householder going away and returning). Did. 16.1 certainly bears some relation too to Luke 12.35 at least, though not to the rest of the section in Luke 12.36–38 which actually contains the parable. But Luke 21.34–36 bears only the faintest of resemblance to this tradition and seems quite independent. In fact a much closer tradition would be the Q parable of the waiting servants in Q 12.42–46 and/or the parable of the thief at night in Q 12.39– 40 (included as part of the previous complex discussed). Crossan states that Matt 24.42 is a (secondary) witness to this complex here. But Matt 24.42 is clearly all but a doublet in Matthew of Matthew’s version of the conclusion to the parable of the thief at night in Matt 24.44. It is thus hard to see why the Q parables of the thief and the waiting servants are not included in this complex. They are certainly much closer in substance to Mark 13.33–37 than Luke 21.34–36 is. But this would then create a quite different situation in relation to statistics about the use of SM. For SM would then be (again!) attested more than once in a single ‘complex’! 4.5. One must also note that all this says little or nothing about the authenticity or otherwise of the general theme of an eschatological/apocalyptic element in the Jesus tradition. The focus in Crossan’s discussion is solely on whether the SM reference is authentic, and Crossan denies for the most part that Jesus qua SM is part of the earliest tradition. As we have seen there are a number of critical questions to raise against Crossan’s analysis at this level. But the broader question of whether the eschatological or apocalyptic element is to be seen as part of the earliest Jesus tradition is not generally raised here.46 In any case Crossan never denies that Dan 7 45 See my ‘Synoptic Tradition in the Didache’, 212–214: Luke 12.35 may well be LukeR, and hence the agreement between Did. 16.1 and Luke 12.35 may show the dependence of Did. on Luke. 46 As far as I can see, it is only raised in the discussion of the ‘Before the Angels’ complex, where inauthenticity if somewhat apodictically is asserted (cf. above). There is a similar restriction of attention to the SM sayings in determining whether eschatology formed part of Jesus’ preaching in Borg, Jesus, e.g. on pp. 8, 53. For a critique, see D. C.

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does lie in the background of much of this material (cf. pp. 245, 246, 251 etc.). Thus he summarises his discussion by saying: Throughout this tradition Jesus is seen as the apocalyptic judge, and that might well have needed a very early use of Daniel 7:13 … But what is extraordinary is that I could not find a single case within those six complexes in which two independent sources both contained the Son of Man designation for Jesus. (pp. 254–255)

But if Dan 7.13, with its vision of ‘one like a son of man’ is so clearly presupposed in these sayings, and if Jesus ‘is seen as the apocalyptic judge’, then this is scarcely a hair-breadth away from saying that Jesus is seen as the one like a son of man qua eschatological judge, which is all but the same as saying that Jesus is ‘a’/‘the’ ‘apocalyptic SM’.47

5. Jesus and the Kingdom The broader question of the place of eschatology and/or apocalyptic in Jesus’ message is in fact only raised in Crossan’s next chapter on ‘Kingdom and Wisdom’ (pp. 265–302). Crossan’s discussion here focuses on the complexes which speak of the ‘Kingdom’. This has the result of quietly now ignoring all the texts discussed in the earlier chapter! Thus the possibility that Jesus might have spoken about a future judgment, perhaps even of his own role (with or without any use of the phrase ‘SM’) is simply bypassed. In relation to Kingdom sayings, Crossan notes that, in his inventory, 12 sayings are attested more than once. Hence, in accordance with his chosen method, it is these sayings that provide the basis for his understanding of the Kingdom announced by Jesus (p. 265). Of these 12 sayings, 10 are attested in GThom. outside the synoptic tradition (which generally only provides a single independent attestation of any individual Kingdom saying or complex). It is of course a well-known fact that kingdom language tends to die out very quickly in early Christian writings. Thus GThom. is often the only text which provides support from outside the synoptics for the use of kingdom language in Jesus tradition. The claim about GThom.’s independence has thus influenced the discussion very considerably here: by focusing on the ‘multiply’ attested tradition to provide the basis for understanding the kingdom language of Jesus, the evidence of GThom.

Allison, ‘A Plea for Thoroughgoing Eschatology’, JBL 113 (1994) 651–668, esp. 659– 661. 47 See my Q and the History, 173, on the similar tension in the work of those such as Lindars who claim that Jesus drew on ideas in Dan 7 in the SM sayings but deny that the term ‘SM’ itself derives from Dan 7.

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inevitably occupies pride of place by virtue of the presuppositions about GThom. which are then applied to the analysis. 5.1. Crossan recognises the ambiguity of talk of a ‘kingdom’, showing well how, in Jewish literature, it can be used to refer to a future apocalyptic kingdom or to a sapiential present one (pp. 283–292).48 Crossan argues that it is the latter which provides the matrix for understanding Jesus’ kingdom language. The main (or only?) reason given in this section seems to be the discussion of the complex Crossan calls ‘When and Where’, allegedly witnessed in (1) GThom. 3 + 51 + 113, (2) Q 17.23, (3) Mark 13.21–23 and pars., (4) Dial. Sav. 16, (5) ‘1Q?’ = Luke 17.20–21. Crossan notes that Mark 13 and Q 17.2349 are not about the Kingdom explicitly, but about the parousia, and therefore dismisses them from further discussion (p. 282). But this raises acutely the broader question of the relationship between kingdom language and parousia language. If the two are not related, then presumably these sayings should not belong to this complex at all! Crossan realises implicitly that this might not be tenable, so lists them as part of this complex. Yet this must surely imply that, for two out of the five allegedly independent witnesses to the complex asking about the ‘when’ of some great ‘event’ or happening, the answer given refers to a future event. The other witnesses, taken by Crossan as implying a view of the Kingdom as present, are however much less clear. The ‘text’ cited from Dial. Sav. is extremely fragmentary (and in any case Dial. Sav. may be dependent on the canonical gospels).50 The texts from GThom. clearly show an element of polemic, arguing against an alternative view of the Kingdom. As such they could be taken as then logically secondary to a quite different (eschatological?) interpretation of kingdom language in the tradition, the latter then being prior. Crossan argues that the polemic that any reference 48 On p. 291 Crossan makes clear that he regards the two as mutually exclusive (or at least that he is going to take them as such): ‘For this purpose apocalyptic and sapiential modes are defined as separate types of understanding. They could and were often combined, but they are taken here as disjunctive rather than conjunctive options.’ There is however a danger of equating ‘apocalyptic’ with ‘future’, and ‘sapiential’ with ‘present’, and then assuming that the two options of ‘present’ and ‘future’ are also mutually exclusive and correspond to the ‘apocalyptic/sapiential’ dichotomy. In fact, of course, more ‘traditional’ Jesus research would maintain that a present element is a key part of Jesus’ talk about the Kingdom, but this is to be seen precisely in eschatological terms (i.e. a ‘realised eschatology’): see W. G. Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment (London: SCM, 1957), for a classic statement of such a view. 49 He appears to include 17.24 in his description of this witness! See above on the slight confusion about where in the list of complexes Luke 17.23, or Luke 17.23–24, is to be located. 50 See my Nag Hammadi and the Gospel Tradition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 128–135.

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to John is totally absent at these points in the text of GThom. Any polemic, or correction, is directed to the disciples. So too the saying in Luke 17.20– 21 (‘the Kingdom is within/amongst you’) is notoriously ambiguous as all discussions of this saying have clearly shown:51 the saying could be a reference to the Kingdom as present, but it could equally be a reference to a future kingdom, suddenly coming in the future without any warning signs at all. 5.2. What then of other texts usually taken as clear evidence of an eschatological ‘Kingdom’ being important, if not foundational, for Jesus. Three texts are often cited in this respect: Mark 9.1 and pars., the Lord’s Prayer (LP), and Mark 14.25 and pars.52 A discussion of Crossan’s treatment, or non-treatment, of these may be instructive for an assessment of his overall procedure and criteria. 5.2.1. Mark 9.1 and pars. is not explicitly discussed at all, presumably because, according to Crossan’s inventory, it is not attested more than once in the tradition. In fact one could argue that the reference to ‘not tasting death’ in Mark 9.1 is close to GThom. 1, though the saying in GThom. is now given a radically different content.53 But is the ‘parallel’ between Mark 9.1 and GThom. 1 any less close than, for example, the parallel between John 19.37 and Mark 13.24–27? If then GThom. 1 were seen as related to Mark 9.1, Mark 9.1 might have had to be at least discussed by Crossan in his foundational block of multiply attested traditions. It could not simply be sidelined and ignored as it is at present. 5.2.2. The text of the LP is discussed by Crossan (pp. 293–295) but – perhaps surprisingly – its authenticity is rejected. Crossan sees the LP as attested in Q 11.2–4 and Did. 8 only. Crossan thus ignores Rom 8.15 and Gal 4.6, even though the use of the Aramaic Abba is widely agreed as reflecting the opening address of the LP.54 One would have thought that such a possible echo of Jesus tradition were at least as strong as several of the other possible echoes which are given by Crossan as clear ‘witnesses’

51

See Kümmel, Promise, 32–35. Cf. Kümmel, Promise, 25–32; J. Jeremias, New Testament Theology (London: SCM, 1972), 131 ff.; Allison, ‘Plea’, 659. 53 In GThom. it is a question of finding the proper interpretation of the hidden sayings of Jesus presented in the text which follows; in Mark 9 it is a matter of seeing the Kingdom come with power. 54 See, for example, D. Lührmann, Der Brief an die Galater (ZBK 7; Zürich: TVZ, 1978), 69, on Gal 4.6. 52

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of Jesus tradition, e.g. 1 Cor 1.19; 2.7; 13.2; 15.6;55 1 Thess 2.1556; 5.2. Yet despite the multiple attestation (at least on Crossan’s presuppositions!)57 Crossan rejects the authenticity of the prayer. This he does for two reasons: (i) one would ‘expect a wider attestation for it and also a more uniform version of its contents’ if Jesus had taught such a specific prayer to his disciples; (ii) ‘the establishment of such a prayer seems to represent the point where a group starts to distinguish and even separate itself from the wider religious community, and I do not believe that point was ever reached during the life of Jesus’ (p. 294). The first reason is scarcely convincing and could surely work against almost any tradition being authentic if one demands that authentic traditions must be widely and uniformly attested.58 It is in fact virtually impossible to find anything that is that ‘uniformly’ attested. The second reason is more interesting: Crossan seems to be working here with a model of a later Christian community separate from its Jewish parent body, but he also assumes that separation was not characteristic of the time of Jesus. Thus the relationship of Jesus to his Jewish environment is assumed to be distinct from the later Christian church. One could argue about whether such a model is appropriate for this tradition. (It has been said that the LP is thoroughly at home in a Jewish milieu and has nothing distinctively Christian about it at all.59) But the criterion used seems to be that Jesus is dissimilar to the early church and ‘similar’ to Judaism. As with John the Baptist, the criterion used seems to be a hidden version of the dissimilarity criterion, separating Jesus from the eschatological and apocalyptic preaching of the early church and of John the Baptist,60 and aligning him fully within a Jewish milieu. It is then an 55 1 Cor 15.6 is proposed by Crossan as a witness to the complex entitled ‘Bread and Fish’, which includes all the feeding stories (as well as the post-resurrection stories of Jesus meeting his disciples and having a meal with them). But there is nothing about feeding in general, let alone ‘bread’ or ‘fish’, in the text of 1 Cor 15.6! Crossan has surely tried to push too much into a single ‘complex’ at this point. One wonders if part of the motive for including 1 Cor 15.6 here is to enable the complex to be witnessed in the earliest stratum (i.e. by Paul in 1 Corinthians). 56 1 Thess 2.15 makes no pretence to be a saying of Jesus. At the most it shows a common use of what was probably a widely current motif in Judaism at this period, viz. the motif of the violence suffered by the prophets. 57 Cf. above for the theory that Did. may be dependent on Matthew. 58 In any case, the Pauline evidence may show that the tradition is more widely attested than Crossan is prepared to concede. 59 In any case, the LP comes in Q, and it may very well be that the Q tradition witnesses to a Christian community that is desperate to maintain the links between itself and the surrounding Jewish community: see my Q and the History, esp. ch. 13. 60 Though Crossan takes the LP as not ‘apocalyptic’ and thoroughly in line with Jesus on the Kingdom: it is ‘a beautiful summary of the themes and emphases in Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God’ (p. 294).

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application of what Theissen and Winter have called the DKC (and not DKJ).61 5.2.3. The discussion of Mark 14.25 by Crossan takes place in the context of an analysis of the Eucharist traditions as a whole (pp. 360–367). Crossan refers to the traditions occurring in Did. 9 and Did. 10 and argues for the priority of the latter over the former as indicating that originally there was no separate Eucharist at all, i.e. it was an ordinary meal with no ritualization of bread and/or cup. Discussion of that would take us too far afield here. Suffice it to note that even in both Did. 9 and Did. 10, there is still a prayer for a coming ‘kingdom’ (Did. 9.4; 10.5–6), a fact which Crossan notes in passing (and refers to as an ‘apocalyptic’ prayer, p. 363). Given the presence of a similar (but not identical) eschatological reference in 1 Cor 11.26, Mark 14.26, Luke 22.16 (probably independent of Mark), it seems clear that a prayer for an eschatological kingdom is deeply embedded in the earliest traditions about the Eucharist which we have, quite independently of the question of whether we have any ‘ritualization’ of bread and wine.

6. Conclusions In a very brief final section, we may note how, working with many of Crossan’s ‘formal moves’, a very different picture might emerge on the basis of a rather different set of presuppositions about sources and a rather different division of the material into ‘complexes’ or separate ‘themes’. One could regard GThom. as a secondary development of the tradition, dependent on the synoptics (at perhaps several stages removed), hence relatively late in date and not an independent witness to the tradition. One could regard much of the rest of the non-canonical material as equally secondary (and probably relatively late). The basic inventory might then include four ‘sources’: Mark, Q, M and L, with possible scope for further refinement in relation to pre-Markan traditions. It would also contain the 61 See G. Theißen & D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Freiburg/Switzerland & Göttingen: Universitätsverlag & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). They distinguish between a dissimilarity criterion in relation to early Christianity (‘DKC’) and a dissimilarity criterion in relation to Judaism (‘DKJ’). They thus show clearly how ‘the’ dissimilarity criterion is in fact two criteria (i.e. DKJ and DKC), and that different scholars have emphasised one rather than the other at different periods in the course of critical scholarship. They also show that it is characteristic of many recent studies of Jesus (the ‘Third Quest’) to see Jesus as fully integrated within a Jewish milieu, if necessary by distinguishing him from the later Christian church, i.e. applying a DKC and not a DKJ.

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evidence of Paul, but this might be fairly limited in extent, confined to the texts where Paul gives an explicit indication that he is citing Jesus tradition (hence 1 Cor 7.11; 9.14; 11.23–25; 1 Thess 4.16–18 at most, but probably no more).62 The non-canonical tradition would then by and large simply be a witness to the later development of the tradition after the time of the canonical synoptic gospels. On the basis of an inventory of sources like this, one could then divide the individual sayings of the tradition up into a series of fairly broadly based ‘complexes’ or ‘themes’. One such general theme, such as an eschatological element in Jesus’ kingdom language, might then appear in many strands of the tradition independently (Mark: cf. Mark 9.1; 14.25; Q: Q 6.20; 11.3; 11.20). So too Jesus’ talk of a ‘SM’ figure in apocalyptic/ eschatological contexts would be seen as firmly grounded in the tradition (Mark: Mark 8.38; 13.24–27; 14.62; Q: Q 12.8; 17.23–24). A very different picture of Jesus would emerge, moreover one that is horribly familiar and old hat to any student of historical Jesus research. It is thus not Crossan’s overt methodology that really makes any difference at all in his reconstruction of the figure of Jesus. Crossan’s Jesus is different, but not because his methodology in itself is at one level any different from that of others.63 In terms of the formal steps in his approach, Crossan is in fact very similar to Jeremias, Sanders and others. Where Crossan does differ is in part in a number of his presuppositions, especially in relation to prior source theories and datings, i.e. the ‘material investment’ which he brings to his formal method. The assumption of so much non-canonical material as independent and early may in one way be a slight smoke-screen, since so many of the non-canonical texts we possess are so fragmentary. But the assumption about the independence and date of the material in GThom. has more far-reaching effects, and the decision to delve behind the canonical gospels only in the case of Q potentially skews the analysis before it has ever started. In addition, a number of decisions about how the individual sayings in the various texts are to be grouped as similar and related, or separated as distinct, also has a profound effect on the end-result. Thus the actual division of individual verses/units in the texts into discrete ‘complexes’ can also potentially affect the analysis significantly.

62 If one wished to include elements about the resurrection traditions, as Crossan does, one should of course add 1 Cor 15.3–7 to this list. 63 Cf. Borg, Jesus, 34: ‘This part of Crossan’s method is essentially a tightened and refined version of a method that has long been attested by Jesus scholars: the “criterion of multiple attestation”. This does not minimize Crossan’s achievement but shows his continuity with earlier Jesus scholarship.’

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It is also noticeable that at times Crossan does not even follow his own stated criteria very closely.64 Thus we have seen occasions where traditions which are both multiply attested and with attestation in the earliest stratum (on Crossan’s own presuppositions) are regarded as inauthentic (cf. above on Jesus’ apocalyptic return, or the LP). Similarly, the alleged striking statistical ‘results’ claimed by Crossan (e.g. in relation to the distribution of SM sayings in the tradition) turn out to be significantly affected and determined by a number of prior decisions which have changed the nature of the evidence at times (cf. the reconstructed Q version of Q 12.8 above). Finally we may note that for all Crossan’s silence about, and in part rejection of, a criterion of dissimilarity,65 such a criterion does re-emerge in slightly hidden form at a number of places in Crossan’s study (cf. above on the difference between John and Jesus, or between Jesus and the early church [on the LP]). All this may simply show that no methodology – or at least not Crossan’s – in study of the historical Jesus is simple. Crossan’s approach gives a veneer of simplicity and objectivity in setting up ‘databases’ with numbers flying around involving statistics that give an impression of security and facticity. Such is probably only a veneer. The very ‘facts’ themselves have already been heavily influenced and affected by other theories that are, at the very least, debatable and not universally accepted. Perhaps this is in one way an historical equivalent of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in quantum mechanics: just as one cannot measure one attribute of an elementary particle without affecting and changing another attribute, so too maybe we cannot pin down the traditions about Jesus into neat formulae and statistics that are somehow independent of the theories we wish to develop. For all Crossan’s criticism of ‘acute scholarly subjectivity in historical Jesus research’ (p. xxviii) and his apparent attempt to avoid this, it is not so clear that he has succeeded in evading it in the end. Indeed

64

Cf. Schröter, ‘Historical Jesus’, 158. I would therefore disagree with Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 50, who rather sweepingly claims that Crossan’s analysis on the basis of his inventory is only a smokescreen for theories which are really based on totally different reasons: ‘His [Crossan’s] inventory is the result, not the ground, of a position about early Christianity adopted for quite other reasons.’ But if that were the case, i.e. if the source theories had been constructed to fit results already decided, one would expect a rather better match between the results and the inventory. 65 A silence noted by others: cf. Borg, Jesus, 34; Theißen & Winter, Kriterienfrage, 163. Crossan himself elsewhere explicitly proposes his main criterion as an alternative to the dissimilarity criterion, calling it a criterion of ‘adequacy’: ‘That is original which best explains the multiplicity engendered in the tradition.’ See his ‘Divine Immediacy and Human Immediacy. Toward a New First Principle in Historical Jesus Research’, Semeia 44 (1988) 121–140, on p. 125.

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it may be inherently impossible to do so.66 But then perhaps we need the courage simply to admit the provisional, and to a certain extent subjective, nature of all our attempts to discover something about Jesus. For some that will be a depressing thought; for others it will be an exciting challenge. 49

66 Cf. n. 10 above on the issue of post-modernism in historical research. This may all simply be another illustration of Bultmann’s well-known claim about the impossibility of presuppositionless exegesis (though I suspect that what is being discussed here is not quite what Bultmann had in mind). Cf. too Meyer’s comment in his review of Crossan’s book that Crossan is being basically ‘pre-Bultmannian’ (and hence, by implication, rather unconvincing) in his claims to objectivity.

50

XXII Q and the Historical Jesus In a recent essay, John Kloppenborg Verbin has noted that the last 20–30 years have seen significant and important developments in two areas of study based on the synoptic gospels. One is the resurgence of interest in the study of the historical Jesus, sometimes called the ‘third quest’; the other is the growth of scholarly interest in the Sayings Source Q, believed by many to lie behind Matthew and Luke. What is perhaps surprising at first glance, as Kloppenborg Verbin also noted, is that these two areas of study have tended to run parallel to each other but with relatively little sustained thought or critical analysis given to the question of how the two might or should relate to each other.1 This situation is now changing. Thus in two important recent essays, Kloppenborg Verbin himself has addressed many aspects of the question, discussing the key methodological issues and also suggesting some ways in which particular features of Q might bear on study of Jesus.2 So too several of the papers given at the 2000 Leuven Biblical Colloquium address the broad question in different ways.3 Others in recent years have also made significant contributions to the discussion of some of the methodological issues involved.4 The present essay is offered then as a small contribution to this on-going discussion of how modern studies of Q can or should bear on study of the historical Jesus. In many respects the key issues have already been fully highlighted in Kloppenborg’s essays, and in relation to most of the broader, methodological issues I am in fundamental agreement with Kloppenborg. On some details I would differ; but the programmatic nature of his essays makes it 1 J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Discursive Practices in the Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, in A. Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 158; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 149–190, on pp. 149–151. 2 J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘The Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, HTR 89 (1996) 307–344; Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Discursive Practices’. 3 See the collected essays in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1). 4 Cf. e.g. D. Kosch, ‘Q und Jesus’, BZ 36 (1992) 30–58; R. A. Horsley, ‘Q and Jesus. Assumptions, Approaches and Analyses’, Semeia 55 (1991) 175–209; above all J. Schröter, Erinnerung an Jesu Worte. Studien zur Rezeption der Logienüberlieferung in Markus, Q und Thomas (WMANT 76; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1997), and ‘Markus, Q und der historische Jesus. Methodologische Erwägungen zu den Anfängen der Rezeption der Verkündigung Jesu’, ZNW 89 (1998) 173–200.

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appropriate to take his work as the starting point for any further discussion. In the present essay I therefore take his work as my main ‘conversation partner’.5 Perhaps the first – and to many obvious – point to make is that study of Q is not to be identified with study of Jesus. That the two may not be totally unrelated to each other is of course equally obvious. Certainly in its origins, the study of Q in particular, and of the Synoptic Problem more generally, was very closely connected with the quest for the historical Jesus.6 By isolating and identifying the earlier sources in the tradition, many had as their aim the recovery of the historical Jesus, and moreover thought that such recovery had been all but achieved with the results of their source-critical analyses. 7 Yet, as Kloppenborg has shown very clearly, study of Q within the last 30–40 years has proceeded in a rather different direction. For those persuaded that Q did exist in some shape or form,8 the dominant question among Q scholars has been not so much ‘what does Q tell us about Jesus?’, but rather ‘what does Q tell us about those who preserved this body of tradition and handed it on?’. In the (probably over-schematised) history of synoptic research often proposed, the source criticism of the 19th to the early 20th centuries gave way to the form criticism of the 1920s which in turn gave way to the ‘redaction’ criticism of the period after World War II. And it is in the general area of (so-called) ‘redaction’-criticism that virtually all contemporary Q studies are to be located. Ever since the publication of Dieter Lührmann’s Die Redaktion der Logienquelle in 1969 (but probably also going back to H. E. Tödt’s 1959 study of the Son of Man tradition in the gospels),9 the focus of attention in Q studies has been on what we might be able to say about the distinctive and/or characteristic features of the Q tradition and what these might tell us about the ‘group’ or ‘community’ which preserved this tradition and handed it on. In this sense, 5 And if the present essay inevitably focuses on points where I have disagreed with Kloppenborg, it should not disguise my deep appreciation for, and indebtedness to, his work. 6 See especially D. Lührmann, ‘Die Logienquelle und die Leben-Jesu-Forschung’, in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1), 191–206, on pp. 191–192. 7 Cf. the use of Mark by Holtzmann, the use of Q by Harnack or T. W. Manson, or of Proto-Luke by Streeter or V. Taylor. 8 Although I know that the existence of Q is debated by some, I assume its existence in the rest of this essay. For discussion of the theory of Q’s existence, see C. M. Tuckett, Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), ch. 1; also J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q. The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), ch. 1. 9 D. Lührmann, Die Redaktion der Logienquelle (WMANT 33; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1969); H. E. Tödt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Überlieferung (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1959).

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therefore, modern Q study is exactly on a par with so much contemporary study of the Gospel of Mark which seeks to identify and clarify particular features of the Markan presentation of Jesus. As Kloppenborg says, ‘the “Jesus” of Q has the same status as the “Jesus” of Mark’.10 No one today in the post-Wrede situation would assume without discussion that a simple equation can ipso facto be made between Mark’s Jesus and the historical Jesus.11 So equally one cannot simply equate the Jesus of Q with the historical Jesus. Nor have any recent comprehensive studies of Q attempted to make such a simple equation without remainder. Thus Kloppenborg, referring to the large number of recent studies of Q, says (in my view rightly) In these volumes there is practically nothing said about the historical Jesus. They attend to the reconstruction of various aspects of Q and the Jesus movement; they are neither overtly nor covertly about Jesus.12

Further, it is almost certain that, as is the case with the other evangelists, Q has imposed at least an element of interpretation on the Jesus tradition it has received. It does indeed seem meaningful and sensible to speak of a ‘Q theology’ in some shape or form. Thus a Q-editor has imposed specific ideas on to the tradition which then makes the attempt to get back from Q to Jesus at least a genuine problem. All this means that we cannot simply follow the approach of e.g. Harnack in the past, or (if I have understood him correctly) John Meier in the present, in regarding Q as an unmixed and un-‘contaminated’ source of sayings for the historical Jesus.13 If we seek to use Q in any reconstruction of Jesus we have to take full account of at least the possibility that Q has adapted and redacted the tradition no less than Mark or the other evangelists, so that Q is a document whose editorial features must be noted and weighed before blithely ascribing its contents to Jesus. Clearly elements of Q redaction cannot be employed in a reconstruction of the historical Jesus.14

10

Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Discursive Practices’, 161–162. This is not to say that in many instances a case can be made for such an equation; the point is that all are agreed that the case has to be made and argued. 12 Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 324 (my stress); cf. too his ‘Discursive Practices’, 161–162. He refers here to studies on Q by a very wide range of people including himself, Lührmann, Hoffmann, Schulz, Edwards, Polag, Vaage, Sato, Jacobson, Catchpole and myself. 13 Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Discursive Practices’, 155, 163–163, with reference to e.g. the claims of J. P. Meier, A Marginal Jew. Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume 2 (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 177–181, that Q’s theology is not discoverable, that its alleged ‘community’ is hypothetical and that Q is a ‘grab bag’, to be mined for authentic material. (Cf. too his ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 326 n. 85.) 14 Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 326. 11

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The second main point to make is that in study of the historical Jesus, no one single source can or should necessarily be privileged in seeking evidence for Jesus. In relation to the present discussion, one must therefore avoid the dangers of becoming too exclusively tied to Q in any quest for the historical Jesus; further, one must not lose sight of both the provisional nature of our knowledge as well as its limited extent. I am assuming here that the theory of the existence of a Q source lying behind Matthew and Luke is indeed well-founded (cf. n. 8 above). But any possible further precision within such a theory, as well as the implications about how Q might relate to other sources for Jesus which we have, are all matters of great dispute about which there is no unanimity and about which there must be great uncertainty. For example, the date of Q is notoriously uncertain. All we can say for certain is that Q must pre-date Matthew and Luke; but that will not help us if we cannot date Matthew and/or Luke precisely. Most would argue that Matthew and Luke are post-70 (cf. Matt 22.7; Luke 21.20). But that hardly helps in dating Q: Q must be pre-post-70! Whether Q itself is pre-70 is debated.15 Equally the date of Mark is hotly debated. Further, we do not know if Q predates Mark or vice versa. If we wished to assign dates to all our sources and privilege (in some sense) our earliest sources (as is done in part for example by Crossan), then we cannot be sure that Q is our earliest, let alone that it is prior to some arbitrary cut-off date.16 In any case we should perhaps be wary of placing too much weight on the dates of our literary sources per se. In one (but only one) way, such evidence may be valuable: in relation to sources which are in a literary relationship with each other, relative dates are of course significant with regard to the historical value of the sources. Thus where Matthew and/or Luke are dependent on Mark (if they are), the fact that Matthew/Luke are later than Mark means that we cannot place much weight on Matthew’s/ Luke’s later – and probably redacted – version of the tradition compared 15

A relatively late, i.e. post-70, date has been proposed by P. Hoffmann, ‘QR und der Menschensohn. Eine vorläufige Skizze’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 421–456; also M. Myllykoski, ‘The Social History of Q and the Jewish War’, in R. Uro (ed.), Symbols and Strata. Essays on the Sayings Gospel Q (Helsinki & Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 143–199. 16 J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991). Cf. Crossan’s well-known division of sources into strata with a date of 60 CE as the dividing line between the earliest stratum and the next oldest – with Q included in the earliest stratum: such confidence is simply not possible. Q may or may not be pre-60. But even if it could be established as such, it remains unclear why 60 CE should be regarded as the critical dividing line. Such a dividing line seems somewhat arbitrary.

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with Mark’s. This is of course well-known and almost universally respected as a principle. Nobody today would lightly use Matt 16.28 as evidence for the use of the term Son of Man by Jesus when it seems almost certain that the Son of Man reference is due to Matthew’s redaction of Mark 9.1 which refers to the Kingdom of God and not to the Son of Man. However, this does not apply in relation to sources that are not literarily related to each other. Assuming that Mark and Q are independent of each other,17 we cannot assume that one of the two is necessarily more reliable in historical terms than the other simply because it is earlier (if we could determine that). Further, the point at which the evidence ‘comes to light’ and is attested for us 2000 years later can often be rather arbitrary and due to chance. In the case of Q we have to remember too that the evidence does not ‘come to light’ in any tangible sense for us before the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, and then only indirectly: we have no manuscript evidence of Q; we only have Q as used by Matthew and Luke.18 We cannot then necessarily privilege Q above other strands of the tradition either on the basis of its date or in terms of any alleged ‘early’ attestation.19 In turn this means that we can scarcely turn our backs on other parts of the gospel tradition simply because those parts are not in a privileged ‘ingroup’ of sources, be they Q alone or Q and Mark. Thus when Kloppenborg says Forty years of redactional analysis have shown that Matthew and Luke have significantly reworked their two written sources, Mark and Q. It is a priori likely that they have done similarly with M and L materials. Of course, M and L may have preserved some authentic traditions. Awareness of the methodological implications of the Two Document Hypothesis has made increasingly problematic any approach to the historical Jesus that allows the special elements of Matthew or Luke a determinative role,20

some of what he says about ‘M’ and ‘L’ is unquestionable. But the same applies to Mark and Q in turn as well. All of the tradition has probably, or potentially, been reworked and we ignore that possibility at our peril. But conversely, so-called ‘M’ or ‘L’ material will have as little – or as much – 17 This is probably the most widely held view today, though with some notable dissenters. 18 Even then we should remember that it only fully comes to light for us in the manuscripts of Matthew and Luke, most of which date from a time of 300+ years after the time of their original writing! 19 Hence contra Crossan, who regards attestation in Q as providing earlier attestation than Mark or traditions which appear in Matthew or Luke alone. Cf. too S. Freyne, ‘Galilean Questions to Crossan’s Mediterranean Jesus’, in W. E. Arnal & M. Desjardins (eds.), Whose Historical Jesus? (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1997), 63–91, on p. 64: ‘The difficulties with claiming that only the earliest documents can serve as genuine sources in historical reconstruction have been exposed for a long time now.’ 20 Kloppenborg Verbin, ‘Discursive Practices’, 152.

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likelihood of being authentic material from Jesus as (Mark or) Q material. Unless one works with an a priori assumption that all this material is a redactional creation by Matthew/Luke then presumably both evangelists have used other source/sources for (at least some of) this material. And in terms of the date of the attestation in extant sources, such material is as well attested as Q material is! (It first surfaces to our sight in the Gospels of Matthew and/or Luke.) Thus whilst few would quarrel with the Kloppenborg’s point that M or L material should not maybe have a ‘determinative’ role in reconstructions of the historical Jesus, it would be equally misguided to deny that material a potential role (alongside other material). Thus, for example, Crossan’s exclusion of this material from his ‘primary’ (= chronologically earliest) stratum is highly questionable on methodological grounds. We cannot privilege one source against another simply on chronological grounds or on the basis of the accidental ‘survival’ of some sources but not others (bearing in mind too that Q itself has not ‘survived’!). For example, if we decide that Luke’s parable of the Good Samaritan is not a wholesale LukeR creation but goes back to an earlier source, then the parable is in one way no worse (or better) attested in terms of the date of extant witnesses than, say, the Beatitudes of Q.21 Even when we confine attention to Q and ask about its value as a source for the historical Jesus, there are still some important preliminary questions, in part methodological ones, to be raised and, if not answered, at least held in mind. In particular, there is the question of what exactly we mean by ‘Q’.22 This has at least two aspects to it. First there is the question of the extent of Q. For the most part the issue of the extent of Q is relatively uncontroversial. Q is (almost) ‘defined’ as the material available to Matthew and Luke alone and, for those who would accept the broad parameters of the Q hypothesis, few would deny that Q contained major sections such as the preaching of John the Baptist, the temptation narrative, the Great Sermon, the question of John the Baptist to Jesus and Jesus’ extended reply, a version of the mission charge etc. However, there have always been (and probably always will be – or always should be: see below) debates about the precise limits to be placed around Q.23 In relation to one issue to be discussed later in more detail in 21

For further discussion of Crossan and a critique of his rather arbitrary appeal to sources in some documents but not in others, see C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology’, in S. Maser & E. Schlarb (eds.), Text und Geschichte (FS D. Lührmann; Marburg: Elwert, 1999), 257–279 (pp. 421–446 in this volume). 22 In almost every article, essay or other contribution I have ever written about Q, I seem to find myself raising the question of what we mean by ‘Q’ and pleading for clarifycation! 23 However I am totally unpersuaded by the arguments of C. S. Rodd, ‘The End of the Theology of Q?’, ExpT 113 (2001) 5–12, that the extent of Q is so uncertain that it is a

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this paper, the question is of some importance. For example, should Luke 14.5 (cf. Matt 12.11) be regarded as Q material? Did Q have a version of the debate about the double love command (Luke 10.25–28 cf. Matt 22.34– 40)? In relation to the question of the attitude to the Jewish Law evidenced in Q such questions could be of some importance. Both issues are however slightly controversial (or at least debated) among Q scholars today. For example, Luke 14.5 was regarded as part of Q by the members of the International Q Project (IQP) in 1991, but is excluded from Q in the recently published Critical Edition of Q.24 Luke 10.25–28 was not included in Q by the IQP in 1995, though with more uncertainty expressed at the time by Hoffmann and Robinson; it is also excluded from Q in the Critical Edition (p. 200). Yet the case for including a version of the story in Q has always had some (albeit minority) support.25 Similarly, it has always been disputed whether the story of the baptism of Jesus was part of Q or not. (It was excluded by the IQP, but is included in the Critical Edition [p. 18].) In many cases the exclusion or inclusion of odd verses may not make that much difference. However, in some instances, the issue could be critical. For example, the issue of attitudes to the Law might be significantly affected by the presence or absence of Luke 14.5 and/or 10.25–28 in Q; hopeless exercise even to try to delineate a theology of Q. See C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Search for a Theology of Q. A Dead End?’, ExpT 113 (2002) 291–294. 24 J. M. Robinson, P. Hoffmann, J. S. Kloppenborg Verbin, The Critical Edition of Q (Minneapolis & Leuven: Fortress & Peeters, 2000), 426. It would be a shame if the recent publication of a volume entitled The Critical Edition of Q were felt to foreclose discussion of such issues. This volume represents the distilled views of three of the main leaders of the IQP, whose results in work devoted to trying to reconstruct the wording of Q were previously published in the Journal of Biblical Literature. As such the volume represents a tremendous achievement and is immensely valuable. Yet, at the end of the day, it can do no more than represent one view among others; and even the three main editors themselves are not always in agreement, either with themselves or with their earlier views; equally the volume does not always agree with the earlier decisions of the IQP. (All the changes are noted in F. Neirynck, ‘The Reconstruction of Q’, in Lindemann [ed.], The Sayings Source Q [n. 1], 53–147.) This is not intended as a criticism. The nature of the evidence is such that there will always be disagreement between scholars; equally it is entirely legitimate – and indeed laudable – that people should change their minds on particular issues: is one not allowed the chance to ponder and reconsider? All this means however that any ‘results’ presented in a volume such as this, purporting to present the contents of Q, can be at best provisional. Nor can any ‘results’ claimed here have any special status necessarily in relation to different decisions, as if the burden of proof must lie with those who take a slightly different view of the situation. At most a volume such as this can only claim to be ‘a critical edition’! 25 See my Q and the History, 416 with other literature cited. There are a number of agreements of Matthew and Luke against Mark which makes it at least plausible to think of a Mark-Q overlap here.

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and in relation to Christology, the interpretation of the references to Jesus as ‘son/Son of God’ in the temptation narrative might be affected by whether or not that story follows immediately on a baptism story where Jesus has been declared to be God’s Son by God himself. The second methodological issue to do with what we mean by ‘Q’ concerns the possible existence of ‘layers’ or ‘strata’ within Q. As is well known, it has been a feature of much (but not all!) recent Q study to argue that Q underwent a process of development with two or three stages in that development identifiable. Kloppenborg’s theories in this respect have been widely acclaimed and followed by many. 26 According to this general theory, a first ‘stratum’ of Q (Q1) was characterised by ‘sapiential’ material with little polemic evident; at a later stage, this Q1 material was expanded by more ‘prophetic’ material into a ‘Q2’ stratum, with the more polemical material and threats of judgment against ‘this generation’ and references to the violence suffered by the prophets in the past. Finally at a ‘Q3’ stage, a few later additions were made, including the temptation narrative and perhaps some more Law-centred features (cf. Q 11.42c; 16.17).27 This is not the place to debate the details, or the legitimacy, of the stratigraphical model proposed by Kloppenborg. Others (including myself) have questioned many of its details. I myself would argue that it is probably too optimistic in being able to identify so precisely the development of Q as a literary whole.28 Thus whilst I believe it is very likely that individual Q traditions or sections underwent a (possibly highly complex) history of development (e.g. Q 7.18–35), it may be less certain whether we can correlate many such developments across several Q traditions and claim that Q itself underwent such a clear, well-defined development. I have argued elsewhere (and am still not persuaded otherwise) that we should reserve the siglum ‘Q’ for the ‘final’ form of the ‘text’ (bearing in mind of course that we do not have the text extant!), i.e. for that stage in the development

26 Cf. his (by now classic) analysis of Q: J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). 27 For the latter, see J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Nomos and Ethos in Q’, in J. E. Goehring et al. (eds.), Gospel Origins and Christian Beginnings (FS J. M. Robinson; Sonoma: Polebridge, 1990), 35–48. 28 See my Q and the History, 70–75; also my ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222 (pp. 143–152 in this volume); P. Hoffmann, ‘Mutmaßungen über Q. Zum Problem der literarischen Genese von Q’, in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1), 255–288; J. Schröter, Jesus und die Anfänge der Christologie. Methodische und exegetische Studien zu den Ursprüngen des christlichen Glaubens (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2001), 103–117. Others have proposed rather different models for the growth of Q: cf. A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel. An Introduction to Q (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992); M. Sato, Q und Prophetie (WUNT 2.29; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988); D. C. Allison, The Jesus Tradition in Q (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997).

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of the Q tradition as it was used by Matthew and Luke.29 In terms of the Kloppenborg model this might mean that ‘Q’ should really be seen as ‘Q3’ (and not then ‘Q2’)! How far all this should bear (or does bear: the two are not the same!) on study of the historical Jesus is however another issue. Kloppenborg himself has argued vehemently on many occasions that stratigraphical analyses of Q and study of the historical Jesus are not necessarily related at all. He has himself often referred to his own formulation in his 1987 book The Formation of Q: To say that the wisdom components were formative for Q and that the prophetic judgment oracles and apophthegms describing Jesus’ conflict with ‘this generation’ are secondary is not to imply anything about the ultimate tradition-historical provenance of any of the sayings. It is indeed possible, indeed probable, that some of the materials from the secondary compositional phase [= ‘Q2’] are dominical or at least very old, and that some of the formative elements [= ‘Q1’] are, from the standpoint of authenticity or traditionhistory, relatively young. Tradition-history is not convertible with literary history, and it is the latter which we are treating here.30

So too Kloppenborg has responded very robustly to those who have assumed that his stratigraphical model can be applied to study of the historical Jesus too simplistically, as if his ‘Q1’ can be equated with the historical Jesus and ‘Q2’ identified as later Christian redaction.31 Whether Kloppenborg himself has been quite true to his methodological principles is I believe slightly questionable. It is true that part of his reasoning for distinguishing ‘Q1’ material from ‘Q2’ material has been his claim that in some Q1 sections, later ‘redactional’ glosses can be identified; and in this he is clearly working with (what I would call) literary-critical criteria. Certainly too he has heavily criticised (in my view rightly) the theories of those such as S. Schulz who sought to delineate layers within Q on the basis of similar content or ideas, i.e. on what I presume is meant by ‘tradition-critical’ criteria.32 Yet when Kloppenborg himself seeks to expand the (relatively small) ‘Q2’-type glosses by much larger whole discourses (e.g. the preaching of John the Baptist, or the series of woes in Q 11),

29

Q and the History, 75–82. (I am fully aware that this in turn may beg a number of questions, e.g. whether Matthew and Luke had the same form of Q available to them.) 30 Formation, 244–245; cf. too his ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 322; ‘Discursive Practices’, 159; Excavating Q, 351. 31 ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 323 (on Fuller, Meadors, Witherington and others); ‘Discursive Practices’, 161; Excavating Q, 351 etc. 32 See S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1970); J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘Tradition and Redaction in the Synoptic Sayings Source’, CBQ 46 (1984) 36–62.

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partly on the grounds of similar content, there is a sense in which he too is working with tradition-history rather than literary history.33 Kloppenborg’s stratigraphical model has been used by those more explicitly interested in, and writing about, the historical Jesus. The most notable examples in recent years are probably Crossan and Mack,34 to which might also now be added J. M. Robinson. Thus in a recent essay on ‘The Critical Edition of Q and the Study of Jesus’,35 Robinson virtually equates what he calls ‘the archaic collections of Q’ (by which he means the material broadly speaking in Kloppenborg’s ‘Q1’) with the historical Jesus without remainder: It is in the archaic collections embedded in Q that one can with the most assurance speak of material that goes back to sayings of Jesus himself. (p. 44) Any presentation of Jesus that lacks at its core these collections that comprise the oldest core of Q is to that extent deficient. (p. 45, his stress)

So too Robinson drives at times a sharp wedge between the ideas of these collections and the (later) Q redaction (i.e. ‘Q2’), e.g. in relation to the latter’s stress on the threat of judgment. Thus the Q redaction has in fact glossed over central dimensions in the archaic collections, as to how, in Jesus’ view, one should think of God … (p. 39, my stress) One must take seriously the substantive – theological and ethical – tension between the two main layers of Q, that of the archaic clusters, and that of the final redaction. Jesus’ vision of a caring Father who is infinitely forgiving … may have been lost from sight a generation later. (pp. 42–43, my stress)

In all this then, a tension is seen between the outlook of Q1 and Q2, and Q1 is equated with the historical Jesus almost tout court. The same seems to be true in the writings of Mack. Kloppenborg has sought to defend Mack, claiming that Mack’s thesis of Jesus as a Cynictype aphorist depends in part on theories about Q but also on other factors (his beliefs about Mark, about Kingdom sayings, about Galilee).36 This may be true in part, but it is still the case that a significant element within Mack’s overall argument is based on a fairly simple equation of the historical Jesus with the earliest layer in Q, and this coupled with the negative converse 33 Cf. the way in which at least part of the reason for separating the different layers is on the basis of ‘common/characteristic motifs’ (cf. Formation of Q, 169, 240). On this see my ‘The Son of Man and Daniel 7. Q and Jesus’, in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1), 371–394 (pp. 266–289 in this volume), on p. 384 (above, p. 279); see also Schröter, Jesus, 108. 34 Crossan, Historical Jesus; B. Mack, The Lost Gospel. The Book of Q and Christian Origins (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993). 35 J. M. Robinson, ‘The Critical Edition of Q and the Study of Jesus’, in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1), 27–52. 36 ‘Discursive Practices’, 160.

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that later strata in Q are deemed to be alien to the historical Jesus. Thus he writes about the material in the earliest stratum of Q which he identifies: If we ask about the character of the speaker of this kind of material, it has its nearest analogy in contemporary profiles of the Cynic-sage. This is as close to the historical Jesus as Q allows us to get, but it is close enough for us to reconstruct a beginning of the movement that is both plausible and understandable. 37 The strata he [= Kloppenborg] identified in the compositional history of Q as a document I have taken as a written record of the social history of the first followers of Jesus.38

Conversely, the division of material between ‘Q1’ and ‘Q2’, with the former containing ‘aphoristic wisdom’ and the latter ‘apocalyptic predicttion and pronouncement of doom’ suggests that aphoristic wisdom is characteristic of the earliest layer. This turns the table on older views of Jesus as an apocalyptic preacher and brings the message of Jesus around to another style of speech altogether.39

As with Robinson then, an important methodological step is taken in seeing the earliest stratum within Q as determinative in any reconstruction of the historical Jesus. Kloppenborg’s own warnings here, about the dangers of confusing tradition history and literary history, are apparently being ignored, as are also all the dangers of focusing too closely on one and only one strand of the gospel tradition and ignoring others (such as Mark, M or L).40 Crossan’s use of Kloppenborg’s theory is perhaps less direct. Kloppenborg points out that Crossan ascribes both Q1 and Q2 to his earliest stratum: 37 Mack, Lost Gospel, 203. It seems clear that the ‘plausible and understandable’ picture is being equated with the historical Jesus without too many qualms or exceptions. 38 B. Mack, ‘Q and a Cynic-like Jesus’, in W. E. Arnal & M. Desjardins (eds.), Whose Historical Jesus? (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1997), 25–36, on p. 31 (my stress). The equation seems quite explicit here between the (alleged) early/later literary stages of Q and the early/later stages of the (social) history of the community responsible for Q. Cf. too J. W. Marshall, ‘The Gospel of Thomas and the Cynic Jesus’, in Arnal & Desjardins (eds.), Whose Historical Jesus?, 37–60, on p. 40: ‘Mack uses Kloppenborg’s stratigraphy and treats what Kloppenborg designates as primary in a literary sense as also historically primary. He makes no allowance for authentic Jesus sayings employed in the framing redaction.’ 39 B. Mack, A Myth of Innocence. Mark and Christian Origins (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 59. 40 It should also be noted that Mack’s own stratigraphical analysis is different from Kloppenborg’s (postulating c. five, rather than three, stages) and the basis for such a division is by no means clear: certainly the ascription of some elements to one stratum rather than another is at times somewhat arbitrary and contradicts the very reasons for postulating a stratigraphy (e.g. by Kloppenborg) in the first place. On this see J. M. Robinson, ‘The History of Religions Taxonomy of Q. The Cynic Hypothesis’, in T. Schweer & S. Rink (eds.), Gnosisforschung und Religionsgeschichte (FS K. Rudolph; Marburg: Elwert, 1994), 247–265.

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hence the two strata have equal pedigree in terms of Crossan’s methodology. Kloppenborg also refers to the fact that much more important for Crossan is the criterion of multiple attestation and in this Q counts as only one vote.41 This is probably true: just as important for Crossan are his theories about the Gospel of Thomas (GThom.), including his stratification theory in relation to GThom. whereby one stratum of GThom. is dated into his earliest period; hence where GThom. and Q overlap (material which is almost by definition of the proposed strata in GThom. constitutes the earliest stratum of GThom.), the criterion of multiple attestation inevitably includes these elements as primary in Crossan’s ‘database’. It may thus be Crossan’s theories about GThom. and its strata which have more influence than theories about Q and its possible strata.42 And in any case, as Kloppenborg points out, scholars such as Marcus Borg have reached similar conclusions (e.g. about a non-eschatological Jesus) without adopting any theory of strata within Q.43 Nevertheless, even if the stratification model is not appealed to directly by Crossan, it is probably being introduced implicitly: Q material paralleled in GThom. is given priority, but the content of GThom. (lacking for the most part the polemical ‘Q2’ material) leads inexorably to ‘Q1’ material being prioritised.44 One can therefore see that, in a number of recent studies of Jesus, the Q1 material is taken as the primary body of evidence. What is ‘later’ in literary terms within the development of the Q tradition is regarded as secondary in terms of tradition history: hence an equation is effectively being made between ‘Q1’ and the historical Jesus; ‘Q2’ is regarded as part of the secondary, post-Easter development of the Jesus tradition and not to be ascribed to Jesus. Further, what others might regard as potentially equally important primary source material, e.g. in Mark, ‘M’ or ‘L’, is also sidelined.45 Such a model is clearly methodologically more than a little suspect. 41

‘Discursive Practices’, 160. See further my ‘Historical Jesus’ (pp. 421–446 in this volume). 43 ‘Discursive Practices’, 161. 44 Some of the eschatological material in Q (most of it usually assigned to Q2 in any stratification model) is eliminated from the body of authentic material by Crossan by some sleights of hand, e.g. in the definitions of the units of tradition (what Crossan calls ‘complexes’) to be considered: see Tuckett, ‘Historical Jesus’, 266–268 (above, pp. 431– 433). 45 In the case of Crossan, this is in part due to his dating of what he takes to be ‘the’ sources: all three synoptic gospels are dated after the crucial dividing line of 60 CE which marks the end of Crossan’s earliest stratum. Yet this is connected in Crossan’s work with a somewhat selective appeal to sources (e.g. Q is accepted as a source, but no attempt is made to identify sources behind most of Mark, or the ‘L’ material); also the dating is rather arbitrary or uncertain (cf. above on the date of Q), as well as rather inconsistent in its application. (Traditions in Q are dated in relation to Q itself, although the Q material is in fact first attested in manuscript form in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke; but any 42

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It ignores Kloppenborg’s own warning that ‘tradition-history is not convertible with literary history’ (cf. above), as well as focusing somewhat narrowly on only one part of the available evidence. Although debates on such issues have often focused on the differences between Q1 and Q2, it should not be forgotten that Kloppenborg proposed a three-fold stratification of Q and it may be that the alleged ‘Q3’ is just as significant in this context. I have noted elsewhere that Q3 is very often used by some Q scholars as a convenient dumping ground to get rid of – and then forget about – awkward pieces of evidence that do not appear to fit with other parts of Q. Hence the temptation narrative, as well as some of the ‘nomistic’ glosses (Q 11.42c; 16.17), are assigned by Kloppenborg to Q3, as is the awkward Q 12.10 by Vaage.46 Very often too these are effectively regarded as almost post-‘redactional’ and the ‘real’/‘true’ ‘redactional’ level is taken to be Q2.47 This is however somewhat questionable. If, as I argued, we take ‘Q’ to be the ‘final’ form of Q, then it is the Q3 level which should be regarded as ‘redactional’, and the Q2 material is part of the pre-redactional material. But either way, Kloppenborg’s strictures about tradition history and literary history apply as much to Q3 as they do to Q2! Dumping some awkward pieces of evidence into Q3 may make life easier in constructing a more self-consistent Q2 strand; but it says nothing about the ultimate historicity of the traditions in question. To make deductions at that level we shall have to invoke other factors and other arguments. However, quite apart from the issue of distinguishing ‘Q2’ and ‘Q3’, there is a more fundamental issue concerning what we mean by ‘redactional’ in relation to study of Q materials and their possible relevance for study of Jesus. I referred earlier to Kloppenborg’s assertion that ‘elements of Q redaction cannot be employed in a reconstruction of the historical Jesus’ (see above n. 14). At one level this is of course totally unexceptional. As I have already noted myself, no one today would lightly use a ‘redactional’ text such as Matt 16.28 as evidence for the use of the term Son of Man by Jesus. This Son of Man reference is due to Matthew’s own redactional change of Mark. If then Q has been as active as Matthew in reworking the tradition, we can use Q-redactional (= QR) elements no more than we can use MattR or LukeR elements as evidence for Jesus. On the other hand, the situation with Q is not quite the same as the situation with Matthew, if only because we have neither Q nor Q’s tradition pre-Markan traditions which there might be are dated to the time of the composition of Mark.) See Tuckett, ‘Historical Jesus’, 262–263 (above, pp. 426–428). 46 L. Vaage, ‘The Son of Man Sayings in Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 103–129. 47 Cf. the terminology used by Robinson (cf. above) in talking about the ‘Q redaction’ when he quite clearly has in mind Q 2, not Q3.

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extant and available for us to compare the two. With Matt 16.28 we have Mark 9.1 to be able to put alongside, together with the theory (or assumption) that Mark 9.1 is the source for Matthew’s reworking. With Q (as with Mark) we do not have such a luxury to hand. Hence it is very much harder to identify ‘redactional’ elements in a ‘text’ such as Q. This is not to say that it is impossible to make at least an educated guess at one or two points. Indeed Kloppenborg’s original analysis of Q into strata was based in part on his claims that some elements in the Q discourses appeared to be secondary glosses on an earlier form of the tradition (e.g. Q 6.23c; 11.42c). Yet this will probably yield only a relatively small harvest. The number of instances where such glossing has taken place, and with a sufficient degree of clumsiness and/or artificiality to make the gloss identifiable to modern readers, is inevitably rather small. Thus the more fruitful line of enquiry in seeking to identify the particular concerns of Q and its ‘shaper(s)’ or ‘editor(s)’ has been to consider what Kloppenborg has called its ‘invention’, or the ‘arrangement’ of the materials which now appear in Q.48 By ‘invention’ Kloppenborg explicitly rejects any notion necessarily of ‘fabrication’ but means rather the strictly rhetorical sense, denoting the intellectual process or finding and arranging materials germane to the conduct of an argument and the rendering plausible of a certain conclusion.49

The jargon we use can vary. For others, this might be termed ‘composition criticism’ rather than ‘redaction criticism’, paying attention to the way in which the total material is now presented, almost irrespective of its ultimate origin. In terms of method, there is virtually nothing I would wish to quarrel with here. Indeed it was precisely this kind of approach which I myself tried to use in my own study of Q.50 But this in turn does mean that it may become much harder to use any such results about a possible Q theology in discussions of authenticity and/or the historical Jesus. If the process of ‘invention’ does not necessarily mean fabrication (or ‘redactional creation’), but involves ‘finding and arranging’, then the present form of the ‘text’ is as likely as not to be the result of using earlier traditions which will have as good (or as bad) a chance as any of being authentic. Hence the fact that one particular unit or discourse in Q appears to be thoroughly in line with Q’s general ideological outlook (or that of ‘Q2’) cannot mean that that whole tradition can be written off (in relation to the question of authenticity) as a redactional creation de novo. Q may just as well have ‘found’ 48

Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 326. Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 326. 50 Cf. Q and the History, esp. p. 80. 49

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all the elements of the unit in its tradition and written them up to form the unit as it now appears in Q so that the present form contributes strongly to Q’s overall perspective but does so by using elements that may be firmly authentic. If we can identify clear glosses that appear to be secondary additions to earlier traditions, and which could not really exist in isolation, then a claim to inauthenticity might be justified. But in the absence of such evidence, we cannot simply make deductions about authenticity on the basis of Q’s ‘rhetoric’ or ‘arrangement’ or ‘invention’ alone. To take one example of what seems to me an illegitimate appeal to such considerations, I refer to Kloppenborg’s discussion of Q 22.28–30.51 Kloppenborg refers (in my view rightly) to the fact that ‘the saying is deeply embedded in the rhetoric of Q as a document’: it is (probably) the final saying of Q and may therefore have formed its climax; it ‘recapitulates and extends the motif of the judgment of “this generation”’ which is a key element of Q; and it forms the climax of a smaller sequence of sayings in Q 17 and 19. Kloppenborg’s conclusion is then that, in light of the strategic importance which the saying has in Q’s overall arrangement, ‘one must offer good reasons for not thinking that Q 22.28–30 is simply a creation of Q’. Yet whilst agreeing (as I do) with all that Kloppenborg says about the place of the saying within Q, one cannot really say, on that basis alone, whether Q ‘found’ the saying Q 22.28–30 in its tradition and used it with compositional ‘added value’, or whether Q invented the saying de novo. It is not the case that the saying functions as a secondary, separable gloss on an earlier self-contained saying and that it could not exist in isolation (as e.g. in Q 11.42c); rather, the saying can (and e.g. in Luke does) stand on its own. Thus appeals to Q’s composition, or ‘invention’ cannot settle questions of authenticity quite so easily. 52 * In the second part of this essay, I consider two specific topics in relation to study of the historical Jesus where it has been claimed that the evidence of Q may be highly significant. In both I refer once again to the work of Kloppenborg. The first concerns the Sabbath controversies in the gospel tradition. Certainly the existence of these stories in the tradition have in the past played a significant role in reconstructions of the historical Jesus. However, Kloppenborg refers to the (apparent) absence of such stories in Q.53 He claims that, unlike some other apparent silences in Q, this silence 51

See his discussion in ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 327–328. The issue of the authenticity of this tradition is a complex one. See the full discussion of J. Verheyden, ‘The Conclusion of Q. Eschatology in Q 22,28–30’, in Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q (n. 1), 695–718. 53 ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 332–334. 52

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may be significant, ‘since it is very difficult to argue that Q knew of Sabbath controversies but disregarded them’ (‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 333). Q does indeed know of other points of difference between Jesus and Pharisaic practice (cf. the woes of Q 11), and lampoons the latter; hence ‘Q’s silence seems to imply that it knew nothing of Sabbath controversies’ (ibid.). According to Kloppenborg, Q’s silence suggests that Jesus cannot have been involved in any programmatic critique of Sabbath observance. He claims that the case is slightly different in relation to the issues of purity and tithing. For example in the saying on tithing (Q 11.42), the final clause (11.42c) conflicts with the rest of the saying, but this is probably a later addition to Q ‘by a “nervous glossator” who wishes to avoid a potentially antinomian interpretation of 11.42b’ (‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 334). But in any case, in the earlier forms of the sayings on washing cups and on tithing (11.39–41 and 11.42), there are no programmatic critiques of the Law but (only) attempts to ridicule Pharisaic practice. Jesus may have made statements that touched on purity, tithing and other legal issues – but this does not imply that he offered a programmatic critique of the Torah or that he put himself forward as a Torah-interpreter. That is Matthew’s Jesus.54

Hence When Q gives no evidence of knowing items that otherwise it might have been expected to have employed, however, as in the case of Sabbath controversies, it is very doubtful that these should be ascribed to Jesus.55

Kloppenborg thus claims that a reference to Q would give strong support to the views of others who have questioned the historicity of this aspect of the tradition on other grounds.56 More generally, Kloppenborg criticises many treatments of Jesus in the past which have focused on the issue of attitudes to the Jewish Law as not having taken seriously enough the implications of the Synoptic Problem. He quotes approvingly a section of a paper of Lührmann: A critical examination of Jesus literature, even the most recent, certainly arouses the suspicion that the methodological implications of the Two Source Hypothesis have not been taken seriously enough. Generally speaking, it is Matthew’s portrait of Jesus that has left its impression. It is only on this basis that one can account for the fact that the 54

Kloppenborg, Sayings Gospel Q’, 334. Kloppenborg, Sayings Gospel Q’, 334. 56 In the recent debates, most notably E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985), 264–269 and Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishnah (London: SCM, 1990), 1–96. The theory that the Sabbath controversies are all ‘ideal scenes’, reflecting primarily debates of the early Christians rather than those of Jesus, goes back of course to R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 48. Kloppenborg regards it as slightly ironic that the Q theory lends support to Sanders since Sanders himself does not believe in Q! 55

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issue of Jesus’ understanding of the Law is a seemingly unavoidable question for Jesusscholarship. But the word ȞȩȝȠȢ does not even appear in Mark, and in Q only in texts that are probably late (Q 16.16–17). It was Matthew who first seriously raised the issue in the tradition of Jesus’ sayings. 57

All this is however not fully persuasive. I take first the more general point that attributing to Jesus a concern about the Law is really only a feature of Matthew’s presentation and hence does not go back earlier (to Mark or Q, let alone the historical Jesus). It may be the case that the Greek word ȞȩȝȠȢ itself is more characteristic of Matthew than of Mark or Q. Nevertheless, it seems undeniable that the issue of Torah observance was a feature of the earlier (one might almost say the earliest) tradition. If we come at the issue from the point of view of later traditions, adopting what one might call a wirkungsgeschichtlich approach, it is clear that certainly some (relatively early) interpreters of the tradition thought that the issue was acutely raised in the earlier tradition. We can consider Matthew himself and his well-known attempts to tone the apparently radical stance of Jesus in relation to the Law in the Markan tradition (in relation to Sabbath observance, hand washing, divorce etc.). Whether the historical Jesus was so radical may be disputed; but it seems undeniable that Matthew read Mark in this way, or at least thought that Mark could be read in this way, and was concerned to ‘correct’ the picture. The same is true for Q. Many have argued that Q’s ‘arrangement’, and perhaps even at times Q’s creative redactional activity, shows a concern to alleviate and soften potentially radical statements of the earlier tradition in relation to the Law. I have already referred to Q 11.42c. The same might apply to Q 16.17 following (probably) in Q after 16.16.58 The claim in v. 17 that not the tiniest part will vanish from the Law serves to guard against any possible implication of the saying in Q 16.16 (‘the Law and the prophets were until John’) that the era of the validity of the Law was now over.59 Kloppenborg attributes these to his ‘nervous glossator’ and ascribes

57

Kloppenborg cites this passage twice (‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 325; ‘Discursive Practices’, 153) as coming from an unpublished paper presented at the Westar Institute, 1991. The same passage (in German of course!) now appears in Lührmann, ‘Logienquelle’, 196–197. 58 It is difficult to ascribe both to later tradition, as Lührmann appears to do. Rather, v. 17 looks as if it is seeking to modify v. 16 and hence is probably added to a form of the tradition where v. 16 was already included. (At least if they are ‘later’, one is later than the other!) 59 I have assumed here that Q 16.16 and 16.17 were adjacent in Q. I am aware that this is disputed (e.g. most recently see J. Schröter, ‘Erwägungen zum Gesetzesverständnis in Q anhand von Q 16,16–18’, in C. M. Tuckett [ed.], The Scriptures in the Gospels [BETL 131; Leuven: Peeters, 1997], 441–458, arguing that the putting together of the verses in Luke 16.16–18 is due to Luke.) However, the force of Q 16.17 within Q as an

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them to a Q3 stage in the development of the tradition. Whether in doing so we can then quietly ignore such sentiments in relation to ‘Q proper’ is doubtful as I have tried to show earlier. Q3 is presumably the more recent stratum and if anything must then count as ‘Q’s’ redaction if ‘Q’ is to be seen as the ‘final’ form of the Q tradition. But, as with Matthew, this shows that Q too appears to have been aware of possible implications and interpretations of its earlier tradition and was concerned to guard against them. By contrast, the situation in Mark seems to have been different. Mark (much to Matthew’s discomfort!) has a number of traditions which show Jesus perhaps questioning the fundamental aspects of the Law, e.g. on Sabbath, on food laws and on divorce.60 And wherever Mark offers a view, Mark appears to be thoroughly endorsing such a critique. Thus whatever the saying in Mark 7.15 may have meant in any earlier tradition (if it existed there), Mark himself seems in no doubt: with his clarification in 7.19 he makes it unambiguously clear that, as far as he is concerned, Jesus has called all the food laws of the OT into question.61 Whichever way we come at the evidence, it seems clear that the Jesus tradition was seen as capable of being taken in a radically ‘antinomian’ way. Among the gospel writers or tradents, we thus see different attitudes reflected. Matthew seems to see this as a danger to be guarded against; Mark appears to see it as a welcome trend to be embraced. But either way it seems clear that the tradition was regarded as potentially antinomian. Within the spectrum of possible responses, Q’s attitude seems clear: Q’s sympathies were evidently more with Matthew than with Mark (not altogether surprisingly since Matthew adopted Q!). Q was thus concerned to minimise any suggestions that Jesus may have questioned the Law. With this in mind, the possible selection of material in Q may be more intelligible. Q certainly does have Jesus engaged in fierce debate with Pharisees and ‘lawyers’ (Q 11) over issues which may have been of particular concern to Pharisees (tithing, purity laws and eating). And in this, as Kloppenborg rightly says, Q’s Jesus is portrayed as ridiculing Pharisaic practices in some respects. On the other hand, tithing and/or detailed purity concerns on the one hand and Sabbath observance on the other may not have been regarded as parallel phenomena. Debates about Sabbath legislation do not seem to appear quite as frequently in our extant sources as other issues which Pharisees debated at great length. Yet, as Sanders has noted, this may not be because Sabbath observance was not a high priority for Pharisees; it attempt to assert the validity of the Law does not depend on this (cf. Schröter’s own discussion of the significance of this verse.) 60 Cf. Mark 2.27; 7.15; 10.11–12 etc. The issue of Jesus and the Law is thus not ‘first seriously raised’ only by Matthew, pace Lührmann. 61 It is almost universally agreed that Mark 7.19 is due to Markan redaction.

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may simply be that observance of Sabbath protocol was common ground for so many Jews: hence there was no need to engage in debate on many matters relating to this.62 By contrast, issues about the appropriate level of purity which should be maintained, and perhaps tithing, were questions which were more debatable – and were debated – at the time. Thus when Kloppenborg runs together the issue of the Sabbath observance and ‘other points of difference between Jesus and Pharisaic practice’63 and claims that it is difficult to believe Q ‘disregarded’ the Sabbath issue, he may be ignoring the distinction between Sabbath and say purity issues. The Jesus of Q engages with the Pharisees in matters that are intra-Pharisaic issues, or issues of debates between Pharisees and non-Pharisees. But possible challenges to Sabbath legislation might have been regarded as qualitatively different. In fact, Q may not be wholly silent on the issue of Sabbath. Many have argued that Luke 14.5 (cf. Matt 12.11) may represent a fragment of a tradition which belonged to Q.64 If it did to belong to Q, Matthew certainly – and Luke possibly – have chosen to embed the tradition in a different story: Matthew in the (Markan) story of the man with a withered hand, Luke in the story of the woman with the dropsy (Luke 14.1–6). As I have argued elsewhere, the saying only makes sense as some kind of argument to defend an apparent breach of Sabbath law.65 It is ‘experientially based’, rather than ‘halakic’,66 but this is not necessarily significant: in any case what we have is only a torso (and we do not know if it was supplemented by other ‘halakic’ arguments; but in any case the distinction may be an artificial one). The verse does show an awareness – probably within Q – that Jesus’ actions could be construed as breaching Sabbath observance, but that arguments could be – and here are – produced to show that any apparent breach of this nature was justifiable and justified. With this in mind, Q’s (perhaps only partial) silence may be intelligible. Against Kloppenborg, it is certainly not inconceivable that ‘Q knew of Sabbath controversies but disregarded them’ (though we must concede that we can never really know Q’s sources with such precision that we can identify material available to, but omitted by, Q). The intra-Pharisaic debate (on e.g. purity or tithing) may have been acceptable simply because it was recognised as an ‘in-house’ argument which did not necessarily challenge the basic ‘ground rules’ of life under Torah. Debates about Sabbath would 62

Sanders, Jewish Law, 15–16. ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 333. 64 See my Q and the History, 414 with further literature cited. There is substantial agreement in general terms between Matthew and Luke here. The IQP included it in Q with a ‘C’ rating; however, it is now excluded from the Critical Edition of Q (see above). 65 Q and the History, 415. 66 Kloppenborg, ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 332. citing Kosch, ‘Q und Jesus’, 36. 63

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have been of a different order. Q shows an awareness of the more general danger of possibly subverting the Law elsewhere: Q 11.42c; 16.17 have already been noted. The temptation narrative of Q 4.1–13 has as an important function to show that Jesus is obedient to the word of God as revealed in the Law. 67 So too, if Q contained a version of the story about the double love command (cf. above), the inclusion of the story in Q may show a concern by the Q editor(s) to show Jesus as in line with Torah, appealing to the Torah as the basis of his teaching and doing so precisely in order to counter opposition from others suspicious of him.68 That Q might then have known of Sabbath stories and deliberately not included them seems entirely credible and in line with what we can discern of Q’s overall strategy and concerns. Whether we should then deduce that the historical Jesus was a radical questioner of Sabbath and other major parts of the Torah is quite another matter. It may well be that Jesus’ attitude to the Sabbath was somewhat ambiguous, that the tradition was not clear, and the resulting variety in early Christian responses is in part the result of such unclarity. Further, any questioning of Sabbath law by Jesus may have been well within the parameters of debates at the time about how exactly one should keep Sabbath and what might constitute an acceptable reason for doing ‘work’ on the Sabbath.69 However, it seems unjustified to deduce from Q’s apparent silence that such debates never occurred within Jesus’ lifetime. If all the Sabbath debates are reflections of early Christian controversies, and if none goes back to Jesus, we have to face the problem of explaining why then Sabbath controversies dominate (at least parts of) the gospel tradition but are notable by their (almost total) absence from non-gospel Christian literature in the first century (e.g. the epistles, the Didache etc.).70 It seems much more plausible to argue that Sabbath controversies do go back to Jesus in some shape or form, that the early Christians reacted differently to the tradition and that one possibility was to try to sweep the issue under the 67 See my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153– 181 in this volume). 68 In Matthew and Luke, the question put to Jesus is a hostile one, unlike the situation in Mark. 69 Cf. Sanders, Jewish Law, 23; also D. Marguerat, ‘Jésus et la loi. Dans la mémoire des premiers Chrétiens’, in idem & J. Zumstein (eds.), La mémoire et le temps (FS P. Bonnard; Genève: Labor et Fides, 1991), 55–74. Nevertheless, the tradition seems to be better explained if there were apparently critical tendencies in the tradition from the very beginning. Cf. in more general terms, Schröter, ‘Erwägungen’, 458. 70 There are a few passing references in the Pauline letters, but the pressing issues there are much more circumcision and food laws.

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metaphorical carpet. Q’s relative silence (which may not have been total, cf. Q 14.5) should therefore be interpreted with something of a critical eye. * A second key issue in study of the historical Jesus, where Kloppenborg claims that the evidence of Q may have a significant contribution, concerns the question of whether Jesus expected an imminent transformation of the cosmos. The question is of course a very important one in modern Jesus study with, at one end of the spectrum, scholars like Marcus Borg arguing that none of the authentic Jesus tradition implies an imminent end of the world, with others such as Dale Allison arguing for a thoroughgoing apocalyptic interpretation of Jesus.71 Kloppenborg argues that the evidence of Q may have an important contribution to this debate. In particular he argues that ‘it is impossible to deduce from Q a coherent temporal scenario of imminent cosmic transformation, as can be done in the case of Mark 13’.72 There are announcements of judgment,73 some of which may be authentic, but ‘most, however, give no indication of how near such a judgment might be’. Thus there is ‘no temporal horizon for 6,37–38 and 6,47–49. The first only indicates that judgment will occur, and the second, that non-adherence to Jesus’ words will lead to disaster’. Similarly, judgment sayings occur in 11.19 and 12.8– 9, ‘indicating that it is certain; but there is no indication of its imminence’.74 Sayings such as 12.39–40; 17.26–27, 34–35 imply that judgment is ‘quite unpredictable … Such sayings seem, if anything, to be formulated against the expectations conjured up by Mark 13.’75 In fact, Kloppenborg argues, ‘it is only the literary and redactional juxtaposition of these oracles with the Baptist oracle (Q 3,7–9.16–17) that confers the impression of imminence at the level of Q redaction’.76 In addition the imminence of the judgment motif is enhanced in 10.9–15 by 10.12 which links the announcements of the Kingdom with the judgment oracles of 10.13–15, but Q 10.12 is widely accepted as a QR creation. Similarly the doom oracle of 11.49–51 gains its note of imminence with the threat of judgment against ‘this generation’ in v. 51b, but 11.51b is also widely 71 Cf. M. Borg, Jesus in Contemporary Scholarship (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994); D. C. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth. Millenarian Prophet (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998). 72 ‘Discursive Practices’, 165; ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 341. 73 In ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, Kloppenborg mentions Q 10.13–15; 11.19, 24–26, 31–32; in ‘Discursive Practices’, he adds Q 6.37–38, 47–49; 10.12; 11.50, 51; 12.8, 9, 39–40, 42– 46, 49, 58–59. 74 ‘Discursive Practices’, 165. 75 ‘Discursive Practices’, 165. 76 ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 341; cf. ‘Discursive Practices’, 166.

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regarded as a QR addition to the oracle. ‘The impression of imminent catastrophic judgment that it conveys is a function of Q’s framing.’77 Sayings such as 12.49 may be a QR creation; the parable in Q 12.42–46 may be a secondary creation.78 And the saying 13.28–29 may imply an element of imminence with its 2nd person plural address, ‘but the centre of gravity of this saying is not with the temporal aspect but rather with the inversion of social roles’,79 contrasting those claiming privilege on the basis of kinship with outsiders, a theme which is prominent elsewhere in Q’s rhetoric. Kloppenborg concludes that Q indeed implies an imminent judgment and an imminent intervention by God. But those features are conveyed by redactional elements. ‘It would be most unwise to base a conclusion that Jesus embraced an imminent catastrophic judgment on elements in Q that are either non-dominical or redactional.’80 In his earlier essay, Kloppenborg is a little more positive. He says that in general terms one must assume an element of continuity between Jesus and Q and hence ‘the gap between Jesus and Q is probably not too great’ (‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 343). Thus ‘Q’s willingness to use the symbol of God’s kingship to undergird its social practice and its invocation of scenarios of judgment (to create “room” for that practice) no doubt suggests that both aspects had roots in Jesus’ discourse’ (ibid.). He cites Koester to the effect that a non-eschatological Jesus would make early Christianity, which is so eschatologically oriented, a ‘complete conundrum’.81 Nevertheless, he claims that ‘a Schweitzerian Jesus reconstructed in the image of John makes the restraint of Q (to say nothing of the Gospel of Thomas) a yet more serious conundrum’ (ibid., 343). There is much here with which I have little quarrel. I would not dispute Kloppenborg’s claim that e.g. Q 12.49 and 12.42–46 may not be dominical.82 So too I agree with Kloppenborg (and several others) that verses like Q 10.12 and 11.51b may well be QR creations. On the other hand, we should be clear what we are discussing or might be arguing or disagreeing about. That the eschatology of Q is rather different in tone from the eschatology of Mark, and especially of Mark 13, is undisputed and undeniable. (How far Q’s eschatology or ‘apocalyptic’ is unusual in relation to a broader spectrum of Jewish ‘eschatological’ or ‘apocalyptic’ texts is more debatable and may depend on just what one allows as legitimate ‘apocalyp77

‘Discursive Practices’, 168. ‘Sayings Gospel Q’, 341; ‘Discursive Practices’, 168. 79 ‘Discursive Practices’, 169; cf. ‘Saying Gospel Q’, 342. 80 ‘Discursive Practices’, 169. 81 H. Koester, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Cult of the Kyrios Christos’, HDB 24 (1995) 14. 82 Whether Luke 12.49 is relevant to study of Q is another matter: there is no parallel in Matthew and hence its presence in Q is uncertain. 78

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tic’ material.) Yet very few today would argue that the detailed apocalyptic timetable of e.g. Mark 13 is something that can confidently be traced back to the historical Jesus. That chapter is more likely to reflect the views and concerns of Mark, rather than of Jesus, and in turn may be concerned as much to dampen down any apocalyptic enthusiasm and expectation as it is to encourage such hopes.83 Equally we have to be aware of the limited nature of the evidence we have. Kloppenborg is right to refer to the fact that a number of sayings in the tradition refer to a future judgment but do not explicitly mention its imminence. On the other hand, we must ask whether one would expect to see such explicit references every time! No speaker, teacher or preacher spells out all the assumptions, presuppositions and a full statement of their views on each and every occasion: at times some things can be – and have to be – taken as read. In any case there is a sense in which the threats of judgment only have a sense of relevance and urgency if it is assumed that such judgment is imminent. We also have to remember that no discourse – by Jesus, Q’s Jesus, or Mark’s Jesus – takes place in a vacuum. It is certainly the case that the threats of judgment in Q gain an (increased) note of imminence by being set in a (literary) context of the Baptist’s oracles. Yet any discourse of the historical Jesus requires a social context to give it meaning. Now it is widely accepted that part of the ‘social’, or ‘religious’, background of Jesus’ ministry is precisely the activity of John the Baptist. The baptism of Jesus by John is one of the best attested events in Jesus’ life;84 and whatever the event may have meant for Jesus’ inner ruminations, it seems to imply at the very least an agreement by Jesus with John’s message and a willingness to align himself positively with John’s cause.85 Further, it is (fairly) widely agreed that, of all the elements in the gospel tradition about John’s preaching, it is his eschatological preaching that is most likely to be authentic. This then suggests that placing Jesus within a context of John’s eschatological preaching is not only a result of Q’s editorial activity; it is something we can, with a certain amount of confidence, trace back to the historical Jesus himself.86 Q’s literary activity is placing the teaching of 83 The interpretation of the chapter is much debated; for the above, see M. D. Hooker, ‘Trial and Tribulation in Mark XIII’, BJRL 65 (1982) 78–99. 84 Few have disputed the historicity of the baptism of Jesus, especially in the light of the evident embarrassment it caused for early Christians. 85 Cf. Sanders, Jesus, 91–95, 152–156; also J. Becker, Jesus of Nazareth (Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 1998), 49–53. 86 Unless one postulates a change of mind on the part of Jesus and distinguishes between an ‘early Jesus’ and a ‘later Jesus’: cf. Crossan, Historical Jesus, 237–238. Such a theory is of course possible, though it opens the floodgates to all kinds of possibilities and it is then hard to know what kind of controls one could have in assessing the evidence.

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Jesus in the context of John’s preaching may thus be a reliable reflection of the context in which the teaching of Jesus should be placed.87 Thus any note of imminence in the Jesus tradition is not necessarily just a reflection of Q’s redactional and literary activity. Whether we land up with a ‘Schweitzerian’ Jesus is another issue which there is no time or space to discuss here. The nature and the role of eschatology, and of an imminent futurist eschatology, within the teaching of the historical Jesus, is obviously a topic which needs considerably more discussion and precision. Its presence in some shape or form is however certainly attested by Q; and even after making full allowance for the redactional and editorial activity by Q in reworking the Jesus tradition it received, there seems little to suggest that, in this respect, Q and Jesus were radically different from each other. One may also consider here a slightly more broader issue. The threats of catastrophic judgment are all part of the ‘Q2’ material (for those who accept the stratigraphical analysis of Q on which the terminology is based). I have earlier referred to the dangers of separating off the ‘Q1’ material from ‘Q2’ and assigning only the former to the historical Jesus, primarily in terms of methodology: such a procedure may be pressing literary-critical judgements into a tradition-critical area where they are in danger of being inappropriate if not irrelevant. However, in relation to the material itself, other factors may also be relevant in this discussion. The ‘Q2’ material contains much of the ‘apocalyptic’ and/or ‘prophetic’ material in the tradition, where Jesus is seen as being more polemical, attacking opponents etc. By contrast the Jesus of ‘Q1’ is more irenic, perhaps the almost playful Cynic-sage of Mack, the Jewish Cynic peasant of Crossan, or the teacher of infinite forgiveness of Robinson.88 Yet, as I have sought to argue elsewhere, any attempt to reconstruct a picture of the historical Jesus has to pass a number of critical tests. Of course any sifting of the individual elements of the tradition has to go through the process of considering the ‘criteria for authenticity’ such as dissimilarity, coherence, multiple attestation etc. in some shape or form. But any final result, any picture which claims to re-present the historical Jesus with any degree of accuracy, has to pass a further acid test in that it

87 For a generally positive view of the authenticity of the sayings about judgment in the synoptic tradition, see too M. Reiser, Jesus and Judgment. The Eschatological Proclamation in Its Jewish Context (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997). 88 Indeed it was precisely this distinction between the more overtly polemical material and the more irenic appeals to the sensibilities of the audience that functioned as the criterion for distinguishing strata in Q at all: cf. Kloppenborg, Formation, 167, 238, and the appeals there to ‘projected/implied audience(s)’ as distinguishing the strata.

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must ‘cohere’ or ‘fit’ with the unquestioned fact that Jesus was crucified.89 No one has ever seriously doubted the fact of the cross. Explaining it in any detail is of course notoriously problematic. But at the very least, this brute fact has to be placed alongside any reconstruction of the historical Jesus and some attempt made to explain how the latter could end up crucified. And it may be a difficulty for some ‘Q1-based’ historical Jesuses that the resulting picture is so unpolemical, and inoffensive, that it becomes all the harder to envisage why such a Jesus aroused such intense passion and hatred on the part of at least some sections of the population that he was executed in this way. Unless one goes down the route of saying that the cross was a complete accident of history, and that it bore no relationship at all to Jesus’ life and activity,90 then it seems one needs an element of real polemic and offensiveness in Jesus’ teaching to explain his death (at least in very general terms). A reconstruction of Jesus who is too ‘Q1’-like is thus perhaps historically unpersuasive if only because alongside any such Jesus one has to put the brute fact of the cross. * In conclusion, I would propose: (1) Study of Q and study of the historical Jesus must be recognised and accepted as separate enterprises. (2) Earlier traditions which can be identified within Q cannot necessarily be taken as dominical without more ado; conversely, elements which are added later in the growth of the Q tradition are not necessarily ipso facto undominical. Equally Q, even ‘early Q’, does not have a monopoly of authentic tradition. (3) The absence of (most) Sabbath stories in Q cannot necessarily be taken as a reflection of the situation in Jesus’ ministry, given Q’s apparent concern to tone down potentially ‘antinomian’ tendencies in the tradition. (4) The eschatology of Q may be valid reflection of Jesus’ own teaching: the literary activity of Q in placing Jesus’ teaching in a broader context may well show important elements of continuity with Jesus. (5) Some of the more polemical material in the tradition, placed by many in a later stage of Q in relation to the development of Q, may be plausibly traced back to Jesus in general terms if one is to seek to explain the fact of Jesus’ crucifixion.

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C. M. Tuckett, ‘Sources and Methods’, in M. Bockmuehl (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 121–137, on p. 136. 90 Such a move is a theoretical possibility – Jesus was executed almost by accident – but few if any have felt comfortable with such a view.

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XXIII Matthew The Social and Historical Context – Jewish Christian and/or Gentile? For Graham Stanton († 18.07.2009) in memoriam

1. Introduction The issue of the social, ‘religious’ and ethnic identity of Matthew – whether one thinks of Matthew’s Gospel, Matthew the evangelist, or the possible community from which Matthew came and for which he may have written his Gospel – has been debated vigorously, almost ad nauseam, in modern studies of Matthew. Almost every aspect of the subject has been discussed, argued about, analysed and debated, and almost every permutation and combination of possible solutions to the network of problems has been proposed at some time or other during the course of research.1 Some have claimed that there is a ‘consensus’ developing, whereby Matthew is seen as ‘a deviant movement operating within the orbit of Judaism’.2 On 1 For two recent studies, both of which give extensive bibliographical details about the history of research in the broad areas covered by this paper, see A. Runesson, ‘Rethinking Early Jewish-Christian Relations. Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intragroup Conflict’, JBL 127 (2008) 95–132; R. Deines, ‘Not the Law but the Messiah. Law and Righteousness in the Gospel of Matthew – An Ongoing Debate’, in D. M. Gurtner & J. Nolland (eds.), Built upon the Rock. Studies in the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 53–84; also P. Foster, Community, Law and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (WUNT 2.177; Tübingen: Mohr, 2004). For a very full survey of earlier scholarship on Matthew, see the comprehensive essay of G. N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel. Matthean Scholarship from 1945–1980’, ANRW 2.25.3 (Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 1983), 1889–1951. No attempt will be made in this paper to provide fully comprehensive references to the spread of scholarly opinions. 2 The wording is that of Foster, Community, 77, who talks of a ‘new consensus’ (p. 78) or an ‘emerging consensus’ (p. 273), with reference to the works of J. A. Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism. The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); A. J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1994); D. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism. The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Edinburgh,

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the other hand, a substantial number of scholars would assert that Matthew has probably effectively left the orbit of ‘Judaism’ (whether implicitly or explicitly, willingly or unwillingly) and should be seen as part of a movement that is now in a significant sense separated from Judaism.3 Certainly the flood of scholarly literature on the topic shows little sign of abating, and equally it is difficult to find anything that is very new to say on the topic. Part of the difficulty in discussions of the issues involved arises out of a fundamental problem of definition: the very attempt to discuss issues such as this involves the use of words (which in turn seek to articulate and express underlying ‘ideas’); some might dispute whether some of the words used in such discussions (e.g. ‘Jewish’, ‘Judaism’, ‘Christian’, ‘Christianity’) can be given a specific enough meaning to have any use at all in modern discussions. Further, words (and/or the underlying ‘ideas’) can mean different things for different people. In addition, insofar as words used represent not only descriptions of ‘objective facts’ (if such ever exist!) but also claims which are contested by different groups, any labels which one may wish to use to ‘describe’ particular groups may well have been contested at the time. Thus in seeking to describe the ‘identity’ of people and/or groups from antiquity, different people and/or groups might well give different answers to the same question. Hence, if one asks whether Matthew’s community was ‘Jewish’ or not, any answer might depend critically on whose perspective is adopted: a member of a (putative) ‘Matthean community’ might give one answer, whilst someone from outside that community might give another answer.4 Further, one must not forget the T&T Clark, 1998), and others, e.g. A.-J. Levine, The Social and Ethnic Dimensions of Matthean Salvation History (Lewiston & Queenstown: Mellen, 1988); S. von Dobbeler, ‘Auf der Grenze. Ethos und Identität der matthäischen Gemeinde nach Mt 15,1–20’, BZ 45 (2001) 55–79. Cf. too Deines, ‘Not the Law’, 53–54, who takes up this language of ‘consensus’. (According to von Dobbeler, this in turn has been a reaction to the view, more dominant in the 1960s, that Matthew was a Gentile Christian with virtually nothing to do with contemporary Judaism [with reference to Walker, Strecker, Trilling, Hare and others]). However, both Foster and Deines seek to challenge this ‘consensus’, and in doing so can successfully cite a substantial number of scholars who support them: one wonders if sometimes a writer claims that there is a ‘consensus’ for the opposite point of view for which s/he wants to argue in order to be staking a claim to saying something ‘new’! 3 Cf. e.g. U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (EKKNT I; 4 vols.; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985–2002); G. N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People. Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992); D. A. Hagner, ‘Matthew. Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, NTS 49 (2003) 193–209, to mention just a few, as well as e.g. Foster and Deines (as in the previous note). 4 Cf. B. Repschinski, The Controversy Stories in the Gospel of Matthew (FRLANT 189; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 346–347; Runesson, ‘Early JewishChristian Relations’, 97, and others. More general issues about ‘identity’, and the difficulties which arise, are explored by J. Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and GraecoRoman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).

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obvious point that many of these descriptions or labels which we use are our inventions and not necessarily labels which people in the first century would have used (or perhaps even recognised). The title of this paper (given by the organisers of the Colloquium where it was first presented) is ‘The Social and Historical Context of Matthew’, with a sub-title in the form of a question: ‘Jewish Christian and/or Gentile?’ Before trying to address that question, some attempts at definition, or at least some clarifications, are probably in order! First ‘Matthew’. The name in this context is slightly ambiguous. As already hinted above, one can use the name to refer to the Gospel, the literary text that bears this title (‘the Gospel according to Matthew’); one can use the name to refer to the author of the Gospel, the evangelist. One can also, in discussions of e.g. the ‘Jewishness of Matthew’, be referring (with admittedly a slight element of linguistic flexibility) not so much to the text, or to the author of the text, but to the community from which the author may have come and for whom he may have written. It is certainly worth bearing in mind the distinction between all three of these. In relation to the Gospel text, the question of the religious ‘identity’ of Matthew is unclear and uncertain. One only has to glance at the modern scholarly debate to realise that the Gospel itself is open to many different interpretations. Clearly in one way it is very ‘Jewish’; in another way it is somewhat ‘un-Jewish’. Correspondingly too in the ancient world, Matthew’s Gospel was very soon accepted and read by a wide range of people, both Jewish and non-Jewish.5 In terms of Christian readers, Matthew was apparently used by ‘Jewish Christian’ groups; it was also used (one presumes with approval) by writers such as Ignatius and the author of the Didache, both of whom sought to distinguish their Christian gospel and/or communities sharply from contemporary non-Christian Judaism;6 and subsequently Matthew’s Gospel was used universally by all sections of the Christian church. Hence the Gospel itself is not at all clear-cut (a fact to which the modern history of interpretation of the Gospel testifies!). In this paper, I will seek to focus a little on the evangelist, but also on the community from which I presume he came and to which he belonged.7 Further, 5 The wide range of Matthew’s readers in the early church is noted by Runesson, ‘Early Jewish-Christian Relations’, 95–96. 6 For Ignatius, cf. Magn. 8.1; 10.2 and his polemic again ‘judaisers’; for the Didache, cf. the attack on ‘hypocrites’ in ch. 8 (evidently non-Christian Jews) and the days on which they fast: although there is no fundamental disagreement on the principle of fasting as such, the (at one level trivial) disagreement about the days on which one should fast testifies at least to a clear social separation from (the) non-Christian Jewish community/ies. 7 The whole question of whether it is appropriate and/or useful to postulate the existence of ‘communities’ from which the evangelists came and for which they may have

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although one should be wary of making too neat an equation between an author and his/her community, as if the author always reflects the views of the community and never challenges them, it seems reasonable to presume a significant element of continuity between the author and the community to which s/he belonged.8 Hence for some purposes, what applies to the evangelist may also apply to the community for which he wrote his Gospel, and vice versa. What though of the categories ‘Jewish’ and/or ‘Gentile’ themselves? To take the latter first, one could say that ‘Gentile’ in this context functions as something of a ‘binary opposite’ to ‘Jewish’. Marking out someone’s identity as ‘Gentile’ only really makes sense from a context relating to ‘Judaism’, and to a certain extent denying that their identity is ‘Jewish’. No one makes a positive identification (of themselves or others) as ‘Gentile’ independently of the issue of ‘Jewish’ identity. I am fully aware that things are written their gospels, has been radically called into question by, above all, Richard Bauckham: see R. J. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians. Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), and especially Bauckham’s own essay in the volume ‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’ (pp. 9–49). For discussion of some of the issues, see C. M. Tuckett, ‘Gospels and Communities. Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community?’, in R. Buitenwerf, H. W. Hollander & J. Tromp (eds.), Jesus, Paul, and Early Christianity. Studies in Honour of Henk Jan de Jonge (NovTSup 130; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 377–396 (pp. 541–556 in this volume), esp. pp. 377–383 (below, pp. 541–547), with references to further recent literature and other reactions to Bauckham’s suggestions. I have sought to argue there that it is indeed appropriate to view the evangelists as coming from (and perhaps addressing) a particular community situation. I will therefore assume in the rest of this essay that Matthew does indeed come from a particular community situation. (Whether his own community is his primary intended readership is perhaps a separate issue.) 8 The above is worded in a very general way: hence the alternatives of his/her, s/he etc. In practice, given the social conditions of the first century, it seems highly unlikely that the evangelist was a woman. Hence I will henceforth refer to the author as ‘he’ rather than e.g. ‘s/he’. The question of possible distinctions in this context between authors and their communities is a delicate one. In the era of modern study of the gospels, the earlier form critics were perhaps too ready to assume an almost 100 % agreement between those who preserved the Jesus traditions and the communities from which they came and for which they preserved the traditions. The idea that some authors might have wished to speak ‘to’, or ‘at’, their audiences, quite as much as ‘for’ them, tended to be ignored. The notion that authors, and in particular the evangelists, might have been a little more ‘polemical’, seeking to modify and perhaps change their audience’s views as well as simply reflect them, has come more to the fore in more recent ‘redaction-critical’ studies of the gospels. There is though clearly no simple ‘either-or’ and it is probably a case of ‘both-and’. An author such as Matthew may have wished to speak to his audience and/or readers; but presumably, insofar as being part of the same ‘community’ means anything at all, there must also be a significant measure of continuity and agreement between Matthew and his community, if only for Matthew himself to be able to count himself as part of that community.

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not as simple as to claim that ‘Gentile’ is purely and simply the binary opposite of ‘Jewish’. As we shall see shortly, there are problems in defining what (or who) is ‘Jewish’ (and hence there are the same problems of trying to define its ‘binary opposite’). So too there were (and are) varying degrees of overlap between people who are deemed (whether by themselves or others) to be ‘Jewish’ or ‘Gentile’. The boundaries between the two were/ are somewhat fluid and permeable.9 Equally in relation to Christianity, it would be naïve, and potentially dangerous, to try to make ‘Gentile Christian’ the binary opposite of ‘Jewish Christian’ as if ‘Gentile Christian’ denied everything that ‘Jewish Christian’ affirmed (see further below). However, it is still the case that any attempt to pin down a meaning, or definition, of ‘Gentile’ is closely connected with what one means, and/or how one defines, ‘Jewish’. In the rest of this paper, I will therefore focus on the slightly simpler issue of whether it is appropriate or not to call Matthew ‘Jewish’ and/or ‘Jewish Christian’. One other preliminary point which perhaps needs a brief discussion concerns the word ‘Christian’. What I am presuming here is that, in at least some sense, Matthew is ‘Christian’. Defining ‘Christian’ is just as, if not more, problematic in one way as defining ‘Jewish’. I am however taking the word here in a very minimalist sense in that I am simply presuming that Matthew the evangelist and his Gospel have what is intended to be a thoroughly positive assessment of the figure of Jesus.10 Further, the community for whom Matthew wrote also had a positive assessment of Jesus. How that ‘positive assessment’ was further defined and expressed is of course open to myriads of possible interpretations and variations. And it may be too that Matthew wrote in part to mould, possibly even to adapt and/or change, the assessment of Jesus held by the community for which he wrote (see n. 8 above). But in that very minimalist sense, I am presuming that Matthew himself was a Christian, that his Gospel is a ‘Christian’ text and that the Matthean community was also ‘Christian’. How then should we define ‘Jewish’? The problems here are, I take it, well known. Clearly, given the possibility (in theory and in practice) of non-Jews becoming ‘Jewish’ in a meaningful sense, it would probably be inappropriate to use the term ‘Jewish’ in an ‘ethnic’ sense, as if ‘Jewishness’ was determined by one’s birth or nationality (though for some that 9 Cf. S. J. D. Cohen, ‘Crossing the Boundary and Becoming a Jew’, HTR 82 (1989) 13–33. 10 With such a ‘definition’, I am not trying to assert that being a ‘Christian’ involved belonging to something called ‘Christianity’ which is in turn conceived as a ‘religion’ in its own right, perhaps as distinct and separate from ‘Judaism’. Adopting the ‘minimalist’ position above, I am deliberately seeking to leave such questions open, as well as the possibility that one could be both ‘Christian’ and ‘Jewish’, and that ‘Christianity’ and ‘Judaism’ may (and almost certainly did) have a significant degree of overlap.

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might be the case). For some, the attempt to define what is ‘Jewish’, or what constitutes ‘Judaism’, is one that is doomed to failure. Hence rather than talk about ‘Judaism’, one should talk about ‘Judaisms’ (plural) and acknowledge that, within any entity which might be called ‘Judaism’, there was as much variation as there was any uniformity or constant factors.11 However, others have claimed that there are some common features that can be ascribed to any group which calls itself (and/or is called by others) ‘Jews’, and that these can be taken as in some sense marking out the identity of the people in question as ‘Jewish’ in a meaningful sense.12 Thus Sanders, whilst acknowledging the variety amongst different groups, claims that there is a ‘common Judaism’ which can be seen as something which unites those who belong to the various parties (and/or belong to none);13 Dunn talks about four ‘pillars’ of Judaism (as covenant, Temple, Law, land);14 Casey talks about a range of identity markers as ‘analytically fruitful’ in this context;15 Barclay talks about similar identity markers among the Jewish Diaspora.16 It is though commonly recognised that there is considerable variety among all those claiming to be ‘Jewish’ in relation to any ‘ideas’ of the time; what was regarded as important was often not so much 11 Cf. the often-cited title of the volume J. Neusner, W. S. Green, E. S. Frerichs (eds.), Judaisms and their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 12 Indeed the very language of ‘Judaisms’ (plural), insofar as it is regarded as meaningful enough to exclude some things, implies the same: for it assumes that there were/ are enough common features to identify various phenomena which can still be described by the single generic (albeit plural) term ‘Judaisms’. 13 E. P. Sanders, Judaism. Practice and Belief 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM, 1992). Also J. Neusner, ‘The Formation of Rabbinic Judaism. Yavneh (Jamnia) from A.D. 70 to 100’, ANRW 2.19.2 (1979) 3–42, who also talks about a ‘common Judaism’, referring to Torah, Temple, and the ‘common and accepted practices of the ordinary folk, their calendar, their mode of living, and everyday practices and rites based on these first two’ (p. 21). For a more critical appraisal, see M. Hengel & R. Deines, ‘E. P. Sanders’ “Common Judaism”, Jesus and the Pharisees’, JTS 46 (1995) 1–70. 14 J. D. G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways. Between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity (London: SCM, 1991). 15 M. Casey, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God. The Origins and Development of New Testament Christology (Cambridge: Clarke, 1991), 12: his eight identity markers are ‘ethnicity, scripture, monotheism, circumcision, sabbath observance, dietary laws, purity laws and major festivals’. He clearly states that not everyone will score 8/8 in this, but a higher score on these eight counts will be significant in determining ‘Jewishness’. 16 J. M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora. From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 399–444 on ‘Jewish Identity in the Diaspora’. On pp. 428–444, he mentions four features of the Jewish pattern of life where ‘Jewish difference was visible, habitual and of social importance’, and includes here Jewish ‘cultic abstention, separation at meals, male circumcision and Sabbath observance’ (p. 429).

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what one ‘believed’, or the ‘ideas’ one had, but quite as much what one did, how one behaved. What was important was as much orthopraxy as any orthodoxy.17 The issue of identity becomes no less complex and difficult when one appends the adjective ‘Christian’ to ‘Jewish’ and asks what is meant by describing something or someone as ‘Jewish Christian’. Given that Matthew is unquestionably ‘Christian’ (at least in the minimalist sense noted above), can one say that Matthew is ‘Jewish Christian’ and/or that Matthew’s community is ‘Jewish Christian’? Or that Matthew stems from a context of ‘Jewish Christianity’? Another issue might be whether the order of the two words is significant and whether one should see Matthew as ‘Christian Jewish’ and belonging to ‘Christian Judaism’, perhaps in distinction from ‘Jewish Christianity’. 18 The attempts to define ‘Jewish Christianity’ have been many and varied, and no one ‘definition’ has commanded uniform assent.19 Part of the problem arises from the very varied nature of the groups and/or movements which in the past have been deemed to be part of ‘Jewish Christianity’ but which resist attempts to reduce them all to (a) neat, simple common denominator(s). Certainly this has been the case in relation to ‘ideas’ or ‘theologies’. Just as with Judaism it has proved hard to identify key ‘ideas’ which are common to all Jews, and the focus has in recent years been more on the level of praxis and actions for determining identity, i.e. more a matter of ‘orthopraxy’ as of any ‘orthodoxy’, so too with ‘Jewish Christianity’: the issue of what constitutes ‘Jewish Christianity’ might be better regarded as a question not so much of what ‘ideas’ or ‘beliefs’ any person or people had; rather it would be more a matter of practical behaviour.20 17 The importance of actions and behaviour (‘ethos’) in relation to social identity is widely recognised by social scientists: cf. von Dobbeler, ‘Auf der Grenze’, 56–57; more generally, M. Wolter, ‘Ethos und Identität in paulinischen Gemeinden’, NTS 43 (1997) 430–444, on pp. 430–431. 18 Cf. the recent essay of W. Carter, ‘Matthew’s Gospel. Jewish Christianity, Christian Judaism, or Neither?’, in M. Jackson-McCabe (ed.), Jewish Christianity Reconsidered. Rethinking Ancient Groups and Texts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 155–180. 19 See J. Carleton Paget, ‘Jewish Christianity’, in W. Horbury, W. D. Davies, J. Sturdy (eds.), Cambridge History of Judaism. Volume Three. The Early Roman Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 731–775; M. Jackson-McCabe, ‘What’s in a Name. The Problem of “Jewish Christianity”’, in idem (ed.), Jewish Christianity Reconsidered (n. 18), 7–39. 20 See Jackson-McCabe, ‘What’s in a Name’, 20–23, with reference to Carleton Paget, ‘Jewish Christianity’; cf. too G. Strecker, ‘Judenchristentum’, TRE 17 (1988) 310–325; J. E. Taylor, ‘The Phenomenon of Early Jewish Christianity. Reality or Scholarly Invention?’, VC 44 (1990) 313–334; S. Mimouni, ‘Pour une definition nouvelle du judéochristianisme ancien’, NTS 38 (1992) 161–186; Runesson, ‘Early Jewish-Christian Relations’, 101–102, though Jackson-McCabe himself is somewhat critical of this view. In

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Put in these terms, the obvious link between ‘Jewishness’ and practical behaviour is the Jewish Law (as well as socially associating with, and joining in with, other Jews). It would appear to make sense then to assign some kind of ‘Jewish’ identity to those who obeyed the Law;21 and equally to assign some kind of ‘Jewish Christian’ (or ‘Christian Jewish’) identity to those Christians who obeyed the Law.22 The problem of course comes when one asks which parts of the Law are deemed to be critical in this.23 In a very real sense, no Christian writer (with the possible exception of Marcion) ever ignored or rejected the Jewish Law in toto. Even the representative of the grouping within the Christian Church often presumed to be the polar opposite of ‘Jewish Christianity’, viz. Paul and so-called ‘Gentile trying to define ‘Jewish Christianity’ in this way, I am not intending to distinguish it necessarily from ‘Christian Judaism’, implicitly claiming that ‘Jewish Christianity’ is Jewish Christianity and as such a ‘religion’ which is qualitatively distinct from another, e.g. Judaism. (This is in part the criticism of Jackson-McCabe. On the distinction between Jewish Christianity and Christian Judaism, see n. 22 below). Rather, I am seeking more to identify a particular category of (the very broadly defined) ‘Christianity’ which might be appropriately described as ‘Jewish Christianity’ (rather than another kind of Christianity). Whether ‘Christianity’ is regarded as a separate ‘religion’ from ‘Judaism’ is potentially quite another matter. 21 For those who attempt to define Jewish ‘identity’ in some way, the criterion of a ‘positive attitude to the Law’ is normally taken as axiomatic (and almost as axiomatic as the criterion of regarding a ‘positive assessment of Jesus’ as a sine qua non of anything or anyone claiming to be ‘Christian’). 22 At this level, there is probably not much of a difference between what I have called ‘Jewish Christian’ and ‘Christian Jewish’, or between ‘Jewish Christianity’ and ‘Christian Judaism’. To a certain extent the difference between the two can be seen as reflecting more the concrete social situation of any Christian group and/or persons: ‘Christian Jews’ would be those who are still active participants in Jewish ‘religion’ and society (e.g. by attending synagogues), whereas ‘Jewish Christians’ are those who no longer participate in Jewish religion and society. But the distinction may be quite distinct from, and to a certain extent quite independent of, ‘ideology’ and/or ‘beliefs’ (and to a certain extent practices). E.g. the outcome of not participating in Jewish religion and society may be due to the choice of the Christian group; but it may equally be an outcome that is enforced on Christians by others against the Christians’ wishes. In the famous description by Martyn of the change brought about for the Johannine Christian community by the (presumed) expulsion from the synagogue – that they ceased to be ‘Christian Jews’ and became ‘Jewish Christians’: see J. L. Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979), 157 – presumably their beliefs and ideology remained the same (at least at the time of the expulsion). What was different was their social situation in relation to the non-Christian Jewish community; and, to a certain extent, the move may well have been bitterly regretted by the Johannine Christians themselves: they had been forced to leave the synagogue (and become ‘Jewish Christians’) when their own claims may have been that they should have been allowed to remain as part of the Jewish system and hence remain as ‘Christian Jews’. As noted at the start of this paper, all such descriptions may well be contested and/or are highly dependent on one’s perspective! 23 Cf. Jackson-McCabe, ‘What’s in a Name’, 22; Carter, ‘Matthew’s Gospel’, 158.

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Christianity’, never disregarded the Law completely. Paul clearly held to some parts of the Jewish Law as still valid and he evidently expected his (Gentile) readers to follow suit. Thus the commands of the second part of the Decalogue are presumed by Paul to be still valid even for his (at least in part Gentile) readers in Rom 13.8–10 (even if the command to be circumcised is taken by Paul as not applying to new male ‘converts’ to Christianity); and the same Paul who wrote Galatians could also claim that ‘whatever was written in former times [i.e. Jewish Scripture] was written for our instruction’ (Rom 15.4). Thus one cannot make ‘Gentile Christian’ and ‘Jewish Christian’ into simple ‘binary opposites’ of each other in this discussion: even Pauline ‘Gentile Christians’ were expected to adopt a significant measure of ‘Jewishness’ in their version of ‘Christianity’. 24 Thus one cannot make a simplistic distinction between ‘Jews/Jewish Christians’ who observed the (Jewish) Law and ‘Gentiles/Gentile Christians’ who maintained (total) ‘freedom’ from the Law.25 It seems clear though that some particular parts of the Jewish Law had a special significance in defining Jewish identity, both in the eyes of ‘insiders’ as well as by ‘outsiders’. These were the food laws, the law about Sabbath observance and the law about circumcision. Many are agreed that these laws were particularly important in determining ‘Jewish’ identity, both in the eyes of Jews themselves and also in the eyes of those who would not consider themselves Jewish at all.26 Thus in asking questions about the ‘Jewishness’ of Matthew, and whether we should describe Matthew as ‘Jewish Christian’, we might then ask the rather more specific question whether Matthew appears to expect Christian followers of Jesus 24 Above all, all Christians adopted the belief in monotheism, often held to be a distinctive feature of Jewishness in a general polytheistic environment in the Greco-Roman world. 25 Cf. too R. E. Brown, ‘Not Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity, but Types of Jewish/Gentile Christianity’, CBQ 45 (1983) 74–79. 26 The issue has been frequently debated in studies of Paul in recent years, especially in relation to the so-called ‘New Perspective’ on Paul. For these three elements of the Jewish Law as having particular significance, both for ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’, see J. D. G. Dunn, The New Perspective on Paul (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), and especially the first essay in the volume, ‘The New Perspective on Paul. Whence, what and whither?’ (pp. 1–98), where Dunn traces the various developments in the ‘New Perspective’ (especially his own contributions) and his focus on these three specific demands of the Jewish Law. There is great debate in study of Paul about the precise relationship between these three key elements of the Law and Paul’s references to ‘works of the Law’. That is an issue which may be left aside here. All that matters is that these three demands were regarded as of particular importance in the first century as defining Jewish identity. See too Casey and Barclay (nn. 15 and 16 above), both of whom see these three factors as crucial elements in the Law in relation to the issue of Jewish identity.

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to obey these specific commands of the Jewish Law. Are followers of Jesus, according to Matthew, expected to follow Jewish food laws, are they expected to keep Sabbath law, and should any men who join the group be circumcised (if they have not been already)? Alternatively (or in addition), one should maybe try to answer the question not so much whether they were expected to keep these laws, but did they? (The difference may be important, as we shall see when we consider the issue of Sabbath.) First however I consider the more limited question of whether Matthew himself (i.e. Matthew the evangelist) was Jewish.

2. Was Matthew Jewish? The answer to the question whether Mathew himself was a Jew is often thought today to be almost self-evident. Those who question Matthew’s Jewish identity are generally dismissed fairly swiftly.27 Standard arguments for the conclusion that Matthew was himself a Jew would include variously: Matthew’s preference for using the phrase ‘Kingdom of heaven’ instead of ‘Kingdom of God’, his assumption that apparently ‘technical’ terms such as ‘Raka’ (Matt 5.22) do not need any explanation, his presentation of Jesus as far less challenging to the Jewish Law than Mark might appear to imply (Matt 5.17–20 as well as his redaction of many Markan pericopes dealing with matters concerning the Law), his assumption that Jewish customs (such as handwashing) do not need any explanation (hence his omission of Mark 7.3–4), his presentation of Jesus’ sayings about divorce which presuppose Jewish, not Roman, law about the rights (or otherwise) of wives to divorce their husbands (Matt 19.9 cf. Mark 10.11– 12), his deep concern to show the Jesus story as the ‘fulfilment’ of OT prophecy (cf. the formula quotations), his concern to present Jesus himself in Jewish categories such as ‘Son of David’ and ‘Son of Abraham’ (and arguably privileging these terms in his title verse Matt 1.1) etc. etc.28

27 Cf. D. A. Hagner, ‘The Sitz im Leben of the Gospel of Matthew’, in D. R. Bauer & M. A. Powell (eds.), Treasures New and Old. Contributions to Matthean Studies (SBL Symposium Series 1; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 27–68, on p. 35: the possibility that Matthew might be Gentile could find support in a few points, but ‘[this] hypothesis flies in the face of the overwhelmingly Jewish character of the Gospel of Matthew’. Perhaps the view that Matthew was a Gentile Christian was more popular a generation ago: cf. n. 2 above. 28 A full discussion of these, and many other, points is provided in W. D. Davies & D. C. Allison, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC; 3 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–1997), 1.7–58. Cf. too Luz, Matthäus, 1.62–65.

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Voices have been raised against such a view, notably the article of Clark, on the so-called ‘Gentile bias’ of Matthew.29 One of Clark’s main arguments focused on the polemic in Matthew against other Jews (whether against all Jews is uncertain); however, others have pointed out that such polemical language is by no means unusual within Judaism where one group could, and did, inveigh against another in very strong language (cf. especially some of the strong language in the Qumran Scrolls) but all from within the broad context of ‘Judaism’. Other objections (e.g. by Meier) have focused on some of Matthew’s strange use of, or appeals to, scripture, e.g. his apparent ‘misreading’ of Zech 9.9 in Matt 21, taking the Zechariah reference to ‘an ass, and a colt the foal of an ass’ as implying the existence of two animals in the story of the entry into Jerusalem (and consistently adjusting the Markan story accordingly), or as possibly inventing a text to fit his story line (as in 2.23 ‘he shall be called a Nazorean’). Again, others have argued – in many ways persuasively – that there is nothing here that is unusual or unprecedented within a Jewish context: especially the evidence of texts such as the Habakkuk commentary from Qumran shows that Jews were more than capable of being very ‘free’ in their use of scripture. All these objections have been thoroughly examined especially in the commentary of Davies and Allison and found to be wanting. One may note that not all the more positive evidence for Matthew’s supposed Jewishness is equally compelling. At the very least, much of it is at best ambiguous and open in relation to the evangelist’s own identity (as opposed to that of the Gospel or Matthew’s readers). For example, the absence of explanations about Jewish words or Jewish customs (e.g. ‘Raka’, or Mark 7.3–4) may show something about Matthew’s readers (or perhaps better his ‘implied readers’): Matthew evidently thinks that they need no explanation; but that does not say anything directly about himself.30 So too a strong concern for continuity with the Jewish tradition, and with Jewish scripture, need not be the preserve of a Jewish Christian alone. It is an equally strong feature of the Lukan writings to present Jesus as ‘fulfilling’ the OT scriptures in his ministry with the same process continuing in the life of the early Church. Luke works this out in a slightly different way, and format, from Matthew’s formula quotations, but it is none the less real for that. And it is not so clear that Luke was Jewish. Indeed it becomes an important piece of later Christian apologetic (by Jewish and non-Jewish 29 K. W. Clark, ‘The Gentile Bias in Matthew’, JBL 66 (1947) 165–172; others doubting the Jewishness of Matthew have included G. Strecker, Der Weg der Gerechtigkeit. Untersuchung zur Theologie des Matthäus (FRLANT 82; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962); J. P. Meier, Law and History in Matthew’s Gospel (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1976). 30 Such examples also give no indication whether, if Matthew had attempted to provide an explanation, he would have been accurate!

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writers) within the Greco-Roman world to show that Christianity is not a ‘new’ religion, but can claim Jewish history as its own (the theme is strongly developed in the writings of the second century Apologists). There is however one piece of evidence which has been adduced as difficult to envisage as stemming from a Jewish author (and to which Davies and Allison give barely a mention). This concerns the form of the Shema as cited by the Matthean Jesus in Matt 22.37. This piece of potentially relevant data was highlighted by G. Strecker, arguing from this (and other data) that Matthew was a Gentile;31 in turn the issue has been addressed recently in a long article by Foster, defending the traditional view of Matthew’s Jewishness in relation to this verse.32 The evidence is well known. Matthew has Jesus cite the Shema in a form which is somewhat unusual. Mark’s parallel (Mark 12.30) here has a form of the Shema exhorting the reader/listener to love the Lord one’s God with four faculties (heart, soul, mind, strength), each introduced by the preposition ਥț. Matthew has only three faculties (heart, soul, mind), each introduced by the preposition ਥȞ. For completeness one should note the Lukan version in Luke 10.27, which contains four faculties (as in Mark though with the last two in reverse order), the first introduced by ਥț, the other three by ਥȞ. Synoptically presented, the readings of the three gospels are as follows: Matt 22.37 ਕȖĮʌȒıİȚȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ıȠȣ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ țĮȡįȓ઺ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ ȥȣȤૌ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ įȚĮȞȠȓ઺ ıȠȣ> 

Mark 12.30 ਕȖĮʌȒıİȚȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ıȠȣ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ țĮȡįȓĮȢ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ ȥȣȤોȢ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ įȚĮȞȠȓĮȢ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ ੁıȤȪȠȢ ıȠȣ

Luke 10.27 ਕȖĮʌȒıİȚȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ıȠȣ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ •IJોȢ— țĮȡįȓĮȢ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ ȥȣȤૌ ıȠȣ țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ ੁıȤȪȧ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ IJૌ įȚĮȞȠȓ઺ ıȠȣ

The text is of course a ‘quotation’ from the Jewish Bible, apparently from Deut 6.5.33 The LXX version of Deut 6.4 follows the Hebrew MT closely in mentioning three faculties, each of which is introduced by ਥț. There is too a variant reading among some LXX manuscripts, reading įȚĮȞȠȓĮȢ instead of țĮȡįȓĮȢ in the first clause:34 31

Strecker, Weg, 25–26. P. Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong? A Study of Matthew 22:37’, JBL 122 (2003) 309–333. 33 There is debate about what exactly constitutes a ‘quotation’ in this context. There is no introductory formula explicitly signalling the words as a quotation from another text; but it is universally agreed that this is intended to be such here. 34 I make no attempt to provide comprehensive manuscript evidence for the two LXX readings here. The text printed as ‘the’ LXX (i.e. reading țĮȡįȓĮȢ) is printed in Rahlfs’s edition, the alternative reading (with įȚĮȞȠȓĮȢ) in the Göttingen Septuaginta. 32

Matthew. The Social and Historical Context Deut 6.5 LXX ( D A etc.)

Deut 6.5 MT

A\KO^DKZ K\!WDH7 EKD Z! ਕȖĮʌȒıİȚȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ıȠȣ

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Deut 6.5 LXX (B 963 etc.) ਕȖĮʌȒıİȚȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ıȠȣ

AEE OON % ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ țĮȡįȓĮȢ ıȠȣ  ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ įȚĮȞȠȓĮȢ ıȠȣ  AYSQON E: țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ ȥȣȤોȢ ıȠȣ  țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ ȥȣȤોȢ ıȠȣ  CAGDRPON E: țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ įȣȞȐȝİȫȢ țĮ੿ ਥȟ ੖ȜȘȢ IJોȢ įȣȞȐȝİȫȢ ıȠȣ ıȠȣ

The text here agrees closely with that of the NT versions, though it uses įȪȞĮȝȚȢ instead of ੁıȤȪȢ in the last clause (but with no clear difference in meaning). As with the LXX tradition, there are (unsurprisingly) a number of variants in the manuscript tradition of the gospels. However, these do not affect the text of Matthew where the text of NA27 is, as far as I am aware, reasonably secure. Further, the question of the source relationships between the gospels here is complex with the possibility of a Q version of the tradition canvassed by a number of scholars. On the other hand, it seems very likely that Matthew is dependent on Mark at this point (though possibly with some influence from a possible Q version). I shall therefore assume here that Matthew has redacted Mark at this point (whether under the influence of a Q version or not does not affect the main argument here significantly). What is striking about Matthew’s version, and is regularly noted in commentaries and other studies, is that Matthew appears to be trying to align the version of the Shema here more closely with the LXX (and/or MT) version, but makes what seems to be a surprising mistake. The MT and the LXX agree in mentioning just three faculties: heart, soul and strength. (The variant LXX ‘mind’ in the first clause does not significantly change this if įȚȐȞȠȚĮ is taken as an alternative translation for the Hebrew EEO). Mark is unusual in having four faculties: heart, soul, mind and strength. Matthew appears to realise that four is one too many and that the number should be reduced to three. He therefore omits one of the clauses from Mark, and apparently omits Mark’s final clause (the reference to ‘strength’), having then just heart, soul and mind. But this then leaves a version of the Shema having nothing equivalent to the ‘strength’ of both the MT and the LXX (GDP or įȪȞĮȝȚȢ). Instead he has both țĮȡįȓĮ and įȚȐȞȠȚĮ, both of which seem to be equivalents of the MT’s EEO. Matthew thus aligns the version of the Shema more closely to the version of Deut 6.5 at one level (four faculties reduced to three), but in doing so seems to be unaware of the actual wording of the Shema in either the Hebrew or the Greek versions. Such an apparent unawareness of the actual wording of the Shema seems very surprising from the pen of someone who was Jewish, given the central place which the Shema probably had in the life of all Jews at this period. Foster gives a detailed defence of how Matthew, as a Jew, could have produced his version of the Shema. He focuses first on the change Matthew

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makes to the prepositions introducing each clause. Mark has ਥț consistently; Matthew has ਥȞ. Luke has a mixture. It is possible that there was a Q version which had ਥȞ, perhaps consistently, and it was under the influence of this Q version that Matthew changed Mark, though it is not possible to be certain. However, the more usual explanation of Matthew’s text (by many commentators, and adopted by Foster) is that Matthew is showing influence from the Hebrew MT and its consistent use of E here.35 This seems in one way somewhat arbitrary, not entirely self-consistent with Matthew’s general practice, and in any case the ‘explanation’ offered seems more than a little artificial and unnecessary. Foster himself notes by implication that Matthew’s general trend, when taking over OT citations and allusions from Mark, is to align the text more closely to that of the LXX.36 Here, a process whereby Matthew is allegedly aligning his text more closely to the Hebrew version, and away from the reading of the LXX, would thus be unusual in relation to his procedures elsewhere.37 But in any case, Foster himself provides by implication (though he does not appear to notice it!) a much more persuasive reason for Matthew’s change. At one point he cites Hagner who writes in his commentary that Matthew’s text here (which Hagner too ascribes to influence from the Hebrew version of Deut 6.5) involves ‘changing ਥȟ, “from,” and the genitive (as also in the LXX) to the better Greek of ਥȞ, “with,” and the dative’ (my stress).38 And later in his conclusion Foster says that the proposal (of influence of the MT’s wording) does not entail Matthew necessarily having a copy of the MT open in front of him, but ‘he was able to recall enough of its contents, perhaps under the influence of the prompting of the Q text, to offer this grammatically preferable translation’ (my stress).39 But if it is conceded that Matthew’s use of ਥȞ is ‘better Greek’ and/or ‘grammatically preferable’ compared with Mark’s ਥȟ, then there is really no need to look any further for an explanation for Matthew’s change of Mark here. Mark’s use of ਥȟ in 35 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 314; cf. too R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St Matthew’s Gospel (NovTSup 1; Leiden: Brill, 1967), 23; idem, Matthew. A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church under Persecution (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 449; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 3.241; D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14–28 (WBC 33B; Dallas: Word, 1995), 647. 36 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 318, citing G. D. Kilpatrick, The Origins of the Gospel according to St Matthew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1946), 56; cf. too K. Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1954), 147–156; Strecker, Weg, 21–29. 37 Cf. Luz, Matthäus, 3.271: ‘Daß Mt einen LXX-Text an den MT angliche, wäre einmalig.’ 38 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 314; Hagner, Matthew 14–28, 645; also Repschinski, Controversy Stories, 218 (‘Instead of Mark’s ਥȟ + Genitive Matthew uses the more polished ਥȞ + Dative’ [my stress].). 39 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 333.

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some kind of instrumental sense is indeed somewhat unusual, and Matthew’s instrumental use of ਥȞ is relatively normal and not unexpected. All then one needs to posit is a process of Matthew tidying up an element of what he may think is a piece of slightly awkward Greek in Mark. And generally speaking, it is accepted that such a process is endemic throughout all the Markan material as it is reproduced by Matthew. In any case, it is hard to see why influence from the MT affected such a tiny detail of Matthew’s text, but failed to have any effect at all in relation to the omission of any reference to ‘strength’ in the version of the Shema cited here. What then of the more substantive issue of the missing reference to ‘strength’ in Matthew? Foster provides probably the most extensive attempt to explain the Matthean text. He suggests that Matthew recognised that Mark’s use of ੁıȤȪȢ does not agree with the LXX’s use of įȪȞĮȝȚȢ and hence was concerned at this point. He also recognised that Mark has four faculties where the LXX (and/or the MT) has only three. He therefore omitted the ੁıȤȪȢ clause from Mark completely as this word has no basis in the LXX version. He also was aware of the variants in the LXX tradition using either țĮȡįȓĮ or įȚȐȞȠȚĮ as renderings of the first clause of the Shema. He therefore included both of the clauses in Mark containing these words as well as omitting the last clause. This ‘preserved the first three terms [of Mark] that had currency in the Greek versions of Deut 6:5 and resulted in a threefold structure’.40 This process does not necessarily require Matthew to have had two differing manuscripts of the LXX, but he was aware of the use of both țĮȡįȓĮ and įȚȐȞȠȚĮ as equivalents of EEOin the MT and ‘chose to preserve both of these elements’.41 This then suggests an author with competence in both Greek and Hebrew, a ‘sophisticated editor who attempted to produce greater conformity with existing biblical tradition’.42 Such an ‘explanation’ seems again not fully convincing. Just whether Jewish authors of the time were quite so concerned about the actual wording of the text so as to object to the whole clause containing ੁıȤȪȢ, on the grounds that the word was not that used as the translation equivalent of the Hebrew GDP, is somewhat uncertain. Foster’s argument discussed earlier about the alleged influence of the MT in the choice of prepositions used suggests that Matthew as an author would have been quite ready to adapt the text by rewording it to make it closer to the sense of the MT rather than omitting the whole phrase. In a recent Oxford doctoral thesis, Jonathan 40 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 321. Cf. too Repschinski, Controversy Stories, 218: ‘Perhaps because ੁıȤȪȢ does not appear in the LXX either, Matthew chose to retain Mark’s first three elements and omit the fourth.’ 41 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 333. 42 Foster, ‘Why Did Matthew Get the Shema Wrong?’, 333.

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Norton has argued persuasively that Jewish and Christian (or Jewish Christian) writers were far more interested in (what he calls) the ‘sense contours’ of a text than its detailed wording: what mattered was what the text ‘meant’, and small variation in the wording without altering the underlying sense was common.43 So then here: the ‘sense contour’ of the clause surely demands a reference via some Greek wording to the idea of ‘strength’, attested in both the MT and the LXX traditions. If Matthew really objected to the use of the word ੁıȤȪȢ in this clause because it did not agree with the LXX’s įȪȞĮȝȚȢ, then why not simply change Mark’s wording to use įȪȞĮȝȚȢ? The two words are virtually synonyms in this context (hence the two forms of the clause could scarcely be thought to involve separate ‘sense contours’). Further, there is a perfectly good precedent in the OT itself for using ੁıȤȪȢ in a context such as this: in 2 Kings (4 Kgdms) 23.25 (and its parallel in 2 Chron 35.19b LXX), it is said that King Josiah ‘turned to the Lord with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with all his might, according to all the Law of Moses’ (LXX ੔Ȣ ਥʌȑıIJȡİȥİȞ ʌȡઁȢ țȪȡȚȠȞ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ țĮȡįȓ઺ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ ȥȣȤૌ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮ੿ ਥȞ ੖Ȝૉ ੁıȤȪȚ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮIJ੹ ʌȐȞIJĮ IJઁȞ ȞȩȝȠȞ ȂȦȣıો). The reference to ‘according to all the Law of Moses’ suggests that the allusion to the Shema is intentional; and in this allusion, the LXX text uses ੁıȤȪȢ (not įȪȞĮȝȚȢ) in the final clause.44 It is thus very hard to see why Matthew should have objected to a version of the final clause strongly enough to omit the clause completely, simply because it contained the word ੁıȤȪȢ rather than įȪȞĮȝȚȢ: he could easily have changed the word to its synonymous alternative, or simply kept it (as the writer of the LXX version of 2 Kings 23.25 did). Foster’s other part of the global explanation of the Matthean text is equally problematic. It seems to require Matthew having an awareness of two different Greek translation variants of the Hebrew MT and deciding to use both. In this case the two words concerned, țĮȡįȓĮ and įȚȐȞȠȚĮ, may well not be exact synonyms in Greek but they are not that far apart. It is not clear if Matthew elsewhere displays such detailed knowledge of the existence of variant readings in the Greek textual tradition of a particular scriptural verse (I am not aware of any, and Foster gives no other examples). Foster’s proposal seems to credit Matthew with a mind, and a detailed knowledge, that may be more at home in modern textual criticism than in the first century.

43 J. Norton, Paul and Plurality. Perceptions of Textual Plurality in Jewish Scripture of Late Antiquity (DPhil dissertation, University of Oxford, 2009). 44 Gundry, Use, 23, claims that the use of ੁıȤȪȢ in 2 Kings (and indeed in the versions of the Shema in Mark and Luke) ‘demonstrate[s] that ੁıȤȪȢ had been accepted into the Greek form of the shema’.

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Overall then it still remains difficult to explain Matthew’s text as the result of any very coherent or plausible strategy on the part of someone who knows the Biblical text well. Rather, it seems to display the awareness of an author who has a somewhat superficial knowledge of the biblical text. Matthew may have realised that Mark’s four-clause version of the Shema is overloaded with one clause too many; and he seems to have adopted the simplest solution of just cutting out the last of Mark’s four clauses. But in so doing, Matthew seems unaware that he has produced a version of the Shema that is extremely odd with no ‘sense contour’ at all for the final clause common to all strands of the textual tradition in Greek and Hebrew of the text of Deut 6.5. We should bear in mind too that this verse was a central text in Judaism: it was commanded in the Bible itself that it should be recited twice a day by all Jews, and there seems no good reason to deny that this was normal practice.45 This then was a text which was widely known and widely, if not universally, used among Jews. For Matthew to ‘get it wrong’ in such a way as he evidently has seems very odd if Matthew himself was a Jew.46 In terms of the suggestions made earlier in this paper about what might be appropriate criteria for determining ‘Jewish’ identity, this discussion might be deemed to be rather irrelevant. ‘Jewishness’ is not necessarily to be equated with an ability to cite the Shema (reasonably) accurately! Nevertheless, if being Jewish meant behaving in accordance with Jewish Law (and perhaps also participating in communal Jewish activity), then Matthew’s apparent inability to cite the Shema accurately is more significant. It does at least raise the question of how far Matthew had in fact participated in the (daily?) recital of the Shema within a Jewish context. The evidence might then at least suggest that Matthew himself was not accustomed to cite the Shema and perhaps had not been ‘Jewish’ for very long (if at all). 45 Foster spends some time casting doubt on whether the Shema was cited ‘liturgically’ in the first century (cf. pp. 321–331 on ‘The Use of the Shema in First-Century Judaism’). Much may depend on what one considers to be ‘liturgical’. Further, Foster refers in later rabbinic discussions about what exactly should be included in the Shema, and argues that these may reflect disputes with ‘Minim’, possibly Christians, over the issue of monotheism: as such they may be more at home in the mid-late second century at the earliest and hence may show that the liturgical use of the Shema cannot be confidently dated before this. But discussions about the precise extent of the verses to be included with the key text of Deut 6.4–5 are not the same as discussions about the practice itself and to a certain extent presuppose such practice as a given – in which case the practice in general must pre-date any possible discussions about the precise extent of the wording to be used. 46 For further possible evidence of Matthew’s possible ignorance of Jewish matters, see below on Matt 12.11 and the legitimacy of dragging a sheep out of a pit on the Sabbath.

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Thus, although many of the other factors and arguments adduced to seek to show that Matthew was a Gentile Christian may well be weak and/or ambiguous, this piece of data seems rather more telling about Matthew’s own background. This is not to deny in any way that Matthew is very ‘positive’ about Judaism: he wants to promote the Jewish nature of the Christian movement for all its worth and with all the power and force he can muster (cf. e.g. the formula quotations); so too he can, and does, evidently assume that his readers are predominantly Jewish (hence his lack of explanations etc.). But all this still leaves one or two pieces of evidence suggesting that, for all this, Matthew himself may be rather less knowledgeable about Judaism than would normally be expected on the (by now) standard paradigm. I turn now to the question of whether Matthew’s Christian community was expected to, and/or did, observe possibly key aspects of the Jewish Law.

3. Matthew’s Community and the Jewish Law 3.1 Sabbath Observance It is widely assumed that Matthew’s presentation of the Sabbath controversies implies that the Sabbath law was still observed by Matthew’s Christian community.47 The way in which Matthew redacts the two Markan Sabbath stories (Jesus and his disciples going through the cornfields in Mark 2.23–28//Matt 12.1–8, and the healing of the man with the withered hand in Mark 3.1–6//Matt 12.9–14) in his Gospel is well known and has been rehearsed many times.48 Matthew seems to be taking great care to present Jesus as giving reasoned, reasonable arguments in each instance. 47 See variously R. Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul. A Comparison of Ethical Perspectives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 11; Luz, Matthäus, 2.233; Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism, 334; Saldarini, Matthew’s ChristianJewish Community, 126–127; A. F. Segal, ‘Matthew’s Jewish Voice’, in D. Balch (ed.), Social History of Matthew’s Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 3–37, on pp. 6–7; Repschinski, Controversy Stories, 115–116; Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 138– 139; Runesson, ‘Early Jewish-Christian Relations’, 103. 48 Full discussion can be found in the standard treatments of Matthew and the Law. See e.g. G. Barth, ‘Matthew’s Understanding of the Law’, in G. Bornkamm, idem, H. J. Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (London: SCM, 1963), 58–164, on pp. 79– 83; Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul, 9–11; Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, 126–134; Repschinski, Controversy Stories, 94–116; Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 135–139; L. Doering, Schabbat. Sabbathalacha und -praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum (TSAJ 78; Tübingen: Mohr, 1999), 432–436, 457–462; W. R. G. Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law. A Study of the Gospels (Grand Rapids:

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In the first story, Matthew has added to the appeal to David a further appeal to a precedent in the Torah for breaking Sabbath law, referring to the example of priests in the Temple; and he claims (with a typical quasi‘rabbinic’ qal we-homer argument) that ‘something greater than the Temple is here’ (Matt 12.6). He also appends the citation of Hos 6.6 in Matt 12.7 (‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice’), suggesting perhaps that the command for ‘mercy’ overrides the Sabbath law. He omits the whole verse in Mark 2.27 (‘The Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath’), thereby apparently guarding against any wanton disregard of the Sabbath; and he retains only Mark’s final verse of the pericope Mark 2.28//Matt 12.8 ‘The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath’. In the story of the man with the withered hand, Mark’s blunt and provocative rhetorical questions ‘Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath or evil? To save life or destroy it?’ (Mark 3.4) are drastically reduced: the whole of the second rhetorical question is omitted, as is the second half of the first question (the reference to doing evil on the Sabbath). All that is retained is the first part of the first question and the reference to ‘doing good’ on the Sabbath. This is now prefaced by the appeal to the example of a sheep falling into the pit on the Sabbath which (the appeal assumes) would be regarded by all as a legitimate reason for working on the Sabbath.49 Matthew then rewrites Mark’s rhetorical question so that what follows is a statement in the indicative, rather than a question in the interrogative, forming the conclusion of the argument about the sheep. Thus the Matthean Jesus deduces (੮ıIJİ ‘so then …’) ‘it is lawful to good on the Sabbath’ (and by implication here, to heal the man with the withered hand). Jesus thus appears as a teacher, working within the presuppositions of Jewish legal argumentation to justify his actions and/or the actions of

Eerdmans, 2002), 201–205; Y.-E. Yang, Jesus and the Sabbath in Matthew’s Gospel (JSNTSup 139; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), as well as all the commentaries. 49 Whether it was in fact regarded as a legitimate reason for breaking Sabbath law is contested. The evidence we have is mixed: there are two explicit rulings in extant texts which expressly rule this out as a legitimate reason for breaking Sabbath law: see CD 11.13–14 and b. Shab 128b. The evidence is however open to more than one interpretation. The very existence of the rulings could indicate that the situation was debated, and may indicate that there were different opinions; hence it may be that some did indeed think that it was legitimate to break Sabbath law by working to rescue an animal from a pit. Or Matthew’s Jesus may be appealing to common practice among farmers of the time (cf. Luz, Matthäus, 2.238; Doering, Schabbat, 459–460). On the other hand, it remains the case that the only direct evidence we have expressly forbids what the Matthean Jesus here presupposes; and this might in turn be relevant in the discussion of just how ‘Jewish’ Matthew really was if he has Jesus appealing to a precedent which may not have been regarded as a legitimate precedent for disregarding Sabbath law.

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his disciples. Rather than challenging the Law, he works within the presuppositions of the Law and/or of legal argumentation. So too, the note in Matt 24.20, where Matthew adds to Mark the detail that the disciples should pray that their flight should not only be not in winter but also ‘not on a Sabbath’, has been taken as further evidence that the Matthean Christian community was Sabbath-observant. All the data adduced here has been noted many times. But whether the final deduction, that Matthean Christians observed the Sabbath faithfully, is in fact justified is perhaps questionable. Matt 24.20 is perhaps a special case. However, Stanton has argued in a detailed study that the implication often drawn, that this reflects faithful Sabbath observance on the part of the Matthean Christian community, is in fact very doubtful.50 Stanton provides a thorough survey of interpretations of this verse which have been offered in the past; in particular he notes the difficulty of interpreting the verse as implying that Matthew’s Christian community kept the Sabbath law rigorously: if that is reflected here, then the community must have kept the Sabbath command even more rigorously than other Jews since flight in a time of war was by this time accepted as a legitimate breach of Sabbath. However, the situation was not clear-cut and there may well have been differences of opinion.51 Hence it is more likely that the Matthean Christians are exhorted here to pray that their flight may ‘not be on a Sabbath’ to avoid giving offence to others and provoking further hostility. In the case of the Sabbath controversies in Matt 12, it is also unclear if the conclusion often drawn from these stories as Matthew tells them, viz. that Matthean Christians observed Sabbath law strictly, is in fact correct.52 Perhaps it is an unconscious reflection of the somewhat ‘cerebral’ way in which modern scholarship approaches the biblical texts, but the focus above is on what the Matthean Jesus said (or even ‘thought’), the ideas which are presupposed and/or the (verbal) arguments which are deployed. If one sticks simply to what is actually done in practice in the two stories, 50

G. N. Stanton, ‘‘Pray that Your Flight May not Be in Winter or on a Sabbath’. Matthew 24.20’, in his A Gospel for a New People, 192–206. 51 Stanton, ‘‘Pray that Your Flight’, 205–206. Different aspects of the Sabbath legislation have been explored recently by J. P. Meier, ‘The Historical Jesus and the Historical Law. Some Problems within the Problem’, CBQ 65 (2003) 52–79. For a very full discussion of the whole issue of the Sabbath in Judaism, see Doering, Schabbat, passim. 52 To be fair, many interpreters who argue for such a general position often introduce a qualifier to the general claim to the effect that it is the Sabbath ‘as interpreted by Jesus’ that is to be obeyed. E.g. Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 139: ‘The Torah remained valid and authoritative in the present age and faithful followers of Jesus were expected to keep all parts of it. [But] Jesus himself had provided the definitive key to the interpretation of the law by emphasising the commands to love God and love neighbour.’ Cf. too Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, 133.

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it is striking that, however much ‘good’ argumentation there might be, the practice and/or end-result in each case is that the disciples and/or Jesus do not observe the Sabbath law about ‘work’.53 Certainly the Matthean Jesus gives very good arguments for his/their not doing so; but in each instance, at the level of praxis, the position that is defended is one of not obeying the Sabbath command not to ‘work’. (Nowhere in Matthew is it disputed, or anything other than accepted as a given, that Jesus and/or his disciples are in fact doing what is presumed by all to be ‘work’ on the Sabbath. The argument does not focus on the issue of whether or not what is being done should be regarded technically as ‘work’: that is simply presupposed by all in the debates.) Further, the justification given by Matthew’s Jesus in the cornfields story (in the addition Matthew makes to Mark), after appealing to the precedent of priests in the Temple doing things that constitute ‘work’ but not being regarded as ‘guilty’ of any legal transgression, is that ‘something greater than the Temple is here’ (Matt 12.6). The ‘something’ is a neuter (ȝİ૙ȗȠȞ), not a masculine. However, it seems likely that whatever precisely the some ‘thing’ is that is ‘here’, it is related in some way to the person of Jesus himself: his presence, and his ministry (of teaching and healing) constitute the ‘something greater than the Temple’ which is ‘here’ now and which justifies the praxis of the disciples’ not observing Sabbath law.54 But if it is the presence of Jesus that makes a crucial difference in relation to Sabbath observance, it is perhaps significant that, for Matthew at least (and unlike perhaps Luke and John), the era of the presence of Jesus is one that continues on into the post-Easter life of the Christian church. The Matthean Jesus is the one who is ‘with’ his people until the end of time (Matt 28.20). An appeal to the presence of Jesus as creating a precedent for practical behaviour during the time of his ministry would, in Matthew’s overall scheme of things, serve just as well to provide a similar precedent in the time of the later (post-Easter) church. Further, the Christological basis for the argument here is confirmed at the end of the pericope where the saying about the authority of the Son of Man (for Matthew, 53

Cf. Stanton, ‘Pray that Your Flight’, 204: ‘Matt 12.1–14 could well have been taken to legitimate abandonment of the Sabbath.’ Also Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law, 205 (on the argument of the Matthean Jesus in 12.9–14): the argument ‘goes far beyond what the halakic argument will allow and is so loose as to come near to abolishing Sabbath law, but stops short’. 54 Others have taken the reference to the ‘something greater’ as (variously) the need of the situation, or the ‘mercy’ demanded in the Hosea quotation. Nevertheless, in context, it would seem that an implicit (if not explicit) Christological focus is in view here. See Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law, 202 for discussion and for (in my view justified) emphasis on the Christological basis for the argument here; also Doering, Schabbat, 433– 434; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 2.314; Gundry, Matthew, 223.

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Jesus and Jesus alone!) is given as the ground, and not the conclusion, for what is asserted in the previous arguments.55 The decisions made by the Matthean Jesus are primarily based on the Christological claims implied. The final authority is that of Jesus himself, not that of the Law. 56 It is thus very difficult to see that the practical outcome of the teaching of Jesus would result in later Christians de facto doing anything different from what the disciples do in Matt 12.1–8 in general terms, viz. not obey the Sabbath law about not ‘working’. True, the Matthean Christians may believe (very sincerely) that they can justify what they do, and provide such justification largely (though perhaps not entirely) from within the presuppositions of Jewish Law and Jewish legal argumentation.57 But it would seem that the praxis itself is one of not obeying the Sabbath legislation about not working. Further, we may note here that Sabbath in Judaism was not only about not working: it was also the day on which Jews assembled together to ‘worship’ and to study the Torah.58 To what extent this would have affected Matthean Christians is not certain, and raises all the old questions of how far Matthew’s Christian community was ‘intra muros’ or ‘extra muros’ (and/or perhaps whether Matthew should be seen as belonging to ‘Christian Judaism’ or ‘Jewish Christianity’). However, if again we ask the very practical question of what Matthean Christians did (rather than what they believed, or thought), a strong case can be made for claiming that Matthean Christians did not participate in Jewish meetings (on the Sabbath). The well-known repeated use of the phrase ‘their synagogues’ has suggested to many that Matthean Christians regarded the Jewish synagogues as places which belonged to ‘them’ and not to ‘us’. The equally well-known references in Matthew (alone among the synoptics) to an ਥțțȜȘıȓĮ, as constituting the group ‘definition’ for ‘us’ (Matt 16.18; 18.17), may point in the same way: the use of a different word may presuppose a pattern of existence where Christians have their own gatherings, perhaps in a different place, separate from the places where Jews have their communal gatherings (including perhaps assembly on the Sabbath).59 55

Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law, 202–203: in Matt 12.8 the saying about the Son of Man having authority is the reason for the previous claims (cf. ȖȐȡ), not the consequent result (Mark 2.28 ੮ıIJİ). 56 Cf. in general terms Hagner, ‘Matthew. Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, 202– 203 (though not specifically here in relation to the Sabbath controversies). 57 It is not clear whether the implicit appeals to Christology come in this category or not: they do formally, but less clearly so in relation to substance. 58 See C. M. Tuckett, ‘Jesus and the Sabbath’, in T. Holmen (ed.), Jesus in Continuum (WUNT 289; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 411–442. 59 The importance of a verse such as Matt 16.18 in implying a new group identity over against the Jewish community is emphasised by D. R. A. Hare, ‘How Jewish is the

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One may perhaps also note something of the way in which some early Christians, who almost certainly used Matthew’s Gospel, appear to have acted in relation to the Jewish Sabbath.60 Ignatius is a writer who almost certainly knew Matthew’s Gospel.61 Yet Ignatius seems to have replaced observing the Sabbath with celebrating (probably in some ‘liturgical’ way) on ‘the Lord’s day’.62 So too the Didache is a text, possibly very early, which seems (at least in its present form) to know Matthew’s Gospel and perhaps to have been quite significantly influenced by Matthew.63 The text is silent about the Sabbath as such, but in Did. 14 it seems to presuppose a common ‘liturgical’ act of worship (focused on the Christian Eucharist) ‘on the Lord’s day’. By implication, it would seem, this Christian gathering on (probably) a Sunday has displaced any attendance at the Jewish synagogues on Sabbath and thereby a significant element of Sabbath observance. Thus for at least two very early ‘readers’ of Matthew, that Gospel is not apparently taken as providing a mandate for observing the Jewish Law and custom regarding Sabbath at all. It would seem then that, at the level of practice, the issue of Sabbath observance was not one which served to align Matthean Christians with other non-Christian Jews: rather it may have served to identify and highlight their differences. Matthean Christians may have claimed that they could justify their behaviour on the Sabbath, if necessary ‘working’ at times. But in terms of practical day-to-day life they may well not have kept Sabbath law; and in terms of participating in Jewish habitual Sabbath activity (attending synagogue), they may not have participated in such activity. As such they must have appeared, at least to others, as a group Gospel of Matthew?’, CBQ 62 (2000) 264–277, on p. 269; cf. too Deines, ‘Not the Law’, 63; also Davies & Allison, Matthew, 3.696. 60 The importance of Wirkungsgeschichte, and the history of interpretation of a text, is stressed by many today, including my Oxford colleague Christopher Rowland, and exemplified in the commentary of Luz on Matthew. As supporters of such an approach constantly reiterate, one can never be comprehensive in any survey of the history of interpretation, so what is offered here can only be a tiny sample. 61 See P. Foster, ‘The Letters of Ignatius of Antioch and the Writings that Later Formed the New Testament’, in A. Gregory & C. M. Tuckett (eds.), The Reception of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 159– 186. The clearest evidence is probably from Ign. Smyrn. 1.1 which seems to echo clearly Matt 3.15 which is MattR of Mark (see Foster’s full discussion on pp. 174–176). 62 Cf. Ign. Magn. 9.1 ȝȘțȑIJȚ ıĮȕȕĮIJȓȗȠȞIJİȢ ਕȜȜ੹ țĮIJ੹ țȣȡȚĮț੽Ȟ ȗ૵ȞIJİȢ, translated by Lake in the Loeb edition as ‘no longer living for the Sabbath, but for the Lord’s Day’. If that is the correct way to take the slightly difficult wording of Ignatius here, it would suggest that the Christians of Ignatius’ community are not observing the Jewish Sabbath. 63 As with all issues, the matter is debated; I have sought to argue the case in C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Didache and the Writings that Later Formed the New Testament’, in Gregory & Tuckett (eds.), Reception (above, n. 61), 83–127.

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that was, in terms of the definition suggested above, not particularly ‘Jewish Christian’. At the level of social reality, they might appear to be not really part of a ‘Christian Judaism’ (insofar as that is contrasted with ‘Jewish Christianity’); but even at the level of practical behaviour, it would seem that they are not particularly ‘Jewish Christian’ (in the terms suggested earlier) either. 3.2 Food Laws The question of whether Matthew and his community observed Jewish food laws is more uncertain, partly because it is at least arguable that Matthew (unlike Mark) never addresses the issue. There is of course the pericope in Matt 15.1–20//Mark 7.1–23 which, in Mark at least, appears to focus on the Jewish food laws, but Matthew may have sought to limit the scope of the discussion to a rather more limited sphere. As with the Sabbath controversies, the detailed way in which Matthew has redacted the Markan pericope is well known and has been undertaken many times.64 Mark starts his story with the issue of handwashing, but seems to leave that particular (limited) question far behind by the time his Jesus gets on to Mark 7.15 and the saying that ‘there is nothing outside of a person that can defile them’. The saying is notoriously ambiguous, as the history of research amply testifies (especially in relation to the historical Jesus and what the saying might have meant on the lips of Jesus). However, Mark seems to make it quite clear what he understands the saying as meaning and implying by his explanatory gloss in v. 19: ‘thus he declared all foods clean’. For Mark at least, the implication seems to be that Jesus has rendered null and void all the food laws concerning purity in the OT. Matthew appears to be uneasy with aspects of this overall picture, confirming for many the view that Matthew’s own Christian community respected, and obeyed, the Jewish food laws.65 As is well known, he omits the explicit comment in Mark 7.19. He also rewords the saying of Mark 7.15 so that it now reads ‘it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person but what comes out’, which, many have argued, seeks to at least 64

See, for example, Barth, ‘Matthew’s Understanding of the Law’, 86–89; C. E. Carlston, ‘The Things that Defile (Mark VII.14) and the Law in Matthew and Mark’, NTS 15 (1968) 75–96; Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul, 11–12; Saldarini, Matthew’s ChristianJewish Community, 134–139; Repschinski, Controversy Stories, 154–163; Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 132–135; Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law, 213–216; von Dobbeler, ‘Auf der Grenze’, as well as full discussion in commentaries etc. 65 Cf. e.g. Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 132: ‘Matthew’s group strictly kept the dietary and purity laws of Judaism.’ Also Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, 141: ‘Matthew assumes the reality and validity of normal dietary and purity regulations. He argues against certain interpretations of them … [but] no biblical law is infringed, nor is its validity denied.’

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shift the accent of the saying and soften it slightly. He also seeks to restrict the whole discussion to the question of handwashing by claiming at the end that the real cause of defilement is not the failure to wash one’s hands (Matt 15.20). It is thus at least possible that Matthew thinks that the saying of Mark 7.15 relates (in its negative part) primarily to defilement through failure to wash one’s hands, rather than to food in general.66 However, others have said (in my view rightly) that even Matthew cannot avoid the implications of the saying in Mark 7.15//Matt 15.11 completely.67 He may not say explicitly what the saying means in relation to the issue of impurity arising from foods, but implicitly the meaning is the same. (It may be too that Matthew shows awareness of this via his insertion of vv. 12–14 and the note that the Pharisees are ‘scandalised’ at what Jesus has said.68 On the other hand, it might be that this is part of Matthew’s aim to limit the debate to matters which concern competing interpretations of the Law [here that of the Pharisees], rather than the status of the Law itself: the focus of Jesus’ response is on the Pharisees as ‘blind guides’.69) Further, as with the Sabbath controversies, we should maybe note that, whatever precise issue is at stake (or is thought to be at stake), the followers of Jesus do not follow the regulations associated with food consumption which others do and which they are evidently expected to follow as well. One may perhaps also note the way in which the issue of observance of food laws may have been taken among some of Matthew’s early readers. As already noted, the Didache almost certainly knew Matthew’s Gospel and was heavily influenced by it. There is no quotation of, or even allusion to, Matt 15.11 in the Didache, but the general issue of the relationship between Christian practices, and their relationship to Jewish practices, is an important one in the text.70 In particular, the issue of food laws is clearly a 66

So e.g. Mohrlang, Saldarini, Repschinski, Loader, von Dobbeler as above. Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (London: SCM, 1977), 247: Matthew ‘could not escape the force of the tradition itself (15.11 …)’; Deines, ‘Not the Law’, 68: ‘It is true that Matthew’s version sounds less comprehensive, but his message has a much wider range … It is not formulated against purity laws, and yet it is unavoidable that such a statement will change the status of purity laws in the course of time.’ Matthew’s text is taken as more explicitly calling into question the validity of Jewish food laws by e.g. Gundry, Matthew, 305–306; J. P. Meier, The Vision of Matthew (New York: Paulist, 1979), 101–102; Segal, ‘Matthew’s Jewish Voice’, 7. Cf. too Carlston, ‘The Things that Defile’, 77. 68 Cf. Deines, ‘Not the Law’, 68–69. 69 Cf. Loader, Jesus’ Attitude towards the Law, 216. 70 Cf. Did. 8.1, where the question of fasting is raised, and it is clearly regarded as very important that the Christians distinguish themselves from the ‘hypocrites’ (= the non-Christian Jews it would seem) by fasting on different days of the week. Given that the practice of fasting itself is not called into question, one might regard the distinction 67

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matter of some importance for the writer. Thus in Did. 6.3, the writer says: ‘Concerning food, bear what you can, but keep strictly from that which is offered to idols, for it is the worship of dead gods.’ The reference is probably to the food laws of the Jewish Law. 71 It would seem that the writer is aware that there are demands in scripture which it would be desirable if all in his (Christian) community observed; but equally he recognises that this may well not be feasible in practice. The writer thus takes the pragmatic approach of encouraging people to ‘do what they can’ and (apparently) not worry too much if they are not fully successful. And this clearly applies to foods, and regulations about food, as well. It would seem then that the Didachist may have thought that, in theory, it would be nice if everyone did obey Jewish food laws; but in practice he realises that this is unlikely to happen in every case, and this does not seem to matter too much. Thus for the Didachist’s community, the Jewish food laws are apparently not being obeyed (or at least not being obeyed very rigorously). The evidence of the Didache thus seems to suggest a community very closely aligned with Matthew’s Gospel but where the food laws are not maintained. The Gospel of Thomas (GThom.) may also be a witness to the ‘influence’ of Matthew’s text, and perhaps in a more direct way than in the case of the Didache. Saying 14 has ‘if they receive you, eat what they will set before you and heal the sick among them. For what goes into your mouth will not defile you but what issues from your mouth – it is that which will defile you.’ The whole question of the relationship between GThom. and the synoptic gospels in passages where they seem to be parallel is a vexed one; but in this instance, a strong case can be made for GThom. knowing Matthew’s redaction of Mark in his version of the saying about defilement: GThom. shares with Matthew the explicit reference to the ‘mouth’ which Mark lacks, and hence may, at least at this point in the tradition, show dependence on Matthew’s Gospel.72 But again, if this is indeed the case, it is striking that GThom. applies the saying to the very general situhere as somewhat petty and insignificant; at the ‘theological’, or ‘ideological’, level it might be; but the social implications of the differences are clearly taken as being very important and significant. 71 See K. Niederwimmer, The Didache. A Commentary (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1998), 123. There is a similar exhortation in 6.2 ‘For if you can bear the whole yoke of the Lord, you will be perfect, but if you cannot, do what you can’. It is not so clear whether the reference here is to the Jewish Law or to the teaching of Jesus (as possibly found in Matthew’s Gospel: cf. the echoes of Matt 5.48 [‘perfect’] and 11.30 [‘yoke’]). 72 See my ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, NovT 30 (1988) 132–157 (pp. 359–382 in this volume), on pp. 143–144 (above, pp. 369–370). Again, I am fully aware that such claims are disputable; and some would reverse the logic here and argue that the agreement between Matthew and the Gospel of Thomas here is evidence that Matthew is in fact not dependent on Mark for his version of this saying but has access to an independent version which he shares with the Gospel of Thomas.

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ation of food in general; it is not a question of (just) handwashing and/or different interpretations of a presumed common Law code. Rather, the saying is adduced to justify the general claim that one can and should ‘eat what[ever] they will set before you’.73 This small snapshot of the ways in which Matthew may have been read by early readers thus suggests that Matthew’s text appears to have been taken as having far greater scope than simply applying to handwashing and leaving the food laws intact. Thus, even in Matthew, Jesus is presented as (at least implicitly) calling into question the food laws of the OT. Moreover, whatever precise situation is in mind, it seems clear that Jesus’ disciples, and hence arguably Matthean Christians, are given the freedom not to be restricted in their eating habits by whatever rules and regulations are at issue. It is thus doubtful whether Matthean Christians really still observed food laws completely. 3.3 Circumcision The question of whether the Matthean Christian community expected male Gentiles joining their group to be circumcised is a well-known crux in Matthean studies. Long footnotes listing opinions on either side can be constructed without too much difficulty, with famous Matthean specialists in either camp on the issue.74 The silence of Matthew (as indeed also Mark 73 In turn, this may be an allusion to traditions found elsewhere in the NT: cf. Luke 10.8; 1 Cor 10.27. Certainly GThom. in general is, it would seem, no great advocate of a form of Christianity which regards the Jewish Law as still binding on Christians! Cf. saying 52, which refers to ‘twenty four prophets [who] spoke in Israel’, and the subsequent comment that ‘you have spoken of the dead’. According to at least one interpretation of this saying, this is a reference to Jewish scripture with the implied claim that it has no value at all. See e.g. M. C. Moreland, ‘The Twenty-four Prophets of Israel are Dead. Gospel of Thomas 52 as a Critique of Early Christian Hermeneutics’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson, A. D. DeConick, R. Uro (eds.), Thomasine Traditions in Antiquity. The Social and Cultural World of the Gospel of Thomas (NHMS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 75–91. 74 Those arguing that Matthew’s community did expect male Gentiles to be circumcised include Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul, 44–45; Levine, Social and Ethnic Dimensions, 183–185; Sim, Matthew and Christian Judaism, 252–255; Runesson, ‘Early Jewish-Christian Relations’, 103–104. Those arguing that Matthew’s community did not demand circumcision of Gentile converts include R. H. Gundry, ‘A Responsive Evaluation of the Social History of the Matthean Community in Roman Syria’, in D. Balch (ed.), Social History of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 62–67, on p. 66; Davies & Allison, Matthew, 1.493; 3.685 (arguing more generally that the Law may have been required to be obeyed by Jewish Christians within Matthew’s community, but not by Gentile Christians); Luz, Matthäus, 1.68; Meier, Vision, 61, 64. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, 156–160, is slightly unclear: he suggests that the silence in Matthew may have been because it was taken as read that Gentiles would be circumcised (p. 157); but later he

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and Luke) is well known and, as with all silence, is open to more than one interpretation. Possibly the issue is not mentioned because it was uncontroversial (and hence it was assumed as self-evident that would-be Gentile Christians would be circumcised); possibly it was uncontroversial (and hence it was assumed that Gentiles would not be circumcised). Possibly it was avoided because it was controversial. As others have argued, however, the implications of the ending of the Gospel, both what is said there and what is not said, seem to be telling. The risen Jesus gives instructions to the disciples to undertake the great mission to ʌȐȞIJĮ IJ੹ ਩șȞȘ (whether to Gentiles and Jews, or to Gentiles and not Jews, but certainly including Gentiles). What then follows seems to be assumed as the ‘normal’ way in which new members are to be incorporated into the group: the disciples are to make new disciples ‘baptising them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit’ (Matt 28.19). Within the sentence, there seems to be no stress at all on this aspect of the process envisaged: it is simply assumed that this is the way in which new members are to become part of the community. In relation to the question under discussion here, however, what is startling is what is implied, and what is not said. What seems to be presupposed is the existence of an entry rite into the new community, and that rite is baptism (into the extra-ordinary three-fold name!). But the ‘standard’ rite by which all males enter a Jewish community would be circumcision. Thus the implication seems to be clearly that the Matthean Christian community has an entry rite, viz. baptism; and manifestly this rite of baptism is not circumcision. Once again, in very practical terms, it would seem that one ‘gets in’ to the Matthean Christian group in a way that is quite different from the way one gets in to a Jewish group. Whatever the theologising or detailed argumentation which may go on behind the scenes, the practical implications would seem to be that, for adult males, the Matthean Christian group is not a ‘Jewish’ one in this respect. Further, one may also note (as many others have done as well) that the basis for ethical instruction which the Christian disciples are to give is not related to the Jewish Law at this point. They are not told to go and make disciples of all the nations telling them to observe ‘everything that is written in the Law of Moses’: they are to tell them to observe ‘everything that I [Jesus] have commanded them’. The prime basis for ethical behaviour is now the teaching of Jesus. The teaching of Jesus may well at times coincide with the teaching of the Mosaic Law; at times too it may provide an interpretation of the Law; and the teaching of the Matthean Jesus does famously include the sayings about his coming as not involving the concedes that perhaps some Gentiles were not circumcised when they joined the Christian community, reflecting in part variability in Jewish practice on this score (p. 160).

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destruction of the Law, and that not a jot or tittle will fall from the Law ‘until all is accomplished’ (Matt 5.17–18). But the fundamental basis is not the Law as such but Jesus’ teaching.75 The structure of the ethos which seems to be presupposed here is thus quite different from that in a nonChristian Jewish context.

4. Conclusion For the reasons given at the start of this paper, any attempt to determine the social or ‘religious’ identity of any person or persons in the past is fraught with difficulty and it is doubtful whether one can ever claim any precision in such an endeavour. The categories which we use are not necessarily the ones which people at the time would have used; and further, in the case of Matthew some of the claims which might be made would have been contestable: what might have been claimed by those within Matthew’s community might well have been contested by those outside the community. If we pose the question in the form of whether Matthew was ‘Jewish Christian or Gentile’, it seems that Matthew certainly stakes a claim to be very ‘Jewish’, and hence perhaps implicitly not ‘Gentile’. The Jewish roots of the Jesus story are clearly vitally important for Matthew’s Gospel, one presumes then for Matthew the evangelist and probably too for Matthew’s own community. Whether though ‘Matthew’ was ‘Jewish Christian’ is not quite so clear. I take it as not in doubt that the Gospel, the evangelist and his community are all ‘Christian’, at least in the minimalist sense given above. If though ‘Jewish Christian’ is taken as implying some kind of distinctive form of being ‘Christian’ to be distinguished from other forms, and if the particular features which might characterise any person or group as ‘Jewish Christian’ are taken in terms of the ‘identity markers’ considered here of adherence to elements of the Jewish Law which might be particularly significant, both for insiders and outsiders, as signifying ‘Jewishness’, then it would seem that Matthew’s Gospel, and perhaps Matthew’s community, do not appear to score very highly on the suggested scorecard. As far as one can tell, Matthean Christians do not observe Sabbath law about not working (or, if they do, they observe it so laxly and with so many qualifiers ‘allowing’ them [at least in their own eyes!] to disregard it in practice so frequently that effectively it would seem they ignore the Sabbath legislation at the level of actual behaviour). It is true that they may have felt that they could justify their actions from within a Jewish framework of reference; but still 75

Gundry, ‘Responsive Evaluation’, 64–65; Hagner, ‘Matthew. Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, 203.

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the net result, at the level of behaviour, is that they do not feel particularly bound by the command not to work on the Sabbath. And the other pole of Sabbath life, viz. joining in synagogue meetings with other Jews, would also seem to be something which Matthean Christians did not ‘observe’ (whether by choice or because they were excluded from the synagogues by other Jews). The issues of food laws and circumcision are harder to determine, given the limited evidence which the Gospel provides. But the argument given above was that it seems likely that Matthean Christians did not insist on these either for their own Christian community members. Certainly too, it would seem that some of Matthew’s early readers, whilst apparently revering Matthew’s Gospel and taking its witness very seriously,76 did not apparently see themselves bound to take these important Jewish ‘identity markers’ upon themselves or to insist on them as being the hallmarks of Christian life and practice. Whatever language we wish to use to characterise Matthew and/or his community, it would seem that ‘Jewish Christian’ (at least as taken in this paper) is not one into which Matthew seems to fit very happily.77 ‘Jewishness’ is clearly of vital importance at one level for Matthew; but equally, it seems that some of the key practical implications of being ‘Jewish’ in the ancient world are things that Matthew qua Christian appears to have jettisoned.78

76

I am fully aware that this is something of a sweeping generalisation that might be contestable! 77 Unless one makes a sharp distinction between ‘Jewish Christian’ and ‘Christian Jewish’ not only at the level of social realities but also at the level of ideological and/or ‘theological’ self-awareness on the part of the Christians involved. 78 Graham Stanton died two weeks before the start of the 2009 Leuven Colloquium at which this paper was first presented. This essay is offered as a totally inadequate tribute to one who was a great scholar, especially of Matthew, and, for myself and many others, a selfless mentor as well as a personal friend. But for his final illness (spanning over six years), he might well have been invited to give the paper at the Colloquium on this topic and, if so, would have given a far better paper than can be offered here.

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XXIV The Present Son of Man 1. The Present Son of Man in Mark In what has become a standard classification, the synoptic Son of Man sayings can be divided into three, almost mutually exclusive groups: ‘A’ sayings, referring to the present activity of the Son of Man; ‘B’ sayings, referring to the suffering (and sometimes resurrection) of the Son of Man; ‘C’ sayings, referring to the eschatological activity of the Son of Man.1 There is, of course, a wide range of opinion about the authenticity and correct interpretation of all the Son of Man sayings. However, there is almost unanimous scholarly agreement, that, insofar as this three-fold classification is appropriate,2 the two Son of Man sayings in Mark 2.10, 28 are ‘A’ sayings, i.e. the term ‘Son of Man’ is intended to describe, and characterise, the present activity of Jesus (and perhaps others).3 There is too a wide measure of agreement that the term ‘Son of Man’ here is used to refer to the authority of Jesus, i.e. the ‘Son of Man’ is fundamentally a figure of authority.4 1 Cf. R. Bultmann, The Theology of the New Testament. Vol. 1 (London: SCM, 1952), 30; H. E. Tödt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London: SCM, 1965), passim; A. J. B. Higgins, Jesus and the Son of Man (London: Lutterworth, 1964), 26. 2 For doubts about this, see M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark (London: SPCK, 1967), 180–181; also C. K. Barrett, Jesus and the Gospel Tradition (London: SPCK, 1967), 32, 81. As will be seen, part of the argument of this essay is to reinforce these doubts. 3 See, for example, Bultmann and Higgins, as in n. 1 above. 4 See especially Tödt, Son of Man, 113–140, for all the present Son of Man sayings, and pp. 125–133 for the Markan sayings; see too F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1969), 35; Ph. Vielhauer, ‘Jesus und der Menschensohn’, in his Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament (München: Kaiser, 1965), esp. p. 128; R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1965), 148–149; Hooker, Son of Man, passim; M. Horstmann, Studien zur markinischen Christologie (NTAbh 6; Münster: Aschendorff, 1969), 123; H.-W. Kuhn, Ältere Sammlungen im Markusevangelium (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971), 57; I. Maisch, Die Heilung des Gelähmten (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1971), 100; P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (NTAbh 8; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972), 91; K. Kertelge, ‘Die Vollmacht des Menschensohnes zur Sündenvergebung’, in P. Hoffmann (ed.), Orientierung an Jesus. FS J. Schmid (Freiburg: Herder, 1973), 205–213; N. Perrin, ‘The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition’, in his A Modern Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), esp. pp. 79–80; L. Schenke, Die Wundererzählungen des Mar-

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Understandably, critical discussion about the term ‘Son of Man’ in the gospels has often been primarily concerned with Jesus’ use or non-use of the term. However, our only evidence for rediscovering Jesus’ words is the work of the gospel writers. Thus methodologically, one’s first question should be about the meaning and intentions of those who recorded the words that now appear in the gospels. This principle was enunciated long ago by Wrede, writing about the secrecy charges in Mark, and seeking to correct the tendency to accept the gospel record too readily as an account of the life of Jesus. He wrote: Our first task must always be only that of thoroughly illuminating the accounts on the basis of their own spirit and of asking what the narrator in his own time intended to say to his readers.5

It is perhaps questionable whether this methodological principle has been carried through sufficiently thoroughly in the case of the two Son of Man sayings in Mark 2. For example, it is often assumed that these sayings do not fit very well at such an early stage in the story, i.e. prior to Peter’s confession at Caesarea Philippi. Where Mark’s chronology is seen as reflecting that of Jesus’ ministry, these two sayings are sometimes dismissed, e.g. as misunderstandings of an Aramaic bar nasha,6 or as editorial comments by the evangelist.7 This latter possibility is sometimes dismissed by others, partly on the grounds that the sayings come too early in Mark’s Gospel,8 kusevangeliums (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1974), 156; J. Gnilka, ‘Das Elend vor dem Menschensohn (Mk 2,1–12)’, in R. Pesch & R. Schnackenburg (eds.), Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 196–209; D.-A. Koch, Die Bedeutung der Wundererzählungen für die Christologie des Markusevangeliums (BZNW 42; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1975), 33; R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium. Erster Teil (Freiburg: Herder, 1976), 160; J. Dewey, Markan Public Debate (Chico, Cal.: Scholars Press, 1980), 124. 5 W. Wrede, The Messianic Secret (Cambridge & London: Clarke, 1971) (German original 1901), 5–6. 6 Cf. T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935), 214: ‘They may, therefore, be left out of account in the further discussion here.’ (This enabled Manson to see all ‘real’ Son of Man references in Mark as addressed to the disciples in a later stage of the ministry of Jesus.) For a misunderstanding theory, see too Bultmann, Theology, 1.30. 7 C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 118; for Mark 2.10, see too G. H. Boobyer, ‘Mark II,10a and the Interpretation of the Healing of the Paralytic’, HTR 47 (1954) 115–120; C. E. Ceroke, ‘Is Mark 2:10 a Saying of Jesus?’, CBQ 22 (1960) 369–390, esp. pp. 381–382; further authors cited by Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 78. 8 Cf. I. H. Marshall, ‘The Synoptic Son of Man Sayings in Recent Discussion’, NTS 12 (1966) 327–351, on p. 342: ‘It is difficult to see why Mark should have inserted the name of the Son of man at this early point in his Gospel.’ This possibility is also rejected by Hooker, Son of Man, 83: ‘If Mark had himself introduced the term we should have ex-

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with the implicit assumption being made that these two sayings do not fit with the Markan pattern of Son of Man sayings elsewhere. Others have also claimed that the sayings do not fit Mark’s pattern, and hence must be pre-Markan. For example, in the redaction-critical approach of Tödt, these sayings are dismissed as contributing nothing to Mark’s understanding of the term Son of Man: There can be no doubt that the evangelist Mark intended the scene at Caesarea Philippi as the first and crucial preparation for the secret of the Son of Man. It does not fit in with this intention that Jesus in 2.10 and 2.28 frankly speaks of his supreme authority as of the Son of Man’s. It may be best to assume that Mark felt obliged to retain the Son of Man sayings 2.10 and 2.28 in spite of their awkward position in the general arrangement of the Gospel – because they were transmitted to him in the context of the controversy dialogues.9

However, it does seem legitimate to ask what the evangelist himself thought of these sayings. Indeed, according to Wrede’s principle, this should be the first line of enquiry. Are these sayings just haphazard relics from Mark’s tradition, or do they fit into a consistent pattern within the Gospel? The first thing to be noted is that, by the time the sayings have reached the stage of Mark’s Gospel, the term ‘Son of Man’ is intended to refer to Jesus and to Jesus alone. Thus although an interpretation of ‘Son of Man’ here as a generic term (‘man in general’) has often been advocated as the original meaning (i.e. on the lips of Jesus),10 this cannot be the case for Mark. For Mark, Jesus alone is the Son of Man.11 What significance then does the term have for Mark here, and how, if at all, do these sayings fit in with the other Son of Man sayings in Mark? Elsewhere in Mark it is clear that ‘Son of Man’ functions as a description of Jesus as the one who is to suffer, but who will be subsequently vinpected him to use it in connection with one of the two themes – suffering and vindication – which were familiar to him from his account of their use elsewhere.’ This is somewhat illogical in view of her own criticism of those who dismiss these sayings as not fitting into the Markan scheme, without first seeking to find a consistent Markan scheme in which they might fit (pp. 175–178). In fact, Hooker claims that there is a coherent Markan scheme, based on the idea of the Son of Man as a figure of authority, which is ‘perfectly logical’ (p. 180), and which embraces all the Markan Son of Man sayings. I shall consider this shortly, but if it is established, it cuts away one of the reasons for believing that the sayings in Mark 2 are pre-Markan, as Hooker claims. 9 Tödt, Son of Man, 132; also E. Sjöberg, Der verborgene Menschensohn in den Evangelien (Lund: Gleerup, 1955), 105; Kuhn too rejects the theory that these sayings are due to Mark on the grounds ‘daß das Vorkommen des Menschensohntitels in 2,10.28 dem Aufbau des MkEv widerspricht’ (Kuhn, Ältere Sammlungen, 75). 10 Most recently by M. Casey, Son of Man. The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SPCK, 1979), esp. pp 228–229. 11 Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making (London: SCM, 1980), 66, referring to the use of ‘Son of Man’ in all the gospels.

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dicated. The precise background for these sayings is disputed, but Hooker has built up a very powerful case for seeing the background in Dan 7.12 Certainly the eschatological sayings, in their present Markan form, reflect the language of Dan 7 (Mark 8.38; 13.26; 14.62).13 Hooker also makes a strong (and to my mind convincing) case that Dan 7 can provide the basis for the suffering sayings too.14 The ‘one like a son of man’ of Dan 7.13 somehow ‘represents’ the saints of the most high, who are the persecuted Jews, at present suffering for their loyalty and fidelity under Antiochus Epiphanes. The whole vision functions as a promise of vindication for those presently suffering. It thus seems unnecessary and unjustified to drive a wedge between the suffering of the saints and their future vindication.15 I would agree with Hooker, therefore, when she says: The Son of man represents the saints of the Most High before their glorification as well as after. We cannot, therefore, speak of the saints ‘becoming’ the Son of man.16

However, Hooker then appears to slide into a rather more specific claim: Rather, they ‘become’ what they have always been: their rightful authority has been usurped by the beasts whose rebellion against God inevitably included the denial of dominion to his chosen ruler, man.17

12

Hooker, Son of Man, passim. This is accepted even by Casey, Son of Man, 201, who in general sees the influence of Dan 7 as minimal. See too Dunn, Christology, 66–67. 14 Hooker, Son of Man, 103 ff.; also Barrett, Jesus, 41 ff.; C. F. D. Moule, ‘Neglected Features of the Problem of the “Son of Man”’, in J. Gnilka (ed.), Neues Testament und Kirche. FS for R. Schnackenburg (Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 413–428; and idem, The Origin of Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 11–22. The evidence collected by Bowker from the Targums, where ‘Son of Man’ appears often to be used to evoke the idea of the frailty of man, of man subject to death, would also reinforce this close link between suffering and ‘Son of Man’. (See J. Bowker, ‘The Son of Man’, JTS 28 [1977] 19–48.) The link between the suffering sayings and Dan 7 has been denied most recently by Casey. One of Casey’s general points is that references to Dan 7 need to be more specific than merely the use of the phrase ‘Son of Man’, since in Aramaic the phrase simply means ‘man’. However, certainly for Mark writing in Greek, ‘the Son of Man’ means Jesus and Jesus alone, and Mark clearly associates Dan 7 with this way of referring to Jesus (cf. 8.38 etc.). In any case, every culture has its accepted shorthand ways of speaking and writing: E.g. in England, ‘the war’ means the 1939–45 war, even though the word ‘war’ is quite general, and there have been other wars since 1945. 15 This is done by Casey, who argues that the human figure is a symbol for the saints only in their later triumph (Son of Man, 26). However, such a distinction would not have been very significant for the initial readers of the chapter: the message of hope to them depends on their being able to identify with the figure who is to be vindicated. On this, see F. J. Moloney, ‘The End of the Son of Man?’, DownRev 98 (1980) 280–290, esp. p. 284. In fact Casey seems to misinterpret the significance of the human symbolism in claiming that it implies a triumphant figure alone: see n. 21 below. 16 Hooker, Son of Man, 28. 13

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Her claim is that the figure of Dan 7 is inherently a figure of authority, and it is this which, she believes, binds together all the Markan sayings into a coherent pattern. The ‘one like a son of man’ is true representative man, and as such he is the one who has been entrusted by God with authority (cf. Gen 1; Ps 8). When that authority is questioned and rejected, suffering is the inevitable result. Nevertheless, God will vindicate his own and restore those who have been loyal to their rightful, and original, positions of authority. Thus the proposed scheme as derived from Dan 7 includes the three facets apparently reflected in the Markan Son of Man sayings: present authority, authority rejected, authority restored in vindication.18 However, this further claim, that the saints in Dan 7 previously held a position of authority to which they are promised restoration, is perhaps more questionable. Certainly the saints suffer because of their loyalty and obedience, and they are promised vindication in the future. But this does not necessarily entail a claim that hey held a position of authority prior to their sufferings, and to which they will be restored. There is nothing explicit about a restoration to a previously held position.19 All that is spoken of in Dan 7 is vindication and victory. Such a claim may lie hidden behind the human symbolism of the figure in Dan 7 itself. The idea would also have clear links with the general Jewish idea of the Endzeit as a recapitulation of the Urzeit. Nevertheless one has to read quite a lot into Dan 7 to recover this. The human symbolism is by no means necessarily a reference to man as authoritative. A claim about man’s authority really focuses only on the relationship between man and the rest of creation. Far more important is the relationship between man and God. It is primarily this which determines whether man is truly human, and his relationship to the rest of creation is determined by his relationship to God. It is when this is broken that man becomes bestial. As Hooker herself says: The fundamental basis of the antithesis between human and beastly in Daniel would thus seem to be man’s attitude to God. Those who recognize his dominion and are subservient to his will can be described as having human characteristics, while those who rebel against his authority are akin to beasts.20

17

Hooker, Son of Man, 28. Hooker, Son of Man, 179–180. 19 Hooker sees creation myths reflected in the defeat of the beasts in Dan 7; but man is also a contestant in the preceding battle so that one cannot talk of his ‘creation’. However, she says, ‘the ideas connected with the re-enactment of the myth are thus not so much those of re-creation, but rather of restoration’ (Son of Man, 25). However, the alternative to re-creation is not necessarily restoration to a previously held position: vindication and exaltation to a position not previously held is just as possible. 20 Hooker, Son of Man, 17, referring primarily to Dan 4, but cf. too Ps 49.12–21; 73.21–22. 18

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Thus Casey seems quite justified in seeing the choice of a man in Dan 7 as symbolising ‘the true and obedient Israel’.21 Because the saints remain faithful and obedient, they are promised future vindication. There is no need to incorporate ideas of a restoration to a previously held position of authority. The pattern reflected in Dan 7 thus seems to be a simple two-fold one of suffering followed by vindication,22 and not explicitly a three-fold one of authority, authority rejected, authority restored. Thus, in general terms, the Danielic background would appear to provide a good background for the Markan sayings which suggest that the Son of Man will suffer, and that he will be vindicated. What though of the sayings about the Son of Man’s present activity? Many have claimed that the present Son of Man sayings, especially in Mark 2, are concerned with the theme of authority. In one sense, of course, they are: the Son of Man ‘has authority’ to forgive sins (2.10) and to be lord of the Sabbath (2.28). However, the problem arises as to whether this authority is inherent in the term ‘Son of Man’ itself. Most would claim that it is.23 However, if this is the case, several problems appear to arise. One must distinguish two logically separable ways of understanding such a claim. One way is to assume that ‘Son of Man’ is a figure who can be conceived of independently of Jesus, and who, by self-definition, has authority; Jesus is then said here to be identifying himself with this figure and claiming for himself the authority appropriate to the ‘Son of Man’.24 But this raises some difficulties. First, at the level of the individual

21 Casey, Son of Man, 26. However, Casey then appears to make an illogical jump in saying that ‘the fact that man is traditionally superior to the beasts explains why the author chose the man-like figure as a symbol of the Jews only when they are in triumph, not when they suffer’ (ibid.) But man is not always superior to the beasts: cf. Ps 49, 80. Man is potentially superior to the beasts. Indeed precisely because he is human and not bestial, i.e. because he relies on God and does not set himself up against God, his final victory over the beasts is assured, though this may be in the future (cf. Ps 49). But the primary application of the human/bestial imagery is the implied relationship to God: power structures in the world are derivative from that. Cf. Barrett, Jesus, 96. 22 Cf. Perrin’s comment, that Daniel’s ‘purpose was to bring to his readers a message of assurance, of power and glory to be theirs as a reward for their constancy, and nothing more should be read into his use of this Son of man imagery than that’ (N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus [London: SCM, 1967], 167). Perhaps the significance of man as obedient and loyal is justifiable in view of the rest of the Daniel (esp. ch. 4), though for the rest, Perrin’s comment seems to capture the essence of what is being asserted in ch. 7. 23 See the authors cited in n. 4 above. 24 Whether such a claim had already been made by Jesus, i.e. whether there was an already existing belief about a Son of Man figure, is not important here: the only question at this point in my argument is that of understanding the logic of the claim that ‘the Son of Man has authority’.

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sentence, the saying in 2.1025 becomes almost tautologous: ‘the one with authority has authority’. One answer to this would be that the authority of the Son of Man is previously seen in general terms, and here it is being made more precise: the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins.26 However, Mark’s word order seems to tell against this: the word ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ alone is stressed at the beginning of the sentence. What is important, therefore, is the claim that the Son of Man has authority at all, rather than any specific manifestation of a generally recognised authority. Second, if Jesus were appealing to the accepted authority of an authoritative figure, and claiming that authority for himself, then one would expect the saying to be reversed and to have the form ‘But that you may know that I am the Son of Man’.27 In fact the structure of the pericope in its present form28 suggests that what justifies Jesus’ claim to forgive is not the identification of himself as Son of Man, but the ability to heal the paralytic. The claim that the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins is clearly neither self-evident, nor inherent in the term ‘Son of Man’ itself. Jesus’ talk of the ‘Son of Man’ does not convince his opponents that he has the authority to forgive sins. Perhaps the greatest difficulty of interpreting the saying in this way is that it appears impossible to adduce any parallels in Judaism for the idea of a ‘Son of Man’ figure, or indeed anyone other than God, as having the authority to forgive sins.29 Reference is sometimes made to Dan 7 as 25

I shall concentrate almost exclusively on the saying in 2.10; however, I believe that the same considerations apply, mutatis mutandis, to the saying in 2.28 as well. 26 Or even that he has authority to forgive sins on earth, as opposed to heaven. 27 Such a form does occur in John 5.27, where the reference is probably to the figure of Dan 7: cf. F. J. Moloney, The Johannine Son of Man (Rome: LAS, 1976), 81–82, with extensive literature cited for various opinions. 28 I agree with the widespread belief that vv. 5b–10, or vv. 6–10, are a secondary insertion into an original miracle story: for details, see Maisch, Heilung, 29 ff., with extensive literature cited. However, this does not affect the issue here: I am considering the logic of the story only in its present Markan form. 29 See Str.-B., 1.495; Tödt, Son of Man, 129; Kertelge, ‘Vollmacht’, 205; Gnilka, ‘Elend’, 202, and many others. Recently an alleged parallel from Qumran has been adduced of a man forgiving sins, this being a colloquial way of saying that a man can pronounce God’s forgiveness. This has, in turn, been used to support an interpretation of ‘Son of Man’ in Mark 2.10 as having a non-titular meaning: ‘a man can forgive sins’ (cf. Casey, Son of Man, 228–229; G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew [London: Collins, 1973], 68–69, though with slight differences as to whether this means ‘man in general’ or ‘I’). However, the text in question, 4QOrNab, is by no means clear. The relevant passage is a fragmentary line which reads U]JKOTEY\DM[Z, preceded by a large lacuna in the text. Vermes and Casey apparently accept the translation of A. Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (ET Oxford: Blackwell, 1961), 322– 325 (in more detail, in ‘Exorcismes et guérisons dans les écrits de Qoumrân’, in Congress Volume [VTSup 7; Leiden: Brill, 1960], 246–261, esp. pp. 254–260): ‘a diviner forgave me my sins’. But this is disputable to say the least. In his original publication of the frag-

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providing a possible example, since in Dan 7.14 ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ is given to the one like a son of man. However, it is very questionable whether this involves the authority to forgive sins.30 Thus it is extremely difficult to see the logic of this passage as involving a claim by Jesus to identify himself with an independent figure called the ‘Son of Man’ and claiming for himself the authority believed to belong to such a figure. It is the last difficulty just mentioned which has led to a quite different way of interpreting ‘Son of Man’ here as a figure of authority. According to this, the authority of the Son of Man can only be derived from a specifically Christian understanding of Jesus’ own authority. Tödt’s claim is typical of this view:

ment, J. T. Milik, ‘“Prière de Nabonide” et autres écrits d’un cycle de Daniel’, RB 63 (1956) 407–415, proposed emending KO to \O and translating ‘(God) gave a diviner’. Dupont-Sommer questions the need for emendation, and also claims that TEY is given an unusual meaning by Milik. However, even the unemended text is not unambiguous. Dupont-Sommer has to take KO as an ethic dative, which seems very unusual in this context. One could equally well take the four words as forming two sentences. Thus TEY\DM[Z could conclude the previous line (now missing): ‘and he (God) forgave me my sins’; and U]J KO could start a fresh clause, with the suffix KO referring to the subject of the previous sentence, i.e. God: ‘He had a diviner’. See B. Jongeling, C. J. Labuschagne, A. S. van der Woude (eds.), Aramaic Texts from Qumran. Vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1976), esp. p. 128. It is thus precarious to base too much on such fragmentary a text, where the translation must inevitably be uncertain. 30 Those who see a reference to Dan 7 here in the authority motif include A. Feuillet, ‘L’ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ du fils de l’homme’, RSR 42 (1954) 161–192, esp. pp. 171–175; K. Kertelge, Die Wunder Jesu im Markusevangelium (München: Kösel, 1970), 80 (though he appears later to have retreated from this: cf. ‘Vollmacht’, 210); Pesch, Markusevangelium, 1.160; see too R. G. Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-Existence, Wisdom and the Son of Man (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 62, though he has to speak of a ‘creative modification’ of the Son of Man idea, by which the authority to forgive sins is a ‘new element’. Similarly, Hooker, Son of Man, 91–93, though she has to trace the imagery back to Gen 1, and claim that man is intended to act as God’s representative on earth. She concedes that ‘forgiveness of sins is nowhere mentioned’, but ‘it is an activity which we might well have expected from the Son of man’ (p. 93). However, in view of the united Jewish witness, this is not necessarily what one might expect. Man in his true relationship to God does not usurp all the divine functions. (In fact, in the creation story, man’s authority is far more in relation to the rest, i.e. the non-human parts, of creation.) Hence it would seem that Casey is right to reject the idea that Dan 7 can provide the basis for the claim that the Son of Man can forgive sins (Son of Man, 159–161, arguing against A. Farrer). However, Casey’s rejection of any influence of Dan 7 here depends on the tight connection between ‘Son of Man’ and ‘authority to forgive’, and it is just this which will be questioned here. It should also be noted that ‘authority’ is given to the figure in Dan 7 only after his vindication. The idea of prior authority is much harder to find here, as I have tried to show. Thus, if appeal is made to Dan 7 here, it must be in terms of an anticipation of eschatological activity, rather than as an exercise of prior authority. See Dunn, Christology, 88–89.

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The ascription of Jesus of the power of forgiving sins is thus not inspired by attributes of the transcendent Son of Man. Rather is the reverse process recognizable; by calling Jesus in his unique authority Son of Man and conceiving of Jesus’ authority as including the forgiveness of sins, the community can formulate the saying that the Son of Man has the exousia to forgive sins on earth.31

Thus, according to this interpretation, ‘Son of Man’ is a way of referring to the authority of Jesus, and subsuming that authority under a single term. Some of the difficulties mentioned above now disappear: there is no need to look for a Jewish parallel to the idea of a ‘Son of Man’ forgiving sins, nor is Jesus identifying himself with such a figure to claim authority. The saying is then a Christian comment, using post-Easter terminology. However, there are difficulties with this interpretation too. Tödt tries to distinguish absolutely between the idea of the ‘Son of Man’ in all the ‘A’ sayings, and that of the transcendent Son of Man which he derives from Jewish apocalyptic sources (Dan 7; 1 Enoch; 4 Ezra 13), and which he sees reflected in some of the eschatological sayings in the gospels. However, if this is the case, then it is not clear why the term ‘Son of Man’ should be used at all as a description of Jesus acting and speaking with his unique authority. Why should it be appropriate to subsume Jesus’ authority under this particular term? Tödt’s complete severance of any connection between these Son of Man sayings and the Jewish apocalyptic background appears to lead to the conclusion that ‘Son of Man’ becomes almost a meaningless cipher. Would any other term have done? What is it about the specific term ‘Son of Man’ which makes it more appropriate than, say, țȪȡȚȠȢ (which might appear to be a more natural term to use of any authority figure)?32 This objection to Tödt’s view has been raised by Hoffmann in relation to the present Son of Man sayings in Q.33 Hoffmann’s solution to the problem is to accept Tödt’s view that the ‘Son of Man’ is a figure of authority, but to claim that the specific term ‘Son of Man’ is used in Q to identify Jesus as the one who is to come in the judgment: the authority of the earthly Jesus, who preached about the coming Son of Man, is now claimed by Q to be the authority of that coming figure himself. Whether 31 Son of Man, 129; similarly Kuhn, Ältere Sammlungen, 57; Maisch, Heilung, 100– 101; Kertelge, ‘Vollmacht’, 210; Gnilka, ‘Elend’, 206. 32 The question is raised by Maisch, Kertelge, Gnilka, etc., but does not appear to be answered beyond saying that the authority in question derives from Jesus’ own life and work. (For Gnilka, it derives from his death too; but to introduce atonement ideas here seems over-subtle. The idea of forgiveness, at least implicitly, can be traced back to Jesus’ own lifetime: cf. Ǽ. Schweizer, ‘Der Menschensohn’, ZNW 50 [1959] 185–209, esp. p. 198.) The same can be said about Perrin’s theory (cf. Modern Pilgrimage, esp. pp. 77 ff.) that it is a distinctive feature of Markan redaction to bring together the motifs of ‘authority’ and ‘Son of Man’. But Perrin gives no reasons why this conjunction should be considered appropriate. 33 Hoffmann, Studien, 145–146.

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this is appropriate to the Q sayings is another matter.34 However, it is doubtful whether this solution will, without alteration, solve the problem of the sayings in Mark 2. For if the use of ‘Son of Man’ here is meant to identify Jesus with the eschatological figure who is to come, and invest the earthly Jesus with the latter’s authority, one is still left with the problem that there is no evidence in any known parallels for a ‘Son of Man’ figure having the specific authority to forgive sins. There thus appear to be severe problems for the theory that the term ‘Son of Man’ in Mark 2 is intended in itself to refer to Jesus’ authority. The logic of the structure of the sayings is difficult in this case; further, attempts to derive from Dan 7 ideas of present authority in general, or the authority to forgive sins in particular (whether pre- or post-Easter), are unconvincing. However, Hoffmann’s suggestion about the present Son of Man sayings in Q is significant in that it brings out the importance of relating all the Son of Man sayings in one stratum of the tradition to each other. Now I have claimed that a background of Dan 7 does illuminate the other Markan Son of Man sayings, referring to the suffering and subsequent vindication of the Son of Man. What is rarely noted is that, if this pattern of suffering and vindication is taken as the governing scheme of the rest of the Markan Son of Man sayings, then the sayings in Mark 2 fit into this scheme extremely well. The two Son of Man sayings here form part of a series of five controversy stories in 2.1–3.6, and there is widespread agreement that the sequence functions in Mark as a pointer to the passion story right at the start of Jesus’ ministry. The climax of the section is 3.6, the note about the plot to kill Jesus. Several other features within the cycle also seem to be quite deliberately referring the reader to the passion story to come, e.g. the mention of the ‘scribes’ in 2.6, and the charge of ‘blasphemy’ in 2.7, foreshadowing the same charge at the trial (14.64).35 I suggest that the two Son of Man references in this section have, at least for Mark, precisely the same function. For Mark, the one who is ‘Son of Man’ is the one who will be rejected and suffer; hence in 2.1–3.6, where Jesus’ rejection is set out in a programmatic way, it is quite appropriate that Jesus is referred to as ‘Son of Man’. Thus the sayings are not primarily assertions about an authority figure as such. ‘The Son of Man has authority’ is not a hendiadys. Rather, it is indicating that the one who has authority is the one who is to suffer 34 See later. Hoffmann still assumes that the basic idea is that of authority, and it is this which I shall question. 35 Cf. V. Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark (London: Macmillan, 1952), 91– 92; E. Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark (ET London: SPCK, 1971), 60; Schenke, Wundererzählungen, 148, 159–160; Gnilka, ‘Elend’, 207–208; Pesch, Markusevangelium, 1.150–151.

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because his authority is rejected.36 Thus the two sayings in Mark 2 are not, for Mark, sayings which simply describe the present activity of Jesus; rather, they act as pointer to the future suffering of Jesus. Hence rather than being ‘A’ sayings, they may be more appropriately described as ‘B’ sayings, suffering sayings. If this is the case, it is difficult to see these sayings as having an origin apart from Mark’s own redaction. Attempts have been made to see them as pre-Markan. But the fact that they fit so well into Mark’s scheme is sufficient answer to the argument that the sayings here must be pre-Markan because they are non-Markan.37 Another argument in favour of their preMarkan origin might be the fact that they occur in what is widely regarded as a pre-Markan collection of controversy stories in 2.1–3.6.38 However, one of the arguments often adduced to show the existence of such a preMarkan collection is that the references to the ‘Son of Man’ here are out of place in Mark’s Gospel.39 If in fact the use of ‘Son of Man’ here is thoroughly Markan, this argument loses force. In any case the theory that 2.1– 3.6 is a pre-Markan collection has come under some criticism recently. Kuhn separates off 3.1–6 from the pre-Markan collection as being formally distinct,40 but he still maintains that 2.1–28 is a pre-Markan collection, with the Son of Man references (which he regards as non-Markan and hence pre-Markan) forming an inclusio.41 However, there appears to be growing 36

Schenke, Wundererzählungen, 160, comes nearest to this: ‘Auch in seiner Auseinandersetzung mit den Gegnern hat sich Jesus nicht als der herrlich überlegene șİ૙ȠȢ ਕȞȒȡ durchgesetzt, sondern wird als der in Niedrigkeit den Weg ans Kreuz gehende “Menschensohn” sichtbar.’ But he still regards the saying as pre-Markan, and at that stage as descriptive of Jesus’ authority. For the theory that the authoritative Son of Man is subsequently identified by Mark as the suffering Son of Man, see too Perrin, Modern Pilgrimage, 77 ff.; Koch, Bedeutung, 183; Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 124–125. The question is whether the Son of Man per se is authoritative. Cf. too Hooker’s view, that the Son of Man has authority, and when that authority is rejected he suffers (Son of Man, 110). My proposal is that Jesus has authority, and when that authority is rejected he suffers, and hence is termed ‘Son of Man’. 37 Cf. n. 9 above. 38 The seminal work is that of M. Albertz, Die synoptischen Streitgespräche (Berlin: Trowitzsch, 1921), 5 ff. Further authors cited by Kuhn, Ältere Sammlungen, 22–23. 39 Cf. Albertz, Streitgespräche, 5; Taylor, Mark, 92. 40 Ältere Sammlungen, 88. 41 Ältere Sammlungen, 73. Kuhn also agrees with Albertz that the references to ‘Son of Man’ and the allusion to Jesus’ death in 2.20 come too early in Mark, and he uses this as one of his arguments for the pre-Markan origin of this section (p. 87). However, this fails to appreciate the function of these allusions to the passion in Mark: cf. J. Dewey, ‘The Literary Structure of the Controversy Stories in Mark 2:1–3:6’, JBL 92 (1973) 394– 401, on the allusion to Jesus’ death in 2.20: ‘The allusion to the crucifixion is not a leftover from earlier tradition but the centre of Mark’s literary structure and the heart of his message: Jesus’ life is to be seen as the way of the cross’ (p. 401), though she does not

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support for the theory that 2.1–12 may not have formed part of the preMarkan collection. Despite similarities, there are some dissimilarities with the following stories;42 further, 2.13–14 appears to be a redactional construction of Mark’s,43 and this suggests that any pre-Markan collection which might have existed only begins at 2.15.44 If this is so, then the Son of Man saying in 2.10 is not part of a pre-Markan collection based on any claims to authority by Jesus qua Son of Man. Thus one cannot base any claims for the pre-Markan nature of these logia on the existence of preMarkan collections. The other main line of argument which would take these sayings as preMarkan is that which interprets them as deriving from normal Aramaic usage. For example, Vermes has argued that all the genuine Son of Man sayings derive from an Aramaic idiom where bar nasha is used to mean ‘I’. 45 However, his use of the Aramaic evidence has been questioned because of its date.46 Further, all his examples appear to be general statements, but which, by being uttered by a particular speaker, can be seen as including a reference to the speaker himself.47 Thus it appears that bar nasha cannot mean ‘I and no other’. If the term is meant generically, however, there are problems. Such a meaning might be appropriate for 2.28 (‘man in general is lord of the Sabbath’ would then be a repetition of 2.27).48 Howsay either here, or in her later book, that the Son of Man references might have precisely the same function. 42 Schenke, Wundererzählungen, 151: there is no real ‘Gespräch’ in this Streitgespräch; Jesus’ real reply to the opponents’ charge is an action, not a saying; the disciples play no role, and, connected with this, the story seems to reflect a Christological problem, rather than a problem of early church practice. See too Maisch, Heilung, 112–113 (though see too Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 48–49; however, Dewey does not note Schenke’s arguments). 43 See R. Pesch, ‘Levi – Matthäus (Mc 2,14/Mt 9,9; 10,3)’, ZNW 59 (1968) 40–56, esp. pp. 43–45; also Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 86–87, on the basis of her ‘rhetorical analysis’. 44 Maisch, Heilung, 111 ff., and Pesch, Markusevangelium, 1.149 ff., argue that the pre-Markan collection comprised 2.15–3.6; Schweizer, Mark, 60, says 2.15–3.5; Schenke, Wundererzählungen, 150 ff., argues for 2.15–28; Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 191, inclines to the view that the whole of 2.1–3.6 is a Markan construct. 45 ‘The Use of YQUE/DYQUE in Jewish Aramaic’, Appendix E in M. Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts (Oxford: Clarendon, 31967), 310–328. 46 See the review of Vermes’ work by J. A. Fitzmyer in CBQ 30 (1968), esp. pp. 426– 427; also his ‘Another View of the “Son of Man” Debate’, JSNT 4 (1979) 58–68. 47 See J. Jeremias, New Testament Theology (ET London: SCM, 1971), 261; C. Colpe, art. ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ, TWȃT 8, 406; Bowker, ‘The Son of Man’, 28 ff. 48 Cf. Jeremias, Theology, 261; however, the secondary nature of the saying is now widely assumed: see the extensive literature cited by F. Neirynck, ‘Jesus and the Sabbath’, in J. Dupont (ed.), Jésus aux origines de la christologie (Leuven & Gembloux: Leuven University Press & Duculot, 1975), 227–270, esp. pp. 237–246.

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ever, this becomes rather more difficult for v. 10 if it is being claimed that man in general has the authority to forgive sins.49 The logic of the passage demands a quite different interpretation. What is at issue is the authority of Jesus, not of man in general, or indeed of any other man, to forgive sins.50 The other possibility is that ‘Son of Man’ originally meant not ‘man in general’, but ‘a man’ meant indefinitely.51 This fits the logic of the passage and thus might explain how the form of the saying arose.52 Nevertheless the term ‘Son of Man’ applied here to Jesus does appear to fit very well into Mark’s pattern. Moreover it fits on the basis of, and really only on the basis of, Mark’s literary pattern, i.e. the sayings depend for their force on the literary function played by the section 2.1–3.6 within Mark’s Gospel as a whole. Further, their place within this section accounts for the fact that Son of Man references are conspicuously lacking elsewhere in Mark in a way that other theories do not explain. If ‘Son of Man’ is used in Mark to describe Jesus’ authority,53 then it is strange that the term is not used at, say, 1.22, 27, or 11.27–33, where the issue is precisely the ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ of Jesus.54 However, this is more readily explained if ‘Son of Man’ for Mark is not primarily an authority figure but a suffering figure. If then the sayings fit in, and only in, Mark’s literary structure, it seems simplest to conclude that they have their origin in Mark’s literary work, i.e. they are due to Mark’s redaction.55 49

For observations about the alleged parallel in 4QOrNab, see n. 29 above. See Maisch, Heilung, 91–92, and other authors cited there. 51 So Colpe, TWNT 8.433, followed by Jeremias, Theology, 262. Colpe’s interpretation is sometimes cited in support of a generic interpretation (cf. Casey, Son of Man, 240). However, one must distinguish between a generic use (‘man in general’) and an indefinite use (‘a man’). Colpe’s suggested interpretations apply to Jesus seen in his capacity as a man, but to Jesus alone: see A. Polag, Die Christologie der Logienquelle (WMANT 45; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1977), 107. 52 Colpe’s argument is sometimes rejected on the grounds that the saying in 2.10 only makes sense if ‘Son of Man’ is a titular description of Jesus alone (cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 91; Gnilka, ‘Elend’, 205). However, whilst it applies to Jesus alone, it is not necessarily titular in the sense that Jesus’ authority is here derived from ascribing the term ‘Son of Man’ to him, as I have tried to show. Thus Colpe’s argument could still hold at the Sitz im Leben Jesu. 53 So especially Hooker and Perrin. 54 Kertelge says that Mark has taken over the idea of the authority of the Son of Man and ‘hat das Thema der ਥȟȠȣıȓĮ des Menschensohnes insgesamt stark herausgearbeitet’ (‘Vollmacht’, 212), referring to 1.22, 27; 11.28–29, 33. But Mark here refers to the authority of Jesus, not of the authority of Jesus qua Son of Man. 55 Thus agreeing with Cranfield and others (as in n. 7), though for very different reasons. Perrin, Modern Pilgrimage, 116 n. 24, also thinks that the sayings may be redactional precisely because they fit so well with Mark’s theology; however, in seeing the authority reference as integral to Mark’s concept of the ‘Son of Man’, his theory differs from the one I have suggested. Dewey, Markan Public Debate, 78–79, argues that 50

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2. The Present Son of Man in Q It is often said that the suffering Son of Man sayings are the least likely to be original. One of the reasons often adduced for this is that they appear to be confined to the Markan tradition, and they are absent from the other main stratum of the tradition, i.e. Q.56 However, the analysis above suggests that there may be some overlap between ‘A’ sayings and ‘B’ sayings. It may therefore be worthwhile to glance briefly at some of the present Son of Man sayings in Q. In his highly influential discussion, Tödt claims that in all the present Son of Man sayings, the term ‘Son of Man’ is used to denote the authority of Jesus. Hoffmann’s modification of Tödt’s theory still assumes that authority is basic to these sayings, but that the use of ‘Son of Man’ serves to identify the authoritative speaker as the one who is to come: Nicht der Menschensohntitel wird neu interpretiert, sondern die Exusia Jesu … Zweifellos beanspruchte schon der irdische Jesus eine besondere Vollmacht, aber nun wird eben die Exusia des Irdischen, der den Menschensohn ankündigte und für seine Vollmacht in Anspruch nahm, wahrgenommen als die Exusia dieses Menschensohnes selbst.57

This certainly links the Q sayings about the Son of Man more closely, but it still remains questionable how far the motif of authority should be read here at all.58 With regard to Matt 11.19//Luke 7.34, Tödt rightly says: ‘This generation’s objection to the Son of Man’s mode of behaviour is the dominant point in this section.’59 Tödt then goes on to point to the allusion made to Jesus’ associating with tax-collectors and sinners, and claims that this bestowing of table-fellowship to outcasts is an act of supreme authority: the saying in 2.10 cannot be due to Mark’s redaction, since it is rhetorically necessary to the structure of the story as a whole. But this cannot exclude the possibility that ‘Son of Man’ may have been added to an earlier form of v. 10 not containing the term, or even that the whole story is a Markan construct. 56 Bultmann, Theology, 1.30; Hahn, Titles, 37; Vielhauer, ‘Jesus und der Menschensohn’, 57–58; Higgins, Jesus and the Son of Man, 132–133. This ‘result’ is then sometimes used as a criterion for deciding about the meaning of a Q saying: cf. Tödt’s exclusion of the possibility that the Q version of the ‘sign of Jonah’ saying (Matt 12.40/Luke 11.30) refers to ‘one rescued from death’, on the grounds that Q contains no suffering sayings (Son of Man, 212). Clearly such a form of argument is dangerously circular. (Cf. Marshall, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 335, who makes similar observations about the arguments of Higgins.) 57 Studien, 145–146; followed by S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972), 382–383, 438–439; also H. Schürmann, ‘Beobachtungen zum Menschensohn-Titel in der Redequelle’, in R. Pesch, R. Schnackenburg (eds.), Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 124–147, esp. pp. 131–132. 58 Cf. too Perrin, Modern Pilgrimage, 69–73. 59 Son of Man, 115.

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that action of the Son of Man for which this generation reproaches him here is a specific act of sovereignty superior to the restraints of the Law by virtue of the authority of a direct mission. It is action which befits only an authorized person. It is this distinctive action which is emphasized by the name Son of Man.60

However, this appears to read in a certain amount into the text. The only action ascribed to the Son of Man here is ‘eating and drinking’, i.e. not adopting John’s ascetic practices. The fundamental point seems not to be any prior claims to authority to Jesus, but the rather simpler one that Jesus is arousing opposition. Jesus is here said to be claiming that, whatever one does (i.e. eat or not eat), he and John are being rejected by his generation. Thus the ‘Son of Man’ here is primarily a figure who arouses hostility and rejection.61 The same is true of the saying in Matt 8.20//Luke 9.58. Tödt rightly points to the context as being one of a call to discipleship and a warning of the consequences for those who respond: ‘The same will happen to the one who follows as to the one who leads the way.’62 However, Tödt continues: The very one who summons men to follow with full authority is the same whom this generation refuses to receive, thus depriving him of a home. 63 The name Son of Man is thus used to designate his [Jesus’] sovereignty, his supreme authority.64

But this appears to go too far. All that is said about the Son of Man is that he is homeless. Tödt rightly says that this results from the hostility of other

60 Son of Man, 116; cf. too Hoffmann, Studien, 149; Schulz, Q, 382–383; Schürmann, ‘Beobachtungen’, 131. 61 Perrin, Modern Pilgrimage, 70–71, thinks that originally ‘Son of Man’ here meant ‘I’, and that it was taken by Q as an identification of Jesus with the coming Son of Man. However, it is doubtful if ‘Son of Man’ can mean simply ‘I’, and anyway one may legitimately ask what it is that unites all the Son of Man sayings. This saying is widely regarded as inauthentic, being part of an interpretation of the parable of the playing children. Its secondary origin is said to be shown primarily by the discrepancy between parable and interpretation: the children of the parable correspond to ‘this generation’ in the introduction, and to John and Jesus in an allegorical way in the interpretation. (See Hoffmann, Studien, 224–225; Schulz, Q, 380–381, with literature cited there.) But this is not compelling: if Luke’s ਕȜȜȒȜȠȣȢ in the parable is taken as more original than Matthew’s ਦIJȑȡȠȚȢ, then the children of the story are all failing to respond to calls to play. This corresponds well with the application to the Jewish leaders who fail to respond to the calls of Jesus and John. Attempts at allegorisation occur only in Matthew. (See further my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis [SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983], 156.) 62 Son of Man, 122. 63 Son of Man, 122. 64 Son of Man, 123. Similarly, Hoffmann, Schulz and Schürmann refer the saying to Jesus as the coming Son of Man.

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people, so that the saying cannot easily be interpreted in a generic sense.65 Rather, it is a statement about Jesus’ own life-style and the consequences which a commitment to Jesus’ cause will bring. It is not really a statement about the (logically prior) claims to authority of the one who calls to discipleship; it is about the cost of discipleship, to be shared by Jesus and the would-be disciple. Thus again ‘Son of Man’ is used in a saying which refers to Jesus as one who arouses opposition and hostility. The same can be seen in the saying Matt 12.32//Luke 12.10. Again Tödt seems justified in saying that ‘Son of Man’ here ‘designates Jesus acting on earth and being attacked by his opponents’.66 But he concludes by claiming that the term itself signifies ‘the claim to full authority uttered by Jesus which the opponents resist’.67 However, such ‘full authority’ is by no means explicit here. Indeed, the authority must be considered by Q to be somewhat relative since rejection of it is forgivable.68 Tödt’s other observation seems more relevant: it is Jesus ‘being attacked by his opponents’. Once again this fits well with the pattern I have tried to delineate so far: sayings about the present activity of Jesus qua Son of Man occur in contexts where Jesus is seen as one who arouses opposition, hostility and rejection. A final Q saying to be considered here is Luke 6.22 (//Matt 5.11), where persecution ‘for the sake of the Son of Man’ is mentioned.69 Tödt says: Attachment to him [the Son of Man] exposes his followers to man’s hostility. Thus here, too, the name Son of Man is used to designate Jesus’ acting in a certain way. For his sake the disciples are subject to persecution. This sovereignty and this uncompromising claim are emphasized by the name Son of Man. In this way the name is here a title designating the specific unique authority of the one who bears the title.70

But again this seems to read too much into the text. The beatitude is about the cost of discipleship, not primarily about the one who calls to discipleship. As in Matt 8.20//Luke 9.58 the primary concern is with the conse65 Son of Man, 122; hence contra Perrin, Modern Pilgrimage, 72: man is generally not homeless, even in ‘an economically depressed age’ (so Perrin). See Colpe, TWNT 8.435; also Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (London: SCM, 1977), 39: ‘It is simply not true that “man in general has nowhere to lay his head”’. 66 Son of Man, 119. 67 Son of Man, 120. 68 Cf. too Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-Existence, 44–45: ‘If a blasphemy against the risen Lord, revealed by the Spirit, is unforgivable, the implication is that there is some mitigating circumstance included in the title “Son of Man”. It is difficult to see any such circumstance on Tödt’s view of the earthly Jesus, as one exercising sovereignty so clearly’. Whether, however, the term ‘Son of Man’ carries ideas of hiddenness, as Hamerton-Kelly goes on to claim, is more doubtful: ‘Son of Man’ could simply refer to Jesus as a rejected figure. 69 Matthew’s ‘I’ is widely regarded as secondary. See Schulz, Q, 453 n. 377, and authors cited there. 70 Son of Man, 123.

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quences of following the Son of Man as involving suffering and persecution. Hence this saying too binds together the motif of suffering and the term ‘Son of Man’, even though it is not explicitly stated here that the Son of Man himself is a suffering figure. These Son of Man sayings occur within a nexus of very closely related themes. It has been pointed out that it is a distinctive feature of the Q tradition that it combines two, otherwise distinct, motifs: that of Wisdom calling people but being rejected, and that of the violent fate suffered by all the prophets.71 In this combination, Wisdom herself becomes the agent who sends out the prophets as her messengers, all of whom suffer violence and rejection (cf. Matt 23.34–39//Luke 11.49–51; 13.34–35). Within this schema, Jesus and John the Baptist are seen as the final envoys of Wisdom.72 It is striking that in several passages relating to one or both of these motifs, Jesus is referred to as ‘Son of Man’. Matt 8.20//Luke 9.58 is closely related to the motif of the homelessness of Wisdom (cf. 1 En. 42); Matt 11.19//Luke 7.34 is set in Q in the context of the acceptance or rejection of Wisdom (Matt 11.19//Luke 7.35); Luke 6.22 is set in Q in the context of the violence suffered by all the prophets (Matt 5.12//Luke 6.23). One should also note that the fate of the prophets is an important part of the woe over Jerusalem in Q (Matt 23.37–39//Luke 13.34–35), which does not refer to the Son of Man as such, but does include a reference to the ‘coming one’, and for Q ‘the coming one’ is almost certainly to be identified as the Son of Man.73 Thus ‘Son of Man’ is very closely linked with the themes of rejected Wisdom and the violent fate suffered by all the prophets.74 Indeed it is this which appears to be the most striking common characteristic of these Son of Man sayings in Q: rather than referring to the authority of Jesus, they characterise Jesus as the one who suffers opposition, hostility and rejection.75 The consistency with which this occurs in

71 See O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967), esp. pp. 107, 224–225; Hoffmann, Studien, 158 ff.; Schulz, Q, 342. 72 It is very doubtful if Mark has any idea of Jesus as Wisdom’s envoy: there is no idea of a Wisdom myth in Mark 6.2 (see Dunn, Christology, 337–338 n. 191, contra Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-Existence, 52). Rather, this is a distinctive feature of the Q tradition. 73 Cf. Matt 11.2–19/Luke 7.18–35: this long Q section is introduced by the Baptist’s question ‘Are you ੒ ਥȡȤȩȝİȞȠȢ?’, and ends with a reference to Jesus as Son of Man. Perhaps one could add here the sign of Jonah passage, where ‘Son of Man’ occurs in Matt 12.40/Luke 11.30, and is set in its Q context next to Wisdom ideas. Cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 181. 74 Cf. Hoffmann, Studien, 186–187, though he interprets ‘Son of Man’ rather differently. 75 If ‘Son of Man’ were being used by Q to refer to Jesus’ authority, then it is strange that the term is not used elsewhere in situations where Jesus acts authoritatively, e.g. the

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these Q sayings suggests that the themes of opposition, hostility and rejection were believed by Q to be inherent in the term ‘Son of Man’ itself.76

3. Conclusion The conclusion of this analysis is that most of the present Son of Man sayings in Q are, as in Mark, not so much about the present authority of Jesus as about rejection and suffering. This is by no means an original claim. M. Black writes: Q is not, however, without sayings where Jesus refers to himself as Son of Man in his humanity and humiliation (Matt. 8:20, 11:19 and pars.): and such sayings belong more properly to the “suffering” Son of Man group of sayings …77

mission charge, Jesus’ authoritative word which heals the centurion’s servant, Jesus’ authoritative ethical instruction, or his call to take up one’s cross, etc. 76 Thus contra Hoffmann, Studien, 186–187; Schulz, Q, 386, who suggest that the ‘Son of Man’ tradition and the ‘suffering messengers of Wisdom’ tradition are quite separate, and the use of ‘Son of Man’ in Q serves partly to distinguish Jesus qualitatively from other messengers of Wisdom, since otherwise Jesus might be seen only as on a par with the other prophets. Cf. too J. M. Robinson, ‘Jesus as Sophos and Sophia. Wisdom Tradition and the Gospels’, in R. L. Wilken (ed.), Aspects of Wisdom in Judaism and Early Christianity (Notre Dame & London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1975), 1–16, esp. p. 6. However, such a tendency could really only apply to Matt 11.19//Luke 7.34; in the other Son of Man sayings Jesus is not explicitly put alongside other messengers of Wisdom. In fact the Son of Man tradition (in 1 Enoch as well as Dan 7) is closely related to the theme of the suffering righteous, a motif which is prominent in some of the Wisdom literature (cf. esp. Wisd 2–5). The common traditions in such passages are well illustrated by G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), esp. 58 ff. Although in later forms of the tradition the Son of Man has become separated from the suffering ones whom he vindicates (e.g. 1 En. 62–63), in earlier forms the suffering one is himself the one who is exalted and vindicated (Wisd 5). One should not, therefore, drive too sharp a wedge between the Son of Man tradition and the suffering motif in the Wisdom tradition. 77 ‘The “Son of Man” Passion Sayings in the Gospel Tradition’, ZNW 60 (1969) 1–8, on p. 2. See too Marshall, ‘Son of Man Sayings’, 341 (on Matt 8.20); Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-Existence, 46; Dunn, Unity, 391 n. 19. Polag too notes the connection: ‘Diese Anwendung begegnet nur in Worten, die die Ablehnung Jesu durch das Volk voraussetzen. Es geht also nicht um die Vollmacht Jesu im allgemeinen, sondern um die Ablehnung dieser Vollmacht, die das Gericht nach sich zieht’ (Christologie, 114). However, he believes that the term ‘Son of Man’ itself is meant to refer not to the motif of rejection as such, but to Jesus’ future role in the judgment to come. Tödt sums up his section on the present Son of Man sayings thus: ‘In all the sayings of this group the name Son of Man characterizes Jesus in the exousia of his activity on earth. Consequently most of these sayings reveal the opposition of his adversaries who turn against Jesus’ claim to full authority’ (Son of Man, 138). But this ‘consequently’ does not appear to be logical. Rather, I would claim that it is precisely because Jesus’ authority is rejected that the term

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Thus one cannot necessarily say that the idea of the Son of Man as a suffering figure is confined to one strand of the tradition. The idea does appear in Q too, even though the detailed passion predictions themselves are confined to Mark. One may therefore say that the idea of the Son of Man as a suffering figure is very deeply embedded in the tradition. One may not, of course, simply apply a criterion of ‘multiple attestation’ and trace this idea back to Jesus without more ado. Indeed several of these suffering sayings may well not be dominical.78 Nevertheless one important argument against their authenticity, namely the lack of such sayings in Q (i.e. a negative application of the criterion of multiple attestation) may not be tenable. Further, the rigid classification of Son of Man sayings into three groups may not ultimately be very helpful. 53

‘Son of Man’ is considered appropriate. ‘Son of Man’ is thus not primarily a figure of authority, but one who is rejected. 78 I have argued that this may be the case for the sayings in Mark 2; the final beatitude is widely regarded as a product of the early church; perhaps too the saying in Matt 11.19//Luke 7.34 (though see n. 61 above). Nevertheless, even if individual sayings are not dominical, it may still be significant that such sayings, using the term ‘Son of Man’ in such contexts, were felt to be appropriate on the lips of Jesus.

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XXV The Disciples and the Messianic Secret in Mark It would be difficult to underestimate the significance of Heikki Räisänen’s book The “Messianic Secret” in Mark’s Gospel.1 Although dealing primarily with the theme of the so-called ‘messianic secret’ in Mark, Räisänen ranged far and wide over a large number of important broader issues relating to the interpretation of a text such as Mark’s Gospel. Above all, Räisänen pointed to the problematic nature of interpretations of Mark which assume too high a level of sophistication on the part of the author. In relation to the messianic secret, Räisänen’s analysis made clearly visible the fault lines inherent in many previous interpretations of the secret in Mark. He also showed convincingly that ‘the’ secret in Mark, i.e. the collection of different motifs considered together as part of ‘the’ messianic secret ever since Wrede’s epoch-making book of 1901,2 should really be split up and seen as a conglomeration of different motifs, each serving a potentially different purpose. By no means the least impressive part of the analysis in the book is Räisänen’s willingness to enter into critical dialogue with some of his own earlier views, to question some of his own previous results and to think through afresh many of the key issues in the debates concerned.3 In this essay I pursue further some of Räisänen’s suggestions about the origin of the secrecy theme in Mark. And if I question some of the individual details of his suggestions, it is I believe only to press more positively 1 H. Räisänen, The “Messianic Secret” in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). 2 W. Wrede, Das Messiasgeheimnis in den Evangelien (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901); ET The Messianic Secret (Cambridge: Clarke, 1971). 3 Räisänen’s 1990 book represents the combining of two previous studies: Die Parabeltheorie im Markusevangelium (Schriften der Finnischen Exegetischen Gesellschaft 26; Helsinki, 1973) and Das “Messiasgeheimnis” im Markusevangelium. Ein redaktionskritischer Versuch (Schriften der Finnischen Exegetischen Gesellschaft 28; Helsinki, 1976). However, the 1990 book was no mere straight translation into English of the earlier works; rather, the later book represented at a number of points a radical rewriting of many of the arguments of the earlier studies, and reached in some cases very different conclusions, at times arguing directly against Räisänen’s own earlier claims. This was especially the case in relation to the analysis of the ‘parable theory’ in Mark 4. Räisänen also rewrote the conclusion of his Messiasgeheimnis book: and it is part of that rewritten conclusion that is the focus of the present essay.

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the implications of other aspects of many of his overall claims about the secrecy texts in Mark. One of the most intriguing parts of Räisänen’s latest book on the messianic secret concerns his claim that there might be a link between some of the secrecy elements in Mark and the Christians responsible for collecting and preserving the Q material in the gospels. Räisänen refers in this context to some aspects of the picture painted by Mark of the disciples in the Gospel. Mark is well known for presenting the disciples in a poor light. In particular, the disciples are shown as failing to understand at many points in the narrative. As is well known, Wrede argued that this theme of the incomprehension of the disciples is to be regarded as part of the complex of secrecy texts in Mark, including commands to silence (to the demons, as well as to the disciples as in 8.30 and 9.9). According to Räisänen (e.g. pp. 217–218),4 the incomprehension of the disciples can be seen as focused in three areas. First, the disciples fail to recognise Jesus’ true identity (as the divine Son of God) on the basis of the miracles they witness (cf. 4.41; 6.52; 8.17–21). Second, they fail to understand the fact that Jesus’ teaching means the abrogation of the Jewish food laws (cf. 7.18, a ‘context which hints at the Gentile mission’: cf. the link between 7.14–23 and 7.24–30 [p. 218]). Third, they regularly show lack of understanding in relation to Jesus’ teaching about the importance of the passion and the resurrection (cf. the well-known three-fold pattern in Mark where Jesus’ prediction of his passion and resurrection in chs. 8, 9, 10 is followed by an indication that the disciples have failed to understand the implications of what Jesus has just said5). However, in relation to the first of these categories, it is probable that in Mark the disciples do suddenly understand who Jesus is in 8.29: Peter confesses Jesus to be ‘the Christ’ in a scene which Räisänen argues must be interpreted positively in Mark’s view – Peter is expressing the valid truth about Jesus (p. 179: see below). However this confession is immediately silenced by Jesus (8.30). Similarly the (three) disciples see the unveiled glory of Jesus in the transfiguration, but they too are told not to tell anyone what they have seen until after the resurrection (9.9). All this, Räisänen argues, shows a remarkable negative correlation with the Q material in the gospels (pp. 218–219). First, Q has a rather different 4

Page references in the body of the text refer to Räisänen, Messianic Secret (n. 1). After the first passion prediction in 8.31, Peter rebukes Jesus in v. 32, only to provoke Jesus’ stern reproof in v. 33. The second passion prediction in 9.31 is immediately followed by the note that the disciples are discussing among themselves who is the greatest, again clearly failing to grasp the significance and relevance of Jesus’ suffering. The third prediction in 10.32–34 is immediately followed by the story of James and John asking for the chief seats in the Kingdom, yet again showing their failure to grasp the significance of what Jesus has been telling them. 5

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perspective on the miracles: they are perhaps ‘signs of the inbreaking kingdom, not indications of Jesus’ divine nature of sonship’ (p. 218); and indeed the Q temptation narrative seems to reject such a miracle-worker Christology. Second, ‘the Q tradition is by and large strictly Jewish in its orthopraxy (cf. Lk 16:17 par. Mt 5:18)’ (p. 218), and Q ‘holds fast to traditional piety in relation to the Law, apart from a few disputed and late hints’ (p. 252). Third, Q has no passion narrative and no accounts of resurrection appearances. Whilst no doubt Q Christians did not deny the resurrection, and did not ignore the passion completely, the emphasis lies elsewhere. In Q, ‘Jesus’ fate is seen as part of the chain of prophetic deaths of which Israel is guilty according to the deuteronomistic view of things’ (p. 252), in contrast to Mark’s emphasis on the divine plan of Jesus’ suffering. Further, Q has no idea of the vicarious nature of Jesus’ suffering as in Mark 10.45; 14.24. (Although this is not explicitly related to the disciples’ failure to understand, 10.45 at least occurs within a broader context [8.31–10.52] where the disciples’ incomprehension in relation to Jesus’ suffering is very much to the fore.) Finally, Q is totally silent about Jesus’ ‘messiahship’. The term ‘Christ’ does not occur at all in Q. And although Jesus is occasionally called ‘Son (of God)’, this is only in ‘later strands’ of Q (p. 252) and in any case not as a divine being. All this, Räisänen suggests, could be accounted for if Mark were engaged in some kind of critical dialogue with another group of Christians similar to, if not the same as, the group of Christians responsible for Q. Such Christians may have appealed to the teachings of the pre-Easter Jesus to support their case. In order to confront them, Mark had to meet them on their own ground. It was insufficient to argue on the basis of post-Easter developments or claims. Thus Mark ascribes the viewpoint he wishes to counter to the disciples who are shown in these respects to be uncomprehending. In one respect (but only in one respect) Räisänen thus aligns himself with the theories of those such as Weeden, Tyson and others who see Mark as engaged in critical debate with a contemporary group in his own situation, with the disciples as the representatives of this opposition group.6 However, Räisänen also shows very clearly that such a theory cannot explain all that Mark says about the disciples in the narrative of the Gospel and he provides a powerful critique of Weeden in this respect

6 Cf. T. J. Weeden, ‘The Heresy that Necessitated Mark’s Gospel’, ZNW 59 (1968) 145–158, repr. in W. R. Telford (ed.), The Interpretation of Mark (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2 1995), 64–77; idem, Mark – Traditions in Conflict (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971); J. B. Tyson, ‘The Blindness of the Disciples in Mark’, JBL 80 (1961) 261–268, repr. in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), The Messianic Secret (London: SPCK, 1983), 35–43. Cf. too É. Trocmé, The Formation of the Gospel of Mark (London: SPCK, 1975); J. D. Crossan, ‘Mark and the Relatives of Jesus’, NovT 15 (1973) 81–113.

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(pp. 211–214).7 Räisänen therefore does not argue that Mark’s polemic is directed against the disciples in the story as such. For the disciples in the story do come to realise who Jesus is (8.29). Thus the true significance of Jesus is perceived by the disciples, though not by all since the disciples are silenced! The disciples themselves thus represent the Markan viewpoint; and it is the earlier view of the disciples that is the real focus of any critique by Mark. The disciples are not seen as representing Mark’s opponents; rather they are the vehicles for Mark’s own point of view. They did comprehend, although neither very soon nor very well. The ‘opponents’, however, have preserved the early and limited view of the disciples, whereas the disciples’ mature perception lives on in the tradition of Mark himself. (p. 222) With the aid of the secrecy theme, Mark tries to reject the claims of people like the bearers of the Q-tradition who appealed to the authority of the historical Jesus. Mark defends (unjustifiably at the historical level) his Hellenistic viewpoint by showing that the disputed points go back to Jesus himself. However, not everyone knew about it. Palestinian wandering preachers still put forward a defective Christology, misunderstand the importance of the resurrection, misunderstand the meaning of the passion, hold fast to the old attitude to the Law, and are suspicious about the Gentile mission. They are representing the obsolete viewpoint of the disciples at the time of their failure to understand; however, the disciples gave this up, partly during the lifetime of Jesus, but definitively after Easter. (p. 254)

In all this there is much to agree with and much that is very persuasive. That Mark may be engaged in an element of polemic, speaking to other Christians quite as much as speaking for them, seems to me entirely credible. The possibility that Mark is seeking to address other Christians in his own situation and challenge their views, rather than (as in the classic formcritical model) simply reflect their already existing situation, seems to me very plausible. Certainly the extended teaching by Jesus in Mark 8.31– 10.52 on the importance of suffering – his own as well as potentially that of any would-be disciple – seems to make much better sense if it is addressed to a community that is not yet suffering than the older, traditional 7 Weeden’s theory fails to explain adequately the positive portrayal of the disciples in the earlier parts of the Gospel (cf. 1.16–20; 3.13–19; 6.7–13, where the disciples are called by Jesus and respond positively). Nor does it fully explain why the disciples are the ones who are warned about the dangers of the coming false people in ch. 13, allegedly (in Weeden’s theory) the counterparts of the disciples themselves in the narrative. For other critiques of Weeden’s theory about the presentation of the disciples in Mark, see especially R. C. Tannehill, ‘The Disciples in Mark. The Function of a Narrative Role’, JR 57 (1977) 386–405, repr. in Telford (ed.), Interpretation (n. 6), 169–195; E. Best, ‘The Role of the Disciples in Mark’, NTS 23 (1977) 377–401, repr. in his Disciples and Discipleship. Studies in the Gospel according to Mark (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 98–130; also E. S. Malbon, ‘Text and Contexts. Interpreting the Disciples in Mark’, Semeia 62 (1993) 81–102.

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view that Mark is (simply) reflecting a situation of a community that is already suffering. Further, the theory that the object of any ‘polemic’, or any ‘targeted address’, is not the counterpart of the disciples themselves in the story is also convincing. The full-blown theory of Weeden and others, that Mark is engaged in a sustained polemic against a group of ‘heretics’ in his community, represented by the disciples in the story, is probably untenable. Talk of ‘heresy’ is almost certainly somewhat anachronistic in this context; and, as already noted, the view that the disciples tout court represent Mark’s ‘opposition group’ is not really sustainable. As Räisänen himself and others have argued, there is enough that is positive about the disciples, whether explicit or implicit, to suggest that a Weeden-type theory of a sustained polemic against the disciples is not true to the text of Mark as a whole.8 Nevertheless, Räisänen’s explanation of the origin of this part of the secrecy complex may provoke some questions in relation to some of the other details concerned.

1. Mark and Q? Some questions might arise in relation to Q. In one way this might not matter at all in relation to Räisänen’s theory. As he himself says, ‘In the final analysis, it does not matter whether Mark was in debate with precisely the bearers of the Q tradition. It could be a question of quite different people who were appealing to the historical Jesus’ (p. 251: his stress). Nevertheless, an appeal to Q could serve to anchor the alleged opposition group proposed within history by relating such a group to a more concrete historical reality ‘known’ to exist.9 An implied negative attitude to miracles, or at least a not sufficiently positive attitude to miracles and a failure to relate miracles to Jesus’ identity as a divine Son of God, is not necessarily easy to relate to Q. It is true that Q does not (apparently) record many miracles. Yet Q does quite clearly regard the miracles of Jesus as important and as indicating at least something of significance about Jesus’ identity. Thus the saying in Q 11.20 (‘If I by the spirit/finger of God cast about demons, then the Kingdom of God 8 See n. 7 above. One should also note that the reference in 16.7 almost certainly implies (though it does not explicitly relate) the rehabilitation of the disciples after Easter: on this see especially N. R. Petersen, ‘When Is the End not the End? Literary Reflections on the Ending of Mark’s Narrative’, Int 34 (1980) 151–166. 9 Provided of course one accepts that Q, and Q Christians, are ‘known’ to exist! I myself would be more than happy to accept this, but one must remember that others would dispute the existence of Q, and/or the existence of a specific group of Q Christians, very vigorously.

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has come upon you’) asserts that with the exorcisms of Jesus, the Kingdom of God has in some sense arrived already. By implication at least, Jesus’ exorcistic activity implies something of great significance about his own person. So too, in the account of the messengers of John the Baptist coming to Jesus (Q 7.18–23), Jesus is asked whether he is the ‘coming one’. The reply (in Q 7.22) is at least in part focused on Jesus’ miracles of making the blind see, the lame walk, of cleansing lepers, and raising the dead. Further, in context the reply is evidently taken as an affirmative response to the question of the Baptist. Clearly then the miracles do attest to Jesus’ identity. Any reference to a lack of explicit stories of detailed miracles should perhaps be treated with some caution: any (relative) silence in Q should not be assumed to indicate a more positive lack of interest too hastily. 10 And even the temptation narrative in Q may need a little more care. There may be an element of polemic against demands for a particular kind of miracle, e.g. a very ‘showy’ demonstration of divine power for the sake of it. But in this Q may be no different from Mark (cf. Mark 8.11– 12).11 Whether Q’s miracles indicate a rather ‘lower’ Christology than Mark is also debatable. Q 7.18–23 indicates that the miracles of Jesus imply that he is indeed the ‘coming one’, who in Q is probably to be equated with the ‘Son of Man’ figure and also as such will be involved in the final judgment (cf. Q 12.8; 12.40; 17.23–30).12 It is true that Q does not relate the miracles explicitly to Jesus’ status as a ‘Son of God’. But whether Mark means by this that Jesus is a fully divine being must also remain debatable. The references to Jesus as Son of Man in Q certainly imply some transcendent features! Q’s attitude to the Law may fit Räisänen’s suggested reconstruction better in one way. Q does indeed seem to have a rather conservative attitude to the Law: Q 16.17 appears to assert the abiding validity of the Law; and Q 11.42d also goes out of the way to assert that the smaller details of the Law (here on tithing) should not be abrogated even by reference to broader general principles of love, mercy etc. Further, it is arguable that both the sayings represent secondary, editorial glosses on earlier traditions 10 Cf. J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘The Sayings Gospel Q and the Quest of the Historical Jesus’, HTR 89 (1996) 307–344, esp. pp. 320–322 on the miracles in Q. More generally on the dangers of reading too much into the silence of Q, see M. Frenschkowski, ‘Welche biographischen Kenntnisse von Jesus setzt die Logienquelle voraus?’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson et al. (eds.), From Quest to Q. Festschrift James M. Robinson (BETL 146; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000), 3–42. 11 On the temptation narrative in Q, see my ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507 (pp. 153–181 in this volume). 12 Cf. D. R. Catchpole, The Quest for Q (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993), 60–78.

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to ensure Torah observance by Christians: thus 16.17 may be guarding against a possible interpretation of Q 16.16 (‘the Law and the prophets were until John’) which might be taken as implying that the Law belonged to the old era and had now lost some of its validity. So too Q 11.42d looks like a correction to an earlier tradition which might have called into question the value of the practice of tithing.13 On the other hand, one should not forget that it is Q that preserves the radical statement of Jesus ‘Let the dead bury their dead’ (Q 9.60) which seems at first (and second!) sight to question important OT laws about family obligations.14 Q’s attitude to the passion and death of Jesus and the resurrection is also not so clear, partly again because of the partial silence in Q. Yet, as before, silence may be dangerous if over-interpreted. In any case, as Räisänen himself says, Q is not completely silent about Jesus’ death (at least by implication), probably seeing it as in a line of continuity with the violence suffered by all God’s prophets in the past (cf. Q 6.22; 11.49–51; 13.34– 35).15 Moreover, any would-be disciple must be prepared to suffer the same fate by ‘taking up the cross’ (Q 14.27). The overall scheme may be different from Mark’s, but it is no less real for that. It is thus not entirely easy to equate Mark’s ‘opponents’ as reconstructed by Räisänen specifically with the Q tradents although, as already noted, that may not be important. (On the other hand, some such historical anchor would do no harm to the theory! A group of ‘Christians’ who cannot discern the proper [or perhaps any] significance of Jesus’ miracles, who see little if any significance in his death and resurrection, and who remain firmly wedded to obedience to the Jewish Law does begin to look more like a group of Jewish opponents of Jesus and/or the Christian movement than of any Christian followers of Jesus!) What though of the theory in relation to the interpretation of Mark’s Gospel itself?

13

On Q and the Law, see the discussion in my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 404–424, with reference to other literature and previous discussions. 14 Räisänen also relates the issue of food laws to that of the Gentile mission, suggesting that a conservative attitude to the food laws may be connected with a negative attitude to the Gentile mission (cf. above). The question of Q’s attitude to the Gentile mission is uncertain: cf. my Q and the History, 393–404 for a full discussion. There is little that tells positively in favour of a Gentile mission in Q, but equally no sign of clear opposition to such a mission. Perhaps then Q was aware of the Gentile mission, but Q Christians were not actively engaged in it: their prime concern was to address their fellow-Jews. 15 Cf. J. S. Kloppenborg, ‘“Easter Faith” and the Sayings Gospel Q’, Semeia 49 (1990) 71–99.

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2. The Disciples in Mark Räisänen’s theory succeeds in combining aspects of the disciples’ incomprehension in Mark and some of the secrecy charges in one overall explanation. Nevertheless, the individual parts of the theory fit together slightly unevenly. In relation to the miracles and the identity of Jesus, Räisänen’s theory makes the opposition view correlate with the earlier, ‘uncorrected’ view of the disciples: the disciples early on failed to grasp who Jesus was, but later come to see (and are silenced). However, in relation to the food laws, and to the passion and resurrection, there is no such progression from incomprehension to enlightenment clearly visible. The disciples remain unable to accept the necessity of Jesus to suffer almost right to the end (certainly they all desert Jesus in the end and Peter denies him).16 So too there is no ‘Damascus road experience’ in relation to the food laws. If the disciples are not ‘seeing the light’ in the debate in ch. 7, they do not see any light on this issue any more clearly later in the story. (Unless of course Jesus’ explanation itself in 7.19 implies that the disciples have now moved from a position of incomprehension to one of understanding: see below.) If though one extends the issue to consider Law observance more widely, it is noticeable that the disciples earlier in the story are portrayed as behaving without any apparent constraint in relation to another key contemporary legal issue, viz. Sabbath observance. In Mark 2.23–28, it is the disciples who are doing things which (apparently) break the Law17 and Jesus defends their actions, not his own. Similarly at the start of ch. 7, the disciples apparently show no qualms about eating with unwashed hands, an action which (whatever the historical difficulties) Mark appears to assume runs counter to universally held Jewish legal traditions (cf. v. 3). One could perhaps argue that the disciples of ch. 2 act as the Markan counterbalance to the disciples of 7.17, similar to the way in which the insight of the Peter of 8.29 counterbalances the disciples’ earlier ignorance. But in the case of Law observance, the relative order seems a little difficult since the ‘Law-free’ disciples come before the disciples showing scruples (or ignorance) about the food laws. In any case it is not certain how far the words of Jesus’ response to the disciples in 7.18 (‘Do you also fail to understand? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside …’) are to be seen as on a par 16 As noted earlier (n. 8), Mark 16.7 may well imply a rehabilitation for the disciples, but it is at best only implicit! 17 There has been debate about what exactly the disciples were doing here that was regarded as illegal. Clearly there is scope for debate at the historical level. However, for Mark himself, there seems to be no question that the disciples have broken Sabbath law. The only point at issue is how that is to be explained and justified.

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with some of the other elements in Mark illustrating the disciples’ failure to understand (e.g. 4.13; 6.52; 8.17–21). The language here is probably redactional, and hence probably one can justifiably see Mark’s hand at work.18 Yet one must say that any rebuke of the disciples here seems relatively mild. Others have argued in any case that many of the rebukes of the disciples in Mark are rather milder than the language of, say, 4.11–12. The words of 8.17–21, similar in one way to the language of 4.11–12 and apparently equating the disciples with ‘those outside’, are probably to be punctuated as questions and there is no definitive statement of the impossibility of any future repentance and forgiveness.19 The words of 7.18 are in one sense even milder. They are clearly formulated as questions rather than as condemnatory statements. Further, while the question in the first part of the verse (‘Are you too ਕıȪȞİIJȠȚ?’) stands on its own grammatically, the words in the second half (‘do you not understand?’) is not presented so absolutely: rather it is couched in the form of an expanded sentence, ‘do you not understand that …’, with the clear implication that, immediately after the rhetorical question has been uttered, they will understand!20 Indeed this may then provide the immediate answer to the question in the first part of the verse about their being ਕıȪȞİIJȠȚ: although their initial question implied they do not understand, Jesus’ reply immediately places them in a position where they do. The words of 7.18 may therefore be functioning more as simply an enabling device to move the dialogue on so that Jesus can give the clear explanation of the (possibly) enigmatic saying in 7.15.21 18

Räisänen, Messianic Secret, 196. Cf. also R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium. Erster Teil (HTKNT II/1; Freiburg: Herder, 1984), 380; R. A. Guelich, Mark 1–8:26 (WBC 34A; Dallas: Word, 1989), 377. 19 Cf. A. M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom (CBQMS 2; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1972), 69; J. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God (SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 101; also my ‘Mark’s Concerns in the Parables Chapter (Mark 4,1–34)’, Bib 69 (1988) 1–25, on p. 12. Räisänen also seeks to correlate broader aspects of the rebuke of 7.18 with the rebuke in 4.13 by saying that both occur in contexts relating to the Gentile mission: 7.14–23 is connected with 7.24–30, and 4.13 is ‘in a context devoted to mission problems’ (p. 218). However, while Räisänen has argued very persuasively that many of the broad concerns in 4.1–34 are about mission, it is not easy to relay 4.13 is particular to such concerns directly. 4.13 itself is about the ability/ inability to understand the parables themselves. 20 This is then in quite striking contrast to e.g. 8.17 Ƞ੡ʌȦ ȞȠİ૙IJİ Ƞ੝į੻ ıȣȞȓİIJİ; Here the two verbs are used absolutely; and nothing in the story at that point seems to imply that they do understand even by the end of the incident in the boat. 21 Cf. J. Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels. Isaias 6,9–10 in der Theologie der Synoptiker (SANT 3; München: Kösel, 1961), 33; idem, Das Evangelium nach Markus (Mk 8,27– 16,20) (EKKNT II/1; Zürich & Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1978), 285. For similarities in this respect between Mark and other Greco-Roman literature, see

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As already noted, all this could in one way fit Räisänen’s theory well. The uncomprehending disciples of v. 17 are now enlightened by Jesus in v. 18 and hence no longer lack understanding. However, one wonders if this is pressing the details of v. 17 a little too far. Certainly within the pericope 7.1–23 as a whole, and even within this section of the pericope in 7.15–23, the note about the disciples occupies a very small role: the bulk of the space is devoted to the substance of Jesus’ teaching, the statement in v. 15 and its subsequent elaboration in vv. 18–23. Any rebuke of the disciples here seems to be a very subsidiary motif that receives virtually no emphasis at all in the structuring of the narrative. It may therefore be better to see the note about the disciples’ intervention as simply a (redactional!) device to enable the Markan Jesus to move on and to spell out the full implications of the saying in v. 15 (as perhaps also in 10.10–12, though there without any explicit rebuke). What then of the situation of the disciples in relation to the miracles? Räisänen places much emphasis on the role of Peter’s confession in the story as the point at which the disciples move from a situation of total incomprehension to one of full understanding about the identity of Jesus. Thus Räisänen says: After the first half of the gospel, there is no more uncertainty amongst the disciples in relation to their Master. In this respect Peter’s confession really does mark a turning point. Questions like 4.41 do not occur any more. Yet the disciples’ lack of understanding is not set aside. It is simply its nature which is different … The disciples do not understand Jesus’ talk about his suffering and his resurrection. (pp. 204–205)

Further, Räisänen makes a very strong case (against, for example, Weeden) for the view that Mark regards Peter’s confession in positive terms, or at least not in negative terms (p. 179). The structure of the pericope contrasts Peter’s confession with the views of the ‘others’; the latter are clearly inadequate from Mark’s point of view – hence Peter’s words are by implication more adequate. So too the words of Peter are silenced by Jesus (8.30) in a way similar to the cries of the demons being silenced (e.g. 3.11–12); in the latter case, the words of the demons themselves express things of which Mark approves – hence the same probably applies in the case of Peter’s confession.22 There is thus no justification for the theory that Peter has expressed a view about Jesus of which Mark disapproves (e.g. Jesus as

V. K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher. A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 65 (with particular reference to Xenophon’s Memorabilia). 22 Cf. too M. D. Hooker, The Message of Mark (London: Epworth, 1983), 54; D. R. Catchpole, ‘The “Triumphal” Entry’, in E. Bammel & C. F. D. Moule (eds.), Jesus and the Politics of His Day (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 319–334, on p. 326.

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the ‘Christ’ means Jesus as the wonder-working ‘divine man’, a Christology which Mark allegedly rejects).23 Nevertheless, it may still be the case that Mark implies an element of reserve about Peter’s confession. Mark does not think that Peter’s confession is completely wrong. But that does not necessarily mean that Mark thinks that Peter’s confession is completely right! Räisänen has argued strongly that Mark should not be seen as too sophisticated a writer, and that it is time for the pendulum to swing back.24 Yet as Räisänen himself has said (in relation to a slightly different context), ‘the pendulum will have to swing back to the older position, perhaps to stop half-way’.25 Mark may not be as sophisticated as John, but equally he may not be totally unsophisticated (hence the value of the suggestion that any pendulum should perhaps only swing back ‘half-way’!); and any single issue may not be answerable in very simple either-or, black-and-white terms. Thus the way is still open I believe for Peter’s confession being regarded by Mark as certainly not wrong, but perhaps not completely right either. Certainly it is the case that Mark implies an element of reserve about Peter himself, as is clear from 8.33. As Räisänen himself recognises too, the incomprehension of the disciples continues on after 8.29, even if (as Räisänen argues) it is of a different form: from uncertainty about Jesus’ identity to incomprehension about the necessity of the passion. Yet even in relation to the miracles, it is not so clear that very much changes with 8.29. It is true that questions after miracles such as the ‘Who is this?’ of 4.41 no longer reappear as such in the second half of the Gospel. On the other hand, for whatever reason, very few miracles appear at all after 8.29. But in so far as the question of 4.41 is put in slightly more explicit terms in relation to what Peter and others lack, it is in relation to their lack of ‘faith’ (cf. Jesus’ rebuke in 4.40: ‘do you not yet have faith?’). And in one of the two miracles which do occur in the second half of the Gospel, the story of the epileptic child in 9.14–29, it is striking that the disciples cannot heal the child and Jesus upbraids all concerned (including by implication the disciples) for being ‘faithless’ (cf. 9.19: ‘O faithless generation’, also 9.22 23

See e.g. Weeden, Mark – Traditions in Conflict, 51–69, esp. 64–65. More recently, cf. the similar view (at least in relation to the evaluation of Mark’s attitude to Peter’s confession) in W. R. Telford, The Theology of the Gospel of Mark (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 40 (‘Christ’ represents a Jewish-Christian Davidic messiahship which Mark rejects). 24 This is the main thrust of Räisänen, Messianic Secret, ch. 1. 25 The translation of the conclusion of Räisänen’s earlier Messiasgeheimnis, 167–168, in Tuckett (ed.), Messianic Secret (n. 6), 139. The contrast there was between the picture of Mark as a collector of traditions (as the older form critics postulated) and the picture of Mark as an original thinker with his own theology (as more recent redaction criticism has proposed).

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and the discussion between Jesus and the child’s father about ‘believing’/ showing faith). It is then not so clear, even in relation to the miracles, that the disciples are in a very different position after 8.29 to what they were before. They still show the lack of ‘faith’ which earlier prevented them from seeing who Jesus is. A similar, slightly more ambivalent attitude to Peter’s confession might be shown by the use of ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ here and elsewhere in Mark. Mark’s attitude to ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ is not at all clear. Räisänen argues against the view that there is any sharp contrast between ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of Man’ here; rather, ‘for Mark, it does not seem to be decisive which title he uses, although “Son of God” seems to be the most congenial’ (p. 180). In any case, Son of Man cannot be seen as correcting Son of God, e.g. in the transfiguration story, since ‘Son of God’ is the term used by God Himself. The last point is undoubtedly true and must tell powerfully against the (by now older) view that Mark is giving a ‘corrective Christology’, ‘correcting’ the allegedly defective term Son of God, with his own preferred term Son of Man.26 Nevertheless, it is still not clear how ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ fits into all this.27 A case certainly can be made for Mark regarding ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ in thoroughly positive terms.28 It is after all present in the opening ‘title’ verse of the Gospel (1.1: ‘The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ’) which clearly announces to the reader the terms which Mark wishes to present as the true categories in which Jesus is to be seen. So too the question of the high priest at the Sanhedrin trial (14.61: ‘Are you with the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?’) seems to place ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of God/the Blessed’ in parallel as virtually synonymous. Nevertheless, one wonders if the two can be equated completely. ‘Christ’ is still relatively rare in Mark’s Gospel and sometimes the noun loses its definite article completely, becoming virtually just another proper name for Jesus (as in 1.1; 9.41).29 Further, the key 26 In addition to Weeden, cf. e.g. N. Perrin, ‘The Christology of Mark. A Study in Methodology’, JR 51 (1971) 173–187, repr. in Telford (ed.), Interpretation (n. 6), 125– 140; N. R. Petersen, Literary Criticism for New Testament Critics (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978), 62–68; P. J. Achtemeier, Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 21986), 53–65. For a full discussion and critique of the idea of Mark as offering a ‘corrective Christology’, see J. D. Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 25–45. 27 In any case the fact that ‘Son of Man’ does not correct ‘Son of God’ need not say anything about the relationship between ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of Man’ in Mark (unless ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of God’ are regarded as synonymous: see below). 28 See e.g. J. R. Donahue, ‘Temple, Trial and Royal Christology. Mark 14:53–65’, in W. Kelber (ed.), The Passion in Mark. Studies in Mark 14–16 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 61–79; D. H. Juel, ‘The Origin of Mark’s Christology’, in J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah. Developments in Judaism and Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 449–460; also Kingsbury, Christology, passim. 29 Hence despite the presence of the word ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ in 1.1, one wonders how important that term really is for Mark there since it lacks the article and appears almost just as a

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climactic moments in the Gospel of the revelation of who Jesus is, apart from 8.30, are more in terms of Jesus as Son of God. Hence God Himself speaks at the baptism and the transfiguration to declare that Jesus is His Son (1.11; 9.7); and the centurion at the moment of Jesus’ death declares that he is a/the son/Son of God (15.39).30 Further, what Mark wishes apparently to claim about Jesus in his capacity as Son of God seems to go considerably further than the category of Jewish messiahship. It is for example arguable that the centurion’s confession of Jesus as Son of God shows Jesus as the revelation of God Himself.31 The confession comes immediately after the note about the torn veil; and if the ‘veil’ concerned is thought of as the veil within the Holy of Holies,32 preventing human beings from seeing God, then the tearing of the veil implies that God Himself has become visible. For Mark this however happens precisely in the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross: God becomes visible in the crucified one. This provides an extraordinarily powerful narrative of Christology and theology; and it is far removed from any ideas of Jewish messiahship. Thus Mark has no wish to deny that Jesus can be seen as a ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ figure. But it may be that this does not express the most profound truth about Jesus. For that, Mark uses the category Son of God. I remain therefore unpersuaded that Mark’s Christological terms are almost interchangeable (cf. above: ‘it does not seem to be decisive which title he [Mark] uses’). There may therefore be a case for reviving the view that Peter’s confession represents a partial insight into the true nature of Jesus’ identity. There has been a firm tradition of interpretation of Mark that relates proper name for Jesus. Cf. M. de Jonge, ‘The Earliest Christian Use of Christos. Some Suggestions’, NTS 32 (1986) 321–343, on p. 325: Mark ‘does not want to emphasize Jesus’ messiahship [in 1.1], but uses the double expression “Jesus Christ” as many Christians before and after him without any titular overtones. The emphasis is on “the Son of God”.’ Cf. too Telford, Theology, 39, for some distinction between ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of God’ for Mark; I am however not persuaded by Telford’s apparent view that Mark disapproves or rejects the Christ title for Jesus: 8.29 in its context would seem to tell decisively against that (see above). 30 I remain convinced, despite the long-standing debate, that Mark at least thinks that the centurion is confessing Jesus to be the Son of God (not just a son of a god). However, cf. the recent article of W. T. Shiner, ‘The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion and the Shrouding of Meaning in Mark’, JSNT 78 (2000) 3–22, who argues that the centurion’s words may be deliberately ambiguous: nevertheless, Shiner still argues that, for the audience of Mark, the meaning of the words is clear. 31 See H. L. Chronis, ‘The Torn Veil. Cultus and Christology in Mark 15:37–39’, JBL 101 (1982) 97–114. Cf. also R. H. Lightfoot, The Gospel Message of St. Mark (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1950), 56; M. D. Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark (London: A&C Black, 1991), 378. 32 I am fully aware that this is debatable!

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Peter’s confession to the immediately preceding story of the healing of the blind man at Bethsaida (8.22–26).33 Further, the fact that the man is healed in stages has sometimes been related to Peter’s personal odyssey, with the intermediate stage of half-seeing corresponding to the insight represented by Peter’s confession here.34 Räisänen questions such a view, saying that the disciples do not come to see who Jesus is gradually. ‘They see suddenly and unprepared, clearly and correctly’ (p. 204). That they see suddenly and unprepared is undoubtedly correct.35 That they see clearly and correctly may however be more questionable. As Räisänen himself goes on to say, ‘Looked at from another point of view, they see all the time only dimly (8:32–33!)’. Maybe then that is the point. They do see suddenly, but that sight remains only dim and as yet unclear. In any case, for Mark Jesus’ identity is not just to be equated with any titles or words which human beings use. Or rather, Jesus’ identity is not exhausted by such titles, as if the words alone are enough. Indeed there may be a real sense in which the reason why Mark writes his gospel story is precisely to put what he regards as the ‘true’ meaning into the words/ titles which may on their own be a little ambiguous.36 Thus Mark announces, at least to the reader, right at the start of the Gospel the terms of the story that is to follow. The story is about Jesus who is ‘Christ’ and ‘Son of God’ (1.1).37 The correctness of the latter term is confirmed by no less a figure than God Himself in the story of the baptism.38 Yet what these words really mean when ascribed to Jesus remains to be seen. And it is in a sense the rest of the story – and the whole of the rest of the story – that

33 Cf. e.g. Gnilka, Markus, 1.314–315; E. Best, Following Jesus. Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981), 134; D. Lührmann, Das Markusevangelium (HNT 3; Tübingen: Mohr, 1987), 140; Guelich, Mark 1–8:26, 430; Hooker, Mark, 200. Others cited in Räisänen, Messianic Secret, 203–204. 34 See Best, Following, 135; E. S. Johnson, ‘Mark VIII.22–26. The Blind Man from Bethsaida’, NTS 25 (1979) 370–383, esp. pp. 381–383; Guelich, Mark 1–8:26, 436; Hooker, Mark, 200. 35 Hence there is no question of any gradually dawning realisation on the part of the disciples, and hence too it is extremely unlikely that we see here anything historically factual about the original disciples themselves. 36 Similarly (though in slightly different vein) Kingsbury, Christology, 100–101: ‘Destiny and identity are inextricably bound together. One cannot comprehend who Jesus is without at the same time comprehending what it is that God accomplishes in him.’ Cf. too Achtemeier, Mark, 59. 37 Despite the variation in the manuscripts, I remain convinced that the words ȣੂȠ૨ șİȠ૨ should be read in 1.1 as a genuine part of the text of Mark. 38 See Kingsbury, Christology, 66. Hence any theory that Mark is in any way negative about the category ‘Son of God’ applied to Jesus (and e.g. wants to correct it by ‘Son of Man’) seems unconvincing.

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supply the relevant ‘filling out’ of the term: Jesus is seen most clearly as the Son of God in the moment of his death.39 In all this the scene at Caesarea Philippi plays a part. One aspect – but perhaps only one aspect – of Jesus’ identity is his ability to perform miracles. This Mark does not deny and certainly does not reject.40 It may then be that it is this aspect that is implicitly affirmed by Peter in his confession.41 But one cannot necessarily leave things there – and indeed Mark does not leave things there! This is after all only half the story Mark chooses to tell. Mark then immediately follows the confession with Jesus’ talk of his suffering (as Son of Man) and Peter’s evident unwillingness/ inability to accept any of this, thus revealing Peter’s lack of understanding of this aspect of Jesus’ role and/or identity. Mark’s arrangement may thus imply at least a modification of Peter’s confession. Peter may not be wrong in what he says and implies; but perhaps Peter is not fully right – yet! This then may be the reason for the silencing command in 8.30. Jesus’ identity cannot be fully grasped until the end of the story at the cross, and hence Peter is silenced. Räisänen rightly points to the fact that Mark’s Gospel, and this section in the Gospel, would still present a powerful statement of the importance of the cross and a theologia crucis without the silencing command of v. 30: the theologia crucis comes through in vv. 31 ff. and vv. 34 ff., almost irrespective of v. 30 (p. 180). This is true. Yet perhaps the silencing command can still reinforce what is present elsewhere in Mark’s text. (On their own, without any such reinforcing elements, the silencing commands would be almost unintelligible!) And as Räisänen himself says, the messianic secret is not the only thing which is present in Mark but is rather one motif among many others (p. 258).

39 See F. J. Matera, ‘The Prologue as the Interpretative Key to Mark’s Gospel’, JSNT 34 (1988) 3–20, repr. in Telford (ed.) Interpretation (n. 6), 289–306. 40 Hence contra Weeden: see Räisänen, Messianic Secret, 204; cf. too Telford, Theology, 50. 41 However, it must then also be conceded that this also goes far beyond what is normally predicated of a ‘messianic’ figure within Judaism. Though cf. de Jonge, ‘Earliest Christian Use’, who seeks to exploit the (admittedly limited) evidence that David was occasionally seen as a prophet and exorcist, and hence the Davidic Messiah would be so regarded as well. See his most recent exposition of this view (though relating it more to the historical Jesus than to Mark) in his God’s Final Envoy. Early Christology and Jesus’ Own View of His Mission (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 98–106, responding to the critique of W. A. Meeks, ‘Asking Back to Jesus’ Identity’, in M. C. de Boer (ed.), From Jesus to John. Essays on Jesus and New Testament Christology in Honour of Marinus de Jonge (JSNTSup 84; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 38–50, on pp. 46–47.

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3. Conclusion The motif of the incomprehension of the disciples may therefore not be quite as unitary as has been suggested. One of the great achievements of Räisänen’s book was to show clearly that the whole complex of secrecy texts assembled by Wrede and explained as part of a single ‘messianic secret’ (singular!) has to be split up into different elements with perhaps separate explanations for each. Thus the ‘parable theory’ (4.11–12), or the silencing commands after some of the miracles which are disobeyed (1.44; 7.36, as opposed to the silencing commands after the exorcisms or to the disciples, which are generally obeyed) are to be explained differently from the ‘real’ messianic secret. But then exactly the same may apply to the motif of the incomprehension of the disciples. Different aspects of the disciples’ incomprehension may function in different ways in the story. Räisänen is in my view convincing in his suggestion that an element of polemic – or at least a ‘speaking to’ rather than just a ‘speaking for’ – underlies at least part of this material in Mark. Where I would raise a query is over the question whether it underlies as much of the material in Mark about the disciples’ failure to understand as Räisänen suggests. In particular, the note about the disciples’ question in 7.17 and the (semi?) rebuke by Jesus in 7.18 may be functioning rather differently in the narrative, i.e. simply as a device to enable the teaching of Jesus to be clarified and developed. The other motifs of the disciples’ lack of understanding may indeed belong more closely together and may indeed be part of what Räisänen calls the ‘real’ messianic secret. They do concern Jesus’ identity and how and where that identity can or should be perceived. So too it is clear that part of the issue focuses on the significance of Jesus’ identity in relation to his miracles. Yet it may be that Mark is trying to say not so much that the miracles clearly testify to who Jesus is, but rather that the miracles in part testify to who Jesus is; however, there is more to Jesus than (just) being a miracle-worker. In part then this essay is an attempt to plead for a revival of theories such as Weeden’s, though in a much less extreme form. Weeden is almost certainly mistaken in regarding the disciples as complete villains in the story. Räisänen and others have shown that all too clearly. So too Mark is not opposed to the view that Jesus is to be seen as (primarily) a miracleworker. There is simply too much material in Mark supporting that kind of a Christology to make such a theory tenable. Again Räisänen and others are right to point to this as a fundamental weakness in Weeden’s reconstruction. Nevertheless, the possibility that Mark might still be wanting to imply an element of reserve about such a view of Jesus should not be ruled out of consideration too quickly. Weeden’s overall theory may have some

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elements of truth in it, elements of a ‘baby’ which should not be thrown out with the rest of the less convincing ‘bath water’ too quickly. Mark does portray the disciples coming to see who Jesus is, and Mark guides his readers through that odyssey. It is a journey that takes on board positively the miracle-working activity of Jesus; but, as the Gospel as a whole indicates, that part of the journey only takes one half way. The rest of the journey of discovery about who Jesus is, or rather about what it means to call Jesus by the various terms and ‘titles’, is filled in by the second half of the Gospel, climaxing in the account of Jesus’ life and death.42 Few would doubt that Mark does present a powerful ‘theology of the cross’ in his Gospel. Perhaps then the part played by the disciples and their lack of understanding in the narrative should indeed be seen as an integral part of that overall guiding theological theme in Mark’s presentation of the ‘Gospel’ which he presents to his readers. 55

42 Such a view is of course by no means very original in the history of scholarship: cf. for example U. Luz, ‘The Secrecy Motif and the Marcan Christology’, in Tuckett (ed.), Messianic Secret (n. 6), 75–96, esp. pp. 86–88 (German original ZNW 56 [1965] 9–30); H. D. Betz, ‘Jesus as Divine Man’, in F. T. Trotter (ed.), Jesus and the Historian. In Honor of Ernest Cadman Colwell (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1963), 114–133. Others in Kingsbury, Christology, 29–30; Räisänen, Messianic Secret, 63–64.

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XXVI Gospels and Communities Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community? The aim of this essay is to seek to say something about ‘Mark’s community’, the community from which the writer of the second Gospel came and (arguably) for which he wrote his Gospel. However, some recent publications have cast serious doubts on the whole enterprise of seeking to identify specific communities lying behind the NT gospels. And so, in the first part of this essay, I offer a few remarks on these more general issues, seeking to defend the appropriateness of trying to identify the community situation from which a writer such as Mark may have belonged, and which he may be seeking to address via his Gospel. In the second part of the essay, I will then raise the question of whether, if it is legitimate to think of a ‘Markan community’, that community was a suffering community. 57

1. Gospels and Communities: Gospels for All Christians? There has been a steadily growing trend over the last 50 years (or more) to assume as almost axiomatic that the gospels were written in and for specific communities. Further, it has become almost equally axiomatic to assume that a correct understanding of the community situation in which an evangelist was writing is crucial for an appropriate interpretation of the gospel which that evangelist has written. Within the (probably over-schematised) view of the development of gospel criticism, the source criticism of the 19th century gave way to the form criticism of the early 20th century which in turn led on to the redaction criticism which has been so dominant (in various forms) since the mid-20th century. In this last phase, attention has been focused on the evangelists and their own contribution to the way in which the story of Jesus was presented. However in more recent years, several have stressed the importance of seeing the evangelists not just as isolated individuals, working alone in monastic cells or whatever. Rather, they have been seen as members of living Christian communities. And, as often as not, it is the community situation which, it is argued, may have

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influenced the present form of the story/stories.1 Certainly too the trend to use more insights from the social sciences (a trend which has gathered pace since the 1970s) has led many to stress the importance of the social location of the evangelists in any assessment of their work.2 Thus the evangelists are to be seen as members of an individual community, working in that community and (to a certain extent) writing for that community. Many have therefore claimed that, in order to understand an individual gospel, it is necessary to have some awareness of the community situation from which it emerges and to which it is (or may be) addressed. Certainly many have claimed that this has proved fruitful, if not essential, for interpreting Matthew and John, as well as Mark and Luke.3 This basic underlying assumption has however been radically challenged in a recent, influential collection of essays edited by Richard Bauckham and entitled The Gospels for All Christians. Rethinking the Gospel Audiences.4 Bauckham’s own essay, entitled ‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’ (pp. 9–49), forms the first in the collection and it provides the foundation stone for the others that follow. The answer to the question of Bauckham’s essay title is effectively the title of the collection as a whole: rather than 1 This was, of course, the insight of the form of criticism (at least in relation to the smaller units of the tradition), though form criticism tended to work with a less specific idea of individual, separate communities. For the development of the ideas, and in part the scholarly language about ‘Sitz im Leben’, from older form criticism to more recent discussion of gospel communities, see S. Byrskog, ‘A Century with the Sitz im Leben. From Form-Critical Setting to Gospel Community and Beyond’, ZNW 98 (2007) 1–27. 2 Cf. e.g. John Riches’ comments in his Matthew (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 8, on how a book on Matthew today would differ from one written even a few years ago: one important difference would be the stress placed now on the community situation of the evangelist. 3 For Matthew, there has been a flood of recent studies on Matthew and his community situation: cf. e.g. J. A. Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism. The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); D. Balch (ed.), Social History of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), as well as other full-length monographs; for John the literature is by now enormous, but cf. the highly influential works of J. L. Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979); R. E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple (New York: Paulist, 1979); for Luke, cf. P. F. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-Acts. Social and Political Motivations of Lucan Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); for Mark, cf. H. C. Kee, Community of the New Age. Studies in Mark’s Gospel (London: SCM, 1977); also the whole discussion initiated by theories about the role of the disciples in the Markan story, e.g. by T. J. Weeden, Mark – Traditions in Conflict (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971); most recently the monographs of B. J. Incigneri, The Gospel to the Romans. The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel (Leiden: Brill, 2003); H. N. Roskam, The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context (Leiden: Brill, 2004). 4 R. J. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians. Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998).

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each gospel being addressed to each evangelist’s own community, the gospels were explicitly written for, and intended to be read by, ‘all Christians’. As a result Bauckham argues that all talk of a Markan community, or a Matthean community, should be abandoned. A recent monograph by Dwight Peterson has argued similarly that any search for a Markan community is futile and useless, as has Michael Bird in an article seeking to refine Bauckham’s own earlier arguments.5 In part, these recent publications are picking up smaller, less developed arguments made by others, notably Tolbert or Beavis on Mark, as well as remarks by others on the other NT gospels.6 Should one therefore abandon this paper at the outset and say that any attempt to identify features of Mark’s community are not worth the effort and/or are impossible to attain? Bauckham and others have certainly set out a strong challenge to what they perceive as some kind of ‘consensus’ viewpoint among gospel scholarship today. However, I remain convinced that, in a number of important respects, the recent challenges are not fully convincing; certainly a number of the arguments adduced in the debate have been examined and criticised by others (including myself) elsewhere, and there is no point in repeating such counter-arguments here.7 I remain 5 D. N. Peterson, The Origins of Mark. The Markan Community in Current Debate (Leiden: Brill, 2000); M. F. Bird, ‘The Markan Community, Myth or Maze? Bauckham’s Gospel for All Christians Revisited’, JTS 57 (2006) 474–486. 6 See e.g. M. A. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel. Mark’s Words in Literary-Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 303–306; M. A. Beavis, Mark’s Audience. The Literary and Social Setting of Mark 4.11–12 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), 171–173; C. Talbert, Reading John (New York: Crossroad, 1992); L. T. Johnson, ‘On Finding the Lukan Community. A Cautious Cautionary Essay’, in P. J. Achtemeier (ed.), SBL 1979 Seminar Papers. Vol. 1 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 87–100; D. C. Allison, ‘Was there a “Lukan Community”?’, IBS 10 (1988) 62–70; H. Moxnes, ‘The Social Context of Luke’s Community’, Int 48 (1994) 379–389; see too H. Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 102; M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ (London: SCM, 2000), 106–115. 7 For critiques (of Bauckham and others), see e.g. P. F. Esler, ‘Community and Gospel in Early Christianity. A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Gospels for All Christians’, SJT 51 (1998) 235–248 (with a brief rejoinder by Bauckham on pp. 249–253, largely restating his position); J. Marcus, Mark 1–8 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 25–28; D. C. Sim, ‘The Gospels for All Christians? A Response to Richard Bauckham’, JSNT 84 (2001) 3–27; M. M. Mitchell, ‘Patristic Counter-Evidence to the Claim that “The Gospels Were Written for All Christians”’, NTS 51 (2005) 36–79; Incigneri, Gospel, 30–34. An earlier draft of the present essay formed the basis of a discussion of the work of Roskam at the meeting of NOSTRUM in Utrecht, 2002 (at the stage when her work was a doctoral thesis in the making), and contained a more extensive and detailed critique of the theories of Bauckham and others in relation to the possible existence of ‘gospel communities’. In the published version of her thesis, Roskam kindly summarised most of the points from that draft of my paper (see Roskam, Purpose, 17–22) and hence the points made there will

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convinced that it is still worthwhile and valuable to ask about an evangelist’s own community situation, and to posit this as at least the primary context against which the Gospel should be interpreted. Whether one should think of a local community as the only intended readers of the Gospel is perhaps a slightly different question. In some respects, a focus on ‘readership’ alone may be a little narrow. Bauckham focuses his arguments for the most part on just this question, meaning for the most part intended readers (though sometimes sliding somewhat confusingly between intended or ‘implied’ readers and ‘actual’ readers).8 I therefore offer here just a few remarks on the broader ‘hermeneutical’ questions and implications arising from this debate about ‘gospel communities’ (and I focus on the arguments of Bauckham, if only because his essay has been so influential and important in generating the current debate). Bauckham concludes his essay with some ‘hermeneutical observations’, spelling out what he sees as the implications of the arguments and claims made earlier in his essay. He states that ‘if the gospels do not address those communities [i.e. those of the evangelists] in particular, these communities have no hermeneutical relevance’.9 Quite what Bauckham means by ‘hermeneutical’ here is not clear. I would however suggest that he seems to be going considerably further than his evidence allows. He himself concedes that the evangelists probably did come from communities (though perhaps from more than one), and that they did have their own particular theological slant to bring to the material.10 But then they may well have been influenced in this by their experience within a community (or communities). Recent sociological and anthropological studies have reminded us of the crucial importance of social location, and of community, in shaping and influencing any person’s existence and identity.11 Even if Bauckham were right, and the evangelists did intend to address a broader readership, their own community situation may well be highly relevant and significant in shaping and influencing their own theological perspectives. If so, then the not be repeated here. The article of Bird (n. 5 above), which appeared subsequently to the writing of that earlier draft, has not led me to want to change any of the points made then. 8 Cf. the summary comments in Roskam, Purpose, 18–19. Who Mark intended (and/or hoped) his Gospel to be read by, and who in fact read it, may not necessarily be identical. 9 Bauckham, ‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’, 44, and repeated on 45. 10 Cf. Bauckham, ‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’, 46. Cf., too Bird, ‘Markan Community’, 482: ‘There is no need to deny that community needs have shaped and interpreted the story in both its transmission and its final form. The point is that community needs have not wholly determined its content or comprised its referent’ (stress added). But few, if any, would argue that the community situation has ‘wholly’ determined the content of a gospel, or indeed ‘comprised its referent’. (The situation may be slightly different in relation to John, compared with the synoptics.) 11 Stressed by Esler, ‘Community and Gospel in Early Christianity’, 238, in his critique of Bauckham’s work, especially in relation to first century societies.

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(community) situation of the evangelists may well have a very high degree of ‘hermeneutical relevance’.12 And hence an exclusive focus on the readership issue alone may not provide the most helpful or the most fruitful question to pose.13 For most modern readers of the gospels, the more important hermeneutical issues are more to do with how the texts are to be read responsibly in a way that is sensitive to their historical origins as texts. But then in that context, there may not be a huge difference between an evangelist deeply influenced by his own community situation as affecting the way he writes his Gospel, and an evangelist actually addressing that community through his Gospel. Bauckham also argues that the gospels were probably written as ‘open texts’ not ‘closed texts’, leaving much more scope to their readers to give meaning to the words. ‘For various late-first-century churches hearing Matthew’s Gospel in differing situations Jesus’ command to love one’s enemies would have meant rather different things. I do not think Matthew would have minded at all.’14 Such a general claim is however rather dubious, at least in relation to some traditions. For example, the history of interpretation shows that Jesus’ saying about purity in Mark 7.15 can be taken to mean ‘rather different things’. It is quite clear too that Matthew is more than a little unhappy about some of these things and struggles hard to exclude them (e.g. any idea that Jesus is radically calling into question the food laws of Leviticus: for Matthew the whole debate of Mark 7.1–23 is about hand washing: cf. Matt 15.20!). Similarly, the history of interpretation shows that a story such as Mark 2.23–28 can lead to a range of different interpretations with regard to the issue of Jesus and Sabbath law. Again Matthew shows that he would not be happy with some of these: he omits the (potentially very radical) saying in Mark 2.27, and bolsters Jesus’ defence of the disciples’ action of plucking corn on the Sabbath by adding even further arguments from the Law to justify such a breach of Sabbath law (Matt 12.5–7).

12 Bauckham’s claim in this respect (‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’, 45) seems questionable. He writes: ‘[An evangelist’s] implied readership is not a specific audience, large or small, but an indefinite readership in any or every church of the late first century to which his Gospel might circulate. This, not what one may or may not be able to guess about the evangelist’s community, is the hermeneutically relevant fact.’ But since the interpretation of any text is dependent on knowing who is writing, and what goes to make up his/her identity, i.e. their situation (perhaps in a community), quite as much as on knowing who they are addressing, it is not at all clear that ‘the hermeneutically relevant fact’ (singular!) is solely the correct identification of the audience. 13 See above. 14 Bauckham, ‘For Whom Were the Gospels Written?’, 48. For the difference between ‘open’ and ‘closed’ texts he refers to the work of U. Eco.

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There is a similar situation with the potentially (hermeneutically) ‘open’ saying of the double love command: each evangelist clearly indicates the way in which he wants the tradition to be read: Matthew evidently sees it as implying that all of the commands of the Law can be derived from it (cf. Matt 22.40: all the rest of ‘the Law and the prophets’ ‘hang’ on these two commands); Mark takes it as implying that that these two commands are over and above the rest of the Law and e.g. the cultic laws are abrogated (cf. Mark 12.33); Luke, on the other hand, evidently sees it as demanding a very practical ethic of help for those in need: for him the following parable of the Good Samaritan is evidently closely related, and for Luke the message of the parable is clear and unambiguous: ‘go and do likewise’ (Luke 10.37).15 The tradition may supply a series of ‘open texts’. It is the evangelists who at times clearly try to foreclose that ‘openness’. I am very conscious of the fact that comments made so far in this essay are by way of being rather negative in the sense of being negative critiques of others’ arguments. Is there anything that might be said more positively in favour of the (by now ‘traditional’) view that gospels may emerge from very specific social and theological settings and perhaps be intended to address those settings directly? One piece of such evidence might be the very differences between the gospels which redaction criticism has done so much to highlight. The fact remains that our four NT gospels give us four very different presentations of the life and ministry of Jesus, with different emphases, different aspects, and almost four different Jesuses.16 Nor is this just a matter of differences between John and the synoptics (where the differences are at their most acute). In relation, say, to the Jewish Law, the Jesus of Matthew and the Jesus of Mark are almost poles apart. Clearly then the evangelists have imposed their own ideas on the material they are re-presenting; and given all that we now appreciate about the integral relationship between individuals and their communities, and the importance of social location for influencing and shaping personal identity, it should be clear that an evangelist’s own community is probably of vital importance for understanding the Gospel which he has written. Further, it may be worth noting in passing that, if we ignore the social setting of the evangelists’ community situation, we may land up with interpretations of the gospels that could be not only positively misleading but also hugely damaging. For example, the polemic against other Jewish 15 The meaning of the parable in the earlier tradition may well be rather less clear: cf. the many interpretations of the parable itself (which tend to exclude Luke’s v. 37). The issue is covered in virtually every treatment of the parables and in all commentaries on Luke at this point. 16 The situation is magnified even more if one takes into account other, non-canonical Christian ‘gospels’.

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groups, which is so prominent in the Gospels of Matthew and John, has been very helpfully explained in recent studies by reference to the situation of the Christian communities suffering persecution from their Jewish contemporaries in what were probably real, but distinctive, social situations. If such social locations have ‘no hermeneutical relevance’ for interpreting the gospels, we may find ourselves before too long in a situation where the polemical language is divorced from its original social context, repeated in a quite different social context and taken as absolute statements interpreted at face value. For all of us who live (as we have to) in a post-Holocaust situation, the dangers of such an approach are hopefully all too evident, as well as deeply disturbing. I turn then to Mark’s community situation, having hopefully provided at least some defence for the view that it is both legitimate, and desirable, to ask about the situation of the community from which Mark comes and which he may be addressing. 58

2. Mark’s Community: A Suffering Community? The whole question of the situation of Mark and/or his community has been much discussed in contemporary scholarship, and no attempt will be made here to review the secondary literature in any way comprehensively. 17 The question of that situation contains a number of aspects. For example, the possible geographical location has always been an issue (whether Mark is to be located in Rome, in another big urban centre in the Empire, in Palestine, in close proximity geographically to the events of the Jewish War of 66–70 etc.).18 I leave all these issues on one side here. Rather, the question I wish to consider here is the more general one of whether Mark emerges from a community that is suffering persecution. It is often regarded as almost self-evident that Mark’s community is suffering persecution. The references to persecution scattered throughout the Gospel (4.17; 8.34–35; 10.29–30; 13.9–13), the emphasis on Jesus as the one who must suffer (cf. the passion predictions etc.), the claim that following Jesus necessarily involves suffering (8.34 ff.), indeed the structure of the Gospel as in some sense ‘a passion narrative with an extended

17 For a good survey (up to 1992), see J. R. Donahue, ‘The Quest for the Community of Mark’s Gospel’, in F. Van Segbroeck et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992 (FS F. Neirynck; BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 2.817–838, as well as the surveys of previous scholarship in Incigneri, Gospel, and Roskam, Purpose. 18 For strong arguments for a setting in Galilee, see Roskam, Purpose, 94–113.

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introduction’,19 all serve for many to make the issue all but incontrovertible: Mark’s community must have been suffering persecution. This is certainly the view of a wide range of Markan scholars, and this view has been recently defended again – very fully and ably – in the recent monograph of Nicole Roskam.20 Nevertheless, despite a strong consensus among many scholars, there are I believe still some questions to ask. That Mark has an interest in suffering and persecution is I believe undeniable. This is shown by the balance of the material in the Gospel, and by the fact that so much in the Gospel is focused on the suffering theme (whether of Jesus or of the disciples). Yet there is still the question: does this material in Mark reflect the fact that Mark’s community is actually suffering: does Mark’s Gospel simply reflect and mirror the community’s experience? Or could it be that the Gospel is intended to address the community, to speak to it and at it, quite as much as for it? Form criticism tended to assume a simple 1–1 positive correlation between a text and the community’s experience: if a text said ‘do this’ (or had Jesus doing ‘this’), then the community was evidently ‘doing this’ too. But texts can function just as much to address readers and make them change their minds, reevaluate their positions and alter their lifestyles.21 Thus, as well as identifying strong redactional interests in a text, we need to ask how those interests are being relayed in and through the text, how they seem to be functioning rhetorically, to see how they might then relate to readers and a possible social setting in any community. For many who take the trouble to treat the issue at all, the discussion of whether Mark’s community was suffering has often focussed on key texts such as the explicit references to persecution in 4.17; 8.34–35; 10.29–30; 13.9–13. Many indeed have argued that these texts may well owe quite a lot to Markan redaction.22 I am not intending to argue the individual cases 19 The phrase is that of M. Kähler, originally applied to all the gospels; it is widely accepted that, whatever one may think of the other gospels, it certainly applies to Mark. 20 Roskam, Purpose, 27–74. See also e.g. B. van Iersel, ‘The Gospel according to St Mark – Written for a Persecuted Community?’, NTT 34 (1980) 15–36; J. R. Donahue, ‘Windows and Mirrors. The Setting of Mark’s Gospel’, CBQ 57 (1995) 1–26; Marcus, Mark 1–8, 28–29. Such a view is presumed in countless commentaries as well. For one voice dissenting from this otherwise broad consensus, see e.g. D. H. Juel, A Master of Surprise – Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), esp. pp. 144–146: my comments parallel, rather than repeat, his arguments (though see also below). 21 Cf. my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 82, with reference to A. J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 13; cf. too B. Holmberg, Sociology and the New Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 123–125. For further discussion of issues raised by form criticism, see my ‘Form Criticism’, in W. H. Kelber & S. Byrskog (eds.), Jesus in Memory. Traditions in Oral and Scribal Perspectives (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2009), 21–38. 22 Most recently Roskam, Purpose.

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for that in relation to each text here (though it is by no means implausible). In any case, one can say that, wherever the texts have come from, the fact that Mark has included them in his Gospel indicates that he agrees with them enough to include them at all and hence they can appropriately be used to throw light on his interests and concerns. But do these texts suggest that Mark is thereby seeking to provide comfort and exhortation to suffering Christians? I consider each in turn briefly. 2.1 Mark 4.16–17 16

And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: when they hear the word, they immediately receive it with joy. 17 But they have no root, and endure only for a while; then, when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away.

4.17 is part of the interpretation of the parable of the sower. And indeed it may well be the case that the reference to persecution here, and also the expansion of the corresponding part of the parable itself in v. 6, are due to Mark’s redaction.23 But how does the text function in the Gospel? The parable of the sower is part of the notoriously complex section of 4.1–34, over which so much ink has been spilt. It is though a relatively long section with three separate parables and a number of extra sayings (e.g. in vv. 21–25). Many have argued that the rest of the section (e.g. vv. 21–25 and the two parables in vv. 26–29+30–32) are all basically positive and encouraging, providing assurance that, despite the problems of the present, all will be well in a future time: the tiny mustard seed will become a great shrub, the seed growing secretly will produce a harvest, what is hidden now will be revealed in the future, etc. Indeed I myself would support such an interpretation for these sections of the chapter.24 For some then, this provides the hermeneutical key to the otherwise ambiguous parable of the sower: hence the message of the parable is that, despite problems along the way, the end result is assured.25 So, in relation to v. 17, the message of the parable is that, despite present persecution, a positive outcome is assured. All this is possible, but (as I have argued elsewhere) it is by no means certain.26 One must ask whether the whole of vv. 1–34 in Mark 4 has one 23

The description in v. 6 of the fate of the seed seems to overload the story line and may well be a Markan expansion of an earlier original. See Roskam, Purpose, 31–32, with reference to my own earlier ‘Mark’s Concerns in the Parables Chapter (Mark 4,1– 34)’, Bib 69 (1988) 1–26, on pp. 22–23, and J. D. Crossan, ‘The Seed Parables of Jesus’, JBL 92 (1973) 244–266, on pp. 246–247. The elements are often taken by others as ‘secondary’ (to an ‘original’ version of the parable), without always attributing the addition to Mark himself. 24 Cf. my ‘Mark’s Concerns’, 24–25. 25 Cf. e.g. J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, 1963), 146–153, who includes all three parables under the rubric of ‘The Great Assurance’. 26 ‘Mark’s Concerns’, 24.

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and only one point to make.27 If so, one wonders why Mark spent so long making it! Further, the very full details of the possible states of the unsuccessful seeds/soils in the parable of the sower suggests that the emphasis lies as much here as on the glorious outcome for the seed falling on good soil. Hence it is just as likely (and perhaps, given the rhetorical structure of the section as a whole, more convincing as an interpretation) that the parable of the sower for Mark is not functioning as all of a piece with the rest of the section. Rather, the emphasis may be as much on the element of warning of the dangers that may arise in the Christian life and to which the community needs to be alerted. The possibility that the parable may not be functioning to give encouragement to suffering Christians may also be indicated by the story line of the parable (and the interpretation) itself. The story is at one level clearly one of final success despite difficulties on the way. But the difficulties on the way (the shallow ground and hot sun, corresponding to persecution) are not as such overcome. They are merely superseded by other seeds/ ground which in the end replace the failed seed. If the message were to be one of encouraging suffering Christians, one might expect a story line where (some) seed is ‘scorched’ by the sun but still nevertheless survives to produce a healthy crop. One might expect generally a story of seeds which struggle in adverse circumstances and win through despite the hostile environment. Yet in Mark 4, it is the scorched seed/plant which fails: it ‘withers away’. Indeed all the cases of hostile or dangerous environments lead to the seed’s failure. The seed that in the end produces the great harvest is the seed that falls on ‘good soil’, i.e. (arguably) seed that does not experience a hostile environment. Such a story line scarcely encourages those in possible hostile situations to persevere! The parable and its interpretation for Mark may thus be functioning as a warning to Christians, an address to others, an appeal to the hearers to change their ways and their outlook, rather than being a message of encouragement that all will in the end turn out for the best. The note about persecution may thus function to alert Christians to the dangers they may yet face, and warning them of the consequences, rather than being a note of encouragement to those already facing such a situation.

27 Cf. e.g. the detailed analysis of H. Räisänen, The Messianic Secret in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T& T Clark, 1991), ch. 4, who argues that some of the complexity of the chapter, especially some of the well-known tensions within the sections in vv. 10–13, 33– 34, may arise from the fact that Mark is trying to do more than one thing, and make more than one point, in the section all at the same time.

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2.2 Mark 8.34–35 34

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35 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.’

The teaching in 8.34–35 may be similar. Again it may well be that much of this material owes a great deal to Mark’s redaction.28 Certainly the stress on suffering is Markan through and through. But does this simply reflect a situation where Mark’s community is already suffering? If so, what is so striking about the teaching given here is its baldness and its starkness. Surely no Christian already suffering persecution needs to be told that discipleship involves suffering: s/he would know that all too well! What might be more helpful in such a situation would be some explanation for such suffering, e.g. that it is part of a necessary testing/purifying process (cf. 1 Peter), or that this is part of a standard pattern affecting all God’s messengers/prophets (cf. Q 6.23). But of that there is nothing in Mark 8. All that is given is the bleak, unadorned call to take up one’s cross as a non-negotiable part of Christian discipleship. All this might make better sense as an address to Christians who are not yet suffering but who need (in Mark’s eyes at least) to be alerted to this as (potentially) an integral aspect of Christian discipleship. This interpretation might be strengthened by reference to the verse at the end of this section, viz. 8.38. Roskam points out rightly that 8.34 and 8.38 both have Q parallels, and indeed argues cogently that the bringing together of the two sayings into a single context is due to Markan redaction.29 But it may then be significant that Mark 8.38 has only the negative, warning form of the saying: there is here only the threat against those who deny/are ‘ashamed of’ Jesus (cf. Q 12.9). Mark does not have a parallel to the positive promise in Q 12.8 to those who ‘confess’ Jesus. If this section is intended to provide comfort to those who are suffering, it is precisely the positive, encouraging form of the (double) saying (as in Q 12.8) that one might expect.30 And yet Mark has only the negative counterpart and this gives a much more threatening tone to the whole. Thus, rather than 28

So e.g. Roskam, Purpose, 36–46, though allowing for some traditional elements in the material. 29 Roskam, Purpose, 37–38. 30 I am not presupposing Mark’s knowledge of, or use of, Q. If such a theory were established, it would make the above argument even stronger. However, I remain convinced that such a theory faces insuperable problems. Nevertheless, the existence of the parallel material in Q can help to highlight for us particular features of the Markan version of the tradition here, without necessarily implying any literary relationship between the two strands of the tradition.

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providing comfort to those who are suffering, this section may be functioning more as a warning and a threat for those who might not be currently suffering (or who perhaps might be tempted to take an easy route out of a situation of persecution, if such were on offer). Again it seems easiest to interpret this in a context where hearers/readers are not suffering but need to be alerted to that possibility and warned about the seriousness of the situation. 2.3 Mark 10.29–30 29

Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, 3 0who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age – houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions – and in the age to come eternal life.

Mark 10.29–30 is not easy to interpret rhetorically. Any clear division of this material into tradition and redaction is difficult. What is striking is however that the reference to persecution comes in the second half of the saying (i.e. in v. 30) in the promises of the ‘rewards’ given to those who have given up everything (v. 29). The saying is structured in a two-fold way: those who have suffered loss etc. (v. 29) will regain many times over all they have surrendered (v. 30).31 However, the quiet reference to ‘persecutions’ is slipped in to v. 30a, not v. 29. It almost reads like a tonguein-cheek ‘joke’ (except that the subject matter is no laughing matter). The ‘reward’ of the Christian disciples will not be quite such a pleasant experience after all: any ‘reward’ carries a potential sting in the tail. Again: would a community which is already suffering need to be told this? The situation of the addressee is presumably that of the Markan Peter who asks the question in v. 28: they are those who have given up everything to follow Jesus. And Jesus’ reply repeats the description of that situation in what is said in v. 29. Verse 30 is then what is promised as something which will be new to the followers of Jesus. Thus the structure of the saying suggests that the persecution is something that is not yet experienced by those addressed: it is something that is promised – and threatened! – to the follower who thinks that s/he has already given up everything. 2.4 Mark 13.9–13 9 As for yourselves, beware; for they will hand you over to councils; and you will be beaten in synagogues; and you will stand before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them. 10 And the good news must first be proclaimed to all nations. 11 When they bring you to trial and hand you over, do not worry beforehand about what you are to

31 The difference between gain in this life and gain in the life to come, i.e. the division between v. 30a and v. 30b, is scarcely an integral part of the basic structure of the unit in vv. 29–30 as a whole.

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say; but say whatever is given you at that time, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit. 12 Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; 13 and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.

Finally what of 13.9–13? The problems of the apocalyptic chapter in Mark 13 are intricate and almost endless. Mark’s overall message in the chapter is much disputed and there is no space here to go into details. There are too Q parallels to some of the sayings here and, as Roskam argues, much of the section in vv. 9–13 may owe a lot to Mark’s redaction. It is however striking that the verse in this section which stresses the ‘comfort’ side of any persecution situation, viz. the promise that the Holy Spirit will assist those ‘handed over’ to speak (v. 11), has a close Q parallel (cf. Luke 12.12) and hence may be part of Mark’s tradition.32 Mark’s concern overall in this chapter is much debated.33 However, according to one line of interpretation, Mark is trying to dampen down any eschatological enthusiasm and any tendency to interpret extra-ordinary events as an indication that the End is imminent or already here. The ‘sign’ that will signal that ‘all things are about to be accomplished’ (v. 4) is not the wars etc. of vv. 7–8, not the false messiahs of vv. 5–6, 21–23, nor the persecution of vv. 9–13. ‘The end is not yet’ (v. 7). The signs when they come will be unmistakable (cf. vv. 24 ff.).34 The chapter as a whole may not then be primarily providing comfort for a community facing persecution. Rather, it may be seeking to correct over-enthusiastic interpretation of [some?] persecution and/or other events (e.g. the fall of Jerusalem) by insisting that the time scale involved may be much longer drawn out than some are prepared to envisage. What may be the most significant elements in the small section in vv. 9–13 from a redactional point of view may be the reference in v. 10 to the fact that the gospel must first be preached to all the nations, and the note about the importance of ‘patience’ in v. 13. Certainly these are most likely to be Mark’s own contribution to the earlier traditions he is 32 Again, without making any assumptions about the precise literary relationship between Mark and Q. If Mark is dependent on Q, then the Q parallel constitutes the tradition for Mark. If (as I think more likely) Mark and Q are independent (and Q is not dependent on Mark!), then the existence of the Q parallel indicates at the very least the existence of a common tradition here and hence that Mark has not created the saying de novo. 33 Cf. e.g. the competing interpretations of M. D. Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark (London: A&C Black, 1991), 297–303 (Mark is trying to dampen down too much eschatological enthusiasm, perhaps in the light of recent events), and P. J. Achtemeier, Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 114–124 (Mark wants to arouse [possibly fading] eschatological expectation of the imminent End). 34 Cf. e.g. Hooker, Mark. I am fully aware that other parts of Mark 13, especially the final parable (vv. 33–37) and the concluding exhortation (v. 37), can suggest a very different interpretation of the chapter as a whole.

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using here.35 But if so, the stress is more on the extended nature of any time scale and hence an insistence that any persecution is on-going and no isolated ‘flash in the pan’ which will not last for long. Many of the events described in much of the early part of the chapter are past or present for the author, even though they are presented as future from the point of view of the ostensible speaker, Jesus. It is often regarded as crucial for interpreting an ‘apocalyptic’ text such as Mark 13 to decide where the description changes from what is past/present for the author (here Mark) to future. But equally significant for our present purposes may be to try to decide what is past for Mark and what is present! That some persecution has taken place in the experience of Mark’s readers seems undeniable but whether it has been experienced directly is not so clear. Also, whether any of this is on-going in Mark’s present is not clear. It seems just as plausible to interpret the section as implying that the ongoing nature of the persecution is something the hearers must prepare for, a fact which implies perhaps that some in the community are not prepared for such a message, and this in turn suggests that persecution as such is not necessarily the current experience of the community. In addition to these points about texts which relate directly to persecution, Juel has referred to other features in the Markan story which suggest that the pressing concerns (for Mark) about the situation of his readers are not necessarily those of persecution. Thus the disciples in Mark debate, and are instructed by the Markan Jesus (at some length!), about power, authority and the right use of power (cf. 9.33–37; 10.35–45). The problems which the Markan Jesus warns about in Mark 13 include not only persecution, but also family disintegration (13.12), false claimants to leadership and/or false prophets (13.6, 21–22).36 To this one could also add that the dangers faced by the seed in Mark 4 have as much to do with riches and money as they have to do with persecution. Rather then than suggesting a picture of Mark’s readers/community as an isolated, persecuted and socially marginalised group within a hostile wider society, Mark’s Gospel seems rather to presuppose a situation of, if not affluence, at least perhaps comfortably settled existence with the exercise of authority roles quite as much an issue of concern.

35

Cf. e.g. Roskam, Purpose, 71. Roskam also provides (pp. 55–72) a very full discussion of the rest of this small section in Mark and the relationship of the material here to similar passages elsewhere (e.g. in Q). 36 Juel, Master of Surprise, 145.

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3. Conclusion I have sought to argue that the references to persecution in Mark make rather better sense if directed to a situation where the readers/hearers are not currently experiencing persecution or suffering. Rather, these sections may be speaking at the audience rather than for them, seeking to alert them to what may/will come and stressing the seriousness of the implications. Such a view of Mark makes the Gospel more of a polemical document than is often assumed. That Mark is something of a ‘polemical’ text is of course not a complete novelty within Markan scholarship. This general view was strongly advocated by a number of scholars associated with Norman Perrin in Chicago in the 1960s/70s, notably by Weeden, Kelber and others. Such a theory was however particularly developed in relation to the role of the disciples in Mark: Mark was seen as a polemical text, directed against wrong views in the community; these views which Mark wished to correct were held by ‘opponents’ of Mark within the Markan community, and these opponents in Mark’s day were represented by the disciples in Mark’s story. Weeden even went so far as to call these opponents ‘heretics’.37 Enough has surely been written since the early 1970s about the disciples in Mark to show that such a theory is scarcely defensible in the extreme form as put forward by, say, Weeden.38 The disciples are not vilified completely in Mark, and any talk of ‘heresy’ at this stage in Christian history is probably dangerously anachronistic. Nevertheless, there may be a danger of ‘throwing the baby out with the bath water’.39 The fact that the disciples (almost certainly) do not represent a group of opponents or heretics does not necessarily mean that Mark does not want to address his readers, to speak to them as much as for them, and to alert them to aspects of Christian discipleship about which he thinks they may need some teaching, possibly even ‘correction’ (though that may be too strong). Indeed it may be here that the written-ness of Mark’s text is relevant. Writing in the ancient world was expensive and time-consuming. It is thus perhaps inherently more plausible to think of Mark as going to the trouble and expense of writing and producing a gospel if he had something new he wanted to say to his readers and to seek to get them to change 37

Weeden, Mark – Traditions in Conflict. Cf. the well known critiques of those such as R. C. Tannehill, ‘The Disciples in Mark. The Function of a Narrative Role’, JR 57 (1977) 386–405; E. Best, ‘The Role of the Disciples in Mark’, NTS 23 (1977) 377–401, as well as many others. 39 See my ‘The Disciples and the Messianic Secret in Mark’, in I. Dunderberg et al. (eds.), Fair Play. Diversity and Conflicts in Early Christianity. Essays in Honour of Heikki Räisänen (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 131–149 (pp. 524–540 in this volume). 38

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their minds, at least a little. If all Mark were doing were accepting the status quo and reflecting his community’s situation, without any sense of seeking to speak to it, the harder it becomes to see why he took the trouble to write in the first place.40 It is also at least arguable that the proposal put forward in this paper may not in the end make that much difference, compared with the situation of Mark’s readers which is normally proposed: either Mark’s readers were already suffering, or Mark thought that suffering was on the horizon: either way, suffering (present, or in the imminent future and threatening) is the real-life historical context in which the Gospel is written.41 In one sense, that is correct: suffering and/or persecution are precisely the drivers that feed into the Gospel. Nevertheless, it may make something of a difference as to how the Gospel is actually read: is its message one of comfort and consolation? Or does it provide rather more of a challenge and a warning? The model for Mark’s situation as proposed here does not require the extreme form of the reconstruction offered by Weeden, nor is it tied to what are probably unsustainable theories about the role of the disciples in Mark’s story. It may however make rather more sense of the present form of the Gospel text as we now have it (as well as possibly making it more readily applicable to many modern readers).42 59

40 I am aware that this argument could be reversed, or at least nullified: a desire to speak ‘to’ a community that is suffering by offering explanation, encouragement and hope might be sufficient explanation in general terms for going to the trouble to produce a written text. The argument may then come back to the issue of whether what Mark has actually written in his text makes sense as providing explanation, encouragement or hope. And I have tried to argue earlier that it does not. 41 This was suggested by Roskam in the discussion mentioned earlier (see n. 7 above). 42 Juel, Master of Surprise, 146, also suggests that the situation proposed (by him, and supported by this essay) may make the Gospel more applicable, as well as more challenging, to many contemporary readers (though I am fully aware that there is a danger of allowing the contemporary scene to influence one’s historical reconstruction!): he refers to ‘most Christians’ who may be ‘weary of waiting, tempted to believe that the master of the house will never return, increasingly comfortable in a world capable of hiding from the truth, unaware of how easily the authority of the gospel is exchanged for ordinary power’.

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XXVII The Lukan Son of Man Scholarly interest in the Lukan writings remains as intense as ever. So too discussions of the ‘Son of Man’ (= SM) continue to appear at an ever increasing rate. What is perhaps at first sight surprising is that the two spheres of interest have not often coalesced. In terms of ‘the SM problem’, the ‘problem’ has frequently been thought to lie at the level of determining what the phrase ‘SM’ might have meant in the earliest levels of the tradition, supremely on the lips of Jesus himself. What the term might have meant for each of the evangelists has often been regarded as something of a means to an end, in order to reach the true goal of interpreting the phrase at the level of the historical Jesus. On other occasions interest is shown in the use of the term SM by the earliest sources Mark and Q, perhaps more especially Q since, for Q, ‘SM’ appears to have been one of the few Christological ‘titles’ explicitly used. However, the meaning of the phrase ‘SM’ for the later synoptic evangelists, Matthew and Luke, is less often discussed. And of these two, Luke has probably suffered more neglect than Matthew. Thus, for example, F. Bovon in an essay surveying 25 years’ scholarship devoted to Luke’s Christology over the quarter-century 1950– 1975, gave only half a page out of 81 pages explicitly to discussions of the term SM in Luke;1 similarly, in M. de Jonge’s recent survey of the Christologies of the NT writers, only half a page out of 15 in the chapter on ‘The Christology of Luke-Acts’ is devoted to Luke’s use of ‘SM’.2 And in an article discussing the Q text Q 12.8,3 and the question of whether Luke’s use of ‘SM’ here might be due to Lukan redaction (= LukeR), P. Hoffmann argued his case almost exclusively in dialogue with Conzelmann’s work on Luke, first published in 1954, and Tödt’s work on the SM, published in 1959.4 G. Schneider published an article on the topic of Luke’s 1

F. Bovon, Luc le théologien. Vingt-cinq ans de recherches (1950–1975) (Neuchâtel & Paris: Delachaux et Niestlé, 1978), 119–210, on p. 195. 2 M. de Jonge, Christology in Context. The Earliest Christian Response to Jesus (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1988), 97–111. ‘SM’ is treated briefly on p. 107. 3 Following the convention of using the Lukan chapter and verse numbers to refer to Q passages. 4 P. Hoffmann, ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn. Mt 10,32 f und die synoptische Menschensohnüberlieferung’, in L. Oberlinner & P. Fiedler (eds.), Salz der Erde – Licht der Welt. Exegetische Studien zum Matthäusevangelium (FS A. Vögtle; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibel-

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use of the phrase in the 1975 Vögtle Festschrift,5 and chapters on Luke’s use of ‘SM’ have appeared in the more wide-ranging books on the SM problem such as those by Lindars, Müller, Hare and others.6 Generally however discussions of any possible specifically Lukan view of ‘SM’ have only been offered in passing. Commentaries seem just as, if not more, concerned to deal with what are evidently regarded as the more interesting issues of the authenticity of the SM sayings as with any specifically Lukan view.7 Individual verses (for example Luke 22.69, above all Acts 7.56) have aroused much detailed discussion. Nevertheless, systematic analyses of ‘the Lukan SM’ have not been noted by their quantity.8 There may well be some good reasons for this apparent neglect. The whole question of whether a titular approach to Christology is appropriate at all has been debated in recent years.9 In particular, it may well be that Lukan Christology is less susceptible than some to such an approach,10 bearing in mind too Luke’s possible tendency to blur the distinction between some of the Christological titles.11 Nevertheless the use of significant words or phrases (i.e. ‘titles’ in some sense) by a writer to refer to Jesus provides one possible access to that writer’s Christology and hence such an approach may still have some value. In what follows, therefore, I look at Luke’s use of the term ‘SM’ in his Gospel and in Acts, to see what werk, 1991), 165–202; cf. H. Conzelmann, The Theology of Saint Luke (ET London: Faber, 1960); H. E. Tödt, Der Menschensohn in der synoptischen Tradition (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1959), ET The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition (London: SCM, 1965). (References are to the English version unless otherwise stated.) 5 G. Schneider, ‘“Der Menschensohn” in der lukanischen Christologie’, in R. Pesch & R. Schnackenburg (eds.), Jesus und der Menschensohn. Für Anton Vögtle (Freiburg: Herder, 1975), 267–282. 6 B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man (London: SPCK, 1983); M. Müller, Der Ausdruck ‘Menschensohn’ in den Evangelien (Leiden: Brill, 1984); D. R. A. Hare, The Son of Man Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990). 7 Cf. the commentary of J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke (2 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1981 & 1985). Fitzmyer’s section in his Introduction dealing with ‘Lukan Christology’ (pp. 208–211) is for the most part devoted to the problem of what the phrase meant on the lips of Jesus. Only two final paragraphs deal with the question of Luke’s own understanding. Cf. too I. H. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke (Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), which discusses the term on its first occurrence in Luke (at 5.24) on pp. 215–216, but again primarily to discuss the question of historicity. 8 A search through the entry under ‘Son of Man’ in F. Van Segbroeck, The Gospel of Luke. A Cumulative Bibliography 1973–1988 (BETL 88; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1989), produced no more bibliographical material. 9 Cf. L. E. Keck, ‘Toward the Renewal of New Testament Christology’, NTS 32 (1986) 362–377. 10 Bovon, Luc le théologien, 189. 11 G. Nickelsberg, ‘Son of Man’, The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 6.146.

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it may tell us about Luke’s own views of Jesus, as well as what it may tell us about the ways in which Luke used his sources.12 * I start, as do so many contemporary studies of the Lukan writings, with Conzelmann. Conzelmann claimed: The use of ‘Son of Man’ is largely determined by the source (Mark) … It is not possible to prove anything either for or against a specific ‘Son of Man’ Christology.

Again, It is characteristic of Luke that although he develops a Christology of his own, he is no longer aware of the original peculiarities of titles such as ‘Son of Man’ etc. He has taken them over from the tradition and interprets them according to his own conceptions … In the main part of the Gospel and Acts the titles which are found most frequently are țȪȡȚȠȢ and ȤȡȚıIJȩȢ.13

This somewhat negative, or even agnostic, evaluation of the Lukan SM is however hard to square with all the facts. Luke’s Gospel contains no less than 25 uses of the phrase ‘SM’, to which must be added the famous usage on the lips of Stephen in Acts 7.56, as well as probably Luke 17.25 where the Į੝IJȩȞ picks up a reference to Jesus as SM (Luke 17.24). Simply in terms of numbers of occurrences, the phrase would appear to represent one of some importance for Luke.14 This is suggested too by the fact that, as far as we can tell, Luke preserves most of the occurrences of ‘SM’ in his source material: (i) in relation to Q, it is generally assumed that Luke has preserved practically all the uses of ‘SM’ in Q (cf. Luke 6.22; 7.34; 9.58; 11.30; 12.8, 10, 40; 17.24, 26, 30).15 On virtually all the ‘standard’ reconstructions of Q, there is at most one instance of Luke’s deleting a reference to Jesus as SM. (The one instance may be Luke 22.30/Matt 19.28, where Matthew’s version refers to the SM, and Luke’s does not. However, the two versions are very different at this point and it is by no means certain what the Q wording 12 I assume here the Two Document hypothesis without question: hence the sources used by Luke are assumed to be Mark and Q (possibly together with other source material available to Luke alone). 13 Conzelmann, Theology, 170–171 and 171 respectively. Cf. too Fitzmyer, Luke, 1.211: ‘Since the title was already in the gospel tradition, and Luke’s use of it is scarcely distinctive, it is not easy to say just what he would have meant by it.’ 14 Cf. M. Casey, Son of Man. The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SCM, 1979), 201: ‘If Luke used the term “Son of man” no less than twenty five times he felt no need to run away from it.’ 15 There is neither time nor space to discuss each of these in detail: see the standard commentaries and discussions of Q such as S. Schulz, Q – Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten (Zürich: TVZ, 1972); J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987) and others.

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was.16) (ii) In relation to Mark, Luke preserves the vast majority of Markan SM references: cf. Mark 2.10/Luke 5.24; Mark 2.28/Luke 6.5; Mark 8.31/ Luke 9.22; Mark 8.38/Luke 9.26; Mark 9.31/Luke 9.44; Mark 10.33/Luke 18.31; Mark 13.26/Luke 21.27; Mark 14.21/Luke 22.22; Mark 14.62/Luke 22.69. There are a few Markan SM sayings which Luke does not have (Mark 9.9, 12; 10.45; 14.21, 41) but in each case the omission by Luke involves considerably more than simply deleting the SM reference.17 These considerations alone suggest that Luke is certainly not negatively disposed to the term SM. He appears to accept it very willingly when it appears in his sources and he displays hardly any tendency to replace it with another term. Clearly, in terms of numbers, the 26/27 uses of ‘SM’ do not rival the statistics for the Christological use of țȪȡȚȠȢ or ȤȡȚıIJȩȢ in Luke-Acts.18 Nevertheless, Luke’s use of his sources suggests that Luke does have a positive interest in the use of the term SM to refer to Jesus. In this respect, therefore, Tödt’s assertion that ‘Luke conceives of the Son of Man in a specific way’ 19 has some a priori plausibility. What exactly the ‘specific way’ might be remains to be seen. This theory grows in strength even more if one accepts the arguments of Schneider (and others) that all the remaining SM sayings in Luke, i.e. those not derived from Mark or Q, are due to LukeR. There are a number of such sayings (Luke 17.22; 18.8; 19.10; 21.36; 22.48; 24.7; Acts 7.56) and a strong case can certainly be made for most, if not all, of these being LukeR. Schneider has argued this in detail in his article (n. 5 above) in relation to most of the sayings and others too have come to the same conclusion in relation to the individual sayings. Thus 17.22 looks very much like a partial anticipation of the language of 17.26, but redacted in line with Luke’s own Tendenz to emphasise the necessity of the delay of the Parousia.20 18.8 and 21.36 both stress the fact that Jesus as SM will act as 16 Nevertheless, Matthew’s ‘SM’ is taken as original (i.e. in Q) by Schulz, Q, 331; A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel. An Introduction to Q (Sonoma: Polebridge, 1992), 247. The argument of Hoffmann (n. 4 above) does not change the overall picture: Hoffmann argues that the SM reference in Luke 12.8 is due to LukeR. But even if this were the case, it would still not constitute an example where Luke had deleted a SM reference from Q. It would rather be an instance of Luke’s adding a further SM reference to his traditions. 17 Cf. Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 273 n. 29. In any case Mark 10.45 and 14.41 may reappear in Luke in slightly different guises: see below. 18 Figures for țȪȡȚȠȢ are uncertain because of doubt at times whether the term is referring to Jesus or to God; ȤȡȚıIJȩȢ is used 12 times in Luke, 28 times in Acts. 19 Tödt, Son of Man, 108. 20 Tödt, Son of Man, 105; R. Schnackenburg, ‘Der eschatologische Abschnitt Lk 17,20–37’, in Mélanges Bibliques en hommage au R. P. Béda Rigaux (Gembloux: Duculot, 1970), 213–234, on pp. 219–221; J. Zmijewski, Die Eschatologiereden des LukasEvangeliums (BBB 40; Bonn: Hanstein, 1972), 417–419; Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 274. Others who disagree often do so on the basis of an almost a priori assumption

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judge at the final judgment where all humanity, including Christians, will have to answer for their conduct. 18.8 looks very much like a secondary, redactional ending to the parable of 18.1–8, matching the almost certainly redactional opening exhortation in v. 1 encouraging persistence in prayer.21 And 21.36 has a close thematic relationship with 18.8 so that the sections 21.34–36 and 18.1–8 form similarly structured units (opening exhortation – parable – concluding SM saying): hence 21.36 may also be a LukeR creation.22 19.10 is in many respects a typically Lukan summary of the activity of Jesus (seeking and saving the lost) and may represent a LukeR rewriting of Mark 10.45.23 22.48 may be simply a Lukan artistic rewriting of Mark 14.21.24 24.7 is almost certainly LukeR for Mark 16.7 with little evidence for the existence of a separate source.25 And Acts 7.56 may well be Luke’s remodelling of the trial scene of Jesus now applied to Stephen as the proto-typical martyr.26 that Luke does not create SM sayings: thus F. Rehkopf, Die lukanische Sonderquelle (WUNT 5; Tübingen: Mohr, 1959), 56 (referring in part to MattR in Matt 16.13, 21 – though it is not at all clear how this relates to Luke!); C. Colpe, ੒ ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ, TWNT 8.453 (also on the assumption that Luke never creates SM sayings). 21 Cf. Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 277; J.-D. Kaestli, L’eschatologie dans l’œuvre de Luc (Genève: Labor et Fides, 1969), 35; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 136–137. Again, others who deny a redactional origin here do so often on the a priori grounds that Luke does not create SM sayings: cf. Colpe, TWNT 8.437; Marshall, Luke, 676: ‘Since Luke does not create “Son of man” sayings, there is a prima facie case that he has not done so here.’ Cf. too J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (ET London: SCM, 1963), 155. 22 Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 369–370; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 138. For a detailed argument that the whole of 21.34–36 may be due to LukeR, perhaps in dependence on Paul’s exhortation in 1 Thess 5, see L. Aejmelaeus, Wachen vor dem Ende. Die traditionsgeschichtlichen Wurzeln von 1. Thess 5:1–11 und Luk 21:34–36 (Schriften der Finnischen Exegetischen Gesellschaft 44; Helsinki: Kirjapaino Raamattutalo, 1985), 99– 130; also my ‘Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians?’, in R. F. Collins (ed.), The Thessalonian Correspondence (BETL 87; Leuven: University Press & Peeters, 1990), 160–182 (pp. 316–339 in this volume), on pp. 173–176 (above, pp. 330–333). 23 See R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (ET Oxford: Blackwell, 1968), 34; Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 278–279; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 137. Contra Colpe, TWNT 8.456 (arguing again that Luke never creates SM sayings); Tödt, Son of Man, 133 (on the grounds that Luke never creates sayings referring ot the present activity of the SM); and Marshall, Luke, 698 (again on the grounds that Luke does not create SM sayings). 24 Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 271; Fitzmyer, Luke, 2.1448; M. L. Soards, The Passion according to Luke (JSNTSup 14; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987), 98; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 133–134. 25 Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 272; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 134. 26 The origin of this verse is of course much debated. For the redactional origin, see M. Sabbe, ‘The Son of Man Saying in Acts 7,56’, in J. Kremer (ed.), Les Actes des Apôtres. Tradition, rédaction, théologie (BETL 48; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Duculot, 1979), 241–279, repr. in his Studia Neotestamentica. Collected Essays (BETL 98; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1991), 137–178, including an additional Note (pp. 176–

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Clearly any one of these judgements is open to dispute; but even if one or two arguments here are wrong so that one or two of the non-Markan non-Q SM sayings in Luke were due to Luke’s special source material, the overall situation would not be significantly altered: the result of the analysis indicates that not only has Luke retained the SM sayings from his sources – he has actually added to them by redactionally creating a significant number himself. Hence Luke is not only content to repeat the wording of his source material: he also evidently feels attracted to the language sufficiently to create a number of SM sayings de novo. This then suggests very strongly, contra Conzelmann, that Luke is not neutral about SM terminology: rather, Luke definitely seeks to promote this terminology positively. What though of the contexts in which SM terminology is used? Does this indicate that Luke has a clear idea of what the phrase ‘SM’ signifies? As we have seen in part already, a number of different answers have been suggested to this question. For Conzelmann, Luke really has no idea of what SM ‘originally’ signified. He simply takes it over from his tradition and adapts it in the service of his own Christology.27 Tödt on the other hand sees a clear definite idea reflected in the sayings where SM is used, especially in the sayings to do with the future activity of the SM: according to Tödt, Luke sees Jesus qua SM as the advocate, pleading on behalf of Christians in the divine court; the SM is not however the judge himself.28 Lindars is similar to Conzelmann: according to him, Luke is unaware of the meaning of ‘SM’ as used by Jesus:29 rather, Luke is simply aware of the usage in the tradition as a self-designation by Jesus and he therefore adds the phrase in a number of places (e.g. 18.8; 21.36) as part of his literary artistry, but the term itself means very little for him. Hare goes even further along these lines: for Luke the term has virtually no connotative significance at all – it is simply denotative, a self-designation by Jesus but without any significance or overtones of meaning of its own. In considering the problem, the first point to make is that Conzelmann, Lindars and others are certainly correct in one way: Luke does take the term over from his source material and seems happy to accept virtually all types of SM sayings in his tradition. In terms of the (by now) traditional division of SM sayings into ‘A’ sayings (present activity of the SM), ‘B’ 178) with brief discussion of the most recent literature); Schneider was more uncertain at the time of his ‘Menschensohn’ article, but seems clearer about the redactional nature of the verse in his commentary Die Apostelgeschichte (2 vols.; HTKNT V; Freiburg: Herder, 1980 & 1982), 1.471; cf. too A. Weiser, Die Apostelgeschichte (2 vols.; ÖTKNT 5; Gütersloh: Mohn, 1981 & 1985), 1.193; others mentioned by Sabbe. 27 Conzelmann, Theology, 170–171. 28 Tödt, Son of Man, 109. 29 Cf. Jesus Son of Man, 143. (For Lindars, the meaning on the lips of Jesus is a limited generic usage whereby ‘SM’ means ‘a person in my position’.)

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sayings (the suffering of the SM) and ‘C’ sayings (the eschatological activity of the SM), Luke preserves the full range of sayings from his sources. As we have seen, practically all the Q sayings are probably preserved by Luke; so are most of the Markan sayings as well, and any omissions of the Markan SM sayings are not focused on any one group of such sayings. Thus Luke has the full range of Markan B sayings, as well as the C sayings; and he preserves too all the sayings usually assigned to the A group. The SM sayings which Luke takes from his sources are not however always simply copied verbatim. Some redactional activity takes place, although one must also note that not a lot of such activity is clearly identifiable. In relation to the Q material, it is generally assumed that Luke’s version of the sayings in question is more original and that it is Matthew who has redacted: thus in Q 6.22; 12.8 it is probably Matthew who changes the form of the sayings into ‘I’ sayings, using the first person rather than the phrase ‘SM’; in Q 7.34; 9.58; 12.10 Luke and Matthew are virtually identical and hence probably the evidence indicates that Luke (as Matthew) preserves the Q wording; in Q 11.30, Matthew’s reference to the SM being in the belly of the earth is almost universally recognised as MattR of the more original form of the saying preserved in Luke; and in Q 17.24, 26, 30, Matthew’s references to the ʌĮȡoȣıȓĮ of the SM are again almost universally recognised as MattR. Only in 22.30 may Luke have deleted a reference to Jesus as SM (see n. 15 above). How far Luke has ‘redacted’ the Q material by placing individual sayings in a different context is very difficult to determine since we do not have the Q context available to check against. It is possible, for example, that Luke has placed the SM saying in 12.10 in a context which is not that of Q, so that blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is now related to a situation of persecution. However, this does not necessarily either explain – or even ease – the problem of the meaning of the phrase ‘speaking a word against the SM’ in Luke 12.10 itself! Moreover, in many other places, it is generally assumed that Luke has preserved the order of the Q material more faithfully than Matthew has (Matthew having changed the order to collect related material into his five great teaching discourses). Thus in relation to the Q material, Luke appears to be a faithful and reliable transmitter of the SM sayings. The case is not quite so simple in relation to the SM sayings adopted by Luke from Mark, for it is clear that at times a certain amount of rewriting has taken place, though the basic structure of most of the sayings is preserved. Thus the A sayings in Mark 2.10, 28 are retained by Luke with little change. (The changes are primarily of word order in the sayings, but it is not clear if these changes have much, if any, significance.) In the case of the B sayings retained by Luke from Mark, some changes are made but these are for the most part not enormous. In the second passion prediction (Luke 9.44/Mark 9.31), Luke abbreviates the saying drastically by omitting

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the references to Jesus’ death and resurrection. However, it is not clear whether this has any significance beyond a simple abbreviation, given that Luke has already recorded the fuller form in the first prediction in 9.22.30 Luke also adds the verb ȝȑȜȜİȚ here to Mark which may introduce a note of (divinely determined) inevitability about the events predicted.31 But this theme may well be anticipated already in the įİ૙ of the first prediction in 9.22, a feature which Luke shares with Mark.32 Hence Luke is simply underlining more strongly a feature which is present in Mark as well. That the passion of Jesus is determined by the will of God is brought out clearly in other SM sayings: the įİ૙ governing the suffering of Jesus qua SM occurs in the (probably redactional) sayings in 17.25 and 24.7. And a similar motif comes to the fore in Luke 22.22 where Luke replaces Mark’s țĮșઅȢ ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ with țĮIJ੹ IJઁ ੪ȡȚıȝȑȞȠȞ. It is very unlikely that any change of meaning is implied here:33 both Mark and Luke indicate that the sufferings of Jesus qua SM are part and parcel of the divine plan.34 This then comes out most strongly in Luke’s rewriting of the third passion prediction in Mark 10.33, whereby Mark’s direct prediction that ‘the SM will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes’ becomes In Luke 18.31 ‘Everything written by the prophets concerning the SM must be completed’. At one level the force of the saying in Luke is quite clear and the saying represents a direct continuation of what we have been considering already. The sufferings of Jesus are in accordance with the divine plan, and represent the fulfilment of prophetic scripture. There is however considerable uncertainty about the more precise interpretation of the saying in Luke. In particular it is not clear whether the dative IJ૶ ȣੂ૶ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ should be related to the verb IJİȜİıșȒıİIJĮȚ or to the participle IJ੹ ȖİȖȡĮȝȝȑȞĮ: does then the Lukan verse refer to ‘things written about the SM’, or more generally to all scripture being fulfilled in the person of the SM?35 There is the question of what scriptures Luke had in mind here, which in turn is of course also connected with the problem of whether the OT has any idea of a suffering SM at all. Certainly Luke never spells out what 30 Certainly there seems no need to postulate another source on this basis, as do Colpe, TWNT 8.461, and Marshall, Luke, 394. 31 Cf. 9.31. See J. T. Squires, The Plan of God in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 76; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 169. 32 For the importance of įİ૙ as expressing the divine will, perhaps as found in scripture, see W. Grundmann, įİ૙, TWNT 2.23; Squires, Plan, 169; B. P. Frein, ‘Narrative Prediction, Old Testament Prophecies and Luke’s Sense of Fulfilment’, NTS 40 (1994) 22– 37, on p. 29. 33 So rightly Hare, Son of Man, 73: ‘There is no change in meaning.’ 34 Cf. also D. L. Tiede, Prophecy and History in Luke-Acts (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 99. 35 Cf. Marshall, Luke, 690, for the first; Fitzmyer, Luke, 2.1206, for the second.

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particular prophecies he has in mind.36 Hence it may be that Luke has no particular text(s) in mind at all and the situation may then be similar to the well-known Lukan emphasis on the necessity of the sufferings of the Messiah and the fact that these are predicted in scripture (cf. Luke 24.26– 27; 24.46; Acts 3.18; 17.3; 26.23), even though it is all but impossible to find anything explicit in the OT to this effect.37 The theme of the necessity of the Messiah to suffer is usually taken as a Lukan conjunction of two themes: the Messiahship of Jesus, and the suffering and death of Jesus as being part of God’s plan. The link is the person of Jesus, resulting in the somewhat artificial scheme of the necessity of the suffering of the Messiah. Luke 18.31 may be similar. However, the possibility remains open that Luke does have a specific text or texts in mind. The obvious candidate is Dan 7. As is well known there is much debate about whether Dan 7 implies that the SM figure mentioned there is a suffering figure or not. So too there is debate about whether a first century reader of Dan 7 could have taken the text in this way. However the problem is not only one for the interpretation of Luke 18.31. It is equally a problem for the interpretation of the įİ૙ of Mark 8.31 and the țĮșઅȢ ȖȑȖȡĮʌIJĮȚ of Mark 14.21. Certainly Luke has redacted some of the suffering SM sayings in line with what is universally recognised as a powerful theme in the Lukan writings, viz., the importance of Jesus’ death as part of the divine plan and foretold in scripture.38 Yet Luke has in this respect simply developed further what is clearly there already in Mark. Luke has thus not imposed anything fundamentally different on his Markan tradition. The eschatological SM sayings in Mark also undergo a certain amount of revision by Luke. The rewriting of Mark 14.62 in Luke 22.69 is frequently discussed. As is well known, Luke adds at the start of the saying the phrase ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ Ȟ૨Ȟ and changes Mark’s ੕ȥİıșİ to ਩ıIJĮȚ; he also omits the whole phrase in Mark which refers to the SM ‘coming’. The net result is that the saying which in Mark probably refers to the parousia becomes in Luke a statement about the immediate position of Jesus as SM at God’s right hand in glory. The way in which this relates to Luke’s views on the delay of the parousia has been much discussed and needs no further elaboration here.39 So too the changes made by Luke to Mark 13.26 in Luke 21.27 are well known: the clouds of Mark 13.26 are reduced to a single cloud (ਥȞ ȞİijȑȜૉ) and the motif of the gathering of the elect in Mark 13.27 36 Hence the comment of Squires, Plan, 141 n. 100: ‘Precisely what ancient prophecies Luke has in mind remains a mystery.’ 37 Tiede, Prophecy, 100–101. 38 Cf. Tiede, Prophecy; Squires, Plan; and more generally the programmatic essay of P. Schubert, ‘The Structure and Significance of Luke 24’, in W. Eltester (ed.), Neutestamentliche Studien für Rudolf Bultmann (BZNW 21; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1957), 165–186. 39 Conzelmann, Theology, 116; Tödt, Son of Man, 101, and many others.

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is omitted by Luke. The singular cloud is usually related to the cloud of Acts 1.9 which transports the ascending Jesus so that, according to the angelic commentator at the scene, the way in which Jesus is just seen to have departed will be the same as the way in which he will return (Acts 1.11).40 Luke’s use of the eschatological SM sayings in Mark is thus closely related to his own eschatological views and to the rest of his narrative. Thus for Luke, the eschatological SM sayings are pulled into the service of Luke’s views on the present exaltation of Jesus as well as the parousia of Jesus. A certain shift of emphasis thus occurs (certainly in Luke 22.69) and is undeniable. But it is not totally unrelated to the tradition Luke inherits. I turn now to a brief consideration of the ‘L’ SM sayings, i.e. the sayings peculiar to Luke which, as we have seen, may well owe a lot, if not everything, to LukeR. What is striking about these sayings is that they virtually all mesh closely with the themes and structures of the SM sayings as adopted by Luke from Mark and Q. Luke does not seem to expand significantly the range of ideas associated with Jesus qua ‘SM’. Thus Luke 17.25 and 24.7 take up the theme of the Markan passion sayings and virtually repeat them verbatim. Luke 22.48 is not far removed (in context or in substance) from Mark 14.41: in Mark Jesus qua SM is the one who will be betrayed, and this becomes in Luke’s more vivid scene a question by Jesus to his betrayer Judas, ‘Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?’ If then it is justified to see the influence of Mark 14.41 on Luke 22.48, and probably also the impetus for the formation of the Lukan verse (see above), then the SM of Luke 22.48 is clearly again all of a piece with the Markan suffering SM: Jesus qua SM is one who will be betrayed to death by others, the one who is to suffer and to die. The eschatological sayings in Luke 18.8; 21.36 are close in substance to the Markan and Q sayings (cf. Mark 8.38; Q 12.8) which speak of the SM’s role in the final judgment. In this respect it may be worth noting that, pace Tödt, the SM’s role here does appear to be more that of a judge than an advocate.41 ‘Standing before the SM’ (21.36) suggests strongly a more judgmental role, as indeed is probably also implied by verses such as Luke 9.26 and 12.9: 12.9 shows the same activity continuing from v. 8 (though it is now described with a passive verb, rather than an active verb with ‘SM’ as subject) and this activity clearly includes a negative, condemnatory activity (‘denying’); the same is implied in Luke 9.26 where Luke also heightens the status of the ‘SM’ by referring to ‘his’ (= the SM’s) glory alongside that of the Father and the angels.42 40

Tödt, Menschensohn, 94; Casey, Son of Man, 177, and others. Cf. Hoffmann, ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 186 ff., contra Tödt. 42 See Hoffmann, ‘Jesus versus Menschensohn’, 187–188. Cf. too A. Vögtle’s review of Tödt’s book in BZ 6 (1962) 137. 41

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The famous Stephen saying in Acts 7.56 is clearly similar to the SM saying at Jesus’ trial in one way: indeed it is precisely this closeness which has suggested to many that the saying is due to LukeR. The exact role played by the SM in Acts 7 is of course heavily disputed and much depends on the precise significance to be seen in the fact that the SM is ‘standing’.43 Perhaps though the most convincing explanation is to see the SM here as standing in the divine court to speak on behalf of the dying martyr to plead his cause, exactly as in Luke 12.8.44 If so, the picture of the SM from Acts 7 does not significantly extend the picture of the SM from the traditional SM sayings as they appear in Luke’s Gospel. Luke 17.22 may well be modelled in part for its language on the Q saying in 17.26 in speaking of the ‘days of the SM’ in referring to the coming of the SM.45 The substance of the saying clearly reflects Luke’s concern about the delay of the parousia. Yet the actual use of the phrase ‘SM’ itself indicates that for Luke the phrase is still being used in contexts similar to that of the source material, i.e. to refer to future eschatological activity. The one saying which is not quite so easy in one way to parallel is Luke 19.10, ‘The SM came to seek and to save the lost’. Further, if (as I have 43 See the surveys of opinion, and suggestions, in Tödt, Menschensohn, 274; C. K. Barrett, ‘Stephen and the Son of Man’, in Apophoreta (FS E. Haenchen; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964), 32–38; E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles (ET Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 292; Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, 1.474–475. 44 So Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, 1.475; also C. F. D. Moule, ‘From Defendant to Judge and Deliverer’, Bulletin of the SNTS 3 (1952) 46–47; J. Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte (NTD 5; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 127; Hoffmann, ‘Jesus und der Menschensohn’, 192–193. Hoffmann’s argument about Acts 7.56 does however make his claim about the redactional origin of the SM reference in Luke 12.8 harder to accept. Hoffmann concedes that the picture of the SM as advocate in Luke 12.8 is slightly at variance with the general Lukan picture of the SM at the Eschaton as judge (cf. above and his arguments – in my view justified – against Tödt). But this then makes it harder to see both Acts 7.56 and Luke 12.8 as redactional creations by Luke. It seems more likely that one of these is given to Luke by a source, and the other a redactional echo. And the most likely candidate for the source, given the large number of Lukanisms in the context of Acts 7.56, is Luke 12.8. Further, Hoffmann seems to imply that Luke interprets the SM saying in Luke 12.8. as referring to a pre-Eschaton ‘confessing’ (this seems to be the logic of the close parallel he draws between the verse, and its context which does clearly relate to Christians under persecution [cf. above], and Acts 7.56): but this is then strange in the light of Luke 9.26 where Luke clearly interprets Mark’s parallel version of the saying (Mark 8.38) as a parousia reference. 45 The interpretation of this verse is also disputed. For the interpretation as forward looking and eschatological, as here, see Schnackenburg, ‘Der eschatologische Abschnitt’, 227–228. Schneider, ‘Der Menschensohn’, 274–275; Fitzmyer, Luke, 2.1168–1169; Marshall, Luke, 658–659, also with a full discussion of the various possibilities which have been suggested. As Schnackenburg rightly says, the context, and the note about ‘longing to see’, are most naturally interpreted as implying a future, eschatological reference. Cf. too Müller, Menschensohn, 133–134.

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tried to argue elsewhere) the ‘A’ sayings in Mark and Q (Mark 2.10, 28; Q 6.22; 7.34; 9.58; possibly 12.10) are in fact crypto-suffering sayings in that all refer – more or less allusively – to the rejection, and hence to the implied suffering, of Jesus, then Luke 19.10 does not quite fit this pattern.46 Nevertheless one may note the formal similarities between Luke 19.10 and Q 7.34 as well as with Mark 10.45 (cf. above) so that Luke 19.10 may well be Luke’s rewriting of the passion saying in Mark 10.45. Moreover, the verse is not so dissimilar to the surface meaning of the other texts since any reference to the passion depends in part on the wider literary context in which these other verses are now placed.47 In sum, therefore, the ‘L’ SM sayings in Luke fit in remarkably closely to the pattern of SM sayings which Luke adopts from his sources. Hence Luke does not really create new ideas and associate them with the figure of the SM. The picture that seems to emerge is one of Luke as what might be described as a ‘conservative redactor’, with perhaps care needed to stress both halves of that description.48 Luke is certainly a redactor. He does change his traditions a little – at times one could argue quite significantly. Luke 24.7 is in one way a very radical rewriting of Mark 16.7: a prediction of a future event in Galilee becomes a reminder of a past statement by Jesus in Galilee. So too Luke 22.69 succeeds in shifting the emphasis of Mark 14.62 quite significantly away from any idea of a parousia event. Similarly Luke 18.31 represents quite a large rewriting of Mark 10.33, introducing the explicit idea of the fulfilment of scripture (though the idea may well be already there in the įİ૙ of Mark 8.31). In this sense Conzelmann is correct in saying that Luke has pressed the SM traditions to a certain extent into the service of his own ideas. The eschatological SM as a parousia figure in Mark 14.62 becomes the Lukan ascended, glorious figure in heaven in Luke 22.69 and the advocate who in Acts 7 exercises that role now. Nevertheless, Luke appears also to be basically ‘conservative’ in his treatment of his sources. He appears to be trying to be true to his sources and to retain, as far as possible, the categories and ideas supplied by his traditions. This is shown above all by the L sayings. Thus he takes up the idea of Jesus qua SM as eschatological judge or advocate from his sources; he retains some material (Luke 9.26; 12.8) and he develops some sayings 46

See my ‘The Present Son of Man’, JSNT 14 (1982) 58–81 (pp. 505–523 in this volume). 47 This applies especially in the case of the Markan sayings in Mark 2: see the argument in my article cited in the previous note. 48 The phrase is taken from R. Pesch’s description of Mark: see his Das Markusevangelium (2 vols.; Freiburg: Herder, 1975 & 1976), e.g. on p. 53 (and implied throughout his whole commentary). However, as I hope is clear, I do not mean to imply by this that Luke is simply ‘conservative’ (as Pesch argues for Mark) in the sense of being one who simply preserves his sources largely unchanged. Luke is a conservative redactor.

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in his own way for his own purposes (cf. his redaction of Mark 14.62 in Luke 22.69, and the possible creation of Luke 17.22; 18.8; 21.36). But he retains the fundamental theme of Jesus qua SM as an eschatological figure. He takes up too the theme of Jesus qua SM as a suffering figure and adds at times sayings which mesh in and fit like a glove on to the grid of Markan suffering SM sayings. He takes over the present activity (‘A’) sayings with little noticeable change, perhaps adding one in 19.10 which may be his own adaptation of a Markan passion saying (Mark 10.45) to serve his purposes in providing a (Lukan) summary of the aim of Jesus’ mission, but in a way that still remains formally (and substantially) close to existing SM sayings. Thus in his development of the SM sayings of his tradition, Luke shows himself to be (perhaps surprisingly) sensitive to his source materials: Luke does not introduce SM terminology into other contexts for which there is no justification in his sources. He does not, for example, use SM language in relation to Jesus’ miracles. He does not use SM language in relation to Jesus’ teaching. He does not seek to argue that Jesus SM is the fulfilment of scripture via the resurrection. Rather he keeps to the existing categories in which ‘SM’ is used in his sources. Above all he keeps – with one famous exception – to the feature of his tradition which restricts ‘SM’ to sayings placed on the lips of Jesus. (Acts 7.56 is of course the exception to prove the ‘rule’!) Thus Luke keeps to this ‘convention’ very closely. All the redactional SM sayings he (probably) creates are (bar Acts 7.56) sayings of Jesus. Thus it is striking that, however much continuity Luke may be signalling between the SM of Luke 21.36 and the Jesus of Acts 1 via the singular cloud, Luke does not develop SM terminology at all in relation to the preaching of Christians in Acts, even in contexts where Jesus is referred to as the eschatological judge (cf. Acts 10.42; 17.31). Rather, as already noted, the dominant ‘titles’ used to refer to Jesus in Acts are țȪȡȚȠȢ and ȤȡȚıIJȩȢ. The most that Luke seems prepared to do is to signal some link with the SM tradition via the parallel he creates with Acts 1 in Luke 21.27 by reducing the plural clouds to a single one, but even this is fairly allusive: for example, Acts 1 does not use the term SM explicitly. Hence Luke does seem aware of the fact that ‘SM’ is characteristic of the Jesus tradition.49 Further, he seems aware of the range of contexts in Jesus traditions in which SM is used. This range is wide, but not all-embracing. Luke then certainly explicitly exploits the width of the given range; but he does not really extend it. Conzelmann is surely right in one way to claim that Luke takes up ‘SM’ from his tradition and interprets the term in relation 49 Cf. C. F. D. Moule, ‘The Christology of Acts’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (London: SPCK, 1968), 159–185, on pp. 163–164; Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 138–139.

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to his own ideas. Yet it is hard to agree with Conzelmann, or Lindars, that Luke is unaware of the ‘original’ meaning of the term. Much of course depends on what is meant by ‘original’ in this context. To expect Luke to know intimately the original Aramaic of Jesus’ sayings is surely to ask the impossible. Luke’s immediate precursors are Mark and Q, together with whatever other sources of information he had available (though in relation to SM sayings I have argued that no other sources are likely). Certainly in relation to Mark (and, I would argue, in relation to Q as well) it is clear that a key background for the meaning of the phrase ‘SM’ is to be found in Dan 7. Whether this goes back to Jesus is of course a hotly debated issue, but it seems undeniable that, by the time tradition has reached the stage of (say) Mark 13.26 and 14.62, the link between ‘SM’ and Dan 7 is secure. Luke certainly does not enhance the link between SM language and Dan 7. Some indeed would argue that he significantly reduces it.50 Nevertheless the linkage does not disappear. Luke’s version of Mark 13.26 in Luke 21.27 still keeps the clear Danielic imagery.51 Luke’s abbreviation in Luke 22.69 can be interpreted as reducing the Dan 7 imagery considerably, or even eliminating it completely. 52 However, there may still be an allusion to Dan 7 in some of the Q sayings in Luke, notably Luke 17.26, 30, where the reference to the SM being ‘revealed’ should probably be seen as alluding to Dan 7.53 Further, Luke’s use of Mark in Luke 9.26 seems at least to preserve clear Danielic features from his Markan source (Mark 8.38) with the reference to the ‘coming’ and the ‘glory’ of the SM.54 Indeed Luke could be said to enhance the allusion by referring to the SM’s own glory even more clearly than Mark does (cf. above).55 But this then makes it likely that, as far as Luke is concerned, verses such as Luke 12.8–9 which speak 50

Cf. Müller, Menschensohn, 142. Pace Casey, Son of Man, 177, who asserts that Luke’s version represents a clear move away from the Danielic text. Cf. too Müller, Menschensohn, 125. However, despite any slight reduction, the Danielic allusion is undeniably still present in the Lukan version. In relation to the question of whether it is justified to see an allusion to Dan 7 or not, reference is often made to G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew (London: Collins, 1973), 178, who claims that an indirect Danielic allusion should be allowed if there is mention of the SM’s coming, glory or kingship, or of the clouds transporting him. In the case of Luke 21.27 the reference to the cloud is surely enough to satisfy even Vermes’ fairly demanding criteria. 52 So, e.g. Casey, Son of Man, 184: ‘his omission removed all definite trace of Dan 7.13’. Cf. too Müller, Menschensohn, 126–127. 53 Rightly, in my view, Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 95, contra Casey, Son of Man, 189. 54 Even Casey, who in general is highly sceptical of the existence of Danielic allusions in the gospel sayings, concedes the presence of such an allusion here: see his Son of Man, 162–163. 55 Müller, Menschensohn, 129, is more doubtful and sees here simply dependence and use of Mark 8.38, rather than a use of Dan 7.13–14. But are these two alternatives necessarily mutually exclusive?! 51

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similarly of the SM confessing/denying people in an eschatological context are also to be interpreted against the Danielic background. Similarly, Luke 18.8, which also talks of the SM ‘coming’, probably alludes indirectly to Dan 7.56 Hence too the similar saying in Luke 21.36 is probably to be taken in the same way.57 Thus depite the evidence of Luke 22.69, it does seem to be the case that Luke is aware of the Danielic background, at least in relation to the eschatological sayings. The ultimate origin of the idea of the suffering of the SM in the Markan tradition is heavily disputed. However, in my view a strong case can be made for this too coming from the Danielic background.58 However, wherever it comes from, such an idea is present in Mark and Luke seems to take it over positively and enthusiastically (cf. above on Luke 9.22; 18.31; 22.22). If then the Markan idea of the necessity of the SM’s sufferings is derived from Dan 7, and/or if Luke read Mark in this way as well,59 then this might make more sense of Luke 18.31 diff Mark 10.33: the sufferings of the SM fulfil ‘all that has been written in the prophets’ not only in a very general and unspecific sense (similar to the sufferings of the Messiah fulfilling scripture), but in the sense of ‘fulfilling’ the specifically Danielic ‘prophecies’. Thus Luke may well be aware of the significance of the term in the earlier stages of the tradition to which he has access. In this respect Colpe’s summary conclusion about Luke’s use of ‘SM’ is justified: ‘Lukas verwendet seine Quelle treu. Eine eigene Menschensohnchristologie ist bei ihm nicht erkennbar.’60 Luke does reproduce his sources faithfully and he does not introduce new meanings. Nevertheless, the more negative side of what (I think) Colpe implies is perhaps more questionable. Luke is not agnostic about the term. His positive use of the term, going at times as far as redactional creation of SM sayings, indicates that he is not just a conservative, unthinking repeater of his sources: he is rather a conservative redactor. His ideas about ‘SM’ largely coincide with those of his sources.61 But this should cause no great surprise. The very fact that Luke has chosen to use his sources Mark and Q makes a significant degree of substantive continuity between Luke and his traditions a matter of no surprise 56

Vermes, Jesus the Jew, 179; Casey, Son of Man, 196–197. Vermes, Jesus the Jew, 179; Casey, Son of Man, 197. 58 See M. D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark (London: SPCK, 1967); C. F. D. Moule, ‘Neglected Features in the Problem of the “Son of Man”’, in J. Gnilka (ed.), Neues Testament und Kirche (FS R. Schnackenburg; Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 413–428; also his The Origin of Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 11– 22, and others. I am fully aware that this is not a universally held view! 59 The latter could be true without the former! 60 Colpe, TWNT 8.462. 61 The greatest difference lies in his application of ‘SM’ to Jesus in his capacity as risen and ascended in the post-Easter, pre-Eschaton situation. 57

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at all.62 On the other hand Luke does not go overboard in developing his sources. He does add to them at times. But he respects his source material. He does not write SM references into Acts in a significant way at all. With the exception of Acts 7.56, he does not write SM references into Acts in relation to one key point where he does develop the SM terminology, viz. to refer to the position of Jesus at God’s right hand in the post-Easter, preEschaton era. Acts covers just this period of time, and Jesus’ session at God’s right hand during this period is of cardinal importance for Luke. The fact that Luke does not write SM references into his story in Acts is thus significant. Luke thus shows himself aware of the difference between the pre- and post-Easter situations and sensitive to his source materials. The evidence reviewed here suggests that Luke is trying to remain true to the meaning of the term SM, at least as it is coming to him from his two main sources, Mark and Q. For those who think that the Markan and Q SM sayings are not so far removed from the historical Jesus, this may make Luke not so far removed either from the ‘original’ meaning. Such a discussion would however take us far beyond the limits of this present paper. Suffice it to say that Luke does have some kind of ‘SM Christology’. It is perhaps not so distinctive in relation to other early Christian writers, in that it continues in a line of direct continuity the ideas associated with the term in his sources. Luke seems to feel constrained by his tradition to respect the parameters which the tradition implies; but insofar as he develops the SM tradition by adding to the fund of SM sayings, he can be said in one way to have a SM Christology. By way of conclusion, I raise two questions, neither of which can be easily answered but which may have wider implications for Lukan study. The first relates to a feature which Luke again shares with the whole gospel tradition in relation to the SM sayings, and yet which is perhaps more surprising in Luke than in the other gospels. This is the fact that the term ‘SM’ is never explained for the readers of the Gospel. In relation to Luke, this is perhaps all the more surprising in view of the fact that most assume that Luke was writing for a Gentile readership for whom some of the more ‘Jewish’ elements would sound strange or inexplicable. ȣੂઁȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȣ as a Greek phrase would surely fall into this category: all agree that the phrase in Greek is a very strange, if not barbaric ‘transliteration’ of the Aramaic idiomatic bar (’)nasha (with of course enormous debate about the significance of this Aramaic phrase). Yet Luke apparently never feels constrained to explain it for his (presumably) Greek speaking 62

Cf. similarly in relation to Matthew and his sources, U. Luz, Matthew 1–7. A Commentary (ET Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989), 73–76. Perhaps modern gospel studies have gone too far in seeking to identify the distinctive features of each gospel writer by driving too much a wedge between the evangelists and their sources.

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readers. In terms of a ‘straight’, ‘literary’ (or ‘first’) reading of the text of Luke’s Gospel, ‘SM’ appears without warning in 5.24, is then used on several occasions, and is never explained. What does this say about the implied reader of Luke’s Gospel? Perhaps a more interesting question for some, what does this say about the original readers? What would ‘SM’ (in Greek!) have evoked in the minds of Luke’s first readers?63 The second question arises from the fact that, if the analysis given earlier in this essay is correct, then Luke appears to have been far less free in relation to the SM tradition as it comes to him from Q than he was in relation to the Markan SM sayings. Luke seems to have preserved (almost) all the SM sayings in Q unaltered; yet he changed a number of SM sayings in Mark, at times significantly. Does this show that Luke had a greater respect for Q than for Mark? Is Luke’s ‘conservative tendency in relation to his sources dependent on which source(s) he uses? And can such a ‘conservative tendency’ be shown elsewhere in the Lukan writings?64 Such questions might repay further study. 63 Could one say that Luke’s usage itself suggests that the term may have carried sufficient distinctiveness so as not to need explanation, at least for Luke’s readers? 64 As one possible example of such a ‘conservative tendency’, one might refer to the phenomenon of the so-called ‘Wisdom Christology’ of Q. As is well known, a number of Q passages seem to portray Jesus as one of the prophetic envoys sent by Wisdom (cf. Luke 7.34–35; 11.49–51; 13.34–35 and pars.). Matthew in turn regularly upgrades the Christology by identifying Jesus with the figure of Wisdom: see M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1970); also my The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 148–166. But it is now striking that, on the usual reconstruction of the Q sayings, Luke has preserved the schema far more accurately. Yet Luke never elsewhere develops the idea of Jesus as Wisdom’s envoy and hence the schema is not really a Lukan one. The schema is characteristic of Q and Luke has simply conserved the tradition relatively faithfully. – Another similar possible example of the same phenomenon may be provided by the composite citation of Isa 61 + 58 in Luke 4.18–19. I have argued elsewhere that Luke may here be preserving a Q tradition (rather than, as it is often interpreted, redacting freely). See my ‘Luke 4,16–30, Isaiah and Q’, in J. Delobel, LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1982), 342–354. Luke may be influenced by the citation a little in Luke 4.31–44, and he certainly interprets it in Acts 10.38. But there is little other evidence of the influence of Isa 61 in the Lukan writings, apart from the beatitudes in Luke 6.20–21 and the reply of Jesus to the Baptist in Luke 7.22, both of which are again Q passages, and where it may be significant that Luke may have redacted the Beatitudes in such a way that the allusion to Isa 61 is diminished rather than increased. (For details, see my ‘The Beatitudes. A Source-Critical Study’, NovT 25 [1983] 193–207, esp. pp. 197–199 in relation to the second Q beatitude where I have argued that Matthew’s clearer allusion to Isa 61.2 may be closer to the Q wording). Thus Luke does not show any great redactional tendency to enhance the allusion to Isa 61, and yet he preserves what may have been his tradition here faithfully. – Finally, is there any significance in the fact that the first of these examples is clearly, and the second arguably, Q material?

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XXVIII The Christology of Luke-Acts How far do Luke’s Gospel and Acts speak with the same voice and present a unified viewpoint? Over thirty years ago, W. C. Van Unnik famously wrote his contribution to the Festschrift of Paul Schubert under the provocative title ‘Luke-Acts, a Storm Center in Contemporary Scholarship’.1 Perhaps one could say that, some thirty years later within Lukan scholarship, the issue of Lukan Christology has become something of a ministorm centre. For the last few years have seen four major full-length monographs on Lukan Christology, and a number of other major works on the topic have appeared only slightly less recently.2 But first I offer some brief methodological, or terminological, reflections.

1. What Is ‘the Christology of Luke-Acts’? What do we mean when we talk of ‘Luke’s Christology’, ‘Lukan Christology’, ‘the Christology of Luke’s Gospel’, ‘The Christology of Acts’, or (as here) ‘the Christology of Luke-Acts’? I suspect that most people, if they talk of ‘Luke’s Christology’, or ‘the Christology of Luke’, probably mean 1 W. C. Van Unnik, ‘Luke-Acts, a Storm Center in Contemporary Scholarship’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (FS P. Schubert; London: SPCK, 1968), 15–32. 2 See P. Doble, The Paradox of Salvation. Luke’s Theology of the Cross (SNTSMS 87; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); M. L. Strauss, The Davidic Messiah in Luke-Acts. The Promise and Its Fulfillment in Lukan Christology (JSNTSup 110; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995); H. D. Buckwalter, The Character and Purpose of Luke’s Christology (SNTSMS 89; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); C. H. T. Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts. Angels, Christology and Soteriology (WUNT 2.94; Tübingen: Mohr, 1997). In the slightly more recent past, see D. L. Bock, Proclamation from Prophecy and Pattern. Lucan Old Testament Christology (JSNTSup 12; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987); D. P. Moessner, Lord of the Banquet. The Literary and Theological Significance of the Lukan Travel Narrative (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989). The books of Bock, Strauss and Buckwalter all originated as theses written at the University of Aberdeen: one is almost tempted to think of an ‘Aberdeen school’ in relation to the topic! It has not been possible in the course of this essay to cover all the varied theories proposed in these recent studies: in particular, the theories of Doble and Fletcher-Louis have had to remain for the most part unexamined.

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the Christology, or the views about the nature of Jesus’ person or identity, as held by the historical figure of ‘Luke’ himself, i.e. the author of the twovolume work Luke-Acts.3 One major difficulty with any attempt to discover such a Christology is that this Luke is not directly accessible to us. Of course no figure of antiquity is directly available for us to be able to question him or her directly. With Luke, as with so many other figures from the past, we have access through his writings which have survived. And in the case of Luke, as with most other figures of early Christianity attested in the New Testament, that is virtually the only access we have.4 Further, with regard to Christology, the subject is not one that Luke ever writes about explicitly. He never writes an essay or a doctrinal treatise on his own understanding of the person of Jesus. The preceding paragraph could have been written with ‘Paul’ substituted for ‘Luke’ throughout. Paul’s Christology is only available to us indirectly through his writings, none of which fully and comprehensively deals with his understanding of the person of Jesus. (Indeed one could argue that Paul rarely if ever addresses the question directly.) Yet in the case of Paul, some kind of theologising does take place, albeit mostly (if not always) in a very ad hoc manner. In the case of Luke, no such theologising by the author himself is ever presented explicitly in the Lukan writings. Luke’s genre is to tell a story (or many stories), at times presenting the ‘theologising’ of characters in the story.5 For our purposes, one key question is how far can/should the ideas of the characters in the story Luke tells be identified with the ideas of the author himself? We can perhaps attempt to discover ‘the Christology of the Lukan writings’ (though even here, as we shall see, the task is by no means straightforward).6 Thus we might be able to discover the Christology of the ‘implied author’. But is this then to be equated with the Christology of the real author? Is the Christology which emerges from the story to be identi3 I assume here without discussion the common authorship of Luke-Acts, and refer to the author as ‘Luke’, though without presupposing anything further about his identity, e.g. his relationship to Paul. 4 The only possible qualification to this would be if one wished to identify Luke with the Luke mentioned in the Pauline corpus at three places (Col 4.14; Phm 24; 2 Tim 4.11) and/or to take note of patristic testimony about Luke. Yet even this would add little, if anything, of substance to our knowledge of Luke’s views about Jesus. 5 Cf. E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 91: ‘Luke is no systematic theologian. He does not seek to develop any unified doctrine, the product of thorough reflection. … he does not proceed by the systematic discussion of dogmatic themes: these are rather, directly or indirectly, suggested to the reader in his historical presentation by means of vivid scenes.’ 6 I shall use the singular ‘Christology’, rather than plural ‘Christologies’, for the moment.

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fied with the Christology of Luke himself? It is presumably the Christology which Luke chooses to preserve and to present through the medium of his story. Presumably too he chooses to preserve and present things of which he approves and about which he is (in very broad terms) positive. At least some characters in his story are ‘reliable’ in that their ‘point of view’ coincides with that of the author (or at least the implied author).7 Other characters are not and presumably their views are clearly not accepted. Thus Jesus or God in the Gospel, or the Holy Spirit or Paul in Acts, are presumably for Luke ‘reliable’ characters; Pilate, Felix and the sons of Sceva are not, and anything they say is not to be trusted.8 However, ‘approval’ and absolute agreement are not necessarily identical. It could be, for example, that Luke approves of some things simply because they are part of a revered tradition which he is anxious to preserve and to hand on. But this does not necessarily mean that he agrees with it entirely as fully reflecting his own views without any qualification. This applies at many levels. It seems quite clear that characters in Luke’s story sometimes say things or do things in such a way that Luke clearly approves of their actions and/or words; but either the rest of the story, or some very basic considerations, make it very clear that these things are not simply blueprints which Luke thinks can be repeated exactly in his own day. For example, Luke preserves and hands on, or perhaps even creates, stories of pious Jews in the Temple (Luke 1–2) who provide the start of the Christian story about John the Baptist and Jesus. Further, it is quite clear that this activity of Temple-centred piety is regarded approvingly by Luke: it is an integral part of his thoroughly positive presentation of the start of the Christian story and finds an echo in the similar Temple-centred piety of the early Jerusalem church in Acts. Yet presumably Luke does not expect Christians in his own day to repeat such activity precisely. The very fact that he is (almost certainly) writing after 70 CE, and for Christians not living in or near Jerusalem, means that any Temple-centred activity is a physical impossibility. We can of course seek to get ‘behind’ the stories and argue that there is a more indirect truth that Luke is trying to express (e.g. to show the positive links, and the continuity between the Christian story and ‘the Jewish tradition’). My point is simply that this represents a measure of abstraction and deduction.

7 For characters as ‘reliable’, cf. R. C. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts. A Literary Interpretation. Vol. 1. The Gospel according to Luke (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 7–8. For ‘point of view’, see N. R. Petersen, ‘“Point of View” in Mark’s Narrative’, Semeia 12 (1978) 97–121. 8 This is of course not to deny the possibility of irony, whereby characters in the story are unwittingly made to say things that are true. However, even the statement in the text above may have to be qualified, e.g. in relation to Jesus: see below.

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Similarly, it seems clear that much of the teaching which Luke preserves – often expressed by characters in the story who are clearly ‘reliable’ – is regarded by him as important, but not simply as teaching to be repeated in his own day verbatim. Jesus’ teaching on riches, poverty and the necessity for would-be disciples to give up all their possessions is apparently not regarded as applicable in the post-Easter situation: in Acts there are clearly a number of Christians who do not give up everything and whose ‘failure’ to do so seems to elicit no adverse comment from Luke in any way.9 Presumably Luke regards Jesus as a thoroughly reliable character in his story. Yet Jesus’ teaching is implicitly qualified later in Luke’s own story. On a similar theme, the instructions about the ‘ascetic’ lifestyle to be adopted by Jesus’ own followers on mission during his ministry are cancelled by the Lukan Jesus himself (Luke 22.35, cf. 10.4–7).10 Luke is above all a historian and he seems genuinely aware of the fact that the story he is recounting lies in the historical past. He is thus aware of the pastness of the past in a way that other NT writers, and other gospel writers, may not be.11 Hence we cannot necessarily simply repeat the words of characters in the story and see them as a direct reflection of Luke’s own views. Luke’s views may differ slightly, or more than slightly, from what he puts on the lips of even his most revered characters in the story he tells. We should perhaps also raise the question of whether it is even appropriate to think of Luke as having ‘a Christology’ at all. His chosen genre is that of a story, not a doctrinal treatise. Recent study has made it very clear to many (myself included) that Luke has a definite agenda in writing, that he has a ‘point of view’. But whether he has a ‘theology’, or ‘a Christol9 See my Luke (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), ch. 5, pp. 94–110, for details. For followers of Jesus as giving up everything, cf. Luke 5.11 (cf. Mark 1.20); Luke 5.28 (LukeR of Mark 2.17: Levi leaves ‘everything’); Luke 18.22 (the rich young man is to leave ‘everything’, LukeR of Mark 10.21); above all Luke 14.33: ‘None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions’. See too D. Marguerat, ‘Luc-Actes. Une unité à construire’, in J. Verheyden (ed.), The Unity of LukeActs (BETL 142; Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 57–81. 10 Even though Luke confuses the 12 and the 70! The same may well apply in relation to a number of other issues, e.g. Torah observance (is Jesus’ saying on the abiding validity of the Law in Luke 16.17 really meant as a statement implying that all Christians in Luke’s day must obey the whole Jewish Law?), or eschatology (cf. the well-known difference between the teaching of Jesus in the Gospel as in Luke 12.39–46; 17.23–37 and the almost total silence on futurist eschatology in Acts). See further my Luke, especially the ‘Concluding Hermeneutical Reflections’, 111–117. Also S. G. Wilson, Related Strangers. Jews and Christians 70–170 CE (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 61, on the dangers of ‘slid(ing) too easily between the Lucan narrative and the Lucan community’, and the section on pp. 59–63 on Luke and the Law, as well as Marguerat, ‘Luc-Actes’. 11 Cf. H. Conzelmann, The Theology of St Luke (London: Faber, 1960), 170, and the whole of his Part 4, pp. 170–206.

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ogy’, is perhaps another matter. One’s answer depends of course to a certain extent on how one defines ‘theology’. But insofar as theology (and Christology as a subset of the broader category of theology) represents a second order attempt to stand back from the primary first order evidence, or phenomena, or formulations of belief, and to seek to rationalise and synthesise such data into a coherent whole, then it is not at all clear that Luke ever makes this attempt.12 It is arguable if Paul ever does so. In the case of Luke we have to say that if he did so, it has not come down to us directly. All we have is his story. There are thus very real problems in seeking to determine the Christology of Luke from the Christology of Luke-Acts. The Lukan writings might give us access to ‘the Christology of Luke-Acts’, i.e. the Christology of the implied author (if indeed that is recoverable). But we must then be fully aware of the very real problems involved in trying to get back from that to the possible Christology of Luke himself.13

2. Methodology in Study of New Testament Christology Before discussing the Lukan writings in particular, we should perhaps consider briefly the wider question of how to approach the general topic of Christology in relation to the NT writings and early Christianity. The older, traditional way to approach the topic of the Christology of a NT writer was via the use of specific Christological titles such as Lord, Christ, Son of God, Son of Man etc. Such investigations focused on these titles separately and sought to analyse how far they were significant and what might have been meant by them.14 Such an approach has come under fire more recently, 15 with a number of criticisms raised. Firstly, it has been pointed out that the titles which were applied to Jesus may not have been univocal in meaning within either Judaism or Greco-Roman thinking at the 12

Cf. Haenchen’s comment cited in n. 5 above: ‘Luke is no systematic theologian’. Cf. too Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 34, 349–350, distinguishing between Luke’s own Christology and what Strauss calls his ‘Christological purpose’ in writing. 14 Cf. the classic studies of O. Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament (London: SCM, 1959); R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1965); F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology (London: Lutterworth, 1969). 15 See especially L. E. Keck, ‘Toward the Renewal of New Testament Christology’, NTS 32 (1986) 362–377, repr. in M. C. de Boer (ed.), From Jesus to John. Essays on Jesus and New Testament Christology in Honour of Marinus de Jonge (JSNTSup 84; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 321–340; cf. also E. Richard, Jesus. One and Many. The Christological Concepts of New Testament Authors (Wilmington, Del.: Glazier, 1988), 64–65, with further literature. 13

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time. Secondly, it has been said that the exclusive focus on titles tends to ignore other evidence which may be just as, if not more, important for determining the significance which early Christians may have attributed to Jesus, e.g. the evidence of hymnody, the use of OT texts, the application of categories and factors other than the use of an (inevitably) small number of allegedly key terms such as Lord etc. The first of these objections is not insuperable. The fact that titles were not univocal in meaning within non-Christian circles simply means that we have to have greater sensitivity in our analysis in seeing how Christians used such terms when they applied them to Jesus. Instead of simply assuming that one key term (e.g. Christ) had a single meaning and network of associated overtones, we have to reckon with the fact that terms had a range of possible meanings, and that we need some care to determine where within this range the Christian application of the term to Jesus is to be located.16 The second objection is more real, and NT exegetes today are probably far more sensitive than in the past to parts of the evidence from a text like Luke-Acts which may be highly relevant in relation to assessments of the person of Jesus but which do not use ‘standard’ Christological titles. For example, much has been made recently of the reference to ‘the Spirit of Jesus’ in Acts 16.7 (see below), even though the phrase itself uses no ‘title’ for Jesus at all but only his proper name. In similar vein, the Christological significance of the worship of Jesus has been emphasised by several scholars in recent years.17 So too, Thiselton has pointed out that, from the point of view of speech act theory, many things predicated of Jesus in Luke’s story presuppose a prior state of affairs for what is said to have validity.18 Thus the saying of Jesus ‘My son, your sins are forgiven’ (Luke 5.20) depends on a logically prior state of affairs regarding Jesus’ status and authority as being valid for the saying to be accepted (as Luke does) as having any validity and actually achieving something.19 Nevertheless, despite the undoubted significance of many such features in relation to Christology, one cannot ignore the more traditional approach entirely. The fact that certain key ‘titles’ or terms were used by early Christians to refer to Jesus in a potentially significant way means that these Such a procedure has of course long been practised in relation to a term like țȪȡȚȠȢ. See especially R. J. Bauckham, ‘The Worship of Jesus in Apocalyptic Christianity’, NTS 27 (1980–81) 322–341; L. Hurtado, One God, One Lord. Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). 18 A. C. Thiselton, ‘Christology in Luke, Speech Act Theory, and the Problem of Dualism in Christology after Kant’, in J. B. Green & M. Turner (eds.), Jesus of Nazareth, Lord and Christ. Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (FS I. H. Marshall; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994), 453–473. 19 Thiselton, ‘Christology in Luke’, 461. 16 17

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terms do provide an important part of the evidence for seeking to uncover Christological ideas of early Christians. Thus whilst mindful of other evidence which must be given its full weight, we cannot ignore the evidence provided by the use of titles themselves. Indeed in the case of Luke-Acts, this is even more necessary, given the way in which at times titles are quite deliberately and explicitly predicated of Jesus with attempts made to justify their usage in this context.20

3. Luke-Acts: A Single Christology? I return then to Luke-Acts. Is it right to talk of ‘the’ Christology of LukeActs? Is there a single overriding Christology emerging from the Lukan writings as the Christology of the implied author (if not of the real author)? In relation to either of Luke’s two books separately, such a question would be a real one. In relation to Luke-Acts considered as a unity, the question is even more pressing. Would it not be better to speak of at least the Christology of Luke’s Gospel and the Christology of Acts? Or are there not even Christologies (plural) within Acts itself? And perhaps within Luke’s Gospel? There is no doubt that a strong case can be built up for the view that Luke-Acts does not present a single Christology but rather a whole variety of Christologies.21 The reason for this variety may be two-fold. Firstly, Luke may be dependent on sources, and fidelity to his source material may be part of the reason for what appear as slightly discordant voices speaking through his writings. Secondly, it is striking that Luke seems to take care to make his characters say things that he thinks are appropriate for the occasion. Lucian’s statement (How to Write History, 56), on how historians should put words on to the lips of their characters making speeches, is often cited in this context: If you must introduce at a certain point a character who makes a speech, let his language before all things be adapted to his personality (İੁțȩIJĮ IJ૶ ʌȡȠıȫʌ૳) and to his object.

So too there is the even more famous statement of Thucydides about his own procedure:

20 Cf. the sustained argument in the speech in Acts 2 to justify the use of the terms Lord and Christ of Jesus (the conclusion in Acts 2.36); cf. too Luke’s notes that various Christians sought to show that Jesus was the Christ (Acts 9.22; 17.3; 18.5, 28). 21 Virtually all the relevant evidence has been noted by others before and what is presented here can make no attempt to be startlingly original. See especially the important essay of C. F. D. Moule, ‘The Christology of Acts’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (FS P. Schubert; London: SPCK, 1968), 159–185.

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As to the speeches that were made by different men, either when they were about to begin the war or when they were already engaged therein, it has been difficult to recall with strict accuracy the words actually spoken, both for me as regards that which I myself heard, and for those who from various other sources have brought me reports. Therefore, the speeches are given in the language in which, as it seemed to me, the several speakers would express, on the subjects under consideration, the sentiments most befitting the occasion, though at the same time I have adhered as closely as possible to the general sense of what was actually said.22

The precise meaning of what is said here, and the possible relevance to study of Luke-Acts, has been frequently discussed.23 We do not know the nature or extent of Luke’s source material in relation to the speeches in Acts. Nevertheless, it may be significant that it is exclusively in words on the lips of Paul in Acts that Jesus is referred to as Son of God (Acts 9.22; 13.33). In similar vein, it is Paul, and only Paul, in Acts who refers in any way to Jesus’ death as in some sense vicarious (Acts 20.28, even if the language is rather garbled and the precise sense obscure).24 At the very least, one can perhaps say that Paul is made to sound more ‘Pauline’ than other characters in the narrative. In similar vein, it is Peter who refers to Jesus as the ‘servant’ (Acts 3.13, 26), probably referring to the Isaianic servant of Isa 53.25 Admittedly Peter is not alone in this respect in Acts (cf. Acts 8); but it may be significant that one of the relatively few other references to Jesus as the servant figure of Isa 53 occurs in a work attributed to Peter, viz. 1 Pet 2.22–25. This is in no way intended as an argument for either the historical reliability of Peter’s speech in Acts 3, or for the authenticity of 1 Peter. But it may show that Luke was aware of some link between the apostle Peter and ideas associating Jesus with the servant figure of Isa 53; and being perhaps aware of such a link, Luke has Peter then say what he thinks is appropriate. The same may also be implied by the rejected stone testimonium using Ps 118 which is referred to in Peter’s speech in Acts 4.11 and also in 1 Pet 2.7.26 22

Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, 1.22 (Loeb translation). The secondary literature is enormous. Cf. recently W. J. McCoy, ‘In the Shadow of Thucydides’, in B. Witherington III (ed.), History, Literature and Society in the Book of Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 3–23, with an Addendum by the Editor, pp. 23–32. 24 See all the commentaries on Acts at this point. So too, it is Paul, and no one else, who is made to say something about the Law, being justified and faith (Acts 13.39), again in an admittedly rather garbled way. But perhaps Luke is not a great theologian! 25 Cf. the reference to ‘glorifying’ in v. 13 (cf. Isa 52.13). The reference to Jesus as ʌĮ૙Ȣ in Acts 4.27, 30 is almost certainly more of a royal idea: see Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 169. 26 The evidence is noted by Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 173, who points out that, while Paul and 1 Peter also use other ‘stone’ texts (from Isa 8 and 28, cf. Rom 9.33; 1 Pet 2.6, 8), only 1 Peter alludes to Ps 118 in this context. For an attempt to relate more of 23

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Luke may thus be sensitive in writing his story in that he has his characters say things that he thinks are appropriate both to themselves as individuals and to the contexts in which they are speaking.27 And this may make it all the harder to determine Luke’s own view: for example, the speech in Acts 2 placed on Peter’s lips may not tell us so much about Luke’s own views, but more about what Luke thought were the kinds of things that Peter said, or should have said, in the context in which the speech is now placed within the story. 28 Within Luke’s Gospel, one can point to a number of Christological themes or ideas which show again either Luke’s sensitivity to his story or his fidelity to his source material (or both). Certainly it is striking how far some of these ideas are confined to the Gospel almost exclusively. If, as some have argued, Luke’s own hand is more likely to be evident in Acts, and his own ideas are most likely to emerge in the speeches in Acts where he may have had less direct information available from his sources,29 then it is all the more striking that Luke’s Gospel is full of Christological motifs that are absent from Acts, and vice versa. The case for this was argued strongly by Moule in his essay on the Christology of Acts in relation to the use of țȪȡȚȠȢ, arguing that Luke reserves the absolute use of ੒ țȪȡȚȠȢ for Jesus on the lips of human characters in the story for the narrative in Acts; in Luke’s Gospel, it is generally only the narrator who uses this, the vocative țȪȡȚİ being Christologically less significant as just a polite form of address.30 This aspect of Moule’s

what is said by Luke’s Peter to what is said in 1 Peter, see S. S. Smalley, ‘The Christology of Acts Again’, in B. Lindars & idem (eds.), Christ and Spirit in the New Testament (FS C. F. D. Moule; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 79–96. 27 For the latter, cf. the well-known way in which Luke subtly alters the way in which Paul recounts the story of his own conversion later in Acts 22 and 26 in such a way as to be appropriate for the audiences he is addressing. See, for example, D. Marguerat, ‘Saul’s Conversion (Acts 9, 22, 26) and the Multiplication of Narrative in Acts’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Luke’s Literary Achievement (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 127–155, with further literature. Possibly relevant too may be the references to Christians showing that Jesus was the Christ (Acts 9.22; 17.3; 18.5, 28), which are all located in synagogue discussions: see Wilson, Related Strangers, 74. 28 Cf. the widespread view that the Christology implied at the end of the speech in v. 36 may be pre-Lukan and not Luke’s own: see C. K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles. Volume I (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 152; Haenchen, Acts, 187. 29 The view that Luke had considerable creative input into the speeches is widespread: see M. Dibelius, Studies in the Acts of the Apostles (London: SCM, 1956); E. Schweizer, ‘Concerning the Speeches in Acts’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in LukeActs (FS P. Schubert; London: SPCK, 1968), 208–216. For recent study of the speeches, see M. L. Soards, The Speeches in Acts. Their Content, Context and Concerns (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994). 30 See Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 160–161.

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essay has been criticised as not quite doing justice to the evidence.31 Besides the slightly embarrassing exception (to prove the rule?!) of Luke 1.43 (recognised by Moule), there is the fact the Luke does sometimes juxtapose references to Jesus as ੒ țȪȡȚȠȢ with an address to him by characters in the story as țȪȡȚİ (cf. Luke 12.41, 42; 17.5, 6; 19.8a, b), thus suggesting that the use of the vocative may be more than simply a polite address: the one addressed as țȪȡȚİ is ੒ țȪȡȚȠȢ. Nevertheless, Moule’s general point can I think stand by referring to other examples (some of which were noted by Moule himself). I have discussed Luke’s use of the term Son of Man (SM) elsewhere.32 Suffice it to note here that Luke uses the term freely in his Gospel: indeed, arguably he expands the SM sayings in his sources (Mark and Q) with a number of other sayings which may be due to LukeR. But even if these extra sayings are all from ‘L’ tradition(s), the same overall picture emerges: Luke is happy to preserve and hand on a firmly established tradition whereby Jesus talked of himself as SM; but in Acts, in the post-resurrection era, all talk of Jesus as SM disappears almost completely. The one exception is of course the saying of the dying Stephen in Acts 7.56, but even this cannot wholly hide the otherwise deafening silence of Acts in relation to the term SM. This even covers instances where SM terminology would have been entirely appropriate, e.g. Acts 17.31 and the reference to judgment of the world ‘through a man’, a context where SM language would have been very apt (cf. Luke 17.23–30; 21.36 etc.). It seems that Luke is aware of the fact that SM may have been a significant term on the lips of Jesus and during Jesus’ own lifetime; after the resurrection, it was not apparently a category used by most of the earliest Christians, and Luke does not use it in Acts. Similar arguments may apply to a group of other categories often associated with Q in Luke’s Gospel. The category of Wisdom, and perhaps Jesus as one of Wisdom’s prophetic envoys, is a well-known feature of Q’s Christology. 33 The prime evidence for this comes from Lukan texts with their Lukan wordings, notably Luke 7.35; 11.49. (Matthew regularly ‘upgrades’ the Christological schema to identify Jesus with the person of Wisdom.34) 31 See E. Franklin, Christ the Lord. A Study in the Purpose and Theology of Luke-Acts (London: SPCK, 1975), 49–53; also S. G. Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles (London: SPCK, 1979), 72–73. 32 C. M. Tuckett, ‘The Lukan Son of Man’, in idem (ed.), Luke’s Literary Achievement (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 198–217 (pp. 557–573 in this volume). See too Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 163–164. 33 See my Q and the History of Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 218–221. 34 See M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1970).

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Yet this Wisdom Christology reappears nowhere else in Luke-Acts. Nowhere else does Luke redact Mark to introduce such an idea and it is absent from Acts. As such, this is often taken as a characteristic feature of Q, firmly distinguished from the Lukan viewpoint(s). But in this context, it is then all the more striking that it appears in Luke’s writings at all. It may be due to Luke’s sensitivity; it may be due to Luke’s respect for his sources. But whatever the reason, Luke here seems to preserve an element with Christological significance that does not appear to be at all characteristic of the rest of the Lukan writings or of Luke himself. I have argued elsewhere that a similar phenomenon may occur in the case of the quotation of Isa 61.1–2, cited in Luke 4.18–19.35 This is often taken as a programmatic summary of Luke’s whole two-volume story.36 Yet it is remarkable how little the ideas expressed here either reflect, or even influence, the details of the story that follows. The Isa 61 reference is probably reflected in two later passages in Luke’s Gospel, viz. the opening beatitudes (Luke 6.20–21) and the reply of Jesus to John the Baptist’s messengers (Luke 7.22). Yet it may be significant that both are Q passages, i.e. part of Luke’s source material. Further, it is notable that Luke, unlike Matthew, does not alter the beatitude about the mourners to reflect the language of Isa 61.2. It may well be that Matthew’s version represents Q more accurately, in which case Luke’s different version here represents a redactional move away from the language of Isa 61.37 The tasks set out in the Isa 61 citation do not correspond closely to the activity of either Jesus or the early Christians as described in Acts. Preaching good news to the poor is perhaps the one element which does find a positive echo elsewhere in Luke-Acts.38 However, ‘release for the captives’ 35 See my ‘Luke 4, Isaiah and Q’, in J. Delobel (ed.), LOGIA. Les paroles de Jésus – The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; Leuven: Peeters, 1982), 343–354; and my Q and the History, 226–237. 36 J. T. Sanders, The Jews in Luke-Acts (London: SCM, 1987), 165: ‘The scene is “programmatic” in Luke-Acts, as one grows almost tired of reading in the literature on the passage.’ 37 See my ‘The Beatitudes. A Source-Critical Study’, NovT 25 (1983) 193–207, also Q and the History, 223–226; however, for an alternative view, see F. Neirynck, ‘Q 6,20b.21; 7,22 and Isaiah 61’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), The Scriptures in the Gospels (BETL 131; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 27–64, esp. 33–45, for the allusion to Isa 61.2 in Matt 5.4 being due to MattR (with further references to other secondary literature). 38 Though see J. B. Green, ‘Good News to Whom? Jesus and the “Poor” in the Gospel of Luke’, in idem & M. Turner (eds.), Jesus of Nazareth, Lord and Christ. Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (FS I. H. Marshall; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994), 59–74, who finds enough of a mismatch between the standard interpretation of the ‘poor’ here as meaning the economically destitute and the rest of Luke-Acts to force a reinterpretation of the ‘poor’ here (as meaning the socially excluded as much as the economically destitute).

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in the normal sense is rare, as is ‘release for those crushed’;39 and recovery of sight for the blind is scarcely a very prominent element in the miracles Luke records. The idea of the Spirit being ‘on’ Jesus is also notorious by its absence in the subsequent Lukan story. It is true that, prior to this, Luke has the account of the Spirit coming on Jesus at his baptism (Luke 3.21) and he also has Jesus being driven into the wilderness by the Spirit for the temptations (Luke 4.1). But after the Nazareth scene, Jesus never appears specifically as Spirit-possessed;40 rather, Luke seems to reserve the gift of the Spirit for the post-Easter situation and, moreover, presents it as sometimes a gift by Jesus, rather than a gift in which both Jesus and the disciples share as (equal) recipients (cf. Luke 24.49; Acts 2.33). It is true that Isa 61 and (probably) the use of this text in Luke 4 are reflected once in Acts in the speech of Peter in Acts 10.38. Indeed this seems to give Luke’s own interpretation of the Isa 61 quotation: the ‘oppressed’ are now interpreted as ‘those oppressed by the Devil’, apparently referring to (all?) those who are sick (cf. the reference to ‘healing’). But again one has to say that such ideas are not prominent elsewhere in Luke’s writings: illness is only rarely attributed to demonic influence (only Luke 13.16). It can be argued that Luke has slightly redacted the stories immediately following the Nazareth scene in Luke 4 to make them more exorcistic:41 but again this is hardly a dominant theme in Luke-Acts and does not In slightly different vein, Lemcio points out that the ਙijİıȚȢ which seems to be promised here is quite different from the ਙijİıȚȢ which is actually offered later in the story, especially in Acts, where it is always the ਙijİıȚȢ ਖȝĮȡIJȚ૵Ȟ, i.e. forgiveness rather than ‘release’. See E. E. Lemcio, The Past of Jesus in the Gospels (SNTSMS 68; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 81: ‘Proclaiming release to captives has little or nothing to do in an obvious sense with announcing repentance that leads to forgiveness. So, when it comes to describing what lay at the heart of Jesus’ and the church’s mission, Luke refuses to justify the Christian blueprint by making it a carbon copy of Jesus’ sense of calling.’ Perhaps though I would add that release for captives also has little in any clear sense to do with what actually happens in Luke’s account of the ministry of Jesus himself! Further, it is the Greek word ਙijİıȚȢ which is the key word linking the two texts from Isa 61.1 and 58.6 which form the mixed citation here: thus the originator of the mixed citation evidently laid great store by this kind of ਙijİıȚȢ brought by Jesus. Given that the use of the word here shows little contact with Luke’s own prominent use of the word elsewhere in Luke-Acts, it seems unlikely that Luke is responsible for the mixed citation here. 40 As one way to try to solve the problem, see R. L. Brawley, Luke-Acts and the Jews. Conflict, Apology, and Conciliation (SBLMS 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 19: ‘Because Luke so strongly establishes the identity of Jesus as one anointed with the Spirit at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, he is able to assume it through the rest of his gospel with little need for additional references.’ But this rather begs the question and assumes, rather than demonstrates, a ‘narrative unity’ in Luke-Acts. 41 For details, see my ‘Luke 4, Isaiah and Q’, 349: in Luke 4.38 Luke has Jesus rebuke the fever of Peter’s mother-in-law (LukeR of Mark); and in Luke 4.40, in redacting the 39

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last much beyond Luke 4 itself. By the time one gets to ch. 5, Luke seems to have forgotten about it. Thereafter, exorcisms are not very prominent and, with the exception of the woman in Luke 13, physical illness is not attributed to demonic possession. Thus once again Luke seems to show either a ‘sensitivity’ to his material42 or a fidelity to source material that may not entirely chime in with his own views (or perhaps both). Something of the same idea may be also the case in the idea of Jesus as a prophet. Luke’s Gospel in particular has often been interpreted as having a very prominent prophetic Christology: 43 and, for example, David Moessner has argued very strongly that the idea of a ‘prophet like Moses’ is an important overarching motif linking different parts of the Lukan writings, especially the travel narrative.44 However, it is not always so clear that the prophetic category is regarded positively by Luke. It is true that in Luke 4.24 Jesus himself compares his role with that of a prophet, as also in Luke 13.33. But in Luke 7.16 it is the reaction of a crowd which says that Jesus is a prophet (cf. too Luke 7.39; 9.19), and it may be that Luke regards this as slightly inadequate: the next section of the Gospel seems to be dominated by the question of who Jesus really is, and culminates in Peter’s confession of Jesus as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (9.20) and/or the declaration of God himself at the Transfiguration that Jesus is his Son (9.35).45 Further, the theory that a Mosaic-like prophet typology governs Luke’s travel narrative has been searchingly examined by others and found to be not entirely convincing.46

general summary in Mark 1.32–34, Luke focuses solely on the exorcisms, omitting the general healings mentioned by Mark as well. 42 Cf. Lemcio, Past of Jesus, stressing the difference between Luke and Acts. 43 See G. W. H. Lampe, ‘The Lucan Portrait of Christ’, NTS 2 (1956) 160–175; U. Busse, Die Wunder des Propheten Jesus (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1977); L. T. Johnson, The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts (SBLDS 39; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977); further literature in Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 196–197 n. 2; also J. D. Kingsbury, ‘Jesus as the “Prophetic Messiah” in Luke’s Gospel’, in A. J. Malherbe & W. A. Meeks (eds.), The Future of Christology (FS L. E. Keck; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 29–42, on p. 30 n. 9. 44 Moessner, Lord of the Banquet; cf. earlier C. F. Evans, ‘The Central Section of St Luke’s Gospel’, in D. E. Nineham (ed.), Studies in the Gospels. Essays in Memory of R. H. Lightfoot (Oxford: Blackwell, 1955), 37–53. 45 See A. J. McNicol, D. L. Dungan, D. B. Peabody, Beyond the Q Impasse – Luke’s Use of Matthew (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1997), 111 ff.; also J. B. Green, The Theology of the Gospel of Luke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 61–62; Kingsbury, ‘Jesus as the “Prophetic Messiah”’, 35–41. 46 See A. Denaux, ‘Old Testament Models for the Lukan Travel Narrative’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), The Scriptures in the Gospels (BETL 131; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 271– 305, esp. pp. 281–285; Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 278–285. See too J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB 28; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 793: ‘Jesus as a new Moses is not a strong motif in the Lucan gospel … If it is present here [in the

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What is also striking is the way in which the prophetic category recedes sharply in Acts. It is true that the idea of Jesus as the prophet like Moses does surface on two occasions in speeches in Acts (Acts 3.22; 7.37); but it is only on these two occasions and never comes out anywhere else. It has been argued that even this shows a sharp distinction between the Gospel and Acts: Jesus in the Gospel is a prophet, whereas in Acts he is the prophet (like Moses).47 This may press things too far; but the fact remains that the prophetic category is one that recedes sharply in Acts when compared to the Gospel. Could this then be another example of Lukan ‘sensitivity’ and/ or fidelity to his sources? Luke is maybe aware that prophetic ideas were predicated of Jesus in his ministry and in the earliest days of the Christian movement; but they died out later and do not reflect Luke’s own views. Connected with the ‘Wisdom Christology’ (cf. above) and the SM texts is the fact that Wisdom terminology and SM references are often correlated in contexts which imply hostility, rejection and suffering. Again the passages are almost exclusively Q texts (Luke 6.22; 7.35; 9.58; 11.49) and may well represent a distinctive Q theologoumenon.48 But once again the striking thing is that Luke has preserved the pattern, and yet does not develop it or exploit it at all outside these Q passages. Luke apparently feels constrained by his source material. Similarly, Luke takes over from Mark all the three Markan passion predictions which relate Jesus’ passion to himself qua SM. Luke does redact some details of the predictions, notably rewriting the third prediction to bring in the notion of the fulfilment of scripture (Luke 18.31 cf. Mark 10.33); but he does not change the consistent Markan pattern whereby it is in his capacity/role as SM that Jesus must suffer. Again, however, Luke never develops or uses these ideas in Acts. Moreover, on occasions Luke does seek to have characters in the later (= postEaster) story try to deal with the question of why Jesus had to suffer. But on such occasions, Luke has them all say consistently that it is in his capacity/role as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ, not SM, that Jesus had to suffer (cf. the risen Jesus himself in Luke 24.26, 46, Peter in Acts 3.18, Paul in Acts 17.3; 26.23). The language of Luke’s story seems to be of a suffering Christ after Easter, a suffering SM or a suffering prophet before Easter.49 Some of all these various pieces of disparate data might be reconcilable within a single broader Christological schema if one postulated the idea that, for Luke, Jesus’ ‘anointing’ was conceived of as an anointing with the Spirit (cf. Luke 4.18; Acts 10.38) to be primarily a prophetic figure: thus transfiguration story], it is inherited from the tradition and finds little development of it (sic) in the rest of the Lucan writings.’ 47 See Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 162. 48 See my Q and the History, 166–207, 253–276. 49 The point is also noted by Lemcio, Past of Jesus, 76–77.

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Jesus qua anointed, i.e. qua Messiah/Christ, is a prophet. Jesus the Christ is thus an anointed prophet. Such an idea would then encompass the idea of Jesus as a prophet, as the one who must suffer as one of Wisdom’s envoys (who are the prophets, cf. 11.49), who is then by virtue of this the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ.50 That there is an element of truth in this is undeniable. It is clear that Luke does see Jesus’ anointing as an anointing with the Spirit, and Luke does once correlate the ‘anointing’ of Jesus with the fact that he is the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (Acts 4.26–27). Moreover, such a link does seem to be peculiar to Luke. 51 Yet whether Luke then connects this with the idea of a prophet, especially that of a suffering prophet, seems more uncertain. Elsewhere in the Lukan writings, Luke seems to tie the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ terminology very closely to Davidic and royal ideas. This comes out very firmly in the birth narratives, where Davidic (not prophetic) ideas about Jesus are very much to the fore, and also in some of the speeches in Acts, notably Peter’s Pentecost speech in Acts 2 (cf. the appeal to the Davidic promises in Ps 16) and in Paul’s speech at Pisidian Antioch in Acts 13. And in Acts 4.26–27, reference to Jesus as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ whom God ‘anointed’ is set firmly in the context of a clear parallel to David.52 As Strauss has argued, it would be hard if not impossible to divorce ideas of Messiahship from Davidic/royal

50 Cf. Hahn, Titles, 381; I. de la Potterie, ‘L’onction du Christ’, NRT 80 (1958) 225– 252; also W. C. Van Unnik, ‘Jesus the Christ’, NTS 8 (1962) 101–116, for the connection between Messiahship and anointing with the Spirit (though he argues more at the level of Jesus than of Luke). For Luke 4 as implying a prophetic anointing, see Fitzmyer, Luke I– IX, 527–528. Kingsbury, ‘Jesus as “Prophetic Messiah”’, sees Jesus in Luke as both prophet and Messiah, though with the emphasis very much on the latter, and he does not relate Jesus’ (‘messianic’) anointing to his prophetic role. 51 See M. de Jonge, Christology in Context. The Earliest Christian Response to Jesus (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1988), 100. Yet it is not at all clear how important this is for Luke. If it were, it is surprising that the idea of Jesus as the one endowed with the Spirit receives so little explicit mention in the Gospel (unless one can take it as read on the basis of Luke 4.18: cf. at n. 40 above and the discussion there). In Peter’s speech in Acts 2, where there is an explicit argument to justify the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ being applied to Jesus, the basis of the argument is the resurrection of Jesus (coupled with an appeal to Ps 16), not a reference to Jesus’ being anointed with the Spirit; similarly, in Paul’s speech in Acts 13, Jesus ‘fulfils’ the Davidic promises by virtue of the resurrection, not by virtue of being endowed with the Spirit. The passing reference in Acts 4 (which mentions the ‘anointing’ but not explicitly the Spirit) remains the only place where Luke relates the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ to Jesus’ being ‘anointed’. 52 Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 169, points to the parallel in the reference in v. 27 to Jesus as God’s holy ‘servant’ and the reference to David as God’s ‘servant’ in v. 25. Cf. too n. 25 above: ʌĮ૙Ȣ here does not imply any idea of a suffering figure, let alone that of the suffering servant of Isa 53 – rather, it is part of a royal typology.

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ideas,53 and it is all but impossible to find any idea of a suffering Messiah figure in non-Christian texts prior to the New Testament.54 All these considerations give strength to the widely held view that ‘Luke’s Christology’ may be all but irrecoverable. Thus Buckwalter cites S. G. Wilson’s statement as representative of a broad consensus: Luke has used diverse, and often ancient, christological traditions without integrating them into any particular scheme. This leads to a certain lack of uniformity, a disjunction between different strands of material which stand side by side … The use of christological titles is somewhat haphazard. They represent the terminology of Luke’s day but, in many cases, the belief of the early Church as well. Some may have had an archaic ring and were for that reason deemed appropriate to the sermons of the early Church.55 Luke, it appears, was a somewhat indiscriminating collector of christological traditions who transmits a variety of traditional terms and concepts without reflecting upon them individually or in conjunction with each other.56

Insofar as there is a unity to Luke’s Christology, few would probably quarrel with the statement of Wilson that ‘the consensus is that the christology of Luke-Acts is fundamentally an exaltation christology’.57 The great stress laid on the fact that Jesus has been exalted in the resurrection/ascension is both strongly anticipated in Luke’s Gospel (cf. Luke 4.16–30; 9.31, 51) and also amply attested in the speeches in Acts. But what the precise significance of this fact is for Luke remains rather less clear. So too it is not agreed what capacity the risen and exalted Jesus occupies for Luke. Many have argued that, insofar as Luke’s views can be discerned, the picture is fundamentally a ‘subordinationist’ one: Jesus is presented as above all a human being who is subordinate to God.58 53

See Strauss, Davidic Messiah, and also below for more on the Davidic/royal theme. Fitzmyer, Luke I–IX, 200, refers to the link between Messiahship and suffering in Luke as ‘a peculiarly Lukan theologoumenon’. 55 Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles, 79. 56 Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles, 80. Cf. too Lampe, ‘Lucan Portrait of Christ’, 160: ‘Even if we could readily isolate Luke’s own theological outlook from that of his sources which he was using, the fact remains that the thought of the Lucan writings is seldom clear-cut. The author does not follow any one line of interpretation to the exclusion of all others; on the contrary, he prefers to make a synthesis … He prefers to hold a large number of threads in his hand at once, introducing first one and then another in a somewhat untidy and ill-defined pattern, without allowing any one of them so to predominate over the rest as to give unity and coherence to the whole. This tendency is perhaps especially marked in his presentation of the Person and work of Christ.’ 57 Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles, 69; cf. also Franklin, Christ the Lord, passim. 58 See Conzelmann, Theology of St Luke, 173–184; Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles, 77; Haenchen, Acts, 92; cf. too H. Braun, ‘Zur Terminologie der Acta von der Auferstehung’, TLZ 77 (1952) 533–536; U. Wilckens, Die Missionsreden der Apostelgeschichte (WMANT 5; Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1961), 137–140. 54

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4. Luke-Acts: A “High” Christology? Jesus as Lord Such a view has however been strongly challenged in recent years, above all in the books of Bock and Buckwalter (and also, from a very different perspective, that of Fletcher-Louis). Further, both Bock and Buckwalter would claim that a unified Lukan view can be discerned; moreover, this view represents a very ‘high’ Christology, not a ‘low’ one (to use what is admittedly rather anachronistic terminology). I take first the monograph of Bock.59 Bock’s general thesis is that Luke develops one Christological schema in his Gospel, viz. that of Jesus as a Messiah-Servant figure.60 However, toward the end of the Gospel, he starts to introduce elements which show some tension with this and begin to hint that such a Christology may be somewhat inadequate. Thus Luke 20.42–43 begins to hint that, on the basis of Ps 110, the category of Son of David may be an insufficient description for Jesus. So too the reference in Luke 21.27 to Jesus as SM, with its clear allusion to Dan 7, indicates the same. Hence hints emerge that Jesus is ‘more than Messiah’. This comes out even more sharply in the trial narratives (cf. Luke 22.67, 69) where the use of Ps 110 shows Jesus’ authority to be able to go directly to God’s presence and sit with him in heaven. This tension is then resolved in Acts, especially in the speeches in the first half of Acts, where Luke develops the țȪȡȚȠȢ Christology as well as a Christology of Messiahship (Acts 2.21, 34–36). As a result of his exaltation, Jesus is at God’s right hand as Lord and can now mediate salvation as co-regent. He takes over divine prerogatives and shares the divine name of Lord. The scheme is developed in the subsequent speeches in Acts, so that by chapter 10, there is little doubt that Jesus as the Messiah-Servant is actually more than a regal messianic figure. He is Lord of all as he uniquely exercises many divine prerogatives with God, functioning as mediator of His salvation in His presence at His right hand. Lord is the supreme christological concept for Luke. This emphasis in Acts reflects Luke’s conscious presentation of christology from the OT as he shifts the focus from regal Messiah-Servant to Lord.61

By chapter 13 of Acts, there is no doubt about Jesus’ true status as Lord of all. As such he can offer salvation to all, and the justification from the OT for Jesus’ status can cease. Thus the story thereafter no longer focuses on

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Bock, Proclamation. In itself this is of course something of a composite synthesis. Bock’s view is, however, similar in this respect to that of Strauss (though Strauss extends the synthesis by including the idea of Jesus as the Mosaic prophet). On this, see the discussion below. 61 Bock, Proclamation, 265. 60

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Jesus’ position but can develop by recounting the Gentile mission under the Lordship of Jesus. Bock does address the real variations, both between Luke’s two books and also within each book (or at least within Acts), and seeks to provide an overarching explanation. Thus the distinction between Luke and Acts is squarely faced, as is also the (rather less often noted) difference between the first half of Acts and the second half, where explicit Christological statements fall away very considerably. Nevertheless, Bock’s theory is open to criticism at a number of points. Although at one level having the whole of Luke’s work in view, Bock’s theory has the effect of making Luke-Acts into something of an enormous exercise in Christological self-correction. Luke’s Gospel apparently represents for the most part a Christology that is in some sense inadequate and inappropriate for Luke himself. Yet much of the material here, and the peculiar slant it receives, is presumably due to Luke himself (cf. the birth narratives, the Nazareth sermon etc.).62 Why then does Luke write a whole gospel with at times Jesus himself articulating what would appear to be an inadequate Christology? The idea of a corrective Christology has long been in vogue in Markan studies.63 Yet a stock critique of such a theory is that it implies a degree of sophistication on the part of both Mark and his readers that is hard to conceive; it also has some characters in the story, whom one would otherwise regard as having impeccable credentials as reliable in what they say (e.g. God in Mark 1.11), become the mouthpieces for what the author apparently wants to correct.64 Bock’s theory could perhaps be rescued by claiming that the distinction between Messiah-Servant and Lord is not necessarily one of either-or but of both-and: Jesus is Messiah-Servant: but he is also Lord of all. Nevertheless, it seems rather odd that Luke should spend so much time in his gospel story developing a view of Jesus (and at times making Jesus himself be the articulator of such a view!) which he then seeks to change substantially in his second volume. Secondly, nowhere in Acts does Luke hint at the idea that ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ is in some way less adequate a term than țȪȡȚȠȢ to apply to Jesus. The speech in Acts 2 suggests no contrast at all: țȪȡȚȠȢ and ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ are placed alongside each other (Acts 2.36) with no indication at all that țȪȡȚȠȢ is the dominant partner in this duo. And the OT background is mined equally to seek to 62 For Bock, much of this material is also authentic; but this is perhaps something of a red herring in his book. Cf. the review of M. C. Parsons, in JBL 108 (1989) 348–350. 63 Following the work of T. J. Weeden, Mark – Traditions in Conflict (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), and others. 64 See H. Räisänen, The Messianic Secret in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990); J. D. Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983).

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show that Jesus is both țȪȡȚȠȢ (via Ps 110) and ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (via Ps 16). So too the two terms stand side by side already in Luke 2.11.65 Similarly, Luke nowhere gives any explicit hint that ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ itself is inadequate as a term for Jesus. Indeed the speech in Acts 13 is still dominated by the theme of the Davidic promises which are now fulfilled in Jesus. It is thus still the royal idea which is to the fore here, and yet this comes after the alleged ‘trumping’ of the royal/Davidic idea by the Lordship theme and the claim that Jesus is ʌȐȞIJȦȞ țȪȡȚȠȢ (10.36).66 Thirdly, in the later parts of Acts, at the (relatively few) places where any Christological question is raised, it is never discussed in relation to whether Jesus can or should appropriately be styled as țȪȡȚȠȢ. Rather, it is in terms of whether he is the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (Acts 17.3; 18.5, 28 cf. 9.22); alternatively, the discussion is about the reason for the suffering of Jesus and again the terminology is that of Jesus as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ: Paul seeks to show from the scriptures that the Christ should suffer (Acts 17.3; 26.23 cf. 3.18; Luke 24.26, 46): it is never in terms of the țȪȡȚȠȢ having to suffer. Further, it is well known that țȪȡȚȠȢ is widely used by Luke, especially in Acts; but its function is usually simply as a way of denoting Jesus (‘the Lord’ as the subject of verbs, or ‘the Lord Jesus’, or ‘the Lord Jesus Christ’). It is hardly ever used as a predicate (Jesus is the Lord: only really 2.36; 10.36), nor is it used in any confessional statement. Fourthly, it is rather doubtful how far Luke regards the Gentile mission as in any way specifically grounded in a țȪȡȚȠȢ Christology. This may be at one level the force of the argument in Acts 10: Jesus is Lord of all and this justifies salvation being made available to Gentiles.67 But in Acts 15, James’ justification for the Gentile mission makes no clear allusion to the explicit fact that Jesus is ‘Lord’. Insofar as there is any Christological claim here, it is more in terms of the fulfilment of Davidic promises again.68 But the dominant actor in the inauguration of the Gentile mission is primarily God, rather than the Lord Jesus, in Luke’s account in Acts

65 Cf. Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 29. Bock claims that țȪȡȚȠȢ is the title here that is not explained in terms of its OT background, and hence its true significance is only made apparent later in the story (Proclamation, 266). But this seems rather weak. 66 See Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 30. The point about Davidic Messiahship dominating the speech in Acts 13 is noted by Bock, Proclamation, 265, though the significance of the fact that this comes after the speech in Acts 10 and the alleged definitive establishment of Jesus’ universal Lordship is not. 67 However, the phrase seems much more like a parenthesis in the course of the logical flow of the sentence: see Barrett, Acts, 1.522. 68 See Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 180–192, on the use of Amos 9.11–12 and the reference to ıțȘȞȒ, here (see the options discussed on pp. 188–189, though the Christological interpretation is only one amongst various others).

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15.69 Certainly the Gentile mission has been clearly adumbrated in the Samaritan mission of Acts 8 and in the call and commissioning of Paul in ch. 9 before the claim of 10.36 that Jesus as ‘Lord’ is ‘Lord of all’.70 Bock claims that his theory can relate to Luke’s overall purpose in writing which he outlines thus: Luke writes for anyone in the church suffering doubt and who, as a struggling believer, sees in the persecution of the church the possible judgment of God either for attributing to Jesus a position that is not rightfully his or for extending the offer of salvation directly to those who formerly were regarded as outside the promise of God.71

In the second half of Acts, the issues of Gentile rights, and of Jew-Gentile relationships within the Christian community, are clearly important. But the position of Jesus, and Christian claims about Jesus, very rarely surface as a contentious issue. When they do, it is solely in a context of synagogue discussions with Jews, and the claims made about resurrection (often in very general terms, i.e. not specifically in relation to Jesus: it is a matter of the more general belief in resurrection as such, claimed by Luke as standard Pharisaic belief), or about Jesus as the Christ and his sufferings as the Christ (see above). It is not about Jesus’ status as țȪȡȚȠȢ. What though does Jesus’ status as țȪȡȚȠȢ imply for Luke? The issue is also raised by Buckwalter and in this respect Bock and Buckwalter present very similar conclusions. I turn therefore to a brief consideration of Buckwalter’s thesis. 69

Thus Paul and Barnabas relate what God has done with them (Acts 15.4); Peter refers to the Cornelius episode, saying that ‘God made choice’ (v. 7), and ‘made no distinction’ (v. 9). Any opposition to the Gentile mission is regarded as ‘testing God’ (v. 10) for God gave them the Holy Spirit (v. 8). Barnabas and Paul rehearse what God has done through them (v. 12) and James’ speech notes how God has visited the Gentiles (v. 14). The account is entirely theological (in the strict sense of the word), not Christological. Cf. J. T. Squires, The Plan of God in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 76; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 61. More generally, see Richard, Jesus, 182. 70 It is probably adumbrated already in Luke 4.25–27, but there in terms of Jesus as a prophetic figure, similar to Elijah and Elisha and, like them, going outside their own home territory to bring God’s salvation to others. The justification for the Gentile mission is thus via a prophetic typology, rather than based on any claims about Jesus’ universal Lordship. (I remain convinced that Luke 4.25–27 does function within the Lukan narrative, at least for Luke, to prefigure the Gentiles mission, despite the questioning of this by some in recent years: cf. B. J. Koet, ‘“Today this Scripture Has Been Fulfilled in Your Ears”. Jesus’ Explanation of Scripture in Luke 4,16–30’, in his Five Studies on Interpretation of Scripture in Luke-Acts (SNTA 14; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 24–55, on pp. 42–52; also D. R. Catchpole, ‘The Anointed One in Nazareth’, in M. C. de Boer (ed.), From Jesus to John. Essays on Jesus and New Testament Christology in Honour of Marinus de Jonge (JSNTSup 84; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 231–251, on pp. 244– 250. 71 Proclamation, 277.

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Buckwalter claims to be able to discern a distinct Lukan Christology that underlies the whole of Luke-Acts. Indeed he makes it an important part of his discussion about methodology that any approach to Luke’s Christology must be a ‘synthetic’ one, taking note of all the evidence of the Lukan writings.72 For the present purposes, the central part of Buckwalter’s book can be taken as his chapters 8 and 9, where he discusses the relationship in Luke between Jesus and God and between Jesus and the Spirit. Overall, Buckwalter claims that Luke presents an extremely ‘high’ Christology, with Jesus as fully divine, co-equal with the Father; similarly Jesus is the giver and Lord of the Spirit. Jesus shares the name țȪȡȚȠȢ with God. In Acts 2.21 the salvation available to all who ‘call upon the name of the Lord’ (citing Joel 3.5 LXX where the reference is to Yahweh) is reapplied to Jesus as Lord. Contra Moule, Buckwalter claims that Luke does not present an ‘absentee Christology’:73 rather, just as in the OT Yahweh can be distant and yet immanent, e.g. through his Spirit, so too Jesus is also present with his church. Buckwalter points to Acts 2.33: Jesus himself dispenses the Spirit at Pentecost, and Acts 16.7 says that the Spirit is now the Spirit of Jesus. ‘Certainly Acts 2:33 and 16:7 indicate for Luke that the Spirit represents, if not mediates, the exalted Jesus’ continued presence and activity’ (p. 180). Buckwalter notes that references to the Spirit tend to die away in the second half of Acts, but this is simply because now Jesus takes over as the empowering agent in the story of the church (cf. Acts 18.9–10; 23.11). Since the Spirit mediates the presence of God himself, Luke’s story suggests that ‘Luke thought of the work of Jesus and the Spirit as a coherent unity, paralleling that of Yahweh and his Spirit in the OT’ (p. 182). Similarly the appearances of the risen Jesus and the references to the salvific power of Jesus’ ‘name’ imply ‘the personal, active presence of transcendent deity among his people’ (p. 183, my stress), and the name of Jesus (cf. 2.21) and the name of God are so close that ‘the two are virtually indistinguishable’ (p. 183). Buckwalter thus argues that Jesus for Luke is ‘Yahweh’s coequal’, shown above all by Jesus’ designation as țȪȡȚȠȢ in Acts 2.21 where what is said of Yahweh is now transferred to Jesus. So too his session at God’s right hand implies a ‘shared divine dignity between Jesus and the Father’ (p. 186, citing W. Foerster).74 Perhaps even the difficulty of distinguishing who is meant by țȪȡȚȠȢ in Acts is deliberate ambiguity on Luke’s part. Further, contrary to many others, Buckwalter argues strongly that the terminology of Acts 2.36 (‘God has made him Lord …’) should not be read in any ‘adoptionist’ way. Rather, ‘Acts presents a messianic unveiling of 72

Buckwalter, Character and Purpose (n. 2), 25–27. Cf. Moule, ‘Christology of Acts’, 179–180. 74 W. Förster, țȪȡȚȠȢ, TWNT 3.1089. 73

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what was announced in Luke’s Gospel right from the start’ (p. 189).75 Thus the parallels between Jesus and God in relation to the Spirit (cf. Acts 2.21, 33; 16.7) imply that ‘Luke believed Jesus’ Lordship to represent a “status equal to Yahweh”’ (p. 188).76 The importance of the references to the Spirit is stressed in chapter 9 of Buckwalter’s book, with particular reference again to the idea that Jesus is the giver of the Spirit: in Judaism this the exclusive activity of God alone,77 and hence the implications of Acts 2.33 and the reference in 16.7 to the Spirit of Jesus are clear. Similarly, there is a striking parallel in Luke’s Gospel between Luke 12.11–12 and Luke 21.14–15: in 12.11–12 the Spirit is the power who will assist Christians on trial; in 21.14–15 it is Jesus himself. This kind of functional parallel between Jesus and the Spirit thus again supports the theory that for Luke Jesus is Yahweh’s co-equal. Buckwalter’s general argument leads to a number of comments. First, despite his claim of the need for a synthetic approach, the weight of his argument falls on a very small amount of evidence, virtually all in Acts.78 Thus a great deal is made of texts such as Acts 2.21, 33, 36; 16.7, but less consideration is given (at least in these chapters) to the evidence of Luke’s Gospel or large parts of other sections of Acts. Second, some of the evidence adduced is of rather uncertain value. For example, in relation to Luke’s use of țȪȡȚȠȢ and especially the use of Joel 3 in Acts 2.21, it is by no means clear that Luke has quite such a high Christology in mind. Thus Barrett writes on this verse and its sequel in v. 22: The name of the Lord (v. 21) is Jesus of Nazareth … The first proposition made about Jesus of Nazareth is that he was a man, ਕȞȒȡ. It is from this starting point that the Christology of Acts proceeds, not from the notion of a divine being who by some kind of incarnation or kenosis accommodated himself to the human world. 79 75

The use of the term ‘messianic’ here is rather odd! Buckwalter here cites J. A. Fitzmyer, ‘Jesus in the Early Church through the Eyes of Luke-Acts’, ScripBull 17 (1987) 26–35, on p. 33, repr. in his To Advance the Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 21998), 249–264, on p. 260. 77 Cf. too the essays of M. Turner, ‘The Spirit of Christ and Christology’, in H. H. Rowdon (ed.), Christ the Lord. Studies in Christology Presented to Donald Guthrie (Leicester: InterVarsity, 1982), 168–190; also his ‘The Spirit of Christ and Divine Christology’, in J. B. Green & idem (eds.), Jesus of Nazareth Lord and Christ. Essays on the Historical Jesus and New Testament Christology (FS I. H. Marshall; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994), 413–436. 78 Cf. Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts (n. 2), 27 n. 1: ‘Buckwalter’s comprehensive title belies a narrower emphasis on Acts’ (commenting on the earlier version of the work as a doctoral thesis). Buckwalter does have three chapters considering Luke’s use of Mark, but these do not establish the theory of such a high Christology in quite the same way as the later chapters. 79 Barrett, Acts, 1.139–140. 76

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So too the verse Acts 2.36 is more naturally taken in some ‘adoptionist’ sense (though the use of such a term is inevitably anachronistic and hence probably misleading): God has made Jesus into something he was not before.80 A similar overpressing of the language used by Luke is probably implied in the frequent references in Buckwalter’s book to the phrase ‘the Spirit of Jesus’ in Acts 16.7 and the relationship between Jesus and the Spirit. The uniqueness of Jesus as the giver of the Spirit is stressed frequently, with the correlative claim that elsewhere in Judaism God is uniquely the giver of the Spirit. There is in fact one possible counter-example to this, viz. Sus 44–45 OG where an angel apparently gives Susanna the spirit of understanding,81 which may then be a partial exception to the ‘rule’. But in any case, Casey has shown very well how mediatorial figures in Judaism can and do take over a wide range of ‘divine’ functions, without ever suggesting that such figures are in any sense ‘divine’, or ‘co-equal with Yahweh’.82 Notwithstanding Turner’s protest, it is hard to see why the bestowal of the Spirit is to be seen as qualitatively different from e.g. the dispensing of divine judgment (by Abel in Test. Abr. 13).83 Even if there are not many (if any) exact parallels to intermediary figures in Judaism dispensing the Spirit, this may simply reflect the peculiarity of the Christian experience of, and claims about, the Spirit. So too the appeal to Acts 16.7 may be pressed too far. The precise force of the genitive in the phrase ‘the Spirit of Jesus’ is by no means clear. It could perhaps be regarded as parallel to the ‘Spirit of Elijah’ (cf. 2 Kings 2.9, 15; also Luke 1.17),84 or even the ‘holy spirit of the young man Daniel’ in Sus 45 Ĭ’. Given what is said elsewhere about the Spirit and Jesus in Acts, it could be claimed as just as Lukan to postulate a model of Jesus as the one on whom the Spirit came (cf. Luke 3.22; 4.18; Acts 10.36 etc.). ‘The Spirit of Jesus’ could then mean simply ‘the Spirit, i.e. the same Spirit as rested on Jesus’. The theory that Jesus is seen as an omnipresent, powerful, guiding figure in the church’s mission may also push the evidence of Luke too hard. Moule’s case for Luke as presenting an ‘absentee Christology’ (see above) still has some considerable force. To counter this, Buckwalter cites a number of texts to try to show Jesus as the empowering agent of the whole 80 Barrett, Acts, 1.151, though he then says that this must mean that the verse is preLukan; cf. too Haenchen, Acts, 187, and see above. 81 Cited by Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts, 22. Theodotion has ‘God aroused the holy spirit of a young lad named Daniel’ which may then be not so far from Acts 16.7! 82 M. Casey, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God. The Origins and Development of New Testament Christology (Cambridge: Clarke, 1991), 78–96. 83 Turner, ‘Spirit of Christ and Divine Christology’, 423. 84 Cf. J. D. G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways (London: SCM, 1991), 201.

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mission, referring to Acts 18.9–10; 22.7–10, 17–21; 23.11; 26.14–18, 23, cf. 7.55–56; 9.4–5, 10–17.85 But all the references in chs. 22 and 26 are effective repetitions of ch. 9, the single story of Paul’s conversion;86 and 18.9–10 and 23.11, as noted by Moule, are examples of special visionary experiences. The one possible exception might be the promise of the risen Jesus to Paul in 18.10 ‘I am with you’, yet even here the ‘you’ is in the individual Paul (ıȠ૨ singular), not the whole Christian community (in contrast to Paul’s ‘in Christ’ language). In any case, the strengthening power and help in ch. 27 is an angel of God, with no Christological reference at all (Acts 27.23). The linguistic parallel between Jesus țȪȡȚȠȢ and Yahweh țȪȡȚȠȢ also may be pressed too far by Buckwalter (and in a similar way by Bock). It is well known that the Greek word țȪȡȚȠȢ itself covers a very wide range of possible meanings and referents. Thus whilst it is very probable that Greekspeaking Jews referred to Yahweh as țȪȡȚȠȢ,87 one cannot simply reverse this and say that any reference to someone else as a țȪȡȚȠȢ figure was implicitly equating that person with Yahweh. The very use of Ps 110 itself in Greek ensures that Luke could distinguish between two people, both of whom could be appropriately referred to as țȪȡȚȠȢ, albeit with different nuances, without necessarily any confusion of their identities or characteristics.88 So too, to claim that the difficulty modern interpreters might have in deciding whether ੒ țȪȡȚȠȢ is God or Jesus reflects a deliberate ambiguity on Luke’s part and a conscious intermingling of the two is very dubious.89 Just because we have difficulty deciding does not mean that 85

Buckwalter, Character and Purpose, 182. The activity of the risen Jesus is also stressed by R. F. O’Toole, ‘Activity of the Risen Jesus in Luke-Acts’, Bib 61 (1981) 471– 498, though without explicitly deducing that Luke had such a ‘high’ Christology as Buckwalter claims. 86 The differences between the three accounts do not affect the issue here. 87 The locus classicus is now the essay of J. A. Fitzmyer, ‘The Semitic Background of the New Testament Kyrios-Title’, in his A Wandering Aramean. Collected Aramaic Essays (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 115–142 (German original 1975). 88 Barrett, Acts, 1.152; more generally, for Luke’s readiness to vary the referent of țȪȡȚȠȢ quite freely between God and Jesus, see J. D. G. Dunn, ‘KURIOS in Acts Again’, in C. Landmesser, H.-J. Eckstein, H. Lichtenberger (eds.), Jesus Christus als die Mitte der Schrift. Studien zur Hermeneutik des Evangeliums (FS O. Hofius; BZNW 86; Berlin & New York: De Gruyter, 1997), 363–378; repr. in Dunn, The Christ and the Spirit. Vol. 1. Christology (Grand Rapids & Edinburgh: Eerdmans & T&T Clark, 1998), 241–253. 89 For the case that there is no confusion between the two, see G. Schneider, ‘Gott und Christus als KURIOS nach der Apostelgeschichte’, in J. Zmijewski & E. Nellessen (eds.), Begegnung mit dem Wort (FS H. Zimmermann; BBB 53; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980), 161– 173. It is undeniable that Jesus qua țȪȡȚȠȢ in Acts takes over some of the activity of Yahweh țȪȡȚȠȢ (cf. Acts 2.21); but this is very far from ascribing to Jesus a ‘status equal to Yahweh’ or thinking of Jesus as a ‘transcendent deity’.

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Luke intended us to have that difficulty! The argument of the speech of Acts 2, which seeks to justify the epithet țȪȡȚȠȢ being applied to Jesus, is based on the use of Ps 110; and there it is very clear that the LXX Psalm text, whose meaning is clearly followed by Luke, is referring to different people by the same word. Thereafter it is striking that the use of țȪȡȚȠȢ to refer to Jesus is never felt to require justification or argument. This is the case even in 10.36 where the phrase ‘Lord of all’ forms something of a parenthesis in the sentence (see n. 67 above) and (perhaps strikingly) can sit quite happily alongside v. 38 which implies a rather ‘low’ Christology of God as the real power helping alongside Jesus.90 Elsewhere, as already noted, ੒ țȪȡȚȠȢ is simply Jesus’ name and description which is mostly assumed as self-evident. It is never defended, argued about, or even asserted explicitly, unlike ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (cf. above). The attempt to justify such a ‘high’ Christology on the basis of the use of țȪȡȚȠȢ must therefore be seen as not entirely convincing.

5. Jesus as Messiah – Servant – Prophet Part of the weakness of Bock’s and Buckwalter’s theses is their effective downplaying of the importance of the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ for Lukan Christology in favour of țȪȡȚȠȢ. This is all the more problematic given the importance of the former term in the latter part of Acts and also the way in which the two terms can apparently co-exist side by side quite happily in a text like Acts 2.36. Thus the alternative thesis of Strauss which emphasises the importance of Messiahship for Luke has an initial attractiveness and plausibility. Strauss makes a powerful case for the existence of a reasonably well defined ‘messianic’ expectation in first century Judaism, focusing on a hope for a Davidic royal figure. He then shows well how this hope has profoundly affected Luke’s narrative at many points. This is particularly the case in the birth narratives, where Davidic messianic expectations are repeatedly referred to and claimed to be fulfilled in the Christian story: the child Jesus will reign on the throne of David (Luke 1.32–33), he is the Lord’s Christ (2.26) or Christ the Lord (2.11), the horn of salvation from David’s house (1.69). Moreover, the Davidic ancestry of Jesus, his parents and his birthplace, are emphasised by Luke as the narrator (Luke 1.27, 32, 69; 2.4, 11). The stress on Jesus as the fulfiller of Davidic promises is also emphasised 90

Cf. Barrett, Acts, 1.525: ‘“God was with him” represents in itself a minimal Christology; it claims no more than that Jesus was a man whom God accompanied and aided as he might have been said, and was said, to have accompanied and aided e.g. Abraham, Moses or David.’

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in two important speeches in Acts: Peter’s Pentecost speech in Acts 2 and Paul’s speech at Pisidian Antioch in Acts 13. Strauss concedes that Davidic royal ideas are by no means as prominent elsewhere in Luke’s story. He argues however that this may be due to Luke’s having formed a synthesis so that Jesus, as the royal Messiah, is seen also as fulfilling the roles of the Isaianic servant of Isa 40–55, and also that of the prophet like Moses, leading his people in a new Exodus.91 Strauss argues that Luke could have formed such a synthesis on the basis of a holistic reading of the Book of Isaiah: here Davidic promises in chs. 9 and 11 exist side by side with the role of the servant in chs. 40–55, where the motif of a new Exodus is also very prominent. It is then this Isaianic influence on Luke which produces the rounded synthesis of Jesus which appears in the Gospel and Acts. ‘Luke links the Jesus event particularly to the Isaianic portrait of eschatological salvation, where the messianic deliverer is at the same time prophet, servant and king.’92 Strauss makes a strong case for the importance of a Davidic royal Christology as a key theme in Luke-Acts. There is not enough time or space here to engage with all the detailed arguments of his book, though there are a number of questions to raise. Strauss readily concedes that Davidic royal ideas as such are not very much to the fore in Luke’s Gospel after the introductory narratives,93 but seeks to explain this by reference to the alleged holistic reading of Isaiah. A number of points arise from this. First, would any first century reader have read the Book of Isaiah in this way? Most Jewish exegesis was far more atomistic.94 The whole question of how far those citing, or referring to, a text of OT scripture had in mind, and/or expected their hearers/readers also to have in mind, the wider context from which the allusion is taken is a much debated issue. Yet even if one granted this in general terms, there would be a question about how far in the wider context it might be reasonable to go. It might be one thing to expect the reader of Acts 8, hearing some verses cited from Isa 53, to recall the immediate context of the rest of the description of the servant figure in Isa 53 itself and perhaps

91 Cf. Bock’s similar theory that, in Luke’s Gospel at least, Jesus is presented as a Messiah figure who also combines the characteristics of the Servant of Deutero-Isaiah. 92 Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 343. 93 Strauss makes a good case for seeing the declaration of Jesus as God’s Son at the baptism as primarily a royal term in Luke (pp. 199–208); he also seeks to argue that the use of Isa 61.1–2 in Luke 4.18–19 could also be seen as royal-messianic (pp. 219–250), but the arguments are rather general and not altogether convincing. 94 Cf. the review by D. Juel, in JBL 116 (1997) 370–372; see also more generally his Messianic Exegesis. Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988).

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bring in some idea of the vicarious nature of the suffering described.95 But it seems quite a different order of magnitude to correlate what is said about one possible figure at one end of the Book of Isaiah with what is said about a (different?) figure some 40 chapters earlier in chs. 9 and 11. Given too that one is presumably at a time when scrolls, rather than codices, were in use, the possibility of quickly flipping over a few pages to relate one passage to the other would not have been an open one. Second, Strauss’ alleged ‘holistic’ reading of Isaiah by Luke has to assume that Luke chose to ignore the clear statements at many points in Isa 40–55 that equate the ‘servant’ with the nation Israel (see Isa 41.8, 9; 44.1; 45.4; 49.3 etc.).96 Third, one has to say that, quite apart from arguments about detailed points, Strauss’ thesis, like Bock’s, has the effect at times of Luke presenting what is virtually a corrective Christology. Strauss himself points to the way in which the discussions of the risen Jesus in Luke 24 about the necessity of the Christ to suffer represent something of a change from the earlier narrative where it was always as SM (Luke 9.22, 44; 18.31–34; 22.22) or as prophet (Luke 4.24; 13.33–34) that Jesus was to suffer. ‘This gives the narrative of ch. 24 a sense of surprise and revelation.’97 But why then has Luke spent 23 chapters of a narrative investing in ideas which he eventually feels the need to alter radically in ch. 24? Nor is it quite the case that the suffering of Jesus is explained by Luke in terms of Jesus as the servant figure of Isa 40–55, or for that matter as the Mosaic prophet inaugurating a new Exodus. References to the suffering servant figure of Isaiah are notoriously thin, even in Luke. (The fact remains that the only explicit reference in the Gospel to Isa 53 is Luke 22.37; references in Acts are also not frequent: perhaps Acts 3 [see above] and Acts 8, but rarely elsewhere explicitly.)98 Luke does have an idea of prophetic suffering (cf. 4.24; 13.33–34), but it is not clear that this is due to 95

I am not necessarily arguing for this! Strauss says: ‘In reading Isaiah as a unity Luke is unlikely to have distinguished the servant songs from their wider contexts’ (p. 242 n. 4), and ‘The early Christians surely did not anticipate Duhm in 1892 by isolating these songs from their larger Isaianic contexts’ (p. 239 n. 3); but then he seems to backtrack on this almost immediately, by continuing: ‘On the other hand, in view of the individual description of the ‘servant’ in these passages, it is likely they would have viewed this individual as distinct from Israel – as Luke clearly does’. He deals with one of the references to the servant as Israel on p. 241 n. 3: ‘most commentators consider “Israel” in 49.3 to be an interpretive gloss’. But was this gloss not read by Luke? Was it a gloss not added until after the first century CE? 97 Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 342; cf. also pp. 256–257. Cf. also above on Lemcio. 98 For the view that Luke is strongly influenced by the story of the righteous sufferer in Wisd 2–5 in his presentation of Jesus’ passion, see Doble, Paradox of Salvation (n. 2). Isa 53 may have influenced the account in Wisd 2–5 in the latter’s earlier tradition history; but whether Luke was aware of that is quite another matter. 96

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his reading of Isaiah specifically. A much more likely background is the widespread motif of the violence suffered by the prophets:99 but the background for this in Jewish scripture is scarcely the Book of Isaiah.100 Related to this is probably the motif of Wisdom and the (Q?) tradition linking themes of rejected Wisdom and the suffering prophets to produce the hybrid scheme of Wisdom as the sender of the prophets, all of whom suffer violence (Luke 11.49). Again the background for this may be scriptural, but is barely Isaianic.101 Strauss himself also refers in this context in passing to the suffering of Jesus as SM. But again, the background is not Isaianic. The precise background is hotly debated, though, if a scriptural background is admitted, the only real candidate is Dan 7. It seems then that the background from which the Lukan text draws to ‘explain’ Jesus’ suffering is much wider than Strauss admits. And this means that it is not so easy to encompass all that Luke says about Jesus into the synthesis of the Messiah-servant-Mosaic prophet mould. Finally, one may note that, if the new David/new Exodus motif is so central for Luke, it is surprising to say the least that it seems to peter out in Acts. Strauss says that it would be an interesting focus for future research,102 but this rather begs the question of why the new Exodus motif is not more obvious, e.g. in the second half of Acts. Why too does the category of Jesus as the servant, or Jesus as the Mosaic prophet, disappear from view? Part of the role of Jesus as servant, it could be argued, may be taken over by Paul (cf. Acts 26.18); but nothing more is said about suffering (of Jesus or others) in this context: as already noted on several occasions, it is exclusively as the Christ that Jesus’ sufferings are explained in the second half of Acts.

6. Conclusions. Jesus as the Christ I find myself driven (somewhat unwillingly!) to the view I recently tried to articulate of Luke as something of a ‘conservative redactor’.103 If one wishes to try to pin Luke down to a single Christological title, then probably Jesus as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ would have to be the most likely candidate.104 As 99

See O. H. Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1967). 100 See rather Neh 9.26; 1 Kings 18.4, 13; 19.10; 2 Kings 17.7–41; 2 Chron 36.16. 101 For rejected Wisdom, cf. Prov 1 (developed more in non-biblical texts such as 1 En. 42). 102 Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 356. 103 See my ‘Lukan Son of Man’, 211 (above, p. 568). 104 See Fitzmyer, Luke I–IX, 197: ‘Though not the most frequently used title for Jesus in the Lucan writings, christos has to be regarded as the most important.’ Also C. F.

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Strauss has shown, it is the royal messianic category that dominates the birth narratives, and these narratives are now widely regarded as occupying a key role in Luke’s story as a whole.105 So too, insofar as the last half of Acts is at all Christological (and in some ways it is surprisingly unchristological: the key issues are much more belief in resurrection in general, or the claims that Christians do not violate Jewish Law, and are not a threat to the Roman political system), the Christology is one that focuses almost exclusively on Jesus as the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ, and showing that Jesus’ sufferings can fit this by arguing (from scripture) that ‘the Christ must suffer’. Yet this cannot hide the fact that much else in Luke-Acts, especially in Luke’s Gospel, points in different directions Christologically, as everyone who has read some of the secondary literature on Luke-Acts will be aware. Thus Jesus is presented as a prophet, and/or the prophet like Moses, Son of Man, in the line of Wisdom’s envoys etc. It is hard not to believe that some of these are primarily due to Luke’s source material. Thus Jesus as SM comes from Mark and Q; Jesus as Wisdom’s envoy comes from Q. Luke is happy to take these over, and at times to develop them (cf. SM). But he seems also to respect some of the limitations he sees as inherent in some of these titles. Luke had no compunction about expanding the scope of some terms (cf. above on attributing suffering to the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ); but other terms Luke seems to realise have only a limited application, or are appropriately used only in a limited time-span. Thus SM is all but once confined to the lips of Jesus, and is used by Luke in contexts determined by his sources Mark and Q. Wisdom ideas are not developed outside the Gospel. Prophetic ideas develop a little, but seem to die away. Luke thus constrains himself to follow his sources and does not give himself free rein. One further point must however be made about Luke’s use of the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ. The claims that the Davidic promises are fulfilled in Jesus involve a redefinition of almost every aspect of those promises.106 The Evans, Saint Luke (London: SCM, 1990), 73: ‘For Luke, it [= Christ] was perhaps the most important appellation of all.’ Richard, Jesus, 181. Cf. too Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 114. Pace Franklin, Christ the Lord, 55–56, and others. It is of course inappropriate in one way to restrict Luke’s Christology to a single title, as if Luke’s Christology can be encompassed in one word. One must also bear in mind all the strictures made earlier about the dangers of a titular-based approach to NT Christology. On the other hand, Luke’s decision to seek to press so much into (or on to) the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ, including the somewhat forced attempt to predicate suffering of the ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ (cf. n. 54 above), makes it not inappropriate to see this as a central term for Luke in some sense. 105 See Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 76–87, for the congruence between the birth narratives and the rest of Luke’s story. Also P. S. Minear, ‘Luke’s Use of the Birth Stories’, in L. E. Keck & J. L. Martyn (eds.), Studies in Luke-Acts (FS P. Schubert; London: SPCK, 1968), 111–128. 106 Cf. H. Räisänen, ‘The Redemption of Israel. A Salvation-Historical Problem in Luke-Acts’, in P. Luomanen (ed.), Luke-Acts. Scandinavian Perspectives (Helsinki &

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‘messianic’ expectation of a new Davidic ruler was essentially a hope for a political, this-worldly restoration of the fortunes of the Jewish people and the re-establishment of the monarchy. The Christian claims about Jesus involve changing almost every element in the nature of this hope. Thus Jesus is a ‘royal’ figure, but not in any political sense at all and his reigning has absolutely no consequences for the political status quo, either in Jewish political life or in the wider Roman Empire. Jesus sits on a ‘throne’, but that throne is in heaven, not on earth. Any ‘peace’ brought by the arrival of Jesus as king is in heaven (Luke 19.38, LukeR of Mark 11.10), not apparently on earth.107 Others had hoped that Jesus’ coming might lead to liberation for Israel (cf. Luke 24.21); but such expectations are firmly quashed by the risen Jesus himself: if they had only read the scriptures ‘properly’ (i.e. in the way of the Lukan Jesus!), they would have realised that such hopes are entirely inappropriate. Jesus is thus the royal Messiah, but the nature of his reign, the place of his throne, and any consequences of his arrival in terms of political realities, are all radically altered in the process of adaptation of the network of ideas as appropriated by the Lukan Jesus and the Christian preachers in Acts.108 Luke’s Jesus seems to be at most a Christ figure in name alone. Almost everything else associated with a ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ figure, apart from the name itself, is implicitly denied to Jesus in the Lukan story. In one sense, of course, Luke is no different from the rest of the NT and the whole of early Christianity. The use of the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ to refer to Jesus involves the adoption of the name but virtually none of the expectations or ideas associated with the name. Yet it seems to be Luke above

Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society & Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 94–114, repr. in his Marcion, Muhammed and the Mahatma (London: SCM, 1997), 49–63. 107 See Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 315; also E. E. Ellis, The Gospel of Luke (London: Oliphants, 1974), 225. 108 This is recognised in part by Strauss, Davidic Messiah, 323 (on the ‘irony’ of Jesus’ kingship), and pp. 256–257, 342 on the ‘surprising element’ that the king must suffer. Cf. too p. 115: ‘Jesus fulfills the promised role of the Christ in a surprising and unexpected way’ (also pp. 311, 343). The overturning of all previous expectations is more strongly seen by R. L. Brawley, ‘Scripture Resisting the Carnivalesque in the Lucan Passion’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), The Scriptures in the Gospels (BETL 131; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 591–595 (at least in relation to kingship language in the passion narrative). The one possible positive link between Messiahship and the Jesus story might be the claim that Jesus was ‘anointed with the Spirit’ (cf. Van Unnik, ‘Jesus the Christ’, 114); but it must remain doubtful how significant this was for Luke himself: see n. 51 above.

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all who consciously goes out of his way to emphasise the ‘messianic’ identity of Jesus.109 At the very least, it would seem that this must have some implications about Luke’s readership and his purpose in writing. For it seems impossible to conceive of Luke addressing any real non-Christian Jews in any meaningful way at all. For Luke to say ‘Jesus is your expected king, but is quite unlike any king you may have been expecting’ would simply make any meaningful dialogue all but impossible right from the outset.110 Luke is thus almost certainly writing for a Christian (or just possibly a Gentile non-Christian) audience. The claims about the messianic nature of Jesus’ life and death are thus more likely to be part of an agenda Luke is addressing to a Christian audience rather than part of any apology for nonChristian Jews. As such, the claims no doubt serve in part the function of legitimation for the Christian community, seeking to anchor the new Christian movement within the broader context of ancient Judaism.111 Yet if this is the case, one wonders how significant the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ will have been for Luke himself. In other words, although a ‘messianic’ Christology may have been a key feature in the Christology of Luke-Acts, it is not so clear that it was very important for the Christology of Luke. The very fact that, in the course of appropriating the term ȋȡȚıIJȩȢ for Jesus, virtually every association linked with the terms has had to be changed suggests that the ideas associated with the term had little significance for Luke (or if they did, they were regarded as largely negative, since they all had to be changed). Jesus is a Christ figure only in name. The fact that he is such expresses for Luke something of vital importance about the roots of the Christian movement within Judaism. But in and of itself, the term ‘Christ’ appears to have no significance beyond that: the significance which Luke attaches to the term Messiah derives almost entirely from the Jesus story itself and not vice versa. It is Jesus who determines what Messiahship means; it is not Messiahship that determines who Jesus is. In all this we see clearly a prominent aspect of the Christology of LukeActs: Jesus is the Messiah figure of Jewish expectation, fulfilling all the messianic expectations albeit in a highly unusual and distinctive way, i.e. via his exaltation to God’s right hand in heaven where his ‘true’ throne is to be located. In this then we see an important feature of the Christology of 109 The same might be true of, say, Mark, though the relative importance of Jesus’ ‘messianic’ identity (strictly speaking) for Markan Christology is debated. There is not time or space to discuss that issue here. 110 Though cf. the similar problems in relation to Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho. See the discussion in Wilson, Related Strangers, ch. 9. 111 See Strauss, Davidic Messiah. For the importance of ‘legitimation’ in the Lukan writings more generally, see P. F. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 57; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

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the implied author of Luke-Acts. But whether this is so important for the Christology of the real author is much more doubtful. As with so many things, Luke does not present his own views, or even himself, on a plate for us to be able to gaze at them. Rather, he is content to hide behind his story. He presents us with a Christology, or several Christologies, from what is for him (and us) the past. How that is to be related to the present – to Luke’s present or ours – is a task which Luke leaves tantalisingly open. 62

List of Initial Publications I am grateful to the publishers of the initial articles and essays for allowing their republication in this volume. I. ‘Arguments from Order: Definition and Evaluation’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Synoptic Studies. The Ampleforth Conferences of 1982 and 1983 (JSNTSup 7; Sheffield: JSOT, 1984), 197–219. II. ‘Mark and Q’, in C. Focant (ed.), The Synoptic Gospels. Source Criticism and the New Literary Criticism (BETL 110; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1993), 149–175. III. ‘The Existence of Q’, in R. A. Piper (ed.), The Gospel behind the Gospels. Current Studies on Q (NovTSup 75; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 19–47. IV. ‘The Current State of the Synoptic Problem’, in P. Foster, A. Gregory, J. S. Kloppenborg, J. Verheyden (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem. Essays in Honour of Christopher M. Tuckett (BETL 239; Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 9–50. V. ‘A Cynic Q?’, Biblica 70 (1989) 349–376. VI. ‘On the Stratification of Q’, Semeia 55 (1991) 213–222. VII. ‘The Temptation Narrative in Q’, in F. Van Segbroek, C. M. Tuckett, G. Van Belle, J. Verheyden (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992. Festschrift Frans Neirynck (BETL 100; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1992), 479–507. VIII. ‘Feminine Wisdom in Q?’, in G. J. Brooke (ed.), Women in the Biblical Tradition (Lampeter: Mellen, 1992), 112–128. IX. ‘Scripture and Q’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), The Scriptures in the Gospels (BETL 131; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1997), 3–26. X. ‘Q and the ‘Church’: The Role of the Christian Community within Judaism according to Q’, in M. Bockmuehl & M. Thompson (eds.), A Vision for the Church. Studies in Early Christian Ecclesiology (FS John Sweet; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 65–77. XI. ‘Q 12.8 Once Again – “Son of Man” or “I”?’, in J. Ma. Asgeirsson, K. de Troyer, M. V. Meyer (eds.), From Quest to Q (FS J. M. Robinson; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000), 171–188.

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XII. ‘Q 22:28–30’, in D. G. Horrell & C. M. Tuckett (eds.), Christology, Controversy and Community. New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (NovTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 99–116. XIII. ‘The Son of Man and Daniel 7: Q and Jesus’, in A. Lindemann (ed.), The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 158; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2001), 371–394. XIV. ‘Q, Jesus and Aramaic. Some methodological reflections’, Proceedings of the Irish Biblical Association 26 (2003) 29–45. XV. ‘Paul and the Synoptic Mission Discourse?’, Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 60 (1984) 376–381. XVI. ‘Synoptic Tradition in 1 Thessalonians?’, in R. F. Collins (ed.), The Thessalonian Correspondence (BETL 87; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1990), 160–182. XVII. ‘Paul and Jesus Tradition: The Evidence of 1 Corinthians 2:9 and Gospel of Thomas 17’, in J. K. Elliott & T. J. Burke (eds.), Paul and the Corinthians. Studies on a Community in Conflict. Essays in Honour of Margaret Thrall (NovTSup 109; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 55–73. XVIII. ‘Thomas and the Synoptics’, Novum Testamentum 30 (1988) 132–157. XIX. ‘Q and Thomas. Evidence of a Primitive “Wisdom Gospel”?’, Ephemerides theologicae Lovanienses 67 (1991) 346–360. XX. ‘The Gospel of Thomas: Evidence for Jesus?’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 52 (1998) 17–32. XXI. ‘The Historical Jesus, Crossan and Methodology’, in S. Maser & E. Schlarb (eds.), Text und Geschichte. Facetten theologischen Arbeitens aus dem Freundes- und Schülerkreis Dieter Lührmann zum 60. Geburtstag (Marburg: Elwert, 1999) 257–279. XXII. ‘Q and the Historical Jesus’, in J. Schröter & R. Brucker (eds.), Der historische Jesus. Tendenzen und Perspektiven der gegenwärtigen Forschung (BZNW 114; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2002), 213–241. XXIII. ‘Matthew: The Social and Historical Context – Jewish Christian and/or Gentile?’, in D. P. Senior (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity (BETL 243; Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 99–129. XXIV. ‘The Present Son of Man’, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 14 (1982) 58–81.

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XXV. ‘The Disciples and the Messianic Secret in Mark’, in I. Dunderberg, C. M. Tuckett, K. Syreeni (eds.), Fair Play. Diversity and Conflicts in Early Christianity. Essays in Honour of Heikki Räisänen (NovTSup 103; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 131–149. XXVI. ‘Gospels and Communities. Was Mark Written for a Suffering Community?’, in R. Buitenwerf, H. W. Hallander, J. Tromp (eds.), Jesus, Paul, and Early Christianity. Studies in Honour of Henk Jan de Jonge (NovTSup 130; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 377–396. XXVII. ‘The Lukan Son of Man’, in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Luke’s Literary Achievement (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 198–217. XXVIII. ‘The Christology of Luke-Acts’, in J. Verheyden (ed.), The Unity of Luke-Acts (BETL 142; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 1999), 133–164.

Index of Sources Page numbers in bold print refer to extensive or coherent treatment͘

Old Testament Genesis 1 1.1 4 22 28.2

509 192 207 168 190

Exodus 23.20 34.6

37, 201, 203 226

Leviticus 19.17 19.18

163, 227 163, 218, 226, 227

Deuteronomy 4.34 5.9 6.4 6.5 6.13, 16 8.3 32.11

226 158 486 486–492 155, 158, 169 169 194

Ruth 2.12

194

1 Kings 13.1, 2, 5, 32 18.4, 13 19.10 21.35

336 601 601 336

2 Kings 2.9, 15 4

596 215

23.25

490

2 Chronicles 24 35.19 36.16

200, 207 490 601

Nehemiah 9.26

182, 601

Psalms 2 8 16 17.8 22.19 36.7 49 49.12–21 57.1 61.4 63.7 67.4 73.21–22 80 91 91.11, 12 103.8 110 115.15 118 118.26 146 146.5 146.6 146.7

272 509 592 194 372 194 510 509 194 194 194 194 509 510 173 206, 207 226 151, 590, 592, 597, 598 345 571 224 214, 215, 216, 217 217 215 216

612

Index of Sources

146.8

215

Proverbs 1 5 6.20–35 7.4 8.22 9 9.13–18 20.22 24.29 25.21–22

182 189 189 189 192 190 189 321 321 321

Isaiah 5 6.9–10 6.10 8 11 13.8 14 14.13, 15 28 29.18 35.5–6 40–55 41.8, 9 44.1 45.4 49.3 50.6 52.13–53.12 52.13

61.1 61.2 61.5–6 64.4 65.17 66.8

411 346 345 581 272 192, 331 208, 209 209 581 213 213 599, 600 600 600 600 600 217 208 208, 209, 210, 211, 260, 272, 581 206, 245, 247, 260, 272, 581, 588, 599, 600 585 21, 22, 180, 212, 213, 216, 217, 573, 584, 599 180, 213, 214, 216, 585 212, 216, 573, 584 216 342, 346 342 345

Jeremiah 4.21

345

53 58.6 61.1–2

5.6 5.21 6.14 42.14

137 345 327, 330 345

Lamentations 1.18

345

Ezekiel 1.27–28 12.2 17.23 22.27 28.5 31.14

345 345 49 137 209 209

Daniel 4 4.21 7

7.9 7.13 7.14 12.3

509 49 151, 208, 210, 245, 246, 260, 261, 266– 289, 508–517, 522, 565, 571, 601 274 208, 432, 439, 508, 570 512, 570 208

Hosea 6.6

493

Joel 3.5 LXX

594, 595

Amos 9.11–12

592

Micah 7.6

372, 396

Zephaniah 3.3

137

Zechariah 9.9 12.10

485 432

Malachi 3.1

37, 38, 201, 203

613

Index of Sources

Apocrypha & Pseudepigrapha Apocalypse of Abraham 168 Ascension of Isaiah 11.34 347, 351 2 Baruch 29.8 1 Enoch 38.5 42 46.6–7 62–63 62

Susannah 44–45

596

165

62.1 71 89.13–14 91.12 95.3

513 263 182, 194, 211, 268 208 211, 522 208, 245, 246, 260, 261, 262, 272 273 272, 273 137 263 263

4 Ezra 13

273, 513

Letter of Aristeas 277 321 Lives of the Prophets 21.3 272 1 Maccabees 14.41

Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 13.17 137 24 190, 191 24.23 191

200

Odes of Solomon 28.1–2 183 Pseudo-Philo Liber antiquitatum biblicarum 26.13 347, 348

Testament of Abraham 13 246, 272, 596 Testament of Benjamin 4.2–3 321 Testament of Gad 6.7 321 Testament of Job 168 Testament of Joseph 18.2 321 Wisdom of Solomon 2–5 208, 211, 212, 245, 246, 247, 260, 262, 272, 273, 275, 522, 600 2.5 170 2.12 211 2.18 212, 217 3.8 263 4.18–19 208 4.26 263 5.4 211, 212 5.5 212, 217 5.8 212 7.25 192 8.2 189

Qumran 1QS 8.6, 10

263

1QpHab 5.3–4

263

614 CD 11.13–14

Index of Sources 4Q521

214, 215, 216, 217

162, 493 11QMelch (11Q19) 214, 246, 272

4QOrNab (4Q242) 511–512

Josephus Antiquities 18.4–10, 23–25 18.23 18.116–119 20.97 ff., 169 ff.

127 166 127 165

Jewish War 2.118 2.256ff. 6.285–286 7.323 7.438

127 165 166 166 165

2.82

190

Contra Apionem 1.39 200

Philo De Cherubim 46–49 49

190 190

De migratione Abrahami 102 191

De fuga et inventione 48–52 190 52 190, 191

Quaestiones in Genesim 4.97 190

Legum allegoriae 2.49 190 2.65 191

De virtutibus 6

139

New Testament Q (Sayings Source: chapter/verse numbers as in Luke) 3.7–9 46, 131, 136, 163, 235, 255, 258, 293, 467 3.7 137 3.8 138, 224, 270 3.9 46 3.16–17 49, 163, 467 3.16 43–47, 131 3.17 46, 136 4.1–13 49, 153–181, 222, 258, 270, 292, 454, 466

4.3–4 4.4 4.5–8 4.5 4.8 4.9–12 4.10–11 4.10, 11 4.12 6.20–49 6.20–23 6.20–21

169–172 169, 172 176–181 178 155, 158, 205 173–176 206 207 155, 158, 204 163, 204 136, 255 213

Index of Sources 6.20 6.22–23

6.22

6.23 6.27–36 6.27–35 6.27 6.29 6.30 6.31–35 6.31 6.32–35 6.32–33 6.32 6.34 6.35 6.36–38 6.36 6.37–38 6.37 6.38 6.40 6.41–42 6.46–49 6.46 6.47–49 7.1–10 7.10 7.18–35 7.18–28 7.18–23 7.18–19 7.19 7.20 7.22–23 7.22 7.23 7.24–35 7.24–28 7.24–27 7.24–26

179, 418, 426, 444 137, 147, 194, 211, 225, 257, 258, 268, 281, 411 237, 247, 268, 270, 274, 277, 286, 388– 390, 520, 521, 530, 563, 568 147, 148, 256, 257, 268, 389, 460, 521, 551 130 163, 225 218, 226 217, 227 180, 227 217, 226 133, 218, 226 218 226 226 390–391 169, 217 226 134, 136, 170, 212, 226, 227, 264 226, 467 174, 254 226 259, 270 227 147 136, 177, 184, 264 136, 467 141, 223 222 37, 46, 159, 213, 278, 294, 300, 454 131 201, 213, 270, 529 46 45, 259 213 45, 46, 147, 175 39, 155, 175, 180, 201, 213, 214, 215, 529 175 147, 148 37, 433 41 37, 38, 39, 40, 203

7.25–26 7.26 7.27 7.28 7.31–35 7.33–34 7.34–35 7.34

7.35 9.57–10.16 9.57–60 9.58

9.60 10.2–16 10.2 10.3–12 10.3 10.4 10.7 10.8–9 10.9–15 10.9 10.12–15 10.12 10.13–15 10.13–14 10.13 10.15 10.16 10.21–22 10.22 10.23–24 10.23 11.2–13 11.2–4 11.2 11.3

615 138 40, 138 37–42, 49, 155, 159, 201, 203 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 45, 46, 159, 203, 433 38, 39, 41, 193, 203, 224, 258, 268, 281, 433 38, 194, 281 194, 573 39, 149, 151, 152, 208, 213, 247, 258, 268, 270, 275, 277, 281, 286, 518, 521, 522, 523, 563, 568 183, 258, 268, 269, 281, 521 211 140, 210, 386 140, 149, 151, 152, 183, 194, 208, 211, 246, 258, 268, 269, 270, 275, 277, 281, 282, 286, 398, 519, 563, 568 530 130, 136, 194 398 119, 180, 210 137 134 264 398 467 155, 170, 179 136 32, 39, 254, 467, 468 49, 155, 210, 224, 467 207, 222 224 159, 209 147, 184, 264 147 169, 193 343, 344, 345, 346, 347 345 136 156, 170, 171, 441 170, 264, 418 444

616 11.9–13 11.9–10 11.13 11.14–23 11.14–22 11.14–16 11.19 11.20 11.23 11.24–26 11.29–32 11.29–30 11.29 11.30 11.31–32 11.31 11.32 11.33–34 11.37–51 11.39–51 11.39–41 11.39–40 11.41 11.42

11.47–51 11.47–48 11.49–51

11.49 11.50 11.51 11.52 12.2–22.30 12.2–12 12.2–7 12.2–3 12.2 12.4–7 12.4–5 12.8–9

Index of Sources 156, 170, 171, 172 235, 293 170 177, 294 32, 136 141 170, 245, 254, 467 155, 179, 444, 528 32, 35, 177 32, 177, 467 175 32–37, 182 33, 34 32, 33, 34, 207, 269, 277, 518, 563 32, 33, 34, 35, 49, 136, 223, 245, 254, 467 182, 207 34, 182, 207, 224 180 32, 35, 130, 224 294, 300 462 392, 398 295 145, 161, 163, 201, 222, 292, 296, 302, 454, 459, 460, 461, 462, 463, 529, 530 148, 225 393 32, 136, 137, 183, 184, 193, 224, 256, 257, 258, 268, 393, 467, 521, 530, 573 68, 138, 195, 304 467 193, 200, 207, 467, 468 392–393, 398 255 255 394 398 255 173, 174 174, 225 136, 145, 146, 184, 246, 247, 255, 259, 280, 394, 436

12.8

12.9 12.10

12.11–12 12.22–31 12.22, 23, 24 12.26–28 12.27 12.30 12.31 12.33–34 12.39–46 12.39–40 12.40 12.42–46 12.49 12.51–53 12.56 12.58–59 13.18–21 13.18–19 13.19 13.25–27 13.27 13.28–29 13.34–35

13.34 13.35 14.5 14.16–24 14.27 16.13 16.16–17 16.16

208, 232–249, 259, 264, 270, 274, 280, 437, 444, 445, 467, 529, 551, 557, 566 35, 177, 232, 280, 467, 551 145, 146, 147, 149, 227, 246, 247, 248, 264, 269, 277, 280, 294, 385, 394, 398, 459, 520, 563, 568 225, 255, 394 130, 132, 139, 170 171 171 207 140, 170, 171, 223, 264 136, 141, 171, 179 386 46 396, 398, 432, 437, 438, 467 242, 245, 259, 270, 280, 282, 396, 529 432, 438, 467, 468 395, 467, 468 395, 398 396, 398 227, 467 175, 179 47–49, 385 159 245 159 223, 224, 227, 468 136, 137, 147, 148, 183, 193, 194, 224, 225, 256, 257, 268, 521, 530, 573 194, 195 46, 49, 159, 194, 224, 259, 270 163, 467 190, 294, 396, 398 147, 148, 174, 259, 270, 530 134, 180, 386 463 162, 179, 221, 463, 530

Index of Sources 16.17

17.3–4 17.3 17.5–6 17.22–37 17.22–30 17.23–30 17.23–24 17.23 17.24 17.26–30 17.26–27 17.26 17.28–30 17.30 17.34–35 17.34 19.12–29 22.28–30 22.30

Matthew 1.1 1.23 2.23 3.2 3.7–10 3.15 4.1–11 4.4 4.8 4.17 4.23 5–7 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.8 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.17–20 5.17–18

38, 145, 161, 162, 163, 201, 221, 222, 292, 454, 459, 463, 526, 529, 530 227 227 156 46, 130, 136, 259, 270 270 529 280, 432, 444 440 242, 245, 440, 563 49, 208, 280 432, 467 177, 207, 242, 245, 563 433 242, 245, 563 182, 467 398 294 250–265, 283, 461 254, 255, 263, 264, 271, 272, 274, 275, 282, 283, 286, 563

484 235 485 65 104 107, 497 153 132, 169 178 20, 65 20, 230 7, 17, 74, 115 216, 388 212, 216, 584 216 216, 367 386, 387 386, 387, 388, 389, 398 236, 268, 388, 389, 398, 520 521 484 503

5.17 5.18 5.22 5.32 5.39–41 5.42 5.44 5.47 5.48 6.8 6.30 7.7–8 7.23 7.28–29 7.29 8–9 8.1–17 8.1–4 8.5–13 8.12 8.14–17 8.18–9.17 8.18–27 8.18–22 8.20 8.23–34 8.26 8.28–9.8 8.28–34 8.34 9.1–17 9.1–8 9.9–17 9.9–13 9.14–17 9.14 9.18–34 9.18–31 9.18–26 9.27–31 9.32–34 9.35 10 10.1 10.2–4 10.5–6 10.7, 8 10.10 10.11, 13 10.16

617 17 61, 162, 222 235, 484 65 341 390 341, 389 218, 223, 226 226, 500 140 64 104 238 17 230 16, 18, 20, 114 18 12, 17, 114, 115 17 64 16, 17 19, 20 19 19 19, 519, 521, 522 12, 18, 114, 115 64 19 19 19 20 19 18 19, 20 18 20 18, 19 18 12, 18, 19, 114, 115 65 19, 65 230 74 20 11, 20 221 20 312, 313 374 314, 315, 387

618 10.17–22 10.22 10.32 10.34–35 10.37–38 10.37, 38 10.39 10.40 11.2 11.4 11.7–10 11.10 11.19 11.30 12.1–8 12.5–7 12.6 12.7, 8 12.9–14 12.9 12.11–12 12.11 12.12 12.22–24 12.32 12.40 13 13.24–30 13.31–33 13.31–32 13.31 13.35 13.42 13.54 14.28–31 14.31 15.1–20 15.7 15.11 15.12–14 15.13 16.3 16.8 16.13 16.16–19 16.17–19 16.18 16.21 16.25

Index of Sources 7, 12, 20 65 232, 236, 436, 437 372 374 42 42, 58 314 192 345 42 37 61, 192, 518, 521, 522, 523 500 492, 496 56, 107, 545 493, 495 493 492 230 162 453, 465, 491 493 65 244, 520 32, 518 74, 115 5 6 5, 374 378 344 64 230 56, 107, 108 64 498 66 370, 499 499 387 396 64 236, 561 56 107, 108 496 236, 561 58

16.27 16.28 17.20 17.24–27 18 18.17 18.23–35 19.9 19.24 19.28 20.1–16 20.16 20.29–34 21.5 21.21 21.33 21.43 22.7 22.13 22.34–40 22.35 22.36 22.37 22.40 23.2–3 23.13 23.23 23.25 23.26 23.29–39 23.31 23.32 23.34–39 23.34–36 23.34 23.36 23.37–39 23.37–38 23.37, 38 24–25 24.2 24.9 24.20 24.26–28 24.30–31 24.30 24.36 24.37–41

237 451, 459, 460 64, 341 107 74 496 73, 107 65, 411, 484 73 237, 244, 251, 253, 254, 559 107 72 65 485 341 411 230 230, 397, 450 64, 72 203, 453 160 163 486–492 546 221 368 61, 296 298 295 321 298 322, 323 521 193, 268 61, 68, 192, 230, 304, 322 322 268 193, 330 322 71, 75, 115, 321 322 65 494 335 333–337 134, 435, 436 325, 335 334

Index of Sources 24.37–39 24.37 24.38 24.40–41 24.42 24.43–44 24.43 24.44 24.45–51 24.49 24.51 25.1–13 25.13 25.14–29 25.30 25.31–46 25.31 26.67 27.19, 24 27.25 27.35 27.40–43 28.19 28.20

325, 327, 521 335 327 333 325, 328, 438 325, 334 327 438 325, 326 326 64 333 438 254 64 107, 261 254 217 56, 107 230 372 155 502 495

Mark 1.1–15 1.1–13 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.7–8 1.9 1.11 1.12–13 1.15 1.16–20 1.20 1.21–39 1.21–28 1.21 1.22 1.23–28 1.27 1.29–34 1.29–31, 32–34 1.35–39 1.39 1.40–45 1.44

160 160 100, 248, 535, 537 37–42 42 43–47, 114 100 248, 536, 591 153 418 12, 22 577 21, 22 17 17 17, 517 17 517 17 16 17 16 12, 17, 114 539

1.45 2.1–3.6 2.1–28 2.1–12 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.10 2.13–14, 15 2.17 2.18–20 2.20 2.23–3.6 2.23–28 2.23–26 2.24 2.27 2.28 3.1–6 3.4 3.6 3.7–12 3.11–12 3.13–19 3.20–21 3.22–30 3.22–27 3.28–29 3.28 3.31–35 4.1–34 4.5–6 4.5, 6 4.11–12 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.16–17 4.17 4.21–25 4.22 4.26–29 4.29 4.30–32 4.31 4.35–5.43 4.35–5.20 4.35–41 4.38

619 17 514, 515, 517 515 428, 516 514 36, 514 36 505–517, 560, 563, 568 516 577 433 515 221 492, 531, 545 427 36 102, 464, 493, 516, 545 277, 493, 505–517, 560, 563, 568 492 493 514 12, 21 533 11, 12, 20, 21 10 35, 294 114 114, 385, 394, 398 248 12, 21 549 379 380 532, 539 102 345 532 549–550 547, 548, 549–550 549 412 5, 10, 102, 367, 549 49 5, 47–49, 375, 385, 549 376 12 18, 114 19 91

620 4.40 4.41 5.20 5.21–43 6.1–6 6.4 6.33–44, 45–52 6.52 7.1–23 7.3–4 7.3 7.6 7.14–23 7.15 7.17 7.18 7.19 7.24–30 7.31–37 7.36 8.11–12 8.17–21 8.17 8.18 8.22–26 8.29 8.30 8.31–10.52 8.31 8.32–33 8.32 8.33 8.34–35 8.34 8.35 8.38

9.1 9.2, 6 9.7 9.9 9.12 9.14–29 9.19, 22 9.31

Index of Sources 36, 534 525, 534 19 18, 19, 114 12, 21, 114 369 428 525, 532 221, 238, 498, 533, 545 484, 485 531 66 525, 532 370, 464, 498, 499, 532, 533, 545 531, 533, 539 525, 531, 532, 533 464, 498, 531, 539 525, 532 10 539 32–37, 42, 529 525, 532 532 345 10, 91, 428, 537 100, 248, 525, 527, 531, 534, 535 525, 536, 538 526, 527 71, 100, 148, 152, 248, 285, 286, 525, 560, 565 537 525 525, 534 547, 548, 551 286, 551 58 35, 114, 233, 237, 241, 247, 248, 249, 436, 444, 508, 551, 560, 566, 570 418, 441, 444, 451, 460 311 100, 536 525, 560 560 534 534 100, 248, 285, 525, 560, 563, 588

9.33–50 9.33–37 9.40 9.41 9.50 9.51 10.1–12 10.10–12 10.11–12 10.21 10.23–27 10.28 10.29–30 10.29 10.30 10.33–34 10.33 10.34 10.35–45 10.38, 39 10.45 11.10 11.27–33 11.28–29, 33 12.1–9 12.1 12.10 12.13 ff. 12.28–34 12.30 12.33 12.35–38 12.38–40 13 13.5–6 13.6 13.7–8 13.7 13.9–13 13.10, 13 13.21–23 13.21–22 13.21 13.24–27 13.26–27 13.26

309, 320 554 35, 177 535 320 588 221 533 411, 464, 484 577 426 552 547, 548, 552 397, 552 552 286, 525 248, 285, 560, 564, 571, 587 100 554 286 148, 248, 526, 560, 561, 568, 569 603 517 517 323 411 49 309, 341 92, 114, 341 486 546 238 35 71, 469 553 554 553 553 12, 20, 70, 547, 548, 552–554 553 440, 553 556 280 431, 435, 441, 444, 553 247, 248 242, 273, 286, 335, 508, 560, 565, 570

Index of Sources 13.27 13.30 13.33–37 13.34–35 14.3–9 14.21 14.24 14.25 14.26 14.41 14.61 14.62

14.64 14.65 15.24 15.38 15.39 16.7 Luke 1–2 1.1 1.17 1.27 1.32–33 1.32, 69 1.70 1.72 1.77 2.4 2.11 2.26 3.7–9 3.21 3.22 4.1–13 4.1 4.4 4.5 4.16–30 4.17–19 4.17–18 4.18–19 4.18 4.22 4.24 4.25–27

565 35 331, 332, 438 328 114 560, 561, 565 148, 526 418, 441, 443, 444 443 560, 566 100, 535 240, 241, 243, 248, 273, 286, 432, 508, 560, 565, 568, 569, 570 514 63, 217 372 148 100, 248, 536 531, 561, 568

576 53 596 598 598 598 69 253 369, 393 598 592, 598 598 104 585 596 153 585 169 178 12, 21, 114, 176, 213, 589 369 21 214, 573, 584, 599 587, 588, 596 169 369, 371, 586, 600 215, 593

4.31–41 4.31–37, 39 4.40 4.41 5.1–6.11 5.1–11 5.11 5.20 5.24 5.28 5.32 6.5 6.12–19 6.12–16 6.17–19 6.20–49 6.20–23 6.20–21 6.21 6.22–23 6.22 6.23 6.24, 25 6.27–38 6.30 6.33 6.34 7.16 7.18 7.22 7.27 7.34 7.35 7.36–50 7.39 8.6 8.17 8.19–21 9.19, 20 9.22 9.24 9.26 9.27 9.35 9.44 9.58 10.1–16 10.4–7 10.7 10.8

621 21 21 585 21 22 12, 21, 22 577 579 560, 573 577 150 560 12 6, 11 6 7 57, 69 573, 584 212 411 236, 520, 559, 587 521 212 309 390 218, 223 390, 398 586 192 573, 584 37 518, 521, 522, 523, 559 61, 69, 192, 583, 587 12, 114 586 379 371, 412 12, 21 586 560, 564, 571, 600 58 560, 566, 568, 570 241, 249 586 560, 563, 600 519, 521, 559, 587 311 577 312 223, 501

622 10.16 10.25–28 10.26 10.27 10.37 11.2–4 11.9–10 11.14–22 11.20 11.27–28 11.30 11.41 11.42 11.48 11.49–51 11.49 11.52 12 12.3, 4–5 12.8–9 12.8 12.9 12.10–12 12.10 12.11–12 12.12 12.13–14 12.16–21 12.20 12.22–59 12.22–53 12.28 12.35–38 12.35 12.36–38 12.39–46 12.39–40 12.39 12.40 12.41 12.42–46 12.42 12.45 12.49 12.51–53 12.51

Index of Sources 314, 320 12, 92, 114, 159, 203, 453 163 486 546 57, 69 104 114 69 386, 387 32, 69, 518, 559 295, 296 61, 296 298 57, 521 61, 68, 192, 193, 304, 583, 587, 588, 601 368, 371, 398 71 240 114, 570 232, 236, 239–243, 436, 559, 566, 567, 568 241, 436, 566 240 114, 240, 244, 520, 559, 563 240, 595 553 386 240, 386, 396 345 70 70 64 322, 386, 438 386, 438 325, 328, 386, 438 577 325 324, 328, 341 559 583 325, 326, 332 583 326 46, 386, 395, 468 372 398

12.52–53 12.52 12.54 12.56 13.16 13.18–21 13.18–19 13.28 13.30 13.33 13.34–35 14.1–6 14.5 14.16–24 14.23 14.26–27 14.28–32 14.33 14.35 15.11–32 16.1–13 16.17 16.19–31 17 17.5, 6 17.20–21 17.22 17.23–37 17.23–30 17.24 17.25 17.26–30 17.26–27 17.26 17.27 17.30 17.33 17.34–35 18.1–8 18.1 18.8 18.22 18.29 18.31–34 18.31 19 19.8 19.10

372 372, 396 70 396 585 6 12, 47, 374 64 72 586, 600 521 162, 465 162, 453, 465 398 397 374 72 577 72 73 73 61 73, 240 71 583 386, 387, 440, 441 560, 567, 569 577 583 559 559, 564, 566 325, 327 330 559, 567, 570 327 559, 570 58 333 561 561 242, 560, 561, 562, 566, 569 577 397 600 560, 561, 564, 565, 568, 571, 587 71 583 560, 567, 568, 569

Index of Sources 19.38 20.42–43 21.14–15 21.20 21.23 21.27

23.43 24 24.7 24.21 24.26–27 24.26 24.46 24.49

603 590 595 450 322 242, 560, 565, 569, 570, 590 313, 325, 330, 331, 332, 432, 438, 561 325, 332 242, 560, 561, 562, 566, 569, 571, 583 155 443 253 560, 564, 571, 600 237, 252 253 250, 253 251, 252, 253, 559 313 577 600 560, 561, 566 590 240, 241, 242, 558, 560, 565, 566, 568, 569, 570, 571, 590 240 600 560, 564, 566 603 565 587, 592 565, 587, 592 585

John 1.1–14 1.27 3.9 4.11 5.7 5.27 6.7 11.24 11.25–26 11.27 19.37

192 44 338 338 338 511 338 338 337–339 338 431, 432, 433, 436, 441

21.34–36 21.34 21.36 22.3 22.16 22.20 22.22 22.28–30 22.28 22.29 22.30 22.35–36 22.35 22.37 22.48 22.67 22.69

Acts 1 1.9, 11 2.21 2.22 2.33 2.34–36 2.36 3.13 3.18 3.21 3.22 3.25 3.26 4.11 4.20 4.26–27 4.27, 30 5.1–8 6.1–15 6.10 6.16–21 7.1–52 7.8 7.37 7.52 7.55–56 7.56

8 8.1–3 9 9.1–7 9.4–5, 10–17 9.20 9.22 10.36 10.38 10.42 11.27 13 13.1 13.25 13.33 13.45 15.4, 7, 9 15.10, 14 15.16–17

623

241 566 590, 594, 595, 597 595 585, 594, 595 590 580, 591, 592, 594, 595, 596, 598 69, 581 565, 587, 592 69 69, 587 253 581 581 345 588 581 428 428 240 428 70 253 69, 587 323 597 240, 241, 242, 249, 558, 559, 560, 561, 567, 569, 572, 583 593 70 582, 593 428 597 313 580, 581, 582, 592 592, 593, 596, 598 21, 573, 585, 587, 598 569 68 588 68 44 581 240 593 593 592

624

Index of Sources

16.7 17.3 17.31 18.5 18.6 18.9–10 18.10 18.28 20.28 21.10 22 22.17–21 23.11 26 26.14–18 26.18 26.23 27.23

579, 594, 595, 596 565, 580, 582, 587, 592 569, 583 580, 582, 592 240 594, 597 241, 597 580, 582, 592 581 68 582 597 594, 597 582 597 601 565, 587, 592, 597 597

Romans 8.15 9.33 11.25 12 12.14, 17 12.18 13.7 13.8–10 14.14 15.3 15.4 16.19

441 581 322 312 341 320 341 341, 483 341 148 483 314, 315

1 Corinthians 1.19 2.1–5 2.6–16 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 2.10 2.16 3.1–4 3.1 3.2 3.17 4.8 6.2 7.1

425, 442 352 349, 352 349 425, 442 353, 425 340–356 352, 355 349 352 349, 355 192 436 350 274 326, 349, 354

7.10–11 7.10 7.11 8.1, 4 9.1–27 9.6 9.11 9.14–15 9.14 9.15 9.17, 18 10.27 11.23–25 11.23 11.26 12.1 13.2 15.3–7 15.6 16.1

299, 317 341, 349 444 349 311 311 312 352 299, 313, 341, 349, 425, 444 299 312 312, 425, 501 317, 444 341, 349 443 326 341, 350, 425, 442 444 425, 442 326

2 Corinthians 11.2 13.11

192 320

Galatians 4.6 4.19

441 192

Ephesians 5.21–33

192

Philippians 2.15

315

Colossians 1.15–20 4.14

192 575

1 Thessalonians 2.7 2.14–16 2.15 2.16 4.8 4.9, 13 4.13–5.11 4.13–18 4.15–17

192 319, 321–324 322, 425, 442 322 314, 320 326 321 425, 431 333–339

625

Index of Sources 4.15 4.16–17 4.16 4.17 5.1–11 5.1 5.2

335, 341 334, 336–339, 444 335 334, 335 319, 325–333 325 324, 325, 327, 328, 330, 339, 341, 425, 426, 437, 442 192, 313, 324, 325, 327, 330–333 328, 330 325 325, 326 328 327, 329 320 321

5.3 5.4 5.5–6 5.6–7 5.6 5.7 5.13 5.15 1 Timothy 5.18

314

2 Timothy 2.12 4.11 4.13

436, 437 575 301

Philemon 24

575

Hebrews 1.3

192

James 2.5

426

1 Peter 2.6, 7, 8, 22–25 581 3.9, 11 321 2 Peter 3.10

328, 437

1 John 1.1 1.13

345, 353 345

Revelation 1.7 1.13–16 1.13 3.3 3.5 9.20 14.14 16.15 20.4 22.18

431, 432, 435 285 431, 432, 435 328, 425, 437 425, 436, 437 345 285, 431, 432, 435 437 274, 275 345

Other Early Christian Writings (including Gospel of Thomas) Acts of Peter 39

351

Acts of Thomas 36 351 Apostolic Constitutions 7.32.5 348, 351 Clement of Alexandria Excerpta ex Theodoto 1.3 377 Protrepticus 10.94.4

347

Stromata 2.9.45 5.14.96

364 364

1 Clement 24

379

2 Clement 11.7

347, 351

Didache 6.2, 3 8 8.1 9.4 10.5–6

347 500 441 499 443 443

626 13.1–2 14 16 16.1 16.6–8

Index of Sources 314 497 435 438 426, 431

Epistle of Titus 351 Eusebius Ecclesiastical History 3.24 94 6.14.5–7 94 Gospel of the Hebrews 183 Gospel of Thomas (NHC II.2; P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655) 1 408, 411, 441 2 364 3 386, 418, 440 4 407 5 361, 362, 371–372, 412 9 379–381 10 395 14 369–370, 500 16 372–373, 395 17 340–356 18 418 20 374–379, 385, 406 21 328, 386, 396, 437 24 418 25 406 30 361, 408 31 369 36 361, 362 37 418 39 368, 392–393 42 406 43 418 44 385 47 406 51 418, 440 52 418, 501 54 378, 410, 411, 426 55 374 58 406 64 396, 397, 406 65 410 68 388–390, 406, 410, 411

69 77 82 89 91 95 97 98 103 113 114

367, 388, 410, 411 361, 362, 366, 406, 408, 414 414 392 418 390–391 406 406 437 406, 418, 440 378

Hippolytus Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.7.20 407 Ignatius Magnesians 9.1

497

Smyrnians 1.1

497

Irenaeus Adversus haereses 3.1.1 94 Justin 1 Apology 16.7

158

Muratorian Canon 29–31 353 Origen Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 1.1 94 27.9 343 Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 2.26.6 373 Shepherd of Hermas Mandates 9.20.2–3 426 Tertullian Adversus Marcionem 4.29.14 373

627

Index of Sources

Rabbinic Texts Mishnah m. Kil’ayim 2.8–9

274

b. Shabbat 128b

162, 493

48

Babylonian Talmud b. Arakin 16b 227 b. ‫ۉ‬agigah 14a

b. Sanhedrin 38b

Midrashim Midrash Canticles 2.14 315

274

Nag Hammadi Texts (except Gospel of Thomas) Treatise on the Resurrection (NHC I.4) 45.25 ff. 362

Dialogue of the Saviour (NHC III.5) 140.1–4 343, 346, 347 144.6–7 377

Greco-Roman Texts Cynic Epistles Ps.-Crates 11 13 13.1 16 21.1 23 Ps.-Diogenes 6.2 12.1 25.1 28.1 30 31.4 38.4

132 121 138 121 126 134

126 126 140 137 134 139 133

Dio Chrysostom Orations 1.50–51 125 4.41 132 6 122 8 122, 131 9 122

10 10.16 13.9–11 17.8 32.9 34.2 72.11

122 139 125 133 123, 125 134 125

Diogenes Laertius Lives of Eminent Philosophers 2.21, 35–37 133 6 121 6.1 131 6.13 134 6.20 131 6.21 135 6.22–23 139 6.23 134 6.31 138 6.36, 37 135 6.47 137 6.52 140 6.55 137 6.60 138 6.61 137

628 6.71 6.79 6.82 6.103 Epictetus Discourses 1.9.9 1.19.13 2.19.24 3.22 3.22.9–11 3.22.26 3.22.53–54 3.23.24 3.24.113 4.1.163–164 4.4.26–27 15.3.9

Index of Sources 139 140 131 121

139 133 137 121, 122, 123 140 126 133 126 137 137 126 139

Lucian How to Write History 56 580 Life of Demonax 3 131

35 38 41 71

140 138 138 139

Musonius Rufus 10 133 15 139 Seneca Epistulae morales 9.6 133 71.7 137 88.30 133 95.63 133 103.3–4 133 Teles 30H 31H 44H

140 140 135

Thucydides Peloponnesian War 1.22 581

Index of Modern Authors Achtemeier, P. J.…21, n. 71, 535, n. 26, 537, n. 36, 553, n. 33 Aejmelaeus, L.…324, n. 37, 325 with n. 41, 326–329, nn. 48, 49, 51, 52, 55–57 and 59, 330–332 with nn. 62, 63, 72, 73, 74, 77 and 78, 333, nn. 79 and 81, 334 with n. 86, 337, n. 96, 561, n. 22 Aichinger, H.…27, n. 15 Albertz, M.…515, nn. 38, 39 and 41 Alexander, L.…300, n. 28 Allison, D. C., Jr.…65 n. 42, 139, n. 80, 153, n. 2, 158, n. 24, 166, n. 63, 207, n. 47, 210 with n. 61, 216, n. 89, 254, nn. 19–20, 309–314 with nn. 3– 6, 9–10 and 19, 315, n. 23, 320, nn. 13, 16 and 17, 321, nn. 18 and 20, 324–325, n. 37, 346, n. 24, 388, n. 19, 389, nn. 21 and 24, 416, n. 48, 418, nn. 55–56, 439, n. 46, 441, n. 52, 454, n. 28, 467 with n. 71, 484, n. 28, 485–486, 488, n. 35, 495, n. 54, 497, n. 59, 501, n. 74, 543, n. 6 Ambrozic, A. M.…532, n. 19 Argyle, A. W.…155, n. 7 Arnal, W. E.…233–234, nn. 5, 7 and 10, 239, n. 29 Arnim, H. F. von…122, n. 17 Attridge, H. W.…122, n. 15 Audet, J.-P.…315, n. 18 Aune, D. E.…274, n. 35, 336, n. 89, 337, n. 97 Baer, R. A.…191 with n. 15 Bailey, J. A.…316, n. 4 Balch, D.…542, n. 3 Bammel, E.…250, n. 2 Barclay, J. M. G.…480 with n. 16, 483, n. 26 Barr, J.…189, n. 11

Barrett, C. K.…311, n. 8, 342, n. 10, 505, n. 2, 508, n. 14, 510, n. 21, 567, n. 43, 582, n. 28, 592, n. 67, 595 with n. 79, 596, n. 80, 597, n. 88, 598, n. 90 Barth, G.…492, n. 48, 498, n. 64 Barthes, R.…196–197 with n. 2 Barton, J.…198, n. 11 Bauckham, R. J.…277, n. 47, 317, n. 6, 370, n. 47, 377, nn. 71 and 73, 478, n. 7, 542 with n. 4, 543–545 with nn. 7, 9–12 and 14, 579, n. 17 Bayer, H. F.…34, n. 36 Beardsley, M. C.…198, n. 10 Beavis, M. A.…543 with n. 6 Bechtler, S. R.…257, nn. 30–31 Becker, J.…469, n. 85 Berger, K.…257, n. 31 Berger, P.…345, nn. 19 and 21, 436, n. 44, 437 Best, E.…315, n. 22, 319, n. 11, 329, nn. 15 and 17, 322, n. 23, 323, n. 32, 327, n. 47, 336, n. 93, 527, n. 7, 537, nn. 33–34, 555, n. 38 Betz, H. D.…245, n. 46, 540, n. 42 Billerbeck, P.…137, nn. 68–69, 511, n. 29 Bird, M. F.…543 with n. 5, 544, nn. 7 and 10 Black, M.…36 with n. 41, 284, n. 72, 295 with n. 15, 296, n. 17, 516, n. 45, 522 Blomberg, C. L.…360, n. 5, 367, n. 33, 375, n. 63, 378, n. 78, 381, nn. 93– 95 Bock, D. L.…574, n. 2, 590–591 with nn. 59–62, 592, nn. 65–66, 593, 597–598 Boismard, M.-É.…78–79 with nn. 3–4 Boobyer, G. H.…506, n. 7

630

Index of Modern Authors

Borg, M.…407 nn. 15–16, 416 with n. 46, 417, n. 53, 421, n. 1, 435, n. 41, 438, n. 46, 444, n. 63, 445, n. 65, 458, 467 with n. 71 Boring, M. E.…112, n. 92, 416, n. 47 Bornkamm, G.…19 with n. 59, 137, n. 69 Bovon, F.…391, n. 29, 557 with n. 1, 558, n. 10 Bowker, J.…508, n. 14, 516, n. 47 Braun, H.…589, n. 58 Brawley, R. L.…585, n. 40, 603, n. 108 Brown, J. P.…368, n. 38 Brown, R. E.…192, n. 19, 338, n. 102, 339, n. 108, 429, n. 27, 483, n. 25, 542, n. 3 Bruce, F. F.…312, n. 11, 321, n. 18 Buckwalter, H. D.…574, n. 2, 589–590, 593–598 with nn. 72, 76, 78 and 85 Bultmann, R.…37, n. 47, 43, n. 70, 44, 145, 160, n. 31, 161, n. 34, 167, n. 68, 175, 193, n. 22, 315, n. 26, 331, n. 68, 338, n. 103, 369, n. 42, 391, n. 30, 446, n. 66, 462, n. 56, 505, nn. 1 and 3, 506, n. 6, 518, n. 56, 561, n. 23 Burchard, C.…321, n. 19 Burger, C.…16, n. 49, 18, nn. 54–56, 19, n. 60, 20, n. 63 Burkett, D.…79 with n. 5, 273, n. 33, 275, n. 38, 287, n. 83 Burridge, R.…260, n. 41 Busse, U.…22, n. 73, 586, n. 43 Bussmann, W.…53, n. 6, 293, n. 12 Butler, B. C.…9 with nn. 19–20, 13–14, 55, n. 11, 56, n. 16, 58, n. 19, 80, n. 10, 82, n. 14, 88 with n. 25 Byrskog, S.…542, n. 1 Caird, G. B.…274, n. 35 Cameron, R.…365, n. 24, 367, n. 31, 409, n. 19, 430, n. 30 Carleton Paget, J.…481, nn. 19–20 Carlson, S. C.…94, n. 40, 102, n. 63 Carlston, C. E.…498, n. 64, 499, n. 67 Carroll, J. T.…240, n. 33 Carter, W.…481, n. 18, 482, n. 23 Casey, M.…151 n. 29, 246, n. 52, 247, n. 56, 266, n. 2, 271, n. 25, 276, nn. 42–43, 277, n. 47, 287, n. 83, 288, n. 85, 291, 294, 295 with

nn. 14–15, 296–305, 480 with n. 15, 483, n. 26, 507, n. 10, 508, nn. 13– 15, 510 with n. 21, 511, n. 29, 512, n. 30, 517, n. 51, 559, n. 14, 566, n. 40, 570, nn. 51–54, 571, nn. 56– 57, 596 with n. 82 Catchpole, D. R.…24 with n. 6, 25, n. 8, 31, n. 29, 34, nn. 36–37, 35, n. 40, 39 with nn. 55–57, 40–41, nn. 58–62, 42, n. 66, 44, nn. 71 and 75, 45, n. 80, 130 with n. 43, 149 with nn. 24–25, 161, n. 38, 163 with n. 45, 171–172, nn. 83–86, 175, n. 100, 211, n. 68, 213, nn. 73–75, 216, n. 89, 217–218 with nn. 91, 93–94 and 96–97, 226– 227 with nn. 13–16, 250 with n. 3, 252–253, nn. 13–14 and 16, 254–255, nn. 22–23, 256, n. 28, 258, n. 32, 259 with nn. 38–40, 261 with n. 45, 264, n. 51, 265, 268, n. 12, 270, n. 20, 314, n. 20, 411, n. 27, 449, n. 12, 529, n. 12, 533, n. 22, 593, n. 70 Cerfaux, L.…375, n. 63 Ceroke, C. E.…506, n. 7 Chapman, J.…80, n. 10 Chronis, H. L.…536, n. 31 Clark, K. W.…485 with n. 29 Cohen, S. J. D.…479, n. 9 Collins, J. J.…214–215 with nn. 80–81, 245, n. 49, 273, nn. 32–33 Collins, R. F.…316, n. 4, 319, nn. 10– 11, 325, n. 41, 326, n. 43, 327–328, nn. 50–51, 330–331, nn. 64–66, 336, n. 93 Colpe, C.…389, n. 23, 516, n. 47, 517, nn. 51–52, 520, n. 65, 561, nn. 20– 21 and 23, 564, n. 30, 571 with n. 60 Conzelmann, H.…21, n. 71, 349, n. 34, 557, 558 n. 4, 559 with n. 13, 562 with n. 27, 565, n. 39, 568–570, 577, n. 11, 589, n. 58 Cope, O. L.…18, n. 56, 81, n. 11, 94, n. 38, 95, n. 42, 96, nn. 45–46 Coppens, J.…319, n. 10 Coser, L.…225, n. 12 Cotter, W.…202, n. 29 Cotterell, P.…287, n. 84 Cranfield, C. E. B.…315, n. 24, 506, n. 7, 517, n. 55

Index of Modern Authors Creed, J. M.…22, n. 75 Crossan, J. D.…287, n. 82, 341, n. 5, 345, n. 20, 359, n. 3, 365 with nn. 24–25, 366, n. 30, 376 with nn. 67 and 69, 377, n. 71, 380, 404– 406 with n. 7, 416, 418, nn. 54–55, 419, n. 60, 421–446, 450 with n. 16, 452 with n. 21, 456 with n. 34, 457– 458 with nn. 44–45, 469, n. 86, 470, 526, n. 6, 549, n. 23 Crump, D.…245, n. 45 Culler, J.…196, n. 2, 197 with n. 5 Cullmann, O.…578, n. 14 D’Angelo, M. R.…188, n. 10 Dalman, G.…48 with nn. 90 and 92 Davies, M.…78, n. 3, 80, n. 7, 86, n. 20, 90, n. 30 Davies, S. L.…359, n. 2, 365, n. 24 Davies, W. D.…65 n. 42, 139, n. 80, 153, n. 2, 158, n. 24, 166, n. 63, 207, n. 47, 210 with n. 61, 216, n. 89, 254, nn. 19–20, 320, nn. 13 and 16, 321, n. 18, 388, n. 19, 389, nn. 21 and 24, 484, n. 28, 485–486, 488, n. 35, 495, n. 54, 497, n. 59, 501, n. 74 de Jonge, M.…214, n. 78, 403, n. 1, 417, n. 52, 418, n. 55, 536, n. 29, 538, n. 41, 557 with n. 2, 588, n. 51 Dehandschutter, B.…351, n. 41, 360, n. 5, 364, n. 23, 366, nn. 27–28, 382, n. 98 Deines, R.…475–476, nn. 1–3, 480, n. 13, 497, n. 59, 499, nn. 67–68 Delobel, J.…79, n. 4 Denaux, A.…132, n. 50, 586, n. 46 Derrenbacker, R. A.…105, n. 71, 106, n. 74, 111, n. 88, 112, n. 93, 113 with nn. 96–98 Devisch, M.…23–25, nn. 1, 4–5 and 7– 8, 26 with n. 12, 28, with n. 17 Dewey, J.…506, nn. 4 and 7, 515, nn. 36 and 41, 516, nn. 42–44, 517, n. 55 Dibelius, M.…43, nn. 69–70, 582, n. 29 Dobbeler, S. von…476, n. 2, 481, n. 18, 498, n. 64, 499, n. 66 Doble, P.…212, n. 71, 574, n. 2, 600, n. 98

631

Dodd, C. H.…205, 206, n. 43, 410 with n. 24 Doering, L.…492, n. 48, 493, n. 49, 494, n. 51, 495, n. 54 Donahue, J. R.…376, n. 66, 535, n. 28, 547, n. 17, 548, n. 20 Donfried, K. P.…322, n. 23, 334, n. 84 Downing, F. G.…26 with n. 13, 85, n. 18, 97, 98, n. 50, 99, n. 55, 110, n. 87, 111, 112, n. 93, 119–120 with nn. 6–9, 121–123, 125–130 with nn. 25, 34 and 42, 131, n. 47, 132– 133 with nn. 48 and 51, 134, nn. 55– 56, 135–139 with nn. 63, 70–71, 74 and 76, 140, n. 83, 141 with n. 85 Draisma, S.…197, n. 3 Dudley, D. B.…122, nn. 15 and 17, 124, nn. 22–23, 126, n. 31, 127, n. 34, 137, n. 71 Duhm, B.…600, n. 96 Dunderberg, I.…353–354, nn. 47–48 Dungan, D. L.…3, n. 2, 4, n. 5, 6–7, nn. 10 and 12, 10 with n. 26, 12, 15, n. 42, 55, n. 12, 81, n. 11, 82, n. 12, 92, n. 35, 93, n. 37, 96, n. 45, 309, n. 1, 312, n. 11, 313 with n. 15, 314, n. 19, 586, n. 45 Dunn, J. D. G.…104, n. 70, 136, n. 62, 189, n. 12, 194, n. 24, 198, n. 8, 231, n. 21, 341, n. 4, 360, n. 4, 370 with n. 46, 480 with n. 14, 483, n. 26, 499, n. 67, 507, n. 11, 508, n. 13, 512, n. 30, 520, n. 65, 521, n. 72, 522, n. 77, 596, n. 84, 597, n. 88 Dupont, J.…164–165, nn. 54–56, 216, n. 89, 250, n. 1, 253, nn. 14–15, 254, nn. 19 and 21, 263, n. 49, 272 with n. 28, 331, n. 68, 333, n. 82, 334 with n. 83, 397, n. 50 Dupont-Sommer, A.…511–512, n. 29 Eco, U.…545, n. 14 Edwards, R. A.…33, n. 34, 34, n. 37, 154, n. 4, 449, n. 12 Eichhorn, J. G.…291 Ellis, E. E.…53, n. 6, 342, n. 11, 603, n. 107 Ennulat, A.…27, n. 15, 90–91, n. 30, 101 with nn. 58–59, 102, n. 61

632

Index of Modern Authors

Ernst, J.…37, n. 47, 40, n. 59, 43, n. 67, 45 with n. 77 Esler, P. F.…229, n. 19, 542, n. 3, 543, n. 7, 544, n. 11, 604, n. 11 Evans, C. A.…430, n. 29 Evans, C. F.…586, n. 44, 602, n. 104 Fallon, F. T.…409, n. 19, 430, n. 30 Farmer, W. R.…3 with n. 1, 7 with n. 14, 9, n. 20, 10 with nn. 23–26, 11, n. 29, 12–14 with n. 38, 15, n. 42, 54, n. 9, 55, n. 12, 56, n. 15, 58, n. 19, 59–61 with nn. 25 and 31, 66, 81, n. 11, 82 with nn. 13–14, 83, n. 15, 88, n. 25, 91, n. 31, 92–93 with nn. 35 and 37–38, 95, nn. 42– 43, 96, nn. 45–46, 109 Farrer, A.…54, n. 10, 55, 58, 81 with nn. 11–12, 82, n. 14, 84, n. 16, 90, 103, 106, n. 73, 107 with n. 75, 110, n. 87, 143, 512, n. 30 Fee, G. D.…12, n. 34, 347, n. 30, 349, n. 34 Fendler, F.…49, n. 93 Feuillet, A.…512, n. 30 Fieger, M.…409 with n. 22 Finkel, A.…216, n. 89 Fischel, H. A.…323, n. 33 Fitzmyer, J. A.…56, nn. 13–15, 153, n. 2, 158, n. 20, 207, n. 46, 209, n. 55, 210, n. 60, 361, n. 9 369, n. 42, 373, n. 51, 374, n. 58, 516, n. 46, 558, n. 7, 559, n. 13, 561, n. 24, 564, n. 35, 567, n. 45, 586, n. 46, 588, n. 50, 589, n. 54, 595, n. 76, 597, n. 87, 601, n. 104 Fjärstedt, B.…309–313 with nn. 5–6 and 10, 314, n. 19, 315, n. 23 Fleddermann, H.…24 with n. 6, 28, 47 with n. 88, 234, n. 9, 250, n. 2, 251, n. 7, 252, n. 13, 253, nn. 14–15 and 18, 254, n. 21, 259, n. 37, 271, n. 23 Fletcher-Louis, C. H. T.…574, n. 2, 590, 595, n. 78, 596, n. 81 Förster, W.…137, n. 68, 594, n. 74 Foster, P.…475–476, nn. 1–3, 486–490 with nn. 32, 35–36 and 38–42, 491, n. 45, 497, n. 61 France, R. T.…206, n. 45 Frankemölle, H.…216, n. 88

Franklin, E.…583, n. 31, 589, n. 57, 602, n. 104 Freedman, D. N.…360, n. 5, 381, nn. 93 and 95 Frein, B. P.…564, n. 32 Frenschkowski, M.…529, n. 10 Frerichs, E. S.…480, n. 11 Freyne, S.…451, n. 19 Frid, B.…353 with n. 46 Friedrich, G.…166, n. 62, 319, n. 10, 325, n. 41 Friedrichsen, T. A.…47 with nn. 86–88, 49, n. 93, 91, n. 31 Fuchs, A.…25, n. 10, 26, 27, n. 15, 29, n. 20, 42, n. 66, 47, n. 84, 101 with nn. 59–60, 153–154, nn. 3 and 5, 167, n. 68, 169, n. 76 Fuller, R. H.…160, nn. 30–31, 455, n. 31, 505, n. 4, 578, n. 14 Funk, R. W.…341, n. 5, 349, n. 34, 377, n. 73, 404, n. 6, 414, n. 39, 422, n. 3, 434, n. 40 Furnish, V. P.…320, n. 16, 321, n. 18 Gaboury, A.…78, n. 3 Gamble, H. Y.…300, nn. 26 and 28, 301 with nn. 29–30 and 32, 543, n. 6 Garrow, A.…348, n. 30 Gärtner, B.…354, n. 48 Gerhardsson, B.…165, n. 55, 166, n. 63, 167, n. 69, 170, n. 78, 173, n. 88, 174, n. 95 Gnilka, J.…33, n. 34, 164, n. 49, 506, n. 4, 511, n. 29, 513, nn. 31–32, 514, n. 35, 517, n. 52, 532, n. 21, 537, n. 33 Goodacre, M.…81–83, nn. 12 and 14– 15, 91, n. 33, 92, n. 34, 106, nn. 73– 74, 107–110 with nn. 76, 78, 80–81, 83 and 85 Goodenough, E. R.…191, nn. 15–16 Goulder, M. D.…20, n. 64, 25–26 with n. 11, 42, n. 66, 54, n. 10, 55–58, 62–74 with nn. 33, 36–37, 39–40, 43–44, 47–48, 50–54, 56–58 and 60– 67, 81 with nn. 11–12, 82–84, nn. 14–16, 85 with n. 18, 90, n. 30, 98, n. 53, 106, nn. 73–74, 107, n. 78, 108 with n. 80, 143, 318, n. 9, 323, n. 29, 340, n. 1

Index of Modern Authors Grant, R. M.…360, n. 5, 381, nn. 93 and 95 Green, H. B.…17, n. 51, 18, n. 55, 54, n. 10 Green, J. B.…584, n. 38, 586, n. 45 Green, W. S.…480, n. 11 Griesbach, J. J.…8, 15, nn. 42–43, 55, 59, 97, n. 48 Guelich, R. A.…33, n. 34, 36, n. 41, 127, n. 35, 388, n. 19, 532, n. 18, 537, nn. 33–34 Guenther, H. O.…290–291 with n. 3 Guillaumont, A.…361, n. 10, 373 with nn. 52 and 55, 374, n. 60 Gundry, R. H.…158, nn. 22–23, 209, nn. 55 and 58, 333, n. 82, 337–339 with nn. 91, 100 and 105–106, 488, n. 35, 490, n. 44, 495, n. 54, 499, n. 67, 501, n. 74, 503, n. 75 Haenchen, E.…360, n. 5, 361, n. 9, 362, nn. 11–12, 364–365, n. 23, 366, n. 27, 377, n. 76, 379, n. 84, 381, n. 96, 409 with n. 20, 410, n. 26, 567, n. 43, 575, n. 5, 578, n. 12, 582, n. 28, 589, n. 58, 596, n. 80 Hagner, D. A.…476, n. 3, 484, n. 27, 488 with nn. 35 and 38, 496, n. 56, 503, n. 75 Hahn, F.…161, n. 34, 165, n. 59, 167, n. 68, 505, n. 4, 518, n. 56, 578, n. 14, 588, n. 50 Hamerton-Kelly, R. G.…512, n. 30, 520, n. 68, 521, n. 72, 522, n. 77 Hare, D. R. A.…20, n. 64, 244, n. 44, 246, nn. 52–53, 247, n. 56, 267, n. 6, 270, n. 20, 277, 285, n. 76, 476, n. 2, 496, n. 59, 558 with n. 6, 562, 564, n. 33 Harnack, A. von…291 with n. 5, 448, n. 7, 449 Harnisch, W.…326, n. 45, 328, n. 52, 331, n. 66, 335, n. 88, 336, n. 93, 337, n. 97 Harrington, D. J.…348, n. 31 Hartin, P. J.…51, n. 1 Hartman, L.…324, n. 37, 325, 326–328, nn. 44, 48 and 51–52, 330, n. 61, 331 with n. 69, 333, nn. 79 and 81

633

Hays, R. B.…196, 197, nn. 3 and 5, 199, n. 12 Head, P. M.…100, n. 56 Hedrick, C. W.…414, n. 39 Heil, C.…232, n. 2, 271, n. 22 Held, H. J.…16–18, nn. 48, 51, and 53– 56, 20, n. 62 Hengel, M.…104, n. 67, 140 with n. 84, 148, n. 21, 158, n. 20, 166, n. 66, 167, n. 71, 480, n. 13, 543, n. 6 Hennecke, E.…52, n. 2, 351, n. 37 Hickling, C. J. A.…53, n. 6, 293, n. 12 Hicks, R. D.…124, n. 21 Higgins, A. J. B.…34, n. 36, 505, nn. 1 and 3, 518, n. 56 Hirsch, E. D.…128, n. 35 Hoffmann, P.…34, n. 37, 37, n. 47, 38, n. 54, 41, n. 62, 43, n. 69, 44, n. 71, 46, n. 82, 119 with n. 2, 132, n. 49, 137, n. 69, 146, n. 16, 153, n. 2, 158, nn. 19 and 21, 164, nn. 49 and 52, 165–166 with nn. 59–61, 167, n. 67, 169, n. 76, 170, n. 80, 171, nn. 83– 84, 173, n. 92, 174 with n. 98, 180, n. 115, 183, n. 3, 193, n. 21, 194, n. 23, 204, 209, n. 57, 215, n. 86, 223, n. 6, 233 with nn. 5 and 7, 234, n. 8, 235, n. 15, 236–244 with nn. 17– 18, 21, 24–26, 29, 37, 39 and 43, 245, n. 45, 247–249 with nn. 55 and 62, 250, n. 2, 251 with n. 6, 253–254, nn. 14–15, 18–19 and 21, 262, 263, n. 49, 268, n. 8, 269, n. 15, 270, n. 19, 271, n. 23, 272, n. 27, 277 with n. 46, 278, n. 49, 281–282 with nn. 62 and 67–69, 285, n. 76, 292 with nn. 7 and 10, 312–313, nn. 9, 12, and 14, 323, n. 28, 335, n. 89, 336, n. 93, 449, n. 12, 450, n. 15, 453 with n. 24, 454, n. 28, 505, n. 4, 513–514 with nn. 33–34, 517, n. 52, 518, 519, nn. 60–61, 521–522, nn. 71, 73–74 and 76, 557 with n. 4, 560, n. 16, 566, nn. 41–42, 567, n. 44 Hofius, O.…336, n. 94, 337, n. 96 Holmberg, B.…230, n. 20, 548, n. 21 Holmen, T.…303, n. 35 Holtz, T.…207, n. 17, 320, n. 15, 321, n. 19, 322, n. 24, 323 with n. 32, 324, n. 36, 326, n. 43, 327, n. 48,

634

Index of Modern Authors

328, nn. 51–52, 330, nn. 61 and 65, 331, n. 69, 333, n. 80, 336, nn. 89 and 92 Holtzmann, H. J.…14, 87, 92, n. 35, 291, n. 5, 448, n. 7 Hooker, M. D.…65, n. 41, 160, n. 33, 469, n. 83, 505, nn. 2 and 4, 506– 507, n. 8, 508–509 with nn. 12, 14 and 16–20, 512, n. 30, 515, n. 36, 517, n. 53, 533, n. 22, 536, n. 31, 537, nn. 33–34, 553, nn. 33–34, 571, n. 58 Hoover, R.…341, n. 5, 404, n. 6, 414, n. 39, 422, n. 3, 434, n. 40 Horman, J.…363, nn. 17 and 19, 365, n. 24, 367, n. 31, 379–380 with n. 84, 381, n. 92 Horsley, R. A.…146, n. 13, 250, n. 1, 254, nn. 20–21, 447, n. 4 Horstmann, M.…248, n. 61, 505, n. 4 Huck, A.…6 with n. 12, 12, 16–17 Huggins, R. V.…104, n. 67 Hughes, J. H.…45, n. 77 Hunzinger, C.-H.…375, n. 64 Hurtado, L.…271, n. 25, 579, n. 17 Hyldahl, N.…335, n. 88, 337, n. 96 Iersel, B. van…197, 548, n. 20 Incigneri, B. J.…542, n. 3, 543, n. 6, 547, n. 17 Jackson-McCabe, M.…481–482, nn. 19– 20 and 23 Jacobson, A. D.…5, n. 6, 34, nn. 36–37, 37–39 with nn. 48 and 51, 44, n. 71, 45, n. 80, 46, 60, n. 25, 136, n. 65, 143, 151, n. 35, 155, n. 9, 156–157 with n. 13, 159, n. 29, 172, n. 87, 173, 183, n. 3, 201 with n. 25, 251, n. 5, 254, n. 20, 266, n. 2, 267, n. 4, 268, n. 8, 449, n. 12, 454, n. 28, 560, n. 16 Janssens, Y.…366, n. 28 Järvinen, A.…255, n. 26, 258, nn. 33– 35, 269, nn. 13–14 and 17 Jeremias, J.…161, n. 34, 165, nn. 56 and 59, 291, 335, n. 89, 336, n. 92, 337, n. 97, 351, n. 41, 359, n. 3, 365, n. 24, 377, n. 71, 391, n. 31, 404, n. 5, 410 with n. 24, 412, n. 31, 414–

416, nn. 39, 41, and 43, 441, n. 52, 444, 516, nn. 47–48, 517, n. 51, 549, n. 25, 561, n. 21 Johnson, E. S.…537, n. 34 Johnson, L. T.…543, n. 6, 586, n. 43 Jonge, M. de…214, n. 78, 403, n. 1, 417, n. 52, 418, n. 55, 536, n. 29, 538, n. 41, 557 with n. 2, 588, n. 51 Jongeling, B.…512, n. 29 Juel, D. H.…535, n. 28, 548, n. 20, 554 with n. 36, 556, n. 42, 599, n. 94 Kaestli, J.-D.…561, n. 21 Kähler, M.…548, n. 19 Käsemann, E.…315, n. 27, 436–437 with n. 43 Kayatz, C.…189, n. 13 Keck, F.…331, n. 68 Keck, L. E.…265, n. 53, 558, n. 9, 578, n. 15 Kee, H. C.…135 with n. 58, 542, n. 3 Kermode, F.…127, n. 35 Kertelge, K.…160, n. 30, 505, n. 4, 511, n. 29, 512–513, nn. 30–32, 517, n. 54 Kiilunen, J.…160, n. 30 Kilpatrick, G. D.…488, n. 36 Kingsbury, J. D.…18, nn. 54–56, 20, n. 63, 167, n. 71, 535, nn. 26 and 28, 537, nn. 36 and 38, 540, n. 42, 586, nn. 43 and 45, 588, n. 50, 591, n. 64 Kirk, A.…250, n. 2, 252, n. 12, 255 with nn. 24–25, 257, n. 30 Klauck, H.-J.…375, n. 65, 376, nn. 67 and 70, 412, n. 31 Kloppenberg (Verbin), J. S.…31, n. 28, 33, n. 34, 34, n. 36, 35, n. 38, 37, n. 47, 38 with nn. 49–50 and 52, 39, 40, n. 58, 44 with n. 72, 46 with n. 83, 53, n. 7, 75, n. 69, 78, n. 3, 80, n. 8, 81, n. 12, 84, n. 16, 86, nn. 19 and 21, 89, n. 28, 93, n. 36, 103, n. 66, 105, n. 70, 107 with nn. 77 and 79, 114, n. 101, 120 with n. 8, 127–130 with nn. 36 and 38, 133, n. 53, 139, n. 79, 143 with nn. 2–3, 145–146 with nn. 8, 13, 15 and 17–18, 150 with n. 26, 151, n. 34, 152, n. 36, 154, n. 5, 155, nn. 8–9, 156 with nn. 13 and 16, 157, n. 18, 158, n. 19, 159, nn. 28–29, 161, n. 36, 162,

Index of Modern Authors n. 39, 163, n. 47, 164, n. 49, 167, n. 67, 168 with nn. 72–75, 171, n. 83, 172, nn. 86–87, 173, n. 92, 174 with n. 94, 175, nn. 98–99, 180, n. 114, 183, n. 3, 193, n. 20, 194, n. 23, 200–202 with nn. 19, 21 and 26–29, 203, n. 34, 204, nn. 36 and 38, 218, n. 99, 220, n. 3, 224, nn. 8 and 10, 235, n. 14, 250, n. 2, 251 with n. 6, 254, nn. 20–21, 256, n. 27, 258, n. 34, 266–267, nn. 1–4, 268, n. 8, 269, nn. 14–15, 270, n. 20, 271, nn. 23– 24, 277–278 with nn. 47–48, 279, n. 54, 280, n. 56, 281, n. 65, 282, 283, nn. 70–71, 285, n. 78, 292–293 with nn. 9 and 11, 294, n. 13, 296, n. 17, 298, n. 22, 384 with nn. 4 and 6–8, 386, n. 13, 389, nn. 22–23, 391 with n. 32, 392, 393, n. 36, 394 with n. 38, 396 with nn. 47–48, 398, 399 with nn. 52–53, 400, 415–417 with nn. 42 and 50, 428, n. 19, 431, n. 32, 447–449 with nn. 1–2, 5, 8, 10 and 12–14, 451–452 with n. 20, 453, n. 24, 454–469 with nn. 26–27, 32, 38, 40, 48–49, 54–57, 66 and 73, 470, n. 88, 529, n. 10, 530, n. 15, 559, n. 15 Knibb, M.…348, n. 30 Koch, D.-A.…342, n. 11, 347, n. 29, 506, n. 4, 515, n. 36 Koch, K.…216, n. 89 Koester (Köster), H.…51, n. 1, 102 with n. 62, 103, n. 64, 268, n. 8, 314, n. 18, 315, n. 28, 317, n. 6, 341, n. 5, 343–344 with nn. 14–16, 365 with n. 24, 366, n. 30, 369, n. 42, 383– 400, 404–405 with n. 5, 406, n. 10, 415–416 with n. 43, 418, n. 54, 428, n. 24, 468 with n. 81 Koet, B. J.…214, n. 77, 593, n. 70 Kogler, F.…25, n. 10, 27, n. 15, 29, n. 20, 49, n. 93 Köhler, W.-D.…363, n. 20 Kosch, D.…54, n. 8, 155, n. 8, 156, n. 12, 162, nn. 40–41, 163, nn. 45– 46, 268, n. 8, 447, n. 4, 465, n. 66 Kristeva, J.…196–197 with n. 2 Kuhn, H.-W.…149, n. 23, 505, n. 4, 507, n. 9, 513, n. 31, 515 with nn. 38 and 41

635

Kuhn, K. H.…362, nn. 11–12, 374, n. 60, 375, nn. 62 and 65, 376, n. 67 Kümmel, W. G.…16, n. 46, 18, n. 53, 21, nn. 69 and 71, 56, n. 13, 422, n. 24, 440, n. 48, 441, nn. 51–52 Labuschagne, C. J.…512, n. 29 Lachmann, K.…9, 13–14, 16, n. 48, 87, n. 24, 88 Lagrange, M.-J.…42, n. 66, 112, n. 91 Lambrecht, J.…24 with n. 6, 28, 47 with n. 88, 203, n. 35, 376, nn. 67 and 70, 380, n. 88 Lampe, G. W. H.…586, n. 43, 589, n. 56 Larfeld, W.…36, n. 11 Laufen, R.…23, n. 1–4, 32, n. 32, 43, nn. 67–69, 44 with nn. 73 and 76, 170, n. 80, 177, n. 105, 312, n. 9, 313, n. 14, 314, n. 20, 320, n. 14, 360, n. 4, 374, n. 57, 375, nn. 61 and 64–65, 376, nn. 67 and 70, 377, n. 71 Layton, B.…342, n. 8 Lemcio, E. E.…585, n. 39, 586, n. 42, 587, n. 49, 600, n. 97 Levine, A.-J.…194, n. 25, 476, n. 2, 501, n. 74 Lieu, J.…476, n. 4 Lightfoot, R. H.…536, n. 41 Lindars, B.…151, n. 30, 192, n. 19, 244, n. 44, 246, nn. 52 and 54, 247, n. 56, 267, n. 6, 276, n. 42, 277, n. 47, 337, n. 99, 338, n. 103, 339, n. 108, 394, n. 39, 439, n. 47, 558 with n. 6, 561, nn. 21–25, 562 with n. 29, 569, n. 49, 570 with n. 53 Lindemann, A.…158, n. 26, 170, nn. 78–79, 172, n. 86, 360, n. 5, 375, n. 63, 377, n. 75, 380, n. 89, 381, n. 97, 431, n. 32 Linnemann, E.…397 with nn. 49–50 Loader, W. R. G.…19, n. 58, 492, n. 48, 495–496, nn. 53–55, 498, n. 64, 499, nn. 66 and 69 Longstaff, T. R. W.…15, nn. 42–43 Lövestam, E.…326–327, nn. 45 and 46, 329, nn. 58 and 60, 331, n. 73, 332, n. 76 Lowe, M.…7–8 with nn. 15–18 Luckmann, T.…257, n. 31

636

Index of Modern Authors

Lüdemann, G.…335–338, nn. 88–89, 95–97 and 106 Lührmann, D.…23, n. 3, 25, n. 9, 31, nn. 28–29, 33, n. 34, 34, n. 37, 40, n. 61, 41, n. 63, 144 with n. 6, 155 with n. 10, 159, n. 29, 193, nn. 21– 22, 224, n. 8, 251, 256, n. 27, 267, 268, n. 8, 276 with n. 45, 281, n. 64, 287, n. 82, 292 with n. 7, 349–350, nn. 34–35, 352, n. 43, 353, n. 45, 355–356, nn. 53–54, 384 with nn. 7– 8, 385, n. 8, 389, n. 21, 392, 398, 427, n. 16, 428, n. 19, 441, n. 54, 448 with nn. 6 and 9, 449, n. 12, 452, n. 21, 462, 463, nn. 57–58, 464, n. 60, 537, n. 33 Luz, U.…27, n. 15, 37, n. 47, 40, n. 61, 41, n. 65, 67, n. 46, 101, n. 58, 132, n. 49, 133, n. 50, 161, nn. 35–36, 164, nn. 49 and 54, 165, n. 55, 166, n. 64, 171, n. 83, 210, nn. 62–63, 235, n. 16, 251, n. 5, 252, n. 11, 263, n. 49, 272, n. 27, 335, n. 88, 336, nn. 89, 93 and 95, 337, n. 97, 338, n. 106, 388, n. 19, 389, n. 21, 476, n. 3, 484, n. 28, 488, n. 37, 492, n. 47, 493, n. 49, 497, n. 60, 501, n. 74, 540, n. 42, 572, n. 62 Lyons, J.…287, n. 84 Mack, B.…24 with n. 6, 28, 120, n. 7, 202 with n. 29, 293, n. 11, 416 with n. 45, 456 with n. 34, 457, nn. 37– 40, 470 Macrae, G.…359 with n. 2, 365, n. 24 Mahnke, H.…153, n. 2, 154 with n. 5, 155, n. 7, 156–157 with nn. 12 and 17–18, 158, n. 23, 159, n. 27, 161, nn. 35–36, 164–165, nn. 54–55 and 57, 166 with n. 62, 167, n. 71, 169, n. 76, 170, n. 78, 178, n. 108, 205, n. 42 Maisch, I.…505, n. 4, 511, n. 28, 513, nn. 31–32, 516, nn. 42 and 44, 517, n. 50 Malbon, E. S.…527, n. 7 Malherbe, A. J.…119 with n. 1, 121 with nn. 11–12, 122, nn. 15 and 18, 125, n. 25, 126, n. 27, 192, n. 17, 339, n. 106, 548, n. 21

Maloney, E. C.…36, n. 43 Manson, T. W.…42, n. 66, 223, n. 5, 291, n. 5, 448, n. 7, 506, n. 6 Marcus, J.…532, n. 19, 543, n. 7, 548, n. 20 Marguerat, D.…577, nn. 9–10, 582, n. 27 Marjanen, A.…354, n. 49 Marsh, C.…424, n. 10 Marshall, I. H.…21, nn. 69–70, 206, n. 44, 207, n. 47, 210, n. 60, 215, n. 86, 316, n. 4, 320, nn. 13 and 17, 322, nn. 23–24, 323, n. 32, 328, n. 51, 330, n. 61, 335, n. 88, 369, n. 40, 506, n. 8, 518, n. 56, 522, n. 77, 558, n. 7, 561, nn. 21 and 23, 564, nn. 30 and 35, 567, n. 45 Marshall, J. W.…457, n. 38 Martitz, W. von…167, n. 71 Martyn, J. L.…482, n. 22, 542, n. 3 Marxsen, W.…20, n. 64, 87 with n. 23, 248, n. 60, 335, n. 88 März, C.-P.…46, n. 83, 373, n. 51, 395, n. 41 Masih, Y. Abd al…361, n. 20 Massaux, É.…52, n. 4, 317, n. 5, 363, n. 20 Matera, F. J.…538, n. 39 Mattila, Sh. L.…98, nn. 51–53, 105, n. 70, 113, n. 95 McArthur, H. K.…367, n. 32, 368, n. 35, 369, n. 41, 370, n. 44, 372, n. 48, 376, n. 70, 382, n. 98 McCoy, W. J.…581, n. 23 McLoughlin, S.…11, n. 26 McNeile, A. H.…209, n. 55 McNicol, A. J.…59, n. 22, 60 with n. 26, 61, n. 29, 81, n. 11, 82, n. 13, 83, n. 15, 93–94, nn. 37–38, 95, n. 42, 96, nn. 45–46, 586, n. 45 Meadors, E. P.…455, n. 31 Mearns, C. L.…336, n. 94, 344, n. 17 Meeks, W. A.…122, n. 15, 126, n. 31, 139, n. 78, 228, n. 17, 538, n. 41 Meerburg, Ph. P.…365, n. 25, 366, n. 28 Meier, J. P.…284, nn. 74–75, 405, nn. 8– 9, 411 with n. 29, 415, nn. 40–41, 416, nn. 47–48, 449 with n. 13, 485 with n. 29, 494, n. 51, 499, n. 67, 501, n. 74

Index of Modern Authors Ménard, J.-E.…370, n. 44, 373, n. 53, 377, n. 75, 378, n. 78, 379, n. 84, 381, n. 97 Merkel, H.…94, n. 41 Merklein, H.…44, n. 71 Meyer, B.…421, n. 1, 424, n. 9, 446, n. 66 Meyer, M. V.…399, n. 52 Meyer, P. D.…223, n. 7 Michel, O.…342, n. 11 Milik, J. T.…512, n. 29 Miller, M. P.…214, n. 78 Miller, R. J.…429 with n. 26 Mimouni, S.…481, n. 20 Minear, P. S.…602, n. 105 Mink, G.…364, n. 20 Mitchell, M. M.…543, n. 7 Moessner, D. P.…574, n. 2, 586 with n. 44 Mohrlang, R.…492, nn. 47–48, 498, n. 64, 499, n. 66, 501, n. 74 Moloney, F. J.…508, n. 15, 511, n. 27 Montefiore, H.…364, n. 22, 365, nn. 24–25 Moreland, M. C.…217, nn. 94–95, 501, n. 73 Morgan, R.…198, n. 11, 199, n. 14 Morgenthaler, R.…54, n. 9 Morrice, W. G.…365, n. 24 Moule, C. F. D.…9, n. 21, 241, n. 34, 274, n. 37, 508, n. 14, 567, n. 44, 569, n. 49, 571, n. 58, 580, n. 21, 581, nn. 25–26, 582–583 with nn. 30 and 32, 587, n. 47, 588, n. 52, 594 with n. 73, 596–597 Mournet, T.…104, n. 70 Moxnes, H.…543, n. 6 Müller, M.…558 with n. 6, 567, n. 45, 570, nn. 50–52 and 55 Murphy O’Connor, J.…349–350, n. 34 Neirynck, F.…9, n. 21, 10, n. 26, 11 with nn. 27 and 29, 14, n. 39, 16–17 with n. 50, 21, n. 69, 24, n. 6, 29, nn. 21–22, 44, n. 74, 54, n. 8, 63, n. 35, 79 with n. 4, 80, n. 9, 91, n. 31, 101, n. 60, 103, n. 64, 112 with n. 91, 154, n. 3, 159, n. 27, 162, nn. 40–41, 193, n. 21, 194, n. 23, 203, n. 35, 216, n. 88, 222, n. 4, 276

637

with n. 44, 316, nn. 1 and 4, 317, n. 5, 318, n. 8, 320, n. 17, 321, nn. 20 and 22, 324, n. 37, 336, n. 94, 337, n. 97, 341, n. 4, 376, nn. 66 and 69, 380, n. 88, 383, n. 1, 386, n. 12, 387, n. 16, 406, n. 14, 423, n. 7, 426, n. 13, 428, n. 22, 429 with nn. 25– 26, 430, n. 28, 453, n. 24, 516, n. 48, 584, n. 37 Nepper-Christensen, P.…337–338 with n. 100 Neusner, J.…480, nn. 11 and 13 Neville, D. J.…79, n. 5, 87, n. 24 New, D. S.…203, n. 32, 205, n. 41, 209, n. 54 Nickelsburg, G. W. E.…208 with nn. 51 and 53, 260 with n. 43, 272 with n. 30, 522, n. 76 Niederwimmer, K.…500, n. 71 Niewand, C.…27, n. 15 Norton, J.…490 with n. 43 O’Neill, J. C.…12, n. 34 Onuki, T.…353, n. 47 Orchard, B.…6–7 with nn. 10–11 and 13, 15 with n. 43, 57, n. 18, 317, n. 6, 322 with nn. 23 and 25, 324–325 with nn. 37–38, 326, nn. 42 and 44, 327, nn. 48 and 50, 328, nn. 51 and 53–55, 330, n. 62, 332, n. 75, 333, nn. 79–80 O’Toole, R. F.…597, n. 85 Overman, J. A.…475, n. 2, 492, n. 47, 542, n. 3 Palmer, N. H.…16, n. 48, 87, n. 24 Parsons, M. C.…591, n. 62 Parvey, C. F.…187, n. 10 Patterson, S. J.…342–344 with nn. 9 and 18, 347, 351, n. 40, 399, n. 52, 409 with n. 22, 410, n. 26, 412–413, nn. 36–37, 415, n. 41, 416, n. 46, 430, n. 30 Peabody, D. B.…81, n. 11, 93–94, nn. 37–38, 95, n. 42, 96, nn. 45–46, 586, n. 45 Pearson, B. A.…319, n. 10, 322, n. 23, 347, n. 29, 349, n. 34, 355–356 with nn. 50–51

638

Index of Modern Authors

Perrin, N.…432, n. 34, 505, n. 4, 510, n. 22, 513, n. 32, 515, n. 36, 517, nn. 53 and 55, 518, n. 58, 519, n. 61, 520, n. 65, 535, n. 26, 555 Pesch, R.…22, n. 75, 33, n. 34, 36, n. 41, 506, n. 4, 512, n. 30, 514, n. 35, 516, nn. 43–44, 532, n. 18, 568, n. 48 Petersen, N. R.…528, n. 8, 535, n. 26, 576, n. 7 Petersen, W. L.…365, n. 24, 367, n. 31 Peterson, D. N.…543 with n. 5 Peterson, E.…333, n. 82, 338, n. 105 Peterson, J.…106, n. 74 Piper, J.…134, n. 56, 309, n. 1, 321, nn. 18–19 and 21–22 Piper, R. A.…130 with n. 44, 268, n. 8 Plevnik, J.…319, n. 10, 325, n. 41, 327, n. 48, 328, nn. 51–52, 330, nn. 61 and 64–65 Plumley, J. M.…375, n. 62, 378, n. 81 Pokorný, P.…156 with n. 15, 164, n. 53, 165, n. 57, 172, n. 86 Polag, A.…161, n. 34, 165, n. 55, 201 with nn. 20 and 23, 292 with n. 7, 449, n. 12, 517, n. 51, 522, n. 77 Potterie, I. de la…588, n. 50 Preisker, H.…326, n. 45 Puech, É.…214, nn. 79–80, 215, n. 83 Puech, H.-Ch.…361, n. 10, 362, nn. 12– 13 Quecke, H.…361, n. 7 Quispel, G.…361, n. 10, 364–365 with nn. 21 and 23, 373 with nn. 52 and 54–55, 374, n. 60, 379, n. 84, 382, n. 99, 406, n. 11, 409, n. 21, 410, n. 23, 415, nn. 40–41, 428, n. 23 Räisänen, H.…167, n. 70, 248, n. 61, 524–531 with nn. 1, 3–4 and 14, 532, nn. 18–19, 533–535 with nn. 24–25, 537–539 with nn. 33 and 40, 540, n. 42, 550, n. 27, 591, n. 64, 602, n. 106 Rehkopf, F.…561, n. 20 Reiling, J.…355, n. 50 Reiser, M.…470, n. 87 Repschinski, B.…476, n. 4, 488, n. 38, 489, n. 40, 492, nn. 47–48, 498, n. 64, 499, n. 66

Richard, E.…578, n. 15, 593, n. 69, 602, n. 104 Riches, J.…542, n. 2 Rigaux, B.…314, n. 21, 319, n. 10, 320, n. 13, 323, n. 32, 324, n. 36, 325, n. 41, 326–328, nn. 43, 45–47 and 51–52, 330, nn. 61 and 64, 331, n. 66, 333, n. 82, 335, n. 89 Robbins, V. K.…533, n. 21 Roberts, C. H.…300, n. 26 Robinson, J. M.…160, n. 33, 182–184 with nn. 2 and 5–6, 193, n. 20, 213, n. 75, 217, nn. 94–95, 232, 233, nn. 5 and 7, 234, 235, n. 16, 236, n. 19, 238, n. 26, 239, nn. 28–29, 244, n. 43, 245, nn. 46–47, 246, nn. 52–53, 247, nn. 55–56, 253, n. 18, 266, n. 2, 268, n. 8, 275, n. 41, 276, n. 43, 277 with n. 47, 280, n. 56, 285, n. 77, 293, n. 11, 341– 342 with n. 6, 350, n. 36, 359, n. 2, 362, n. 14, 365, n. 25, 382, n. 98, 383–384 with n. 2, 413 with nn. 36– 37, 453 with n. 24, 456 with n. 35, 457 with n. 40, 459, n. 47, 470, 522, n. 76 Robinson, W. C.…21, n. 70 Rodd, C. S.…452, n. 23 Rolland, P.…78–79, nn. 3–4 Roloff, J.…567, n. 44 Ropes, J. H.…81, n. 12 Rordorf, W.…314, n. 18 Roskam, H. N.…542, n. 3, 543–544, nn. 7–8, 547, nn. 17–18, 548 with nn. 20 and 22, 549, n. 23, 551 with nn. 28–29, 553, 554, n. 35, 556, n. 41 Rudolph, K.…359 with n. 1 Runesson, A.…475, n. 1, 476–477, nn. 4–5, 481, n. 20, 492, n. 47, 501, n. 74 Sabbe, M.…561–562, n. 26 Saldarini, A. J.…475, n. 2, 492, nn. 47– 48, 494, n. 52, 498–499, nn. 64–66, 501, n. 74 Sanday, W.…14, 77, n. 1, 79, n. 6, 101, n. 58 Sanders, E. P.…78, n. 3, 80, n. 7, 86, n. 20, 89–90, nn. 29–30, 250, n. 1,

Index of Modern Authors 416, n. 48, 419, n. 59, 444, 462, n. 56, 464, 465, n. 62, 466, n. 69, 469, n. 85, 480 with n. 13 Sanders, J. T.…584, n. 36 Sandmel, S.…315, n. 23 Sato, M.…41, n. 65, 54, n. 8, 136, n. 67, 141, 154, n. 5, 155, n. 8, 156, n. 12, 157, n. 17, 201 with n. 24, 251, n. 5, 252, n. 9, 267, n. 4, 268, n. 8, 300– 301 with n. 27, 389, nn. 22–23, 449, n. 12, 454, n. 28 Schenk, W.…24 with n. 6, 29, n. 21, 34, n. 37, 35, n. 39, 36 with n. 44, 44, n. 71, 48–49 with n. 90, 193, n. 21, 334, n. 84 Schenke, H.-M.…361, n. 7 Schenke, L.…505, n. 4, 514–516, nn. 35–36, 42 and 44 Schippers, R.…322, n. 23 Schmithals, W.…24 with n. 6, 30, n. 24, 335, n. 88 Schmitz, F. J.…364, n. 20 Schneider, G.…242, n. 36, 557, 558, n. 5, 560 with nn. 17 and 20, 561– 562, nn. 21–26, 567, nn. 43–45 Schniewind, J.…16, n. 47 Schottroff, L.…156 with n. 14, 166, n. 63, 172, n. 86, 173 with nn. 89–90 and 92, 175 with n. 97, 176, nn. 102 and 104 Schrage, W.…347–348, nn. 29–30, 349–350, n. 34, 352–353, nn. 43–45, 356, n. 54, 361–363 with nn. 6, 11 and 15–16, 367, nn. 32–33, 368, nn. 35 and 39, 369, n. 41, 372, nn. 48–49, 373, n. 54, 374, n. 56, 375, n. 63, 377–378, nn. 76–78 and 81–82, 379, n. 84, 380, n. 90, 382, n. 98, 409 with n. 20 Schramm, T.…363, n. 17, 365, nn. 24– 25, 366, 367, nn. 31 and 33, 370 Schreck, C. J.…214, n. 77 Schröter, J.…266, nn. 1–2, 267, n. 6, 275, n. 38, 276, nn. 41 and 43, 281, n. 62, 284, n. 73, 285, n. 77, 292, n. 10, 421, n. 1, 445, n. 64, 447, n. 4, 454, n. 28, 456, n. 33, 463–464, n. 59, 466, n. 69 Schubert, P.…565, n. 38

639

Schüling, J.…23, n. 1, 29, n. 21, 31, n. 30, 40, nn. 59 and 61 Schulz, S.…31, n. 28, 36, n. 45, 41, n. 64, 43, n. 69, 75, n. 70, 132, n. 49, 137, n. 68, 153, n. 2, 155, 156, n. 11, 158, nn. 21 and 23, 161, n. 35, 165, nn. 57 and 59, 167, n. 68, 169, n. 76, 171, n. 81, 173, n. 92, 175, n. 99, 193, n. 20, 201 with nn. 20–22, 204, 209 with n. 56, 217, nn. 94–95, 277, 278, nn. 48 and 50, 292 with n. 7, 312, nn. 9 and 12, 320, n. 14, 323, n. 28, 368, nn. 37 and 39, 372, n. 49, 373, n. 51, 374, nn. 57–58, 389, nn. 21 and 24, 393, n. 37, 394, n. 39, 449, n. 12, 455 with n. 32, 518, n. 57, 519, nn. 60–61 and 64, 520, n. 69, 521, n. 71, 522, n. 76, 559–560, nn. 15–16 Schürer, E.…348, n. 30 Schürmann, H.…21, n. 69, 22, n. 74, 34 with n. 37, 35, n. 38, 40, nn. 58–59 and 61, 53, n. 7, 143, 150 with n. 27, 153, n. 2, 157, n. 17, 169, n. 76, 177, n. 104, 211, n. 68, 216, n. 89, 217, n. 92, 276 with n. 45, 309, n. 1, 310, n. 5, 368, n. 35, 369, n. 41, 372, n. 49, 387, n. 16, 392 with n. 35, 518, n. 57, 519, nn. 60 and 64 Schwarz, F. J.…14, n. 39 Schweitzer, A.…87 with n. 22, 406, 418, n. 56, 421, n. 1 Schweizer, E.…16, n. 48, 17, n. 51, 248, n. 60, 436, n. 44, 513, n. 32, 514, n. 35, 516, n. 44, 582, n. 29 Seeley, D.…143 with n. 5, 147–148 with nn. 19–20 Segal, A. F.…492, n. 47, 499, n. 67 Sellew, P.…268, n. 8, 429 with n. 26 Sevenster, J. N.…158, n. 20 Sevrin, J.-M.…47, n. 86, 362, n. 15, 412, n. 32 Shiner, W. T.…536, n. 30 Siber, P.…334, n. 83, 336–337, nn. 89, 93 and 95–97, 338, n. 106 Sider, J. W.…412, n. 31 Sieber, J. H.…365, nn. 24–25, 367 with n. 34, 369, nn. 40 and 42, 370, 374, n. 56, 375, n. 62, 378, n. 80, 412, n. 33

640

Index of Modern Authors

Sim, D.…475, n. 2, 492, nn. 47–48, 494, n. 52, 498, nn. 64–65, 501, n. 74, 543, n. 7 Simpson, R. T.…91, n. 32 Skeat, T. C.…300, n. 26 Skehan, P.…208, n. 53 Sloan, R. B.…214, n. 77 Smalley, S. S.…582, n. 26 Smith, M.…102, 166, n. 65 Snodgrass, K. D.…398, 399, n. 52 Snoy, T.…79, n. 4 Soards, M. L.…561, n. 24, 582, n. 29 Squires, J. T.…564–545, nn. 31–32, 36 and 38, 593, n. 69 Stählin, G.…391, n. 29 Stanley, C. D.…209, n. 54, 342, n. 11 Stanton, G. N.…71, n. 59, 475, n. 1, 476, n. 3, 494 with nn. 50–51, 495, n. 53, 504, n. 78 Steck, O. H.…137, n. 72, 200, n. 16, 211, n. 66, 268, n. 8, 323–324, nn. 28 and 33–35, 389, n. 12, 521, n. 71, 601, n. 99 Stegemann, W.…156, n. 14, 397, n. 51 Steinhauser, M. G.…399, n. 52 Stendahl, K.…158, n. 23, 203, n. 32, 209 with n. 57, 488, n. 36 Still, J.…196, n. 2, 197 with n. 6, 198, n. 7 Stoldt, H.-H.…59 with n. 21, 92, n. 35 Stone, M. E.…345, n. 19 Stowers, S. K.…122, n. 16 Strack, H.…137, nn. 68–69, 511, n. 29 Strauss, M. L.…253, n. 17, 574, n. 2, 578, n. 13, 586, nn. 43 and 46, 588, 589, n. 53, 590, n. 60, 592, nn. 65– 66 and 68, 598–602 with nn., 92–93, 96–97, 102 and 104–105, 603, nn. 107–108, 604, n. 111 Strecker, G.…90, n. 30, 216, n. 89, 368, n. 38, 388, n. 19, 476, n. 2, 481, n. 20, 485, n. 29, 486 with n. 31, 488, n. 36 Streeter, B. H.…3–4 with nn. 4–5, 10, 13, 25, n. 10, 57 with n. 17, 72–74, 85, n. 18, 91, n. 31, 112, 448, n. 7 Stroker, W. D.…345, n. 19 Strugnell, J. …345, n. 19 Stuhlmacher, P.…309, n. 1

Suggs, M. J.…67, n. 45, 192, n. 18, 193, n. 22, 206, n. 44, 573, n. 64, 583, n. 34 Sweet, J. P. M.…224 with n. 9, 274, n. 35 Tabor, J. D.…214, nn. 80–81 Talbert, C.…543, n. 6 Tannehill, R. C.…527, n. 7, 555, n. 38, 576, n. 7 Taylor, J. E.…481, n. 20 Taylor, V.…42, n. 66, 74–75 with n. 68, 294, n. 13, 320, n. 17, 375, n. 65, 376, n. 67, 448, n. 7, 514, n. 35, 515, n. 39 Telford, W. R.…534, n. 23, 536, n. 29, 538, n. 40 Theissen (Theißen), G.…119 with nn. 2–3, 125, 126, n. 33, 135, 158, nn. 23–25, 161, n. 35, 168, n. 172, 176, n. 103, 258 with n. 35, 269 with n. 17, 287, n. 75, 303, n. 35, 419, n. 58, 443 with n. 61, 445, n. 65 Thiselton, A. C.…196, n. 2, 197, n. 4, 199, n. 14, 342, n. 10, 349, n. 34, 352, n. 43, 579 with nn. 18–19 Thompson, M.…341, n. 4 Thompson, W. G.…18, nn. 54–56, 19, n. 61, 20, n. 65 Tiede, D. L.…564–565, nn. 34 and 37– 38 Till, W. C.…361, n. 10, 364, n. 22 Tödt, H. E.…125, 144, 146, n. 16, 237, nn. 20 and 24, 242, n. 37, 269, n. 15, 277, 278, n. 48, 281, 292 with n. 6, 394, n. 40, 448 with n. 9, 505, nn. 1 and 4, 507 with n. 9, 511–513 with n. 29, 518–520 with nn. 56 and 68, 522, n. 77, 557, 558, n. 4, 560 with nn. 19–20, 561, n. 23, 562 with n. 28, 565, n. 39, 566 with nn. 40– 42, 567, nn. 43–44 Tolbert, M. A.…543 with n. 6 Trilling, W.…316, n. 4, 476, n. 2 Tripp, D. H.…366, nn. 28–29 Trocmé, É.…526, n. 6 Troeltsch, E.…230 Tuilier, A.…314, n. 18 Turner, M.…287, n. 84, 595, n. 77, 596 with n. 83

Index of Modern Authors Turner, V.…257, n. 30 Tyson, J. B.…4, n. 5, 5–6 with nn. 7–9 Uro, R.…126, nn. 31 and 33, 170, n. 80, 224, n. 11, 251, n. 5, 252, nn. 9 and 11–12, 258, n. 34, 268, n. 8, 269, n. 14 Vaage, L. E.…119 with n. 5, 121, 122, n. 18, 128, n. 36, 132, 134 with nn. 54–56, 135, n. 59, 137, n. 69, 138 with n. 75, 139, n. 79, 141, n. 85, 143 with n. 4, 145–147 with nn. 9–11 and 13–14, 149–152 with nn. 22, 28 and 31–32, 266, n. 2, 267, n. 4, 277, n. 47, 278, n. 49, 280, n. 61, 449, n. 12, 459 with n. 46 Vaganay, L.…78, n. 3 Van Belle, G.…79, n. 4 Verheyden, J.…343, n. 13, 345, n. 19, 347, n. 30, 461, n. 52 Vermes, G.…246, n. 52, 247, n. 56, 276, nn. 42–43, 284, n. 72, 511, n. 29, 516 with n. 46, 570, n. 51, 571, nn. 56–57 Vielhauer, Ph.…243–244 with n. 41, 364, n. 23, 505, n. 4, 518, n. 56 Vinson, R. B.…90–91, n. 30 Vögtle, A.…33, n. 34, 36, n. 41, 238, n. 25, 566, n. 42 Walker, W. O.…59 with n. 21, 476, n. 2 Walter, N.…316, n. 2, 341 with nn. 4 and 6 Waterman, G. H.…324, n. 37, 326, nn. 42 and 44, 327, n. 48, 328, n. 51, 330, n. 61, 333, nn. 79–80 Webb, R. L.…45 with nn. 78–79, 46, n. 81 Wedderburn, A. J. M.…316, n. 2, 318, n. 9 Weder, H.…376, nn. 65, 67 and 70 Weeden, T. J.…526 with n. 6, 527, n. 7, 528, 533, 534, n. 23, 535, n. 26, 538, n. 40, 539, 542, n. 3, 555 with n. 37, 556, 591, n. 63 Wegner, U.…158, n. 20, 171, n. 81 Weiser, A.…329, n. 57, 562, n. 26 Weiss, B.…15, n. 43 Weiss, J.…406

641

Weisse, C. H.…291 with nn. 4–5 Wellhausen, J.…24, n. 5, 26, 291, 295 with n. 15 Wenham, D.…309, n. 1, 317–318, nn. 6 and 9, 322–323 with nn. 23 and 26, 324, n. 37, 325, 326, nn. 42 and 44, 328–330, nn. 51–53, 56–57, 61 and 63, 331, 332–333, nn. 76 and 79–81, 334 with n. 85, 341, n. 4, 345, n. 22, 360, n. 5 Wenham, J. W.…55–56, nn. 11 and 16 Wernle, P.…14, 27, 28, n. 16 Widman, W.…350, n. 34 Wilcke, H.-A.…336, nn. 89 and 92 Wilckens, U.…589, n. 58 Wilke, C. G.…47, n. 49 Williams, M. A.…184–185 with nn. 8– 9, 187–188 Wilson, R. McL.…351, n. 41, 359, n. 2, 361, n. 7, 363 with n. 18, 365, nn. 24–25, 372, n. 50, 374, n. 60, 375, n. 63, 381, 382, n. 98, 410, n. 25, 413, n. 38 Wilson, S. G.…577, n. 10, 582, n. 27, 583, n. 31, 589 with nn. 55–58, 604, n. 110 Wimsatt, W. K.…198, n. 10 Wink, W.…20, n. 63 Winter, D.…284, n. 75, 303, n. 25, 419, n. 58, 443 with n. 61, 445, n. 65 Wise, M. O.…214, nn. 79–81 Witherington, B., III…407, n. 15, 416, n. 47, 421, n. 1, 424, n. 9, 433, n. 38, 455, n. 31 Wolde, E. van…197, n. 4, 199, n. 13 Wolfson, H. A.…191, n. 16 Wolter, M.…481, n. 17 Woods, F. H.…14, 18, n. 53 Worton, M.…196, n. 2 Woude, A. S. van der…214, n. 78, 512, n. 29 Wrede, W.…14, 506–507 with n. 5, 524–525 with n. 2, 539 Yang, Y.-E.…493, n. 48 Zager, W.…241, n. 35 Zeller, D.…34, n. 37, 37, n. 47, 40–41, nn. 59 and 63–64, 135, n. 55, 154– 155, nn. 5 and 7–8, 156 with n. 12,

642

Index of Modern Authors

158, nn. 19 and 23, 164, nn. 49, 52 and 54, 165, n. 55, 166, n. 64, 167, n. 67, 168, n. 72, 169, n. 76, 171, nn. 83–84, 173 with nn. 91 and 93, 174,

n. 95, 246, n. 51, 268, n. 8, 272, n. 26, 279, n. 54, 315, n. 25 Ziesler, J. A.…297, n. 20 Zmijewski, J.…331, n. 68, 560, n. 20