History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls 9781108493338, 1108493335

The nature and reliability of the ancient sources are among the most important issues in the scholarship on the Dead Sea

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Table of contents :
History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls Remembering the Teacher of Righteousness
01.0_pp_i_ii_History_and_Memory_in_the_Dead_Sea_Scrolls
02.0_pp_iii_iii_History_and_Memory_in_the_Dead_Sea_Scrolls
03.0_pp_iv_iv_Copyright_page
04.0_pp_v_vi_Dedication
05.0_pp_vii_x_Contents
06.0_pp_xi_xii_Tables
07.0_pp_xiii_xiv_Acknowledgments
08.0_pp_xv_xvi_Abbreviations
09.0_pp_1_20_Introduction
10.0_pp_21_90_Methodological_Considerations
10.1_pp_23_54_A_Theoretical_Approach_toward_History
10.2_pp_55_90_A_Mnemonic_Approach_toward_History
11.0_pp_91_198_The_Circumstances_of_Memory
11.1_pp_93_129_Dating_the_Teacher_and_the_Sources
11.2_pp_130_153_The_Availability_of_Memory_Carriers
11.3_pp_154_174_Memory_and_the_Impact_of_Source_Materials
11.4_pp_175_198_The_Teacher_of_Righteousness_in_Ancient_Media
12.0_pp_199_309_The_Processes_of_Memory
12.1_pp_201_220_The_Cognitive_Origins_of_Memory
12.2_pp_221_241_From_Cognitive_Perceptions_to_Community_Traditions
12.3_pp_242_280_Tracing_the_Development_of_Memory
12.4_pp_281_309_Evaluating_the_Potential_for_Change
13.0_pp_310_316_Conclusion
14.1_pp_317_331_The_Historical_Value_of_Attributed_Authorship
14.2_pp_332_337_The_Life_of_the_Teacher_as_an_Interpretive_Frame
14.3_pp_338_342_The_Instructions_of_the_Teacher
15.0_pp_343_424_Bibliography
16.0_pp_425_431_Ancient_Sources
17.0_pp_432_443_Modern_Authors
18.0_pp_444_446_Subject_Index
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History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls The nature and reliability of the ancient sources are among the most important issues in the scholarship on the Dead Sea Scrolls. It is noteworthy, therefore, that scholars have grown increasingly skeptical about the value of these materials for reconstructing the life of the Teacher of Righteousness. Travis Williams’ study is designed to address this new perspective and its implications for historical inquiry. He offers an important corrective to popular conceptions of history and memory by introducing memory theory as a means of informing historical investigation. Charting a new methodological course in Dead Sea Scrolls research, Williams reveals that properly representing the past requires an explanation of how the mnemonic evidence found in the relevant sources could have developed from a historical progression that began with the Teacher. His book represents the first attempt in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship to integrate history and memory in a comprehensive way. Travis B. Williams is an associate professor of religion at Tusculum University. He is the author of Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering and Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World.

History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls Remembering the Teacher of Righteousness

T R AV IS B. W ILLI A MS Tusculum University

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, usa 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06-04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108493338 doi: 10.1017/9781108681285 © Cambridge University Press 2019 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2019 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A. A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. isbn 978-1-108-49333-8 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls The nature and reliability of the ancient sources are among the most important issues in the scholarship on the Dead Sea Scrolls. It is noteworthy, therefore, that scholars have grown increasingly skeptical about the value of these materials for reconstructing the life of the Teacher of Righteousness. Travis Williams’ study is designed to address this new perspective and its implications for historical inquiry. He offers an important corrective to popular conceptions of history and memory by introducing memory theory as a means of informing historical investigation. Charting a new methodological course in Dead Sea Scrolls research, Williams reveals that properly representing the past requires an explanation of how the mnemonic evidence found in the relevant sources could have developed from a historical progression that began with the Teacher. His book represents the first attempt in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship to integrate history and memory in a comprehensive way. Travis B. Williams is an associate professor of religion at Tusculum University. He is the author of Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering and Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World.

History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls Remembering the Teacher of Righteousness

T R AV IS B. W ILLI A MS Tusculum University

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, usa 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06-04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108493338 doi: 10.1017/9781108681285 © Cambridge University Press 2019 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2019 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A. A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. isbn 978-1-108-49333-8 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls The nature and reliability of the ancient sources are among the most important issues in the scholarship on the Dead Sea Scrolls. It is noteworthy, therefore, that scholars have grown increasingly skeptical about the value of these materials for reconstructing the life of the Teacher of Righteousness. Travis Williams’ study is designed to address this new perspective and its implications for historical inquiry. He offers an important corrective to popular conceptions of history and memory by introducing memory theory as a means of informing historical investigation. Charting a new methodological course in Dead Sea Scrolls research, Williams reveals that properly representing the past requires an explanation of how the mnemonic evidence found in the relevant sources could have developed from a historical progression that began with the Teacher. His book represents the first attempt in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship to integrate history and memory in a comprehensive way. Travis B. Williams is an associate professor of religion at Tusculum University. He is the author of Persecution in 1 Peter: Differentiating and Contextualizing Early Christian Suffering and Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World.

History and Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls Remembering the Teacher of Righteousness

T R AV IS B. W ILLI A MS Tusculum University

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, usa 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06-04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108493338 doi: 10.1017/9781108681285 © Cambridge University Press 2019 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2019 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A. A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. isbn 978-1-108-49333-8 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To my parents

Contents

page xi xiii xv

List of Tables Acknowledgments List of Abbreviations 1 Introduction

1

1.1 The Traditional Perspective on the Teacher of Righteousness

3

1.2 The New Perspective on the Teacher of Righteousness

8

1.3 Purpose of the Study

19

Part I Methodological Considerations 2 A Theoretical Approach toward History 2.1 The Scientific Approach toward Historiography

23 25

2.2 The Postmodern Critique of Scientific Historiography

30

2.3 Scientific Historiography after the Postmodern Critique

40

2.4 Historiography and the Teacher Materials

46

2.5 Conclusion

54

3 A Mnemonic Approach toward History 3.1 Toward an Understanding of Memory Theory

55 57

3.2 The Relationship between History and Memory

75

3.3 Approaching History through Memory

80

vii

Contents

viii

Part II The Circumstances of Memory 4 Dating the Teacher and the Sources 4.1 Dating the Written Records of the Teacher of Righteousness

93 95

4.2 Dating the Teacher of Righteousness

117

4.3 Connecting the Teacher and the Sources

125

4.4 Conclusion

128

5 The Availability of Memory Carriers 5.1 Estimating the Size of the Teacher’s Community

130 131

5.2 Calculating Life Expectancy in the Greco-Roman World

134

5.3 Life Expectancy within the Teacher’s Community

146

5.4 Conclusion

151

6 Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

154

6.1 The Nature of Intertextuality

156

6.2 The Implications of Intertextuality

170

6.3 Conclusion

174

7 The Teacher of Righteousness in Ancient Media

175

7.1 The Teacher in Written Tradition

176

7.2 The Teacher in Oral Tradition

182

7.3 Conclusion

197

Part III The Processes of Memory 8 The Cognitive Origins of Memory: Scripturalizing the Life of the Teacher 201 8.1 An Introduction to Memory Schemas

205

8.2 A Structural Analysis of Memory Schemas

207

8.3 A Functional Analysis of Memory Schemas

211

8.4 Conclusion

220

9 From Cognitive Perceptions to Community Traditions: The Formation of Collective Memory

221

9.1 The Communication of Teacher Memories

224

9.2 Establishing the Teacher Tradition

229

9.3 Conclusion

240

Contents

ix

10 Tracing the Development of Memory: The Transmission of the Teacher Tradition

242

10.1 Collective Memory in the Damascus Document

243

10.2 Collective Memory in the Pesharim 259 10.3 Conclusion

11 Evaluating the Potential for Change: The Malleability and Persistence of the Teacher Tradition 11.1 Malleability and Persistence in Memory Studies

279

281 284

11.2 Constructing an Evaluative Model for Reputational Memory 289 11.3 Mnemonic Conditions within the Scrolls Community

296

11.4 Conclusion

308

Conclusion 310 Appendix 1: The Historical Value of Attributed Authorship

317

Appendix 2: The Life of the Teacher as an Interpretive Frame

332

Appendix 3: The Instructions of the Teacher

338

Bibliography

343

Ancient Sources

425

Modern Authors

432

Subject Index

444

Tables

3.1 Comparison between communicative memory and ­cultural memory 5.1 Coale-Demeny model – West, Level 3 (Female) 5.2 Woods South (Chile) model 5.3 INDEPTH Network – Morogoro (Tanzania) model 5.4 Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Coale-Demeny model) 5.5 Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Woods South model) 5.6 Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Morogoro model) 5.7 Potential number of eyewitnesses after forty years 11.1 Ideal types of mnemonic malleability and persistence 11.2 Possible combinations of inherited symbolic conditions

xi

64 141 143 144 148 149 149 150 285 295

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank a number of individuals and groups who have provided support for my work in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The funding for this project was provided by a faculty fellowship grant, which was generously awarded by the Appalachian College Association. I also wish to acknowledge and offer my sincere thanks to everyone at Tusculum University. Both the administration and the faculty have been extremely supportive of this project from the beginning. I am especially appreciative of being granted a sabbatical, during which time I was able to complete the research for this work. I would also like to express my deepest gratitude to Chris Keith and Rafael Rodríguez for reading portions of the manuscript and offering a wealth of advice about memory theory. Also, I am grateful to Saskia Hin, who kindly informed me on the nature of Brass modeling as it relates to ancient demography. I had the benefit of presenting portions of this book as it was in progress at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature (Boston 2017), and I wish to thank all of those in attendance for their helpful and instructive feedback. Above all, I want to thank my wife (Amy) and my sons (Bryce, Trent, and Callan) for all of their support. Throughout this project, they have been a constant source of encouragement, and I am truly grateful for all that they have sacrificed to help me complete it. The work is dedicated to my parents, who have always been my greatest teachers.

xiii

Abbreviations

All references that fall within the sphere of biblical studies are abbreviated according to The SBL Handbook of Style (2nd edn; Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2014). Biblically related materials that are not found in the SBL Handbook are listed below. Literature from other academic fields has been listed in full. AJJS Australian Journal of Jewish Studies BIAC Bulletin of the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity BPC Biblical Performance Criticism CCWJC Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World, 200 BC to AD 200 CJA Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Companion to the Qumran Scrolls CQS Contemporary Studies in Theology CST College Theology Society Resources in Religion CTSRR Early Christianity EC Early Christianity in the Roman World ECRW Gorgias Studies in Philosophy and Theology GSPT Koehler, Ludwig and Walter Baumgartner. The HALOT  Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. 2 vols. Study Edition. Translated and edited by M. E. J. Richardson. Leiden: Brill, 2001. HBM Hebrew Bible Monographs IMJ Israel Museum Journal JAJSup Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplement Series

xv

xvi

Abbreviations

JCTC Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies MJS Münsteraner judaistische Studien MNTS McMaster New Testament Studies OBL Orientalia et biblica lovaniensia QM Qumranica Mogilanensia RStRel Routledge Studies in Religion SCJ Studies in Judaism and Christianity SDSS Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature SIJD Schriften des Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum SJC Scripta Judaica Cracoviensia STR Studies in Theology and Religion VWGT Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesell­schaft für Theologie WANEM Worlds of the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean

1 Introduction

The Teacher of Righteousness (‫ )מורה הצדק‬is perhaps the most important and, at the same time, the most enigmatic character in the Dead Sea Scrolls. His significance is evident in the way he is remembered by the later Scrolls community. The Damascus Document describes his role as a prominent leader. Prior to his ascension, members of the group are said to have been “like the blind, like people groping for the way,” after which God “raised up for them the Teacher of Righteousness to guide them in the way of His heart” (CD-A 1.9, 11). The basis for his unique role in the community is preserved in the scriptural commentaries (pesharim), which describe him as a divinely-inspired exegete whose interpretation of the prophetic writings helped explain contemporary circumstances (1QpHab 2.5–10; 7.1–5). Not only did his prophetic abilities serve to illuminate events in the life of the community, they also provided an identity for a group who sought to define itself against the experience of marginalization. Even in death, the Teacher’s significance did not wane, as his followers believed the time of his passing marked out the timeframe of the eschatological end (cf. CD-B 20.13–15). But despite the Teacher’s undeniable significance in the textual record, in many ways, he remains a mystery to modern scholars. The reason lies in the paucity of evidence relating to his life and legacy. In total, the Teacher is explicitly mentioned in only a handful of the approximately 930 scrolls that were uncovered at Qumran.1 Among these texts, there The list includes: 1QpMic 10 6 [10 4 in Horgan]; 1QpHab 1.13; 2.2 (which reads ‫ ;)מורה הצדקה‬5.10; 7.4; 8.3; 9.9–10; 11.5; 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15, 19; 1–10 iv 8, 27; 4QpPsb 1 4; 2 2; 4Q172 7 1 (see James H. Charlesworth, Graphic Concordance to the Dead

1

1

2

Introduction

are no biographies that narrate the events of his life or detail his role within the community. Moreover, the few instances in which he is referenced are brief and often situated within polemical discourse. But most problematic, perhaps, is our lack of access to the situational backdrop against which these texts were composed.2 The dearth of textual evidence poses a serious challenge for anyone attempting to reconstruct the life of the Teacher. However, many have been undeterred in their efforts to understand this important figure, working strenuously to chart his career in meticulous detail.3 Yet, over the last few decades, scholarship has gone through a period of transition. In direct response to the historical positivism, which marked a previous generation of research, recent interpreters have challenged conventional views concerning the sufficiency of the written sources for carrying out

Sea Scrolls [PTSDSSP; Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1991] 361, 390; and Martin G. Abegg et al., The Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance, Vol. 1, Part 1: The Non-Biblical Texts from Qumran [Leiden: Brill, 2003] 433–434). Although the restoration is difficult, the title may also be preserved in 4QpIsac 21 6 and 4Q253a 1 5. Similar terminology is found elsewhere: “the Teacher of the community,” ‫( מורה היחיד‬CD-B 20.1, 14); “the Interpreter of Knowledge,” ‫( מליץ דעת‬4QpPsa 1–10 i 27); and “the Teacher,” ‫( מורה‬CD-B 20.28; 4QpIsac 21 6). It has also been suggested that the Teacher of Righteousness is referenced in 1QM 10.10: ‫ושומעי קול נכבד‬, “those who hear the voice of the glorious one” (see André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran [Oxford: Blackwell, 1961] 184 n. 5); however, this claim is unfounded (see William Sanford LaSor, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1972] 110–111). There is some debate about whether “the Interpreter of the Law,” ‫( דורש התורה‬CD-A 6.7 [// 4Q267 2 15]; 7.18 [// 4Q266 3 iii 19 and 4Q269 5 2]) also refers to the Teacher (see Section 10.1.2.1). 2 Cf. Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49: “the texts about the Teacher preserve interpretations that were shared between the authors and readers of those texts which were but fragments of a larger framework that could be taken for granted (and therefore did not have to be expressed in the sources before us)” (47). 3 Scholarly awareness of the Teacher of Righteousness stretches all the way back to 1897, when Solomon Schechter discovered fragments of the Damascus Document (which he described as a Zadokite work) from the geniza of the Ben Ezra synagogue in Cairo (Solomon Schechter, Documents of Jewish Sectaries, Vol. 1: Fragments of a Zadokite Work [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910] xii–xiii). Thereafter, the Teacher became the subject of much speculation (for a review, see Philip R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant: An Interpretation of the “Damascus Document” [JSOTSup 25; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982] 5–14). Our focus, however, will be on the scholarly treatment of the Teacher after the initial discoveries in the caves around Qumran (1947).

Introduction

3

traditional forms of historical inquiry and, by extension, the historical conclusions that have been drawn from them.

1.1  The Traditional Perspective on the Teacher of Righteousness In the decades after the Scrolls were discovered, a number of important studies on the Teacher were produced.4 Each of these early treatments shared a common methodological aim: the historical reconstruction of the life and impact of the Teacher. This included uncovering the historical identity of the individual behind the sobriquet, ascertaining the details about his rise to leadership within the group, and determining his role in the composition of the community’s foundational texts. Among this first generation of Scrolls scholars, the Teacher was understood as the key founding-figure of the community whose influence and instructions provided direction for the group both during his lifetime and even long after his death. As a result, the Teacher figured prominently in virtually all attempts to understand the Scrolls and the history behind them. Yet even at an early stage, it was evident that wide gaps separated the various attempts to synthesize the historical data. In fact, during his 1956–1957 Haskell Lectures, Frank Moore Cross quipped that “the number of theories evolved almost equals the number of scholars who have put their hands to the task.”5 Much of this disagreement centered around the historical identity of the Teacher. Many believed that if they were able to identify him, it would help explain the community’s origins and

E.g., Gustave Lambert, Le Maître de Justice et la Communauté de l’Alliance: Étude historique et version du Commentaire d’Habacuc et de quelques “Psaumes” du Désert de Juda (ALBO II/28; Louvain: Universitaires de Louvain, 1952); Albert Michel, Le Maître de Justice d’après les documents de la Mer Morte, la littérature apocryphe et rabbinique (Paris: Maison Aubanel, 1954); F. F. Bruce, The Teacher of Righteousness in the Qumran Texts (London: Tyndale, 1957); Gert Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (SUNT 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963); Per Wallendorff, Rättfärdighetens lärare: En exegetisk undersökning (Helsingfors: Aarhus Stiftsbogtrykkeri 1964); Luigi Moraldi, Il Maestro de Giustizia. L’innominato dei Manoscritti di Qumrân (Fossano: Esperienze, 1971). For a review of this early discussion, see Håkan Ulfgard, “Rättfärdighetens Lärare och Qumranförsamlingens historia. En kort skiss över problematiken,” in Dødehavsteksterne og Bibelen (eds. N. Hyldahl and T. L. Thompson; FBE 8; Kobenhavn: Museum Tusculanums Forlag, Københavns Universitet, 1996) 129–157. Cf. also Hans Bardtke, “Literaturbericht über Qumran, X. Teil: Der Lehrer des Gerechtigkeit und die Geschichte der Qumrangemeinde,” TRu 41 (1976) 97–140. 5 Frank Moore Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1958) 80. 4

4

Introduction

perhaps the circumstances surrounding its development. Consequently, there was no shortage of theories attempting to connect the Teacher with historical personages known from other Second Temple sources – despite warnings about the limitations of such an approach.6 Some associated the Teacher with the early Christian movement. One controversial hypothesis set forth by Robert H. Eisenman identified the Teacher with James the Just, the brother of Jesus. While this thesis was defended in a number of essays and monographs, the position found few supporters.7 Among those who situated the Teacher within the first century CE, it was more common to identify him directly with Jesus. This might have been expected given the various parallels that were drawn between the two by early interpreters.8 The identification of Jesus as the Teacher of Righteousness actually predates the discoveries at Qumran, when George Margoliouth began publishing what would become a series of articles in which he set forth the case that the Cairo Damascus Document belonged to a group of Sadducean Christians.9 More specifically, Margoliouth argued that this

Shortly after the last cave at Qumran had been discovered, Józef T. Milik warned, “it is hopeless for us to try to identify [the Teacher] with a known figure” (Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judea [trans. J. Strugnell; SBT 26; London: SCM Press, 1959] 74), an assessment that was based on the scarcity of data about the Teacher’s life and work. 7 Robert H. Eisenman, Maccabees, Zadokites, Christians and Qumran: A New Hypothesis of Qumran Origins (StPB 34; Leiden: Brill, 1983); idem, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the First Christians: Essays and Translations (Shaftesbury: Element, 1996) 332–351; idem, James, the Brother of Jesus: The Key to Unlocking the Secrets of Early Christianity and the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Viking, 1997); cf. also Robert H. Eisenman and Michael O. Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered: The First Complete Translation and Interpretation of 50 Key Documents Withheld for Over 35 Years (Shaftesbury: Element, 1992) 1–16. For a review of Eisenman’s theory, see Marianne Dacy, “Is James the Just the Teacher of Righteousness?” AJJS 12 (1998) 6–24. 8 E.g., Edward J. Young, “The Teacher of Righteousness and Jesus Christ: Some Reflections Upon the Dead Sea Scrolls,” WTJ 18 (1955) 121–145; Jean Carmignac, Christ and the Teacher of Righteousness: The Evidence of the Dead Sea Scrolls (trans. K. G. Pedley; Baltimore, MD: Helicon, 1962); Håkan Ulfgard, “The Teacher of Righteousness, the History of the Qumran Community, and Our Understanding of the Jesus Movement: Texts, Theories and Trajectories,” in Qumran between the Old and New Testament (eds. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998) 310–346. 9 George Margoliouth, “The Sadducean Christians of Damascus,” Athenaeum 4335 (1910) 657–659 (for the numerous works in which Margoliouth developed this thesis, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “Prolegomenon,” in Documents of Jewish Sectaries [ed. S. Schechter; New York: Ktav, 1970] 1–34 [30]). This view was later revived by Jacob L. Teicher, 6

Introduction

5

group viewed the apostle Paul, with his law-free gospel, as the Wicked Priest out to overturn the work of the Teacher of Righteousness, who was none other than Jesus of Nazareth. According to another theory, Jesus and John the Baptist were both raised as Essenes, and as they grew older, the former adopted the title, Teacher of Righteousness.10 This Jesus-Teacher identification was later turned on its head by Barbara Thiering, who claimed that the Teacher of Righteousness was actually John the Baptist. His ministry, she contended, was interpreted and even set in contrast to another contemporary figure, the Wicked Priest, whom Thiering asserted was Jesus.11 Others moved up the timeframe further into the first century CE, locating the Teacher around the time of the first Jewish revolt against Rome. More specifically, it was claimed that the Teacher was either Menahem, son (or grandson) of Judas the Galilean, who was known for invading the fortress of Herod at Masada (Josephus, J.W. 2.433–435), or Eleazar, son of Jair, the leader of a group of Jewish rebels known as the

“The Damascus Fragments and the Origin of the Jewish Christian Sect,” JJS 2 (1951) 115–143; idem, “Jesus in the Habakkuk Scroll,” JJS 3 (1952) 53–55. 10 See Upton Clary Ewing, The Essene Christ: A Recovery of the Historical Jesus and the Doctrines of Primitive Christianity (New York: Philosophical Library, 1961) 48–51, 62–63; cf. also Kenneth V. Hosking, Yeshua, the Nazorean: The Teacher of Righteousness (London: Janus, 1995). 11 See Barbara E. Thiering, Redating the Teacher of Righteousness (ANZSTR; Sydney: Theological Explorations, 1979) 207–214; cf. also idem, The Gospels and Qumran: A New Hypothesis (ANZSTR; Sydney: Theological Explorations, 1981) 71–77, 108–110; and idem, Jesus & the Riddle of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Unlocking the Secrets of His Life Story (San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992) 66–72. Although this view is most commonly associated with Thiering (due to the publicity her work has received), she is neither the first to suggest this identification, nor is she the only one who currently holds this view. The theory predates Thiering by a few decades, having been proposed even before the discoveries at Qumran. It was first suggested by Robert Eisler, “The Sadoqite Book of the New Covenant: Its Date and Origin,” in Occident and Orient: Being Studies in Semitic Philology and Literature, Jewish History and Philosophy and Folklore in the Widest Sense, in Honour of Haham Dr. M. Gaster’s 80th Birthday (eds. B. Schindler and A. Marmorstein; London: Taylor’s Foreign Press, 1936) 110–143 (125, 137), as part of an elaborate attempt to re-date the Cairo Damascus Document. More recently, Arthur E. Palumbo, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Personages of Earliest Christianity (New York: Algora, 2004) esp. 73–82, has attempted to extend the theory, building on the works of Eisler and Thiering. For a thorough critique of this view, see N. T. Wright, Who Was Jesus? (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993) 19–36; Otto Betz and Rainer Riesner, Jesus, Qumran and the Vatican (London: SCM Press, 1994) 99–113; David M. Paton, “An Evaluation of the Hypothesis of Barbara Thiering concerning Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” QC 5 (1995) 31–45.

6

Introduction

Sicarii (J.W. 7.252–255).12 In this way, scholars challenged the traditional pacifist reading of the Scrolls community. However, based on the dates assigned to the Scrolls as well as the archaeological discoveries related to the site of Qumran, the life of the Teacher was generally located much earlier. Most situated the Teacher prior to the turn of the era. Occasionally, one would find theories that identified the Teacher with Jewish leaders from the Persian period, including Ezra and Nehemiah,13 and there were some who placed the Teacher within the Hellenistic era, identifying him with figures such as Simeon the Just (third century BCE), Zadok (ca. 200 BCE), and Onias III (170 BCE).14 But by far the most common time period in which the Teacher’s identity was

E.g., Henri E. del Medico, Deux manuscripts Hébreux de la Mer Morte: Essai de traduction du “Manuel de Discipline” et du “Commentaire d’Habbakuk” (Paris: Geuthner, 1951) 132–137; idem, L’énigme des manuscrits de la Mer Morte: Étude sur la date, la provenance et le contenu des mss découverts dans la grotte I de Qumrân (Paris: Plon, 1957) 181–188, 342–357; Cecil Roth, The Historical Background of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Blackwell, 1958); Godfrey R. Driver, The Judaean Scrolls: The Problems and a Solution (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965) 267–281. 13 Ezra: Annie Jaubert, “Le pays de Damas,” RB 65 (1958) 214–248 (236–237); Norman Walker, “Concerning the 390 Years and the 20 Years of the Damascus Document,” JBL 76 (1957) 57–58. Nehemiah: Isaac Rabinowitz, “A Reconsideration of ‘Damascus’ and ‘390 Years’ in the ‘Damascus’ (‘Zadokite’) Fragments,” JBL 73 (1954) 11–35 (15 n. 13). 14 Simeon the Just: Mark J. Geller, “Qumran’s Teacher of Righteousness: A Suggested Identification,” SJC 1 (2002) 9–19; Nikos Kokkinos, “Second Thoughts on the Date and Identity of the Teacher of Righteousness,” SJC 2 (2003) 7–15. Zadok: Ben Zion Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah and the Teacher of Righteousness (HUCM 8; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1983) 99–140, although later he argued that Teacher of Righteousness was not a historical personality from the community’s past but a future eschatological figure (see idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness Is Alive, Awaiting the Messiah: ‫ האסף‬in CD as Allusion to the Siniatic and Damascene Covenants,” HUCA 70–71 [1999–2000] 75–92; idem, “The Righteous Teacher in the Pesherite Commentaries,” HUCA 73 [2002] 1–27). Onias III: Harold H. Rowley, The Zadokite Fragments and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Blackwell, 1952) 67–68; idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” BJRL 40 (1957) 114–146; Matthew Black, The Scrolls and Christian Origins: Studies in the Jewish Background of the New Testament (New York: Scribner, 1961) 20–21; cf. also Russell Gmirkin, “Historical Allusions in the War Scroll,” DSD 5 (1998) 172–214 (209–212); Stephen J. Pfann, “Historical Implications of the Early Second Century Dating of the 4Q249–250 Cryptic A Corpus,” in Things Revealed: Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone (eds. E. G. Chazon, et al.; JSJSup 89; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 171–186 (185). 12

Introduction

7

pursued was the reign of the Hasmoneans.15 While some connected the Teacher directly with Maccabean rulers,16 most claimed that the authors of the Scrolls were antagonistic toward the Hasmoneans; thus, they set the Teacher in opposition to this ruling party. A large number of scholars identified the Teacher with the anonymous individual who served in the role of high priest in Jerusalem during the intersacerdotium (159–152 BCE)17 but who was later removed by Jonathan Maccabeus.18

A number of candidates have been set forward, e.g., Yose ben Yoezer, second century BCE (Ethelbert Stauffer, “Der gekreuzigte Thoralehrer,” ZRGG 8 [1956] 250–253; idem, Jerusalem und Rom im Zeitalter Jesu Christi [Bern: Francke, 1957] 130); the author-compiler of the book of Daniel (John C. Trever, “The Qumran Teacher – Another Candidate?” in Early Jewish and Christian Exegesis: Studies in Memory of William Huge Brownlee [eds. C. A. Evans and W. F. Stinespring; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1987] 101–121); Judas the Essene, 100 BCE (Adam S. van der Woude, Die messianischen Vorstellungen der Gemeinde von Qumran [SSN 3; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1957] 239; Jean Carmignac, “Qui était le Docteur de Justice?” RevQ 10 [1980] 235–246, 585–586); the alleged miracle-worker, Honi the Circlemaker, ca. 65 BCE (Roger Goossens, “Onias le Juste, le Messie de la Nouvelle Alliance,” La Nouvelle Clio 1–2 [1949–50] 336–353; Roger Goossens, “Les éléments messianiques des traditions sur Onias le Just, chez Josèphe et dans le Talmud,” Bulletin de la classe des lettres et des sciences morales et politiques 5/36 [1950] 440–469). None of these proposals has gained many adherents, however. 16 Mattathias and Judas Maccabeus (ca. 167–162 BCE): James C. G. Greig, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the Qumran Community,” NTS 2 (1955) 119–126; Isaac Rabinowitz, “The Guides of Righteousness,” VT 8 (1958) 391–404. Hyrcanus II (76–67, 63–40 BCE): Gregory L. Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum: A Critical Edition (JSPSup 35; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) 683–754; idem, “Allusions to the End of the Hasmonean Dynasty in Pesher Nahum (4Q169),” in The Mermaid and the Partridge: Essays from the Copenhagen Conference on Revising Texts from Cave Four (eds. G. J. Brooke and J. Høgenhaven; STDJ 96; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 259–278 (265–268). 17 On the intersacerdotium, see Maria Brutti, The Development of the High Priesthood during the Pre-Hasmonean Period: History, Ideology, Theology (JSJSup 108; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 98–107. 18 E.g., Hartmut Stegemann, Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde (Bonn: Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität 1971) 211–212, 220; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Demetrius I and the Teacher of Righteousness (I Macc X, 25–45),” RB 83 (1976) 400–420; idem, “Judah the Essene and the Teacher of Righteousness,” RevQ 10 (1981) 579–585; Hans Burgmann, “Das umstrittene intersacerdotium in Jerusalem 159–152 v. Chr.,” JJS 11 (1980) 135–176; Michael O. Wise, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the High Priest of the Intersacerdotium: Two Approaches,” RevQ 14 (1990) 587–613; Paul A. Rainbow, “The Last Oniad and the Teacher of Righteousness,” JJS 48 (1997) 30–52; Émile Puech, “Le grand prêtre Simon (III) fils d’Onias III, le Maître de Justice?” in Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag (eds. B. Kollmann et al.; BZNW 97; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1997) 137–158. 15

8

Introduction

As this debate reveals, early scholarship was marked by sharp disagreements over – among other things – the identity of the Teacher. Yet, there was one point on which virtually all interpreters seemed to have agreed. They were optimistic that all of the necessary information required for the task of historical reconstruction could be accessed in the available source materials using the standard tools of historical criticism.19 In other words, this traditional perspective was constructed on the basis of historical positivism.20 A case in point is the previously referenced study by Cross. Due to the multiplicity of conclusions that scholars had reached, Cross judged their efforts to be less than successful. What is noteworthy, however, is the fact that his solution was not to move away from a historical approach. His suggestion was simply to refine the historical method by allowing it to be further informed by the related (and newly emerging) fields of archaeology and paleography.21 It was from this perspective that he subsequently attempted his own detailed historical reconstruction of the life and career of the Teacher. And even after nearly four decades had passed, his method remained unchanged.22 This positivistic approach would define the first generation of Scrolls scholarship.

1.2  The New Perspective on the Teacher of Righteousness Over the last few decades, the interpretive landscape has undergone a dramatic shift. Many have begun to recognize that a new perspective on the Teacher has emerged and has replaced the traditional approach as the dominant paradigm within Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship. In a recent review of the status quaestionis, Angela Kim Harkins has provided a

19

20

21 22

Evidence for this positivistic perspective can be found in the work of Harmut Stegemann, who felt confident enough to claim, “The access to the historical ‘Teacher of Righteousness’ is much easier than the approach to the historical Jesus” (“‘The Teacher of Righteousness’ and Jesus: Two Types of Religious Leadership in Judaism at the Turn of the Era,” in Jewish Civilization in the Hellenistic-Roman Period [ed. S. Talmon; Philadelphia, PA: Trinity, 1991] 196–213 [198]). Historical positivism is a theoretical framework for interpretation, which “aims to produce an accurate and complete picture of the past on the basis of ‘historically pure’ sources” (René Latourelle, “Positivism, Historical,” in Dictionary of Fundamental Theology [eds. R. Latourelle and R. Fisichella; New York: Crossroad, 1995] 785–788 [785]). Cross, Ancient Library, 80–119. See idem, The Ancient Library of Qumran (3rd edn.; BibSim 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995) 88–120.

Introduction

9

helpful survey of how this new perspective was formed. She notes that “the scholarly analysis of ancient texts has moved away from historical origins toward an interest in recovering how these writings were experienced by living communities.” Behind this diverted focus lies a “shift in attitude from an optimism to a pessimism toward traditional historicalcritical approaches.”23 For Harkins, the new perspective on the Teacher is, thus, defined by its theoretical framework (historical skepticism) and its interpretive focus (an audience-oriented approach toward the Teacher materials),24 with the latter flowing out of the former. That is to say, increasing skepticism about the ancient source materials has led modern scholars to become pessimistic about the possibility that traditional historical methods might be able to extract sufficient information from those sources to reconstruct the life of the historical Teacher with any degree of precision. As a result, the focus of scholarship has shifted toward the only historical reality to which the Scrolls provide access: the communities who composed and consumed the texts. In what follows, we will provide a detailed explanation of why this change occurred and how it has impacted scholarship. 1.2.1  The Theoretical Framework of the New Perspective One defining characteristic of this new perspective on the Teacher is the theoretical framework by which it is informed. In the 1980s, interpreters began to challenge the historical positivism that pervaded Scrolls 23

24

Angela Kim Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke (eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017) 493–514 (494). This understanding of the new perspective on the Teacher is consistent with the way that others have described the recent state of scholarship. See, e.g., Reinhard G. Kratz, “The Teacher of Righteousness and His Enemies,” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke (eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017) 515–532: “A number of contributions have abandoned historical reconstruction, and try to explain the findings using the approaches of literary studies, social studies, and cultural memory studies” (516). This summary of the new perspective is also consistent with the specific methodological claims found in recent research projects. See, e.g., Kelli S. O’Brien, “Runner, Staff, and Star: Interpreting the Teacher of Righteousness through Scripture,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (eds. E. F. Mason, et al.; JSJSup 153; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 429–447: “even if [the Damascus Document] cannot lead us to the historical Teacher, it seems appropriate to ask what we can learn about the community’s beliefs about the Teacher from the way its members used Scripture to interpret his life” (429).

10

Introduction

scholarship.25 The primary target of their criticisms was the attempt to extract historical information from the brief and enigmatic references found in texts like the pesharim. Informed by a thoroughgoing historical skepticism, scholars expressed hesitance about connecting sobriquets with named individuals from other Second Temple sources and locating the allusions to historical persons and events within a specific chronological framework – whether that be within the landscape of Second Temple Judaism or within an independent history of an otherwise unknown community (i.e., the Qumran community). Much of the credit for redirecting the course of scholarship can be attributed to three prominent scholars: Philip R. Davies, George J. Brooke, and Phillip R. Callaway.26 Although each scholar made his own unique contributions to the discussion, it was their concentrated efforts that served to expose the weaknesses of the earlier positivistic approaches toward the relevant source materials.27 What they successfully Concerns about the emphasis on historical reconstruction were occasionally raised in the early days of Scrolls research. One such precaution was expressed by Bleddyn J. Roberts, who warned, “By becoming over-concerned about their ‘historicity,’ we might be losing sight of the real significance of the scrolls” (“Bible Exegesis and Fulfilment in Qumran,” in Words and Meanings: Essays Presented to David Winton Thomas on his Retirement from the Regius Professorship of Hebrew in the University of Cambridge, 1968 [eds. P. R. Ackroyd and B. Lindars; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968] 195–207 [199]). But warnings like this marked the exception rather than the rule. 26 One could argue, perhaps, that the situation was somewhat more complex and that other factors contributed in equally important ways. To a large extent, this assertion would be true. For instance, two works on the pesharim, ­published in the same year, helped move scholarship away from a strictly historical approach to a focus on the purpose and function of the texts (see William H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk [SBLMS 24; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979]; and Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books [CBQMS 8; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979]). But it was the work of Davies, Brooke, and Callaway that created the greatest impetus for the change, as indicated by the frequent citation of their work by subsequent scholars. It is perhaps not coincidental then that the three have combined to write an (extremely helpful) introduction to the Dead Sea Scrolls (see Philip R. Davies et al., The Complete World of the Dead Sea Scrolls [London: Thames & Hudson, 2002]). 27 From the perspective of Hartmut Stegemann, a representative of the positivistic approach, which once dominated scholarship, it was quite natural to say that “literary sources [like the pesharim and Damascus Document] provide us with reliable information about the ‘Teacher of Righteousness’” (“‘The Teacher of Righteousness’,” 197). This view stands in sharp contrast to the reservations that more recent interpreters have voiced over the historical value of the pesharim. Philip R. Davies, for instance, claims that “it is difficult to establish whether any reliable information may be found in these pesharim” (“Historiography,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. G. J. Brooke and C. Hempel; London: T&T Clark, 2019] 25

Introduction

11

demonstrated is that anyone who attempts to historically reconstruct the life of the Teacher of Righteousness is confronted with a serious problem, viz. the fact that the ancient source materials do not provide “unmediated” access to the past.28 In other words, texts such as the pesharim or the Damascus Document should not be viewed as records of “what actually happened” in the past. One of the most frequent arguments used to support the contention that the ancient sources provide “mediated” access to the Teacher was that the texts in question were composed long after the events they recorded. According to Davies, “the distance between the documents and some of the events they purportedly allude to [is] uncomfortably large.”29 By some estimates, the pesharim were written up to a century (or more) after the life of the Teacher. In view of this large temporal gap, doubts were cast on whether the pesharim actually contain reliable information about the life of the Teacher.30 It was suggested that the Scrolls might reveal more about the concerns and ideological perspectives of those who wrote them than the historical events and personages to which they are said to allude. As such, the portrait of the Teacher would simply represent a construction of the community’s present needs, while containing very little (if anything) that is reflective of the actual past.31 Related to this claim, and flowing out of it, a second argument was that the descriptions of the Teacher of Righteousness were informed (and thus influenced) by other written sources. In particular, Davies claimed that the pesher commentaries borrowed from other “sectarian” documents within the Qumran collection. Without access to early memories about the Teacher, the authors of the pesharim were forced to construct events 228–236 [233]), while Marcus K. M. Tso describes 1QpHab as a “document of dubious historical reliability” (Ethics in the Qumran Community: An Interdisciplinary Investigation [WUNT 2/292; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010] 61 n. 17). 28 This language is taken from Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” 506. 29 Philip R. Davies, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 26. 30 See George J. Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics at Qumran,” BIAC 16 (1989) 8–11: “[the author of 1QpHab] knew virtually nothing of the earlier Qumran history” (10). Cf. Davies, Damascus Covenant, 22, who criticizes Stegemann for not recognizing the problem that this temporal distance creates for historical reconstruction. 31 Cf. George J. Brooke, “The Kittim in the Qumran Pesharim,” in Images of Empire (ed. L. Alexander; JSOTSup 122; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991) 135–159: “Any history they [i.e., the pesharim] represent is in the first instance the history of the period of their composition” (137); thus “[w]e can learn little or nothing of the history of the Qumran community from these texts” (159).

12

Introduction

from the early community using the only materials that were available. Consequently, the pesherists are said to have inferred a biographic narrative from the Hodayot, for they assumed that the hymns contained the Teacher’s personal reflections. For support, Davies produced a number of similarities between the commentaries and the thanksgiving hymns, which he interpreted as a reflection of the former’s direct literary dependence on the latter.32 The presence of this literary connection led Davies to conclude that scholars could “dispose of the assumption that reliable old traditions must underlie the biblical interpretations.”33 Further, and more importantly, these source- and redaction-critical discoveries were believed to limit “the possibility of our knowing anything of the life of the ‘Teacher of Righteousness’.”34 Finally, by focusing on the limitations inherent within the commentary genre, the usefulness of the pesharim (and the historical details they provided) was called into question. It was pointed out that the pesher authors were constrained by the scriptural citations on which they were commenting. Most notably, scholars argued that “there is limited scope for introducing independent items of information.”35 Having been restricted in this way, the commentary sections often repeat much of the same terminology found in the scriptural citation.36 This includes stereotypical motifs and stock interpretive language. The danger that

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 93–104; cf. Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics at Qumran,” 9–11; idem, “The Pesharim and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 339–353 (344); Phillip R. Callaway, “Methodology, the Scrolls, and Origins,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 409–427 (417). 33 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 91 (original emphasis). 34 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 87–88. 35 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 92. Aside from the limitations that are created, Davies also proposes another potential implication of the commentary genre: “if the author is at all committed to the theory of interpretation with which he operates, he will regard it as legitimate to infer ‘events’ from the biblical text” (92; original emphasis). 36 Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins,” 340. Beyond the specific scriptural passage on which the pesherists are commenting, there are also a number of intertextual echoes, which indicate that the commentators drew from the terminology of other scriptural texts not under immediate consideration (cf. idem, Exegesis at Qumran: 4QFlorilegium in Its Jewish Context [JSOTSup 29; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985] 284–285). 32

Introduction

13

lies before the modern historian, therefore, is the possibility of wrongly interpreting idiomatic representations as references to actual historical characters or events. 1.2.2  The Interpretive Focus of the New Perspective The second defining characteristic of the new perspective on the Teacher is its interpretive focus. Throughout the history of biblical studies, texts have been accessed and valued for the content they record, and so it should be no surprise that this was the level on which the Teacher materials were first approached within Dead Sea Scrolls research. In fact, this became a key feature of the traditional perspective. When texts like the pesharim and the Damascus Document were discovered, they were used as repositories of historical information about the earlier period(s) they claim to depict. An alternative to this content-focused approach is to explore ancient texts for what they reveal about those who composed and consumed them. This audience-oriented approach represents a much more recent development within biblical studies. Applied in conjunction with the historical skepticism that has been mounting over the last few decades, this interpretive focus provided Dead Sea Scrolls scholars with a new avenue through which to access the Teacher materials. 1.2.2.1  An Audience-Oriented Approach An audience-oriented approach toward ancient written materials focuses on the role of the authors in constructing an appropriate account for their readers/listeners without necessarily commenting on the historical reality of what they claim to represent. This approach builds on recent discussions related to the constructed nature of historical representation.37 Every representation of the past involves interpretation, including the selection and emphasis of certain materials to the neglect of others. In the case of the Teacher of Righteousness, scholars recognize that there are many different ways that the story could have been told. The details that are provided about the Teacher represent conscious decisions by the authors, who selected particular episodes from a variety of potential options to portray the Teacher in a certain way. What matters in this

37

See Chapter 2.

14

Introduction

case, therefore, are the reasons why the story of the Teacher has taken its current form. Rather than limiting the line of inquiry to questions like, “‘What do the Dead Sea Scrolls tell us about who the Teacher was?’ or ‘To what extent can we learn about past events by studying the Qumran pesharim?’,” proponents of the new perspective have, thus, expanded their focus by asking, ‘“What can we learn about the later authors of the pesharim (and other documents) by studying what they have to say about their community’s formative past?’”38 One of the most important contributions of this audience-oriented approach is that it has encouraged scholars to move outside the traditional methodological boundaries of Dead Sea Scrolls research. Interpreters have begun to engage the Teacher materials through a variety of methods, including social-scientific criticism, literary studies, and memory theory. A ground-breaking study in this regard was the treatment of Jutta Jokiranta, who used the concept of prototypicality in social-identity theory to explain the similarities between the Teacher and the members of the in-group.39 At issue, she argued, was the manner in which the representation of the Teacher in the pesharim was intended to shape the collective identity of the community.40 This work has been especially helpful for understanding the circumstances out of which the various images of the Teacher were later constructed. Another trend within recent discussions has been the use of memory theory as a way to interpret the Teacher materials. This methodological choice has allowed scholars the opportunity to use insights related to the cognitive, social, and cultural dimensions of memory to better understand representations of the Teacher. Some have focused on the function of the Teacher’s image within the community’s collective memory. This is the approach taken by Loren T. Stuckenbruck, who notes that “[s]tories told about the Teacher… are sacred history, that is, selected fragments that reinforced and guided the collective self-understanding

38 39

40

Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 48–49. Jutta Jokiranta, “The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. P. F. Esler; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006) 254–263. A fuller discussion of Jokiranta’s study is provided in Appendix Two. Cf. also Jaime Vázquez Allegue, “Memoria Colectiva E Identidad De Grupo En Qumrán,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino Garcia Martinez (eds. A. Hilhorst et al.; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 89–104 (91); Jean Duhaime, “Figures du discernement et construction identitaire à Qumrân,” Théologiques 22 (2014) 17–49 (24–27).

Introduction

15

of the community as reflected in those documents that refer to him.”41 Others, such as Kelli S. O’Brien, have explored what the Scrolls reveal “about the community’s beliefs about the Teacher from the way its members used Scripture to interpret his life.”42 A final interpretive trend has been to consider the Teacher materials in light of the experience of those who read and heard the texts. This phenomenological approach was recently proposed by Harkins, who builds on ideas developed elsewhere related to the religious experience of reading.43 As it relates to the Teacher materials in Pesher Habakkuk, Harkins’ study begins by drawing from the social sciences to construct an integrative understanding of reading. She notes that “[t]he activity of reading and the mental imaging that takes place can be a generative process whereby a sensory representation of that imagery is produced in the reader’s mind, resulting in a kind of experiential frame that can be updated or changed as the reader gains more information about the events described in the text.”44 This insight is then used to inform a reader-response approach to the Teacher materials. “Whether those events are factually true as they are described in the texts or not,” she claims, “the literary style and vividness of the texts about the Teacher and his rivals offer memories that can be engaged emotionally and reexperienced by different communities through time.”45 By scripting the emotions and feelings about persons and events from the past, these texts are said to play an important role in the formation of collective identity. 1.2.2.2  A Historical Approach What is important to recognize is that proponents of the new perspective have turned toward an audience-oriented approach for different reasons. Some have (seemingly) taken this route out of necessity. That is, they believe that the malleability of representations of the past provided the

Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 48 (original emphasis). O’Brien, “Runner, Staff, and Star,” 429. 43 See Angela Kim Harkins, Reading with an “I” to the Heavens: Looking at the Qumran Hodayot through the Lens of Visionary Traditions (Ekstasis 3; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012); cf. also idem, “Who Is the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns? Re-examining the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis Fifty Years Later,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (eds. E. F. Mason et al.; JSJSup 153; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 449–467. 44 Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” 509. 45 Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” 509–510. 41 42

16

Introduction

Scrolls authors with an opportunity to construct the image of the Teacher according to the needs and expectations of their contemporary community. As such, the Teacher tradition is thought to reveal more about the situation of his later followers than the historical Teacher. For others, the focus on received memory is not intended to be a replacement for historical investigation into the life of the Teacher, but as a supplement to inform other aspects of the interpretive process. These two approaches represent separate streams within the new perspective position. What this means is that, despite reservations about how historical reconstruction has been carried out in the past, many proponents of the new perspective continue to affirm the value of historical investigation, even inquiry into the life of the historical Teacher and his role within the early Scrolls community. Characteristic of this new perspective approach toward history are two features that distinguish it from earlier approaches. The first involves the nature of the historical reconstructions that have been attempted. In response to the detailed proposals found in earlier treatments, the new perspective has been marked by an effort to avoid speculative historical construals. In fact, most historical conclusions that are reached are generally limited to a few discrete facts.46 This approach reflects the methodological reorientation that was initially advocated by Davies, Brooke, and Callaway. It involves shifting the investigation away from the types of historical information traditionally sought from the Scrolls. According to Brooke, there are two ways in which the texts “witness to history.” The first, and for him the most significant, is their witness to the history of traditions underlying the scriptural commentaries. He makes the case that a close literary analysis of the source materials utilized in the pesharim “will eventually help us to suggest a suitable historical backdrop for the compiler.” He is less confident, however, about the second kind of history disclosed in the commentaries, viz. “the history of the events which the exegesis purports to describe.”47 Although While admitting that there is much about the historical Teacher of Righteousness that will never be known, George J. Brooke lists membership in the Jewish priesthood and the self-portrayal as a Mosaic teacher as “the two most secure aspects of the Teacher’s biography” (“The ‘Apocalyptic’ Community, the Matrix of the Teacher and Rewriting Scripture,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism [ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 37–54 [49]). He also seems to be open to the possibility that other facts about the Teacher might also be possible to discern (e.g., his name), but these are more speculative (see idem, “Room for Interpretation: An Analysis of Spatial Imagery in the Qumran Pesharim,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Context [ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 307–324 [317]). 47 Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins,” 349. 46

Introduction

17

sought by most modern interpreters for the purpose of reconstructing the history of the Qumran community, Brooke notes that this kind of information is “barely disclose[d] at all.” Concerning the key figures mentioned in the pesharim (i.e., Teacher of Righteousness, Wicked Priest, Man of the Lie, etc.), he is resigned to the conclusion that “probably all we can really describe is a rift within the community and a fight that is external.” The problem is that these “are the hallmarks of the history of religious and social groups and subgroups in any age.”48 Similar sentiments are echoed by Callaway, who makes it clear that historians can only draw a few basic conclusions from the evidence, viz. that the Teacher was a historical figure from the community’s past, and that he was involved in some type of conflict with other characters whom the texts designate as the Wicked Priest and the Liar. Beyond simply discerning such facts, Callaway objects to any attempt that seeks to “integrate this information into an already known or even in part empirically reconstructed history.”49 The problem, as he sees it, is that the references found in the pesharim “lack specific information necessary for reconstructing history.”50 By this, he means that the details they provide about the various enigmatic figures are “not of the kind that the historian can use independently.”51 Information from other historical sources would be required to draw the types of conclusions representative of the traditional perspective. What this evidence excludes, then, are elaborate theories that identify the Teacher with a specific individual

Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins,” 348. As a point of clarification, it appears that Brooke’s main objection to previous reconstructions is their inverted methodological order. He notes, “the pesharim can only help with the identification of the origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls when all the literary sources and likely allusions in each commentary are assembled” (Brooke, “Pesharim and the Origins,” 350; cf. Davies, Damascus Covenant, 2). Thus, what he advocates is not the elimination of historical inquiry, but its proper methodological ordering within the interpretive process (i.e., after the literary work on the source materials has been completed). Nonetheless, he does offer a hypothesis of what will likely be discovered once this process is complete: “Unlike previous histories, the Teacher of Righteousness, the Wicked Priest and the Man of Lies will be seen like Jesus, Caiaphas and Pilate. They will become somewhat distant figures of immense creedal importance” (Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics,” 11). In other words, he thinks that a revised historical approach will lead to very different conclusions about some of the major figures and their roles in the history of the community. 49 Phillip R. Callaway, The History of the Qumran Community: An Investigation (JSPSup 3; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988) 150. 50 Callaway, History of the Qumran Community, 168. 51 Callaway, History of the Qumran Community, 169. 48

18

Introduction

from the Second Temple period and attempt to situate his life within the context of events known from other historical sources.52 The second feature that distinguishes the new perspective from the traditional approach relates to the content of the historical constructions that have been posited. While the new perspective is not defined by any set of shared historical conclusions about the Teacher, a general trend reflected in many of the reconstructions has been a diminishing role for the Teacher within projections of the early community.53 A number of scholars have maintained that the Teacher was a figure from the community’s distant past about whom the later authors of the Scrolls knew very little, and consequently, the biographic details that are recorded about the Teacher find their origin either in the inferences drawn from earlier written sources or in the social purpose of later Scrolls authors. Thus, such an approach assumes a significant discontinuity between the historical Teacher and the memory preserved in the textual record. The diminishing role of the historical Teacher reaches its fullest expression in the recent doubts that have been expressed about whether the sobriquet is actually intended to describe a historical person.54 This possibility was raised some years ago by Reinhard G. Kratz, who noted that Callaway, History of the Qumran Community, 164: “the passages mentioning the Teacher, the Interpreter of Knowledge, the Liar, and the Wicked Priest fail to present information that would help the historian to make secure identifications, such as information about the locality of the conflicts, affiliations of the figures with known historical persons or parties, concrete descriptions of human activities, and chronological notes.” Cf. also idem, The Dead Sea Scrolls for a New Millennium (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2011) 153. 53 This distinguishes proponents of the new perspective from those who have recently explored the Teacher from a historical perspective and have attributed to him a much greater influence within the early Scrolls community, e.g., James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002); Michael O. Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness and the Floruit of His Movement,” JBL 122 (2003) 53–87; idem, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 92–122; Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008); John J. Collins, “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 209–226; idem, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 18 (2011) 295–315. 54 Based on the current situation in scholarship it would be a mistake to claim that the question of the Teacher’s historicity is unresolved (pace James Constantine Hanges, Paul, Founder of Churches: A Study in Light of the Evidence for the Role of FounderFigures in the Hellenistic-Roman Period [WUNT 292; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012] 128). In contrast to the suggestion by David Hamidović, who claims that “[m]any scholars presently explain that the Teacher of Righteousness is a fictional 52

Introduction

19

the question of the Teacher’s historicity needed further investigation.55 In subsequent years, he has proceeded to claim that the life and influence of the Teacher were constructed using the language and imagery of the Hebrew scriptures to address the needs of the Scrolls community. Instead of reflecting the personal experiences of a historical individual, the Teacher of Righteousness is thought to be a “literary stereotype.”56 By this, Kratz means that “the ‘teacher’ is a literary, fictional character, who is introduced [in the pesharim] as an (already deceased) authority, in order to attribute the teachings of the community to a fundamental divine revelation and legitimize them.”57 Such a suggestion marks the natural trajectory of the skeptical response directed toward historical positivism.

1.3  Purpose of the Study The recent development of a new perspective on the Teacher has benefited scholarship in a number of ways. Various misconceptions about the sources of historical inquiry have been overturned, and new methodological approaches for studying the Teacher have been introduced. But, despite the important contributions that have resulted from this shift, the figure” (“Living Serakhim: Process of Authority in the Community Rule,” in The Process of Authority: The Dynamics in Transmission and Reception of Canonical Texts [ed. J. Dušek; DCLS 27; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016] 61–90 [85]), the number of scholars who have adopted this position – at least in print – has been rather small. The confusion surrounding the historicity of the Teacher is to be expected given the evolving nature of the new perspective. Moving forward, it might be helpful to be more specific in the language used to describe the Teacher. While few within the new perspective doubt the actual existence of an early figure in the community’s history to whom reference is being made with the sobriquet “Teacher of Righteousness,” many believe that the biographical narrative, which is assigned to this figure, is exaggerated or even fabricated. 55 See Reinhard G. Kratz, “Der Pescher Nahum und seine biblische Vorlage,” in Prophetenstudien: Kleine Schriften II (FAT 74; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 99–145 (105–106). Cf. idem, Historical and Biblical Israel: The History, Tradition, and Archives of Israel and Judah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) 160–161. 56 Kratz, “The Teacher of Righteousness and His Enemies,” 530. 57 Reinhard G. Kratz, “Text and Commentary: The pesharim of Qumran in the Context of Hellenistic Scholarship,” in The Bible and Hellenism: Greek Influence on Jewish and Early Christian Literature (eds. T. L. Thompson and P. Wajdenbaum; Copenhagen International Seminar; London: Routledge, 2014) 212–229 (226). Cf. Hayim Lapin, “Dead Sea Scrolls and the Historiography of Ancient Judaism,” in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods (ed. M. L. Grossman; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) 108–127 (124), who cautions that the Qumran community may have shaped their collective identity by inventing the past.

20

Introduction

process of modification has also led to significant impediments. While historical skepticism has been used to successfully deconstruct earlier approaches toward the Teacher, scholars have not provided an alternative interpretive framework for understanding the ancient sources as witnesses to the (authors’) past. The result has been the marginalization of traditional forms of historical inquiry into the life and impact of the Teacher. The present study proposes a new approach toward historical investigation by redirecting and reconfiguring the way that scholars approach the sources that record the legacy of the Teacher. It is designed to chart a fresh methodological course in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship by employing memory theory as a means of informing historical research. What we will argue is that the key to drawing informed historical conclusions about the Teacher lies in a proper understanding of the mnemonic evidence. This requires exploring the cultural context in which the memories were originally formed, the processes through which these memories were preserved and transmitted within the community, and the sociohistorical conditions that caused the authors of the Scrolls to set the memory of the Teacher before their audience. Only on the basis of such an informed memory project can one hope to provide a plausible historical representation of the past, which explains how the mnemonic evidence found in our sources could have developed from a historical progression that began with the Teacher. The specifics of this mnemonic-historical approach are set forth in the two chapters that follow. Therein, we challenge the theoretical perspectives on history and memory currently operative in Scrolls research and attempt to offer a new methodology that employs memory theory as a way to advance historical questions. This method will then be applied throughout the remainder of the study in an effort to assess the mnemonic evidence related to the Teacher.

part 1 METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

This opening section raises the methodological questions that the study is designed to address. Having reviewed the current state of research on the Teacher of Righteousness, we will now seek to challenge many of the theoretical perspectives on history and memory which inform this discussion. As an alternative, we will propose a new methodology designed to better diagnose the legacy of the Teacher. This mnemonic-historical approach employs memory theory to advance historical questions.

2 A Theoretical Approach toward History

Any historical study of the Teacher of Righteousness faces an almost insurmountable task. The life of this ancient figure is not something that can be accessed directly. In fact, since it is in the past, it cannot be accessed at all. The past is over and, thus, unavailable to modern historians. The only traces of the Teacher’s existence are a few written records. Such limitations become even more sobering when considered in light of the contingent nature of the extant materials: “Only a part of what was observed in the past was remembered by those who observed it; only a part of what was remembered was recorded; only a part of what was recorded has survived; only a part of what has survived has come to the historians’ attention.”1 This situation leads us to consider whether modern interpreters are justified in making claims of genuine knowledge about the Teacher. To this point, much of the discussion on historiography in the Scrolls has focused on how the ancient authors understood the past and attempted to preserve its memory.2 Yet, very few have addressed the even more

Louis R. Gottschalk, Understanding History: A Primer of Historical Method (2nd edn.; New York: Knopf, 1969) 45. 2 See, e.g., Ben Zion Wacholder, “Historiography of Qumran: The Sons of Zadok and Their Enemies,” in Qumran between the Old and New Testaments (eds. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998) 347–377; Hermann Lichtenberger, “Historiography in the Damascus Document,” in History and Identity: How Israel’s Later Authors Viewed Its Earlier History (eds. N. CalduchBenages and J. Liesen; DCLY; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2006) 231–238; George J. Brooke, “Types of Historiography in the Qumran Scrolls,” in Ancient and Modern Scriptural 1

23

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Methodological Considerations

fundamental question of whether and to what extent the past can be accessed and adequately represented in the present. This question lies within the purview of the philosophy of history. The purpose of this chapter, therefore, is to provide a theoretical foundation for our study by engaging recent discussions on the nature of history. What we will argue is that the remedy for the earlier positivistic forms of historical investigation is not the abandonment of empirical history, but the modification of traditional methods. A scientific form of history can still be pursued with regard to the Teacher materials; it simply requires redefined epistemological categories. In this way, we will seek to posit an approach mediating between the historical positivism that defined an earlier generation of research on the Teacher and the historical skepticism that has marked more recent treatments. We will consider the various ways that historians have recounted the past, and how these approaches have evolved over the last two centuries.3 In particular, we are interested in the methods they have used, the subjects they have treated, and the assumptions that have grounded their investigations. By considering the modern trends and key developments within the discussion of history writing, we will be in a better position to assess the prospects and pitfalls of approaching the Teacher of Righteousness historically. We will begin by tracing the development of scientific historiography4 and then move on to consider the challenges Historiography. L’historiographie biblique, ancienne et moderne (eds. G. J. Brooke and T. Römer; BETL 207; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2007) 211–230; John J. Collins, “Historiography in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 19 (2012) 159–176. Cf. also Lorenzo DiTommaso, “The Development of Apocalyptic Historiography in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Celebrating the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Canadian Collection (eds. P. W. Flint et al.; EJL 30; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2011) 497–522. 3 For a fuller review of the development of modern historiography, see Michael Bentley, Modern Historiography: An Introduction (London: Routledge, 1999); Ernst Breisach, Historiography: Ancient, Medieval, and Modern (3rd edn.; Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2007); Eileen K. Cheng, Historiography: An Introductory Guide (London: Continuum, 2012); cf. also Norman J. Wilson, History in Crisis? Recent Directions in Historiography (3rd edn.; Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson, 2014). 4 Historiography can have a number of different meanings depending on the context in which it is defined: the study of historical methodology, the interpretation of a given subject, or simply the writing of history (see, e.g., Carl L. Becker, “What Is Historiography,” American Historical Review 44 [1938] 20–28; Lawrence D. Walker, “The History of Historical Research and Writing Viewed as a Branch of the History of Science,” Storia della Storiografia 2 [1982] 102–107; Milica Vasilevna Netchkina, “L’histoire de l’historiographie. Problèmes méthodologiques de l’histoire de la science historique,” Storia della Storiografia 2 [1982] 108–111). For our purposes, we are concerned with historiography as the history of historical writing.

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posed to it by the postmodern critique. Once we have described how the epistemological categories of historiography have been reevaluated within recent historical studies, we will explore how these new theoretical perspectives might be applied to an investigation into the life and legacy of the Teacher.

2.1  The Scientific Approach toward Historiography During the nineteenth century, historians began to shape their craft more and more into a “scientific” mold.5 Just as science had uncovered the laws of nature, historians became convinced that history – when properly pursued – would reveal the laws of human relations. This idea was advocated by the French sociologist, Auguste Comte, who charted the three-stage development in the study of history: (1) the theological stage – when all phenomena were explained through personified deities; (2) the metaphysical stage – when abstract concepts or impersonal forces were employed as explanatory means; and (3) the positive stage – when explanation is grounded in scientific observation, experimentation, and comparison.6 This third, and final stage, approached history like the natural sciences and, thus, was “defined by a focus upon independently verifiable fact, stripped of all (or as much as possible) subjective ‘taint,’ and typically attended by the conviction, based on this reverence for facticity, that historical interpretation is something that somehow ‘emerges’ from the facts themselves after they have been thus properly verified.”7 Although the positivistic views of Comte are no longer advanced in historiographic discourse, his work did provide a key ingredient to what would become the standard approach toward history: the shift away from a theocentric perspective. Around this same time, historiography was being further shaped by the professionalization of historical studies. Throughout much of the Renaissance, history writing was a recreational pursuit of amateurs with antiquarian interests. By the mid-nineteenth century, however,

See further Joyce Appleby et al., Telling the Truth about History (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1994) 52–90. 6 Auguste Comte, Cours de philosophie positive, Tome 1: Les préliminaires généraux et la philosophie mathématique (2nd edn.; Paris: Borrani et Droz, 1852) 15. 7 Robert Morstein-Marx, “Political History,” in A Companion to Ancient History (ed. A. Erskine; Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World; Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell, 2009) 99–111 (103). 5

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Methodological Considerations

historiography in Germany had become the task of professionals with advanced degrees holding positions in state-sponsored universities.8 To write history, it was thought that one needed specialized training. This often took the form of seminars designed to equip students to locate and evaluate source materials. Moreover, historiography came to be defined by certain methods that prescribed how an examination of the past should be carried out. Much of the credit for these developments is attributed to Leopold von Ranke (1795–1886).9 For our purposes, what Ranke provided was another key ingredient in the development of historiography: a historical method for studying the past. His methodology sought historical facts through a critical and objective assessment of the material evidence, and its impact on historical scholarship cannot be understated. The innovation of Ranke’s approach was grounded in his insistence on the use of primary sources for historical reconstruction. “Ranke and his students carefully poured over original sources from Europe’s past in the pursuit of documentary criticism. They avoided chronicles and contemporary histories, which were riddled with error and marred by bias, and concentrated on government charters and decrees, bureaucratic files, and especially diplomatic dispatches and reports.”10 By critically evaluating and carefully interpreting these documents, Ranke believed he could

Other countries followed thereafter, see Peter Lambert, “The Professionalization and Institutionalization of History,” in Writing History: Theory and Practice (eds. S. Berger et al.; 2nd edn.; London: Bloomsbury, 2010) 40–58 (41). 9 For a fuller treatment on Ranke and his approach toward historiography, see Gehard Masur, Rankes Begriff der Weltgeschichte (Beiheft der Historischen Zeitschrift 6; Munich: Oldenbourg, 1926); Theodore H. Von Laue, Leopold Ranke: The Formative Years (Princeton Studies in History 4; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950); Carl Hinrichs, Ranke und Die Geschichtstheologie der Goethezeit (Göttinger Bausteine zur Geschichtswissenschaft 19; Göttingen: Musterschmidt Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1954); Leonard Krieger, Ranke: The Meaning of History (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1977). 10 Edward Muir, “Leopold von Ranke, His Library, and the Shaping of Historical Evidence,” Syracuse University Library Associates Courier 22 (1987) 3–10 (3). In many ways, Ranke’s methods were influenced by the approach of Barthold G. Niebuhr (1776–1831) toward ancient Roman history (see Leopold von Ranke, Das Briefwerk [Hamburg: Hoffmann & Campe, 1949] 69–70; idem, Sämmtliche Werke, Bd. 51/52: Abhandlungen und Versuche [3rd edn.; Leipzig: Duncker und Humblot, 1888] 589). For a discussion of Niebuhr’s influence on Ranke, see E. Sreedharan, A Textbook of Historiography, 500 B.C. to A.D. 2000 (New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2004) 171–174. 8

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uncover the facts of history.11 His expressed goal as a historian, in fact, was to determine “what actually happened” (wie es eigentlich gewesen) in the past.12 To be successful in this task, the historian had to approach the process of investigation through objectivity and detachment.13 Once the facts were discovered, Ranke assumed the evidence would speak for itself.14 Consequently, he advocated presenting the “naked truth (nackte Wahrheit) without any ornamentation,” rather than including the type of speculative conjecture that marked many historical novels of the time.15 While Ranke’s methods were adopted by numerous scholars across Germany, it was in America that his influence was perhaps the greatest.16 For it was there that his views would direct the future of the

Leopold von Ranke, Sämmtliche Werke, Bd. 33: Geschichten der romanischen und germanischen Völker von 1494 bis 1514 (2nd edn.; Leipzig: Duncker und Humblot, 1874) vii: “Strenge Darstellung der Thatsache, wie bedingt und unschön sie auch sei, ist ohne Zweifel das oberste Gesetz.” Ranke, nevertheless, denied the possibility of a historian achieving an omniscient perspective on the past, which might allow absolute objectivity (see idem, Aus Werk und Nachlass, Bd. 4: Vorlesungseinleitungen [Munich: Oldenbourg, 1975] 199, 259). 12 Ranke, Geschichten der romanischen, vii. The point that Ranke had initially intended to make by this statement is often lost, however. Against those who emphasized history’s ethical and pedagogical purposes, this statement was intended to indicate Ranke’s refusal to pass moral judgments on the characters and circumstances of the past. 13 See Ranke, Vorlesungseinleitungen, 458–459. When it came to his role as a practitioner of a “scientific” approach toward history, however, Ranke often failed to live up to this standard of objective detachment. His writings themselves attest to the influence of his political inclinations (see Georg G. Iggers, The German Conception of History: The National Tradition of Historical Thought from Herder to the Present [Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1988] 63–89), and at times, the objectivity of his approach was shaped by personal commitments (see Andreas D. Boldt, The Role of Ireland in the Life of Leopold von Ranke (1795–1886): The Historian and Historical Truth [Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2007]). 14 Leopold von Ranke, Sämmtliche Werke, Bd. 15: Englische Geschichte vornehmlich im siebzehnten Jahrhundert (3rd edn.; Leipzig: Duncker and Humblot, 1870) 103. Cf. Friedrich Rühs, Entwurf einer Propädeutik des historischen Studiums (Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1811) 254. 15 Leopold von Ranke, Zur Kritik neuerer Geschichtschreiber (3rd edn.; Leipzig: Duncker and Humblot, 1884) 24. 16 Around this same time, historians in other countries had begun to adopt similar models (see, e.g., Charles Victor Langlois and Charles Seignobos, Introduction aux études historiques [Paris: Hachette, 1898]). In fact, during his presidential address to the First International Congress of Historians (held in 1900 at the Paris World Exposition), Henry Houssaye declared, “La méthode historique a été renouvelée; la critique s’est faite rigoureuse; les trésors des archives publiques et privées ont été fouillés plus librement et plus scrupuleusement que par le passé. On a approché la vérité autant qu’il est donné à l’homme de le faire. On ne veut plus d’à peu près, d’hypothèses, de compilations banales, de vains systèmes, de théories aussi brillantes que décevantes, de moralités superflues. 11

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historiographic discussion, and he would be heralded as the “father of scientific history.”17 It is noteworthy, however, that many American historians did not fully understand Ranke’s epistemology,18 and as a result, they moved the historiographic discussion in a slightly different direction than Ranke might have envisioned. Nevertheless, in the end, this misunderstanding served to further secularize the historical method, making it even more scientific in character. The aim of this American approach sounded very similar to that proposed by Ranke. According to George Burton Adams, a prominent medieval historian from the period, “the first duty of the historian is to ascertain as nearly as possible and to record exactly what happened.”19 The facts of the past were thought to be external to the historian and awaiting to be discovered. In principle, therefore, historians grounded their method in empiricism. The task of historical reconstruction required objectivity, including setting aside all political ideology, religious persuasion, and personal bias, as well as seeking to assemble “the greatest attainable number of recorded facts.”20 As such, history was based on inductive reasoning21: only after collecting the facts could historians synthesize the data and thereby construct a narrative that accurately reflects De faits, des faits, des faits qui portent en euxmêmes leur enseignment et leur philosophie. Le vérité, toute la vérité, rien que la vérité” (“Allocution,” in Annales internationales d’histoire. Congrès de Paris, 1900, 1re section: Histoire générale et diplomatique [Paris: Colin, 1901] 5–8 [5–6]). 17 Herbert B. Adams, “New Methods of Study in History,” Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science 2 (1884) 25–137 (65). Cf. Charles D. Hazen, “The College and the Citizen,” American Educational Review 33 (1911–12) 122–130 (123). 18 On the perception of Ranke in late-nineteenth century America, see Georg G. Iggers, “The Image of Ranke in American and German Historical Thought,” History and Theory 2 (1962) 17–40, although cf. Dorothy Ross, “On the Misunderstanding of Ranke and the Origins of the Historical Profession in America,” in Leopold von Ranke and the Shaping of the Historical Discipline (eds. G. G. Iggers and J. M. Powell; Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1990) 154–169. 19 George Burton Adams, “History and the Philosophy of History,” American Historical Review 14 (1909) 221–236 (223). 20 Ephraim Emerton, “The Practice Method in Higher Historical Instruction,” in Methods of Teaching History (ed. G. S. Hall; Boston, MA: D.C. Heath & Co., 1886) 31–60 (42). On the approach toward objectivity in American historiography, see Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The “Objectivity Question” and the American Historical Profession (Ideas in Context; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 21 Cf. Earle Wilbur Dow, “Features of the New History: Apropos of Lamprecht’s ‘Deutsche Geschichte’,” American Historical Review 3 (1898) 431–448: “History is . . . an inductive science, and its progress depends not so much on the classes of facts it may incorporate or renounce from time to time, as on the degree in which it adopts, develops and applies inductive methods” (442).

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the reality of the past. This included elucidating the meaning inherent within historical events, demarcating the development of important themes, and delineating the cause–effect relationships shaping historical processes.22 By the mid-twentieth century, these views about the past and the historian’s role in accessing the past had become the accepted approach toward historiography. Underlying this position were three key methodological pillars.23 The first was realism, which relates to the reality of persons, events, or structures in the past. More specifically, it claims that “there is a real past with real people and events,” and that its existence is independent from human perceptions, interpretations, or linguistic constructions.24 To gain access to this past, reality requires the second pillar: epistemological empiricism. According to an empiricist perspective, knowledge is received by sensory experience, specifically through the processes of observation and experimentation. Yet, since the object of investigation was the (inaccessible) past, this view was somewhat distinct from the traditional empiricism of epistemological theory. Rather than achieving knowledge through experience, knowledge in historiography was thought to derive from the (application of the) historical method.25 The question of how the historical method could produce an accurate reconstruction of the past brings us to the third pillar of this approach: the correspondence theory of truth. From this perspective, the truth or falsity of a proposition is determined by the degree to which it corresponds to reality.26 Therefore, for those who practiced this form of

For a step-by-step explanation of this process, see John W. Burgess, “The Methods of Historical Study and Research in Columbia College,” in Methods of Teaching History (ed. G. S. Hall; 2nd edn.; Boston, MA: D.C. Heath & Co., 1886) 215–221 (219–220). 23 See Mark Donnelly and Claire Norton, Doing History (London: Routledge, 2011) 99–100. 24 Murray Murphey, “Realism about the Past,” in A Companion to the Philosophy of History and Historiography (ed. A. Tucker; Blackwell Companions to Philosophy 41; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) 181–189 (182). 25 For this reason, Lutz Raphael describes the type of empiricism that fuels much of historiographical discussion as “trivial empiricism” (“The Implications of Empiricism for History,” in The SAGE Handbook of Historical Theory [eds. N. Partner and S. Foot; London: SAGE Publications, 2013] 23–40 [26]). 26 This position was classically articulated by Bertrand Russell, The Problems of Philosophy (New York: Holt & Co., 1912) 202: “a belief is true when there is a corresponding fact, and is false when there is no corresponding fact”; cf. also G. E. Moore, Some Main Problems of Philosophy (New York: Collier, 1953) 294–312. For a recent defense of this approach, see Marian David, Correspondence and Disquotation: An Essay on the Nature of Truth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994); Joshua Rasmussen, Defending the Correspondence Theory of Truth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 22

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historiography, confirmation of the “truth” of their historical claims was grounded in whether their reconstructions corresponded to real events in the actual past. What is important to note is that each of these tenets was adopted by the earliest generation of Dead Sea Scrolls scholars in their attempt to reconstruct the life and career of the Teacher of Righteousness. It was common to find early interpreters approaching the written records as reservoirs of historical information. The material, it was thought, simply needed to be detached from its literary context and placed within the appropriate historical framework, which was supplied by other contemporary records (e.g., 1–2 Maccabees; Josephus). Because these scholars were convinced that the interpretive perspectives of the authors were not so imposing as to completely conceal the actual past, they proceeded to construct elaborate theories about the life of the Teacher and his role within the community. Whereas there was sharp disagreement over the specific conclusions that were reached from the data, the point on which there was virtual unanimity was that the sources provided sufficient access to what really happened in the past. With the rise of postmodernism, however, each of the tenets of this traditional historiographic approach would be called into question.

2.2  The Postmodern Critique of Scientific Historiography Postmodernist perspectives developed during the mid-twentieth century when the fundamental premises of modernity began to erode. Many had become disenchanted with the idea that historical methods could provide interpreters with authoritative knowledge about the past, and the progressive notion that knowledge might provide control over nature and human affairs seemed fallacious in light of the gruesome reality of wars, deprivations, and genocides.27 This led historians to seek new ways of understanding their task. For some, this meant reconsidering the epistemological basis of history-writing. Many who adopted a postmodernist approach were not content to simply revise the traditional methods of historiography. They required nothing less than “the revolutionary inversion of ‘normal’ historiography” in which “the ontological question (what actually existed and happened)

27

Ernst Breisach, On the Future of History: The Postmodernist Challenge and Its Aftermath (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2003) 16–17.

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[came to be viewed as] secondary to the epistemological issue (what historians claim to know about what might or might not have existed or happened).”28 To see exactly how this occurred, we will look closer at poststructuralist postmodernist historiography, which represents the most radical departure from traditional forms of historiography. 2.2.1  Poststructuralist Postmodernism Poststructuralist postmodernism began to flourish during the 1960s as the influence of structuralist postmodernism had waned.29 One of the things that set the two positions apart was their approach toward historical methodology. The latter was able to critique modernism without significant revision to the epistemological categories that undergirded history-writing. The poststructuralist approach, however, called for a much more radical departure from the modernist perspective. In an effort to prevent the calamities, which resulted from the desire for progress and truth, poststructuralist postmodernists struck at the very heart of modernism by denying that the world contains any intrinsic meaning and by challenging the claim of universal truth. The world, as they envisioned it, lacks permanence; it is always in constant flux. Any meaning or truth claims are assigned by hegemonic forces. The poststructuralist postmodernist position has impacted the wider field of historical studies in important ways, and through its influence, a variety of critical approaches toward history have been introduced (e.g., deconstructionist, feminist, postcolonial, etc.). In such a brief space, it would be impossible to fully capture its significance. Our concern in 28

29

Fred W. Burnett, “Historiography,” in Handbook of Postmodern Biblical Interpretation (ed. A. K. M. Adam; St. Louis, MO: Chalice, 2000) 106–112 (109). At the same time, the postmodernist approach toward history is not a prescription for an alternative historiographic method; instead, it is primarily a critique of existing ideas and practices. As noted by Lawrence Stone, “it is impossible to think of a major historical work written from a thoroughly postmodernist perspective and using postmodernist language and vocabulary” (“History and Postmodernism III,” Past and Present 135 [1992] 189–194 [191]). For a basic introduction to poststructuralism, see Madan Sarup, An Introductory Guide to Post-Structuralism and Postmodernism (2nd edn.; Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 1993); Catherine Belsey, Poststructuralism: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). On the rise of poststructuralist postmodernism, see Allan Megill, Prophets of Extremity: Nietzsche, Heidegger, Foucault, Derrida (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1985); Art Berman, From the New Criticism to Deconstruction: The Reception of Structuralism and PostStructuralism (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1988).

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this section, however, is somewhat more limited. We are interested in the application of poststructuralist postmodernist ideas to the question of historiographical epistemology, which has led some scholars to deny the possibility that historiography can still be carried out in a traditional sense. What is important about this approach is that similar theoretical sentiments appear to be reflected – at least, implicitly – in the study of the Teacher of Righteousness. 2.2.2  Challenging the Tenets of Scientific Historiography Poststructuralist postmodernism posed a significant threat to traditional forms of historiography. Most important was the challenge that was leveled against the epistemological foundation upon which the task of history-writing had previously been performed. For those who used this position to undermine traditional views, the first step was to demonstrate the fictitious nature of historical representation by emphasizing the constructed nature of narrative. Historians had long debated the role of narrative in historiography. With history taking on a more scientific form, the field became divided over the extent to which historical “facts” should be adorned with ornamentation and rhetorical flourish; but regardless of how the past was recounted, all traditional historians agreed that history and fiction represented two categorically distinct types of discourse. In 1967, strong objections were raised against this view by Roland Barthes. He argued that historical discourse cannot be distinguished from fictional discourse in terms of its relationship to reality.30 The basis for his argument was the semiotic contrast between signifier and referent. According to Barthes, “historical discourse does not follow the real, it merely signifies it.” Despite this ontological distinction, historians commonly treat the signifier (historical discourse) as the true image of reality, a process that Barthes described as “the reality effect.”31

Roland Barthes, “Le discours de l’histoire,” Social Science Information 6 (1967) 65–75. This work was later translated as Roland Barthes, “The Discourse of History,” in The Rustle of Language (New York: Hill and Wang, 1986) 127–140. 31 Barthes, “The Discourse of History,” 139. Cf. also idem, “L’effet de réel,” Communications 11 (1968) 84–89; Frank R. Ankersmit, The Reality Effect in the Writing of History: The Dynamics of Historiographical Topology (Mededelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen 52,1; Amsterdam: NoordHollandsche, 1989). 30

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The case set forth by Barthes led many to rethink the constructed nature of the historical narrative.32 In the wake of Barthes’ initial challenge, one of the most influential scholars who addressed the issue of historical narrativity was Hayden White.33 Throughout his numerous contributions to historical theory, White consistently emphasized that historiography is a narrative that finds its basis not in the reality of the past, but in the literary invention of the historian.34 In other words, he argued that narrativity emerges from the historian’s attempt to represent historical reality, and that it is not part of the reality itself. All decisions to assign causal relationships to events or to attribute significance to a given situation flow out of the narrative choices made by the historian.35 Thus, he described historical narratives as “verbal fictions, the content of which are as much invented as found and the forms of which have more in common with their counterparts in literature than they have with those in the sciences.”36 This constructive nature For a postmodern review of how narrativity has been treated in historical discussion, see Hans Kellner, “Narrativity in History: Post-Structuralism and Since,” History and Theory 26 (1987) 1–29. 33 Some of his most important works on the subject include: Hayden V. White, “The Historical Text as Literary Artifact,” Clio 3 (1974) 277–303, reprinted in Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978) 81–100; idem, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth Century Europe (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973); idem, “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality,” Critical Inquiry 7 (1980) 5–27; idem, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987); idem, “Historical Emplotment and the Problem of Truth,” in Probing the Limits of Representation: Nazism and the “Final Solution” (ed. S. Friedländer; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992) 37–53; idem, “Historiography as Narration,” in Telling Facts: History and Narration in Psychoanalysis (ed. J. H. Smith; Psychiatry and the Humanities 13; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992) 284–299. 34 Cf. Hans Kellner, Language and Historical Representation: Getting the Story Crooked (Rhetoric of the Human Sciences; Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989) 24: “Historians do not ‘find’ the truths of past events; they create events from a seamless flow, and invent meanings that produce patterns within that flow.” 35 For more on the narrative construction of historiography from a postmodernist perspective, see Frank R. Ankersmit, Narrative Logic: A Semantic Analysis of the Historian’s Language (Martinus Nijhoff Philosophy Library 7; The Hague: Nijhoff, 1983); idem, History and Tropology: The Rise and Fall of Metaphor (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994); Alun Munslow, Narrative and History (Theory and History; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). 36 White, “The Historical as Literary Artifact,” 82. Cf. idem, “The Burden of History,” History and Theory 5 (1966) 111–134, where he argues that history is an art rather than a science. 32

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of historiography means that even the most objective historical narrative is also a literary discourse, and as such, must be judged not according to its reflection of past reality, but on the basis of its aesthetic and moral qualities.37 The poststructural narrativist approach toward history held out important implications for the representation of the past and the truth claims that were made about it. Historians had traditionally expressed confidence about the possibility of creating a direct link to the actual past by objectively applying the critical methods of historiography. Most believed that, through the rules of inference and causality, their historical representations could accurately reflect the meaning of the past without significant distortion being introduced by the perspectives and language choices of the historian. But with postmodernists pointing out the constructed nature of historical narrative (including the source materials on which historical reconstruction is based), this correspondence view of truth had seemingly lost its referential ability. Without direct access to the actual past, there would be no standard against which to judge the accuracy of historical representations. The difficulty (if not, the impossibility) of accurately representing the past becomes apparent when the “facts” of history are discussed. When postmodern historians stress the constructed nature of the historical narrative, they do not intend to deny that certain discrete (or atomic) facts can be known about persons and events from the past. Most admit that something happened at a certain time and at a specific place involving particular individuals; yet, they will point out that history involves more than just what happened in the past.38 History also seeks to uncover how events happened, why they happened, and the meaning attached to them. The claim of postmodernists is that these latter questions are not inherently bound up within the events themselves.39 Meaning, structure, and causality must be attributed to (rather than discovered in) the past, as indicated by the fact that historians “always have several narrative White, Metahistory, xii. See, e.g., Hayden V. White, “The Question of Narrative in Contemporary Historical Theory,” History and Theory 23 (1984) 1–33 (22); Frank R. Ankersmit, “Reply to Professor Zagorin,” History and Theory 29 (1990) 275–296 (277–278); Keith Jenkins, Re-thinking History (Routledge Classics; London: Routledge, 2003) 40–44; Donnelly and Norton, Doing History, 54–55. 39 Jenkins, Re-thinking History, 41: “There is no method of establishing incorrigible meanings; all facts to be meaningful need embedding in interpretive readings that obviously contain them but which do not simply somewhat arise from them.” Cf. also idem, “Introduction: On Being Open about Our Closures,” in The Postmodern History Reader (ed. K. Jenkins; London: Routledge, 1997) 1–30 (10). 37 38

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options when [they] describe past happenings.”40 To be meaningful, facts must be arranged in a particular order and assigned specific relationships within the context of a narrative plot. Further, to create coherence, these facts must relate to other information that is either not found in, or only implied by, the extant evidence.41 What is more, the problem goes beyond simply the role of the historian in creatively representing the past. The constructed nature of the historical narrative also has an important bearing on the evidence from which the “facts” are drawn. As Keith Jenkins points out, “the world/the past comes to us always already as stories and … we cannot get out of these stories (narratives) to check if they correspond to the real world/ past, because these ‘always already’ narratives constitute ‘reality’.”42 This means that any reflection on, or narration of, the past within the primary source materials also represents literary and rhetorical mediation. So, rather than being direct (although unconnected) reflections of reality, which must be pieced together into a coherent story, the sources of historical investigation are themselves constructed literary discourses on a past reality. According to these postmodernist historians, therefore, “[i]nstead of regarding attested evidence as akin to truth,” it should be view as “merely evidence for the possibility of truth.”43 For some postmodern historians, these developments have significantly impacted the pursuit of traditional forms of history. After the epistemological foundations of scientific history-writing were called into question, they began to cast doubt upon the possibility that the past could actually be known and studied. Some have even advocated the “end of history,”44 meaning that traditional forms of “scientific” investigation Alun Munslow, The New History (Harlow: Pearson, 2003) 153. Robert F. Berkhofer, Beyond the Great Story: History as Text and Discourse (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1995) 53: “The problem with historical facts, as with histories themselves, is that they are constructions and interpretations of the past. Evidence is not fact until given meaning in accordance with some framework or perspective.” Cf. also Keith Jenkins, On “What Is History?”: From Carr and Elton to Rorty and White (London: Routledge, 1995) 19. 42 Jenkins, Re-thinking History, 11. 43 Munslow, Narrative and History, 117 (original emphasis). 44 See, e.g., Keith Jenkins, Why History? Ethics and Postmodernity (London: Routledge, 1999) 1; idem,“The End of History,” The Philosopher’s Magazine 20 (2002) 46–48; idem, “Ethical Responsibility and the Historian: On the Possible End of a History ‘of a Certain Kind’,” History and Theory 43 (2004) 43–60; idem, “Postmodernity, the End of History, and Frank Ankersmit,” in The Philosophy of History: Talks Given at the Institute of Historical Research, London, 2000–2006 (ed. A. L. Macfie; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006) 138–154. 40

41

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into the past are no longer feasible and that such an approach toward history needs to be abandoned. 2.2.3  Responses to the Postmodern Critique Among traditional historians, the postmodern critique has been met with mixed reviews. While its impact within the field cannot be denied (see Section 2.3), few have been convinced that postmodernist perspectives require the abandonment of scientific forms of historiography. In fact, a number of historians have sought to defend this approach against the objections that have been raised.45 We will focus, in particular, on the way that traditional historians have responded to the challenges surrounding epistemology. One of the primary areas at which the rejoinders of traditional historians have been directed is the (over)emphasis that is placed on the constructed nature of the historical narrative. What some have argued is that by claiming that the past contains no inherent narrative, no cause–effect relationships, no meaningful events, and that every emplotment is created by the historian, the narrative form of history is equated with a fictionalized account in that it is unable to represent the “truth” of the past. Such an argument, they contend, is beset by a number of problems.46

45

46

See, e.g., Perez Zagorin, “Historiography and Postmodernism: Reconsiderations,” History and Theory 29 (1990) 263–274; idem, “History, the Referent, and Narrative: Reflections on Postmodernism Now,” History and Theory 38 (1999) 1–24; Geoffrey R. Elton, Return to Essentials: Some Reflections on the Present State of Historical Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Keith Windschuttle, The Killing of History: How a Discipline Is Being Murdered by Literary Critics and Social Theorists (2nd edn.; Paddington: Macleay, 1996); C. Behan McCullagh, The Truth of History (New York: Routledge, 1998); Richard J. Evans, In Defence of History (2nd edn.; London: Granta, 1999); Gertrude Himmelfarb, The New History and the Old: Critical Essays and Reappraisals (2nd edn.; Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004). For a critique of this position, see Leon Pompa, “Narrative Form, Significance and Historical Knowledge,” in La Philosophie de l’histoire et la pratique historienne d’aujourd’hui (ed. D. Carr; Collection Philosophica 23; Ottawa: Editions de l’Université d’Ottawa, 1982) 143–157; idem, “Narrative and the Real World: An Argument for Continuity,” History and Theory 25 (1986) 117–131; idem, Time, Narrative, and History (Studies in Phenomenology and Existential Philosophy; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1986); Noël Carroll, “Interpretation, History and Narrative,” The Monist 73 (1990) 134–166; Herta Nagl-Docekal, “Läßt sich die Geschichtsphilosophie tropologisch fundieren? Kritische Anmerkungen zu Hayden White,” Österreichische Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaften 4 (1993) 466–476.

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According to Chris Lorenz, one of the most notable drawbacks of this position is that it rests on an antiquated positivistic foundation. He notes that those who adopt this particular postmodern perspective attempt to set their views in opposition to empiricism. To accomplish this, they espouse an “either-or logic” toward epistemology: either historical knowledge is grounded on the foundation of empirical evidence, or such knowledge claims are arbitrary. This creates a positivistic dichotomy, Lorenz argues. As the situation is presented in some postmodernists treatments, if the narrative accounts of historians are not empirically-based with language that is transparent and referential, then they must be imaginative, literary constructs without any basis in reality.47 The irony of this argumentation, Lorenz points out, is that by identifying “all interpretation with imposition, imaginary construction, and literary invention,” this position “presupposes the possibility of knowledge without interpretation,”48 a defining characteristic of empiricism that has long been abandoned. “As historians have increasingly recognized over the past half-century, there is no clean distinction between ‘facts’ and ‘interpretation,’ in which the latter emerges as self-evident or is constructed out of the undisputed raw materials of the former.”49 What this suggests to many traditional historians, therefore, is that postmodern narrativism rules out the possibility that a historical narrative could be both accurate and an interpretation.50 This situation would

47

48

49

50

See Chris Lorenz, “Can Histories Be True? Narrativism, Positivism, and the ‘Metaphorical Turn’,” History and Theory 37 (1998) 309–329 (313–314). Lorenz, “Can Histories Be True?” 314–315 (original emphasis). For this reason, Hayden White has been labeled “a closet empiricist” (see Carroll, “Interpretation, History and Narrative,” 148). Chrisopher R. Browning, “German Memory, Judicial Interrogation, and Historical Reconstruction: Writing Perpetrator History from Postwar Testimony,” in Probing the Limits of Representation: Nazism and the “Final Solution” (ed. S. Friedländer; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992) 22–36 (29). Cf. Chris Lorenz, “History: Theories and Methods,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences (eds. N. J. Smelser and P. B. Baltes; vol. 10; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001) 6869–6876: “Postempiricism… has dissolved the presupposed absolute contrast between a ‘subjective’ kind of knowledge, based on interpretation… and an ‘objective’ kind of knowledge, based on empirical observation and experiment, not in need of interpretation” (6875). Historians have reached this conclusion through various means. As Wulf Kansteiner notes, they “have insisted on past reality as the first cause of their writing, or argued in favor of the conception of historical truth as a collectively produced, intersubjectively valid epistemological category. Moreover, they have maintained that historians

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be surprising given that most narrativists acknowledge the truth claims of individual statements within a historical narrative, despite their denial that the narrative, as a whole, can represent a true representation of the past (see above). As such, traditional historians have pointed out that such an approach overlooks the fact that “the difference between individual statements and complete narratives is . . . a difference in degree and not in kind.”51 Both are representations of reality, which can be either more or less accurate reflections. “Neither at the level of individual descriptive statements nor at the level of the narrative organization of those statements is it possible to disentangle the referential, descriptive from the metaphorical, point-of-view function, because all linguistic representations of reality at the same time constitute points of view at reality.”52 Traditional historians have also noted that the comparison between historical narratives and fiction is further undermined by the constraints that limit how the past can be represented. Unlike those who write fiction, historians are not free to recount the past in any way they choose. One important constraint on historical representation is the actual past itself. In some cases, particular reconstructions of the past would simply be illegitimate. This is the case with the Holocaust. While some narrativists have attempted to explain the representation of the Holocaust in a way that maintains the freedom of the historian,53 most traditional historians find such construals unconvincing.54 It is troublesome enough, do not deal with unprocessed historical data. In their mind the source materials contains the narrative rationalization of past agents which represents one relevant version of the past and which through the hindsight and the questions of the historian can be rendered into a historically relevant and truthful account” (“Hayden White’s Critique of the Writing of History,” History and Theory 32 [1993] 273–295 [287]). 51 Lorenz, “Can Histories Be True?” 324–325 (original emphasis). Cf. also McCullagh, The Truth of History, 62–82. 52 Lorenz, “Can Histories Be True?” 325 (original emphasis). 53 The question of the Holocaust in light of narrative emplotment has been taken up by White in a number of publications, e.g., Hayden V. White, “The Politics of Historical Interpretation: Discipline and De-sublimation,” Critical Inquiry 9 (1982) 113–137; idem, “Historical Emplotment,” 37–53; idem, “The Modernist Event,” in The Persistence of History: Cinema, Television, and the Modern Event (ed. V. C. Sobchack; New York: Routledge, 1996) 17–38. Cf. also Robert Braun, “The Holocaust and Problems of Historical Representation,” History and Theory 33 (1994) 172–197. 54 For a critique of White’s theory of narrative emplotment as it relates to the Holocaust, see Carlo Ginzburg, “Just One Witness,” in Probing the Limits of Representation: Nazism and the “Final Solution” (ed. S. Friedlander; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992) 82–96; Martin Jay, “Of Plots, Witnesses, and Judgments,” in Probing the Limits of Representation: Nazism and the “Final Solution” (ed. S. Friedlander; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992) 97–107.

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they note, that this position, if extended to its limits, would allow a morally reprehensible event like the Holocaust to be “emplotted” as a comedy. But on a theoretical level, there is an even more significant problem: narrativist historiography, if carried to the extreme, would attribute no impact to the events of the past. Most historians recognize that events in and of themselves have no inherent meaning, and that it is the perception of past events that endures; not the past itself. Yet, in another respect, they also point out that events of the past exert (varying degrees of) influence on the present, shaping how they are perceived and how they can (and cannot) be recounted. After the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, for instance, there were many families whose lives were dramatically changed after losing loved ones. It was not just that their perception of the event that caused them to view 9/11 in a particular way. The past has left some residue on their lives so that it shapes how they recount this event. A further consideration that traditional historians have used to argue against “the unfettered freedom of historians to narrativize arbitrarily” is “the community of others that reads and judges their work.”55 Historians, it is pointed out, are able to assess certain histories as more plausible than others because they constantly evaluate the reconstruction on the basis of the sources. If all historical narratives were literary constructions that could only be distinguished on moral or aesthetic grounds, then why would historians need to bother with research? Why would they need to be concerned with the source materials? These questions have been raised by historians to argue that the truth claims of historical writing are impacted by historical research.56 As a community that is immersed in the traces of the past, historians keep one another accountable by demanding that truth claims be consistent with this evidence. Finally, traditional historians have argued that this extreme postmodern approach toward historiography ultimately breaks down at the conceptual level. More specifically, they note that such a narrativist position is grounded in the very category it seeks to deny. This is evident in two ways, according to Lorenz.57 First, the argument that all historical narratives are literary fictions (rather than representations of the past that reflect varying degrees of

55 56 57

Jay, “Of Plots, Witnesses, and Judgments,” 105. See Lorenz, “Can Histories be True?” 327. Chris Lorenz, “‘You Got Your History, I Got Mine’: Some Reflections on Truth and Objectivity in History,” Österreichische Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaften 10 (1999) 563–584 (569).

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accuracy) is grounded in the assumption that the past can be (and, in this case, is) known; otherwise there would be no basis from which to make such a claim.58 Historians must be able to know something about the past to conduct any reasonable discussion about it. Second, “notions like fiction, myth and ideology only make sense if they contrast with something such as fact, science and truth. All these concepts derive their meaning from their opposites and therefore presuppose each other.”59 What this means, according to traditional historians, is that if all historical narratives are fictional, the category of fiction becomes meaningless and incoherent.

2.3  Scientific Historiography after the Postmodern Critique While the postmodern critique has not forced scholars to completely abandon a scientific form of historiography, these criticisms have changed the field in a number of important ways. Among them has been the elimination of any remaining vestiges of antiquated empiricism and objectivism, which remained from earlier approaches. It has reminded historians of the importance of emphasizing the ontological distinction between the actual past (which is not recoverable) and the reconstructions of the past (which result from modern historical investigation). Postmodern perspectives have also shaped the expectations and aims of history, accentuating the constructive nature of the historian’s craft and, thus, the tentative nature of historical conclusions. Historians have been reminded that, at best, they can make plausible hypotheses about what might have occurred given a critical analysis of the relevant materials. But more than anything, the postmodern critique has led many historians “to rethink their epistemological presuppositions and commitments, including their notions of truth and objectivity.”60

58

59 60

Cf. also Barry Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” in Routledge International Handbook of Memory Studies (eds. A. L. Tota and T. Hagen; London: Routledge, 2016) 9–21: “if we do not know the past as Leonard von Ranke… wished to know it, wie es eigentlich gewesen (as it essentially was), how could we know that a given representation of it is fabricated rather than authentic?” (16). Lorenz, “‘Reflections on Truth and Objectivity in History,’” 569. Chris Lorenz, “Scientific Historiography,” in A Companion to the Philosophy of History and Historiography (ed. A. Tucker; Blackwell Companions to Philosophy 41; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) 393–403 (402). He continues by noting how these concepts have been reassessed: “Truth cannot be conceptualized as a simple correspondence of statements to reality as in old pre-war theories of truth, and objectivity cannot be conceived of in terms free of every prejudgment, bias, perspective or prejudice or in the Rankean terms of wie es eigentlich gewesen.”

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2.3.1  Objectivity within Historiography In historiography, objectivity relates to one’s ability to represent the past “as it really happened.” For those who practiced a Rankean form of scientific historiography, objectivity was set in contrast to subjective forms of history-writing in which bias and personal inclinations impacted how the past was represented.61 Most were confident that through awareness and the proper detachment objectivity could be achieved. Yet, there were very few who pursued objectivity in an absolute form (that is, as “a view from nowhere”). It was generally recognized that such a “God’s eye perspective” was impossible to achieve, and therefore, most were content to move as far as possible in the direction of such an ideal.62 Within the postmodern critique, however, even the pursuit of objectivity is viewed as a misguided endeavor. Many take a relativist approach toward the question in which they view the production of knowledge as conditioned by, and thus relative to, a given culture. According to this approach, a person – even the most dedicated historian – is unable to transcend his or her perspectival limitations in order to view the world in a way other than their own. As a result, all historical reconstructions are value-laden and culturally situated accounts of the past. Even though this conclusion is accurate, it is important not to press it too far by transforming “the enabling conditions of interpretation into the limiting conditions of interpretation.”63 That is to say, we should not turn a problem (viz. the difficulty of interpreting alternative points of view) into a logical impossibility. The key is to understand what is meant by objectivity. Objectivity should not be understood as a selfless passivity, which results from removing all of one’s personal beliefs and commitments; nor should it be construed as a commitment to neutrality devoid of any expressed views or strong feelings about a given subject.64 It is certainly

For the development of this perspective, see Novick, That Noble Dream, 21–46; Robert Harrison et al., “Methodology: ‘Scientific’ History and the Problem of Objectivity,” in Making History: An Introduction to the History and Practices of a Discipline (eds. P. Lambert and P. Schofield; New York: Routledge, 2004) 26–37. 62 Allan Megill, “Four Senses of Objectivity,” in Rethinking Objectivity (ed. A. Megill; PostContemporary Interventions; Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994) 1–20 (2–3). 63 Lorenz, “‘Reflections on Truth and Objectivity in History,” 574. 64 Those who associate objectivity with neutrality include: Maurice Mandelbaum, The Anatomy of Historical Knowledge (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977); Raymond Martin, “Objectivity and Meaning in Historical Studies: Toward a Post-Analytic View,” History and Theory 32 (1993) 25–50 (39). 61

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a positive and important step for a historian to identify and then work to manage factors that contribute to his or her own personal bias. Various criteria have been suggested for overcoming such limitations.65 In the end, however, the process of writing history requires making evaluative decisions concerning the evidence in question, and thus, to some degree, historiography entails subjectivity. Nevertheless, “it is far from clear that bias should be a problem if value judgments are an inevitable and necessary part of historiographic inquiry.”66 Rather than focusing on objectivity in an absolute form, a better alternative might be to view it as a regulative ideal.67 From this perspective, objectivity could be defined as the commitment to an open-minded approach, which respects the rules of the discipline and interacts meaningfully with alternative perspectives.68 This form of mental enterprise, as pointed out by Thomas L. Haskell, requires detachment, which he describes as “an undeniably ascetic capacity to achieve some distance from one’s own spontaneous perceptions and convictions, to imagine how the world appears in another’s eyes, to

65

66

67

68

See C. Behan McCullagh, “Bias in Historical Description, Interpretation, and Explanation,” History and Theory 39 (2000) 39–66 (54–59). Paul Newall, “Historiographic Objectivity,” in A Companion to the Philosophy of History and Historiography (ed. A. Tucker; Blackwell Companions to Philosophy 41; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) 172–180 (173; original emphasis). Cf. Patrick Gardiner, “Problems of the Philosophy of History,” in The Oxford Companion to Philosophy (ed. T. Honderich; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995) 364–367: “To maintain that history can … be considered to have an irreducibly evaluative dimension is not, of course, equivalent to suggesting that it is subjective in the pejorative sense of implying personal idiosyncrasy or prejudice” (366). Michael Stanford, An Introduction to the Philosophy of History (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1998) 55. Cf. Marek Tamm, “Truth, Objectivity and Evidence in History Writing,” Journal of the Philosophy of History 8 (2014) 265–290, who defines objectivity as “a regulative epistemic virtue in the modern discipline of history which guarantees plausibility and trustworthiness to the historian’s ‘truth pact’” with the readers (289). See further Herta Nagl-Docekal, Die Objektivität der Geschichtswissenschaft: Systematische Untersuchungen zum wissenschaftlichen Status der Historie (Überlieferung und Aufgabe 22; Wien: Oldenbourg, 1982) 227–243. Some have similarly voiced their support for objectivity by emphasizing the impact of meaningful interaction with the views of others (see, e.g., Lionel Rubinoff, “Historicity and Objectivity,” in Objectivity, Method and Point of View: Essays in the Philosophy of History [eds. W. J. van der Dussen and L. Rubinoff; Philosophy of History and Culture 6; Leiden: Brill, 1991] 134–153; Mark Bevir, “Objectivity in History,” History and Theory 33 [1994] 328–344). However, sometimes this comparative approach is offered at the expense of historical conclusions that are grounded in the reality of the past.

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experimentally adopt perspectives that do not come naturally,” and perhaps most difficult, “to develop… a view of the world in which one’s own self stands not at the center, but appears merely as one object among many.”69 The goal of any historical study should be to provide an objective representation of the past. This does not mean that historians are making any claim toward neutrality or that they have somehow removed all bias from their presentations. It is instead meant to suggest that historians can lay claim to genuine knowledge about the past through the regulative procedures of the historical discipline as their conclusions are “subjected to permanent disciplinary self-correction based primarily on the accumulation of new evidence, new hypotheses and new arguments.”70 In other words, any conclusions that are drawn from historical inquiry should be viewed as provisional and able to be both supplemented and corrected.71 2.3.2  Representation and Truth The nature of the source materials and the irretrievability of the past set the epistemological boundaries of historical study. Rather than seeking to reconstruct the past, the goal of all historical investigation is the construction of history. This distinction, as Jens Schröter has noted, “expresses the epistemologically relevant insight that [the] past and history are not simply identical with each other, but rather history represents

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Thomas L. Haskell, “Objectivity Is Not Neutrality: Rhetoric vs. Practice in Peter Novick’s That Noble Dream,” History and Theory 29 (1990) 129–157 (132). According to Friedrich Nietzsche, objectivity is attainable only through a perspectival commitment. For him, objectivity should be “understood not as ‘contemplation without interest’ (which is, as such, a non-concept and an absurdity), but as having in our power the ability to engage and disengage our ‘pros’ and ‘cons’: we can use the difference in perspectives and affective interpretations for knowledge” (On the Genealogy of Morality [trans. C. Diethe; Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006] 87; original emphasis). Tamm, “Truth, Objectivity and Evidence in History Writing,” 289. Cf. Michael J. Salevouris with Conal Furay, The Methods and Skills of History: A Practical Guide (4th edn.; Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015) 17: “The best the historian can provide, even under ideal conditions, is a partial sketch of a vanished past.” On the limited and hypothetical nature of historical conclusions, see Beverly C. Southgate, History: What and Why? Ancient, Modern, and Postmodern Perspectives (2nd edn.; New York: Routledge, 2006) 131–134.

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a perspectival, selective relation to the past.”72 What is important about this consideration is that it forces historians to recognize the constructive nature of their efforts.73 At this point, it should go without saying that any historiographic representation, despite the most critical and comprehensive investigation, will inevitably reflect – at least, to some extent – the interpretive perspectives of the historian. It will involve the selection and emphasis of certain facts to the neglect of others, with an emplotment of events according to the arrangement that the historian finds convincing. Nevertheless, it is still possible for historians to set forth a representative account of reality that accurately reflects the past. In this way, we affirm the validity of the correspondence theory of truth. The key is to avoid the type of naïve realism that marked previous historical approaches toward the Teacher. Working from this perspective, scholars attempted to justify the accuracy of their historical narrative based on its direct and transparent representation of past reality. An alternative to this approach is a form of internal realism.74 Such an approach suggests that “[h]istorical accounts may claim the status of

Jens Schröter, From Jesus to the New Testament: Early Christian Theology and the Origin of the New Testament Canon (trans. W. Coppins; Baylor-Mohr Siebeck Studies in Early Christianity; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2013) 98 n. 12. Cf. Hans-Jürgen Goertz, Unsichere Geschichte. Zur Theorie historischer Referentialität (Stuttgart: Reclam, 2001) 37; Reinhart Koselleck, Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten (8th edn.; Suhrkamp-Taschenbuch Wissenschaft 757; Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2013) 85–91. 73 Cf. Chris Lorenz, “History: Forms of Presentation, Discourses, and Functions,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences (eds. N. J. Smelser and P. B. Baltes; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001) 6836–6842: “history cannot be directly presented, but is represented by the historian in language. This emphasis has roots in an awareness that historical representations are not mirror images of history itself. It is usually accompanied by an awareness of the fundamental plurality of historical reconstructions” (6836; original emphasis). 74 The case for an amended form of internal realism has been set forth in historical studies by Chris Lorenz, “Historical Knowledge and Historical Reality: A Plea for ‘Internal Realism’,” History and Theory 33 (1994) 297–327; idem, Konstruktion der Vergangenheit. Eine Einführung in die Geschichtstheorie (Beiträge zur Geschichtskultur 13; Köln: Böhlau, 1997). The idea of internal realism is adopted from the philosopher Hilary Putnam, who developed this approach in the following works: Hilary Putnam, Reason, Truth and History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); idem, The Many Faces of Realism (LaSalle, IL: Open Court, 1987); idem, Representation and Reality (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1988). It should be noted, however, that Putnam later rejected internal realism in favor of natural realism, see idem, “Sense, Nonsense, and the Senses: An Inquiry into the Powers of the Human Mind,” Journal of Philosophy 91 (1994) 445–517.

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knowledge … because they tell us what the evidence entitles us to say about the past.”75 Since the traces of the past direct and constrain interpretation to varying degrees, the validity of historical conclusions are relative to their explanatory merit. Or, to put it another way, a historical representation is to be judged on the basis of whether it provides the most plausible explanation of the available evidence when compared to other historical reconstructions.76 In this way, “the guiding principle of historians is not truth per se, nor indeed the whole truth, but an acceptable truth.”77 As postmodernists remind us, knowledge of the past, which is certain and complete, is out of the reach of historians. But contrary to the approach of some postmodernist historiographers, this situation need not lead us to conclude that all knowledge of the past is impossible.78 Our inability to recover the totality of the past does not invalidate an attempt to understand some portion of the time before now. To focus on our inability is to fall victim to the holistic fallacy, which is the assumption that we must know everything before we can know anything.79 Likewise, there is no need to abstain from historical inquiry merely because the conclusions that are reached cannot be absolute claims to knowledge. Agnosticism is not the remedy for historical positivism.80 75

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Robert Anchor, “The Quarrel between Historians and Postmodernists,” History and Theory 38 (1999) 111–121 (116). Cf. Lorenz, “Scientific Historiography,” 402: “all judgments of the representational adequacy of reconstructions of the past are relative to other reconstructions” (original emphasis). Chris Lorenz, “Review of R. J. B. Bosworth, Explaining Auschwitz and Hiroshima: History Writing and the Second World War 1945–1990,” History and Theory 35 (1996) 234–252 (251). Lorenz, Konstruktion der Vergangenheit, 84. On this problem, see David Hackett Fischer, Historians’ Fallacies: Toward a Logic of Historical Thought (New York: Harper & Row, 1970) 65–68. Cf. Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” 16: “To say that history and memory are more ‘selective’ and less ‘objective’ than commonly believed is to make a useless statement, because partial (selective) knowledge is not synonymous with faulty knowledge. Failure to recognize the reality of selected events and persons because they are selected, or because existing data allow for incomplete knowledge, utterly confounds the relation among history, memory, and truth” (original emphasis). Michael Labahn, “Historical Criticism (or Gospels as Sources),” in The Routledge Encyclopedia of the Historical Jesus (ed. C. A. Evans; London: Routledge, 2010) 280–286 (284). The same sentiment applies to the historical investigation of the Scrolls, cf. John J. Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 18 (2011) 295–315: “To say that this search [for historical allusions in the Scrolls] has often been carried out in a naïve manner is not to say that it cannot be carried out responsibly at all” (298–299).

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2.4  Historiography and the Teacher Materials In many ways, the postmodern impact on historiography mirrors the recent treatment of the Teacher of Righteousness in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship. Although few discussions have actually been informed by the theoretical concerns of postmodern historiography,81 scholars have, nonetheless, stressed the constructed nature of historical narratives and, in turn, have been led to question the value of traditional historical approaches.82 What is important to recognize, however, is that the recent developments within the philosophy of history contribute important perspective to this discussion. They reveal that it is possible for a historian to navigate between the objectivism of the Rankean scientific approach and the relativism that arises out of more radical forms of postmodernist narrativist historiography. As such, these developments provide an important justification for a historical approach toward the Teacher. But the recent epistemological discussion does more than simply establish that such a historical investigation can be pursued; it also provides direction for how this approach should be carried out. This new theoretical framework is particularly helpful in evaluating the ancient source

One of the few scholars who deals with the theoretical questions surrounding the impact of postmodernism on historiography is Maxine L. Grossman. She has produced a number of helpful studies on this topic, e.g., Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002); idem, “Roland Barthes and the Teacher of Righteousness: The Death of the Author of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. J. J. Collins and T. H. Lim; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 709–722; idem, “Is Ancient Jewish Studies (Still) Postmodern (Yet)?” CBR 13 (2015) 245–283 (255–262); cf. also idem, “Postmodern Questions and Sexuality Studies,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. G. J. Brooke and C. Hempel; London: T&T Clark, 2019) 246–256. 82 See, e.g., Philip R. Davies, In Search of “Ancient Israel” (2nd edn.; JSOTSup 148; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995) 3: “History is a narrative, in which happenings and people are turned into events and characters. This is true of our own memories, which select experiences and order them into a narrative sequence, selecting, interpreting and distorting. The result has a narrative form, and includes not just external events but internal feelings, impressions and value-judgments. Whenever we try to describe the past we indulge in story-telling. No story, and that includes the stories our memories generate, is ever an innocent or objective representation of the outside world. All story is fiction, and that must include historiography.” This perspective serves as the basis for Davies’ turn toward memory theory (see Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts [ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 31–46). 81

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materials. When these texts are assessed through the lens of emerging historiographic perspectives, new light is shed on their potential as historical sources as well as the nature of the information they provide. 2.4.1  The Historical Potential of the Ancient Sources The texts that record the memory of the Teacher present various ­ bstacles for historical investigation.83 Many of the documents are frago mentary, leaving interpreters to speculate about what they might have recorded in some instances. In the case of the pesharim, allusions to persons and events are only briefly scattered throughout the materials, and identities are often concealed by enigmatic sobriquets. Further, interpreters must proceed with an extra sense of caution because the commentaries “are not history in the normal sense of the word.”84 That is, the pesharim are intended to interpret the situation of the community through a historicized reading of the prophetic scriptures. This unique genre makes it difficult to separate literary-critical assessments from traditional historical-critical concerns. From a historical perspective, however, it is important not to place any unwarranted expectations on the Teacher materials. While the difficulties surrounding these texts cannot be denied, at the same time, they should not be exaggerated.85 It is crucial that the sources for the life of the Teacher be approached with a reasonable degree of critical expectancy so that their contribution can be properly appreciated. First, scholars must recognize the limitations of all historical source materials. Even if we possessed multiple biographies of the Teacher, our perspective would See Chapter 1. Jutta Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretations (eds. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; SBLSymS 30; Atlanta: SBL, 2005) 23–34 (27). 85 In their efforts to downplay the historical value of the pesharim, scholars often overlook their positive characteristics. Most notably, the commentaries lack many of the shortcomings of other ancient source materials. First, ancient texts are sometimes composed centuries after the events they record; whereas the pesharim were composed within a generation of the Teacher’s death (see Chapter 4). Second, ancient texts are often transmitted for many years through various communities under whose influence they are progressively altered; yet the pesharim remain within one relatively isolated community, whose history and interaction with the text came to an abrupt end; hence, the texts were preserved like a time capsule without further refraction and later reflection until their modern discovery. 83 84

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still be limited. Such narrative accounts of the Teacher’s life would not, and could not, be exhaustive. The effort to comprehensively capture his words and deeds on one ordinary day would have been an overwhelming task.86 As John Lewis Gaddis has pointed out, “a truly literal representation of any entity could only be the entity itself.”87 Second, scholars should not be too quick to dismiss the pesharim simply due to their literary character. The form and genre of the commentaries do not negate their potential for transmitting communal traditions about the Teacher (although they do make the historian’s task more complicated). In the ancient world – much like the present – collective memory was preserved through a variety of written media. “Biographical writing and historiography are,” as Alan Kirk reminds us, “obvious cases.” Yet, what is not to be overlooked is that “a community ‘arranges its social memory into different genres’ and nonhistory genres may in fact be suffused with memory.”88 Therefore, it is important not to construct such a narrow definition of a historical source89 that the value of the pesharim is diminished because they are unable to measure up to an elevated standard. Instead, we must attempt to read the commentaries as texts, which preserve mnemonic representations of the Teacher and, thus, hold out potential for modern historians. 86

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In his masterpiece Ulysses, James Joyce spends over 700 pages to document a single day in the lives of two ordinary people. John Lewis Gaddis, The Landscape of History: How Historians Map the Past (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) 28. Cf. Donnelly and Norton, Doing History, 104: “Even if we could somehow access the past free from our interests and assumptions we could not adequately represent it in a narrative form that somehow corresponds to the past because the past is just too big to describe. It exists as an infinity of events and the historian has to decide (on the basis of their own interests and cultural needs) which aspects are of significance.” Alan Kirk, “Social and Cultural Memory,” in Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (eds. A. Kirk and T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 52; Atlanta: SBL, 2005) 1–24 (9), citing James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (New Perspectives on the Past; Oxford: Blackwell, 1992) 78. A case in point is oríkì (oral praise poetry) in Yoruba culture, see Karin Barber, “Interpreting Oríkì as History and as Literature,” in Discourse and Its Disguises: The Interpretation of African Oral Texts (eds. K. Barber and P. F. d. M. Farias; Birmingham University African Studies Series 1; Birmingham: University of Birmingham, 1989) 13–23. On the definition of a historical source, see Martha C. Howell and Walter Prevenier, From Reliable Sources: An Introduction to Historical Methods (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001) 17–42. On ways of dealing with the epistemological and procedural difficulties inherent in studying history and memory in a variety of source materials, see Joan Tumblety, ed., Memory and History: Understanding Memory as Source and Subject (Routledge Guides to Using Historical Sources; London: Routledge, 2013).

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2.4.2  The Perspectival Nature of the Ancient Sources Recognizing the potential of the Teacher materials also involves accounting for their perspectival character. One of the most common objections leveled against the relevant sources is their subjective nature. Secondary literature is filled with statements that raise concerns about the historical value of these texts because they fail to provide an “objective” account of the persons and events they describe. The following quotations are offered to illustrate this line of criticism: “In this light, a reading of the Damascus Document tells us more about what the covenant community thought of itself, or could potentially understand itself to be, than it tells us, in any objective way, about ‘what really happened’ in the history of this community.”90 “… even if texts such as the pesharim are primarily attempts to relate history…, there is no reason to assume that such a historical account would be objective and/or accurate.”91 The Qumran authors were not attempting “to offer an objective, true-to-life description of people,” but were simply providing “[r]andom references to historical events, sprinkled with highly subjective opinions.”92 “The pesharim provide us with the religious point of view of the community, not an objective account of the emergence of the community and its conflicts.”93 “The pesharim do not contain an objective presentation of history but describe the actual events as the members of the Qumran community perceived them.”94 “The term ‘historical’ should not be taken to imply that the Damascus Document, the Pesharim, or any other of the Qumran writings supply objective historical information about the Teacher of Righteousness.”95

Even those who place more emphasis on the historical value of the pesharim still hold up objectivity as the standard against which the Grossman, Reading for History, 209. Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls (LSTS 67; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 16–17 (original emphasis). 92 Edward Dąbrowa, “The Hasmoneans in the Light of the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages, and Cultures (eds. A. Lange et al.; VTSup 140; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 501–510 (509). 93 Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 184. 94 Lidija Novakovic, Raised from the Dead According to Scripture: The Role of Israel’s Scripture in the Early Christian Interpretations of Jesus’ Resurrection (Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies 12; London: Bloomsbury, 2012) 36 n. 147. 95 Pieter B. Hartog, “‘The Final Priests of Jerusalem’ and ‘The Mouth of the Priest’: Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” DSD 24 (2017) 1–22 (12 n. 38). 90

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texts must be measured. A case in point is James H. Charlesworth, who begins his study on the pesharim with the following methodological qualification: “any historical data obtained from the pesharim will not present us with objective historical data. We will be seeing history as perceived from within the Qumran Community.”96 While the emphasis on objectivity has served as an important corrective against anyone approaching the sources as an undistorted window into the actual past, contrary to the intentions of those who make such claims, the continued stress on these characteristics could potentially have a detrimental impact on the historiographical discussion. It could be taken to imply a(n) (unfulfilled) desire to achieve those very goals, which the postmodern critique of historiography has excluded. As the discussion of the Teacher materials continues, it is important for scholars to avoid holding up objectivity as an evaluative measurement. Such an approach makes the ideological character and interpretive categories of the Scrolls seem unusual, and thereby unnecessarily denigrates their value as historical materials. Furthermore, without some elaboration – which is rarely offered – the repeated emphasis on objectivity and factuality can also result in a false dichotomy between texts that provide objective, factual history and texts that evidence ideological bias.97 This gives the impression that the Scrolls somehow provide limited access to this ideal type of history, when in fact, this type of history simply does not exist. The discovery of raw facts was the 96

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James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002) 5. This contrast can already be seen in some approaches to the Scrolls. Before embarking on their sociological and liturgical study of Pesher Psalmsa, James H. Charlesworth and James D. McSpadden briefly consider the historical contribution of the commentary. In doing so, they pose the question, “Do the pesharim present history as fact – as incontrovertible and empirical truth? Or do the texts present ideology under the guise of history?” They recognize that “the distance between the two options is considerable,” and claim that “scholars [are left] to take up one side or another” (“The Sociological and Liturgical Dimensions of Psalm Pesher 1 (4QPPSa): Some Prolegomenous Reflections,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 1: Scripture and the Scrolls [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006] 317–349 [325]). As an alternative, they propose a median position: “Like ancient historiography, which often blends facts with ideas, the pesharim allow fact and idea to meet on intimate terms. More precisely, the pesharim filter all historical data through an ideological lens” (325–326; cf. Joan E. Taylor, The Essenes, the Scrolls, and the Dead Sea [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014] 20). This suggestion is ultimately unconvincing, however, because it allows each extreme to possess some validity, which is simply not the case (see further below). The same dichotomy is found in the treatment of the pesharim by Philip R. Davies, who notes, “The purpose of the pesharim was not to relate factual history but to make it plain that the foundation of the Yahad had been foretold and that its members therefore belonged within the divine plan” (“Historiography,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. G. J. Brooke and C. Hempel; London: T&T Clark, 2019] 228–236 [233–234]).

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aim of Rankean empiricism,98 and consequently, scholars must be careful that they are not inadvertently lending credence to an outdated approach. Moving forward, we must recognize that every source that records information about the past – whether it is a biographical narrative, poetry, or a scriptural commentary – does so by way of representation.99 That is, the account will necessarily be selective; the author will have chosen what he (or she?) believes is important to record and what to leave out.100 The information is presented in such a way as to represent persons and events according to certain social, political, or theological purposes – whether those purposes are implicit or explicit, or even unacknowledged.101 Further, authors will have assigned events causative relationships and attributed to them a sense of significance and meaning102 – all on the basis of later reflection.103 Therefore, to say that the information found in texts like the pesharim is not “objective” is a truism that rings hollow. Such would be the case for any account that attempts to represent the past.104 98

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For some historians, the search for “facts” within the historical sources is a pursuit that has now been abandoned (cf. E. H. Carr, What Is History? [2nd edn.; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1987] 12: “The belief in a hard core of historical facts existing objectively and independently of the historian is a preposterous fallacy”). They, instead, claim that “facts” are constructed – not discovered – by historians (see Jerzy Topolski, Methodology of History [trans. O. Wojtasiewicz; Synthese Library 88; Dordrecht: Holland/Boston, 1976] 219–238; Pierre Salmon, Histoire et critique [3rd edn.; Histoire, economie, societe; Bruxelles: Editions de l’Universite de Bruxelles, 1987] 46–48). This position needs slight nuancing, however. It is difficult to argue against the existence of discrete facts such as names, dates, and places. All this helps the historian understand what happened. How all of these individual statements of fact fit together (i.e., the meaning of history) is another issue. See Paul Ricoeur, Time and Narrative (vol. 3; trans. K. Blamey and D. Pellauer; Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1988) 157–160. On the selective nature of history, see David Lowenthal, The Past Is a Foreign Country – Revisited (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015) 336–340. Cf. also Gaddis, Landscape of History, 26–27. Jenkins, Re-thinking History, 21: “History is never for itself; it is always for someone… The fact that history per se is an ideological construct means that it is constantly being reworked and re-ordered by all those who are variously affected by power relationships.” Cf. Gordon Leff, History and Social Theory (London: Merlin, 1969) 97–98: “Some form of causal analysis is clearly indispensable to any attempt to relate events; just as the historian has to distinguish between chance and necessity so he has to decide upon the long-term and short-term factors governing any situation. But, like his categories, they are ultimately conceptual. They correspond to no empirically isolable entities and so cannot be empirically confirmed or refuted.” See further Jörn Rüsen, Grundzüge einer Historik, Bd. 1: Historische Vernunft. Die Grundlagen der Geschichtswissenschaft (Kleine Vandenhoeck 1489; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983) 58–84. See further Arthur C. Danto, Analytical Philosophy of History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965) 143–182. See Jacques Le Goff, History and Memory (trans. S. Randall and E. Claman; European Perspectives; New York: Columbia University Press, 1996) 112: “every document is a monument or a text, and it is never ‘pure,’ that is, never purely objective.”

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In order to advance the discussion, questions must be asked about the representations themselves: Who formulated them? How were they transmitted? Why were they preserved? It is these types of questions that will lead to more informed historical conclusions. 2.4.3  The Interpretive Categories of the Ancient Sources The importance of understanding what to expect from the ancient source materials also shapes how we should approach their interpretive categories. For years, scholars have stressed the need to examine the ideological perspective and literary character of the pesharim before engaging in historical investigation.105 By accounting for intertextual allusions, rhetorical techniques, and other literary features, it is believed that more informed historical conclusions can be drawn. While this approach is on target, what must be guarded against is any notion that literary criticism provides access to a historical core that would otherwise remain hidden beneath layers of ideological bias and interpretive accretions.106 According to this perspective, literary criticism is a vehicle for getting behind the interpretive categories in an effort to uncover information about the Teacher that is unencumbered by the perspectives of his later followers.107 Any such attempt to extract raw, uninterpreted (i.e., non-perspectival) memory of the Teacher from the sources is a problem. According to the 105

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See, e.g., George J. Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 339–353: “the pesharim can only help with the identification of the origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls when all the literary sources and likely allusions in each commentary are assembled. When this is done an ideological and theological tendenz emerges” (350). Note, especially, the way that Philip R. Davies describes the “midrashic passage” in Matthew 2, which he then compares to the Qumran material: “there is a historical core, but much overlaid” (Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls [BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987] 27). In another work, he describes cultural memory (with which he associates the Teacher materials, see Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 31–46) along similar lines. According to Davies, it is “not direct, but has been inherited, and in the process accumulated embellishments and rituals” (Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History – Ancient and Modern [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2008] 109). For a helpful discussion on how this issue has been taken up within historical Jesus studies, see Chris Keith, “The Narrative of the Gospels and the Historical Jesus: Current Debates, Prior Debates and the Goal of Historical Jesus Research,” JSNT 38 (2016) 426–455.

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sociological approach to memory, this type of memory is impossible. The fundamental principle of social memory theory is that the conceptualization and articulation of the past is facilitated through the social frameworks of the present.108 This means that one cannot separate reality from perception or historical fact from interpretation. “If ‘experience’… is always embedded in and occurs through narrative frames, then there is no primal, unmediated experience that can be recovered.”109 The only Teacher of Righteousness, which our sources give us access to, is the one whose life and influence was interpreted by his community. What this means is that even if an interpreter was able to successfully remove all of the influence, which outside factors (e.g., Scripture, contemporary circumstances, etc.) exerted on the memory of the Teacher, s/he would not be left with merely “the facts.” In actuality, if all the distorted, perspectival features of the memory of the Teacher were to be removed, nothing else would remain.110 The reason is because such an image of the Teacher never existed. The distorted image of the Teacher is all that was ever available.111 Nevertheless, this consideration does not invalidate all historical inquiry. The interpretive categories of the sources provide an important window into how the Teacher was perceived by his community, and as

108 109

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A fuller discussion of this issue is taken up in Chapter 3. Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From ‘Collective Memory’ to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998) 105–140 (110). Cf. Barber, “Interpreting Oríkì as History,” 13–23, whose study of oríkì within Yoruba culture has shown that one cannot simply strip away the dross of the oral performance to reveal the historical core. “What the performer is doing,” Barber notes, “cannot be seen as a ‘distorting influence’… In the case of oríkì, if you discount that there may be literally nothing left” (14). We understand memory, in its very nature, to be a distortion of reality, and thus there is no such thing as an undistorted memory (cf. Michael Schudson, “Dynamics of Distortion in Collective Memory,” in Memory Distortion: How Minds, Brain, and Societies Reconstruct the Past [ed. D. L. Schacter; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995] 346–364 [348]). Many who have worked with social/cultural memory in biblical studies have missed this point, often describing memory as containing a mixture of truth and error (see, e.g., Lester L. Grabbe, “History and the Nature of Cultural Memory: The Alamo and the ‘Masada Complex’,” in History, Memory, Hebrew Scriptures: A Festschrift for Ehud Ben Zvi [eds. I. D. Wilson and D. V. Edelman; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015] 347–359 [357]). While it is true that some memories reflect the past to a greater degree than others (see Jan Assmann, “Ancient Egyptian Antijudaism: A Case of Distorted Memory,” in Memory Distortion: How Minds, Brain, and Societies Reconstruct the Past [ed. D. L. Schacter; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995] 365–376 [366]), memory remains an artificial construct, which selectively represents the past.

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we will show in the following chapter, they can become useful tools for informing our understanding of this ancient figure.

2.5 Conclusion The purpose of this chapter has been to consider whether historical investigation into the life of the Teacher of Righteousness remains a valid possibility in light of shifting perspectives on historical epistemology. While it must be acknowledged that we cannot reconstruct “what really happened” in the life of the Teacher, we have argued that scholars can offer a plausible112 explanation of what might have given rise to the traces of the past that have been left behind.113 From explicit claims made by the Scrolls authors, interpreters can glean a few historical facts about certain events in the Teacher’s life and the role he played in the community. By further sifting the evidence, one can also attempt to construct a narrative to represent the history of the Teacher’s community, including informed hypotheses about chronological developments and the causeseffects relationships of certain events. It is even possible to postulate theories about the activities of the Teacher, which are only implied or hinted within the relevant sources. As with any historical task, this includes supplementing the given materials with other contemporary evidence as well as employing a historical imagination, which is “tethered to and disciplined by sources.”114 The aim of this study, however, is to extend the discussion beyond the traditional limits of historical criticism. To do so, we will explore ways that memory theory can be used to inform historical investigation. In the chapter that follows, we will set forth the specifics of this mnemonichistorical approach.

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The plausibility of any historical account “rests not on the arbitrary invention of an historical account but involves rational strategies of determining what in fact is plausible. It assumes that the historical account relates to a historical reality, no matter how complex and indirect the process is by which the historian approximates this reality” (Georg G. Iggers, Historiography in the Twentieth Century: From Scientific Objectivity to the Postmodern Challenge [Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2005] 145). Such a goal is even affirmed by some postmodern historians, e.g., Alun Munslow, A History of History (London: Routledge, 2012) 44–45. Gaddis, Landscape of History, 40. Even the most skeptical Scrolls scholars recognize the need for historical imagination within the interpretive process. See Phillip R. Callaway, “Qumran Origins: From the Doresh to the Moreh,” RevQ 14 (1990) 637–650 (639).

3 A Mnemonic Approach toward History

With perspectives on the Teacher of Righteous changing, scholars have begun to search for new methods to apply to the ancient source materials. One approach that holds out tremendous potential is memory theory. Over the past decade, the benefit of memory research has been increasingly recognized within Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship.1 But despite See, e.g., Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Teacher of Righteousness Remembered: From Fragmentary Sources to Collective Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004) (eds. S. C. Barton et al.; WUNT 212; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007) 75–94; idem, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49; Jaime Vázquez Allegue, “Memoria Colectiva E Identidad De Grupo En Qumrán,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino Garcia Martinez (eds. A. Hilhorst et al.; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 89–104; Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts (ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 31–46; Tim Langille, “Old Memories, New Identities: Traumatic Memory, Exile, and Identity Formation in the Damascus Document and Pesher Habakkuk,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 57–88; George J. Brooke, “Memory, Cultural Memory and Rewriting Scripture,” in Rewritten Bible after Fifty Years: Texts, Terms, or Techniques? A Last Dialogue with Geza Vermes (ed. J. Zsengellér; JSJSup 166; Leiden: Brill, 2014) 119–136; idem, “Praying History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Memory, Identity, Fulfilment,” in Functions of Psalms and Prayers in the Late Second Temple Period (eds. M. S. Pajunen and J. Penner; BZAW 486; Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2017) 305–319; Shem Miller, “The Role of Performance and the Performance of Role: Cultural Memory in the Hodayot,” JBL 137 (2018) 359–382; Shem Miller, “Traditional History and Cultural Memory in the Pesharim,” JSJ (forthcoming).

1

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this growing acceptance, the potential of memory studies has yet to be developed fully. Through the influence of scholarship on the Hebrew Bible, much of the work has focused on cultural memory within the larger framework of reception history. Other areas have largely been left unexplored, including the cognitive dimensions of memory, the way that different forms of memory relate to time, and memory’s influence on written and oral media. For our purposes, however, it is not just the untapped potential of memory theory that is of interest. It is the confusion that surrounds the relationship between history and memory. When the Teacher material is engaged from a memory perspective, it has been common for interpreters to posit a dichotomy between history and memory. In this antithetical approach, memory is equated with a contrived narrative used for social, political, and ideological purposes and is, thus, set against history, which is thought to represent an objective and factual reconstruction of the past. This distinction is evident in the recent work of Philip R. Davies on cultural memory. He differentiates “‘real’ history”2 from cultural memory, defining the former as “an objective and coherent series of facts” or what “‘really happened’” in the past3 and the latter as “stories about the past that are recollected, and which serve to reinforce group identity, including the individual identities of members of the group.”4 When applied to the Teacher of Righteousness, the impact of this dichotomy is significant. By constructing such strong lines of separation between history and memory, the “discussion has permitted and even encouraged the avoidance of issues concerning the historical veracity of what some texts purport to describe.” As such, it is believed that “[o]ne need no longer be anxious about what happened, so much as concerned with how what is constructed as having happened is remembered and

Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 45. Cf. also idem, “Between Text and Archaeology,” DSD 18 (2011) 316–338: “I have argued here largely for the absolute need to engage in literary-historical exegesis where historical issues are at stake, and insist that no other method—or lack of it—will serve the purpose. But the end result of such exegesis is not history but memory” (336); and idem, Memories of Ancient Israel: An Introduction to Biblical History – Ancient and Modern (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2008) 110: “the modern historian does not, and cannot equate this memory [i.e., cultural memory] with history, since ‘history’ has been redefined as an account of real events, real knowledge… But while the historian can see cultural memory and history as distinct, nonhistorians sometimes confuse the two.” 3 Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 31. 4 Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel, 107. 2

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memorialized.”5 The primary contribution of memory theory to the study of the Teacher, therefore, is understood to be what it reveals about the later group(s) who recorded his legacy. In this chapter, we will explore the theoretical basis for this position and then seek to offer an important correction. What our discussion will reveal is that memory studies is not merely a new avenue for exploring reception history. Memory theory examines how and why people remember, but it also postulates the connection between memory and the actual past, a point that will become clear through a review of the origins and subsequent development of memory research. Further, we will argue that history and memory perform complimentary functions. Each contributes a unique and essential element in the process of studying the past. Building on this idea, we will then attempt to construct a method for employing the mnemonic evidence related to the Teacher as a way to inform historical investigation. This will represent the first attempt in Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship to integrate history and memory in a comprehensive and systematic way.

3.1  Toward an Understanding of Memory Theory Over the last few decades, memory studies has emerged as a vibrant field within academia.6 Part of the attraction has been its interdisciplinary nature. Disciplines such as history, sociology, culture, politics, psychology, and biology have all contributed to the discussion. Whereas the Brooke, “Memory, Cultural Memory and Rewriting Scripture,” 126. Cf. Angela Kim Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke (eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017) 493–514: “These shifts do well to move away from a preoccupation over an historical Teacher, toward a view of the text as instantiations of remembered memories about the Teacher” (507). 6 For a general overview of memory studies, see Barbie Zelizer, “Reading the Past against the Grain: The Shape of Memory Studies,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12 (1995) 214–239; Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From ‘Collective Memory’ to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998) 105–140. On more recent developments, see Brian Conway, “New Directions in the Sociology of Collective Memory and Commemoration,” Sociology Compass 4 (2010) 442–453; Marek Tamm, “Beyond History and Memory: New Perspectives in Memory Studies,” History Compass 11 (2013) 458–473. For a more comprehensive introduction to the subject, see James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (New Perspectives on the Past; Oxford: Blackwell, 1992); Iwona Irwin-Zarecka, Frames of Remembrance: The Dynamics of Collective Memory (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1994); Astrid Erll, Memory in Culture (trans. S. B. Young; Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). 5

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cognitive dimensions of memory will be explored later in the study,7 in this section, our focus will be on memory’s social and cultural aspects. For it is primarily from this angle that memory studies has been introduced into biblical studies. We will explore the contributions of three prominent memory theorists in an effort to provide a theoretical basis for the methodology that will be offered below.8 3.1.1  The Origins of Collective Memory (Maurice Halbwachs) Scholarly interest in the social dimensions of memory is normally traced back the work of the French sociologist, Maurice Halbwachs, who is considered by many to be “the founding father of the sociology of collective memory.”9 In 1925, under the influence of sociologist Émile Durkheim, Halbwachs published Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire, which was meant to be a response to the popular view of memory espoused by Henri Bergson and Sigmund Freud.10 According to this prevailing approach, “memories as psychic states subsist in the mind in an unconscious state and… they can become conscious again when recollected.”11 In contrast to this store-and-retrieval view, Halbwachs maintained that every act of remembrance involves reconstruction based on frames of reference, which allow the past to be formulated in the present.12 See Chapter 8. This division follows the recent review of research found in Chris Keith, “Social Memory Theory and Gospels Research: The First Decade (Part One),” EC 6 (2015) 354–376. 9 Jeffrey K. Olick, In the House of the Hangman: The Agonies of German Defeat, 1943–1949 (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2005) 336. 10 Maurice Halbwachs, Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire (2nd edn.; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1952). Portions of this text have been translated into English in Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory (trans. L. A. Coser; Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992) 35–189. For more on Halbwachs’ approach toward memory, see Michel Amoit, “Le Système de pensée de Maurice Halbwachs,” Revue de Synthèse historique 2 (1991) 265–288; Paul Sabourin, “Perspective sur la mémoire sociale de Maurice Halbwachs,” Sociologie et sociétés 29 (1997) 139–161; Gérard Namer, Halbwachs et la mémoire sociale (Collection logiques sociales; Paris: L’Harmattan, 2000); JeanChristophe Marcel and Laurent Mucchielli, “Maurice Halbwachs’s mémoire collective,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 141–149; Erika Apfelbaum, “Halbwachs and the Social Properties of Memory,” in Memory: Histories, Theories, Debates (eds. S. Radstone and B. Schwartz; New York: Fordham University Press, 2010) 77–92. 11 Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 39. 12 Cf. Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 38: “There is no point in seeking where [these memories] are preserved in my brain or in some nook of my mind to which I alone have access: for they are recalled to me externally, and the groups of which I am a part 7 8

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These “social frameworks” were understood to be the mental and material resources supplied by society, which facilitate the perception and articulation of experience.13 Halbwachs maintained that “to the degree that our individual thought places itself in these frameworks and participates in this memory that it is capable of the act of recollection.”14 In other words, the connection to other members of society provides the material and the means for remembrance. Group membership enables the conceptualization of the past by providing the cognitive schemata necessary for remembering. It also supplies the opportunity to remember, because it is in a group setting that memories are usually articulated. Thus, Halbwachs could claim, “It is in society that people normally acquire their memories. It is also in society that they recall, recognize, and localize their memories.”15 In the following decades, Halbwachs continued to refine his approach toward collective memory.16 One area that he explored in greater detail was the present construction of memory. Already in Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire, Halbwachs had pointed out that groups not only select which past events they will remember, they also formulate how the events will be remembered. He would later go on to state that “a remembrance is in very large measure a reconstruction of the past achieved with data borrowed from the present, a reconstruction prepared, furthermore, by reconstructions of earlier periods wherein past images had already been altered.”17 His next major work (La topographie légendaire des évangiles at any time give me the means to reconstruct them, upon condition, to be sure, that I turn toward them and adopt, at least for the moment, their way of thinking.” 13 For a helpful illustration of the relationship between personal and social dimensions of memory, see Tom Thatcher, Why John Wrote a Gospel: Jesus – Memory – History (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2006) 54–60. 14 Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 38; cf. idem, The Collective Memory (trans. J. Ditter, Francis J. and V. Y. Ditter; Harper Colophon Books, CN/800; New York: Harper & Row, 1980) 33: “a person remembers only by situating himself within the viewpoint of one or several groups and one or several currents of collective thought.” 15 Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 38. It is important to point out that for Halbwachs “collective memory does not mean ‘shared memory’ or even interpretations of which most people agree; it means that individuals form beliefs about the past through interaction with others” (Barry Schwartz et al., “Collective Memory: Why Culture Matters,” in Blackwell Companion to the Sociology of Culture [eds. M. D. Jacobs and N. W. Hanrahan; Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005] 253–271 [254]). 16 The most fully developed form of his ideas never reached completion, however. Halbwachs began working on a monograph on collective memory, but died before it could be finished. An unfinished draft of this work was published posthumously as Maurice Halbwachs, La mémoire collective (Bibliotheque de sociologie contemporaine; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1950), and later translated as Maurice Halbwachs, The Collective Memory. 17 Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, 69.

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en terre sainte) provides a case study on this very phenomenon. In this study, Halbwachs traces changing geographical sites in the Holy Land. He observes that “in each period the collective Christian memory adapts its recollections of the details of Christ’s life and of the places where they occurred to the contemporary exigencies of Christianity, to its needs and aspirations.”18 This leads him to conclude that “collective memory is essentially a reconstruction of the past,” which “adapts the image of ancient facts to the beliefs and spiritual needs of the present.”19 In other words, present purposes shape the memory of past events. This presentist (or constructionist) view of memory naturally impacted Halbwachs’ understanding of the relationship between memory and history. Between these two modes of restoring the past, Halbwachs places “the ultimate opposition.”20 History and memory are understood as mutually exclusive categories that stand opposed to one another in a variety of ways. One is their temporal nature: while history is focused on the past, memory is oriented toward the present.21 Differences in their scope were also postulated by Halbwachs. Whereas history is said to be universal, memory is thought to be limited to certain geographic areas and often to small groups. Finally, the character of history and memory were also distinguished by Halbwachs. Despite his association with the founders of the emerging Annales approach toward historiography, Halbwachs “clung to the positivistic conception of the historian as an authenticator of documented facts.”22 In contrast to the subjective nature of memory, which represents a distortion of the past, history was viewed as an objective reality awaiting to be discovered by the historian. Over the last few decades, “Halbwachs’s theory of collective memory has been applied by a broad spectrum of disciplines to a wide variety of research objects.” The idea that has stood the test of time and made the most lasting impact on scholarship is the primary thesis of Halbwachs’ work, viz. that

18 19

20

21

22

Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 234. Halbwachs, La topographie légendaire des évangiles en terre sainte: étude de mémoire collective (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1941) 7 (trans. Schwartz). See Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, 78: “The collective memory is not the same as formal history, and ‘historical memory’ is a rather unfortunate expression because it connects two terms opposed in more than one aspect.” Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, 78: “General history starts only when tradition ends and the social memory is fading or breaking up.” Patrick H. Hutton, History as an Art of Memory (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 1993) 76. Cf. Simonetta Falasca Zamponi, “Of Storytellers and Master Narratives: Modernity, Memory, and History in Fascist Italy,” Social Science History

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memory of the past is reconstructed in the present. But despite this success, “his writings have not been able to serve as the basis of a single, coherent theory of cultural memory.”23 The reason is because other aspects of Halbwachs’ position have not been as well received as his primary thesis. One problem that was never fully resolved was the tension between individual and group memory.24 Despite Halbwachs’ emphasis on the collective nature of memory, he did acknowledge that the act of remembering was performed by individuals. In this way, he attempted to strike a balance between the individual and the group.25 What role the individual played in the process of memory was not clearly specified, however. At times, it seems as if society’s influence on memory is so determinative that individual autonomy is negated.26 Another aspect of Halbwachs’ theory, which has been challenged in recent years, is the separation between history and memory. Because of the strong division he created when defining these modes of accessing the past, he failed to consider the potential of the actual past shaping the formation of collective memory in the present (see Section 3.1.3). Regardless of how well Halbwachs’ theory has been received, his ideas mark the starting point for all discussions on collective memory. In what 22 (1998) 415–444 (420–424). It is surprising to find Hans M. Barstad, “History and Memory: Some Reflections on the ‘Memory Debate’ in Relation to the Hebrew Bible,” in The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe (eds. P. R. Davies and D. V. Edelman; LHB/OTS 530; New York: T&T Clark International, 2010) 1–10 (3, 7), claiming that Halbwachs was anti-positivistic. 23 Erll, Memory in Culture, 18. 24 Halbwachs’ explanation of the relationship between individual and collective memory received criticism when his theory was first introduced (see, e.g., Marc Bloch, “Mémoire collective, tradition et coutume: A propos d’un livre récent,” Revue de Synthèse historique 40 [1925] 73–83), and it continues to be met with disapproval in more recent times (see, e.g., Amos Funkenstein, “Collective Memory and Historical Consciousness,” History and Memory 1 [1989] 5–26 [9–10]; Noa Gedi and Yigal Elam, “Collective Memory – What Is It?” History and Memory 8 [1996] 30–50 [35–41]; cf. Susan A. Crane, “Writing the Individual Back into Collective Memory,” American Historical Review 102 [1997] 1372–1385). 25 Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 40: “One may say that the individual remembers by placing himself in the perspective of the group, but one may also affirm that the memory of the group realizes and manifests itself in individual memories.” 26 Cf., e.g., Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 43: “No memory is possible outside frameworks used by people in society to determine and retrieve their recollections”; Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 51: “I believe that the mind reconstructs its memories under the pressure of society”; Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 51: “Society from time to time obligates people not just to reproduce in thought previous events of their lives, but also to touch them up, to shorten them, or to complete them so that, however convinced we are that our memories are exact, we give them a prestige that reality did not possess.”

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follows, we will consider how Halbwachs’ views have been extended, modified, and revised in modern memory studies, with a particular focus on applying the discussion toward the memory of the Teacher of Righteousness. 3.1.2  The Cultural Dimensions of Memory (Jan Assmann) A second approach toward collective remembering (labeled “cultural memory”) has been introduced by Egyptologist Jan Assmann (along with his wife, a literary critic, Aleida Assmann). This theoretical construct represents a response to, but also a further elaboration of, the collective view of memory proposed by Halbwachs. Cultural memory seeks to extend the discussion beyond the impact of group dynamics by focusing on memory at a cultural level. As an initial point of departure, Assmann separates collective memory into two subsets: communicative memory and cultural memory. According to Assmann, the former “comprises memories related to the recent past,” which “the individual shares with his contemporaries.”27 Normally, this involves the oral transmission of information in “everyday communications.”28 This form of memory “denotes a willful agreement of the members of a group as to what they consider their own past to be, in interplay with the identity-specific grand narrative of the we-group, and what meaning they ascribe to this past.”29 Without any type of regulation or oversight, communicative memory contains “a high degree of formlessness, willfulness, and disorganization.”30 27

28

29

30

Jan Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 36. Cf. Jan Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies (Cultural Memory in the Present; Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006) 3: “This memory belongs in the intermediary realm between individuals; it grows out of intercourse between people, and the emotions play the crucial role in its process.” Jan Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” New German Critique 65 (1995) 125–133 (126). Cf. Aleida Assmann, Erinnerungsräume: Formen und Wandlungen des kulturellen Gedächtnisses (5th edn.; Munich: C.H. Beck, 2010) 13. Harald Welzer, “Communicative Memory,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 285–297 (285). This description is thought to reflect the understanding of Assmann, but Welzer extends this perspective by connecting the social dynamics with the cognitive functions of individual memory (cf. Harald Welzer, Das kommunikative Gedächtnis: Eine Theorie der Erinnerung [4th edn.; Munich: C.H. Beck, 2016]). Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” 127. For more on communicative memory, see Sandra Hübenthal, “Communicative Memory,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 65–66.

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The “most important characteristic [of communicative memory] is its limited temporal horizon.”31 To account for its temporal dimensions, Assmann draws on insights from oral history, and in particular, from the fieldwork of anthropologist Jan Vansina.32 Through his work with oral societies in Africa, Vansina noted that knowledge that circulates through interpersonal communication normally diminishes over time. In fact, he suggested the existence of a “floating gap” separating recent traditions, for which “there is plenty of information which tapers off as one moves back through time,” from traditions about earlier periods, where “one finds either a hiatus of just one or a few names, given with some hesitation.”33 Transferring these insights to his study of collective remembrance, Assmann argues that communicative memory functions in much the same way: it “does not extend more than eighty to (at the very most) one hundred years into the past, which equals three or four generations.”34 Before this temporal horizon is breached, groups experience a crisis of memory (which Assmann describe as a Traditionsbruch), wherein alternative media are required for transmitting and preserving memory. According to Assmann, this occurs somewhere around 40 years after the occurrence of

31 32

33

34

Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” 127. See Jan Assmann, “Communicative and Cultural Memory,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 109–118 (112–113); cf. idem, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 34–35. The temporal horizon of communicative memory is also supported by recent sociological research on generational memory, which has demonstrated that “memories of important political events and social changes are structured by age” (Howard Schuman and Jacqueline Scott, “Generations and Collective Memories,” American Sociological Review 54 [1989] 359–381 [377]). That is to say, generational cohorts are distinguished by the past experiences they carry with them. A generation is, in some sense, defined by the formative memories they share, and unless there are means in place to transmit those memories to successive generations, the past experiences pass away along with the cohort (see further Howard Schuman et al., “The Generational Basis of Historical Knowledge,” in Collective Memory of Political Events: Social Psychological Perspectives [eds. J. W. Pennebaker et al.; Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1997] 47–77; Howard Schuman and Willard L. Rodgers, “Cohorts, Chronology, and Collective Memories,” Public Opinion Quarterly 68 [2004] 217–254; Amy Corning and Howard Schuman, Generations and Collective Memory [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015]). Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition as History (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985) 23. Aside from the work of Vansina, Assmann also draws from Lutz Niethammer, ed., Lebenserfahrung und kollektives Gedächtnis: Die Praxis der “Oral History” (Suhrkamp-Taschenbuch Wissenschaft 490; Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1985) to support the limited duration of living memory (see Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 37). Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” 127.

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Methodological Considerations Table 3.1 Comparison between communicative memory and cultural memory35 Communicative Memory

Content

Forms

Media

Time Structure

Carriers

Historical experiences in the framework of individual biographies Informal, without much form, natural growth, arising from interaction, everyday Living, organic memories, experiences, hearsay

80–100 years, with a progressive present spanning three-four generations Nonspecific, contemporary witness within a memory community

Cultural Memory Mythical history of origins, events in an absolute past Organized, extremely formal, ceremonial communication, festival Fixed objectifications, traditional symbolic classification and staging through words, pictures, dance, and so forth Absolute past of a mythical, primeval age

Specialized tradition bearers

the events in question.36 Prior to this point, communities possess tradition, understood as “the lived knowledge that is embodied in living subjects and that is passed on in active associations with others, through teaching and, above all, through a nonverbal process of showing and imitating, a form of knowledge that is largely self-evident and that has become unconscious and implicit.”37 But when this living tradition is interrupted by the death of the original memory carriers, Assmann claims that tradition must undergo “excarnation,” meaning that the “previously implicit body of knowledge” must become “codified and made explicit”38 This occurs through the creation of texts, monuments, rituals, and other forms of durable media, which Assmann labels “cultural memory” (Table 3.1). Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 41. Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 36–37, 196; idem, Religion and Cultural Memory, 17, 53. 37 Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory, 69. 38 Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory, 70. On the idea of “excarnation,” see further Aleida Assmann, “Exkarnation: Über die Grenze zwischen Körper und Schrift,” in Raum und Verfahren (eds. A. Müller and J. Huber; Interventionen 2; Basel: Stroemfeld/Roter Stern, 1993) 159–181. 35 36

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Relating to the more remote past, cultural memory refers to an institutionalized mode of remembering that involves the commemorative practices of a group that span generations.39 It extends beyond the temporal horizon of the everyday but “reaches back into the past only so far as the past can be reclaimed as ‘ours’.”40 With the transition from informal to formal mnemonic processes, specialists (e.g., shamans, scholars, priests, bards, etc.) are employed to transmit and preserve cultural memory.41 The form of remembrance for which they are responsible relates to “fateful events of the past, whose memory is maintained through cultural formations (texts, rites, monuments) and institutional communication (recitation, practice, observance).”42 As a commemorative form, cultural memory involves the contemplative selection of individuals and events from the past, which help to shape the identity of the group that preserves them.43 In this way, “[c]ultural memory preserves the store of knowledge from which a group derives an awareness of its unity and peculiarity.”44 In his early articulations of cultural memory theory, Assmann drew strong distinctions between communicative and cultural memory. This separation has been challenged by more recent memory theorists, however. As a theory, cultural memory “looks at the medial conditions and social structures of organization which groups and societies use to connect themselves to an objectified supply of cultural representations, available in diverse forms (for example, in ­ writing, image, architecture, liturgy), in order to construct patterns for selfinterpretation legitimized by the past” (Dietrich Harth, “The Invention of Cultural Memory,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook [eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008] 85–96 [91]). See further Sandra Hübenthal, “Cultural Memory,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 69–71. 40 Assmann, “Communicative and Cultural Memory,” 113. Cf. idem, Religion and Cultural Memory, 16, where cultural memory is said to “involve introducing into the present something distant and alien for which there is no room in everyday life and which therefore has to be ritually imagined at regular intervals in order to maintain a context that is threatened by disintegration and oblivion.” 41 See Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 39–40; idem, “Communicative and Cultural Memory,” 114–115. 42 Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” 129. 43 Cf. Aleida Assmann, “Canon and Archive,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 97–107: “Whatever has made it into the active cultural memory has passed rigorous processes of selection, which secure for certain artifacts a lasting place in the cultural working memory of a society” (100). 44 Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” 130. 39

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What many have pointed out is that such a sharp division is particularly difficult to sustain in contemporary culture where communicative memory is constantly informed by public discourse through mass media.45 Because of the problems created by this type of overlap, some have instead advocated drawing other types of distinctions. In the future, the question of the interrelationship between communicative and cultural memory is one with which biblical scholars will have to wrestle.46 For our purposes, however, these categories are sufficient to distinguish the timeframe in which living memory is present within a community. This temporal horizon will play an important role in our interpretation of the Teacher material. The other issue that has a significant bearing on our study is the relationship between cultural memory and history. Assmann describes his approach to the past as “mnemohistory.” According to his description, this type of investigation “is concerned not with the past as such, but only with the past as it is remembered.”47 That is to say, “[t]he aim of a mnemohistorical study is not to ascertain the possible truth of traditions… but to study these traditions as phenomena of collective memory.”48

Angela Keppler, “Soziale Formen individuellen Erinnerns. Die kommunikative Tradierung von (Familien-)Geschichte,” in Das soziale Gedächtnis. Geschichte, Erinnerung, Tradierung (ed. H. Welzer; Hamburg: Hamburger Edition, 2001) 137–159 (158); cf. also Hubert Knoblauch, “Das kommunikative Gedächtnis,” in Grenzenlose Gesellschaft? Verhandlungen des 29. Kongresses der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Soziologie, des 16. Kongresses der Österreichischen Gesellschaft für Soziologie, des 11. Kongresses der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Soziologie in Freiburg i. Br. 1998. Teil 1 (eds. C. Honegger et al.; Opladen: Leske + Budrich, 1999) 733–748; Gabriele Rosenthal, “The Social Construction of Individual and Collective Memory,” in Theorizing Social Memories: Concepts and Contexts (eds. G. Sebald and J. Wagle; Routledge Advances in Sociology 162; London: Routledge, 2016) 32–55 (41). Others would maintain that such distinctions would be relevant for the premodern period, however (see Gerd Sebald and Jan Weyand, “Zur Formierung sozialer Gedächtnisse,” Zeitschrift für Soziologie 40 [2011] 174–189 [178]). 46 More recent work by Jan Assmann has allowed these lines to become somewhat more blurred (see “Form as a Mnemonic Device: Cultural Texts and Cultural Memory,” in Performing the Gospel: Orality, Memory, and Mark [eds. R. A. Horsley et al.; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006] 67–82). 47 Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997) 9. Cf. idem, “Communicative and Cultural Memory,” 113: “Not the past as such, as it is investigated and reconstructed by archaeologists and historians, counts for cultural memory, but only the past as it is remembered.” 48 Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 9. Cf. Marek Tamm, “History as Cultural Memory: Mnemohistory and the Construction of the Estonian Nation,” Journal of Baltic Studies 39 (2008) 499–516 (501): “Mnemohistory relinquishes a positivistic investigation of the past in favour of a research into the actuality, not into the factuality of the past.” 45

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The focus of mnemohistory, then, is the reception of tradition, particularly “the importance which a present ascribes to the past.”49 To understand how tradition is received, mnemohistory “surveys the story-lines of tradition, the webs of intertextuality, the diachronic continuities and discontinuities of reading the past.”50 It also involves “analyzing the mythical elements in tradition and discovering their hidden agenda.”51 This type of approach distinguishes the goals of mnemohistory from those traditionally pursued by historians. Yet, in another way, the two are related. Assmann describes mnemohistory as “one of [history’s] branches or subdisciplines.”52 Its contribution to the historical discussion is found in its unique focus: “it deliberately leaves aside the synchronic aspects of what it is investigating,” and instead, “concentrates exclusively on those aspects of significance and relevance which are the product of memory.”53 Cultural memory, then, is best understood as a grid through which the mnemonic evidence can be interpreted. In this way, it provides a reception-based analysis of tradition. This is a crucial point to grasp when considering how memory studies is applied to the Teacher tradition. Recent scholarship on memory and the Hebrew Bible has tended to focus on cultural memory, often to the exclusion of communicative memory.54 Given the object of discourse, this seems like a natural choice – especially with cultural memory’s role in the construction of shared

Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 10. Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 9. Cf. the “new kind of history” envisioned by Pierre Nora, Realms of Memory: The Construction of the French Past, vol. 1: Conflicts and Divisions (trans. A. Goldhammer; New York: Columbia University Press, 1996) xxiv: “a history less interested in causes than effects; less interested in actions remembered or even commemorated than in the traces left by those actions and in the interaction of those commemorations; less interested in events themselves than in the construction of events over time, in the disappearance and reemergence of their significations; less interested in ‘what actually happened’ than in its perpetual reuse and misuse, its influence on successive presents; less interested in traditions than in the way in which traditions are constituted and passed on.” 51 Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 10. 52 Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 9. Cf. Aleida Assmann, “Transformations between History and Memory,” Social Research 75 (2008) 49–72, who describes it as “a new branch of historiography” (62). 53 Assmann, Moses the Egyptian, 9. 54 Daniel D. Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past: Methodological Remarks on Memory, History, and the Hebrew Bible,” BibInt 23 (2015) 291–315 (293–294). In contrast, the discussion of memory within New Testament studies has centered primarily on communicative memory (for a review of approaches to memory within New Testament studies, see Chris Keith, “Social Memory Theory and Gospels Research: The First Decade (Part Two),” EC 6 [2015] 517–542). 49

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identity across generations. But it would be a categorical mistake to transfer these same assumptions to the Scrolls, and to thereby use cultural memory as a means of making pronouncements about the historicity of the Teacher tradition.55 Like Halbwachs, Assmann is unconcerned with the actual past.56 Consequently, his approach toward memory is not designed to access the past or to make any judgments about what might have occurred in the past. What this means is that scholars cannot simply designate the Teacher material found in the pesharim as “mnemohistory” and then proceed to assume that it has little-to-no basis in the actual past.57 Assmann’s theory of cultural memory provides no basis for drawing such conclusions. As we will demonstrate below, determining how closely a mnemonic tradition relates to the actual past involves a much more complex method. 3.1.3  Memory’s Connection with the Past (Barry Schwartz) In Halbwachs’ construal of collective memory, the relationship between memory and the actual past is one of discontinuity. According to Halbwachs “collective memory is essentially a reconstruction of the

Cf. Sandra Hübenthal, “Social and Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis: The Quest for an Adequate Application,” in Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis (eds. P. Carstens et al.; PHSC 17; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2012) 175–199, who notes that “reading biblical texts as kommunikatives Gedächtnis is not the same as reading them as kulturelles Gedächtnis” (177). 56 A terminological explanation is appropriate here. “The term actual past is used in discussions of collective/social memory to differentiate ‘what happened’ from its subsequent recollection and commemoration. The actual past consists of events, situations, individuals, and places that existed in time and space outside of any individual’s recollection of them or any group’s commemorative activities. Put another way, the actual past is the raw past, ‘reality’ outside the imposition of frames, schemas, or even language to recall and discuss it” (Tom Thatcher, “Actual Past,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media [eds. T. Thatcher et al.; Bloomsbury: London, 2017] 18). 57 This seems to be the approach of Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 31–46. The problem is that Davies treats all collective memory as though it were cultural memory (cf. Andrew D. H. Mayes, “Pharaoh Shishak’s Invasion of Palestine and the Exodus from Egypt,” in Between Evidence and Ideology: Essays on the History of Ancient Israel Read at the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap, Lincoln, July 2009 [eds. B. Becking and L. L. Grabbe; OtSt 59; Leiden: Brill, 2011] 129–144 [139–140], who makes a similar observation within the context of Israelite historiography). This is not the case, however. The traditions about the life of the Teacher are categorically different from the traditions of Israel’s origins because the Teacher’s memory was well within living memory of those who recorded the traditions (see Chapter 4). 55

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past,” which “adapts the image of ancient facts to the beliefs and spiritual needs of the present.”58 This perspective represents what has been called a “presentist” view of social memory.59 According to the presentist approach, present needs and interests are the primary determinant of how the past is remembered.60 Presentism suggests that since collective memory is consistently formed (and reformed) using the social frameworks of the present, it need not contain any real connection with the actual past. What this means is that there could potentially be considerable disjunction between the events of the past and how they are later remembered. The contemporary flourishing of social memory studies in America found its impetus in this very issue. It was the result of a dissatisfaction with the presentist approach that led sociologist Barry Schwartz to challenge Halbwachs’ views. Working contemporaneously with (although separate from the ideas of) Assmann, Schwartz has produced a number of publications that seek to strike a balance between presentist and essentialist perspectives on the past. In doing so, “Schwartz simultaneously introduced Halbwachs to American sociologists and laid the groundwork for the theoretical debate that would propel the contemporary sociology of memory into being: namely, the debate over the malleability of

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Halbwachs, La topographie légendaire, 7 (trans. Schwartz). As a result, his theory (much like that of Assmann) treats “what actually happened” as an ancillary, if not an immaterial, consideration. This becomes clear through the full citation given above: “If, as we believe, collective memory is essentially a reconstruction of the past, if it adapts the image of ancient facts to the beliefs and spiritual needs of the present, then a knowledge of the origin of these facts must be secondary, if not altogether useless, for the reality of the past is no longer in the past.” Different nomenclatures are used to represent this position. The designation “presentism” appears to be the most common within memory studies (see, e.g., Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 108, 128; Zelizer, “Reading the Past,” 227; cf. Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering [Maidenheard: Open University Press, 2003] 56–61, who uses the title to describe the invention of tradition). But some describe it as “social constructivism” (see Nachman Ben-Yehuda, The Masada Myth: Collective Memory and Mythmaking in Israel [Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1995] 22). Cf. Anthony Le Donne, “Presentism/Constructionism,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 307–308: “Presentism (or constructionism) is the position that memory is a mental state or shared experience that is constructed primarily according to the needs and strategies of the present (rather than generated primarily from past realities)” (307).

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memory.”61 In the eyes of many, therefore, he is considered “the father of collective memory studies in contemporary American sociology.”62 For Schwartz, the presentist view marks one extreme on the continuum of social experience and memory. It represents a relativistic approach toward history in which the significance of an event changes depending on the perspective of the observer. Such a view, Schwartz points out, “promotes the idea that our conception of the past is entirely at the mercy of current conditions, that there is not objectivity in events, nothing in history which transcends the peculiarities of the present.”63 In this way, “beliefs about the past are construed as hostage to present circumstances, with different elements of the past becoming more or less relevant as circumstances change.”64 The problem with this approach, as Schwartz sees it, is that it would serve to undermine both history and social memory: “To conceive of collective memory as a mirror of reality is to conceive a fiction, for if, independently of historical evidence, our changing understanding of the past uniquely parallels changes in our society, then the only relevant reality would be the present, and the very concept of collective memory would be meaningless.”65

Christina Simko, “Forgetting to Remember: The Present Neglect and Future Prospects of Collective Memory in Sociological Theory,” in Handbook of Contemporary Sociological Theory (ed. S. Abrutyn; Cham: Springer, 2016) 457–475 (460). 62 Jeffrey K. Olick et al., eds., The Collective Memory Reader (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 242. Cf. Jeffrey K. Olick, “Afterword,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to Memory Studies (ed. S. Kattago; London: Routledge, 2016) 265–267 (266). 63 Barry Schwartz, “The Social Context of Commemoration: A Study in Collective Memory,” Social Forces 61 (1982) 374–402 (376). Cf. idem, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” in Routledge International Handbook of Memory Studies (eds. A. L. Tota and T. Hagen; London: Routledge, 2016) 9–21: “No one can doubt that present conditions motivate us to remember in selective ways, but Halbwachs makes no provision for memory as a route to selective realities” (16; original emphasis). 64 Barry Schwartz, “What Difference Does the Medium Make?” in The Fourth Gospel in First-Century Media Culture (eds. A. Le Donne and T. Thatcher; LNTS 426; London: T&T Clark International, 2011) 225–238 (231). 65 Barry Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000) 7. Cf. idem, “What Difference Does the Medium Make?” 232: “if memory becomes so malleable as to be dismissive of the realities of the past, history becomes superfluous and social memory loses its survival value.” See also Zelizer, “Reading the Past,” 227, who notes that presentism “undoes history and risks tottering the establishment of continuity and stability, seen as instrumental for the group’s identity.” Further, she notes, “When pushed to the extreme… presentism undermines all historical continuity.” 61

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The alternative to presentism is essentialism (or absolutism), which represents the opposite extreme on the history-memory continuum. According to the essentialist position, images of the past are static. Collective memory remains stable across generations, transcending the changing circumstances of the present. Approached from this perspective, the significance of past events is inherent within the events themselves. This model, according to Schwartz, is equally unsatisfactory in accounting for the meaning that present observers attach to past events. He notes, “To conceive the meaning of the past as fixed and steady is… meaningless, since any event must appear differently as perceptual circumstances change.”66 In response to these two extreme positions, Schwartz suggests that it is necessary to account for social memory’s continuity with the past as well as its discontinuity.67 Consequently, he proposes an integrative perspective68 on social memory, which recognizes that the presentist and essentialist models “can be seen as special cases of a broader generalization that relates both change and continuity in the perception of the past to immediate human experience.”69 In this way, the past is not completely

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Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory, 7. Cf. Lewis A. Coser, “Introduction: Maurice Halbwachs 1877–1945,” in On Collective Memory (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992) 1–34: “collective historical memory has both cumulative and presentist aspects. It shows at least partial continuity as well as new readings of the past in terms of the present. A society’s current perceived needs may impel it to refashion the past, but successive epochs are being kept alive through a common code and a common symbolic canon even amidst contemporary revisions” (26). Within biblical studies, this position is sometimes referred to as the “continuity” perspective (see, e.g., Chris Keith, “Memory and Authenticity: Jesus Tradition and What Really Happened,” ZNW 102 [2011] 155–177 [168–169]; Alexander N. Kirk, The Departure of an Apostle: Paul’s Death Anticipated and Remembered [WUNT 2/406; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015] 22; Darrell L. Bock and Benjamin I. Simpson, Jesus according to Scripture: Restoring the Portrait from the Gospels [Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2017] 46–51). But this designation should probably be avoided since Schwartz’s view represents a median approach between the essentialist model and the presentist model, which emphasize both continuity and discontinuity, respectively (see Barry Schwartz, “Christian Origins: Historical Truth and Social Memory,” in Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity [eds. A. Kirk and T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 52; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005] 43–56 [44–45]; idem, “What Difference Does the Medium Make?” 230–234). Furthermore, the designation “continuity perspective” is used elsewhere in memory discussions to describe the essentialist position, against which Schwartz’s views are set opposed (see Brian Conway, Commemoration and Bloody Sunday: Pathways of Memory [Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010] 15–17). Barry Schwartz, “Social Change and Collective Memory: The Democratization of George Washington,” American Sociological Review 56 (1991) 221–236 (234).

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swallowed up by the present, nor is the present completely bound by the past. Both work in different ways and to varying degrees in the fashioning of collective memory. While Schwartz acknowledges that collective memory is, to a large extent, shaped by present circumstances, much of his effort has been devoted to emphasizing memory’s connection with the past.70 This represents a deviation from the common trend in memory scholarship, where most tend to focus on memory’s susceptibility of change. Two points are consistently highlighted in Schwartz’s work. First, certain factors restrain and limit the malleability of collective memory. For Schwartz, this includes the very nature of the events of the past. As a realist, Schwartz contends that the “perception of an event is more often forced upon the observer by its inherent quality than imposed by the observer’s worldview and interests.” This means that “[r]eality counts more than selective perception in the remembering of most events most of the time.”71 A case in point would be the memory of the ancient Jewish defeat at the battle of Masada (73 CE). Although the story was recorded by Josephus, it was largely neglected for nearly two millennia. The memory of this event was revived and commemorated by Zionists during the 1920s. What is difficult to explain is the reason why Masada was selected for revivification – especially in light of the practices of other nations who commemorate significant events from their past. The Masada myth represents “an exception to the tendency of societies to remember in a way that maximizes collective dignity or that dramatizes significant turning points in the past.”72 What Schwartz and his colleagues have shown is that Masada was selected because it provided Jewish settlers with a way of thinking about their own commitment and solidarity during a time of

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This emphasis is most clearly displayed in two recent works: Barry Schwartz, “Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire: Memory and History,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 7–37, and idem, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” 9–21. Others have likewise shared Schwartz’s views about the need to discuss the continuity of memory alongside of discontinuity. See, e.g., Michael Schudson, “The Present in the Past versus the Past in the Present,” Communication 11 (1989) 105–113: “The present shapes our understanding of the past, yes. But this is half the truth, at best, and a particularly cynical half-truth, at that” (113). Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” 16 (emphasis removed). Barry Schwartz et al., “The Recovery of Masada: A Study in Collective Memory,” Sociological Quarterly 27 (1986) 147–164 (149).

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vulnerability. This led them to conclude that certain perceptions, including perceptions of the past, are considered valid not because of their utility but because of their objective fit with reality.” In the same way, they suggest that “collective memory is drawn not to that which is useful but to that which is appropriate.”73 Another factor that tends to create continuity with the past is cultural influence. Through a study of the reputation of George Washington between 1865 and 1920, Schwartz has shown that competing images of the first president demonstrate the “carrying power” of the present. His analysis indicated not only that “the original, aristocratic image of Washington was preserved and the new democratic image created by the same society,” but further it revealed that the “contrasting images coexisted because society continued to embrace aspects of its aristocratic past (gentility without privilege) while it rejected aspects of its present democratic culture (privilege without gentility).” So, rather than each generation completely making over the past anew, this evidence suggests that “each generation modifies the beliefs presented by previous generations,” and as they do, “there remains an assemblage of old beliefs coexisting with the new including old beliefs about the past itself.”74 The inertia of collective memory also makes the past difficult to revise. To gain cultural inertia, the perception of a person or event from the past must be stabilized through the process of commemoration. “The more solid a historical figure’s prestige and reputation, the greater the social force necessary to modify them.”75 This is especially true in the case of Schwartz et al., “The Recovery of Masada,” 160. Pace Jan Assmann, “Guilt and Remembrance: On the Theologization of History in the Ancient near East,” History and Memory 2 (1990) 5–33, who claims that the modern interest in Masada “does not lie in the objectivity of the presentation or its archaeological verification, but rather in the grounding function it serves” (9). 74 Schwartz, “Social Change and Collective Memory,” 234. Cf. Edward Shils, Tradition (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1981) 39. With a similar focus on the influence of cultural factors in the preservation of collective memory, Schwartz has also shown that heroic figures like Confucius are less likely to have their reputations reconstructed in tradition-steeped societies than in those societies in which tradition is not as highly valued (see Tong Zhang and Barry Schwartz, “Confucius and the Cultural Revolution: A Study in Collective Memory,” International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society 11 [1997] 189–212). 75 Barry Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln in the Post-Heroic Era: History and Memory in Late Twentieth-Century America (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2008) 220. Cf. Jacques Le Goff, “Mentalities: A History of Ambiguities,” in Constructing the Past: Essays in Historical Methodology (eds. J. Le Goff and P. Nora; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) 166–180: “Inertia is a crucially important historical force, and it belongs less to matter than to human minds, which often evolve more slowly” (170). 73

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long-established memories.76 Even within postmodern culture, where the country’s metanarrative has been slowly eroded, there still remains an enduring commitment to and valuing of the past.77 What is important to recognize, however, is that Schwartz’s claim that the inertia of the past informs present memory is not necessarily intended to identify the actual events of the past as the source of this stability. The actual past may impact memory to such an extent that representative images are transmitted over time in a stable manner; but this cannot simply be assumed. “Stable images of the past,” as Schwartz recognizes, “are not always demonstrably true images. Sometimes false ideas are transferred across generations and accepted as if they were true.”78 The second point that is often accentuated by Schwartz is that the revision of the past takes place within limits. The past can be exploited in a variety of ways to make it relevant to the present. But when this occurs, the new perspectives on the past usually have some basis in reality.79 Two mnemonic appropriations of the legacy of Abraham Lincoln from distinct social settings serve to illustrate this fact. The first relates to the memory of Lincoln within African-American communities. Over the past century, the image of Abraham Lincoln has evolved from a

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See Howard Schuman et al., “Elite Revisionists and Popular Beliefs: Christopher Columbus, Hero or Villain?” Public Opinion Quarterly 69 (2005) 2–29. See Barry Schwartz, “Postmodernity and Historical Reputation: Abraham Lincoln in Late Twentieth-Century,” Social Forces 77 (1998) 63–103. Zhang and Schwartz, “Confucius and the Cultural Revolution,” 190; cf. also Schwartz, “Historical Truth and Social Memory,” 44. Even when commemoration distorts history, there is still underlying reality informing that commemoration. Two examples of this have been explored by Schwartz. One is the exaggerated role of Rosa Parks within the civil rights movement. Although others made more significant and more lasting contributions in the fight against segregation, the story of Parks’ refusal to give up her seat on the bus was the only one to be commemorated. In this way, the historical record tells a much different story than what is found in collective memory. But despite the distortion of history, “Rosa Parks’s occupying the fateful bus seat, her arrest, and subsequent apotheosis are all real episodes in a historic movement” (Barry Schwartz, “Collective Forgetting and the Symbolic Power of Oneness: The Strange Apotheosis of Rosa Parks,” Social Psychology Quarterly 72 [2009] 123–142 [137]). The other example is the commemoration of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address as a message of racial justice. In light of modern sentiments and egalitarian values, many “new historians” have advocated an emancipation-centered reading of the speech. While this might represent a false perception of the past, it is nonetheless grounded in the brief remarks that Lincoln delivered at the cemetery dedication (see Barry Schwartz, “The New Gettysburg Address: Fusing History and Memory,” Poetics 33 [2005] 63–79; cf. idem, “Rereading the Gettysburg Address: Social Change and Collective Memory,” Qualitative Sociology 19 [1996] 395–422).

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conservative who did not value racial equality to an advocate for civil rights reformation. This transformation was driven not by the discovery of new facts about Lincoln but by social change. While this “remaking of Abraham Lincoln is based on some invention and much exaggeration,” at the same time, “it is also constrained by the historical record.” African Americans, as Schwartz points out, “fabricated a racial equality champion out of a ‘colonizationist’ because that colonizationist did something to make the transformation plausible.”80 In this case, what Lincoln did was sign the Emancipation Proclamation. This act – despite Lincoln’s documented views about the inequality of the races – became the point of emphasis within the development of subsequent perceptions. The second example of shifting legacies is the invocation of Lincoln’s memory during World War II. As a way of orienting the perspectives of American society, the image of Lincoln and his role in the Civil War was used to frame the modern experience. Using a variety of strategies, the memory of Lincoln was utilized to provide the motivation for and justification of wartime efforts. But when this occurred, the historical past provided boundaries within which these revisions could operate. Thus, Schwartz was able to demonstrate that, “[g]iven the constraints of a recorded history, the past cannot be literally constructed; it can only be selectively exploited.”81

3.2  The Relationship between History and Memory Recent discussion on history and memory open up new avenues for exploring the Teacher materials in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Rather than focusing exclusively on what particular traditions reveal about the later community(-ies) who recorded them, memory theory also invites interpreters to consider what the historical Teacher might have said or done that would have led his followers to remember him as they did. In other words, it bids us to consider the connection between memory and the actual past. Before we explore how this might be achieved, however, it is important to clearly delineate the nature of the relationship between history and memory.

Barry Schwartz, “Memory and History: How Abraham Lincoln Became a Symbol of Racial Equality,” Sociological Quarterly 38 (1997) 469–496 (491; original emphasis). 81 Schwartz, “The Social Context of Commemoration,” 393. 80

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Scholarly perspectives on history and memory have evolved over time. During the pre-modern period, “the central function of the writing of history [was] to preserve the memory of a dynasty, the church, or a state in order to legitimize such institutions and to ensure their continuity by providing for them an honorable past.”82 This connection limited who and what could be remembered, for the persons and events that were singled out for memorialization had to align with prevailing interests. With the development of critical scholarship, however, this would all change. As modernist perspectives rejected tradition, a new relationship between history and memory developed. Unfettered by traditional institutional restraints and (seemingly) uncommitted to a particular ideological persuasion, historians now allowed the evidence to shape their views of the past. This new phase was marked by a distinct separation between history and memory, wherein the objectivity and factuality of the former was set in contrast to the ideological-laden nature of the latter. Influenced by the perspectives of modernism, early critical scholars of the Hebrew Bible adopted similar views about the history-memory distinction.83 This view was believed to find confirmation with the recent introduction of memory studies. For most biblical scholars, the natural point of entry into the memory discussion has been the work of Assmann. Not only does his primary field of expertise (Egyptology) overlap with biblical interests, many of his publications have focused on related topics, particularly the story of Moses and the Israelite exodus from Egypt.84 What many have seized upon within Assmann’s theory of cultural memory is its lack of connection to (and ultimate disinterest in) the actual past. Throughout his work, Assmann draws strong lines of separation between history and memory (see Section 3.1.2). In 82 83

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Assmann, “Transformations between History and Memory,” 57. Within New Testament scholarship, the relationship between history and memory has taken a more central role. This is due in large part to the fact that there is a much smaller window of time between the events in question and the mnemonic evidence that preserves them. At times, this situation has led to some confusion by those who have applied memory theory to the New Testament (for a correction, see Alan Kirk, “Ehrman, Bauckham and Bird on Memory and the Jesus Tradition,” JSHJ 15 [2017] 88–114). Assmann, Moses the Egyptian; idem, From Akhenaten to Moses: Ancient Egypt and Religious Change (Cairo: American University of Cairo Press, 2014); idem, “Exodus and Memory,” in Israel’s Exodus in Transdisciplinary Perspective: Text, Archaeology, Culture, and Geoscience (eds. T. E. Levy et al.; Quantitative Methods in the Humanities and Social Sciences; Cham: Springer, 2015) 3–15.

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one instance, he even goes so far as to claim that “memory has nothing to do with the study of history.”85 This distinction between history and memory has been adopted and advanced within scholarship on the Hebrew Bible.86 In fact, some have even argued that “the science of historiography is essentially disconnected or even hostile to memory, since it tends to objectify the event wie es eigentlich geworden ist (as it actually came about) and to move along a different groove from that of the tradition within which a particular society transmits its collective memory.”87 For many, the redeeming quality of this disconnect is that it has resulted in the transition away from questions about the historicity of biblical stories and toward the reception of past memory.88 Numerous studies have gone in this direction, emphasizing how and why the ancient Israelites remembered the past, rather than focusing on “what actually happened.”89 In the process, memory studies has become, at least in practical terms, a replacement

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Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization, 60. Cf. also idem, Moses the Egyptian, 14: “The historical study of the events should be carefully distinguished from the study of their commemoration, tradition, and transformation in the collective memory of the people concerned.” Biblical scholars are not alone in this dichotomous approach to history and memory. Others have likewise continued to place the two in opposition (e.g., Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire,” Representations 26 [1989] 7–24 [8]; Gedi and Elam, “Collective Memory,” 30–50; James V. Wertsch and Henry L. Roediger, “Collective Memory: Conceptual Foundations and Theoretical Approaches,” Memory 16 [2008] 318–326 [320–321]). Joseph Blenkinsopp, “Memory, Tradition, and the Construction of the Past in Ancient Israel,” BTB 27 (1997) 76–82 (76). The role of cultural memory in shaping how questions of historicity are treated has been embraced by scholars on opposite extremes of the theological spectrum, including evangelicals (e.g., Chrisopher B. Ansberry, “The Exodus: Fact, Fiction or Both?” in Evangelical Faith and the Challenge of Historical Criticism [eds. C. M. Hays and C. B. Ansberry; Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2013] 55–73) and so-called “minimalists” (e.g., Davies, Memories of Ancient Israel, 105–123). When describing a memory approach to the story of the exodus from Egypt, these opposing concerns are clearly contrasted by Davies, who is quick to clarify that any questions about the story’s connection with the actual past are immaterial: “From the perspective of cultural memory, we should be asking, who is remembering this, when and why. It may seem perverse to omit the question ‘how true is it?’ However, it is unlikely that the tellers of the story had any interest in asking this question, let alone knowing the answer. It was the past as imagined, and its historicity is, frankly, quite irrelevant to an analysis of the memory” (Philip R. Davies, “A New ‘Biblical Archaeology’,” in Biblical Interpretation Beyond Historicity [eds. I. Hjelm and T. L. Thompson; Changing Perspectives 7; London: Routledge, 2016] 15–28 [24; original emphasis]).

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for historical inquiry.90 Given the impact of Hebrew Bible studies on Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship, it is not surprising to find that a similar approach is often taken with regard to the Teacher of Righteousness (see above). The problem is that the relationship between history and memory has recently been reconsidered by historians and memory theorists alike.91 With the constructed nature of history becoming more and more apparent,92 the idea of objectivity can no longer perform its polarizing function. History, as many now recognize, is an art as well as a science. Historians select what events they want to record from an almost limitless amount of possibilities and then arrange that material into a narrative in the way they believe is appropriate. What is more, the development of modern memory research also calls this distinction into question. Memory can, and often does, preserve advantageous material from the past; but this is by no means the definition of how collective memory relates to the past. As the integrative model of collective memory has demonstrated, the past also constrains and limits the distorting efforts of the present (see above). 3.2.2  The Complimentary Functions of History and Memory What we would like to suggest is that history and memory cannot be treated as completely separate pursuits – as though the latter is focused on the subjective recollection of the past, while the former is concerned with the objective and factual reconstruction of the past. The theoretical

Note, e.g., Barat Ellman, Memory and Covenant: The Role of Israel’s and God’s Memory in Sustaining the Deuteronomic and Priestly Covenants (Emerging Scholars; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2013) 18: “Moving away from the issue of the Bible’s ‘historicity’ scholars have looked at Israel’s ‘collective’ or ‘cultural’ memory as a valid alternative.” The recent tendency to view cultural memory theory as a replacement for historiography has also been noted by Barstad, “History and Memory,” 1–2; and Jens Bruun Kofoed, “The Old Testament as Cultural Memory,” in Do Historical Matters Matter to Faith? A Critical Appraisal of Modern and Postmodern Approaches to Scripture (eds. J. K. Hoffmeier and D. R. Magary; Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012) 303–323. 91 For a review of the discussion on the relationship between history and memory, see Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory (Historical Approaches; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007) esp. 26–65; Philip Gardner, Hermeneutics, History and Memory (London: Routledge, 2010) 89–115; Alon Confino, “History and Memory,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 5: Historical Writing Since 1945 (eds. A. Schneider and D. Woolf; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 36–51. 92 See Chapter 2. 90

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developments discussed above have led most scholars to posit a much closer relationship between the two. Both have come to be viewed as discourses about the past, which are shaped (to varying degrees) by the interests of the present. In this way, they are thought to reflect different modes of representation. Some have even defined history as a subset of social/cultural memory.93 Regardless of how closely the two are connected, however, it is important that they not be equated. History and memory are distinct,94 yet closely related and complementary pursuits. They are dependent upon one another, each offering something that the other cannot provide. As such, they “work collaboratively rather than competitively.”95 Memory provides the necessary materials to carry out informed historiography.96 From a range of persons and events, memory selects what will be preserved and commemorated (i.e., what will be available for historical investigation), and then history seeks to construct a plausible explanation and assign a coherent meaning to past events on the basis of those available sources. What history is able to provide for memory in these instances is “verification, substantiation, and falsification.”97 It would be a categorical mistake to describe memory theory as a method of historical inquiry. Nevertheless, it is crucial to recognize that memory work helps to facilitate responsible historical investigation.98

See, e.g., Peter Burke, “History as Social Memory,” in Memory: History, Culture and the Mind (ed. T. Butler; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989) 97–114; Ludmilla Jordanova, History in Practice (2nd edn.; London: Bloomsbury, 2006) 138; Astrid Erll, “Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 1–15 (7). 94 What actually separates history and memory are their distinct epistemologies: historiography mediates the past through the critical investigation of source materials, while collective memory employs stories that have been accepted by communities and passed down across generations through various media. 95 Göze Orhon, Weight of the Past: Memory and Turkey’s 12 September Coup (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015) 32. 96 Cf. Jacques Le Goff, History and Memory (trans. S. Randall and E. Claman; European Perspectives; New York: Columbia University Press, 1996) xi, who makes a similar statement: “Memory is the raw material of history.” See further Philippe Joutard, Histoire et mémoires, conflits et alliance (Paris: La Découverte, 2013) 253–279. 97 Assmann, “Transformations between History and Memory,” 63. 98 Charles S. Maier, “A Surfeit of Memory? Reflections on History, Melancholy and Denial,” History and Memory 5 (1993) 136–151: “memory motivates historical activity; historical research utilizes memory” (143); cf. Allan Megill, Historical Knowledge, Historical Error: A Contemporary Guide to Practice (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2007) 21. 93

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Only by first understanding how persons and events were remembered are scholars able to make informed hypotheses about why they were remembered in a particular way. In other words, a memory approach is not a replacement for historical investigation, but an essential prerequisite that makes historical inquiry possible.99 In this preliminary role, memory theory requires scholars to consider how the remembering community and the Teacher tradition, which they transmitted, were “constituted by the received past”; that is, it necessitates asking “programmatically about how the inherited past places pressure upon, and even forms, those present frameworks in various ways.”100 Following an examination of the memory of the Teacher, it is natural, therefore, to ask what the Teacher might have said or done to cause his later community to view these traditions – and not others – as fitting ways through which to remember him. By shifting their focus away from these types of historical questions, scholars have ended their investigations of the Teacher prematurely. Only by exploring this negotiation between the received past and the commemorated present will the Teacher materials be fully understood.

3.3  Approaching History through Memory The unique contribution of this study, and the one way it attempts to create a more plausible portrait of the Teacher, is its use of memory theory as a way of informing historical inquiry. Although such an approach in no way guarantees the validity of one’s historical conclusions, it does represent a much more secure basis from which to draw them. What complicates the situation is that scholars have only just begun to discuss how this process might occur.101 Scholarship is, thus, in need of a

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Cf. Keith, “Social Memory Theory (Part One),” 376: “Historians must reckon first with the complex relationship between the past and present in any commemorative activity. Asking further questions about the possibilities of the actual past’s contribution is a separate and subsequent stage of investigating those complexities. In this sense, social memory theory is not so much a historiographical method as it is a theory of the social construction of the past that enables responsible historiography” (original emphasis). Keith, “Social Memory Theory (Part Two),” 531, 532, respectively. One of the few Scrolls scholars who have attempted to move from memory to history is Davies. He acknowledges that “a reconstruction of cultural memory permits some deductions about ‘real’ history” (Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 45), although the conclusions that he draws from this approach are fairly minimal. He claims that the existence of the Teacher, while unprovable, “remains overwhelmingly probable from

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method for making informed historical conclusions, which in some way relate to or flow out of the new turn toward memory studies. As a way of concluding this methodological discussion, we will consider how memory theory, which accounts for the cognitive influences of memory, the social dynamics of tradition, and the cultural dimensions of rituals and beliefs, might be used to serve historiographic purposes. 3.3.1  Previous Attempts One method that uses mnemonic evidence to facilitate historiographic conclusions was recently proposed by Daniel D. Pioske, who focuses on cultural memory and its relationship to the history of ancient Israel. Departing from the trend of discounting memory’s connection with the past, Pioske argues that “the inherent possibility of memory to attest to the past in a historically meaningful way requires that a rigorous effort be made to ascertain what, if any, of its referential claims retain historical value.”102 The method that he employs involves “the triangulation of a disparate collection of past referents, textual and material, that attest to that place and time being remembered.”103 The aim of Pioske’s approach is to situate “the referential claims of these texts within a diverse assemblage of past referents in order to ascertain and trace out those points of semblance or disconnect that emerge.”104 In carrying out this task, Pioske does not attempt to establish the historicity of any particular memory; instead, his method is designed to simply determine “the plausibility or implausibility of a memory’s claim when

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the effects generated by those who claimed to follow him” (Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 45). Beyond that, his study of cultural memory leads him to conclude that the Teacher was “only a sectarian messianic claimant” and “not historically a figure of national significance” (Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 46). What makes these conclusions difficult to assess, however, is that Davies never explains how the mnemonic evidence was used to inform his historical reconstruction. Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past,” 307. Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past,” 306. Cf. idem, David’s Jerusalem: Between Memory and History (Routledge Studies in Religion 45; London: Routledge, 2015) 44: “this interpretive process is one of triangulation, in which a variety of distinct material and textual referents are viewed together in order to perceive what, if any, patterns of commensurability may arise.” Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past,” 306. Cf. Ian Douglas Wilson, Kingship and Memory in Ancient Judah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017) 24 n. 37: “situating the claims of a society’s shared memories within a larger complex of interrelated historical data, and analyzing the memories vis-à-vis that data, can help us (a) develop a sense of the society’s own epistemology; and (b) refine our historical reconstruction of that society’s past.”

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triangulated with an assemblage of other past traces.” In other words, “the question the historian poses to that past claimed through cultural memory is whether its references offer a persuasive account of a given occurrence in light of what other material and textual referents suggest about the place and time being recounted.”105 This strategy is viewed as an alternative to a comparative approach, which restricts “the historical appraisal of certain literary memories to the direct corroboration between ancient sources.”106 Considering the lack of attention that Hebrew Bible scholarship has shown toward questions of memory’s relationship to the actual past, the proposal of Pioske should be viewed as a welcome addition to the memory conversation. For our purposes, the evidential inclusiveness of Pioske’s approach could serve as a remedy to the limited number of texts, which specifically reference the Teacher. There is much that could be gained, for instance, from allowing the archeology of Qumran to inform our perspective on the collective memory represented in the textual record. In fact, since the discovery of the site, many scholars have read the texts and archaeological evidence in tandem, allowing each to influence the interpretation of the other. But despite the prospects of Pioske’s methodology, certain limitations inherent within the approach make it less-than-ideal for studying the Teacher tradition. Most notable is its inability to move our inquiry beyond the mnemonic level to the actual past. The mnemonic approach that Pioske sets forth does not provide any means of drawing informed hypotheses about what might have given rise to the memory in question. It merely establishes that a memory is contiguous with other extant evidence.107 For this reason, we must search for an alternative methodology. 105

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Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past,” 306. This approach has also been adopted and applied to the memory of the Levites (see Mark Leuchter, The Levites and the Boundaries of Israelite Identity [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017] 16–20). Pioske, “Retracing a Remembered Past,” 306. Another area of concern is the fact that the approach allows other material and textual evidence to serve as the primary determinant of memory’s (dis)continuity. The application of the theory makes this clear. Pioske discusses the cultural memory claims surrounding two ancient sites (Ai and Bethel) which are said “to illustrate the dynamics of cultural memory” (“Retracing a Remembered Past,” 310). More than anything, however, the examples reveal the controlling influence that archeology exerts on the methodology. In sum, if cultural memory claims are consistent with archaeological discoveries, then there is the potential that continuity might be reflected in the memory. On the other hand, if the archeological record contradicts cultural memory’s representation of the past, then it must reflect discontinuity. For good or bad, this places some limitations on the types of memories to which this method can be applied.

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A more appropriate approach, perhaps, is one posed by Anthony Le Donne in his treatment of the historical Jesus and the “Son of David” typology within the Gospels.108 To understand how this method works, it is crucial to grasp the mnemonic cycle that serves as its basis. According to Le Donne, each new perception is interpreted through previously established categories and refracted (or distorted) in some way.109 The framework in which the perception is interpreted shapes the concept, but is also, in turn, shaped by it – although to a lesser degree. When this process is observed over time, it is possible to detect ways in which memory refractions have been adapted and further developed through what Le Donne calls “refraction trajectories.” These represent the diachronic development of memory distortions that share a common framework. Tracing these mnemonic developments over time allows the historian to work back to those perceptions that gave rise to them, a process described by Le Donne as “historical triangulation.”110 According to Le Donne, “[t]he purpose of triangulation is to establish the most plausible intersection between established trajectories.”111 This means that triangulation requires two separate lines of tradition, or more specifically, “two separate passages in separate sources that disagree on a similar topic.”112 In memory studies, these competing traditions would be described as counter, or contested, memories.113 Each represents a different trajectory of memory refraction, and so “by analyzing conflicting interpretations…, the historian can plausibly suggest the historical memory that shaped these interpretations.”114 In other words, the historian’s

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Anthony Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus: Memory, Typology, and the Son of David (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009) 85–86. See further Anthony Le Donne, “Theological Memory Distortion,” 163–177. Anthony Le Donne, Historical Jesus: What Can We Know and How Can We Know It? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011) 126. Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus, 86. Le Donne, Historical Jesus, 127. A similar approach is suggested by Holly Hearon, “The Story of ‘the Woman Who Anointed Jesus’ as Social Memory: A Methodological Proposal for the Study of Tradition as Memory,” in Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (eds. A. Kirk and T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 52; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005) 99–118, who focuses on stable and unstable elements in the gospel narrative as a way to determine contestation and reinterpretation in the Jesus tradition. However, she is less optimistic about using this information to draw historical conclusions. According to Hearon, “attempts to identify the historical origins of an event or the original form of a narrative when our only sources are the narratives themselves are problematic and likely to yield little more than the lowest common denominator among extant versions” (117). Le Donne, Historical Jesus, 126.

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task is to analyze the mnemonic evidence to determine what single cause could have set in motion both (or all) interpretations. The memory approach of Le Donne represents an important methodological step beyond the criteria of authenticity, the most common method used for accessing the historical Jesus “behind the Gospels.”115 Yet despite its potential for historical Jesus studies, this approach, on its own, is not sufficient for examining the Teacher tradition. The reason lies in the paucity of the extant evidence. Le Donne’s theory requires the existence of competing traditions, ideally over an extended period of time. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to trace refracted trajectories in the Teacher tradition given the few brief references that the Scrolls make to the prominent leader.116 Therefore, other considerations must be assessed alongside the refraction of mnemonic trajectories. A second factor that must play an important role in the method is suggested by Chris Keith. Although Keith has published widely on the topic of social memory, it is his study on the literacy of Jesus in which he provides his most sustained discussion of how one might use memory to inform historical conclusions.117 The goal of this project is to determine whether Jesus held scribal literacy; that is, “literate skills that allow some educated individuals to function as authoritative interpreters of texts.”118 This pursuit finds its motivation in two competing traditions within

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Despite his criticism of the criteria of authenticity, Le Donne continues to maintain their validity (see Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus, 87–91). In his view, the criteria serve as a supplement to the memory approach, not a replacement to it. Others, however, have viewed the two as incompatible alternatives (e.g., Rafael Rodríguez, “Authenticating Criteria: The Use and Misuse of a Critical Method,” JSHJ 7 [2009] 152–167; Jens Schröter, “The Criteria of Authenticity in Jesus Research and Historiographical Method,” in Jesus, Criteria, and the Demise of Authenticity [eds. C. Keith and A. Le Donne; New York: T&T Clark International, 2012] 49–70). The same problem prevents us from adopting the memory approach employed by Dale C. Allison, Constructing Jesus: Memory, Imagination, and History (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2013), who seeks to authenticate portions of the Jesus tradition through the accumulation of similar ideas from diverse sources. In the end, his goal is to establish broad impressions about the historical Jesus. Chris Keith, Jesus’ Literacy: Scribal Culture and the Teacher from Galilee (LNTS 413; London: Bloomsbury, 2011) esp. 50–70. Cf. also idem, “The Claim of John 7.15 and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy,” NTS 56 (2010) 44–63; idem, “Memory and Authenticity,” 155–177; idem, “Prolegomena on the Textualization of Mark’s Gospel: Manuscript Culture, the Extended Situation, and the Emergence of Written Gospels,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 161– 186; et al. Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 110.

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early Christianity: one in which Jesus was remembered as a scribal literate and the other that denies, or at least questions, such literary abilities. Provided with these competing traditions, Keith claims that the historian’s goal is to “posit an actual past that best explains the existence of the Jesus-memories in light of the contexts of remembrance in early Christianity.”119 Since he recognizes the potential for confusion with a term like “triangulation,” Keith adopts an analogy from the field of textual criticism to explain his approach: the historian should view his or her task as an attempt to determine what situation might have given rise to the various interpretive categories.120 As a way to facilitate this process of comparison, Keith seeks to “establish an appropriate background for understanding the diverse claims for Jesus’ literacy in early Christianity’s corporate memory.”121 In this case, any explanation of Jesus’ literary abilities must make sense in light of the literacy levels in the Greco-Roman world and the scribal culture of firstcentury Palestine. But the way Keith develops this point of assessment demonstrates how his approach is uniquely designed for the purpose of evaluating mnemonic evidence. Such a task is to be distinguished from an attempt “to establish a historical context, and a concomitant set of generalizations about that context, that will then be directly applied to Jesus.”122 That is, the effort to contextualize the memories about Jesus is more complex than the prescriptive approach that often takes place under the heading of historical backgrounds. Thus, it is not sufficient to say “‘most Jewish boys’ went to school, therefore Jesus did too,” or “‘most Jewish peasants’ were illiterate, therefore Jesus was too.”123 By situating the context in which the memory of Jesus was first formed, the historian is provided with the interpretive frameworks through which

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Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 110. See Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 67–68; cf. Larry A. Hurtado, “A Taxonomy of Recent Historical-Jesus Work,” in Whose Historical Jesus? (eds. W. E. Arnal and M. Desjardins; SCJ 7; Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1997) 272–295 (295); Jürgen Becker, Jesus of Nazareth (trans. J. E. Crouch; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1998) 14–15. Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 71–72 (original emphasis). Cf. Izaak J. de Hulster, “Extending the Borders of Cultural Memory Research?” in Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis (eds. P. Carstens et al.; PHSC 17; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2012) 95–135: “the better our knowledge of history (the historical past in which the cultural memories under consideration were active and the past it refers to), the better our understanding of this cultural memory” (102). Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 72. Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 72.

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Jesus would have been perceived by a first-century audience along with the interpretive categories into which his words and actions would have been localized. This clarification will be helpful as we attempt to construct our own mnemonic approach toward history. 3.3.2  A Mnemonic-Historical Approach The mnemonic-historical approach that we will utilize in this study focuses on how the interpretive presentation of the Teacher of Righteousness relates to the actual past. It does so by seeking to explain why the historical Teacher was remembered in a particular way by his later followers. This method connects the desire of modern scholars, who are currently seeking to understand how the memories of the Teacher were formed in the present, with the desire of earlier interpreters who sought to know about the past that gave rise to the memories. At the same time, it represents an important departure from both of these perspectives. In contrast to the elaborate and speculative approaches of an earlier generation, the historical conclusions that will be facilitated by this study will be much more modest in scope. In opposition to more recent treatments, we are convinced that the collective memory of the Teacher’s later community has much to offer the historian, and therefore, the mnemonic evidence plays a crucial role in our historical interpretation. The fundamental tenet that will direct our approach is the idea that the interpretive categories of the source materials should inform (rather than negate) historical investigation. Instead of viewing the perspectival reflections on the Teacher as obstacles that obscure, or even conceal, past reality, we will seek to determine how the interpretive traditions found in the pesharim and the Damascus Document could have emerged from a historical progression that began with the Teacher.124

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This approach is similar to, and informed by, the methodological perspective advocated by Jens Schröter in his treatment of the gospels: “Every approach to the historical Jesus behind the Gospels has to explain how these writings could have come into being as the earliest descriptions of this person” (“The Historical Jesus and the Sayings Tradition: Comments on Current Research,” Neot 30 [1996] 151–168 [153]). Others have likewise adopted similar perspectives (e.g., Anthony Le Donne, “Theological Memory Distortion in the Jesus Tradition: A Study in Social Memory Theory,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004) [eds. L. T. Stuckenbruck et al.; WUNT 212; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007] 163–177 [165]; Keith, Jesus’ Literacy, 66).

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This approach is based on the simple fact that there is no access to the past apart from the political agenda, social bias, and religious persuasion of our sources.125 It is not possible to remove the perspectival qualities of the Teacher tradition in order to discover some “factual” core (or “uninterpreted” memory) standing behind them.126 As we have already mentioned, discarding the interpretive elements in which the Teacher’s memory is preserved will leave us with nothing.127 What this means is that we should embrace the interpretive categories as our only means of accessing the past, and allow them to inform our historical investigation. Through the critical evaluation of the mnemonic evidence, therefore, we will search for the impact and influence of the Teacher. As we approach the history of the Teacher from the perspective of memory, our efforts will extend beyond the traditional limits of historical criticism. In most cases, historical investigation is ended with the determination that a particular story, or narrative, is not reflective of the reality it is meant to represent. Our task, however, will be to inquire further into how a particular memory – even a false or fabricated memory – might have emerged. Even if, for instance, an image of the Teacher was formulated entirely in the imagination of a later follower, it is imperative to ask why that specific claim was made about this particular person. This will require us to advance plausible representations

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This point has been made repeatedly within the recent discussion on the historical Jesus. See, e.g., Ruben Zimmermann, “Geschichtstheorien und Neues Testament. Gedächtnis, Diskurs, Kultur und Narration in der historiographischen Diskussion,” EC 2 (2011) 417–444: “Es gibt keine Historie jenseits des Textes. Aber es gibt Historie durch den Text und als Text” (440); and Schröter, “The Criteria of Authenticity,” 59 n. 35: “we have access to the past only by critical interpretation of the sources and never independently of them” (original emphasis). Again, this point has been pressed home recently in historical Jesus studies: Rafael Rodríguez, Structuring Early Christian Memory: Jesus in Tradition, Performance, and Text (LNTS 407; London: T&T Clark, 2010) 57: “Memory does not… preserve the past in a way that allows for the separation of historical fact and later interpretation”; and Alan Kirk, “Memory Theory and Jesus Research,” in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, vol. 1: How to Study the Historical Jesus (eds. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 809–842: “The tradition is inherently neither calibrated nor concerned for a direct redescription of empirical events. Rather, through complex mnemonic, commemorative operations, it amounts to the conversion, or transmutation, of the diffuse actualities of historical events into mnemonically efficient, image-rich verbal artifacts designed to bear the axiomatic meanings and norms—the emerging cultural memory—of the Jesus-communities” (835). See Chapter 2.

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of the Teacher and his later remembering community that would sufficiently account for the mnemonic evidence preserved in our sources. The specific method that we will employ for this task takes as its point of departure the studies discussed above, particularly those by Le Donne and Keith. But given the specific limitations inherent in the study of the Teacher of Righteousness, we will adjust their approaches to fit our present needs. Our method will seek to place the available textual evidence in conversation with the circumstances of the remembering community, the processes of collective memory, and the cultural context in which the memories were formed. Only after conducting such a memory project will it be possible to begin asking whether and to what extent the mnemonic evidence reflects the actual past. The first step toward properly understanding the mnemonic representations of the Teacher involves isolating divergent mnemonic ­trajectories – if they exist – and tracing their diachronic development. By exploring how memories are received over time, one can get a sense of which images were contested and which were persistent. In the case of the Teacher, the texts seem to have been composed at different times, but there is not always enough overlap in the material to locate competing traditions. What we can do, however, is examine the socio-historical circumstances out of which the available traditions arose. This is an important consideration given that the memory of the past is, to a large degree, constructed in the present. Since the sources provide very little information about the specific situations, which led later authors to draw on the memory of the Teacher, attention should be given to factors that would have influenced the shape of collective memory at the time. For instance, it is crucial to determine the temporal distance over which the memory of the Teacher would have been transmitted prior to being recorded in the written sources. Similarly, we must consider the memory carriers who transmitted the memory of the Teacher. Also important to examine is the possibility that the Teacher tradition was preserved in other media aside from written texts (e.g., oral tradition), and the impact this would have exerted on the transmission and preservation of memory. Since the extant materials that describe the Teacher represent a portion of the memory distributed within his later community, it is vital that we understand how collective memory “works.” The second step in creating an informed perspective on the mnemonic evidence is, thus, to analyze the processes by which groups formulate, articulate, and

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preserve collective memory.128 This involves tracing the development of memory from its cognitive origin to its later development as a cultural artifact. The examination should begin by exploring how memories are formulated in the cognitive facilities of individuals. But since the memories of the Teacher seem to have been shared by the community, it is necessary to proceed further to consider how the traces of individual memories relate to the larger body of collective memory. After this process of development has been articulated, one can determine how the process itself impacts memory’s continuity with the past. That is, the interpreter must ask how and to what extent memory is transformed over time. The final step in this mnemonic-historical method is to consider how the process of memory began; that is, one must define the context in which the Teacher was originally perceived and in which memories of him were originally conceptualized. Particularly important in this regard is how the setting might have shaped the formulation of memory. The contextualizing process must take into account a number of factors: historical environment, sociological dimensions, political background, economic setting, and prevailing theological perspectives. In sum, one would need to consider anything pertinent for understanding the preconceptions of those who experienced the Teacher along with the categories available for interpreting that experience. This information is intended to set the parameters for assessing the plausibility of historical hypotheses. By delineating the cultural context in which the Teacher lived, it forces interpreters to contemplate the variety of ways that he could have been perceived, while also providing specificity to those conceptions. While various historical conclusions will be reached in this study, our efforts are not primarily designed to assess the historicity of specific mnemonic claims about the Teacher. Because of the diverse backgrounds for each mnemonic representation, historical inquiry into particular memories requires a considerable amount of individualized attention. For instance, to properly evaluate the memories of the Teacher as an inspired 128

How one views memory, particularly the approach one takes on the issue of memory’s (dis)continuity with the past, dictates how memory is used within historiographic research. If one espouses an essentialist perspective, then historiography effectively becomes a rehearsal of what was remembered. According to a presentist approach, on the other hand, collective memory is of little use to the historian who is interested in what originally gave rise to the tradition (cf. Gedi and Elam, “Collective Memory,” 40). By adopting an integrative approach toward memory, we will demonstrate how – with some effort – memory can be used to inform history.

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exegete, it would require one to consider a unique set of contextual factors, which would be different from those relevant in the assessment of memories of the Teacher’s conflict with the Wicked Priest. It would be impossible in a study like this to render a historical judgment about each mnemonic claim found in the extant source materials. Our goal, therefore, is much more modest. Aside from laying the methodological groundwork for a mnemonic-historical approach (Chapters 2–3), we will attempt to discern the processes and circumstances that gave rise to the memory of the Teacher. The former will be taken up in Chapters 4–7, while the latter will be the focus of Chapters 8–11. Unlike the context of memory, these factors should be relatively consistent across the various memories that are associated with the Teacher. While much about this memory project will (necessarily) be speculative, the conclusions that are drawn from it can help to inform our understanding of this ancient figure. To the extent that we are able to clarify these issues, subsequent endeavors will be free to focus their attention on specific mnemonic representations, and from this evidence, draw informed hypotheses about their origin.

part ii THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF MEMORY

With the methodological contours of our study now defined, this section will consider the first major aspect in the construction of a plausible representation of the Teacher: the socio-historical circumstances of the remembering community. In particular, our focus will be on the various ways that the situation of the Teacher’s later followers may have influenced what they remembered about the past and how they remembered it. Among the factors that we will explore and that would have played a role in shaping the Teacher tradition are the temporal distance between the historical Teacher and the sources which record his legacy; the availability of memory carriers to transmit the Teacher tradition; the potential use of source materials in shaping collective memory; and the extent to which the memory of the Teacher was preserved through diverse media.

4 Dating the Teacher and the Sources

While the pesharim (purport to) describe events from the early history of the Scrolls community, it is generally agreed that the authors were not witnesses to the incidents they recorded.1 In fact, some estimates place the composition of the commentaries up to a century after the life of the Teacher.2 This consideration has played an important role in the evaluation of the pesharim as sources for the historical Teacher. Scholars have argued that the memory of the Teacher would have only been faintly preserved over such a long distance (if it was preserved at all); thus, the authors of the pesharim would have possessed very few details about the Teacher or the circumstances of his early community.3 See, e.g., George J. Brooke, “The Kittim in the Qumran Pesharim,” in Images of Empire (ed. L. Alexander; JSOTSup 122; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991) 135–159: “We have no reason to suppose that their author or authors had actually lived through the earlier events they may purport to describe” (137). Cf. also Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49 (46–47). 2 See George J. Brooke, “Crisis Without, Crisis Within: Changes and Developments within the Dead Sea Scrolls Movement,” in Judaism and Crisis: Crisis as a Catalyst in Jewish Cultural History (eds. A. Lange et al.; SIJD 9; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011) 89–107: “It is well known that the Teacher of Righteousness is explicitly visible in only a few of the sectarian compositions and that it is dangerous to suppose that those from the late first century BCE can be used to construct the history of a century or more earlier” (101–102). Cf. also Steven D. Fraade, “Interpretive Authority in the Studying Community at Qumran,” JJS 44 (1993) 46–69 (51 n. 14). 3 See Ephraim Wiesenberg, “Chronological Data in the Zadokite Fragments,” VT 5 (1955) 284–308: “the haziness of the documents concerned must come from their writers’ lack of real knowledge of the origin and early history of their sect” (304). Cf. 1

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It is noteworthy that many who have engaged this question work from the assumption that historical reliability is, to some extent, tied to a source’s distance from the event it records.4 That is, the material closer to the lifetime of the historical Teacher is more likely to be reflective of the actual past than material that is further removed. We would argue, however, that this assumption needs some adjustment. While narrowing the temporal gap between the Teacher and the sources may bring us closer to the actual past, it would be incorrect to claim that proximity to a given event necessarily guarantees the accuracy of a source. If this were the case, then we would have to rule out the possibility that contemporary sources might contain inaccuracies or even intentional fabrications. Instead of calculating the distance between the Teacher and the sources, which preserve his memory with a view toward establishing the historicity of the latter, we are concerned in this chapter with the effects of time on the transmission of memory. More specifically, we are seeking to discover what the timeframe between the Teacher and the later textual evidence reveals about the sources and the memories they preserve. Most memory theorists acknowledge that a temporal threshold exists in the transmission of memory. Once this point is crossed, memory undergoes a transformative shift. At issue, however, is not the transformation from reliable memory to unreliable memory. What changes is the type of memory defined by the media through which it is transmitted. To account for this transformation, many have adopted the categorical distinctions suggested by Jan Assmann: communicative memory and cultural memory.5 The former refers to memory of the recent past, which is often transmitted through interpersonal communication, while the latter signifies an institutionalized mode of remembering consisting in commemorations of the more remote past. Assmann places the temporal horizon of communicative memory at eighty to one hundred years, or three to four generations. In this way, communicative memory is similar

George J. Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics at Qumran,” BIAC 16 (1989) 8–11: “[the author of 1QpHab] knew virtually nothing of the earlier Qumran history” (10). 4 For instance, James H. Charlesworth uses this temporal argument as a way to lend credibility to the pesharim. He notes that “moving the date of a pesher closer to the date of an event described in it certainly removes the claim that the pesharim preserve unreliable historical data because they are far removed from the events they mirror” (The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002] 78). In his effort to position the pesharim close to the time of the Teacher, he finds a confirmation of their historicity. 5 For more on Assmann’s theory of memory, see Chapter 3.

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to what many refer to as “living memory”; in fact, the two are commonly equated.6 Each refers to “the memory of the 100 years people in their respective presents can look back on and to which the three generations that live simultaneously can relate with their own experiences.”7 With a view toward the temporal horizon of communicative memory, the purpose of this chapter will be to calculate the precise timeframe that separates the historical Teacher from the pesharim, more specifically, Pesher Habakkuk and Pesher Psalmsa.8 We will demonstrate that these commentaries were written approximately a generation (or less) after the death of the Teacher. This places them within living memory of the events they describe.

4.1  Dating the Written Records of the Teacher of Righteousness Establishing the date of ancient texts requires investigation into several different types of evidence, including archaeology, paleography, radiocarbon dating, linguistics, and historical allusions. While objections have been raised about the epistemological function of each of these sources of information (see Section 4.1.2.1), their combined testimony can help us See, e.g., Esther Jilovsky, Remembering the Holocaust: Generations, Witnessing and Place (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015) 103; Jan Assmann, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 36–37, 54. 7 Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik, “In Search of a Master Narrative for 20th-Century Chinese History,” China Quarterly 188 (2006) 1070–1091 (1072). While there is general agreement on the timeframe of eighty to one hundred years for living memory, a few variations have been posited. Some allow for a duration of 150 (e.g., Markus N. A. Bockmuehl, “New Testament Wirkungsgeschichte and the Early Christian Appeal to Living Memory,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth DurhamTübingen Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004) [eds. L. T. Stuckenbruck et al.; WUNT 212; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007] 341–368 [347]), and other have even gone so high as 200 years (e.g., Oswyn Murray, “Herodotus and Oral History,” in The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus [ed. N. Luraghi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001] 16–44 [19]). 8 Although the Teacher is also mentioned in the Damascus Document, our focus will be limited to the dates of the pesharim. There are a couple of reasons for this strategy. First, the historical value of the pesharim has been the primary dividing line between practitioners of historical positivism and proponents of historical skepticism. Each side has interpreted the commentaries’ distance from the Teacher in very different ways. Second, the pesharim are believed to be the written accounts furthest removed from the historical Teacher. If it can be shown that their distance is not an insurmountable obstacle to historical investigation, then the same could be concluded for the Damascus Document (which is generally agreed to be much closer to the time of the Teacher). 6

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make a reasonable estimate regarding the chronological location of specific persons and texts. In this particular instance, however, the investigation must extend beyond the date of the extant manuscripts to consider the composition and transmission histories of the works themselves. Whether the documents in question are copies or autographs will play an important role in establishing the proximity of the relevant tradition to the historical Teacher. Likewise, any redactional activity in the works might affect our estimate of when the Teacher material was incorporated into the text. 4.1.1  The Teacher of Righteousness in the Pesher Habakkuk Among the extant texts that reference the Teacher, Pesher Habakkuk is perhaps the most valuable. It refers to the Teacher more than any other document in the Qumran corpus. What is noteworthy is that some scholars have understood the document to be one of the earliest compositions in the Qumran corpus, while others consider it to be one of the latest.9 Since this commentary has only been preserved in one extant manuscript (1QpHab), we will seek to establish when this scroll was written while also considering whether the date of the tradition it preserves could be pushed back further, depending on the text’s compositional nature. 4.1.1.1  Dating the Text of 1QpHab Since the discovery of 1QpHab, there has been a general consensus about the commentary’s antiquity.10 The primary question that scholars have wrestled with is whether the text was written prior to or subsequent to

Earliest: Ben Zion Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah and the Teacher of Righteousness (HUCM 8; Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union College Press, 1983) 185–193. Latest: Gerbern S. Oegema, The Anointed and His People: Messianic Expectations from the Maccabees to Bar Kochba (JSPSup 27; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998) 108; Annette Steudel, “Dating Exegetical Texts from Qumran,” in Dynamics of Language and Exegesis at Qumran (eds. D. Dimant and R. G. Kratz; FAT 2/35; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009) 39–53 (52). 10 There were some early scholars who insisted on much later dates. These ranged from the early Talmudic period (e.g., O. H. Lehmann, “Materials concerning the Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls, I: Habakkuk,” PEQ 83 [1951] 32–54) to nearly half a millennium later during the time of the Karaite in the Middle Ages (see Solomon Zeitlin, “‘A Commentary on the Book of Habakkuk’: Important Discovery or Hoax?” JQR 39 [1949] 235–247 [236–241]; Pinkas R. Weis, “The Date of the Habakkuk Scroll,” JQR 41 [1950] 125–154). Further archaeological work has made claims such as these untenable, however. 9

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the turn of the era. The earliest efforts to date 1QpHab involved comparative paleographical analysis with other known scripts from around the period (e.g., the Nash papyrus, the Uzziah tablet, and the Dura-Europos fragment). This resulted in a range of possibilities. The commentary’s use of paleo-Hebrew script for the Tetragrammaton was viewed by many early researchers as an indication of the manuscript’s late origin. In fact, Józef T. Milik stated quite emphatically, “The palaeo-Hebrew script used for copying the divine name is especially late and could not come from any part of the first century BC.”11 For this reason, some assigned 1QpHab to the late-first century CE.12 Subsequent discoveries, however, proved that this characteristic reveals more about scribal tendency than it does about chronological sequence.13 Thus, advocates of a first century CE date have sought to support their position through comparisons with other scrolls. Some have pointed out similarities between the script of 1QpHab and 4QpPsa, while others have identified the first hand of 1QpHab with the scribe who wrote 11QTempleb. These connections are important given that preliminary radiocarbon dating placed both of these texts (i.e., 4QpPsa and 11QTempleb) in the first century CE.14 Despite these claims, the majority of scholars have located the handwriting of 1QpHab in the first century BCE. This trend began with the

Józef T. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judea (trans. J. Strugnell; SBT 26; London: SCM Press, 1959) 64; cf. Patrick W. Skehan, “The Qumran Manuscripts and Textual Criticism,” in Volume du Congrès International pour l’étude de l’Ancien Testament, Strasbourg 1956 (VTSup 4; Leiden: Brill, 1957) 148–160 (151); Patrick W. Skehan, “The Divine Name at Qumran, in the Masada Scroll, and in the Septuagint,” BIOSCS 13 (1980) 14–44 (22). 12 E.g., Paul Kahle, “Die Zeit der Bergung der hebräischen Handschriften in der Höhle,” TL 75 (1950) 537–542 (540); Géza Vermès, Discovery in the Judean Desert (New York: Desclee, 1956) 33 n. 26; Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 64. There was a slight vacillation on behalf of William F. Albright. His earliest assessment placed the manuscript in the second half of the first century BCE (“Editorial Note on the Jerusalem Scrolls,” BASOR 111 [1948] 2–3 [3]), but later he situated it in the early first century CE (“Are the ‘Ain Feshkha Scrolls a Hoax?” JQR 40 [1949] 41–49 [45]). Cf. also John C. Trever, “A Paleographic Study of the Jerusalem Scrolls,” BASOR 113 (1949) 6–23 (22–23), who claims that 1QpHab was composed between 25 BCE and 25 CE. 13 See Emanuel Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 226. 14 On the connection between 1QpHab and 4QpPsa , see Rick Van De Water, “Reconsidering Palaeographic and Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” RevQ 19 (2000) 423–439 (427–429). On the connection between 1QpHab and 11QTempleb, see Johannes P. M. van der Ploeg, “Les manuscrits de la grotte XI de Qumrân,” RevQ 12 (1985) 3–15 (9). 11

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thorough paleographical analysis by Solomon A. Birnbaum.15 Then, as more texts from around the Judean desert were discovered, Frank Moore Cross provided the definitive scheme for assigning a relative date to Hebrew and Aramaic handwriting.16 Over the years, his typological sequence of script development has become the standard source of paleographic dating within Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship – although it is not without significant problems (see Section 4.1.1.2). When Cross’ chronological typology was applied to 1QpHab, the script was identified as deriving from the early Herodian period (30–1 BCE), a view that many have since adopted.17 Radiocarbon analysis has been another important method used to date the Scrolls. In three independent laboratory tests, scientists measured the decay of the radioactive isotopes of carbon (14C) in the parchment and papyrus fragments from select manuscripts.18 1QpHab was Solomon A. Birnbaum, “The Date of the Habakkuk Cave Scroll,” JBL 68 (1949) 161–168 (168), who placed 1QpHab in the first half of the first c­entury BCE (cf. idem, The Qumrân (Dead Sea) Scrolls and Palaeography [BASORSup 13–14; New Haven, CT: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1952] 39–42). In another study, Birnbaum moved this date up ever slightly to the middle of the first century BCE (see idem, “How Old Are the Cave Manuscripts? A Palaeographical Discussion,” VT 1 [1951] 91–109 [105]; cf. also F. F. Bruce, “The Dead Sea Habakkuk Scroll,” ALUOS 1 [1958/59] 5–24 [5]; Nahman Avigad, “The Palaeography of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Documents,” in Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. C. Rabin and Y. Yadin; 2nd edn.; ScrHier 4; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1958] 56–87 [74]). 16 Frank Moore Cross, “The Development of the Jewish Scripts,” in The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of W. F. Albright (ed. G. E. Wright; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961) 133–202; cf. Frank Moore Cross, “The Oldest Manuscripts from Qumran,” JBL 74 (1955) 147–172. 17 Frank Moore Cross et al., Scrolls from Qumrân Cave 1: The Great Isaiah Scroll, the Order of the Community, the Pesher to Habakkuk (Jerusalem: Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, 1972) 4. Others who have adopted a similar date on paleographic grounds include: William H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk (SBLMS 24; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979) 23; Moshe J. Bernstein, “Pesher Habakkuk,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 647–650 (647); Maurya P. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 6B: Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 157–185 (157); Timothy H. Lim, Pesharim (CQS 3; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 21. 18 Institut für Mittelenergiephysik in Zurich: Georges Bonani et al., “Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” ‘Atiqot 20 (1991) 27–32; Georges Bonani et al., “Radiocarbon Dating for Fourteen Dead Sea Scrolls,” Radiocardon 34 (1992) 843–849. NSF Arizona Accelerator Mass Spectrometer Facility at the University of Arizona in Tucson: A. J. Timothy Jull et al., “Radiocarbon Dating of Scrolls and Linen Fragments from the Judean Desert,” Radiocarbon 37 (1995) 11–19. A few samples were also submitted to Oxford, but no measurements were produced. 15

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tested at the National Science Foundation (NSF) Arizona Accelerator Mass Spectrometer Facility, University of Arizona in Tucson. According to their measurements, the one standard deviation (1-σ) range – meaning the level of confidence that the date of the manuscript falls within the proposed limits is 68.3 percent – for 1QpHab was 104–43 BCE, while the two standard deviation (2-σ) range – yielding a 95.4 percent level of confidence – was 120–5 BCE. A few years later, these dates were recalculated according to the 1997 dataset, a more recent calibration curve for radiocarbon dating. This new calculation presented only a slightly different range, with the one standard deviation (1-σ) being 88–2 BCE and the two standard deviation (2-σ) being 160 BCE–2 CE.19 With the convergence of paleographical analysis and radiocarbon dating, it is generally agreed that 1QpHab was written sometime in the later part of the first century BCE. The next question to ask is whether this date represents the time when the work (in its current form) was originally composed. 4.1.1.2 The Compositional and Transcriptional History of Pesher Habakkuk In 1QpHab, the temporal proximity of the Teacher tradition to the historical Teacher depends on the commentary’s compositional and transcriptional history. The fluid nature of ancient texts makes it difficult to distinguish between the two,20 but for the purposes of the present discussion we will seek to maintain this division. We will begin by asking

19

20

Gregory L. Doudna, “Dating the Scrolls on the Basis of Radiocarbon Analysis,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (eds. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 430–471 (469). Through a number of publications on the subject, Doudna has advocated dating all of the scrolls prior to 63 BCE, the time when he believes they were deposited in the caves. See Gregory L. Doudna, “Redating the Dead Sea Scrolls Found at Qumran: The Case for 63 BCE,” QC 8 (1999) 1–96; idem, “The Legacy of an Error in Archaeological Interpretation: The Dating of the Qumran Cave Scroll Deposit,” in The Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates (eds. K. Galor et al.; STDJ 57; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 147–157; idem, “Dating the Scroll Deposits of the Qumran Caves: A Question of Evidence,” in The Caves of Qumran: Proceedings of the International Conference, Lugano 2014 (ed. M. Fidanzio; STDJ 118; Leiden: Brill, 2016) 238–246; cf. Ian Hutchesson, “63 BCE: A Revised Dating for the Depositation of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” RevQ 8 (1999) 177–194. See George J. Brooke, “The Qumran Scrolls and the Demise of the Distinction between Higher and Lower Criticism,” in New Directions in Qumran Studies: Proceedings of the Bristol Colloquium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, 8–10 September 2003 (eds. J. G. Campbell et al.; LSTS 52; London: T&T Clark, 2005) 26–42.

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whether 1QpHab is an autograph or a copy of an earlier original. This question arises out of the process of discovery: while most “sectarian” texts are preserved in multiple copies within the Scrolls corpus, only a single copy each of the pesher commentaries has been discovered, all written in a similar script and without overlapping sections.21 This observation led Cross to suggest that the pesharim may represent autographs.22 If this were the case, the paleographical date of the manuscripts would be indicative of the time in which they were composed.23 While the autograph theory gained some popularity among earlier scholars, there are a few significant problems that prevent us from understanding 1QpHab as an original composition.24 Close

21

22

23

24

It has even been argued that the multiple manuscripts constitute a single work, e.g., one Hosea commentary, one Psalms commentary, etc. (see Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998] 125–130). For a response to this view, see Roman Vielhauer, “Materielle Rekonstruktion und historische Einordnung der beiden Pescharim zum Hoseabuch (4QpHosa und 4QpHosb),” RevQ 20 (2001) 39–91. Frank Moore Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1958) 84–85; cf. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 41; James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today (2nd edn.; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) 123. Other evidence has been set forward to substantiate the claim that the pesharim could be autographs. Some point out that the commentaries record contemporary events of significance to the community, which could be viewed as fulfillments of prophecy. “Once events changed, and the prophecies were seen to fit subsequent events better,” it is assumed that “the earlier document would be regarded as invalid” (Gordon A. Rodley and Barbara E. Thiering, “Use of Radiocarbon Dating in Assessing Christian Connections to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Radiocarbon 41 [1999] 169–182 [173]). Thus, there would have been no point in continuing to copy outdated texts. What this line of reasoning fails to account for, however, is that there were other means of explaining an unfulfilled prophecy aside from simply creating a new prediction. When the delay of the eschaton occurred, for instance, the group did not abandon their original interpretation; instead, they merely asserted that – in accordance with the mystery of God – it would take longer than expected (1QpHab 7.7–8). It should be noted that Cross did allow for the possibility that some distance lies between the documents’ composition and the persons/events they record. He does so by postulating strands of oral traditions behind the written documents (see Cross et al., Scrolls from Qumrân Cave 1, 5). Even very early in Scrolls research, there were a number of interpreters who recognized that 1QpHab was a copy of an earlier Vorlage, e.g., Paul Kahle, “The Age of the Scrolls,” VT 1 (1951) 38–48 (43–44); Karl Elliger, Studien zum HabakukKommentar vom Toten Meer (BHT 15; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1953) 70; Erling Hammershaimb, “On the Method, Applied in the Copying of Manuscripts in Qumran,” VT 9 (1959) 415–418 (417).

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examination of the manuscript has led to the identification of two scribal hands. The first scribe composed 1QpHab 1.1–12.13, while the second took over at ‫ אשר‬in 1QpHab 12.13 and finished out the remainder of the composition.25 This fact is important considering that “[a] change of hands within a manuscript . . . attests to its status as a copy rather than an autograph.”26 Beyond this, various copying errors indicate that the scribe was reproducing an earlier Vorlage.27 Finally, the double pesher in 1QpHab 2:1–5 (carried along by ‫ )וכן‬might also indicate that the scribe was copying from two different manuscripts or a manuscript with marginal additions.28 This means the Teacher tradition in 1QpHab extends further back into the community’s history than the late-first century BCE. But how much closer does this bring us to the time of the Teacher? The answer depends on the length of time between the copying of manuscripts. If 1QpHab was composed only after an earlier manuscript was worn out by usage, then

The two different hands of 1QpHab were identified by Elliger, Studien zum HabakukKommentar, 72–74; cf. also Malachi Martin, The Scribal Character of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Bibliothèque du Muséon 44–45; Louvain: Publications universitaires, 1958) 1:78–81. For a description of the letters and scribal hand of 1QpHab, see Ada Yardeni, The Book of Hebrew Script: History, Palaeography, Script Styles, Calligraphy & Design (3rd edn.; Jerusalem: Carta, 2010) 51, 213. 26 Tov, Scribal Practices, 244. 27 At 1QpHab 2.5 (end of the line), scribe A mistakenly copied one of the X-marks from his exemplar – which were used in 1QpHab, and probably the exemplar, as linefillers – thinking that it was an ‫( א‬see Emanuel Tov, “Scribal Markings in the Texts from the Judean Desert,” in Current Research and Technological Developments on the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. D. W. Parry and S. D. Ricks; STDJ 20; Leiden: Brill, 1996] 41–77 [67]). In another place (1QpHab 3.7), scribe A apparently thought he saw the word ‫ פשר‬in his exemplar, and as a result, left the usual vacat before it. When he realized his mistake, he then went back and changed the ‫ ר‬to a ‫ו‬, evidenced by the letter’s thickening (see H. Gregory Snyder, “Naughts and Crosses: Pesher Manuscripts and Their Significance for Reading Practices at Qumran,” DSD 7 [2000] 26–48 [40]). There are also examples of common scribal errors, such as haplography (1QpHab 7.1; 11.9) and dittography (7.2). 28 See Stephen Llewelyn et al., “A Case for Two Vorlagen Behind the Habakkuk Commentary (1QpHab),” in Keter Shem Tov: Essays on the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Alan Crown (eds. S. Tzoref and I. Young; PHSC 20; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2013) 123–150 (134–135). See further James H. Charlesworth, “The Book of the People from the People of the Book: 1QpHab and Its Scribes,” in Jewish and Christian Scriptures: The Function of “Canonical” and “Non-Canonical” Religious Texts (eds. J. H. Charlesworth and L. M. McDonald; JCTC 7; London/New York: T&T Clark, 2010) 46–59 (esp. 48–57). 25

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many decades could potentially separate it from the autograph.29 On the other hand, the present copy could have been made soon after the production of the original. As pointed out by Gregory L. Doudna, multiple copies of the work could have been made, or “scribal generations could be authors’ successive drafts, written on cheap papyrus and corrected in preparation toward a first fair copy, such that prior scribal copy generations would represent only hours or days, not decades, of history of a text.”30 Because there is no way to measure the length of time between copying, we must search for clues about the date of the document’s creation from the context. Before doing so, however, we must consider a second factor: the process by which the work reached its present form. If Pesher Habakkuk is a unified composition that has not undergone literary development, then we can assume that the Teacher material dates to the time of the work’s original composition. This has been the assumption of most interpreters throughout the years. In support, some point to the nature of the commentary genre and the fact that it represents an engagement with an “established” text. As explained by Lawrence H. Schiffman, “because we are dealing with a sustained interpretation of the biblical book ... it seems most reasonable to expect composition to have occurred at one time.”31 As a point of comparison, the original copies of some New Testament documents were still said to have been in use during the second century (Tertullian, Praescr. 36.1–2) and, in one case, even during the fourth century (Fragments from the Writings of Peter [ANF 6:283]). While these claims may simply be apologetic assertions meant to authenticate the Christian message, manuscripts are known to have been in use, on average, for about 150 years in the ancient world (see George W. Houston, “Papyrological Evidence for Book Collections and Libraries in the Roman Empire,” in Ancient Literacies: The Culture of Reading in Greece and Rome [eds. W. A. Johnson and H. N. Parker; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009] 233–267 [248–251]; cf. Mladen Popović, “Qumran as Scroll Storehouse in Time of Crisis? A Comparative Perspective on Judaean Desert Manuscript Collections,” JSJ 43 [2012] 551–594 [562–564]; Craig A. Evans, “How Long Were Late Antique Books in Use? Possible Implications for New Testament Criticism,” BBR 25 [2015] 23–37). 30 Gregory L. Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum: A Critical Edition (JSPSup 35; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) 44. Some have claimed that the community attempted to preserve one authoritative version of each commentary. Instead of reproducing existing pesher texts, group members would create new ones in response to the changing situations of their time (see Håkan Bengtsson, What’s in a Name? A Study of Sobriquets in the Pesharim [Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2000] 24). For problems with this view, see Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 186 n. 248. 31 Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Pharisees and Sadducees in Pesher Nahum,” in Minḥ a h le-Naḥum: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna in Honor of His 70th Birthday (eds. M. Z. Brettler and M. A. Fishbane; JSOTSup 154; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993) 272–290 (274). 29

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However, recent studies have concluded that the predictive e­lement of the commentaries, in particular, made them prone to later redactional activity.32 In the case of 1QpHab, Pieter B. Hartog has made the case for “the addition of an explicitly eschatological layer, consisting of 1QpHab 2:5–10 and 1QpHab 9:3–7, to an existing Pesher.”33 He notes that this interpretive accretion “displays a particular concern with priests and seems to evoke the demise of the Hasmonaean priesthood to construct the expectation of an eschatological priest in the latter days.”34 Similarly, Jutta Jokiranta has suggested that 1QpHab 7.3–7 might represent a later addition.35 To the extent that these suggestions are valid, they would reveal that certain portions of the Teacher tradition might have originated no earlier than the manuscript itself. Yet, since much of the Teacher tradition found in 1QpHab seems to have been part of the “original” form of the commentary, the redactional history need not concern us further. The question of the unity of Pesher Habakkuk has also been approached from a source-critical perspective. Hanan Eshel has argued that 1QpHab contains two layers of historical material: one from the lifetime of the Teacher (second half of the second century BCE) and the other from the later Roman conquest of Judaea (middle of the first century BCE).36 Cf. Shani L. Berrin, The Pesher Nahum Scroll from Qumran: An Exegetical Study of 4Q169 (STDJ 53; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 214–217. She notes that “even if Pesher Nahum came into being as a complete composition, whether in written or oral form, that composition may then have undergone changes over time, specifically in reaction to the delayed fulfillment of eschatological predictions” (217). 33 Pieter B. Hartog, “‘The Final Priests of Jerusalem’ and ‘The Mouth of the Priest’: Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” DSD 24 (2017) 1–22 (6). Others have similarly noted the vacat followed by the double pesher in 1QpHab 2.5–10 and, thus, wondered whether the passage might reflect a later addition (see, e.g., Florentino García Martínez, “El pesher: Interpretación profética de la Escritura,” Salm 26 [1979] 125–139 [137]; Snyder, “Naughts and Crosses,” 39–40; George J. Brooke, “Physicality, Paratextuality and Pesher Habakkuk,” in On the Fringe of Commentary: Metatextuality in Ancient Near Eastern and Ancient Mediterranean Cultures [eds. S. Aufrère et al.; OLA 232; Leuven: Peeters, 2014] 175–194 [186]). 34 Hartog, “Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” 6. 35 See Jutta Jokiranta, “Quoting, Writing, and Reading: Authority in Pesher Habakkuk from Qumran,” in Between Canonical and Apocryphal Texts: Processes of Reception, Rewriting and Interpretation in Early Judaism and Early Christianity (eds. J. Frey et al.; WUNT; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019). Cf., however, Hartog, “Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” 10, who describes this passage as belonging to “an earlier stratum of Pesher Habakkuk.” 36 Hanan Eshel, “The Two Historical Layers of Pesher Habakkuk,” in Northern Lights on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Nordic Qumran Network 2003–2006 (eds. A. K. Petersen et al.; STDJ 80; Leiden: Brill, 2009) 107–117. Earlier, Frank Moore Cross pointed out the “[j]uxtaposition of the mention of 32

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Despite the commentary’s chronological distance from the Teacher, it is nonetheless thought to preserve material that was composed shortly after his lifetime.37 Such a suggestion would hold out significant implications. If 1QpHab contained an earlier stratum of material written by a contemporary of the Teacher, then it would remove the temporal gap that separates the sources from their historical referent. However, as innovative as Eshel’s source-critical approach might be, it is not altogether compelling. The differences that he points out between various sections of the commentary can more easily be explained by the structural and thematic limitations created by the author’s attempt to comment on an existing scriptural text.38 We can conclude, then, that Pesher Habakkuk seems to have a compositional and transcriptional history, although the Teacher materials appear to derive from the earliest form. For this reason, we will attempt to provide an estimated date for the work’s original composition. 4.1.1.3  Dating the Composition of Pesher Habakkuk There are a number of internal clues from Pesher Habakkuk that aid in the location of the commentary’s origin. One method is linguistic analysis. Grammarians have shown that the Pesher Habakkuk was written in late biblical Hebrew with many archaic features;39 nevertheless, this

events of sectarian beginnings and the mention of the Romans in 1QpHabakkuk,” concluding that “the commentaries contain traditions of exegesis developed over a considerable period of time, written down late” (The Ancient Library of Qumran [3rd edn; BibSem 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995] 98–99 n. 2; cf. also William H. Brownlee, “The Background of Biblical Interpretation at Qumran,” in Qumrân: sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu [ed. M. Delcor; BETL 46; Paris: Duculot, 1978] 183–193 [188]). 37 Eshel, “The Two Historical Layers of Pesher Habakkuk,” 115: “It can … be supposed that the first pesher, an interpretation of Hab 1–2, was written not long after the time in which the Teacher of Righteousness, the Man of the Lie, and the Wicked Priest lived, placing it in the second half of the second century BCE. It seems that most of the other pesharim recorded in 1QpHab were also composed during this time.” 38 See Bilhah Nitzan, “Are There Two Historical Layers in 1Q Pesher Habakkuk?” Zion 72 (2007) 91–93 (Hebrew). Cf. also Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism, 163–165. 39 See Ian Young, “Late Biblical Hebrew and the Qumran Pesher Habakkuk,” JHebS 8 (2008) 1–38 [Article 25], with correction by Gary A. Rendsburg, “The Nature of Qumran Hebrew as Revealed through Pesher Habakkuk,” in Hebrew of the Late Second Temple Period: Proceedings of a Sixth International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira (eds. E. J. C. Tigchelaar and P. Van Hecke; STDJ 114; Leiden: Brill, 2015) 132–159.

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consideration does not provide a specific timeframe. Likewise, some have claimed that certain morphological forms aid in locating 1QpHab within a given period. But the evidence set forward in this regard has been somewhat less than persuasive.40 The most common way that the linguistic evidence is used to approximate the date of the Pesher Habakkuk is by discerning a pattern in the author’s choice of verbal formations, thereby postulating a relative point of comparison with other known persons, groups, and events. The historical event that normally serves as a line of demarcation is Pompey’s conquest of Judea in 63 BCE. While some are content to broadly situate 1QpHab around this time,41 many insist that greater specificity can be achieved through an examination of verbal inflexion. At issue is whether imperfect (yiqtol) verbs in the Pesher Habakkuk, which are used throughout the commentary to describe the Kittim, primarily encode aspect or tense.42 Those who understand the imperfect as a tense-based form often read the references to the Kittim as a perceived threat in the (imminent) future and date the commentary before the arrival of Pompey.43 On the other hand, those who assign an aspectual

40

41

42

43

See, e.g., Henri E. Del Medico, The Riddle of the Scrolls (London: Burke, 1958) 145–147, who claims that 1QpHab was written ca. 74–78 CE, based on the reading ‫אבית‬ in 1QpHab 11.6, which he argues did not appear before the destruction of the Temple. Nevertheless, this prothetic aleph is used elsewhere in the Scrolls corpus including in a couple of manuscripts that predate 70 CE (see Eric D. Reymond, Qumran Hebrew: An Overview of Orthography, Phonology, and Morphology [RBS 76; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014] 151–152). See, e.g., J. Posen, “A Description of the Scrolls and the Sect,” in A Guide to the Scrolls (ed. A. R. C. Leaney; Nottingham Studies on the Qumran Discoveries; London: SCM, 1958) 24–53 (34–36). It is generally thought that verbs in biblical Hebrew primarily encode aspect (see S. R. Driver, A Treatise on the Use of the Tenses in Hebrew and Some Other Syntactical Questions [3rd edn; Oxford: Clarendon, 1892] 27–49; Bruce K. Waltke and Michael P. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990] 346–347, 455–478), while verbs in Mishnaic Hebrew primarily encode tense (see Moses H. Segal, A Grammar of Mishnaic Hebrew [Oxford: Clarendon, 1927] 150–165; Miguel Pérez Fernández, An Introductory Grammar of Rabbinic Hebrew [trans. J. F. Elwolde; Leiden: Brill, 1997] 108). Challenges to each of these views have been raised, however. See, e.g., Moses H. Segal, “The Habakkuk ‘Commentary’ and the Damascus Fragments,” JBL 70 (1951) 131–147 (136–137); William H. Brownlee, “The Historical Allusions of the Dead Sea Habakkuk Midrash,” BASOR 126 (1952) 10–20 (16); Johannes P. M. van der Ploeg, “L’usage du parfait et de l’imparfait comme moyen de datation dans le commentaire d’Habacuc,” in Les Manuscrits de la Mer Morte: Colloque de Strasbourg. 25–27 mai 1955 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1957) 25–35; Jean Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” RevQ 3 (1962) 505–538 (533–538). To explain why the

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value to the imperfect argue that the form denotes an incomplete action without reference to the time period in which it occurs. The action, they contend, can be in the present, future, or even in the past. Those who adopt this view generally understand Roman dominion as a present reality and place the work sometime after the conquest of Pompey. The imperfect, in this case, is thought to depict the conquest and dominion of the Kittim in a more vivid manner.44 The merit of each of these options has recently been assessed by Ken M. Penner in a thorough examination of the verbal system in Qumran Hebrew. In this study, Penner makes the case that imperfect (yiqtol) forms primarily encode tense.45 While some yiqtols can have a present or even a past referent, the odds (according to Penner’s statistics) are sixteen times more likely to refer to the future. Therefore, apart from strong contextual factors requiring the references to the Kittim to be understood in an alternative sense, Penner’s study would suggest that it is best to understand them as describing a threat that lies in the pesherist’s (imminent) future. According to this line of reasoning, Pesher Habakkuk would have been written sometime before the Roman conquest of Judea (63 CE). The allusions that the commentary makes to various historical persons and events is another method commonly used to date the manuscript. Efforts to uncover internal clues within the commentary normally begin with the Kittim (‫)כתיאים‬. This national power is described as “swift and mighty in battle, destroying many people” (1QpHab 2.12–13). Sweeping across foreign lands, they are said to have grown rich by devouring and pillaging (6.1), and through acts of cruelty, they have become a source of fear among the nations (3.1–5). But while the Kittim are (to some extent) an instrument of judgment (cf. 4.8–9), it is believed that they will eventually be destroyed by God (13.1–4).

punishment of the Wicked Priest – who is generally thought to be a past figure from the point of view of the pesherist – is also portrayed using the imperfect (1QpHab 10.2–5; 11.15; 12.2–5), some understand the form in an eschatological sense (e.g., Gert Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit [SUNT 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963] 58; Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “Temporal Shifts from Text to Interpretation: Concerning the Use of the Perfect and Imperfect in the Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab),” in Qumran Studies: New Approaches, New Questions [eds. M. T. Davis and B. A. Strawn; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007] 124–149). 44 See, e.g., Elliger, Studien zum Habakuk-Kommentar, 150–164, 270–274, 288–295; André Dupont-Sommer, The Jewish Sect of Qumran and the Essenes: New Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Vallentine, Mitchell & Co., 1954) 28. 45 Ken M. Penner, The Verbal System of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Tense, Aspect, and Modality in Qumran Hebrew Texts (SSN 64; Leiden: Brill, 2015) esp. 176–193.

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In the early days of Scrolls research, there were some who insisted that the moniker was a reference to the Seleucids.46 It is rare to find anyone who defends this view today, however. Most are now convinced that the Kittim should be identified with the Romans.47 This decision rests on a variety of noteworthy connections. Throughout the commentary, the descriptions of the Kittim are consistent with what is known about the Romans from other contemporary sources. The influence of the Roman empire – even during the first century BCE – extended across the ancient Mediterranean, with vast amounts of foreign territory under its control. Further, the Romans were masters of siege warfare (cf. 1QpHab 4.5–9) and, once they conquered a new land, they required tribute from their new subjects (cf. 6.6–7). Nevertheless, these characteristics alone do not provide definitive support for a Roman identification. Similar claims could also be made about the exploits of the Seleucids, especially given the stereotypical language in which the descriptions are couched. For this reason, it is necessary to ask whether there might be places where the description of the Kittim fits the Romans better than the Seleucids, or even some that are only applicable to them. The characteristic most commonly cited is the group’s use of military standards as an object of religious focus. In reference to Habakkuk’s mention of the Chaldeans making sacrifices to their fishing nets (Hab 1:6), the pesherist applies this practice to the modern Kittim, who “sacrifice to their standards” and “worship their weapons of war” (1QpHab 6.3–5). This is consistent with what is known about Roman

See, e.g., Ethelbert Stauffer, “Zur Frühdatierung des Habakukmidrasch,” TL 76 (1951) 667–674; Albert Michel, Le Maître de Justice d’après les documents de la Mer Morte, la littérature apocryphe et rabbinique (Paris: Maison Aubanel, 1954) 123–162; Harold H. Rowley, “The Kittim in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” PEQ 88 (1956) 92–109; cf. also idem, “The Internal Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” ETL 28 (1952) 257–276 (269). For a balanced discussion and critique of this position, see Millar Burrows, The Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Viking Press, 1955) 123–142. 47 Some of the early proponents of what has now become the majority view include: Roger Goossens, “Les Kittim du Commentaire d’Habacuc,” La Nouvelle Clio 4 (1952) 137–170; Cyrill Detaye, “Le cadre historique du midrash d’Habacuc,” ETL 30 (1954) 323–343 (esp. 323–330); Henri E. del Medico, “L’identification des Kittim avec les Romains,” VT 10 (1960) 448–453. To illustrate how established this view has become, it is interesting to note that even though Brooke is skeptical about many of the stereotypical descriptions of the Kittim, he is still confident enough to identify the group with the Romans (see George J. Brooke, “The Kittim and Hints of Hybridity in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in People under Power: Early Jewish and Christian Responses to the Roman Power Empire [eds. M. Labahn and O. Lehtipuu; ECRW 1; Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015] 17–32). 46

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military practice from other sources. Josephus, (J.W. 6.316) reports a similar reverence for military standards among Roman soldiers following their storming of the Jerusalem temple in 70 CE, and about a century later, Tertullian could state, “The whole religion of the Roman camp consists in worshipping the standards (signa), in swearing by the standards (signa), and in setting the standards (signa) above all the gods” (Apol. 16.8; trans. Souter).48 Other descriptions would likewise work best in connection with the Romans. For instance, the reference to the Kittim “invad[ing] by the counsel of the house of sinners” (1QpHab 4.11), would seem to be a derogatory allusion to the Roman Senate.49 Given the long history of Roman influence in Judea, more specific historical allusions are necessary to narrow down the timeframe in which the commentary was composed. One clue may be found in the description of the leaders of the Kittim as ‫מושלים‬, “commanders” (1QpHab 4.5, 10, 12). It is possible that this evidence could provide a terminus ad quem. The key lies in the word’s plural form. Elsewhere, in the pesharim, foreign leaders are referred to in the singular as a ‫מלך‬, “king” (cf. 4QpNah 3–4 i 2–3), a term that came to be applied to the Roman emperor in the War Scroll.50 In connection with the reference to “the house of sinners” (i.e., the Roman Senate) sending out emissaries “one after the other” (1QpHab 4.11–12), 48

49

50

The first to draw a connection between the Romans and the worship of military standards was André Dupont-Sommer, Observations sur le commentaire d’habacuc découvert près de la mer morte: communication lue devant l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres le 26 Mai 1950 (Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1950) 10. He did so on the basis of literary evidence. Subsequently, numismatic evidence was produced that related to the veneration of Roman military standards (see Kathleen M. T. Atkinson, “The Historical Setting of the Habakkuk Commentary,” JSS 4 [1959] 238–263 [246–255]). So, e.g., Johannes P. M. van der Ploeg, “Le Rouleau d’Habacuc de la grotte de ‘Ain Fešḥa,” BO 8 (1951) 2–11 (10); Moses H. Segal, “The Habakkuk ‘Commentary’ and the Damascus Fragments: A Historical Study,” JBL 70 (1951) 131–147 (134); Hermann Lichtenberger, “Das Rombild den Texten von Qumran,” in Qumranstudien: Vorträge und Beiträge der Teilnehmer des Qumranseminars auf dem internationalen Treffen der Society of biblical literature, Münster, 25.–26. Juli 1993 (eds. H.-J. Fabry et al.; SIJD 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996) 221–231 (225). This interpretation is to be contrasted with the one proposed by André Dupont-Sommer, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Preliminary Survey (trans. E. M. Rowley; New York: Macmillan, 1952) 30 n. 3, wherein the passage is said to refer to the Roman civil war, which began in 49 BCE. This latter suggestion is somewhat more difficult to sustain. It has been argued that when the War Scroll was originally composed, “the king of the Kittim” (1QM 1.4; 15.2) likely referred to a Seleucid king (Hanan Eshel, “The Kittim in the War Scroll and in the Pesharim,” in Historical Perspectives: From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 27–31 January, 1999 [eds. D. M. Goldblatt et al.; STDJ 37; Leiden: Brill,

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the use of the plural (“commanders”) may be an indication that the work was written prior to the development of the Roman Principate (27 BCE).51 Taking all of this evidence into consideration, it would seem that the Pesher Habakkuk was most likely written during the first century BCE. Given that the threat of the Romans appears to lie on the near horizon, the commentary may have been composed sometime around the early part of the first century BCE.52 But, such a proposal would only be plausible to the degree that the historical references are accurate. Given the somewhat tenuous nature of these identifications, it would be unwise to assign a specific date.53 4.1.2  The Teacher of Righteousness in the Pesher Psalmsa A second pesher text that makes reference to the Teacher is the Pesher Psalmsa. This commentary, which reflects on the innocent sufferer motif in Psalm 37, uses the rejection of the Teacher as a pattern for the group to 2001] 29–44 [37]). But as the historical situation changed and the document was redacted, this reference would have been connected to the Roman emperor (see Philip R. Davies, 1QM, the War Scroll from Qumran: Its Structure and History [BibOr 32; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1977] 89–90). If this were the case, it would further strengthen the view that “commanders” (1QpHab 4.5, 10, 12) are a reference to Roman leaders prior to the establishment of the Principate. 51 See, e.g., William H. Brownlee, “Kittim,” in The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia (ed. G. W. Bromiley; 2nd edn.; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1986) 3:45– 46. There is no reason to think that this description requires a time period following the Roman conquest of Judea (pace Michael O. Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness and the Floruit of His Movement,” JBL 122 [2003] 53–87 [79]). The sending of administrative officials to conquered territories developed at a much earlier point in the Roman Republic (see George H. Stevenson, Roman Provincial Administration Till the Age of the Anotonines [Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1939] 1–35; John Richardson, Roman Provincial Administration 227 BC to AD 117 [London: MacMillan, 1976] 11–26). 52 Cf. Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1995) 226; Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum, 610–613. Bilhah Nitzan, Mˇegīllat pešer habaqūq: mimˇegillōt midbar yˇehūdah (1QpHab) (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1986) 123–138. 53 Some want to extend the date further into the first century BCE, arguing that 1QpHab 9.9–12 references the Parthian mutilation of Hyrcanus II around 40 BCE (see Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 80; John J. Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 18 [2011] 295–315 [314]; Kenneth Atkinson, “The Identification of the ‘Wicked Priest’ Reconsidered: The Case for Hyrcanus II,” in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy [eds. J. Baden et al.; JSJSup 175; Leiden: Brill, 2016] 68–84 [80–81]). However, this seems like a stretch given that the description of suffering could refer to any number of physical or even emotional forms of torment (Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk, 156–157).

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follow (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–10; cf. 1–10 iii 15–17, 19; 1–10 iv 27).54 Similar to Pesher Habakkuk, this text has only been preserved in a single manuscript (4QpPsa). For this reason, attention will be given to the date of the scroll as well as the potential that earlier tradition stands behind it. 4.1.2.1  Dating the Text of 4QpPsa In his early paleographical analysis of 4QpPsa, John Strugnell described the script as rustic, semi-formal.55 Further, he posited a connection between this manuscript and two other pesher commentaries: 4QpIsaa (4Q161) and 4QpHosa (4Q166). They were, he argued, either written by the same scribe or at least by someone in the same school.56 From this relationship, it is possible to extrapolate a paleographic date for 4QpPsa. Since Strugnell described the handwriting of 4QpHosa as Herodian semiformal (using the chronological typology developed by Cross),57 one could infer a similar date for 4QpPsa.58 It is on this basis that the manuscript is commonly assigned to the period 20–70 CE.59

The numbering of 4QpPsa follows Maurya P. Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1 (4Q171 = 4QpPsa = 4QpPs 37 and 45),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 6B: Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/ Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 6–23, rather than the editio princeps, John M. Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968). 55 John Strugnell, “Notes en marge du volume V des ‘Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan’,” RevQ 7 (1970) 163–276 (211). 56 Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 183 n. 17, 218. Cf. Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” 511 n. 21. Elsewhere, Jean Carmignac (“Les Horoscopes de Qumrân,” RevQ 5 [1965] 199–217 [207–210]), claims that the same scribe also wrote 4QMess ar (4Q534). 57 Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 199. 58 Some place the date slightly later (e.g., Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 71, who contends that the script is “certainly post-Herodian”). According to Sidney B. Hoenig (“Qumran Pesher on ‘Taanit’,” JQR 57 [1966] 71–73), the commentary should be assigned to the Tannaitic period. However, this proposal was based on a spurious reading found in John M. Allegro, “A Newly-Discovered Fragment of a Commentary on Psalm XXXVII from Qumrân,” PEQ 86 (1954) 69–75, which was later corrected in DJD 5. 59 See, e.g., Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1,” 6; Lim, Pesharim, 21; Marcus K. M. Tso, Ethics in the Qumran Community: An Interdisciplinary Investigation (WUNT 2/292; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) 193. Cf. Adam S. van der Woude, “Fifty Years of Qumran Research,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (eds. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 1–45 (29), who broadens the range: 30 BCE–20 CE. 54

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Despite the general agreement that scholars have reached on the paleographic date of 4QpPsa, this projection is not without problems. The first relates to the chronological typology developed by Cross, which serves as the basis for the handwriting assessment of the present manuscript. One argument frequently leveled against Cross’ approach is that his formula for converting typological forms into a chronological sequence is artificial in that it does not take into account a variety of factors that could have impacted the development of Semitic scripts.60 Recently, this theoretical objection has been given specific justification. In a study of a Qumran scribe who copied over fifty different texts from the Scrolls corpus, Ada Yardeni provides evidence of variations over the course of a scribal career. While the peculiarity of this scribe’s style makes it possible to identify his work, Yardeni notes that “there seem to be certain differences between groups of manuscripts apparently written by this scribe.”61 These differences include the size and elegance with which the script is composed as well as the formation of certain letters. Several explanations lend themselves to this diversity, all of which are contemplated by Yardeni (e.g., different writing implements; changing writing conditions; development in the scribe’s style; and deliberate variation). Whatever the reason, they make it difficult to establish the type of continuity that is assumed by the chronological typology of Cross. The study by Yardeni also raises a second problem with the traditional paleographic dating of 4QpPsa: most of the manuscripts thought to have been copied by this prolific scribe have been located on the basis of paleography in the first century BCE. In the case of one scroll (4QDb = 4Q267), radiocarbon tests provided a date of 172–98 BCE at a one standard deviation (1-σ) range and 194–45 BCE at a two standard deviation (2-σ) range. If the traditional first century CE dating of 4QpPsa is correct, then the text would be somewhat of an anomaly. This is not to say that a first century CE date is impossible; it is simply

See further Phillip R. Callaway, “Methodology, the Scrolls, and Origins,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 409–427 (411–413); Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 55–59; Dec Przemysław, “Paleographic Dating of the Dead Sea Script: A Short Polemics to Traditional Paleography of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” QC 16 (2008) 89–106. 61 Ada Yardeni, “A Note on a Qumran Scribe,” in New Seals and Inscriptions: Hebrew Idumean, and Cuneiform (ed. M. Lubetski; HBM 8; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007) 287–298 (288). 60

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The Circumstances of Memory

to emphasize that one can make a relatively strong case for placing 4QpPsa in the first century BCE. Another method by which 4QpPsa has been dated is through radiocarbon analysis. The manuscript was one of the eighteen texts that were tested at the NSF Arizona Accelerator Mass Spectrometer Facility, University of Arizona in Tucson. At one standard deviation (1-σ), the 14C measurements placed the manuscript at a range of 22–78 CE, while the two standard deviation (2-σ) was located more broadly at 5–111 CE.62 According to another dataset, the dates were only slightly different: 29–81 CE (1-σ) and 3–126 CE (2-σ).63 These results have generally been viewed as confirmation of the earlier paleographic assessments. Yet, as with the paleographic analysis, questions surround the reliability of these dates. Some have objected that radiocarbon dating is unable to locate the scrolls within a timeframe specific enough to draw the types of conclusions that are necessary for historical investigation.64 Nevertheless, the responses to this charge, which are specifically directed at the scientific merit of the claim, have been sufficient to resolve the issue to the satisfaction of most.65 An issue that has the potential to produce a much greater impact on the dating of 4QpPsa is the possibility that the samples were contaminated. At issue is whether those who tested the samples completely removed the castor oil, which had been

See Jull et al., “Radiocarbon Dating of Scrolls,” 14. Doudna, “Dating the Scrolls on the Basis of Radiocarbon Analysis,” 470. 64 See, e.g., Gordon A. Rodley, “An Assessment of the Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Radiocarbon 35 (1993) 335–338; Joseph Atwill et al., “Redating the Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 11 (2004) 143–157. Another issue that has been raised with regard to use of radiocarbon dates is the possibility that the scrolls were manufactured long before any text was transcribed on them (see Rodley and Thiering, “Use of Radiocarbon Dating,” 175–176). In this case, the radiocarbon date would not reflect the actual date of composition. As evidence for this practice, attention is called to a reference in Josephus (J.W. 2.126), where the frugal practices of the Essenes are described, including their use of garments and shoes to the point that they were completely worn out. However, the fact that the Essenes followed a strict policy of extensive use when it came to clothing is a non sequitur in relation to the question of whether parchments/papyri were manufactured and stored for long periods before being used for copying purposes. 65 For responses to this claim, see Johannes van der Plicht, “Radiocarbon Dating and the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Comment on ‘Redating’,” DSD 14 (2007) 77–89; Tom Higham et al., “New Radiocarbon Determination,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ʻAïn Feshkha, II. Etudes d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (eds. J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg; NTOA. SA 3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupprecht, 2003) 197–200. For a discussion of this debate more generally, see R. E. Taylor and Ofer Bar-Yosef, Radiocarbon Dating: An Archaeological Perspective (2nd edn.; Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2014) 38–42. 62

63

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used by the original team of scholars to treat the parchments.66 Such an oversight has the potential to produce younger dates than those actually represented by the manuscript. What this means is that the first century CE dates assigned to 4QpPsa may not be representative of when the manuscript was actually written.67 Steps are being taken to retest some of the original manuscripts following a new method of cleaning.68 So, any conclusions about the radiocarbon dates must be provisional. Based on the uncertainty surrounding the paleographic and radiocarbon dates previously assigned to 4QpPsa, we must leave the question of the manuscript’s date open for further investigation. 4.1.2.2 The Compositional and Transcriptional History of Pesher Psalmsa The task of determining whether 4QpPsa is an autograph or a copy is made difficult by the fragmentary nature of the text. Nevertheless, there are some indications that 4QpPsa might be a copy of an earlier work. The strongest evidence is found in 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 4–5, where an interlinear insertion has been placed between lines 4 and 5.69 The handwriting, which

66

67

68

69

See Kaare L. Rasmussen et al., “The Effects of Possible Contamination on the Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls I: Castor Oil,” Radiocarbon 43 (2001) 127–132; Kaare L. Rasmussen et al., “Reply to Israel Carmi (2002): ‘Are the 14C Dates of the Dead Sea Scrolls Affected by Castor Oil Contamination?’,” Radiocarbon 45 (2003) 497–499. Another factor that could affect radiocarbon dating is storage conditions, see Niccolo Caldararo, “Storage Conditions and Physical Treatments Relating to the Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Radiocarbon 37 (1995) 21–32. So, e.g., Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum, 38–43; Martin G. Abegg, “The Linguistic Analysis of the Dead Sea Scrolls: More Than (Initially) Meets the Eye,” in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods (ed. M. L. Grossman; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) 48–68 (51). For the proposed solution to the castor oil problem, see Kaare L. Rasmussen et al., “The Effects of Possible Contamination on the Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls II: Empirical Methods to Remove Castor Oil and Suggestions for Redating,” Radiocarbon 51 (2009) 1005–1022; Kaare L. Rasmussen et al., “Cleaning and Radiocarbon Dating of Material from Khirbet Qumran,” in Bio- and Material Cultures at Qumran: Papers from a COST Action G8 Working Group Meeting Held in Jerusalem, Israel on 22–23 May 2005 (ed. J. Gunneweg; Stuttgart: Fraunhofer IRB, 2006) 139–163; Johannes van der Plicht and Kaare L. Rasmussen, “Radiocarbon Dating and Qumran,” in Holistic Qumran: Trans-Disciplinary Research of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. J. Gunneweg et al.; STDJ 87; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 99–121. Hartmut Stegemann, “Der Pešher Psalm 37 aus Höhle 4 von Qumran (4QpPs 37),” RevQ 4 (1963–64) 235–270 (250) reads the insertion as a continuation of line 4. However, it seems better to situate it after ‫( בחירו‬see Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186), 48 and Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 214).

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is distinguished from the rest of the manuscript by Strugnell, is described as “semi-cursive.” It seems to represent the work of a different, but contemporary, scribe sometime after the manuscript’s completion.70 The presence of this insertion can most likely be traced back to an error of homoioteleuton.71 After copying ‫בחירו‬, the eyes of the original scribe were mistakenly transferred to the similar ending of ‫פשרו‬, which became the new point of departure. As a result, the scriptural passage (Ps 37:19b– 20a) was accidentally omitted. What is even more interesting about this insertion is how it disrupts the pattern of line spacing. Because of the consistency of vacats elsewhere in the manuscript, this divergence provides a window into the document’s transmission history. It reveals that “the vacat formatting occurred at least one copy after the composition of the text itself, i.e. the vacat formatting was done on the basis of a copy with a copying error already in it.”72 This would make 4QpPsa at least one generation removed from the autograph. So, regardless of whether 4QpPsa is dated to the first century CE on the basis of paleographical considerations and radiocarbon measurements (see above), the original work seems to be have composed sometime earlier. The question that we must ask then is, how much earlier? 4.1.2.3  Dating the Composition of Pesher Psalmsa The fragmentary nature of Pesher Psalmsa limits the amount of internal evidence that can be brought to bear on the question of dating. Since “there are no clear allusions to identifiable historical events,”73 other methods of assessment must be considered. The verbal forms used in 4QpPsa are perhaps the most pertinent for this discussion. There are two passages in which verbal inflexion weighs on the date assigned to the commentary. The first is 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 18–19, where the pesherist warns that the

70

71

72 73

Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 214. One indication that the insertion represents a later addition is the fact that the Tetragrammaton is composed in square script as opposed to the Paleo-Hebrew forms found in other places (e.g., 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 14–15). The possibility of homoioteleuton was first suggested by Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 214. Others have subsequently concurred with this suggestion, e.g., Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (CBQMS 8; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979) 3; Armin Lange, Handbuch der Textfunde vom Toten Meer, Band 1. Die Handschriften biblischer Bücher von Qumran und den anderen Fundorten (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009) 407; Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 28. Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum, 243. Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1,” 6.

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wicked of Ephraim and Manasseh “will attempt (‫ )יבקשו‬to lay their hands on the Priest and the members of his congregation,” but that “God will save them (‫ )יפדם‬from their hand.” Similarly, 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–10 states that the “Wicked [Pri]est wa[tche]s the [Teach]er of Righteous[ness, seeking to] kill him,” but that “God will not ab[andon him ([‫ )יע[זבנו‬into his hand].” In both cases, the author references the Teacher using an imperfect verbal form, which generally denote a future action.74 Shortly after the first publication of the Psalms commentary, John M. Allegro suggested that there were two ways of interpreting the imperfect form in 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–10 as it relates to the judgment of the Teacher and the Wicked Priest: “Since this event lies in the future and is yet reckoned to affect both Priests, one must suppose that either 4QpPs was written when both were still alive, and the end was expected before they died, or, and perhaps more probably, they were expected to arise in the end of days to face glory and condemnation respectively.”75 The decision to read this passage as a reference to the eschatological future has been followed by the majority of interpreters.76 Few, however, have been convinced by Allegro’s suggestion that the passage anticipates the resurrection and subsequent judgment of the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest. To account for the future dimension of the verbal forms, most have understood the passage as describing a time when the group found itself under another leader whom they also designated as “the priest.”77

74

75

76

77

See the discussion of verbal tense/aspect above. The imperfect forms of Pesher Psalmsa have been noted by Jesper Høgenhaven, “Psalms as Prophcy: Qumran Evidence for the Reading of Psalms as Prophetic Text and the Formation of the Canon,” in Functions of Psalms and Prayers in the Late Second Temple Period (eds. M. S. Pajunen and J. Penner; BZAW 486; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017) 231–251 (239–240), who claims that it is consistent with a prophetic reading of the psalm. John M. Allegro, “Further Light on the History of the Qumran Sect,” JBL 75 (1956) 89–95 (95). One exception is Stegemann, “Der Pešher Psalm 37,” 259–260 n. 141, who understood the verbal form to denote an aspectual value. As a result, he suggested that the imperfect was used to describe repeated events from the past. So, e.g., Jean Carmignac et al., Les textes de Qumran traduits et annotés, II: Régle de la Congrégation, Recueil des bénédictions, Interprétations de prophètes et de psaumes, Document de Damas, Apocryphe de la Genèse, Fragments des grottes 1 et 4 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1963) 121–122; Dennis G. Pardee, “A Restudy of the Commentary on Psalm 37 from Qumran Cave 4 (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan, vol. V, no 171),” RevQ 8 (1972–75) 163–194 (180–181); Horgan, Pesharim, 211; Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community (CCWJC 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 250–251.

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But while the reference to a future priest in 4QpHosb 2 3 lends some credibility to this suggestion, it is questionable whether the same referent can be assigned here.78 Given that just one column later “the priest” is specifically identified as the “Teacher of Righteousness” (4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15), and considering that the phrase “members of his congregation” elsewhere describes the followers of the Teacher (1QpHab 9.9–10),79 it is difficult to assign this designation to someone other than the Teacher of Righteousness.80 In contrast to this majority opinion, the verbal forms in 4QpPsa have been used by Barbara Thiering to argue that the document was written while the Teacher was still active within the community. “At the time of composition of these passages,” she argues, “the Teacher of Righteousness was still alive, and it was expected, on the basis of biblical prophecy, that he would be delivered from a trial of judgment that he was about to undergo.”81 Despite the questionable end to which Thiering attempts to use this evidence (viz. to show that John the Baptist was the Teacher of Righteousness), the inference she draws

It is noteworthy that the priest mentioned in 4QpHos b 2 3 is specifically called ‫“( כוהן האחרון‬the final priest”); whereas in 4QpPs a 1–10 ii 19 he is only describe as ‫“( כוהן‬the priest”). 79 The phrase (with a pronominal suffix) can designate any group who follows a given leader (1QpHab 5.10; 4QNah 3–4 i 5; cf. 4QNah 1–2 ii 8; 4Q174 1–2 i 17; 4Q177 1–4 14, 16). But the point is that the phrase is nowhere else used for another leader of the Teacher’s community. 80 Hartog, “Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” 11–14, argues for a distinction between the Teacher of Righteousness and the priest who is mentioned in 1QpHab 2.5–10. Part of the basis for this hypothesis are the verbal forms used for each character (see Hartog, “Eschatology and Literary History in Pesher Habakkuk,” 11 n. 34). He notes that the imperfect is employed with reference to the priest (1QpHab 2.6), whereas the perfect is normally used for the Teacher. The problem with this argument is that 1QpHab 2.6 does not use the imperfect verb to describe the priest’s activity, only the disbelief of the latter generation. It is more natural to interpret this future disbelief as a response to words of the priest spoken in the past. If so, there is no need to think that the priest is anyone other than the Teacher. 81 Barbara E. Thiering, Redating the Teacher of Righteousness (ANZSTR; Sydney: Theological Explorations, 1979) 52 (emphasis removed). Cf. also idem, “Can the Hasmonean Dating of the Teacher of Righteousness Be Sustained?” in Mogilany 1989: Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls Offered in Memory of Jean Carmignac. Part II: The Teacher of Righteousness, Literary Studies (ed. Z. J. Kapera; QM 3; Kraków: Enigma, 1991) 99–117 (105–106); idem, “The Date and Order of Scrolls, 40 BCE to 70 CE,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (eds. L. H. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000) 191–198 (193). 78

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from the verbal forms must be taken seriously. Multiple uses of the imperfect verb in 4QpPsa seem to denote future events involving the Teacher. Unless he was expected to serve in some future (resurrected) capacity, consideration should be given to the possibility that he was a contemporary figure when the commentary was written. If this were the case, it would hold out significant implications for the Teacher tradition. It would establish that, rather than being far removed from the historical Teacher, at least one of the sources of Teacher material was composed within his lifetime. In the end, however, we must be cautious. It would be unwise to construct a theory of the Teacher tradition from a speculative date for a work whose fragmentary nature continues to make its meaning elusive to modern interpreters. 4.1.3  Assessing the Dates of the Written Records While it is possible to place the date of Pesher Habakkuk and Pesher Psalmsa very broadly around the turn of the era, a considerable degree of uncertainty surrounds attempts to date the works with more precision. At the moment, there are a few crucial questions that impact the specific timeframe into which these texts should be located. Serious concerns have been raised about the chronological typology used for paleographical assessment. Further, the radiocarbon dates for 4QpPsa remain unresolved after the possibility was raised that earlier samples may have been contaminated. Finally, additional investigation into Hebrew verbal forms is required as a way to either challenge or confirm recent hypotheses about the tense-based system used within the Qumran literature. Given the way that these issues impact the date of the texts in question, it seems best to withhold final judgments until further clarity is reached. As we turn our attention to the date of the Teacher, what we will find is a situation marked by similar questions and uncertainties.

4.2  Dating the Teacher of Righteousness With the earliest research on the Scrolls, scholars located the Teacher of Righteousness in almost every century within the Second Temple period. More recently, there has been a general agreement that the Teacher is best situated in either the second or first century BCE, and this is where our attention will be focused.

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The Circumstances of Memory 4.2.1  Placing the Teacher in the Second Century BCE

The current consensus places the career of the Teacher sometime in the middle of the second century BCE.82 As the primary impetus for the rise of the Teacher and the establishment of his community, scholars often look to the controversy surrounding the high priesthood in Jerusalem. Since the Teacher is described as a priest (1QpHab 2.8; 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15), many believe that the origins of his group can be traced back to a conflict with the figure who is referred to as the Wicked Priest. This individual is commonly identified with one of the Hasmonean rulers. According to the most popular form of this theory, the Teacher had served as the high priest during the intersacerdotium (159–152 BCE; cf. Josephus, Ant. 20.237); but when Jonathan took over as high priest and consolidated religious and political power, the Teacher was displaced. In protest, he and a group of supporters moved to the desert to await God’s vindication. Confirmation of this reconstruction is sought from both the textual and archaeological record. Scholars regularly appeal to the chronological framework found in the Damascus Document. At the beginning of the Admonition, the text describes the origins of the community. It states that 390 years after Israel was delivered into the hands of the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar,83 a remnant developed (CD-A 1.5–7). Calculating this date from the destruction of Jerusalem (587/586 BCE)

This consensus was formulated by Vermès, Discovery in the Judean Desert, 64–105; Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 44–98; and Cross, The Ancient Library of Qumran, 88–120 (who claimed that Simon Maccabee was the Wicked Priest). For a review of this position, see James C. VanderKam, “Identity and History of the Community,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (eds. J. C. VanderKam and P. W. Flint; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 487–533 (501–531). 83 Isaac Rabinowitz, “A Reconsideration of ‘Damascus’ and ‘390 Years’ in the ‘Damascus’ (‘Zadokite’) Fragments,” JBL 73 (1954) 11–35 (13–14 n. 8), argues that ‫ לתיתו‬cannot be translated with a temporal force (“after he handed [them]”), and so he argues that the 390 years mark the period of Israelite history, which culminates in the conquest of Nebuchadnezzar, rather than marking a period of time that would be completed after the Babylonian destruction (cf. also Wiesenberg, “Chronological Data in the Zadokite Fragments,” 285–292; Annie Jaubert, “Le pays de Damas,” RB 65 [1958] 214–248 [216–217]). However, while ‫ ל‬+ infinitive construct does not often denote temporality, it can function in this way (Exod 16:1; 1 Kgs 3:18; see Martin G. Abegg, “Exile and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions [ed. J. M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997] 111–126 [119 n. 33]), and in this instance, the content seems to require it. 82

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would place the origins of the group around 197/196 BCE. Further, the group is said to have been groping for direction for another twenty years prior to the rise of the Teacher (CD-A 1.8–10). This would place the entrance of the Teacher around 177/176 BCE. For some, this date (or at least some approximation) is thought to represent the beginning of the Teacher’s career.84 Adjustments have been made to account for potential differences between modern calculations and the chronological systems in use in the ancient world. Like the ancient Jewish historian Demetrius, some believe that the Damascus Document represents a system that was a couple decades short of the actual timeframe, and thus, they place the rise of the Teacher around 150 BCE.85 Assuming that the Teacher’s career lasted approximately forty years,86 his death would have occurred around 110 BCE.87 Support for this reconstruction is sought from the archaeological data related to Khirbet Qumran. The earliest excavations of the site were led by Roland de Vaux, who claimed that the settlement was occupied by a sectarian group in the Hellenistic period after having lain vacant for several centuries. According to de Vaux, the sectarian occupation of Qumran was divided into the three chronological phases.88 The first (Period Ia) is said to have begun with a modest renovation of the Iron Age settlement during the time of John Hyrcanus I (135–104 BCE). The primary support for this point of origin comes from eleven Seleucid coins, dating before and after 130 BCE, which were discovered around the site.89 Based on the premise that “the coins found in excavations usually represent a level of occupation relating to the period of the rulers shown on the coins,”90 scholars have assumed that the site must have been occupied around

84 85

86 87

88

89

90

See, e.g., Vermès, Discovery in the Judean Desert, 87. For a defense of this position, see Antti Laato, “The Chronology in the Damascus Document of Qumran,” RevQ 15 (1992) 605–607. On the length of the Teacher’s career, see p. 188. See Stegemann, The Library of Qumran, 123. This date for the Teacher’s death has been assumed by others as well, e.g., Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History, 40; Cecilia Wassen, Women in the Damascus Document (AcBib 21; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005) 23. Roland de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Oxford University Press, 1973) 1–44. See Frank Moore Cross, “The Early History of the Apocalyptic Community at Qumrân,” in Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973) 326–342 (326–327). Yizhar Hirschfeld, Qumran in Context: Reassessing the Archaeological Evidence (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004) 55.

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the time when the coins went into circulation; that is, around 130 BCE. This original phase of sectarian occupation is thought to coincide with the approximate date of the Teacher’s removal from office, and thus, the group’s resettlement in the Judean desert. While a second century BCE date for the Teacher remains the consensus view, serious problems surround each of the major pillars on which it rests. To begin with, there is no hint anywhere in the Scrolls that the Teacher’s dispute with the Wicked Priest relates to the illegitimacy of his high priesthood.91 Throughout the pesharim, the failings of the Wicked Priest seem to lie in his rebellion from God, as evidenced by his performance of abhorrent deeds that displeased God (1QpHab 8.10–11, 13, 16–17; 11.12–14; 12.7–9).92 No mention is made of his non-Zadokite background. Further, when specific points of dispute are discussed, the conflict surrounds proper legal observance and calendrical disagreements (cf. 4QMMT).93 Beyond the origins of the group, there is also the problem with the use of the Damascus Document’s chronological framework. Despite the recognition that the 390 years is drawn symbolically from the length of Israel’s punishment in Ezek 4:5, 9, many nevertheless use the number to reconstruct the chronological aspects of the Teacher’s life, assuming that it is a reasonably accurate approximation. The reason why many have viewed the calculation in this way is because it fits with the (earlier)

91

92

93

John J. Collins, “The Origin of the Qumran Community: A Review of the Evidence,” in To Touch the Text: Biblical and Related Studies in Honour of Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J. (eds. P. J. Kobelski and M. P. Horgan; New York: Crossroads, 1989) 159–178; cf. also Alison Schofield and James C. VanderKam, “Were the Hasmoneans Zadokites?” JBL 124 (2005) 73–87 (83); Vasile Babota, The Institution of the Hasmonean High Priesthood (JSJSup 165; Leiden: Brill, 2014) 167. Hans Burgmann, Zwei lösbare Qumrânprobleme. Die Person des Lügenmannes. Die Interkalation im Kalender (New York: Peter Lang, 1986) 75, has claimed that the illegitimacy of the Wicked Priest is hinted at in the scriptural citation of 1QpHab 8.7 (“Woe to the one who becomes great on what is not his”). But this claim is without any real merit. On this point, Frederick M. Schweitzer makes an important concessive qualification that is highly revealing. After positing that the Teacher had served as the de facto high priest during the intersacerdotium and was thereafter removed by the ascendancy of Jonathan, Schweitzer supposes that MMT is a letter written to address the conflict. However, since MMT focuses on halakhic matters rather than the high priesthood, he claims that “one must be prepared to allow that the reasons given [in the letter] are later rationalizations rather than the actual causes, that failure to observe the purity laws, e.g., may be an aftereffect instead of the cause of the schism” (“The Teacher of Righteousness,” in Mogilany 1989: Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls Offered in Memory of Jean Carmignac. Part II: The Teacher of Righteousness, Literary Studies [ed. Z. J. Kapera; QM 3; Kraków: Enigma, 1991] 53–97 [57]).

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proposed archaeological dates for the settlement at Qumran (see above). Apart from this connection, one wonders whether any weight would be attributed to the number.94 Further, if this were an accurate calculation, it would represent “a chronological accuracy unparalleled in ancient Jewish literature for the period from 586 BC to 175 BC.”95 We would have to assume that the author, unlike other Jewish chronographers of his day, was able to acquire enough relevant data to calculate the length of the Persian period with precision and thereby to estimate the date of Nebuchadnezzar’s destruction of Jerusalem. The luxury of such evidence, however, was lacking prior to the modern period.96 The archaeological evidence from Qumran also fails to provide support for the consensus position. Recent surveys have found little that would commend de Vaux’s earliest phase (Period Ia) in the settlement process. In fact, some have even accused him of shaping his archaeological conclusions in a way that would harmonize with the chronology that had been worked out from the textual evidence.97 Most archaeologists now believe that the “sectarian” resettlement of Qumran occurred at the beginning of the first century BCE, or sometime thereafter, rather than the second century.98 Regardless of the merit of de Vaux’s conclusions,

Even very early in Scrolls studies, the danger of this approach was pointed out. According to Harold H. Rowley, “[i]f it should prove to be approximately accurate, it is more likely that this is an accident than that it rests on precise calculation.” For this reason, he suggests that the number should “be left out of account in any discussion of the date of the Teacher of Righteousness” (“The Teacher of Righteousness and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” BJRL 40 [1957] 114–146 [116]; cf. idem, The Zadokite Fragments and the Dead Sea Scrolls [Oxford: Blackwell, 1952] 62–64). 95 Robert H. Pfeiffer, History of New Testament Times, with an Introduction to the Apocrypha (2nd edn.; London: Black, 1963) 57. 96 See Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 63. 97 Cf. Philip R. Davies, “How Not to Do Archaeology: The Story of Qumran,” BA 51 (1988) 203–207: “when you read the Habakkuk midrash with a bent toward interpreting the archaeological data before you, you realize that you need a date before 135 BCE [to reconcile the archaeological evidence with the consensus interpretation of the textual material]—hence, I suspect, de Vaux’s otherwise inexplicable desire to push the time frame back to the earliest possible date, or even earlier” (204). 98 See, e.g., Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002) 65: “it is reasonable to date the initial establishment of the sectarian settlement to the first half of the first century BCE (that is, sometime between 100 and 50 BCE).” Cf. also Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, “Brèves remarques archéologiques concernant la chronologie des occupations esséniennes de Qoumrân,” RevQ 12 (1986) 199–212; Jean-Baptiste Humbert, “L’espace sacré à Qumran. Propositions pour l’archéologie,” RB 101 (1994) 161–214 (209–211); Yitzhak Magen 94

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his proposal does not move us any closer to a date for the Teacher unless he can be definitively located at the settlement, which is simply impossible to demonstrate.99 This means the evidence for dating the Teacher during the second century BCE is ambiguous at best. There is very little that has been discussed so far that would require us to situate the Teacher within this time period. For this reason, we will be forced to consider an alternative date. 4.2.2  Placing the Teacher in the First Century BCE While it has remained a minority position, there have always been some within Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship who have located the Teacher in the first century BCE. This view was most prominently advocated within an earlier generation of Scrolls research by André Dupont-Sommer, who claimed that the Teacher was put to death by the Wicked Priest (Aristobulus II) around 65–63 BCE.100 More recently, a first century BCE date has been revived by Michael O. Wise, following the publication of new materials and in light of shifting perspectives on older texts.101 The basis for this proposal lies in the historical allusions found

99

100

101

and Yuval Peleg, “Back to Qumran: Ten Years of Excavation and Research, 1993– 2004,” in Qumran, the Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (eds. K. Galor et al.; STDJ 57; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 55–113 (68, 79). Scholars have been divided over whether the Teacher resided at Qumran (so, e.g., Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History, 37–40, 90; C. D. Elledge, The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls [ABS 14; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005] 46) or not (so, e.g., Hartmut Stegemann, “The Qumran Essenes – Local Members of the Main Jewish Union in Late Second Temple Times,” in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid, March 18–21, 1991 [eds. J. T. Barrera and L. V. Montaner; STDJ 11; Leiden: Brill, 1992] 83–166 [161]; Torleif Elgvin, “The Yaḥad is More than Qumran,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection [ed. G. Boccaccini; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005] 273–279). Dupont-Sommer, The Dead Sea Scrolls, 32–37; idem, The Essene Writings from Qumran (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961) 339–357. Other early interpreters who advocated a first-century BCE date include: Johannes P. M. van der Ploeg, The Excavations at Qumran: A Survey of the Judaean Brotherhood and Its Ideas (trans. K. Smyth; London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1958) 59–62; Yigael Yadin, “Pesher Nahum (4QpNahum) Reconsidered,” IEJ 21 (1971) 1–12 (12). Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 53–87; idem, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. J. J. Collins and T. H. Lim; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 92–122; cf. also idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the High Priest of the Intersacerdotium: Two Approaches,” RevQ 14 (1990) 587–613.

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predominantly in the pesharim. Wise lists a total of thirty-two allusions, which he believes can be identified through other historical sources.102 What is noteworthy about this fact is that the persons and events underlying these references are located primarily in the first century BCE.103 From this, Wise concludes that the first century BCE marked the flourishing of the movement. The history of the community was short-lived, however. According to Wise, the conflict that established this New Covenant community occurred in 76 BCE, and the movement began to wane around 30 BCE.104 “By the beginning of the common era, it seems, the Teacher’s movement had lost vitality, perhaps even ceased to exist. No more than a rivulet survived to flow into the first century CE.”105 Another noteworthy proponent of a first century BCE date is John J. Collins.106 His reconstruction represents a modification of the traditional Essene hypothesis, which seeks to reconsider the relevant historical allusions in light of new perspectives on the textual and archaeological evidence. Consistent with recent archaeological conclusions (see above), Collins places the occupation of Qumran sometime around 100 BCE. Further, he argues that the origin of the group was not induced by the usurpation of the high priesthood. The group is believed to have had a

102 103

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Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 65–81. Cf. also Géza Vermès, “Le cadre historique des manuscrits de la mer Morte,” RSR 41 (1953) 5–29; idem, “Historiographical Elements in the Qumran Writings: A Synopsis of the Textual Evidence,” JJS 58 (2007) 121–139; Joseph D. Amussin, “The Reflection of Historical Events of the First Century BC in Qumran Commentaries (4Q 161; 4Q 169; 4Q 166),” HUCA 48 (1977) 123–152; Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum, 701–705. Along with this, one might also note that the dates of the manuscripts show a high point around the first century BCE (see Hayim Lapin, “Dead Sea Scrolls and the Historiography of Ancient Judaism,” in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods [ed. M. L. Grossman; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010] 108–127 [112–116]). Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 84. Cf. idem, The First Messiah: Investigating the Savior before Jesus (San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999) 41, 60. Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 85. Cf. idem, “The Origins and History of the Teacher’s Movement,” 117. See esp. John J. Collins, “The Time of the Teacher: An Old Debate Renewed,” in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (eds. P. W. Flint et al.; VTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 212–229, and idem, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010). His views on the subject are also represented in idem, “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 209–226, and idem, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 295–315.

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long history of organization prior to the major conflict recorded in the Scrolls, viz. the dispute over halakhic practices (cf. 4QMMT). What led the group to view the Jerusalem temple and its rituals as corrupt was the adoption of Pharisaic perspectives on the law by the ascending high priest, Hyrcanus II (initially 76–66 BCE). After unsuccessful protests from the Teacher and his community, the community’s animosity led them to designate Hyrcanus II as the “Wicked Priest.”107 Shortly after this major fallout, the Teacher is said to have passed away, with his death being placed in the late 70s BCE.108 Those who have advocated a first century BCE date for the Teacher have made an important contribution to scholarship by emphasizing the need to re-examine old conclusions in light of recent discoveries. To this point, however, the proposal has been met with mixed reviews. Interpreters have pointed out that the accumulation of historical allusions in the first century BCE “does not provide the sect’s foundation date”; it “only confirms its existence in the later period.”109 Further, some have noted that it is difficult for this position to explain the dates commonly assigned to foundational documents, such as the Rule of the Community. While this text is generally placed in the first quarter of the first century BCE, the variety of extant forms along with its composite character may suggest a much earlier origin.110 What is more, some believe that a first century date

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In contrast, Doudna identifies the Teacher of Righteousness as Hyrcanus II, who was removed from the office of high priest in 40 BCE. At this time, Doudna claims that the library of Hyrcanus II was taken to Qumran by his supporters and hidden in the caves (see Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum, 683–754; idem, “Allusions to the End of the Hasmonean Dynasty in Pesher Nahum (4Q169),” in The Mermaid and the Partridge: Essays from the Copenhagen Conference on Revising Texts from Cave Four [eds. G. J. Brooke and J. Høgenhaven; STDJ 96; Leiden: Brill, 2011] 259–278). Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 314. Cf. idem, Beyond the Qumran Community, 103–113. Eyal Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran: A Cross-Cultural Perspective (RelSoc 45; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007) 107 n. 35. Along with this, some have argued that a firstcentury BCE date would contradict the dates traditionally assigned to some important texts (e.g., 1QS) on the basis of radiocarbon and paleographic dating (see Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State [SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008] 43 n. 35; Devorah Dimant, History, Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Collected Studies [FAT 90; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014] 241 n. 98). This is a point that is raised by George J. Brooke in his critique of the first century BCE position, see George J. Brooke, “The Kittim and Hints of Hybridity in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in People under Power: Early Jewish and Christian Responses to the Roman Power Empire (eds. M. Labahn and O. Lehtipuu; ECRW 1; Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015) 17–32 (18).

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does not adequately account for the second century BCE allusions, which are also found in the Scrolls.111 With reference to the specific suggestions of Collins, concerns have also been raised about a first century BCE date leaving scholarship without a sociological explanation for the rise of the Teacher.112 In the end, therefore, the first century BCE position appears to be just as prone to critique as the second century BCE position.

4.3  Connecting the Teacher and the Sources Given the questions that currently surround the dates assigned to both the Teacher and the relevant source materials, it is important that we proceed with caution. For this reason, we will consider an alternative approach toward situating this early leader in relation to the texts that record his legacy. Rather than attempting to establish a specific date for the Teacher and the pesharim, a more productive way forward might be to consider the location of the Teacher’s death within the community’s eschatological timetable. Not only do our sources explicitly reference this event,113 but such an approach fits best with our concern about the distance between the historical Teacher and the written sources. 111

112 113

For instance, Torleif Elgvin, “Violence, Apologetics, and Resistance: Hasmonean Ideology and Yaḥad Texts in Dialogue,” in The War Scroll, Violence, War and Peace in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honour of Martin G. Abegg on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday (eds. K. Davis et al.; STDJ 115; Leiden: Brill, 2016) 319–340, notes that “Echoes in sectarian texts of Simon’s edict quoted in 1 Macc 14:41–45 demonstrate that the origin of the Yaḥad should be sought not later than the rule of Simon” (330 n. 35). See Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism, 199. In some early reconstructions, the type of death experienced by the Teacher was thought to provide a clue as to when his life expired. This was the case with the proposal that the Teacher died violently at the hands of the Wicked Priest (see Rowley, The Zadokite Fragments, 34; Michel, Le Maître de Justice, 271; Charles T. Fritsch, The Qumrân Community: Its History and Scrolls [New York: Macmillan, 1956] 81; Cecil Roth, The Historical Background of the Dead Sea Scrolls [Oxford: Blackwell, 1958] 71–73; cf. also John M. Allegro, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Reappraisal [2nd edn.; Baltimore, MD: Penguin, 1964] 104–109; J. C. O’Neill, “The Man from Heaven: SibOr 5.256–259,” JSP 9 [1991] 87–102 [97–100]). According to André Dupont-Sommer, the Teacher’s martyrdom is recorded in 1QpHab 11.4–8 (“Le maître de justice fut-il mis à mort?” VT 1 [1951] 200–215; idem, “Quelques remarques sur le Commentaire d’Habacuc, à propos d’un livre récent,” VT 5 [1955] 113–129). Not only is this passage thought to describe how the Wicked Priest “pursued the Teacher in an effort to destroy him,” it is also said to provide the timeframe for the event. The key lies in how Dupont-Sommer understood the second half of the passage. Rather than viewing it as a continuation of the Wicked Priest’s pursuit of the Teacher, he interpreted the “appearance” on the Day of Atonement to be the Teacher’s post-mortem manifestation in the temple on the day

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At the end of the Damascus Document, reference is made to a fortyyear period culminating in the destruction of evildoers. What is important about this expectation is that the time of calculation is said to begin with the death of the Teacher. The text reads, “And from the day (‫)מיום‬ the unique Teacher was gathered in114 until (‫ )עד‬the end of all men of war who turned away with the Man of the Lie there will be about forty years” (CD-B 20.13–15).115 Similarly, the Pesher Psalmsa mentions a forty-year time period ending in the destruction of the evildoers. When interpreting the reference in Ps 37:10 to the pending doom of the wicked, the pesherist notes, “The interpretation refers to all the wicked at the end of the forty years: they will be consumed, and not one wicked person will be found on the earth” (4QpPsa 1–10 ii 6–8).116 There are two ways of interpreting this passage. First, if Pesher Psalmsa was composed during the lifetime of the Teacher of Righteousness (see above), then the forty-year period might represent expectations that the “end” would come forty years after some unspecified point. This belief might even reflect predictions made by the Teacher himself. Depending on when this timetable began, it could have been envisioned sometime

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when Pompey captured Jerusalem. Consequently, he placed the death of the Teacher in the years just prior to the Roman conquest of Judea, 65–63 BCE (see idem, “L’écrit de Damas,” Evidences 59 [1956] 13–27 [16]; although cf. idem, The Dead Sea Scrolls, 35 [between 67 and 63 BCE]). While this theory is ingeniously imaginative, few have been convinced of its validity (see Merton B. Dagut, “The Habbakuk Scroll and Pompey’s Capture of Jerusalem,” Bib 32 [1951] 542–548; cf. Douglas L. Drew, “Pompey’s Capture of Jerusalem on Tenth Tishri?” Bulletin of the Faculty of Arts Cairo, Fouad I University 13 [1951] 83–88). Most believe, instead, that the Teacher’s death was somewhat less eventful. Ben Zion Wacholder has objected to interpreting “the gathering in of the Teacher” (CD-B 19.35–20.1; 20.14) as a reference to the death of the Teacher (see idem, “Does Qumran Record the Death of the Moreh? The Meaning of he’aseph in Damascus Covenant XIX,35–XX,14,” RevQ 13 [1988] 323–330; cf. idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness is Alive, Awaiting the Messiah: ‫ האסף‬in CD as Allusion to the Siniatic and Damascene Covenants,” HUCA 70–71 [1999–2000] 75–92). But most recognize that this phrase is a biblical euphemism for the expiration of life (cf. Gen 25:8, 17; Num 20:24–26; 2 Kgs 22:20; Isa 57:1–2; see further Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Gathering In of the Community’s Teacher,” Maarav 8 [1992] 223–228). Translation from Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 2: Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/Westminster John Knox Press, 1995) 4–57 (35). On the syntax of this section, see Horgan, Pesharim, 205–206. Regardless of how it is translated, the passage indicates that the wicked will be destroyed at the end of the forty-year period.

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within the lifetime of the Teacher. According to this scenario, the Teacher tradition preserved in Pesher Psalmsa would reflect the community’s perspective on the Teacher while he was still alive. Second, it is also possible – and we might say, more likely – that the commentary was written sometime after the Teacher’s death. If this were the case, then the forty-year period would have begun when the Teacher passed away. The brevity of the statement, while creating difficulties for modern interpreters, implies that the timeframe would have been understood by the original readers and listeners. Unless there were competing timetables within the community, each working from a fortyyear scheme,117 it is reasonable to assume that this reference reflects the same eschatological framework as that found in CD-B 20.13–15. What is more, since the Pesher Psalmsa mentions this expectation without further comment on either its nearing arrival or its unexpected delay, it would be natural to place the commentary’s date sometime within the forty-year window118 (i.e., anywhere between ten and thirty years after the Teachers’ death).119 It would seem that Pesher Habakkuk also makes reference to this same expected end. But rather than looking forward to it with anticipation, the pesherist looks back to offer an explanation after the prediction went unfulfilled.120 This is clear from the fact that he assures his readers that, “the final age will be extended, even beyond anything that the prophets have spoken, for the mysteries of God are astounding” (1QpHab 7.7–8). Such a note of encouragement is intended to address feelings of disappointment and confusion, which resulted

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On the assumption that Pesher Psalmsa was written while the Teacher was still alive, it is possible that 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 6–8 describes a prediction that was expected to be fulfilled during the Teacher’s lifetime. When these expectations did not come to fruition (due perhaps to the death of the Teacher?), this forty-year period was later reinterpreted as being inaugurated by the Teacher’s death (as indicated in CD-B 20.13–15). Millennial groups are known for such re-interpretations following disappointed predictions (see, e.g., James A. Beckford, The Trumpet of Prophecy: A Sociological Study of Jehovah’s Witnesses [Oxford: Blackwell, 1975]; Eric Anderson, “The Millerite Use of Prophecy: A Case Study of a ‘Striking Fulfillment’,” in The Disappointed: Millerism and Millenarianism in the Nineteenth Century [eds. R. L. Numbers and J. M. Butler; 2nd edn.; Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press, 1993] 78–91). On the same basis, Annette Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1993) 225–245, places the work in “the first third of the first century BC” (241). Cf. Wise, The First Messiah, 65, who places the work thirty years after the Teacher’s death. Pace Kevin Smyth, “The Teacher of Righteousness,” ExpTim 69 (1957–58) 340–42 (341), who claims that the delay was proposed by the Teacher himself.

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from the passing of the forty-year threshold that the group believed would mark their eschatological redemption.121 Members were being forced to reevaluate their eschatological framework. However, it is important to recognize that by addressing this failed prediction, the pesherist creates an anchor point that allows us to situate the work in relation the events it describes. Since the audience who read and heard the commentary did so not out of antiquarian interests but as a way to better understand their own situation,122 it seems best to place the original document’s composition soon after this forty-year mark.123 This means that the time between the death of the historical Teacher and the composition of Pesher Habakkuk would have been a little over a generation (forty years).

4.4 Conclusion While some contend that a great distance separates the historical Teacher of Righteousness from the sources that record his legacy, we have shown that the pesharim, or more specifically, Pesher Habakkuk and Pesher Psalmsa , were only a generation (or less) removed from the events they purport to describe. This distance provides modern historians with an ideal framework through which an ancient figure like the Teacher of Righteousness can be accessed. On the one hand, it is often necessary to create some temporal separation with an event before it can be properly

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As noted by others, e.g., Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” 238–239, 241–242; John J. Collins, “The Expectation of the End in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Eschatology, Messianism, and the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. C. A. Evans and P. W. Flint; SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997) 74–90 (82–85); Stegemann, The Library of Qumran, 128–129; Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls (LSTS 67; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 135. On the intersection of this passage with sectarian expectations, see Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation (JSJSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 178–180; Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran, 63–64. See Del Medico, The Riddle of the Scrolls, who calls 1QpHab “a ‘present-day pamphlet’, intended to be broadcast among the people” (147). In a similar manner, Wise suggests that in a document like 1QpHab, which makes predictions about what will (or has) occur(red), it is common to place the work’s composition near the last historical allusion (Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness,” 82; see further Ted M. Erho, “Internal Dating Methodologies and the Problem Posed by the Similitudes of Enoch,” JSP 20 [2010] 83–103 [85–91]).

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evaluated.124 This fact has been increasingly recognized in the field of historical studies, which seems to be moving toward a presentism approach that “no longer sees temporal distance from past events as a drawback but as an advantage insofar as it allows one better to understand the events’ various layers of meaning and impact on the present.”125 Some modern historians, in fact, are hesitant to write historical accounts of events close to their own lifetimes because the implications of the events cannot yet be understood.126 On the other hand, the written materials are not so far removed from the Teacher that they lack access to living memory. The timeframe between the Teacher and the written sources is comparable to the material evidence for the historical Jesus.127 While brief references are made to Jesus in the letters of the apostle Paul (ca. twenty to thirty years after Jesus’ death), the canonical gospels postdate the life of Jesus by forty to sixty years. This is not to say that the pesharim must necessarily contain reliable historical information. It simply means that their value for historical research should not be too quickly dismissed. What is more, this consideration demands that we treat the Teacher tradition as communicative memory, a fact that will shape how we analyze its formation and transmission in the chapters that follow.

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Cf. Bockmuehl, “New Testament Wirkungsgeschichte,” 345: “History must be past to be knowable”; that is to say, “an accurate vision of history … requires both proximity and distance. Proximity may seem self-evidently desirable, but distance is required for historical vision and comprehension.” See also Carlo Ginzburg, Wooden Eyes: Nine Reflections on Distance (European Perspectives; New York: Columbia University Press, 2001) 139–156. Marek Tamm, “Beyond History and Memory: New Perspectives in Memory Studies,” History Compass 11 (2013) 458–473 (466). For more on this topic, see History and Theory 50/4 (2011). See James T. Patterson, “Americans and the Writing of Twentieth-Century United States History,” in Imagined Histories: American Historians Interpret the Past (eds. A. Molho and G. S. Wood; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998) 185–204 (190). Cf. Erwin Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts: Papers in and on Art History (Anchor Books A59; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1955) 329, who believed that art history could only be written sixty to eighty years after the fact. Cf. Stephen Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 66; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 283–284.

5 The Availability of Memory Carriers

Among proponents of the new perspective, it is generally assumed that the members of the Teacher’s community had passed away by the time the pesharim were written. As such, there would have been no one who could have directly confirmed or contradicted any of the claims made by the authors. Moreover, since the life of the Teacher is thought to have been (essentially) forgotten prior to the composition of these commentaries,1 it would seem that these original members were unsuccessful in preserving and transmitting the memory of the Teacher. According to most recent historical constructions, the ones who played the most substantive role in the Teacher tradition are those who revived or invented the Teacher’s story. Given the conclusions reached in the previous chapter, however, it is necessary to revisit this question afresh. In memory studies, mediators who pass along memories to subsequent generations are called memory carriers.2 They perform a crucial function in the process of memory transmission; yet, very little attention has

Cf. Jutta Jokiranta, “The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. P. F. Esler; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006) 254–263: “the teacher’s appearance in the Pesharim is… a revival of a past prophet-like leader” (262; original emphasis). 2 Alternatively, these individuals are also described as “reputational entrepreneurs” (see Gary Alan Fine, “Reputational Entrepreneurs and the Memory of Incompetence: Melting Supporters, Partisan Warriors, and Images of President Harding,” American Journal of Sociology 101 [1996] 1159–1193) and “agents of memory” (see Vered Vinitzky-Seroussi, “Commemorating a Difficult Past: Yitzhak Rabin’s Memorials,” American Sociological Review 67 [2002] 30–51). Some define memory carriers more broadly and thereby include not only people but also places, objects, and phenomena, 1

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been paid to this group in previous discussions of the Teacher tradition. The first step toward determining whether the original members of the Teacher’s community played any role in the preservation and transmission of the Teacher materials is to establish the number of potential memory carriers within the Teacher’s community and to estimate the possible lifespans of these individuals. The purpose of this chapter, therefore, will be to determine how long members of the Teacher’s original community might have survived, and thus, the timeframe over which they could have transmitted information about their leader to subsequent generations. In particular, we are concerned with whether any eyewitnesses to the life of the Teacher might have still been alive approximately 40 years after the Teacher’s death when Pesher Habakkuk was composed. This will require investigation into the demographics of the Teacher’s community as well as projected life expectancy in the Greco-Roman world.

5.1  Estimating the Size of the Teacher’s Community Before we can calculate the number of memory carriers at the end of this 40-year period, we must know something about those who witnessed the Teacher’s career.3 It is important to recognize that the Teacher would have been known outside his community in whatever capacity he served prior to the group’s formation. If he was a priest (1QpHab 2.8; 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15), and especially if he was – as many have argued – a former high priest, then he would have been known by a broad circle of people. His reputation might have been attested throughout Jerusalem. As a result, we could extend the number of potential eyewitnesses to include a large portion of the city. The difficulty lies in the wide-ranging conclusions that have been reached on the population of ancient Jerusalem. Estimates have ranged

all of which can aid in bringing the past to bear on the present (see Motti Neiger et al., “Reversed Memory: Commemorating the Past through Coverage of the Present,” in Journalism and Memory [eds. B. Zelizer and K. Tenenboim-Weinblatt; Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014] 113–127 [118–119]). 3 Similar inquiries have been made into the potential pool of eyewitnesses to the life and ministry of Jesus (cf. Bas Van Os, Psychological Analyses and the Historical Jesus: New Ways to Explore Christian Origins [LNTS 432; London: T&T Clark, 2011] 43–59; Robert K. McIver, Memory, Jesus, and the Synoptic Gospels [RBS 59; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2011] 189–209).

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from 30,000 to 250,000.4 This is due in some part to the variegated methods used for calculation. Some focus on population density in relation to the area; others consider the water supply; and a few have been dependent upon ancient textual sources such as Josephus. But even if we were able to reach a reasonable estimate of the Jerusalem population, our search would be hindered by the fact that most of the information recorded about the Teacher relates to his activity within the Scrolls community. The potential for outsiders to serve as memory carriers depends on the extent to which the Teacher and his group were integrated into society, and unfortunately, we are not as informed about this question as we might like. An alternative approach would be to estimate the number of inhabitants within the Qumran community. With little in the way of reliable textual information on the site,5 scholars have focused primarily on the archaeological evidence, including the number of graves in the cemetery, the available water supply, the size of the dining hall, and so forth. When this evidence is taken into consideration, most postulate a relatively small group that may have grown slightly over the years. Some imagine that the settlement might have only housed

Some have imagined a very small population under 50,000 people (e.g., Joachim Jeremias, “Die Einwohnerzahl Jerusalems zur Zeit Jesu,” ZDPV 66 [1943] 24–31; Magen Broshi, “La population de L’ancienne Jérusalem,” RB 82 [1975] 5–14; Eckart Otto, Jerusalem–die Geschichte der Heiligen Stadt. Von den Anfängen bis zur Kreuzfahrerzeit [Kohlhammer Urban-Taschenbücher 308; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1980] 148). Others place the number somewhat higher at around 50,000–100,000 inhabitants (e.g., C. C. McCown, “The Density of Population in Ancient Palestine,” JBL 66 [1947] 425–436; Arye Ben-David, Talmudische Ökonomie: Die Wirtschaft des jüdischen Palästina zur Zeit der Mischna und des Talmud [Hildesheim: Olms, 1974] 57; John Wilkinson, “Ancient Jerusalem: Its Water Supply and Population,” PEQ 106 [1974] 33–51). There are also those who estimate a population of over 100,000 people (e.g., Conrad Schick, “Studien über die Einwohnerzahl des alten Jerusalem,” ZDPV 4 [1881] 211–221; Josef Scheckenhofer, Die Bevölkerung Palästinas um die Wende der Zeiten. Versuch einer Statistik [Munich: Ernst Vögel, 1978] 26–31; Meir Ben-Dov, In the Shadow of the Temple: The Discovery of Ancient Jerusalem [New York: Harper & Row, 1985] 75). For somewhat broader estimates, see Wolfgang Reinhardt, “The Population Size of Jerusalem and the Numerical Growth of the Jerusalem Church,” in The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, vol. 4: Palestinian Setting (ed. R. J. Bauckham; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1995) 237–265 (60,000–120,000 inhabitants). 5 Pliny (Nat. 5.73) claims that throngs of people came out daily to join the group. But such a claim cannot be given much weight, as it represents a hyperbolic statement about a mysterious eastern group for the entertainment of his Roman readers. Even if Pliny was privy to specific information about the group, it is difficult to image that such would have included membership patterns established over extended periods. 4

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a few dozen people,6 but it is more likely that the group associated with the site would have contained approximately 150–200 members at any given time.7 But, like the previous suggestion, this approach is also marked by certain drawbacks. Even if we were able to accurately project the size of the Qumran community, there is no way of knowing whether the Teacher ever lived at the settlement, or if the group that resided there included his (later) followers. From the evidence provided in the Damascus Document, the Teacher’s group seems to have consisted of communities spread throughout Palestine (CD-A 7.6; 9.11; 10.23; 12.23; 13.13; CD-B 19.2),8 rather than being confined to a centralized location. This makes it difficult to focus merely on the population of the settlement at Qumran. E.g., Jean-Baptiste Humbert, “L’espace sacré à Qumran. Propositions pour l’archéologie,” RB 101 (1994) 161–214 (175–177), suggests that Qumran housed a group of about 10–15 people; Joseph Patrich, “Did Extra-Mural Dwelling Quarters Exist at Qumran,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after Their Discovery 1947– 1997: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (eds. L. H. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society & The Shrine of the Book, 2000) 720– 727, claims that “the site did not hold more then [sic] a few tens of residents, fifty at the most, and perhaps no more than thirty” (726); Yizhar Hirschfeld, Qumran in Context: Reassessing the Archaeological Evidence (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004) 65, 90, imagines around 20 people in the Hasmonean period and 72 in the Herodian period; Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg, “Back to Qumran: Ten Years of Excavation and Research, 1993–2004,” in Qumran, the Site of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Archaeological Interpretations and Debates: Proceedings of a Conference held at Brown University, November 17–19, 2002 (eds. K. Galor et al.; STDJ 57; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 55–113 (100), propose no more than 20–30 people. 7 Magen Broshi, “The Archaeology of Qumran: A Reconsideration,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (eds. D. Dimant and U. Rappaport; STDJ 10; Leiden: Brill, 1992) 103–115 (113–114). Over the years there have been some who have made slightly larger projections, e.g., Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, Qoumrân, l’établissement essénien des bords de la mer Morte: histoire et archéologie du site (Paris: Picard, 1976) 99–107, suggested 300–400 inhabitants; Bryant G. Wood, “To Dip or Sprinkle? The Qumran Cisterns in Perspective,” BASOR 256 (1984) 45–60, postulated 228 people in period Ib and 312 people in period II. 8 A similar comment is made by Philo about the location of the Essenes. He states that they lived “throughout many cities of Judaea, and throughout many villages, and in large and populous communities” (Hypoth. 11.1). Likewise, about the same group, Josephus claims, “They do not live in any one particular city, but many dwell in every city” (J.W. 2.124). These descriptions are consistent with evidence found in the Damascus Document (see Todd S. Beall, Josephus’ Description of the Essenes Illustrated by the Dead Sea Scrolls [SNTSMS 58; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988] 48–50). However, Philo also claims that “there are no children among the Essenes, nor are there any youths or adolescents” (Hypoth. 11.3). This latter claim would not be true of the Teacher’s community, which seems to have been a family organization (CD-A 15.5–6). 6

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Since our information on the size of the Teacher’s community is considerably limited, we will be forced to estimate the demographics of memory carriers as a broad range. The conclusions that we reach will not be precise calculations representative of the Teacher’s actual community, but they can nonetheless provide some insight into how his memory was preserved. We will begin with the uppermost limit of the population. This involves an assumption about the relationship between the Teacher’s community and the group known from other sources as the Essenes. If, as many have concluded, the two are synonymous, then we would possess a general estimate – however exaggerated – of the size of the community at a particular point in its history. Both Philo (Prob. 75) and Josephus (Ant. 18.20) agree that there were more than 4,000 Essenes living throughout Palestine.9 On the other end of the spectrum, we could use the population of the Qumran settlement as the lower limit for our estimation. This would place the total size of the Teacher’s community between 150 and 4,000 members. What we must determine next is how long these memory carriers might have lived to transmit the Teacher tradition to subsequent generations. This will require an investigation into life expectancy in the Greco-Roman world.

5.2  Calculating Life Expectancy in the Greco-Roman World The estimation of average life spans in antiquity first requires determining which sources to employ and how much weight each should be afforded.10 Positivistic approaches, which characterized much of the In drawing from this estimate, we recognize that it is a number that must be used with proper caution. While some view it is as a reasonable estimate (see John M. Dillon, “The Essenes in Greek Sources: Some Reflections,” in Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman Cities [ed. J. R. Bartlett; London: Routledge, 2002] 117–128 [125]; Jörg Frey, “Zur historischen Auswertung der antiken Essenerberichte: Ein Beitrag zum Gespräch mit Roland Bergmeier,” in Qumran kontrovers: Beiträge zu den Textfunden vom Toten Meer [J. Frey et al.; Einblicke 6; Paderborn: Bonifatius, 2003] 23–56 [55–56]), others believe it to be no more than an exaggeration (so, e.g., Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998] 141; Berndt Schaller, “4000 Essener—6000 Pharisäer: Zum Hintergrund und Wert antiker Zahlenangaben,” in Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag [eds. B. Kollmann, W. Reinbold and A. Steudel; BZNW 97; Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999] 172–182). We do not pretend that it represents an accurate calculation; it is simply meant to provide an upper limit for our demographic range. 10 For a survey of some of the popular approaches, see Walter Scheidel, “Progress and Problems in Roman Demography,” in Debating Roman Demography (ed. W. Scheidel; Mnemosyne Supplements 211; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 1–81. 9

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early work in ancient history, generally took the figures reported in the ancient source materials at face value.11 Over time, however, this outlook began to dissipate as scholars came to recognize the problems inherent within the sources. This led many to the opposite extreme, namely, abandoning the ancient sources altogether due to the questions surrounding their reliability. Ancient historians, it was suggested, must be content to apply demographic models from modern societies to generate approximate calculations of age distribution and life expectancy.12 While the value of such models is not to be denied, a somewhat more median approach is taken here. Rather than completely discounting the ancient evidence, the demographic data provided by epitaphs, census records, skeletal remains, and literary texts must be considered in the process of calculation – with, of course, a recognition of their limitations and biases. As a way to counter the potential shortcomings of these materials, they must only be used in connection with (and as ancillary to) demographic models from modern comparative societies.13 In this 11

12

13

Representative of this approach are the works by Albert G. Harkness, “Age at Marriage and at Death in the Roman Empire,” TAPA 27 (1896) 35–72; A. R. Burn, “Hic Breve Vivitur. A Study of the Expectation of Life in the Roman Empire,” Past and Present 4 (1953) 2–31; Luigi Moretti, “Statistica demografica ed epigrafia: durata media della vita in Roma imperiale,” Epigraphica 21 (1959) 60–78. For a fuller bibliography, with many more practitioners of this approach, see Wiesław Suder, Census populi: bibliographie de la démographie de l’antiquité romaine (Bonn: Habelt, 1988). This position traces its origins back to the highly influential article by Keith Hopkins, “On the Probable Age Structure of the Roman Population,” Population Studies 20 (1966) 245–264. The skepticism that Hopkins displayed toward the ancient source materials and the preference that he showed for models and comparative evidence from the modern world has been echoed by others as well, e.g., Mogens H. Hansen, Demography and Democracy: The Number of Athenian Citizens in the Fourth Century BC (Herning: Systime, 1985); Tim G. Parkin, Demography and Roman Society (Ancient Society and History; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992); idem, “Clearing Away the Cobwebs: A Critical Perspective on Historical Sources for Roman Population History,” in Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe (3000 BC–AD 1800) (eds. J. Bintliff and K. Sbonias; Archaeology of Mediterranean Landscapes 1; Oxford: Oxbow, 1999) 153–160; Richard P. Saller, Patriarchy, Property and Death in the Roman Family (Cambridge Studies in Population, Economy, and Society in Past Time 25; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) 12–25. For a similar approach, see Bruce W. Frier, “The Demography of the Early Roman Empire,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 11: High Empire, A.D. 70–192 (eds. A. K. Bowman et al.; 2nd edn.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) 787–816; Roger S. Bagnall and Bruce W. Frier, The Demography of Roman Egypt (Cambridge Studies in Population, Economy and Society in Past Time 23; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Walter Scheidel, “Rekruten und Überlebende: Die demographische Struktur der römischen Legionen in der Prinzipatszeit,” Klio 77 (1995) 232–254.

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way, we hope to circumvent many of the obstacles that surround the calculation of ancient demographics, while still keeping our estimations somewhat grounded in the ancient materials. 5.2.1  Life Expectancy from the Ancient Source Materials It is generally agreed that average life spans in the Greco-Roman world were rather low when compared to the modern world. According to most estimates, the expectation at birth was a life of approximately 20–30 years.14 This number must be put into perspective, however. Average life expectancy should not be taken to imply that in antiquity people rarely lived past the age of 30. The reason why the number is so low is because of the high infant mortality rate. Due to the fact that so many children died in infancy, average life expectancy does not adequately reflect the age distribution of the adult population, which would have included members up to the age of 100.15 With this qualification in mind, we will consider how ancient life spans are normally calculated. One source that has contributed to many estimates is the epigraphic evidence from ancient tombstones. From North Africa, some 18,000 epitaphs have been collected, and another 25,000 have been documented from Western Europe.16 In many cases, the age of the person’s death is

See, e.g., Tim G. Parkin, Old Age in the Roman World: A Cultural and Social History (Ancient Society and History; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003) 36, 49; Christopher Kelly, The Roman Empire: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) 103; Walter Scheidel, “Population and Demography,” in A Companion to Ancient History (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) 134–145 (135). 15 Cf. Kevin M. Macgeough, The Romans: New Perspectives (Santa Barbara, CA: ABCCLIO, 2004) 132. 16 For the epitaphs from northern Africa, see János Szilágyi, “Die Sterblichkeit in den nordafrikanischen Provinzen, I,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 17 (1965) 309–334; idem, “Die Sterblichkeit in den nordafrikanischen Provinzen, II,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 18 (1966) 235–277; idem, “Die Sterblichkeit in den nordafrikanischen Provinzen, III,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 19 (1967) 25–29. For the epitaphs from western Europe, see idem, “Beiträge zur Statistik der Sterblichkeit in den westeuropäischen Provinzen des römischen Imperiums,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 13 (1961) 125–155; idem, “Beiträge zur Statistik der Sterblichkeit in den illyrischen Provinzgruppe und in Nord-Italien,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 14 (1962) 297–396; idem, “Der Sterblichkeit in den Städten Mittel- und Süditaliens sowie in Hispanien,” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 15 (1963) 129–224. 14

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recorded. From a survey of approximately 1,600 ancient Jewish epitaphs, Pieter W. van der Horst notes that around one-third (ca. 540) record the age of death. When these ages were examined, he found that the average age of death for men was approximately 29 years old, while for women it was approximately 27 years old.17 Despite their contribution to the study of ancient life expectancy, epitaphs do contain certain drawbacks.18 The evidence is often skewed by the fact that the ancients preferred to record ages ending in either a 0 or a 5,19 and they frequently exaggerated the age of death. But even more importantly, all extant gravestones represent only a small portion of the population, with women and young children being underrepresented and with an uneven geographic representation. Therefore, this type of evidence cannot provide a comprehensive age distribution; at most, ancient epitaphs could be viewed as a supplementary aid to provide confirmation to other methods of calculation.20 Pieter W. van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs: An Introductory Survey of a Millennium of Jewish Funerary Epigraphy (300 BCE–700 CE) (CBET 2; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1991) 73–84. 18 For a critique of the use of epitaphs in ancient demographics, see K. K. Ery, “Investigations on the Demographic Source Value of Tombstones Originating from the Roman Period,” Alba Regia 10 (1969) 51–67; Manfred Clauss, “Probleme der Lebensalterstatistiken aufgrund römischer Grabinschriften,” Chiron 3 (1973) 395– 417; Pierre Salmon, “Les Insuffisances du matériel épigraphique sur la mortalité dans l’antiquité romaine,” in La mort, les morts et l’au-delà dans le monde romain. Actes du colloque de Caen, 20–22 novembre, 1985 (ed. F. Hinard; Caen: Centre de publications de l’Université de Caen, 1987) 99–112; Keith Hopkins, “Graveyards for Historians,” in La mort, les morts et l’au-delà dans le monde romain. Actes du colloque de Caen, 20–22 novembre, 1985 (ed. F. Hinard; Caen: Centre de publications de l’Université de Caen, 1987) 113–126. 19 See Richard Duncan-Jones, “Age-Rounding, Illiteracy and Social Differentiations in the Roman Empire,” Chiron 7 (1977) 333–353; Richard Duncan-Jones, “AgeRounding in Greco-Roman Egypt,” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 33 (1979) 169–177. Nevertheless, age-rounding does not represent a serious problem for the historian (see Walter Scheidel, Measuring Sex, Age and Death in the Roman Empire: Explorations in Ancient Demography [JRASup 21; Ann Arbor, MI: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1996] 53–91). 20 Those epitaphs that record the month of death can contribute to the study of demography in another way. In populations with low life expectancies, there is often a spike in mortality rates during certain months or seasons, which is often associated with infectious disease. This stands in contrast to populations whose death rates are evenly distributed throughout the year. Those ancient gravestones that record the month of death support the former scenario (see Walter Scheidel, “Libitina’s Bitter Gains: Seasonal Mortality and Endemic Disease in the Ancient City of Rome,” Ancient Society 25 [1994] 151–175; Brent D. Shaw, “Seasons of Death: Aspects of Mortality in Imperial Rome,” Journal of Roman Studies 86 [1996] 100–138). 17

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Skeletal remains, which have been collected from across the ancient world, are another source used to calculate ancient life spans.21 While the evidence is not as plentiful as epitaphs, it can provide some insight into the age of a person’s death. One recent study of Jewish burial sites in the Hellenistic and Romans periods turned up a total of 227 skeletal remains from caves in the northern Shephelah and the Samaria regions. Archaeologists were able to estimate the ages of nearly half (121) of these skeletons. Among the various age groups represented, young children had the highest mortality rates (54 skeletons aged 0–9),22 while the numbers progressively declined as the ages increased: nineteen skeletons aged 10–19, sixteen skeletons aged 20–29, thirteen skeletons aged 30–39, seven skeletons aged 40–49, five skeletons aged 50–59, and seven skeletons aged 60 or above.23 At an early stage of Dead Sea Scrolls research, the cemetery at Qumran, which is thought to contain around 1,200 tombs, was expected to provide important insight into the demography of the Scrolls community.24 But due to concerns over the disturbance of ancient burial sites, excavations have been limited. From 1949 to 1956, Roland de Vaux excavated a total of forty-three tombs.25 At later points, more graves were examined in the excavations of Solomon H. Steckoll (eleven tombs) and then Yitzhak

Italy: Luigi Capasso and Lorenzo Capasso, “Mortality in Herculaneum before Volcanic Eruption in 79 AD,” The Lancet 354 (1999) 1826; Hungary: Bruce W. Frier, “Roman Life Expectancy: The Pannonian Evidence,” Phoenix 37 (1983) 328–344; Greece: J. Lawrence Angel, “The Length of Life in Ancient Greece,” Journal of Gerontology 2 (1947) 18–24; Egypt: Wilton M. Krogman, “Changing Man,” Journal of the American Geriatrics Society 6 (1958) 242–260 (246). 22 The skeletal remains unearthed at ancient Meiron (Galilee) also indicate very high mortality rates among young children (see Patricia Smith et al., “The Skeletal Remains,” in Excavations at Ancient Meiron, Upper Galilee, Israel: 1971–72, 1974–75, 1977 [eds. E. M. Meyers et al.; Meiron Excavation Project 3; Durham, NC: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1981] 110–120 [110–111]). 23 See Yossi Nagar and Hagit Torgeë, “Biological Characteristics of Jewish Burial in the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods,” IEJ 53 (2003) 164–171 (166). 24 Hanan Eshel et al., “New Data on the Cemetery East of Khirbet Qumran,” DSD 9 (2002) 135–165 (141–143). 25 Roland de Vaux, “Fouille au Khirbet Qumran: Rapport préliminaire,” RB 60 (1953) 83–106 (95–106); idem, “Fouilles au Khirbet Qumrân: Rapport préliminaire sur la deuxième campagne,” RB 61 (1954) 206–236 (206–207); idem, “Fouilles de Khirbet Qumran: Rapport préliminaire sur les 3e, 4e, et 5e campagnes,” RB 63 (1956) 533–577 (533–534, 569–575). For a summary, see idem, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (London: Oxford University Press, 1973) 48–58. 21

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Magen and Yuval Peleg (nine tombs).26 Anthropological analysis was performed on the earliest skeletal remains by Gottfried Kurth and HenriVictor Vallois, and the materials have since been reexamined.27 Gender and age identifications have been made for most of the sixty individuals whose graves were uncovered: thirty-three have been identified as males, seven as females, along with six children. The majority of the adults, both men and women, were between the ages of 30 and 45, with one adolescent (16 years old), a couple of younger adults (22–23 years old), and a few over the age of 50.28 Nevertheless, skeletal remains – like much of the other evidence used in demographic analysis – must be cautiously applied to the question of ancient life expectancy. Human osteoarcheological evidence can be misleading because the collection of bodies in a graveyard is not necessarily representative of the demographics in a given community. In the case of the evidence from the Qumran cemetery, the small sample size prevents any firm conclusions to be drawn concerning age distribution within the group.29 Therefore, we must be careful in how we apply this evidence to the Teacher’s community.30

Solomon H. Steckoll, “Preliminary Excavation Report on the Qumran Cemetery,” RevQ 6 (1968) 323–344; Yitzhak Magen and Yuval Peleg, The Qumran Excavations 1993– 2004: Preliminary Report (Jerusalem: Judea & Samaria Publications, 2007) 45–47. 27 See Olav Röhrer-Ertl et al., “Über die Gräberfelder von khirbet Qumran, insbesondere die Funde der Campagne 1956, I: Anthropologische Datenvorlage und Erstauswertung aufgrund der Collectio Kurth,” RevQ 19 (1999) 3–46; Susan Guise Sheridan, “Scholars, Soldiers, Craftsmen, Elites?: Analysis of French Collection of Human Remains from Qumran,” DSD 9 (2002) 199–248; Susan Guise Sheridan et al., “Anthropological Analysis of the Human Remains from Khirbet Qumran: The French Collection,” in Khirbet Qumrân et ʻAïn Feshkha, II. Etudes d’anthropologie, de physique et de chimie (eds. J.-B. Humbert and J. Gunneweg; NTOA.SA 3; Göttingen: Vandehoeck & Ruprecht, 2003) 129–169. The excavated remains discovered by Steckoll were originally examined by Nicu Haas and Hilel Nathan, “Anthropological Survey on the Human Remains from Qumran,” RevQ 6 (1968) 342–352. 28 For a complete chart of ages and genders of the bodies that have been excavated, see Rachel Hachlili, “The Qumran Cemetery Reassessed,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 46–78 (58–60). 29 de Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 47: “…the small number of tombs excavated does not permit us to draw any statistics from them which can validly be applied to the cemetery as a whole.” Cf. Émile Puech, “The Necropolises of Khirbet Qumrân and ‘Ain el-Ghuweir and the Essene Belief in the Afterlife,” BASOR 312 (1998) 21–36 (25). 30 For a cautious approach toward human osteoarcheology, see Ian Morris, DeathRitual and Social Structure in Classical Antiquity (Key Themes in Ancient History; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) 72–90. 26

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A final source from which demographic conclusions have been drawn is Ulpian’s life table.31 Preserved by the Roman jurist Aemilius Macer (Dig. 35.2.68), this text provides a general estimate of life expectancy in the third century CE. Originally, the life table of Ulpian was used to determine taxes on annuities. The series of calculations that Ulpian provides was meant to predict the total amount of money that would be paid out by an annuity over the remaining years of a person’s lifetime. This prediction represented an important number, for it was on this amount that the legatee was required to pay a 5 percent tax. The life table of Ulpian stood in contrast to the more traditional mode of calculation, which assumed that legatees from birth until 29 years of age would live another 30 years, while the years remaining for those 30 years and above would be calculated by subtracting their current age from 60. Ulpian’s life table modified this approach by providing a descending life expectancy from birth until 60 years old, which (it is assumed) better reflected actual demographic data at the time. As interesting as Ulpian’s life table might be, there are some who would question its ability to accurately capture life expectancy in the Greco-Roman world.32 While the formula of Ulpian may represent statistical data meant to measure the average length of life, it may have served another administrative purpose that otherwise alludes modern interpreters. With so little information on its origin and use, restraint is required. Even if the table represents an ancient attempt to calculate demography, it is nonetheless incomplete, as its calculations end at the age of 60. Therefore, another way of calculating ancient life spans is required. 5.2.2  Life Expectancy from the Modern Life Tables Given the limitations surrounding the ancient source materials, scholars have turned to modern life tables as a way to better understand demography in the Greco-Roman world. Modern life tables “describe the age structure and various demographic properties of ‘ideal’ populations that are characterized by different but constant age-specific rates of 31

32

See esp. Bruce W. Frier, “Roman Life Expectancy: Ulpian’s Evidence,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 86 (1982) 213–251. Various scholars have criticized Frier’s use of the Ulpian evidence (e.g., Hopkins, “Graveyards for Historians,” 121; Parkin, Demography and Roman Society, 27–41; Saller, Patriarchy, Property and Death in the Roman Family, 13–15). For a response by Frier, which includes an acknowledgment of some deficiencies in his proposal, see Bruce W. Frier, “Statistics and Roman Society,” JRA 5 (1992) 286–290.

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Table 5.1  Coale-Demeny model – West, Level 3 (Female)*

Age

Survivors l(x)

Average Life Expectancy e(x)

Probability of Survival P(x)

Total % of Population C(x)

0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

100,000 54,456 51,156 48,732 45,734 42,231 38,614 34,886 31,208 27,705 24,389 20,661 16,712 12,175 7,934 4,194

24.99169 40.06234 37.50154 34.23759 31.31152 28.69314 26.13736 23.65267 21.13381 18.47721 15.63594 12.98805 10.44268 8.365339 6.447315 4.878159

0.54456 0.93939 0.95262 0.93847 0.9234 0.91435 0.90346 0.89459 0.88773 0.88033 0.84715 0.80884 0.72851 0.65165 0.52869 0.39192

17.83208241 9.710638799 9.122180079 8.689930401 8.155324571 7.530666724 6.885680303 6.220900271 5.565036279 4.940378432 4.34906658 3.684286547 2.980097613 2.171056034 1.414797419 0.747877536

*

Adjusted according to Brass modeling

mortality.”33 Or, to put it another way, life tables reflect “the age-specific death rates or the number of survivors to each age to be expected under varying mortality conditions.”34 The most popular modern life tables are those developed by Ansley J. Coale and Paul Demeny (Table 5.1).35 Data provided in their work derives from a collection of 326 actual life tables, mostly taken from developing (European) countries during the late-nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The Coale-Demeny life tables are divided according to four population types, with directional names assigned to each: North (represents tables from Nordic countries), South (represents tables from

Walter Scheidel, “Emperors, Aristocrats, and the Grim Reaper: Towards a Demographic Profile of the Roman Élite,” ClQ 49 (1999) 254–281 (255 n. 3). For an introduction to life tables, Colin Newell, Methods and Models in Demography (New York: Guilford, 1988) 62–81. 34 William Brass and Ansley J. Coale, “Methods of Analysis and Estimation,” in Demography of Tropical Africa (eds. W. Brass et al.; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968) 88–139 (122). 35 Ansley J. Coale and Paul Demeny, Regional Model Life Tables and Stable Populations (2nd edn.; New York: Academic, 1983). 33

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southern Europeans countries, which contained endemic malaria), East (represents tables from central European countries), and West (represents census records from a variety of geographically diverse regions). Each table is further marked by a level that ranks the population in terms of life expectancy (Level 1 being the lowest life expectancy and Level 25 being the highest). The one most commonly used to study ancient demographics is the West - Level 3 (female) table, which provides a life expectancy at birth of 25 years.36 Modern life tables require reliable data from known historical populations in order to produce reasonable calculations. The problem, as many have pointed out, is that this type of demographic evidence is usually drawn from modern populations, which have overcome endemic infectious diseases (e.g., malaria, tuberculosis, smallpox). This is the case with the Coale-Demeny model. As a result, their estimations cannot account for many of the factors that resulted in high mortality rates in the ancient world.37 Where the model can be of use is in providing an estimation of the higher limits of life expectancy in the Greco-Roman world. Given the limitations of the Coale-Demeny model, alternative models have been sought that can better account for the characteristic death rates that existed in historical populations. One model that has great potential is the South model constructed by Robert Woods (Table 5.2).38 The evidence used in this model was based on the female population in two censuses (1909 and 1920) from the country of Chile. At the time, the population was highly urbanized, and over this period, the total

In historical Jesus studies, the Coale-Demeny – West Level 3 (female) model has been taken as representative of the population in Roman Galilee (see Jonathan L. Reed, “Instability in Jesus’ Galilee: A Demographic Perspective,” JBL 129 [2010] 343–365 [345–349]). 37 The limitations of the Coale-Demeny model have been pointed out previously (see Walter Scheidel, “Roman Age Structure: Evidence and Models,” JRS 91 [2001] 1–26; Louise Earnshaw-Brown, “The Limits of Knowledge, Demography and the Republic,” in The Italians on the Land: Changing Perspectives on Republican Italy Then and Now [eds. A. Keaveney and K. Earnshaw-Brown; Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2009] 123–136). Some have even gone so far as to claim that the CoaleDemeny model should not be used as comparative evidence for ancient populations (see Robert Sallares, The Ecology of the Ancient Greek World [London: Duckworth, 1991] 237; Robert Sallares, Malaria and Rome: A History of Malaria in Ancient Italy [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002] 167, 283–284). 38 Robert Woods, “Ancient and Early Modern Mortality: Experience and Understanding,” Economic History Review (New Series) 60 (2007) 373–399 (379). 36

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Table 5.2  Woods South (Chile) model* Age

Number of Survivors l(x)

Average Life Expectancy e(x)

Probability of Survival P(x)

Total % of Population C(x)

0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

100,000 57,485.56 54,345.19 52,015.04 48,335.03 43,185.46 37,856.47 32,927.91 28,429.65 24,471.51 20,823.51 17,375.64 14,147.85 10,450.64 6,423.986 3,027.063

25.0378 36.70602 33.68264 30.07955 27.17933 25.12217 23.30665 21.42094 19.41469 17.15055 14.71713 12.14139 9.341045 6.76126 4.432283 1.60066

0.574856 0.945371 0.957123 0.929251 0.893461 0.876602 0.869809 0.863391 0.860774 0.850929 0.834424 0.814235 0.738673 0.614698 0.471213 0.359736

18.13892757 10.42726409 9.85763465 9.434970429 8.767456081 7.833379309 6.866757672 5.972769744 5.156833621 4.438869473 3.777161396 3.151754754 2.566268264 1.89563402 1.165242167 0.549076765

*

Adjusted according to Brass modeling

population increased by 11.76 percent.39 What is important about this model is that it better reflects the low life expectancy rates in the ancient world. In some places, it even goes beyond what might have been expected in the Greco-Roman populations. A noteworthy aspect is the distinctive death rates for two important groups: younger adults between the ages of 15 and 24 and adults over the age of 65. The mortality rates for each group surpasses those in the other models, which we will examine. The final modern life table comes from recent (1995–1999) population studies conducted across the continent of Africa by the INDEPTH Network (Table 5.3). One of the sites from which evidence was collected was Morogoro (Tanzania).40 The surveillance area contained a population of approximately 120,000 people, divided among an estimated 31,000 households. The most significant feature of this evidence is that

39

40

See Markos J. Mamalakis, Historical Statistics of Chile, vol. 2: Demography and Labor Force (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1980) 4. INDEPTH Network, Population and Heath in Developing Countries, vol. 1: Population, Health, and Survival at INDEPTH Sites (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre, 2002) 165–171.

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Table 5.3  INDEPTH Network – Morogoro (Tanzania) model* Age

Survivors l(x)

Average Life Expectancy e(x)

Probability of Survival P(x)

Total % of Population C(x)

0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

100,000 56,045.63 52,232.65 50,701.49 48,756.92 45,624.84 39,568.4 34,276.79 29,163.68 23,872.24 19,243.4 15,873.29 13,316.11 10,638.22 7,788.923 5,389.858

25.06803 37.76724 35.34175 31.33355 27.48352 24.1986 22.51985 20.61049 18.7857 17.39553 15.97853 13.8402 11.01793 8.162099 5.233371 1.450015

0.560456 0.931966 0.970686 0.961647 0.935761 0.867256 0.866267 0.850829 0.818561 0.8061 0.824869 0.8389 0.798898 0.732164 0.69199 0.576968

18.09979514 10.14414422 9.454002648 9.176865824 8.824902638 8.258002574 7.161799341 6.204028771 5.278566336 4.320826536 3.483015978 2.873032972 2.410188631 1.925496027 1.409779107 0.975553256

*

Adjusted according to Brass modeling

the environmental causes of death are, in many ways, consistent with those that were present in the ancient Mediterranean world. Morogoro represents a relatively poor, rural portion of Tanzania, which is dominated by farming. “The main causes of death in the area are acute febrile illness (including malaria), diarrheal diseases, HIV-AIDS, injuries (both intentional and unintentional), anemia, pulmonary TB, and malnutrition.”41 Among the three modern life tables, the Morogoro model has the highest mortality rate for adults aged 25–55, but the lowest for the adult population from ages 55 to 75. Part of the reason is the impact of HIV-AIDS. This boost to adult mortality rates likely pushes the levels higher than those in the ancient world.42 Nevertheless, the model can help us account for the potential of lower adult life expectancy within the Teacher’s community.

41 42

INDEPTH Network, Population and Heath in Developing Countries, 166. See Saskia Hin, The Demography of Roman Italy: Population Dynamics in an Ancient Conquest Society (201 BCE–14 CE) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 117.

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While there are numerous benefits to the use of modern life tables, each must be applied to the Teacher’s community with caution. It should be apparent that none of the models discussed above provides a perfect match for the situation in Palestine during the first few centuries BCE. In fact, no model can adequately account for the diversity of mortality patterns at a given time period within a specific locality.43 This is due to the fact that the variables that factor into morbidity (e.g., disaster, disease, human behavior, etc.) cannot be precisely replicated.44 To overcome the shortcomings and idiosyncrasies of each individual model, we will apply all of them to our current data set as a way to provide a more general framework from which we can draw conclusions. The other issue that we must consider is how closely these modern life tables actually reflect the ancient demographic data. This question has recently been taken up by Saskia Hin, who has applied Brass modeling to measure how well the age distributions of the modern life tables “fit” with the ancient source materials.45 This type of regression analysis measures how a model life table relates to a given standard using a mathematical formula.46 The “model” data is compared to the empirical data through a statistical program that graphs the various data points.

See Woods, “Ancient and Early Modern Mortality,” 384–385; cf. Ben Akrigg, “Demography and Classical Athens,” in Demography and the Graeco-Roman World: New Insights and Approaches (eds. C. Holleran and A. Pudsey; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 37–59: “For model life table extrapolation to work, it has to be assumed that age-specific mortality will vary in predictable ways across all the possible range of levels of mean life expectancy at birth” (52). 44 There have been studies of mortality factors such as disease in the ancient world, even some that are specific to certain locations (see Walter Scheidel, Death on the Nile: Disease and the Demography of Roman Egypt [Mnemosyne Supplements 228; Leiden: Brill, 2001]; Sallares, Malaria and Rome; cf. Mirko D. Grmek, Diseases in the Ancient Greek World [trans. M. Muellner and L. Muellner; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989]). But overall these factors cannot be accounted for with necessary precision. 45 Hin, The Demography of Roman Italy, 101–123. I am extremely grateful to Dr. Hin, who kindly offered an explanation of Brass modeling and how it related to her own work on ancient demography. 46 The method was originally developed by William Brass, “On the Scale of Mortality,” in Biological Aspects of Demography (ed. W. Brass; Symposia of the Society for the Study of Human Biology 10; London: Taylor & Francis, 1971) 69–110; idem, Methods for Estimating Fertility and Mortality from Limited and Defective Data (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1975). For an introduction to relational models (especially the Brass model), see Newell, Methods and Models in Demography, 151–166. Recent modifications to the Brass model can be found in: Vladimir Canudas-Romo et al., “Mathematical Demography,” in Demography (ed. Y. Zeng; Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems; Oxford: EOLSS Publishers, 2010) 2:164–209 (183–185). 43

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Two parameters are used to determine the ways in which the model under consideration deviates from the standard: the α parameter (intercept) relates to the overall level of mortality, and the β parameter (slope) relates to the balance of mortality among different age groups.47 To get the best “fit,” the input model data is adjusted at these two parameters, and a new life table is generated better reflecting the connection with the empirical data (while still staying as close as possible to the input data). In this case, Hin performed Brass modeling on the three model life tables (Coale-Demeny, Woods South, Morogoro) and compared them with one of our most detailed sources of ancient demographic data: Roman census records from Egypt.48 Each of the tables above reflects the adjusted age distributions from Brass fitting. They provide us with the best means for calculating the number of memory carriers who could have been alive to transmit the Teacher tradition.

5.3  Life Expectancy within the Teacher’s Community Our efforts to apply the data from the modern life tables to the Teacher’s community require some modification due to the limited age-distribution within the group. At issue is the fact that those who witnessed the life of the Teacher would not have been representative of the wider Judean population. While the group seems to have been family-oriented, there were age restrictions on membership, as specified in CD-A 15.5–6: “And all those who have entered the Covenant, granted to all Israel forever, shall make their children who have reached the age of enrolment (‫)הפקודים על לעבור‬, swear with the oath of the Covenant.”49

A modified form of this model has been developed by Christopher J. L. Murray et al., “Modified Logit Life Table System: Principles, Empirical Validation, and Application,” Population Studies 57 (2003) 165–182. 48 On the census records from Roman Egypt, see Marcel Hombert and Claire Préaux, Recherches sur le recensement dans l’Égypte romaine: (P. Bruxelles Inv. E. 7616) (Papyrological Lugduno-Batava 5; Lugdunum Batavorum: Brill, 1952); Bagnall and Frier, The Demography of Roman Egypt, 1–52. 49 Translation by Géza Vermès, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (7th edn.; London: Penguin, 2011) 138. Charlotte Hempel (The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction [STDJ 29; Leiden: Brill, 1998] 74, 77–79) takes the passage to be directed at new converts and their children. With the majority of commentators, however, we have interpreted it as a reference to the admission of children of current members (cf. Elisha Qimron, “‫ שבועת הבנים‬in the Damascus Covenant 15.1–2,” JQR 81 [1990] 115–118).

47

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Even though the minimum age is not explicitly stated in the passage, it can be deduced from other regulations. A similar age requirement for those who wanted to join the yaḥad is given in 1QSa 1.8–9 and 27b, where it is specified that one may not be enrolled (‫ )יעבר על הפקודים‬in the group until he is 20 years old.50 It is natural to think the same age limit would apply to the Teacher’s community as well. Nothing is mentioned regarding a maximum age, although certain physical characteristics that marked the elderly might have served as excluding factors. Along with several limitations, 1QSa 2.7 adds that admittance to the yaḥad is denied to any “doddering old man who is unable to support himself within the congregation.” Since the Damascus Document contains similar regulations against physical disability (CD-A 15.15–17), it is possible that the same kinds of stipulations were applied in the case of the elderly.51 Thus, our potential pool of witnesses would have been adults aged 20–75. With this distribution in mind, the next step is to determine what percentage of each age group would have been represented in the community. This was calculated by dividing the number of survivors, l(x), for each age group by the total sum of all survivors and then multiplying each by 100. Since the minimum age limit for the Teacher’s community was 20 years old, these percentages were adjusted to account for the lack of children and adolescents.52 From these adjusted percentages,

On the minimum age of 20 in the Scrolls, see further Peder Borgen, “‘At the Age of Twenty’ in 1QSa,” RevQ 10 (1961) 267–277; Lawrence H. Schiffman, Sectarian Law in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Courts, Testimony and the Penal Code (BJS 33; Chico, CA: Scholars, 1983) 55–60. In CD-A 15.16 (// 4Q266 8 i 8), “youths” (‫ )זעטוט‬are forbidden from entering the congregation (cf. 1QM 7.3; 4Q265 3 3). 51 In the provisions for the “judges of the congregation,” CD-A 10.4–10 specifies that the ten men chosen for the position must be between the ages of 25 and 60, and it adds that “no one over the age of 60 shall rule over the congregation” due to the regression of the mind that takes place at the end of life (cf. CD-A 14.6–8, where the priest who presides over the many must be between the age of 30 and 60). This could be taken as the range of potential ages represented within the community. But the very nature of these regulations suggests that some within the group fell outside of these limits on both extremes. 52 The method of adjustment was as follows: We began by calculating the percentage of the population that was 20 years old or above, and then determined what percentage of the remaining population should be added to the existing percentages of each age group. For instance, in the Coale-Demeny model, those 20 years and above made up 54.64516831 percent of the population, which leaves the youth population (i.e., those 0–19 years of age) at 45.35483169 percent. Rather than evenly distributing the youth population among the older age groups, we divided them proportionately according to the total percentages. To do this, we divided the total percentage for each age 50

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Table 5.4  Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Coale-Demeny model)

Age

% of the Total Population

(Adjusted) % within the Community

Total Members (Group of 150)

Total Members (Group of 4,000)

20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

8.155324571 7.530666724 6.885680303 6.220900271 5.565036279 4.940378432 4.34906658 3.684286547 2.980097613 2.171056034 1.414797419 0.747877536

14.9241458 13.7810294 12.600712 11.3841726 10.1839494 9.040833 7.9587395 6.7422 5.4535427 3.9730064 2.5890622 1.3686069

22 21 19 17 15 14 12 10 8 6 4 2

597 551 504 455 407 362 318 270 218 159 104 55

we determined how many members would be represented within each age group – both for a community of 150 total members and 4,000 total members (see Tables 5.4–5.6). Finally, based on the probability of survival, P(x), for each model life table (Coale-Demeny, Woods South, Morogoro), we calculated how many individuals would be alive after a five-year increment. This process was repeated until we reached the 40-year mark, at which point we added up all the surviving members across all age groups. The results of our demographic analysis (Table 5.7) stand in sharp contrast to the common portrayal of the Teacher’s community. Contrary to the assumptions that commonly inform discussions of the Teacher, a surprising number of eyewitnesses could have potentially been alive when documents like the pesharim were composed. According to the

group (e.g., 8.155324571 percent for 20–24 year olds) by the percentage of the population, which was 20 years old or above (i.e., 54.64516831 percent), and then multiplied by 100 to give a percentage. So, for example, those 20–24 years of age made up 14.924145762961 percent of the population 20 years and above. This gave us the new adjusted percentages for each age group within the Teacher’s community.

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Table 5.5  Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Woods South model)

Age

% of the Total Population

(Adjusted) % within the Community

Total Members (Group of 150)

Total Members (Group of 4,000)

20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

8.767456081 7.833379309 6.866757672 5.972769744 5.156833621 4.438869473 3.777161396 3.151754754 2.566268264 1.89563402 1.165242167 0.549076765

16.8148327 15.0233957 13.169542 11.4549902 9.8901316 8.5131704 7.2441009 6.0446529 4.9217665 3.6355778 2.2347819 1.0530573

25 23 20 17 15 13 11 9 7 5 3 2

673 601 527 458 396 340 290 242 197 145 89 42

Table 5.6  Age distribution in the Teacher’s community (Morogoro model)

Age

% of the Total Population

(Adjusted) % within the Community

Total Members (Group of 150)

Total Members (Group of 4,000)

20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75

8.824902638 8.258002574 7.161799341 6.204028771 5.278566336 4.320826536 3.483015978 2.873032972 2.410188631 1.925496027 1.409779107 0.975553256

16.61152135 15.5444192 13.48098529 11.67812956 9.936088926 8.133291118 6.556241655 5.408042503 4.536809247 3.624449999 2.653692249 1.836328899

25 23 20 18 15 12 10 8 7 5 4 3

665 622 539 467 397 325 262 216 182 145 106 74

Coale-Demeny model, if the Teacher’s community consisted of 150 members, there is the potential that twenty-one individuals would have been alive at the 40-year mark following the Teacher’s death. The numbers are much the same for the Woods South model, which estimates approximately eighteen surviving memory carriers, and the Morogoro

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Table 5.7  Potential number of eyewitnesses after forty years Community Size 150 members 4,000 members

Coale-Demeny Model

Woods South Model

Morogoro Model

ca. 21 individuals ca. 557 individuals

ca. 18 individuals ca. 489 individuals

ca. 20 individuals ca. 548 individuals

model, which approximates twenty survivors. When the community size is estimated at 4,000 members, the number of potential eyewitnesses increases dramatically. According to the Coale-Demeny model, this would have resulted in around 557 individuals who would have still been alive 40 years after the Teacher’s death. In the case of the Woods South model, there would have been approximately 489 survivors, and for the Morogoro model, around 548 eyewitnesses would have still been alive. Regardless of the community’s size, estimates suggest that it would have taken approximately 65–70 years for all the eyewitnesses of the Teacher’s life and ministry to die out.53 These numbers are based strictly on life expectancy in the ancient world and, therefore, do not account for factors that might alter the calculations. One such factor is the potential disruption of stability within the community. As it stands, our calculations assume a stable population across the 40-year period; therefore, the numbers to do not account for the potential of members leaving the group. Since this is a likely possibility (cf. CD-B 19.33–35), it must be considered. Yet, even the sudden departure of some members would not dramatically change the overall demographic profile. If we allow for the possibility that half of the members may have left the group over this 40-year period, there is still

53

This is not meant to imply that collective memory would have ended with the last remaining eyewitness. What has not been considered here is the presence of second or even third generation members who had no direct access to the Teacher themselves. This would include not only children of members (CD-A 15.5–6), but also adult converts to the group (CD-A 13.11–13; 15.1–15). There is no way to know whether the proselytes would have equaled or even surpassed the number of those who died or who left the group. Within an apocalyptic group that was grounded in predictions about the final consummation, there was at least the potential for disillusionment the further the group moved away from the death of the Teacher. But regardless of whether the total number steadily increased or declined over the 40-year period, collective memory would have continued well beyond the time of the eyewitnesses through the use of a variety of media (see Chapter 7).

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the potential that some eyewitnesses would have been alive when the pesharim were composed. A second factor is the location of group members. If this community was spread out across Palestine, how could all the members have been eyewitnesses to all the events recorded from the Teacher’s career? The answer begins with the recognition that the Scrolls record very few specific events from the life of the Teacher. The one detail containing the most specificity regarding time and location is the Wicked Priest’s attempt on the Teacher’s life (1QpHab 11.4–8). But since this event occurred on (the group’s) Yom Kippur, we might conjecture that most, if not all, of the community would have been together on that day; and if so, most would have witnessed the events themselves. For the most part, however, the information we find in the source material describes the Teacher’s impact or influence within the community, which would have developed over time (e.g., his role as an inspired interpreter of prophetic scripture).54 Therefore, the location of individual members need not play a significant factor in our calculation.

5.4 Conclusion The purpose of this chapter has been to determine which generation of memory carriers would have been alive when the pesharim were composed. By focusing on the lifespans of community members, we have been able to set the transmission of memory within its proper (temporal) framework. What we have discovered is that there is a potential that some who actually witnessed the life and ministry of the Teacher would have still been alive when the pesher commentaries were written. If this were the case, the texts would have not only been composed within living memory of the Teacher, but within a group containing a body of eyewitnesses. In later chapters, we will explore how these conclusions affect our view of the Teacher tradition as a cultural artifact. But for now, it is important to clarify the more immediate implications of this evidence. These conclusions should not be taken to imply that the Teacher tradition reflected in the written sources must necessarily be an accurate

54

Part of the reason why the written sources only contain brief allusions to the Teacher is because they were reflecting back on a larger tradition well-known within the community. For this reason, it was unnecessary for them to recount each and every detail for their readers (see Chapter 7).

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representation of the past. It would be incorrect to simply assume that the presence of eyewitnesses within the community would guarantee the reliable transmission of Teacher memories. It is true that eyewitness memory can be quite accurate under certain conditions; however, in other circumstances, eyewitnesses have proven to be an ineffective means of accessing the past.55 Generalizations about the reliability of eyewitness memory, therefore, are unhelpful.56 This means that it would be impossible to offer an evaluation of the pesharim simply on the basis that they might have originated within a group that possessed eyewitness testimony. So, then, how does situating the composition of the written sources within the lifetime of eyewitnesses help us to better understand the Teacher material? The answer lies in the necessity it creates to account for the role of eyewitness memory carriers in any explanation of the origin and preservation of the memories. Proponents of the new perspective sometimes claim that the pesherists were generally uninformed about the historical Teacher and that their depiction of him was largely invented to address contemporary affairs. This represents one potential explanation of the mnemonic evidence; yet, it remains incomplete. To be considered a plausible hypothesis, it must be able to account for the invention of memory within a community (potentially) containing eyewitnesses.57 In other words, attention must be paid to the role of these individuals within the formation and transmission of collective memory. Would this group have served as guardians of the tradition, which they themselves had witnessed, or would the memory of the Teacher have been a malleable

For a recent overview on the (un)reliability of eyewitness memory and the various factors involved therein, see Timothy J. Perfect and D. Stephen Lindsay, eds., The SAGE Handbook of Applied Memory (Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, 2014) 539–694; cf. also Michael P. Toglia et al., eds., Handbook of Eyewitness Psychology, vol. 1: Memory for Events (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2007); R. C. L. Lindsay et al., eds., The Handbook of Eyewitness Psychology, vol. 2: Memory for People (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2007). 56 Given the potential for eyewitness memory to be both reliable and unreliable, some argue that the most appropriate question is: “Under what conditions is eyewitness testimony reliable and when is it unreliable?” (Gary L. Wells and John W. Turtle, “Eyewitness Testimony Research: Current Knowledge and Emergent Controversies,” Canadian Journal of Behavioural Science 19 [1987] 363–388 [365]). 57 While the usual assumption (i.e., a text’s distance from the Teacher determines its historical value) cannot be sustained, a modified form of this conclusion seems to hold true: the tradition’s distance from the Teacher affects how one explains the mnemonic evidence. 55

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153

artifact able to be changed under the proper circumstances regardless of those who were involved?58 Before making any historical evaluations about the extent to which the memories of the Teacher reflect the past, it is imperative to address this mnemonic question. In later chapters, we will explore the impact of social and cultural factors on the formation and preservation of memory. Therein, we will consider the commemorative practices of the Teacher’s community and the function of eyewitness memory carriers in this process. This will help us better understand what was remembered about the Teacher and why.

58

For more on the malleability and persistence of collective memory, see Chapter 11.

6 Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

The fact that some contemporaries of the historical Teacher could have survived until his memory was recorded in the relevant textual evidence is an important consideration when assessing the socio-historical circumstances out of which the available traditions developed. However, the (potential) presence of memory carriers in the Teacher’s later community does not specify how traditions about the Teacher would have been transmitted, nor does it even dictate that such tradition would be transmitted. It simply provides an available medium for transmission. To understand how the information about the Teacher developed in his later community, we must consider other factors that could have also shaped the tradition. One possibility is that the details found in the pesharim were borrowed from other sources. This explanation has been posited by many who have examined the Teacher materials. There are a variety of written sources upon which the pesharim may have drawn,1 but the text with which a

It is common to find scholars claiming that the pesharim drew from the information in the Damascus Document, see, e.g., George J. Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics at Qumran,” BIAC 16 (1989) 8–11 (9–10); idem, “Was the Teacher of Righteousness Considered To Be a Prophet?” in Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Prophecy (eds. K. De Troyer et al.; CBET 52; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 77–97 (90–94); Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 155–157; Ben Zion Wacholder, The New Damascus Document: The Midrash on the Eschatological Torah of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Reconstruction, Translation and Commentary (STDJ 56; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 151–172. It has also been suggested that MMT may have been a source (see Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts [ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 31–46 [43]).

1

154

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155

literary relationship seems most likely is the Hodayot. Some years ago, Philip R. Davies provided a close reading of the similarities between the polemical language in the commentaries and the thanksgiving hymns. From this, he argued that the Teacher materials in the former were drawn from the poetic language of the latter.2 According to Davies, the authors of the pesharim read the Hodayot as autobiographic poems of the Teacher and assumed that the hymns “offer[ed] glimpses into the ‘life’ of the community’s founder.”3 Upon this basis, they inferred a narrative biography for the Teacher. The implications of such a literary relationship are significant. According to Davies, this connection forces a reevaluation of the source materials. No longer can scholars view the Hodayot, the Damascus Document, and the pesharim as independent witnesses, which separately testify to details from the Teacher’s life.4 Instead, the biography of the Teacher must be understood as a literary construction.5 Further, literary borrowing would also hold out implications for the assessment of the specific claims made about the Teacher. Davies notes that “if it could be shown as probable that some of the information in, say, 1QpHab was drawn from the Hymns, we could dispose of the assumption that reliable old traditions must underlie the biblical interpretations.”6 Rather than reflecting older traditions about the Teacher, the pesharim would “represent a later stage in the development of the social memory of the sect, one in which a more detailed life of the ‘teacher’ partially emerges.”7 At this stage in the transmission process, readers are provided not with a glimpse of the historical Teacher, but with a tradition that has undergone transformation. As such, the literary relationship between the Hodayot and the pesharim would affect

Philip R. Davies, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 87–105. 3 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 92. Cf. idem, “What History Can We Get?” 41: “the ‘teacher’ came to be regarded, within his community of followers, as the author of the Hodayoth, and references in these hymns were interpreted as his own historical experience.” 4 Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 42: “We cannot conclude that H[odayot], D[amascus Document] and the pesharim are all independent witnesses to real events because H[odayot] makes no reference to groups or to any individuals; a join between ‘testimony’ and historical events does not therefore exist.” 5 Cf. Davies, Behind the Essenes, 89: “a poetic allusion is given a concrete historical setting by way of establishing its true ‘meaning’ or ‘reference’.” 6 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 91 (original emphasis). 7 Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 42. 2

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“the limits of the possibility of our knowing anything of the life of the ‘Teacher of Righteousness’.”8 Given the popularity of this hypothesis within scholarship,9 and the implications it seems to hold out for the memory of the Teacher, it is important to engage in some detail the question of literary dependence. This chapter, therefore, will consider the nature of the intertextual relationship between the pesharim and the Hodayot, as well as the implications that can be drawn from it. Through an engagement with the similarities between these texts, we will challenge the theory of literary borrowing proposed by Davies. In doing so, we will demonstrate that there is no evidence to suggest that the pesherists constructed their biographical portrait of the Teacher from the hymns. Furthermore, we will explore how literary dependence might impact historical concerns, showing that much more is involved in the evaluation of the ancient materials than simply determining their intertextual relationships.

6.1  The Nature of Intertextuality In the theory of intertextuality espoused by Davies, the questions that are considered extend beyond the identification of source texts and the establishment of literary relationships. At the heart of this view are

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 87–88. Since the theory was first proposed, numerous scholars have voiced their support for it, e.g., Brooke, “History and Hermeneutics,” 9; idem, “The Pesharim and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 339–353 (344); Phillip R. Callaway, “Methodology, the Scrolls, and Origins,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 409–427 (417); Håkan Bengtsson, What’s in a Name? A Study of Sobriquets in the Pesharim (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2000) 290; Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (STDJ 59; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 128–129, although she allows for the possibility of a shared exegetical tradition (see p. 134); Jutta Jokiranta, “Social Identity Approach: Identity-Constructing Elements in the Psalms Pesher,” in Defining Identities: We, You, and the Other in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Fifth Meeting of the IOQS in Gro¨ningen (eds. F. García Martínez and M. Popović; STDJ 70; Leiden: Brill, 2008) 85–109 (97 n. 41); Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls (LSTS 67; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 23–26. One of the few who have challenged the conclusions of Davies is John J. Collins, “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 209–26 (220–25).

8 9

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redaction-critical concerns, which serve as the basis for historical deductions. After exploring the interpretive basis of this view, we will provide an extended critique challenging the veracity of Davies’ methodological approach and thereby casting doubt on his conclusions. 6.1.1  Understanding the Approach toward the Teacher Material The assessment of the Teacher materials in the pesharim begins with the establishment of the commentaries’ literary relationship with the Hodayot. To demonstrate that the hymns served as a source-text for the pesher authors, Davies first identifies the various ways that the commentaries were influenced by the scriptural text. The approach used for this assessment is fairly straightforward: “wherever there is presented as an interpretation of a biblical text information which is not derivable from the text but seems gratuitous, then that information may be regarded as potentially of historical value. At least, it must be regarded as having a basis independent of the biblical text.”10 This criterion is applied to 1QpHab 11.2–8, where Davies detects three “extraneous” items: (a) the attempt by the Wicked Priest to destroy (or swallow up) the group and (b) to cause them to stumble; and (c) the exile of the Teacher.11 Only after this scriptural influence is removed does Davies seek to compare the Hodayot and the pesharim. What is significant is that each of these three elements is also thought to be found in 1QHa 12.5–12.12 As a result, Davies deduces that there must have been a literary relationship between the two, with the commentaries borrowing from the hymns. To confirm his suspicions, he compares various sobriquets from the pesharim with parallel terminology from the Hodayot.

10 11

12

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 92. Davies, Behind the Essenes, 94. Along with this, he also points out the fact that both seem to reference a unique textual reading from Hab 2.5: “their feasts” (‫)מועדיהם‬ instead of the MT reading, “their nakedness” (‫)מעוריהם‬. The numbering of the Hodayot follows the reconstruction found in DJD 40, which reflects the work of Puech and Stegemann (see Émile Puech, “Quelques aspects de la restauration du Rouleau des Hymnes (1QH),” JJS 39 [1988] 38–55; Hartmut Stegemann, “Methods for the Reconstruction of Scrolls from Scattered Fragments,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin [ed. L. H. Schiffman; JSPSup 8; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990] 189–220; idem, “The Material Reconstruction of the Hodayot,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after Their Discovery 1947–1997: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 [eds. L. H. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society & The Shrine of the Book, 2000] 272–284).

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The Circumstances of Memory

The conclusion he reaches is that the former represents a more developed stage in the polemical discourse of the community, one that has been shaped by the poetic language of the hymns. Once the source-critical issues are resolved, Davies turns his attention to the redactional purpose of this borrowing. From his examination of the sobriquets, he argues that the pesherists have moved beyond simply adopting the terminology of the Hodayot. According to Davies, the process of borrowing involved the transformation of poetic language into a concrete historical narrative centered around specific groups and individuals. To demonstrate this point, Davies identifies a linguistic pattern that connects the two sets of texts: “rather vaguer plural terms in the Hymns become soubriquets for discrete individuals, or for identifiable parties, in the pesharim.”13 After examining a variety of instances in which this occurs, he contends that “[t]he inevitable conclusion is that [the Hodayot] constitutes the original source of the vocabulary” in the pesharim.14 6.1.2  Evaluating the Approach toward the Teacher Material The merit of Davies’ theory rests, to a large degree, on the viability of his methodology. It is significant, therefore, that serious questions surround the criterion used to identify intertextuality as well as the basis for assessing the authors’ redactional aims. 6.1.2.1  Assessing the Source-Critical Methods It is important to note at the outset that in his assessment of the Hodayot and the pesharim Davies does not provide any methodological guidelines that serve to inform his source-critical conclusions. That is, nowhere does Davies explain the level, number, or type of similarities necessary to posit a literary relationship, nor does he describe why the shared terminology between the Hodayot and the pesharim must be the result of the latter’s direct borrowing from the former. This is one place where his theory is particularly vulnerable to critique. Since Davies’ theory of literary dependence was first set forth, there has been a flurry of attempts

13 14

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 97. Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 42.

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in both Hebrew Bible/Old Testament15 and New Testament16 studies to address the level of correspondence necessary to postulate a literary relationship and the methods that might be used to assess the parallels. Studies like these would have aided Davies’ efforts immensely.17 How, then, is the literary relationship between 1QHa 12.5–12 and 1QpHab 11.2–8 established? From the connections that are drawn, it would seem that shared terminology plays the most decisive role in Davies’ process of evaluation. However, the manner in which this criterion is employed should serve as a sign of caution. Throughout his E.g., Cynthia Edenburg, “How (Not) to Murder a King: Variations on a Theme in 1 Sam 24; 26,” SJOT 12 (1998) 64–85 (72–74); David M. Carr, “Method in Determination of Direction of Dependence: An Empirical Test of Criteria Applied to Exodus 34,11–26 and Its Parallels,” in Gottes Volk am Sinai: Untersuchungen zu Ex 32-34 und Dtn 9-10 (eds. E. Blum and M. Köchert; VWGT 18; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001) 107–140; Jeffrey Stackert, Rewriting the Torah: Literary Revision in Deuteronomy and the Holiness Legislation (FAT 52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007) 21–27; Jeffrey M. Leonard, “Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case,” JBL 127 (2008) 241–265; Michael A. Lyons, From Law to Prophecy: Ezekiel’s Use of the Holiness Code (LHB/OT 507; New York: T&T Clark, 2009) 59–67; William A. Tooman, Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39 (FAT 2/52; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011) 31–34; John S. Bergsma, “The Biblical Manumission Laws: Has the Literary Dependence of H on D Been Demonstrated?” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (eds. E. F. Mason et al.; JSJSup 153; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 65–89; et al. 16 E.g., Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums: Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verstän dnis der Schrift bei Paulus (BHT 69; Tübingen: Mohr, 1986) 11–23; Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989) 29–32; Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture: Citation Technique in the Pauline Epistles and Contemporary Literature (SNTSMS 69; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) 33–37; Dale C. Allison, The Intertextual Jesus: Scripture in Q (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000) 10–13; Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000) 8–9; Thomas L. Brodie, The Birthing of the New Testament: The Intertextual Development of the New Testament Writings (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2004) 43–49; Bartosz Adamczewski, Q or not Q? The So-Called Triple, Double, and Single Traditions in the Synoptic Gospels (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2010) 187–205; Adam Winn, Mark and the Elijah–Elisha Narrative: Considering the Practice of GrecoRoman Imitation in the Search for Markan Source Material (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2010) 30–33; Thomas P. Nelligan, The Quest for Mark’s Sources: An Exploration of the Case for Mark’s Use of First Corinthians (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2015) 18–32; Travis B. Williams, “Intertextuality and Methodological Bias: Prolegomena to the Evaluation of Source Materials in 1 Peter,” JSNT 39 (2016) 169–187; et al. 17 The method of Davies appears to have remained unchanged following the original publication of his literary dependence hypothesis. Compare the methodological approach advocated in Davies, Behind the Essenes, 87–105 and idem, “What History Can We Get?” 40–42. 15

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The Circumstances of Memory

study, Davies seeks to demonstrate literary dependence on the basis of a singular shared term. What is more, much of the shared terminology relates to words that are common within, and outside, the Scrolls corpus, meaning that the material could have been drawn from any number of potential sources. One example is the adjective ‫“( עריץ‬violent,” “ruthless”), which appears three times in the Hodayot (1QHa 9.41; 10.13, 23). In each instance, the plural form functions substantivally to describe those who act violently. A slightly different usage is found in the pesharim, where the referent has been narrowed by a genitive modifier. The commentaries mention both “the violent of the covenant [i.e., Israel]” (1QpHab 2.6; 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 14; 1–10 iii 12; 1–10 iv 1) and “the violent of the Gentiles” (4QpPsa 1–10 ii 20; 1–10 iv 10). According to Davies, literary dependence is reflected not in the description of “specific identifiable groups,” but in the fact that the use of ‫ עריץ‬in the pesharim represents “a more specific designation of the term.”18 Yet, there is very little about this observation that would commend literary borrowing. Since ‫ עריץ‬is relatively common, appearing both in the Hebrew Bible (20 times) and elsewhere in the Scrolls (cf. 4Q434 1 i 5; 4Q460 9 i 11; 4Q487 6 2), there would need to be something unique about how the term is used in the Hodayot (and then mirrored in the pesharim) in order to identify the hymns as the pesherist’s source. As it stands, there is nothing in either source that sets the usage apart in any way. If a written source is necessary to explain ‫ עריץ‬in the pesharim, the more natural candidate would be the scriptural text. Not only do the scriptural authors use the term in a generalizing fashion (“the violent”), at times they also limit it to a specific group within a larger constituency, similar to what is found in the pesharim (cf. Isa 25:3; Ezek 30:11; 31:12; 32:12). So, rather than using ‫ עריץ‬to posit a literary connection between the Hodayot and the pesharim, the evidence would seem to point toward shared textual traditions.19 While much of Davies’ evidence for literary dependence relates to common terms that could have been plausibly drawn from any number of sources, there is one instance where further explanation is required. It is the unique textual reading found in 1QpHab 11.3: ‫“( מועדיהם‬their feasts”). In this case, the lemma (drawn from Hab 2:15) represents a departure from 18 19

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 99. Cf. Timothy H. Lim, Pesharim (CQS 3; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 79.

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the Masoretic Text (MT), which reads ‫“( מעוריהם‬their nakedness”). At the same time, this reading connects the commentary with 1QHa 12.13, where the same term is found. Since Davies argues that the hymnist is alluding to Hab 2:15 at this point,20 the shared textual variant leads him to conclude that the author of Pesher Habakkuk must have borrowed the form directly from the Hodayot. With alternative sources being limited, this is one instance where direct borrowing could be a legitimate possibility. But even here, the potential for literary dependence seems highly remote.21 To begin with, the allusion to Hab 2.15 in 1QHa 12.12–13 is not entirely certain. The collocation of terms, which are all individually attested elsewhere in the Hodayot, may be coincidental.22 For argument’s sake, however, we will assume that 1QHa is an echo of Hab 2.15. If 1QHa 12.12–13 represents an intertextual allusion to Hab 2:15, the connection is made only faintly using a handful of similar terms, which function differently than in their original context. Instead of criticizing those who “gaze on their nakedness” (‫ ;הביט על־מעוריהם‬Hab 2:15), the hymnist targets those who “observe their error” (‫)הבט אל תעותם‬, meaning those who follow misinformed principles of Torah observance (1QHa 12.12–13). The folly of this group is most clearly displayed, according to the hymnist, in the senseless behavior at “their festivals” (‫)במועדיהם‬. The pesherist would need to recognize this intertextual allusion in the Hodayot and allow it to shape the textual lemma of his commentary. But rather than following the many changes introduced by the hymnist, the author of commentary would essentially be reproducing the “original” form of the Habakkuk text, only making one substitution. In place of ‫“( מעוריהם‬their nakedness”), the pesherist would substitute ‫מועדיהם‬ 20

21

22

Davies, Behind the Essenes, 94. See also Michael O. Wise, The First Messiah: Investigating the Savior before Jesus (San Francisco, CA: Harper, 1999) 305 n. 2; Joseph M. Baumgarten, “Theological Elements in the Formulation of Qumran Law,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (eds. S. M. Paul et al.; VTSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2003) 33–41 (38); Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, 110. Svend Holm-Nielsen, Hodayot: Psalms from Qumran (ATDan 2; Aarhus: Universitetsforlaget, 1960) 82 n. 25, suggests that the author of the hymn was dependent upon the Pesher Habakkuk. Although any literary borrowing is unlikely in this instance, the reverse literary connection (i.e., Hodayot borrowing from the pesharim) would be ruled out by the respective dates of the works. There is nothing unique about the term “feast” (‫ )מועד‬which might indicate that the Hodayot was the source for the pesherist’s alternative textual tradition. The word appears frequently throughout the Scrolls corpus (e.g., CD-A 3.14; 1QSb 3.2; 1QM 2.4), and even the suffixed form (‫ )מועדיהם‬is occasionally attested (e.g., 1QS 1.15; 1QM 2.4; 4Q519 1 3).

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The Circumstances of Memory

(“their festivals”), despite the fact that the Hodayot contained a different reading at this point (‫תעותם‬, “their error”). In other words, not only would the hymnist have to significantly change the text of Habakkuk, the pesherist would also be required to alter the already transformed text in the Hodayot. Certainly, the complexity of this proposal would have to be viewed as its Achilles’ heel. It would be easier to assume that either the authors of Pesher Habakkuk and the Hodayot both shared the same exegetical tradition, and as a result, independently attest to a controversy surrounding calendric issues,23 or that both simply drew from a text of Habakkuk, which contained the variant reading ‫“( מועדיהם‬their feasts”). 6.1.2.2  Assessing the Redaction-Critical Methods The methodological approach that Davies employs to discern the authors’ redactional aims runs into similar difficulties. While the method is more clearly defined (viz. the detection of a pattern of particularization), the problems stem from the consistency with which the criterion is applied. Standard criteria for evaluating intertextual relationships are designed to facilitate consistent comparisons, which can be repeated across different corpora. On the other hand, Davies’ pattern of particularization is reformulated each time it is applied to the text in order to account for inconsistencies. The fluid nature of this criterion can be seen in the treatment of the term ‫“( אביון‬poor”). The word is used in the Hebrew Bible to describe those in society without economic means (Exod 23:11; Deut 15:7; Jer 5:28; Amos 5:12). Also, by extension, it came to represent a spiritual quality, often depicting one who was persecuted or afflicted. This usage is most prominent in the Psalms, where “the poor” are those who are oppressed and slandered by their enemies. Without any recourse, they plead with God for protection.24 The Hodayot reflects this same tradition. Here, the term appears in both the singular (4Q427 7 ii 8; 4Q431 2 7) and plural (1QHa 2.27; 13.24) forms as a way represent the righteous who are oppressed and who are looking to God for deliverance. In the “autobiographic” hymns, ‫ אביון‬is used more specifically as a self-designation of the implied author (1QHa 10.34; 11.26; 13.18, 20). Reflecting on difficulties surrounding him, including attempts on his life, he confirms his trust in God, who has and will continue to deliver him.

23 24

See Lim, Pesharim, 68; cf. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, 133. Cf. Ps 35:10; 37:14; 40:18[17]; 72:4; 82:4. See further Hans-Joachim Kraus, Theology of the Psalms (trans. K. Crim; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1992) 150–154.

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A slightly more specific referent is found in the pesharim, where the term becomes a self-designation of the Teacher’s community.25 While the appellation “implies that its owners are uncontaminated by the power of wealth,”26 its primary purpose is to connect the group with the earlier tradition where God is believed to shelter “the poor” in times of affliction (see above). According to Psalms Peshera, the community finds itself “in the time of affliction” facing “all the snares of Belial” (4QpPsa 1–10 ii 9–11).27 In light of these circumstances, they perceive themselves to be ‫עדת האביונים‬, “the congregation of the poor” (4QpPsa 1–10 ii 9; 1–10 iii 10). In Pesher Habakkuk, the troubles stem from the schemes of the Wicked Priest, who stole the money of “the poor” and plotted to destroy them (1QpHab 12.1–10).28 This use of ‫ אביון‬as a sobriquet suggests to Davies that the pesharim may be drawing from the Hodayot.29 See William H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk (SBLMS 24; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979) 198; Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (CBQMS 8; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979) 52. 26 Eyal Regev, “Wealth and Sectarianism: Comparing Qumranic and Early Christian Social Approaches,” in Echoes from the Caves: Qumran and the New Testament (ed. F. García Martínez; STDJ 85; Leiden: Brill, 2009) 211–229 (217). 27 Questions surround both the reading and meaning of the passage. Originally, John M. Allegro understood the text to read ‫מועד התענית‬, “season of affliction” (“A Newly-Discovered Fragment of a Commentary on Psalm XXXVII from Qumrân,” PEQ 86 [1954] 69–75 [71, 73]); however, this reading was changed to ‫מועד התעות‬, “season of error” in the editio princeps (DJD 5:43). The former seems to be the better option (see John Strugnell, “Notes en marge du volume V des ‘Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan’,” RevQ 7 [1970] 163–276 [212]). Most translate ‫ תענית‬as “affliction” (so, e.g., Hartmut Stegemann, “Der Pešher Psalm 37 aus Höhle 4 von Qumran (4QpPs 37),” RevQ 4 [1963–64] 235–270 [258–259]; Dennis G. Pardee, “A Restudy of the Commentary on Psalm 37 from Qumran Cave 4 (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan, vol. V, no 171),” RevQ 8 [1972–75] 163–194 [167]), but it can carry the meaning “fasting” (see Shemaryahu Talmon, “The Calendar Reckoning of the Sect from the Judaean Desert,” in Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. C. Rabin and Y. Yadin; ScrHier 4; Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1958] 162–199 [180–181]). Due to the lack of clarity, it has been suggested that the author might have both meanings in mind (see Robert B. Coote, “‘MW’D HT’NYT’ in 4Q 171 (pesher Psalm 37), fragments 1–2, col. II, line 9,” RevQ 8 [1972] 81–85). 28 Wacholder (The New Damascus Document, 160) claims that the sobriquet “the congregation of the poor” was used as a title for the Teacher’s community and that it was introduced after the Pesher Habakkuk, which is why the author shows no awareness of it. However, it is difficult to specify what an author did not know simply on the basis of what is stated (or unstated) in a given work. Furthermore, the War Scroll (4Q491 11 i 11) refers to “the council of the poor” (‫)עצת אביונים‬, which suggests that others aside from the author of the Psalms commentary were familiar with similar terminology. 29 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 102–103. Cf. Jokiranta, “Social Identity Approach,” 100: “The Hodayot are perhaps the best candidate if we look for sources or inspiration for the designation of the Psalms Pesher.” 25

164

The Circumstances of Memory

Yet, it is difficult to see how this usage might indicate a direct literary relationship. As we have already demonstrated, the language of the Hodayot echoes the canonical Psalms.30 Further, the Hodayot never establish a unique pattern of usage beyond what is found in the Hebrew Bible, and as a result, there is no evidence that might imply that the pesherist was drawing directly from the hymns. It is more likely that the self-designation, “poor,” represents the continuation of the tendency in Second Temple texts to moralize wealth and poverty.31 What is even more telling about this example, however, is that if borrowing had occurred, it would go against the pattern that Davies discerns. Rather than a plural term in the Hodayot being transformed into a sobriquet for an individual opponent, the reverse would have occurred. How, then, could this example be used to illustrate a pattern of particularization when it runs contrary to it? For Davies, the reason lies in the fact that the designation becomes a sobriquet “only in the pesharim, not in the hymns.”32 But this does not remove the sting of the problem, because ‫ אביון‬is used elsewhere in Scrolls literature as an epitaph to describe the community of God’s elect (cf. CD-B 19.9; 1QM 11.9; 4Q491

30

31

32

Most have recognized that the Hodayot are alluding to the language of the Psalms, see, e.g., Gordon M. Zerbe, “Economic Justice and Nonretaliation in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Implications for New Testament Interpretation,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 3: The Scrolls and Christian Origins (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006) 319–355 (335); Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, 112; Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The ‘Heart’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Negotiating between the Problem of Hypocrisy and Conflict within the Human Being,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages, and Cultures (eds. A. Lange et al.; VTSup 140; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 437–453 (441–444). For Jewish views of wealth and poverty during the Second Temple period, see Mark D. Mathews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful: Perspectives on Wealth in the Second Temple Period and the Apocalypse of John (SNTSMS 154; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 35–139. As the question relates more specifically to the Dead Sea Scrolls material, see Catherine M. Murphy, Wealth in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Qumran Community (STDJ 40; Leiden: Brill, 2002). Davies, Behind the Essenes, 103. It is true that in the pesharim (as well as some other scrolls) the appellation is used with a narrower referent than what is found in both the Hebrew Bible (cf. Hans-Joachim Schoeps, “Handelt es sich wirklich um ebionitische Dokumente?” ZRGG 3 [1951] 322–336 [322]) and even the Hodayot. But the question is whether development denotes dependence (as Davies assumes).

Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

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11 i 11; 4Q446 1 5).33 This means that there is nothing about the titular use of ‫ אביון‬that suggests it was borrowed from the Hodayot or that it has been transformed by the pesherists. There are similar examples throughout Davies’ study illustrating the fluidity with which this pattern of particularization is applied. In some cases, he acknowledges that it is impossible to determine whether specific identifiable groups are described in the pesharim (e.g., “ruthless of the covenant”).34 Elsewhere, he concedes that the precise terminology for particularizing sobriquets is absent from the texts in question (e.g., “interpreters of falsehood”).35 Some designations, he admits, are used in the plural in both the Hodayot and the pesharim (e.g., “seekers of smooth things”; “simple”),36 and in one case, the order of this pattern is reversed, with the connection moving from a generic singular to a sobriquet in the plural (“congregation of the poor ones”).37 So, even though Davies describes this pattern of particularization as an “observed rule,”38 he does not provide one clear instance where it holds true in its entirety. Problems also surround the terminology employed to facilitate comparative analysis. As discussed above, Davies contends that more vague characterizations are borrowed from the Hodayot and transformed into specific designations for identifiable persons and groups in the pesharim. An important prerequisite for positing such a theory of development is the establishment of terminology that can represent each stage of the process. This includes a specification of their differences and an articulation of their defining characteristics. Such definitions help to facilitate comparative analysis by providing a standard of measurement that can be subjected to outside evaluation. But not only does Davies’ study lack any type of terminological consistency, it employs some terms with such a narrow referent that particular conclusions are nearly assured from the start. To illustrate the lack of consistency in the definition of terms, we could point to the treatment of the phrase ‫“( דורשי החלקות‬seekers of smooth See Leander E. Keck, “The Poor among the Saints in Jewish Christianity and at Qumran,” ZNW 57 (1966) 54–78 (66–77); cf. also Hans-Joachim Kandler, “Die Bedeutung der Armut im Schriftum von Chirbet Qumran,” Judaica 13 (1957) 193–209; Devorah Dimant, “Sectarian and Non-Sectarian Texts from Qumran: The Pertinence and Usage of a Taxonomy,” RevQ 24 (2009) 7–18 (16). 34 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 99. 35 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 99. 36 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 100–102. 37 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 103. 38 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 103. 33

166

The Circumstances of Memory

things”).39 This designation is taken by most as an echo of Isa 30:9–11, where the people of Judah had rebelliously turned from God to seek an alliance with Egypt. Rather than asking the prophets to prophecy what is “right” (‫)נכחות‬, the people requested that the prophets speak “smooth things” (‫)חלקות‬. In the “autobiographic” hymns of the Hodayot, this imagery is put into service against the opponents of the implied author.40 He describes himself as becoming “a zealous spirit against all who seek smo[oth things]” (1QHa 10.17), and one whom God has delivered “from the congregation of those who seek smooth things” (10.34). In each case, the hymnist employs the indefinite form. For this reason, Davies concludes that “the term is not obviously a standard title for a determined group, but a characterization of opponents.”41 This stands in contrast to the pesharim, where, it is used as a sobriquet (cf. 4QpNah 3–4 i 2, 7; 3–4 ii 2, 4; 3–4 iii 3, 6–7; 4QpIsac 23 ii 10), most likely referring to the

39

40

41

Our critique in this section is focused mainly on the larger methodological problems which prevent literary borrowing from being a plausible option. Apart from these considerations, we might also draw attention to one specific textual issue which presents an obstacle for Davies’ position. In 4QpIsac the pesherist comments on the specific scriptural text out of which the title “seekers of smooth things” derives. Although the commentary is fragmentary, and thus lacking the interpretation of Isa 30:14, it seems safe to assume that the interpretation would have commented on the crucial term ‫חלקות‬. If this assumption is accurate, then it would beg the question of why an author who was systematically commenting on the text of Isaiah 30 would depart from his text momentarily to borrow a singular phrase from the Hodayot. It is the contention of Collins that the Hodayot did not derive the phrase directly from Isa 30:9–11, but instead borrowed it from what he believes to be a pre-Yahadic source in the Damascus Document (preserved in CD-A 1.10–19a). The reason he gives for this position is “the coupling of ‫ דרשׁ‬and ‫ ”חלק‬along with “the portrayal of this group as a ‘congregation’” (The Use of Sobriquets, 189). This evidence is not quite persuasive, however. In the “autobiographic” hymns, the implied author raises concerns about the means by which his opponents “gain divine approval of the application of their interpretation of the Torah” (Alex P. Jassen, Mediating the Divine: Prophecy and Revelation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Second Temple Judaism [STDJ 68; Leiden: Brill, 2007] 286). Through the mediation of “lying prophets,” they seek divine approval for their legal interpretations (i.e., “smooth things”). This is how they attempt to “seek” God (cf. 1QHa 10.36; 12.15–17), and it is to be contrasted with the hymnist’s own approach (cf. 12.7). It is only natural, then, that ‫ דרשׁ‬and ‫חלק‬ would appear together in the Hodayot (1QHa 10.17, 34). The combination does not require posing any type of literary dependence on the Damascus Document. The same holds true in the case of “the congregation of those who seek smooth things” (see below). Davies, Behind the Essenes, 100. For a more complete defense of the chronological development of the sobriquet, see Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 186–191.

Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

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Pharisees.42 In these instances, Davies notes that “the ‘seekers of smooth things’ seem to be presented as a distinct party.”43 What is noteworthy is the way Davies sets “a determined group” (as found in the pesharim) in opposition to “a characterization of opponents” (which is represented in the Hodayot), and how he distinguishes between “a formal body” and “a collection.”44 One might wonder what separates the two. Throughout his study, Davies uses a variety of terms to represent the collective body that each sobriquet in the pesharim is thought to reflect.45 In fact, he uses so many designations – without providing any defining characteristics – that it is impossible to determine whether any particular collective body would qualify. On the other hand, his descriptions of the non-collectives, which are said to be represented in the Hodayot, are significantly lacking. He provides only one description, explaining that they are merely “a characterization of opposition to the author.”46 The use of such a variety of terms serves to mask the fact that the Hodayot portrays the “seekers of smooth things” in a manner very similar to, if not identical with, the pesharim.47 This is clear from the manner in which the phrase is employed in the hymns. To begin with, the

So, e.g., Johann Maier, “Weitere Stücke zum Nahumkommentar der Höhle 4 von Qumran,” Judaica 18 (1962) 215–250 (234–237); Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Pharisees and Sadducees in Pesher Naḥum,” in Minḥah le-Naḥum: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna in Honour of His 70th Birthday (eds. M. Z. Brettler and M. A. Fishbane; JSOTSup 154; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993) 272–290 (276–277); James C. VanderKam, “Those Who Look for Smooth Things, Pharisees, and Oral Law,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (eds. S. M. Paul et al.; VTSup 94; Leiden: Brill, 2003) 465–477. Others are more cautious about identifying the group with the Pharisees (e.g., John P. Meier, “Is There Halaka (the Noun) at Qumran?” JBL 122 [2003] 150–155; Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran [STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004] 308–309). 43 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 100. 44 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 100 and 101, respectively. 45 E.g., “particular group” (Davies, Behind the Essenes, 99); “specific identifiable group” (99); “determined group” (100); “distinct party” (100); “set groups” (100); “identifiable group” (100); “fixed group” (101); “defined group” (102); “specific group” (102). 46 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 99. 47 In both the Hodayot and the pesharim, the “seekers of smooth things” are opponents (a) who are distinguished from the author and from other collectives, (b) whose beliefs and/or practices – despite only being vaguely portrayed in the text – are viewed by the author as standing in opposition to his own, and (c) who have undertaken specific actions (as a collective body) against the author. 42

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The Circumstances of Memory

Hodayot differentiates the “seekers of smooth things” from other groups who are mentioned alongside them. In 1QHa 12.15–17, the hymnist rebukes the “seekers of smooth things” for searching for “lying prophets,” who would presumably offer divine approval for their views.48 They are also set apart from “the people” of God, who are the target of the opponents’ misconceived views. What is more, by describing his opponents as a “congregation” (‫)עדה‬, the hymnist assumes they would be distinct from other collective bodies. For instance, the Hodayot also refers to “the congregation of the holy ones” (1QHa 11.23; 25.26)49 and to “the congregation of the yaḥad” (4Q427 7 ii 9). Each of these collective bodies possessed certain characteristics that set them apart from other groups. It would seem safe to conclude then that the “seekers of smooth things” possessed their own distinguishing features. This makes it difficult to find much development in specificity between the hymns and the commentaries. But the problems extend beyond the definitional consistency. In some instances, key words are so narrowly-defined that it prevents comparative analysis. This is the case with Davies’ definition of sobriquets. As he describes them, sobriquets develop out of more generalized characterizations.50 Yet, when the term “sobriquet” is used, the referent is so constricted that its application becomes meaningless. By way of illustration, we could point to Davies’ treatment of the term ‫“( פתי‬simple”) in the Hodayot and the pesharim. In the former, the word describes those who lack moral discernment, but who can nonetheless achieve it through the proper instruction (1QHa 5.13; 10.11). In the latter, a more specific usage is found with “the simple ones of Judah” (1QpHab 12.4) and “the simple 48

49

50

Pace Davies, Behind the Essenes, 100. For more on the differentiation between the two groups, see further James R. Davila, “Heavenly Ascent in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (eds. J. C. VanderKam and P. W. Flint; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 461–485 (477–478); Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 288–289. Cf. “the congregation of the holy ones” (1QH a 3.32; 25.5, 32); “the congregation of [the heavenly beings]” (1QHa 5.25; for the restoration, see Jean Carmignac, “Compléments au texte des Hymnes de Qumrân,” RevQ 2 [1959–60] 267–276, 549–558 [268]); “the congregation of God” (4Q427 7 i 14; 8 i 10). As others have pointed out, the presence of generic plurals in the hymns “cannot be used as evidence that the author of the Hodayot did not have specific individuals or groups in mind, or that these had to be created later by exegetical inference” (John J. Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 18 [2011] 295–315 [309]). The reason is that generalization is an aspect of the poetic genre. The same occurs in the Psalms, where generic plurals are typical – which even Davies himself acknowledges (see Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 40).

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ones of Ephraim” (4QpNah 3–4 iii 5) being referenced. Since only this latter usage is described as a “sobriquet” by Davies, we can assume that the term is taken to mean an epithet for a specific individual or a very narrowly-defined group. The standard definition of sobriquet is much broader, however. It is simply, “a descriptive name or epithet” (Merriam-Webster) or “a name given to someone or something that is not their or its real or official name” (Cambridge English Dictionary). Understood in this way, the use of the term ‫“( פתי‬simple”), in both the pesharim and the Hodayot, would qualify as a sobriquet. In fact, a comparison of the two shows that they are not as far apart as Davies makes them seem. The two uses of ‫ פתי‬in the Hodayot represent a description that defines a group according to one central aspect of their character. Whereas some might be categorized as “wicked,” others could be portrayed as “simple” (1QHa 5.13; 10.11).51 While the term is used as a generalization without reference to a defined membership, it would still be considered a sobriquet because it involves the attribution of an otherwise unofficial name. Moreover, there is little difference between this usage and the one found in 4Q177 9 7, where “the simple [person]” is categorized alongside “the wicked [person]” and “the foolish [person].” At issue, therefore, is not whether a general characterization has been transformed into a sobriquet by the pesherists, for sobriquets already exist in the Hodayot. The question is simply whether the sobriquet has taken on a more limited referent from the hymns to the commentaries. If we refine the parameters of Davies’ pattern of particularization to account for the broader usage of the term sobriquet, is there any indication that such particularizing tendencies mark the pesharim? Among the evidence that Davies produces, the phrase ‫“( מליצי כזב‬interpreters of falsehood”) provides one of the best opportunities to test the theory. The description contains a rare term ‫“( מליץ‬interpreter”), which is found almost exclusively in the Hodayot52 and involves a phrase that could easily and naturally be particularized. If Davies is correct about the authors

This usage has significant implications for the question of literary borrowing. Although ‫“( פתי‬simple”) only appears occasionally in the Hebrew Bible (cf. Ps 19:8[7]; Prov 1:4), it appears frequently in the Scrolls, particularly as a halakhic term (see Lawrence H. Schiffman, “Halakhic Terminology in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” RevQ 24 [2009] 115–133 [119]). To identify the language of the Hodayot as the source of the pesharim would, therefore, require some unique connection to be shared by both corpora. Such an association is not established by Davies. 52 It is also found in the Hebrew Bible a few times in reference to a mediator (Isa 43:27; Job 33:23; 2 Chron 32:31) and once as a description of an interpreter (Gen 42:23). 51

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The Circumstances of Memory

of the pesharim displaying a tendency to transform generalized plurals into sobriquets for specific individuals and groups, then we might expect to find “the Interpreter of Falsehood” listed in the commentaries as a specific enemy of the Teacher, or at least “the interpreters of falsehood” as an identifiable party who stands opposed to the Teacher.53 When one turns to the evidence in the pesharim, however, neither of these designations is found. This is noteworthy given that the Teacher is understood to be an inspired interpreter of prophetic scripture (1QpHab 2.5–10; 7.1–5). It would have been quite natural for the authors of the commentaries to allude to the distinction that the hymns draw between the implied author as an “authorized interpreter of wonderful mysteries” and his opponents, who are “interpreters of error” (1QHa 10.15). Instead, the closest parallels to which Davies is able to point are the designations, “Man of the Lie” (1QpHab 2.1–2; 5.11; 4QpPsa 1–10 i 26; 1–10 iv 14; cf. CD-B 20.15) and “Spouter of the Lie” (1QpHab 10.9). Neither of these provides a particularly strong connection, however.54

6.2  The Implications of Intertextuality Our focus, thus far, has been on a specific form of literary dependence, one which involves historical inferences being drawn from poetic allusions. Although this type of intertextuality does not seem to have occurred in the pesharim, it would be difficult to claim that the Hodayot exerted no influence on the authors of the pesharim and on their conceptualization and depiction of the Teacher – especially given their role within the performative life of the community(-ies).55 The question is whether this influence would compromise the historical value of the commentaries and the details they record about the Teacher. While Davies contends that such a relationship diminishes the contribution that the pesharim The designation ‫“( מליצי כזב‬interpreters of falsehood” or “lying interpreters”) appears a handful of times in the Hodayot (1QHa 10.16, 33; 12.10–11; cf. also 12.8: “deceiving interpreters”; 14.22: “erring interpreters”). 54 A much closer parallel is provided by Prov 19:22, where a poor man is described as being better than “a man of falsehood” (‫)אישׁ כזב‬. While it would be difficult to argue that the proverb was actually the source of the pesherists’ language, it would ultimately be a much more plausible suggestion than the Hodayot. 55 On the role of the Hodayot in the performative practices of the community(-ies), see Newsom, Self as Symbolic Space; Angela Kim Harkins, Reading with an “I” to the Heavens: Looking at the Qumran Hodayot through the Lens of Visionary Traditions (Ekstasis 3; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012); Shem Miller, “The Role of Performance and the Performance of Role: Cultural Memory in the Hodayot,” JBL (2018) 359–382. 53

Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

171

make toward our understanding of the historical Teacher, such a conclusion does not necessarily follow from the evidence.56 The theory of Davies rests on two foundational assumptions about intertextuality. Together, they lead him to conclude that literary dependence reveals the late origin and unreliable nature of the material found in the pesharim. The problem is that neither assumption is ever demonstrated. Further, when these assumptions are examined more closely, they fail to adequately account for the mnemonic evidence in circulation within the Scrolls community(-ies). As such, they provide an insecure basis from which to draw historical conclusions about the Teacher material. 6.2.1  Lack of Alternative Source Materials The first assumption that undergirds Davies’ theory is that the decision to borrow from the Hodayot is an indication that the pesherists otherwise lacked sufficient information about the Teacher. A driving force behind this assumption is the insistence on viewing written media as the primary means of transmitting memory. When Davies poses the question of the pesherists’ source of information on the Teacher, it seems that he envisions a literary environment where the Teacher tradition was preserved and communicated (almost exclusively) in written form.57 The source for any given composition is most naturally thought to be another written document.58 Even when he briefly considers the possibility of other forms of collective memory, it is clear that textuality shapes his perception of this process.59 Cf. Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 309. After posing the question, “So where did the data about the Teacher and his contemporaries come from?”, the answer Davies provides focuses solely on written accounts: “We have no documents from Qumran which contain possible sources, with one exception (The Damascus Document contains a few rather obscure references to the ‘Man of the Lie’, all of which are suspect as secondary, and in any case do not appear to have provided the sort of information offered in the pesharim)” (Davies, Behind the Essenes, 91; original emphasis). The possibility of lost sources is considered, but until such written documentation is found, he proposes that the similarities must be attributed to the pesherists’ borrowing from the Hodayot. 58 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 91. 59 Davies is not the only one who makes this assumption. Others have likewise focused (almost) exclusively on the textual transmission of tradition. See, e.g., Lawrence H. Schiffman, “‘Memory and Manuscript’: Books, Scrolls, and the Tradition of the Qumran Texts,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 133–150, who claims that texts and manuscripts were “the only medium for memory among the sectarians” (134). 56 57

172

The Circumstances of Memory

The problem is that written media would have only represented one source of information for the authors of the pesharim. Since the memory of the Teacher could have been preserved in a variety of other forms alongside these writings,60 intertextual connections should not be used to evaluate a text’s historical value. The reason for this is because the existence of a larger body of tradition opens the possibility that borrowing is the result of the interaction with and the reshaping of material that a community already knew and accepted, rather than a reflection of the absence of alternative source materials.61 An analogy from the Synoptic Gospels will serve to illustrate this point. New Testament scholarship is in general agreement that the authors of the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke were familiar with and drew from material found in the Gospel of Mark; yet this is not taken to mean that the information found in Mark’s gospel exhausted what was known about Jesus at the time, or that the other gospel writers were previously unacquainted with the content that was borrowed. Despite their literary relationship, the gospels are not simply “editions or redactions of one another,” as though their underlying source traditions are all that define them. Instead, they are “interdependent, embodied expressions of [the] abstract [Jesus] tradition.”62 This body of tradition, of which the written gospels preserved only a small portion, was performed in Jesus communities for decades prior to reaching a textualized form. As a result, much of content of the gospels – even those portions that were borrowed from another – would have already been familiar to the early Jesus followers through their access to the larger tradition.63

For more on the existence of Teacher tradition outside of the written materials, see Chapter 7. 61 The possibility that both the pesharim and the Hodayot drew from shared tradition is an option that is sometimes posed by scholars (see, e.g., Grossman, Reading for History, 156; Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 96 n. 140). But it is rarely given much consideration beyond the potential being raised. 62 See Rafael Rodríguez, Structuring Early Christian Memory: Jesus in Tradition, Performance, and Text (LNTS 407; London: T&T Clark, 2010) 81–113, quote 90. 63 This description represents a contextual approach toward oral tradition (see Rafael Rodríguez, Oral Tradition and the New Testament: A Guide for the Perplexed [London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014] 71–85), one which has been introduced into New Testament scholarship through the work of James Miles Foley (see esp. Immanent Art: From Structure to Meaning in Traditional Oral Epic [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1991]; idem, The Singer of Tales in Performance [Voices in Performance and Text; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995]). 60

Memory and the Impact of Source Materials

173

In the same way, even if the pesharim borrowed from or were influenced by the Hodayot, this would not necessarily exclude the possibility that the details found in the commentaries reflect collective memory of the Teacher. Determining whether this was the case would require an investigation into the possibility that a larger Teacher tradition existed within the Scrolls community. If this could be proven, then one would also need to evaluate how closely that tradition reflected the actual past. Neither of these questions is addressed by Davies, however. 6.2.2  Lack of Reliable Tradition in the Hodayot The second assumption upon which Davies’ theory of intertextuality rests is that the Hodayot lack reliable traditions about the historical Teacher. From this, he proceeds to assume that any material borrowed from the hymns must, therefore, be treated with suspicion. As it relates to the collective memory of the Teacher, Davies only envisions one possible avenue through which the Hodayot could serve the purposes of modern scholarship: if the Teacher wrote the hymns himself. Yet, such an approach short-circuits the necessary lines of inquiry. Aside from being authored by the Teacher, there are two other potential scenarios in which the Hodayot could provide valuable information about his life and influence. One possibility is that the “autobiographical” material found in the Hodayot was written by a later follower of the Teacher, who composed the hymns in a way that was meant to reflect the Teacher’s persona. Alternatively, it is possible that neither the Teacher nor his followers was responsible for the Hodayot, but that the authors of the pesharim held the belief that the hymns were composed by (or perhaps merely reflected the life of) the Teacher. Either scenario would require some explanation as to why the poetry of the Hodayot would have been considered an appropriate expression of the Teacher’s thoughts and experiences. This is one place where Davies’ proposal fails to account for the mnemonic evidence in its entirety. The idea that the Teacher’s life was mirrored by the situation of the implied author of the Hodayot had to derive from somewhere. One might argue that it originated with the persherists, but even then, further explanation would be required. No idea ever appears ex nihilo; therefore, some prior belief or experience would have led to these views. The question is: why would this particular individual (Teacher) be connected to this particular collection of texts (Hodayot)? A natural explanation would be that a tradition about the Teacher was

174

The Circumstances of Memory

in circulation prior to the composition of the pesharim. As such, there would be no reason to conclude that the influence of the Hodayot on the pesharim necessarily diminishes their value as sources of mnemonic evidence. Instead, it would force us to ask questions about when and how that earlier tradition originated.64

6.3 Conclusions The aim of this chapter has been to re-evaluate the nature and implications of the relationship between the Hodayot and the pesharim. After weighing the theory of intertextuality set forth by Davies, we have concluded that there is no indication of a pattern of particularization wherein the plural designations found in the hymns are turned into sobriquets for specific groups or individuals in the commentaries. As such, the claim that the pesharim have fashioned historical events from poetical allusions lacks any evidential support. What is more, when considering the implications of intertextuality, we have shown that even if the authors of the commentaries did borrow from the hymns, this would not be a sufficient basis from which to deduce that the former constructed a historical biography of the Teacher from the latter. Such a conclusion would require further investigation into the resources that were available to the pesherists and the way the Teacher was remembered in the decades following his death. What we will consider in the next chapter, therefore, is the broader tradition about the Teacher’s career which was preserved in other ancient media at the time when the commentaries were composed. Eventually, this will lead us to explore how the pesherists used this tradition (along with written sources like the scriptures and the Hodayot) to construct their representation of the Teacher.

64

For more on this type of approach, see Appendix 1.

7 The Teacher of Righteousness in Ancient Media

Written documents provide the most immediate access to the group’s collective memory of the Teacher of Righteousness. The difficulty is that this evidence presents an interpretive puzzle: despite the prominence that some texts assign to the Teacher, he is only mentioned in a handful of documents from the Scrolls corpus. His absence from much of the Qumran material has raised important questions not only about how well he was remembered in the decades following his death,1 but also about whether he was actually the important founding-figure that the texts portray. Related to the latter, some posit a discontinuity between the portrayal of the Teacher in the ancient source materials and his actual function in the early community. More specifically, scholars argue that the Teacher’s importance has been exaggerated and that his biography represents a projection of later ideas and concerns of a group seeking to solidify its own identity.2 When this reconstruction of the Teacher is compared with that posited by previous generations of scholars, there is

After mentioning the relatively few references to the Teacher and then considering a couple of the potential explanations, A. N. Gilkes offers the following assessment: “The more natural – or at least a quite likely – reason for this omission is that the influence of his memory was not so powerful at Qumrân 150 years after his death as some interpreters have supposed” (The Impact of the Dead Sea Scrolls [London: Macmillan, 1962] 109). 2 See Chapters 1 and 11. Cf. also Charlotte Hempel, “The Theatre of the Written Word: Reading the Community Rule with Steven Fraade,” in The Faces of Torah: Studies in the Texts and Contexts of Ancient Judaism in Honor of Steven Fraade (eds. M. Siegal et al.; JAJSup 22; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017) 119–130 (123). 1

175

176

The Circumstances of Memory

a stark contrast. As Charlotte Hempel notes, “this scholarly trajectory leaves us with a Teacher figure who resembles the character of the shady Wizard of Oz more closely than John Wayne of old coming to rescue a community in distress.”3 But what we will argue in this chapter is that the frequency with which the Teacher is mentioned in the extant textual materials can be a misleading criterion for evaluating his importance. Groups “remember” the past in a variety of ways through diverse media. Aside from written texts, social memory is also preserved through oral tradition, ceremonies, rituals, calendars, bodily practices, monuments, laws, or any number of other symbolic actions.4 It will be our contention that at the time when the pesharim were composed, oral tradition about the Teacher was already in circulation within the community. As a result, the pesher authors could have drawn information from this tradition as a way to inform their writings, and they could have made allusions to it as a way to supplement their works.5 By considering how this form of ancient media preserved the memory of the Teacher, it will be evident that the references in the textual sources represent neither an invention nor even a revival of a figure from the remote past, but a continuation of an already vibrant tradition.

7.1  The Teacher in Written Tradition We will begin by reassessing the Teacher’s place in the textual evidence and the implications that derive from it. In particular, we are concerned with the reason why the Teacher is referenced in less than 1 percent of the extant texts from Qumran, given the importance attributed to him

Charlotte Hempel, The Qumran Rule Texts in Context: Collected Studies (TSAJ 154; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013) 5. 4 Cf. Eric Ketelaar, “Archives, Memories and Identities,” in Archives and Recordkeeping: Theory into Practice (ed. C. Brown; London: Facet, 2014) 131–170 (137). Which form(s) memory takes often depends on the timeframe under consideration (see further Jan Assmann, “Communicative and Cultural Memory,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook [eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008] 109–118; idem, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011] 34–50). 5 Here, tradition is defined very broadly as “anything which is transmitted or handed down from the past to the present” (Edward Shils, Tradition [Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1981] 12). 3

The Teacher of Righteousness in Ancient Media

177

in certain documents.6 What is crucial to recognize at the outset is that numbers can be extremely misleading when they are interpreted outside the proper context. For this reason, the references to the Teacher must be considered in light of two important factors: the availability of the manuscript evidence and the nature of comparative evidence. 7.1.1  The Availability of Manuscript Evidence The Teacher’s place in the manuscript record is dramatically affected by the type of evidence that is factored into the equation. While it is true that around 930 scrolls have been discovered from the Qumran caves,7 not all of these texts are necessarily relevant to our calculation. Approximately 230 documents (or 25 percent)8 are works that would later become part of the Jewish canon of scripture. Since these texts predate the time of the Teacher, the lack of reference to him is immaterial. Another 250 texts (or 27 percent) are compositions that had wide circulation and were used by a variety of groups within Second Temple Judaism, despite their Various scholars have used the frequency with which the Teacher is referenced in the written sources as an indication of the discontinuity between history and memory (e.g., Steven D. Fraade, “Interpretive Authority in the Studying Community at Qumran,” JJS 44 [1993] 46–69 [49, 51 n. 15]; Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement [STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012] 189; Heinz-Josef Fabry, “Der ‘Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit’ – eine Gestalt zwischen Ablehnung und Vollmacht. Überlegungen zur frühjüdischen Rezeption der Leidensknechts-Thematik,” in Martyriumsvorstellungen in Antike und Mittelalter: Leben oder sterben für Gott? [eds. S. Fuhrmann and R. Grundmann; AJEC 80; Leiden: Brill, 2012] 21–43 [24]; Angela Kim Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke [eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017] 493–514 [493]). 7 The Dead Sea Scrolls consist of approximately 930 manuscripts, which have been reconstructed from nearly 100,000 fragments of parchment and papyri (see Emanuel Tov, “The Number of Manuscripts and Compositions found at Qumran,” in Feasts and Fasts: A Festschrift in Honour of Alan David Crown [ed. M. Dacy et al.; Mandelbaum Studies in Judaica 11; Sydney: Mandelbaum Publishing, 2005] 67–80; cf. idem, Revised Lists of the Texts from the Judaean Desert [Leiden: Brill, 2010]). For a slightly smaller count (ca. 870 scrolls), see Daniel K. Falk, “Material Aspects of Prayer Manuscripts at Qumran,” in Literature or Liturgy? Early Christian Hymns and Prayers in their Literary and Liturgical Context in Antiquity (eds. C. Leonhard and H. Löhr; WUNT 2/363; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014) 33–87 (40 n. 31). 8 The following numbers and percentages are taken from Robert Rezetko and Ian Young, Historical Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew: Steps Toward an Integrated Approach (SBLANEM 9; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 64–65. Cf. David J. A. Clines, ed., The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 8: Sin-Taw (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2011) 13–43. 6

178

The Circumstances of Memory

(eventual) exclusion from the Jewish canon (e.g., Tobit; 1 Enoch). These documents also would have little reason to mention the Teacher and, thus, should be excluded from our count. Approximately 100 documents (or 11 percent) are so fragmentary that scholars have been unable to decipher their contents. As such, they should not factor into the equation. This leaves us with what have been described as the “sectarian” texts, some 350 documents (or 37 percent) composed by (or that were, at least, of particular significance to) members of the Scrolls community(-ies). When the numbers are adjusted to account for the Teacher’s role only in the “sectarian” texts, the percentage is slightly higher at around 4.5 percent. Although this number provides a better reflection of the frequency with which the Teacher was referenced in community documents, it still does not adequately capture his impact in the written record. One reason is the debate surrounding the nature of “sectarian” literature.9 Since scholars have yet to determine exactly which texts derive from the Scrolls community, it is difficult to calculate the frequency of the Teacher’s appearance in the textual record. The genre of these works must also be taken into consideration. Not every type of “sectarian” document lends itself to specific historical allusions. The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice would be one example – if, in fact, it is a sectarian text.10 This set of Various guidelines have been constructed to differentiate “sectarian” from “non-­ sectarian” literature within the Dead Sea Scrolls (see, e.g., Carol A. Newsom, “‘Sectually Explicit’ Literature from Qumran,” in The Hebrew Bible and Its Interpreters [eds. W. H. Propp et al.; Biblical and Judaic Studies 1; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990] 167–187; Devorah Dimant, “The Qumran Manuscripts: Contents and Significance,” in Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness: Papers on the Qumran Scrolls by Fellows of the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1989–1990 [eds. D. Dimant and L. H. Schiffman; STDJ 16; Leiden: Brill, 1995] 23–58 [esp. 27–30]). Some of these approaches have been met with serious reservations in more recent scholarship, suggesting that alternative methods may be in order (see Philip R. Davies, “Sects from Texts: On the Problems of Doing a Sociology of the Qumran Literature,” in New Directions in Qumran Studies: Proceedings of the Bristol Colloquium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, 8–10 September, 2003 [eds. J. G. Campbell et al.; LSTS 52; London: T&T Clark, 2005] 69–82 [71–73]; Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism, 42–49). 10 The case for the sectarian provenance of Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice was originally made by Carol A. Newsom, Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice: A Critical Edition (HSS 27; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1985) 59–72, 81–83. This position was subsequently reversed as she argued for the work’s pre-sectarian origin on the basis of a copy being discovered at Masada and in light of the divine title ‫אלהים‬, which contrasts with the common practice in sectarian literature of employing the term ‫( אל‬see Newsom, “‘Sectually Explicit’,” 179–185). Each of these arguments has been subject to criticism, however (see Christopher R. A. Morray-Jones, “The Temple Within: The Embodied 9

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179

thirteen songs describes the angelic liturgy, which takes place in the celestial sanctuary, and thus, makes no mention of any key figures from the history of the community. Even within “sectarian” literature, therefore, it would be necessary to adjust the count based on a text’s potential for mentioning the Teacher. Another consideration that must factor into the discussion is the fragmentary nature of textual evidence. To downplay the importance of the Teacher because he is only referenced in a few documents, neglects the fact that many “sectarian” texts have been preserved in an incomplete form. For instance, a commentary on the book of Zephaniah (4QpZeph) is extant in two small fragments, which include four partially-preserved lines. The text contains only a portion of Zeph 1:12–13 along with the pesher formula. Although no mention is made of the Teacher, the state of the evidence should lead us away from reading too much into his absence. In contrast, we might note that Pesher Psalmsb, which is extant in only four fragments, refers to the Teacher twice in just fifteen partially-preserved lines (4QpPsb 1 4; 2 2).11 Such an example reveals the chance nature of textual preservation. 7.1.2  The Nature of Comparative Evidence It is natural to compare the written documentation on the Teacher with evidence for other prominent figures in the ancient world. The connection most commonly made is between the Teacher and Jesus.12 Considering

11

12

Divine Image and Its Worship in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish and Christian Sources,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1998 Seminar Papers [Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1998] 1:400–431; Daniel K. Falk, Daily, Sabbath and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls [STDJ 27; Leiden: Brill, 1998] 126–130). For more on this issue, see Henry W. Morisada Rietz, “Identifying Compositions and Traditions of the Qumran Community: The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice as a Test Case,” in Qumran Studies: New Approaches, New Questions (eds. M. T. Davis and B. A. Strawn; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007) 29–52. In the editio princeps, John M. Allegro included a fifth fragment to this work (Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186) [DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968] 51–53). However, the script of this fragment was later judged to be from a different time period, and questions have since been raised about whether the fragment’s content actually reflects a pesher commentary (see John Strugnell, “Notes en marge du volume V des ‘Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan’,” RevQ 7 [1970] 163–276 [219–220]; cf. Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books [CBQMS 8; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979] 226–228). See, e.g., Hartmut Stegemann, “‘The Teacher of Righteousness’ and Jesus: Two Types of Religious Leadership in Judaism at the Turn of the Era,” in Jewish Civilization in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (ed. S. Talmon; Philadelphia, PA: Trinity, 1991)

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that various gospels were written about the life of Jesus, scholars often point out that the same kind of biographical narratives are absent from the Teacher’s community.13 This point, while accurate, should not be interpreted as evidence of the Teacher’s insignificance. Some perspective can be gained by noting the lack of biographies for prominent Jewish rabbis as well.14 The reason the lives of rabbinic leaders were not commemorated in gospels is because none was afforded “the central position that Jesus held in early Christianity.” That is to say, “[t]he center of Rabbinic Judaism was Torah; the center of Christianity was the person of Jesus, and the existence of the Gospels is, in itself, a testimony to this fact.”15 The same reason could explain the lack of biographical accounts on the Teacher of Righteousness. His perceived value to the community seems to have been that he pointed them toward a more accurate understanding of the source of authority: scripture. Therefore, we need not expect that his followers would compose a biographical narrative of his life. To add further to this point, we draw attention to the date and situation in which the New Testament gospels arose. These biographies of Jesus were not written down until 40 (or more) years after his death by those who were

196–213; Håkan Ulfgard, “The Teacher of Righteousness, the History of the Qumran Community, and Our Understanding of the Jesus Movement: Texts, Theories and Trajectories,” in Qumran between the Old and New Testament (eds. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998) 310–346. 13 This observation is made by Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49 (46); cf. also Dale C. Allison, Studies in Matthew: Interpretation Past and Present (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005) 144–145; Wayne A. Meeks, Christ Is the Question (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2006) 72. 14 See further Jacob Neusner, In Search of Talmudic Biography: The Problem of the Attributed Saying (BJS 70; Chico, CA: Scholars, 1984); and Jacob Neusner, Why No Gospels in Talmudic Judaism? (BJS 135; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1988). 15 Philip S. Alexander, “Rabbinic Biography and the Biography of Jesus: A Survey of the Evidence,” in Synoptic Studies: The Ampleforth Conference of 1982 and 1983 (ed. C. M. Tuckett; JSNTSup 7; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984) 19–50 (41); cf. Michael Hilton and Gordian Marshall, The Gospels and Rabbinic Judaism: A Study Guide (London: SCM Press, 1988) 13. See further Richard A. Burridge, “Gospel Genre, Christological Controversy and the Absence of Rabbinic Biography: Some Implications of the Biographical Hypothesis,” in Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (eds. D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett; NovTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2000) 137–156.

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not eyewitnesses and whose communities may have been located outside of Palestine. The letters of Paul are the only extant, pre-70 CE documents that reference Jesus,16 and given their epistolary genre, explicit comments about events from his life are rare.17 This fact is significant, for it highlights the scarcity of written documentation. During this early period, the memory of Jesus was preserved, for the most part, through oral tradition and communal rituals. It is not surprising then to find that the memory of the Teacher appears in only a few written sources following his death. Given these considerations about the nature of and evidence for written documentation, it seems necessary to reverse the question. Rather than asking why the Teacher’s life was not recorded in a narrative biography or why he is only mentioned in a limited number of texts, the more significant question might be: Why were episodes from his life preserved at all? If it is true that “[e]vents referred to in the interpretations [of the pesharim] are episodes memorable in the history of the community,”18 then some degree of significance must have been attached to them. Records of most people and most historical events from the ancient world have been lost because they were not preserved in a durable form of memory. This is the case with nearly every member of the Qumran community. For years, these men (and women?) would have worked in and around the settlement; they would have eaten the communal meal; they would have partaken in daily conversations about the circumstances in their community. But aside from the discovery of their bones in the cemetery and perhaps a brief mention in the overseer’s record of reproof,19 their story is lost. Therefore, the With the majority of New Testament scholars, we would date Hebrews, the General Epistles, and Revelation sometime after 70 CE (see Raymon E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament [AYBRL; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997] 383–405, 681–813). Some could claim that other documents (e.g., Q source) are in some sense “extant” due to their inclusion in the textual evidence that we now possess. 17 It should also be noted that we possess complete copies of Paul’s letters. Had they been fragmentary (and potentially lacking some of the references to Jesus), would modern scholars be tempted to question the importance of Jesus within Paul’s communities? 18 Ida Fröhlich, “Qumran Biblical Interpretation in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Historiography,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages and Cultures (eds. A. Lange et al.; VTSup 140; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 821–855 (825). 19 See Esther Eshel, “4Q477: The Rebukes of the Overseer,” JJS 45 (1994) 110–122, who discusses a fragmentary document that records the offences of three individuals within the community and their subsequent rebukes, which are brought to the attention of the overseer (cf. Charlotte Hempel, “Who Rebukes in 4Q477?” RevQ 16 [1995] 655–656; Stephen A. Reed, “Genre, Setting and Title of 4Q477,” JJS 47 [1996] 147–148). 16

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fact that the Teacher was remembered at all is extremely significant. It means that scholars must ask what the Teacher might have done to lead his followers to memorialize him in their written records. But before carrying out this task, it is important to consider whether the memory of the Teacher was preserved in any other forms of ancient media. The most natural place to begin is with oral tradition.

7.2  The Teacher in Oral Tradition Oral tradition consists of meaningful stories that a group preserves in collective memory and transmits orally over a period of time without significant variation.20 What usually gives rise to the establishment of oral tradition is a person or event whose legacy is viewed as significant enough to remember. In some cases, it may be that the person has passed down information, or teachings, which the group wants to preserve. The question that we will seek to answer in this section is whether oral tradition, consisting of information on the life and instructions of the Teacher, was preserved by the Scrolls community in the decades after the Teacher’s death.21 The existence of oral tradition lies at the heart of the debate surrounding the construction of the Teacher’s legacy within his later community. According to Philip R. Davies, this type of tradition simply did not exist when the authors of the Scrolls began recording the details about the Teacher’s life. He argues that “[t]here is no evidence of the creation and

20

21

Cf. Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition as History (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985) 27, who defines oral traditions as “verbal messages which are reported statements from the past beyond the present generation.” For a fuller discussion of the specific characteristics of oral tradition, see Øivind Anderson, “Oral Tradition,” in Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991) 17–58 (25–37). There has been some discussion recently about whether a body of oral legal traditions lie behind the written materials in the Rule texts (see, e.g., Sarianna Metso, “The Relationship between the Damascus Document and the Community Rule,” in The Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery: Proceedings of the Third International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 4–8 February, 1998 [eds. J. M. Baumgarten et al.; STDJ 34; Leiden: Brill, 2000] 85–93; idem, “Methodological Problems in Reconstructing History from Rule Texts Found at Qumran,” DSD 11 [2004] 315–335; Alison Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for the Community Rule [STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009] 186–188). But this question will not be our focus here.

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preservation of a body of tradition, oral or written, about the ‘teacher’ such as gathered about many religious leaders.”22 This (presumed) lack of oral tradition is crucial for establishing further corollaries within Davies’ reconstruction of the Teacher. Without access to traditions about the Teacher, Davies contends that the authors of the pesharim were required to infer biographic information from earlier written sources.23 In other words, the Teacher’s “life apparently had to be built up from textual clues, and nothing else.”24 What we will demonstrate below is that oral Teacher tradition was in circulation during the time when the textual evidence was composed. To identify its existence, however, we must adopt an alternative strategy to the one used by Davies. Rather than searching for remnants of oral tradition within the written documents, it is necessary to shift our focus toward the context of oral tradition and, in particular, the way in which it is accessed in each society. 7.2.1  The Approach toward Oral Teacher Tradition In premodern societies, knowledge was transmitted primarily in nonwritten forms.25 It would be a natural assumption, therefore, that the Teacher’s community would have preserved information about him in communicative media other than written documents. Yet, when dealing with tradition in the ancient world, modern interpreters face a formidable problem: despite what might be strong circumstantial evidence, it is impossible to definitively prove the existence of oral tradition due to the fact that the medium through which it was preserved (viz. members of

See Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts (ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 31–46 (41). When comparing the memory of David to the memory of the Teacher, Davies notes further, “The difference between the two cases is that for David we have a narrative in the books of Samuel of his life, into which the contents of some of the Psalms can be fitted, while no biography of the ‘teacher’ existed; rather, his life had to be constructed entirely from clues that lay partly in the biblical text being interpreted and partly in community texts” (41). Cf. idem, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 91–92. 23 See Chapter 6. 24 See Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 41. 25 James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (New Perspectives on the Past; Oxford: Blackwell, 1992) 8–11. 22

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the community) is no longer available.26 Different approaches have been implemented to account for this problem. 7.2.1.1  Oral-Formulaic Approach toward Oral Tradition Some seek to identify – to whatever degree possible – the remnants of oral tradition within the written source material. This seems to be the approach adopted by Davies in his assessment of the evidence for the Teacher. He points out that “even in the case of historical memory, very little thought has been given to the possible nature of traditions which might preserve such memories. As yet, we have no materials from Qumran which might reflect such a tradition in literary guise.”27 From this statement, Davies appears to assume that if oral traditions were underlying the written sources, they would be observable within the text. Since he is unable to locate this type of material in the documents from Qumran, the existence of oral tradition related to the life of the Teacher is ruled out. The assumption that oral tradition can be detected in written materials through the identification of salient features reflects the influence of an approach toward oral tradition known as the Oral-Formulaic Theory.28 This approach, which began with the work of Albert B. Lord (and his teacher Milman Parry) on Homeric poetry,29 isolates certain elements that are characteristic of oral tradition and then seeks to locate them within written texts. Standing behind this idea is a strong dichotomy between orality and literacy, with each possessing its own distinct

Cf. David E. Aune, “Prolegomena to the Study of Oral Tradition in the Hellenistic World,” in Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991) 59–106: “Investigations into the phenomenon of oral tradition in the ancient world are ultimately stymied by the fact that all access to the subject is mediated through written texts” (59). 27 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 92. 28 For a full discussion of this theory, see John Miles Foley, The Theory of Oral Composition: History and Methodology (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1988). 29 Cf. Albert B. Lord, The Singer of Tales (2nd edn.; Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 24; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000) 130: “Formula analysis … is … able to indicate whether any given text is oral or ‘literary.’ An oral text will yield a predominance of clearly demonstrable formulas, with the bulk of the remainder ‘formulaic,’ and a small number of nonformulaic expressions. A literary text will show a predominance of nonformulaic expressions, with some formulaic expressions, and very few clear formulas” (original emphasis). For more on the Oral-Formulaic Theory developed by Parry and Lord, see Foley, The Theory of Oral Composition. 26

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characteristics.30 These differences have been articulated most clearly by Walter Ong, who specifies the “psychodynamics of orality,” which are thought to be unique and recognizable aspects of oral communication.31 For many biblical scholars, these features have become the markers used to discern the presence of oral tradition in the relevant textual material. In fact, the Oral-Formulaic theory has been the most common approach toward orality within biblical scholarship.32 Despite its prominence, significant problems surround the view originally set forth by Parry and Lord. For this reason, most have attempted to either correct the theory or to move away from it ­completely. In fact, “[t]oday there are few, if any oralists who would classify themselves as Oral Formulaicists, and one would be hard pressed to find many who subscribe to the hard Parryist position that dominated the field for so long.”33 While this position has been

This dichotomy is particularly evident in the work of Jack Goody, one of prominent advocates of this view. See Jack Goody, The Domestication of the Savage Mind (Themes in the Social Sciences; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); idem, The Logic of Writing and the Organization of Society (Studies in Literacy, Family, Culture, and the State; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); idem, The Interface between the Written and the Oral (Studies in Literacy, Family, Culture, and the State; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 31 Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London: Methuen, 1982) 31–75; cf. also Wolfgang Schadewaldt, “Die epische Tradition,” in Homer. Tradition und Neuerung (ed. J. Latacz; Wege der Forschung 463; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1979) 529–539. For a response to Ong’s characteristics, see Albert B. Lord, “Characteristics of Orality,” Oral Tradition 2 (1987) 54–72. 32 Those who have adopted this approach within Hebrew Bible scholarship include: Robert C. Culley, Oral Formulaic Language in the Biblical Psalms (Near and Middle East Series 4; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1967); William M. Schniedewind, “Orality and Literacy in Ancient Israel,” RelSRev 26 (2000) 327–332; Robert S. Kawashima, “From Song to Story: The Genesis of Narrative in Judges 4 and 5,” Proof 21 (2001) 151–178. Those who have adopted this approach within New Testament scholarship include: Joanna Dewey, “Oral Methods of Structuring Narrative in Mark,” Int 43 (1989) 32–44; Pieter J. J. Botha, “Mark’s Story as Oral Traditional Literature: Rethinking the Transmission of Some Traditions about Jesus,” HvTSt 47 (1991) 304–331; Casey W. Davies, Oral Biblical Criticism: The Influence of the Principles of Orality on the Literary Structure of Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians (JSNTSup 172; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999); Stephen E. Young, Jesus Tradition in the Apostolic Fathers (WUNT 2/311; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). 33 Mark C. Amodio, “Contemporary Critical Approaches and Studies in Oral Tradition,” in Teaching Oral Traditions (ed. J. M. Foley; Options for Teaching; New York: Modern Language Association, 1998) 95–105 (96). 30

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critiqued on various points,34 for our purposes the most noteworthy problem relates to the identification of oral tradition within written documents. When scholars claim that they can identify distinct characteristics of oral communication in textual sources, they often overlook the fact that the same features can define the written medium as well. In other words, what has yet to be demonstrated is that the structural elements that are commonly identified as traces of oral tradition could have only arisen from the influence of oral communication and that they remain unchanged after the transition from orality to textuality.35 7.2.1.2  Contextual Approach toward Oral Tradition Since attempts to locate oral tradition within the textual evidence appear to be ineffective, we must take a different approach if we hope to demonstrate the existence of oral Teacher tradition. The most promising is what has been described as a contextual approach, which focuses on the setting in which oral communication developed and the circumstances in which it was expressed. At the heart of this approach is the recognition that “oral traditional forms are situated in part within a set of associations and expectations formally extrinsic but metonymically intrinsic to their experience as works of verbal art.”36 That is, tradition provides the backdrop against which oral performances are delivered and received and the environment within which written documents are composed. In this setting, performers are “able to rely on their audiences to understand their oral text in light of the preexisting, circumambient tradition that provides the essential context within which the text acts as a vehicle for communication.”37 This type of approach toward oral tradition holds out important implications for our study of the Teacher tradition. First and foremost, it redirects the questions we ask of our sources. If oral tradition existed, it would have provided the context that gave meaning to the references

See further Robert D. Miller, Oral Tradition in Ancient Israel (BPC 4; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2011) 13–27. 35 Cf. Rafael Rodríguez, Oral Tradition and the New Testament: A Guide for the Perplexed (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014) 70–71. 36 John Miles Foley, The Singer of Tales in Performance (Voices in Performance and Text; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1995) xi. 37 Rodríguez, Oral Tradition, 75. 34

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to the Teacher in the written documents. Rather than seeking to uncover the remnants of orality concealed within the textual evidence, we would need to give attention to the environment that encompassed the composition and the reception of the written document. This understanding of oral tradition moves us very close to the concept of the “master narrative” espoused by Carol A. Newsom. She notes that this master narrative “cannot simply be identified with any of the particular performances or instantiations of it, for its existence is the precondition that makes all performances possible as effective communicative acts. At the same time, the master narrative does not have the transcendent status of a platonic ideal. It is rather a body of tacit knowledge organized by a basic chronology of key episodes that is shared by a community and that can be activated and engaged by a particular performance.”38 Second, this approach toward oral tradition redirects what we might expect to find in our sources. There is no reason to think that we could discover preformed units of material without any contextual meaning.39 As Rafael Rodríguez notes, “even ‘bits’ of the tradition are received in terms of the tradition in toto.”40 Therefore, we must attempt to situate (what seem to be) ambiguous references within a wider narrative context, as the original reader and listeners would have done. In what follows, we will explore oral tradition as the context in which the written tradition was composed and read (or performed). 38

39

40

Carol A. Newsom, “Selective Recall and Ghost Memories: Two Aspects of Cultural Memory in the Hebrew Bible,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 41–56 (43). Cf. also Werner H. Kelber, “Jesus and Tradition: Words in Time, Words in Space,” in Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature (ed. J. Dewey; SemeiaSt 65; Atlanta, GA: Scholars, 1995) 139–167, who describes tradition as “a circumambient contextuality or biosphere in which speaker and hearers live” (159). Related to the tradition found in the New Testament gospels, Loveday Alexander contends that “oral tradition should not be thought of simply as a series of unconnected units. The individual episodes presuppose the existence of a connected narrative, a cycle of tales related to a particular individual” (“What Is a Gospel?” in The Cambridge Companion to the Gospels [ed. S. C. Barton; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006] 13–33 [20]; cf. also Albert B. Lord, “The Gospels as Oral Traditional Literature,” in The Relationship Among the Gospels: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue [ed. W. O. Walker; San Antonio, TX: Trinity University Press, 1978] 33–91 [38]). Rafael Rodríguez, Structuring Early Christian Memory: Jesus in Tradition, Performance, and Text (LNTS 407; London: T&T Clark, 2010) 86–87. For a fuller description of this approach toward oral tradition, see John Miles Foley, Immanent Art: From Structure to Meaning in Traditional Oral Epic (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1991); idem, The Singer of Tales in Performance.

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The Circumstances of Memory 7.2.2  The Existence of Oral Teacher Tradition

Any attempt to demonstrate that oral tradition about the Teacher was in circulation during the decades following his death proves difficult. It requires locating material in an ancient society that was transmitted verbally and that left behind few traces of its existence. For this reason, we should not expect an overwhelming amount of evidence. The most that we could hope to find is that the preconditions for the existence of oral tradition were in place and that the details about the life of the Teacher, which are preserved in the textual evidence, reflect the authors’ attempt to engage a larger body of tradition. But in this case, that is exactly what we find. 7.2.2.1  Preconditions of Oral Teacher Tradition The preconditions of oral tradition represent the circumstances that must be in place for a conventional body of material to be preserved in oral circulation within the Teacher’s later community. The starting point is the accumulation of a sufficient amount of information. We must ask, therefore, whether there were stories about the Teacher or excepts from his instructions that could have been communicated. Comparative analysis suggests that plenty of oral tradition could have existed. Most believe that the career of the Teacher could may lasted as much as a generation.41 By comparison, the pubic ministry of Jesus was very brief (between 1 and 3 years); yet, there was a large body of oral material transmitted among Christian communities during the first century CE.42 We could presume,

41

42

Years ago, André Dupont-Sommer conjectured that the Teacher’s involvement with the community lasted around 40 years (see “L’écrit de Damas,” Evidences 59 [1956] 13–27 [24]). This is a reasonable proposal, and consequently, many have adopted it as a working hypothesis (cf., e.g., John J. Collins, “The Expectation of the End in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Eschatology, Messianism, and the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. C. A. Evans and P. W. Flint; SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997] 74–90 [83]; James C. VanderKam and Peter W. Flint, The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity [San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002] 273; Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State [SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008] 57 n. 76; George J. Brooke, “Crisis Without, Crisis Within: Changes and Developments within the Dead Sea Scrolls Movement,” in Judaism and Crisis: Crisis as a Catalyst in Jewish Cultural History [eds. A. Lange, et al.; SIJD 9; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011] 89–107 [102]). See David Wenham, ed., Gospel Perspectives, vol. 5: The Jesus Tradition Outside the Gospels (Sheffield: JSOT, 1985); Henry Wansbrough, ed., Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991); Eric Eve, Behind the Gospels: Understanding the Oral Tradition (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2014) esp. 159–176.

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then, that the community possessed an adequate amount of material that it could pass along orally. Not all of this orally circulated information about the Teacher would have been included in the textual record. As proof, we could appeal to the names of the prominent figures in the Scrolls for whom sobriquets are employed. Most acknowledge that the readers would have known the actual names of epithet-bearers.43 Unless the referent of such labels was transparent, the strategy would have proven ineffective.44 The same could be argued with regard to the real name of the Teacher of Righteousness.45 If his name was known, it is highly likely that the

Some claim that the Scrolls may include the actual name of the Teacher. It has been suggested that the Teacher’s name might have been “Judah,” in light of the reference to “the house of Judah” in 1QpHab 8.1 and 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 13–14 (see William H. Brownlee, “The Historical Allusions of the Dead Sea Habakkuk Midrash,” BASOR 126 [1952] 10–20 [18–19]; Michael O. Wise, The First Messiah: Investigating the Savior before Jesus [San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999] 41; cf. also George J. Brooke, “Room For Interpretation: An Analysis of Spatial Imagery In The Qumran Pesharim,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Context [ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 307–324 [317, 322]). Others have suggested that his name was Zadok, given that his followers described themselves as “sons of Zadok” (Hans-Joachim Schoeps, Urgemeinde, Judenchristentum, Gnosis [Tübingen: Mohr, 1956] 74). 44 Cf. Philip S. Alexander, “Insider/Outsider Labelling and the Struggle for Power in Early Judaism,” in Religion, Language, and Power (eds. N. Green and M. SearleChatterjee; RStRel 10; London: Routledge, 2008) 83–100 (95). Various suggestions have been offered concerning the reason for employing the sobriquet “Teacher of Righteousness.” Some think that the codename is used to conceal the identity of the Teacher in the event that the documents made it into the hands of outsiders (see, e.g., Menahem Mansoor, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A College Textbook and a Study Guide [Leiden: Brill, 1964] 93). Others believe that the epithet was employed out of reverence (see André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran [Oxford: Blackwell, 1961] 358; R. Alan Culpepper, The Johannine School: An Evaluation of the Johannine-School Hypothesis Based on an Investigation of the Nature of Ancient Schools [SBLDS 26; Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1975] 153 n. 45; John Yueh-Han Yieh, One Teacher: Jesus’ Teaching Role in Matthew’s Gospel Report [BZNW 124; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004] 104 n. 25) More likely, it seems that this name, along with the other sobriquets found in the Scrolls, was employed for the purpose of identify formation: by identifying the Teacher with an honorable sobriquet, it specifies that his way is to be followed, and by identifying the group’s enemies with dishonorable sobriquets, it specifies that their way is to be shunned (cf. Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 31). 45 See, e.g., Timothy H. Lim, Holy Scripture in the Qumran Commentaries and Pauline Letters (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997) 117; James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002) 34; Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 45, 48. Even those who take a more skeptical approach toward the Teacher materials allow for this possibility, 43

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community possessed other information as well. In order for followers to preserve the proper name of a figure from the past and to designate him with an exclusive title, they would have needed to know what he did and why he was important. The second precondition for the existence of the oral Teacher tradition would be the presence of memory carriers, who could transmit the information after the Teacher’s death. Based on average lifespans in the ancient world, we have argued that some members of the Teacher’s original community could have been alive when the written Teacher materials were composed.46 But the accumulation of a body of traditional material requires more than eyewitnesses storing certain details or episodes in their minds. This information needs to be shared with other members of the group. The process by which these individual memories are incorporated into communal tradition will be the topic of a later chapter.47 For now the question is, were there opportunities to share information about the Teacher within the community? Whether there were formal settings to transmit Teacher tradition cannot be determined with any certainty. Nightly study sessions are mentioned in 1QS 6.6–8. But the possibility that separate community(-ies) might be reflected in the Community Rule and the Damascus Document,48 means that we cannot say for sure whether the Teacher’s community shared the exact same practices. Many acknowledge, however, that the interpretations found in the pesharim – where the Teacher plays an important role – could have arisen out of group meetings where the scripture was read and discussed.49 Whenever these scriptural prophecies were considered, it is natural to think that members would have wanted (and that some would have been able to provide) further explanations

cf. Phillip R. Callaway, The History of the Qumran Community: An Investigation (JSPSup 3; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988) 150: “one cannot deny the possibility in principle that the pesharist could have named the Teacher, or the Priest of the endtime, or any number of ‘traitors’.” 46 See Chapter 5. 47 See Chapter 9. 48 See further Alison Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥa d: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule (STDJ 77; Leiden: Brill, 2009); John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010). 49 Cf. Józef T. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judea (trans. J. Strugnell; SBT 26; London: SCM Press, 1959) 41; George J. Brooke, Exegesis at Qumran: 4QFlorilegium in Its Jewish Context (JSOTSup 29; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985) 142–143; Horgan, Pesharim, 3.

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beyond what was written in the text. In this way, information about the circumstances involving the attempt on the Teacher’s life (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–10) or the details surrounding how the Teacher came to lead the group (CD-A 1.10–11) would have been shared orally. Even if memory carriers were available and opportunities were in place, oral tradition is only preserved when it is thought to serve the interests of the community in some way. A final precondition, then, is the expressed interest in the Teacher over the specified time period. From descriptions found in Scrolls scholarship, one could very easily get the impression that little thought was given to the Teacher for decades after his death. The relevant textual evidence contradicts this picture, however. Noteworthy is the fact that the texts that record the Teacher’s memory were not written at the same time. They seem to have been composed at various intervals over a 40–50 year period.50 Among this group, the Damascus Document appears to have been the first. Given that the work refers to the death of the Teacher, using his passing as the event that marks the beginning of a 40-year timeframe culminating in the destruction of the wicked (CD-B 20.13–15), it is likely that the Damascus Document reached its final form shortly after the Teacher’s death.51 On the other hand, the Pesher Habakkuk was written just after this 40-year period had expired. The references to the Teacher in Pesher Psalmsa fall somewhere between the Damascus Document and the Pesher Habakkuk52 Since the Teacher was a figure whom the readers were expected to know, it would seem that the group’s memory of him was strong throughout the first few decades following his death. The importance of the Teacher within community tradition is further evidenced by the role his legacy played in the life of the community. Its influence is perhaps most apparent in the ways that the tradition shaped the group’s perception of time.53 The construal of time plays a vital role in memory and identity. We have already discussed the importance of the Teacher’s memory regarding the prediction of a 40-year period culminating in eschatological destruction. It is equally important to consider the See Chapter 4. Cf. Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998) 117. 52 There is no way of knowing where the other texts, which reference the Teacher, might be placed along this spectrum given their fragmentary nature. 53 For more on the way that the memory of the Teacher shaped the identity of the community, see Jean Duhaime, “Figures du discernement et construction identitaire à Qumrân,” Théologiques 22 (2014) 17–49 (24–27). 50

51

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role of the Teacher in the memory of the past. In this regard, we might ask how the community remembered its origins, and why it marked out certain key events from the history of the group. What is noteworthy is that at each of the crucial points in the community’s existence, one finds the Teacher at the center of their focus. Remembering the past played a fundamental role in the identity and preservation of the Scrolls community,54 and those traditions involving community origins would have been particularly important. “There can be no community,” Schwartz points out, “that is not a ‘community of memory,’ and there can be no community of memory without the retelling of ‘constitutive narratives’ and the recalling of people who have exemplified its moral values.”55 A group like the Teacher’s community, which sought to distinguish itself from the wider Jewish society, would have needed to understand and regularly rehearse their story of origins. The initiation of new members, whether this took place throughout the year or during the annual covenant renewal ceremony, would have created an ideal setting to disseminate this information.56 “Mnemonic communities, through introducing and familiarizing new arrivals to their

See Jaime Vázquez Allegue, “Memoria Colectiva E Identidad De Grupo En Qumrán,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino Garcia Martinez (eds. A. Hilhorst et al.; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 89–104 (102–103); cf. also Benjamin G. Wold, “Memory in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Exodus, Creation and Cosmos,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004) (eds. S. C. Barton et al.; WUNT 212; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007) 47–74. 55 Barry Schwartz, “Postmodernity and Historical Reputation: Abraham Lincoln in Late Twentieth-Century,” Social Forces 77 (1998) 63–103 (67). Cf. Robert N. Bellah et al., Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life (2nd edn.; Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1996) 153: “Communities … have a history—in an important sense they are constituted by their past—and for this reason we can speak of a real community as a ‘community of memory,’ one that does not forget its past. In order not to forget that past, a community is involved in retelling its story, its constitutive narrative, and in doing so, it offers examples of the men and women who have embodied and exemplified the meaning of the community. These stories of collective history and exemplary individuals are an important part of the tradition that is so central to a community of memory.” 56 Many scholars place the admission of new members at the annual covenant renewal ceremony (e.g., Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 116–117; Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community [CCWJC 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987] 14). But CD-A 15.7b-8 might suggest that “admission into the community took place on an ad hoc basis throughout the year” (Charlotte Hempel, The Damascus Texts [CQS 1; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000] 80). 54

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collective past, ensure that new members, by identifying with the group’s past, attain a required social identity.”57 When this initiation occurred, a crucial part of the history that would have been recounted to the new (and current) members was the Teacher’s role in the origins of the group. In CD-A 1.8–11 (cf. 4Q266 2 i 12–15; 4Q268 1 15–17), the Teacher is not remembered as the founder of the community, but he is nonetheless the one who gave them identity and direction.58 One could say, then, that the real history of the group begins with the Teacher. In an environment like this, where the past is continually brought before the minds of community members, it is unlikely that the Teacher would have become simply a forgotten vestige of an earlier period. But aside from the initiation of new members, it appears that the memory of the Teacher played an important role in other community celebrations as well. A case in point is the festival of Yom Kippur. According to 1QpHab 11.5–6, the Wicked Priest “pursued the Teacher of Righteousness at his place of exile, seeking to destroy him in the heat of his anger.” What is noteworthy about this episode is that “the pesharist not only retells a past event, but also stresses its timing at a festival that was no doubt being observed by the pesharist’s own community.”59 The visit from the Wicked Priest is said to have occurred on the Day of Atonement (1QpHab 11.6–7), which may reflect the fact that the Teacher and his community celebrated the holiday on a different day than was observed by the Jerusalem authorities.60 Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering (Maidenheard: Open University Press, 2003) 15. Cf. Sandra Hübenthal, “Social and Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis: The Quest for an Adequate Application,” in Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis (eds. P. Carstens et al.; PHSC 17; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2012) 175–199: “Every remembering community is… responsible for the history it passes on and for the patterns of identification it offers to its members. Identity is socially constructed via narration. For this reason, familiarizing the members of the group with the group’s history in order to incorporate them into the group is a spatial task of every remembering community” (181). 58 Elsewhere, the Teacher is said to have been established by God “to build for him a congregation” (4QpPsa 1–10 iii 16). 59 Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 41. 60 See Shemaryahu Talmon, “Yom Hakippurim in the Habakkuk Scroll,” Bib 32 (1951) 549–563; idem, “The Calendar Reckoning of the Sect from the Judaean Desert,” in Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. C. Rabin and Y. Yadin; ScrHier 4; Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1958) 162–199; cf. also Joseph M. Baumgarten, “Yom Kippur in the Qumran Scrolls and Second Temple Sources,” DSD 6 (1999) 184–191; Isaac Kalimi, “The Day of Atonement in the Late Second Temple Period: Sadducees’ High Priest, Pharisees’ Norms, and Qumranites’ Calendar(s),” in The Day of Atonement: Its 57

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While some have naturally posed questions about the historicity of the episode,61 an equally important consideration is the connection between the memory of the Teacher and the sacred calendar of the community. Superimposing a key event from the life of the Teacher with the most sacred day of the Jewish calendar undoubtedly “reinforced the importance of the annual festival in determining the identity of the community of Qumran.”62 But even more importantly, this connection would have placed the memory of the Teacher at the heart of their celebration: “the community would not have been able to observe Yom Kippur without invoking and reliving the memory of this persecution and exile.”63 What is more, the violent nature of this event would have added extra significance to this memory.64 Through its annual celebration, the image of the Teacher would have been regularly refreshed in a special way within the collective memory of his followers.65

Interpretations in Early Jewish and Christian Traditions (eds. T. Hieke and T. Nicklas; TBN 15; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 75–96 (91–95). Others have claimed, however, that both the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest shared the same calendar, and that the latter was simply transgressing the holy day when he visited the former (see, e.g., Sacha Stern, “Qumran Calendars and Sectarianism,” in The Oxford Handbook on the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010] 232–253 [244–245]; Helen R. Jacobus, Zodiac Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Their Reception: Ancient Astronomy and Astrology in Early Judaism [IJS Studies in Judaica 14; Leiden: Brill, 2015] 19–24). 61 E.g., Davies, Behind the Essenes, 93–97; Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 85–86; cf. also Jutta Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretations (eds. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; SBLSymS 30; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005) 23–34 (28–29). 62 Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity: The Day of Atonement from Second Temple Judaism to the Fifth Century (WUNT 163; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003) 98. 63 Tim Langille, “Old Memories, New Identities: Traumatic Memory, Exile, and Identity Formation in the Damascus Document and Pesher Habakkuk,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 57–88 (75). 64 On the impact that violence exerts on memory, see Liisa H. Malkki, Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1995); Arthur G. Neal, National Trauma and Collective Memory: Major Events in the American Century (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1998). 65 Some have noted that this particular memory is recorded in a vivid manner as though it were still in the minds of the audience, see, e.g., Noah Hacham, “Communal Fasts in the Judean Desert Scrolls,” in Historical Perspectives from the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Fourth International

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These considerations cannot be taken as proof that oral tradition existed within the Teacher’s later community; but any interpretation of the evidence must account for their presence. Given that all the necessary preconditions were in place, those who deny the existence of oral tradition would need to explain its absence. 7.2.2.2  Evidence for Oral Teacher Tradition Many have surmised that a body of oral Teacher tradition was in existence within the Scrolls community(-ies).66 The strongest evidence for its existence – which should be read in combination with the preconditions described above – comes from the brief and enigmatic historical allusions found in the textual record. The lack of any narrative context given for these references suggests that the community possessed a larger body of information against which they could have interpreted the material; otherwise, the references would have been unintelligible to the readers, and the rhetorical function for which they were included would have been negated. This argument was put forth years ago by Kevin O’Donnell, who pointed out that “[a]ll the allusions are so fragmentary and basically uninformative that they would be meaningless unless they called to mind people and occasions that were well known to the readers.”67 A similar point was

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Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 27–31 January, 1999 (eds. D. M. Goodblatt et al.; STDJ 37; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 127–145 (137); Robert J. Miller, Helping Jesus Fulfill Prophecy (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016) 78; cf. also David Noel Freedman and Pam Fox Kuhlken, What Are the Dead Sea Scrolls and Why Do They Matter? (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007) 124. E.g., Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 64; Frank Moore Cross et al., Scrolls from Qumrân Cave 1: The Great Isaiah Scroll, the Order of the Community, the Pesher to Habakkuk (Jerusalem: Albright Institute of Archaeological Research, 1972) 5; Wise, The First Messiah, 57, 66; Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History, 77–78; Stephen Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 66; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 284; John J. Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 18 (2011) 295–315 (306, 308, 314). Kevin O’Donnell, “Historical Allusions in the Pesharim: A Systematic Attempt to Determine Their Credibility and to Identify the Principal Historical Characters,” (PhD diss., Oxford University, 1978) 219. Cf. also Mansoor, The Dead Sea Scrolls, 93; Phillip R. Callaway, “Reflections on the Language of the ‘Historical’ Dead Sea Scrolls,” QC 12 (2004) 123–126 (126); Michael O. Wise, “Dating the Teacher of Righteousness and the Floruit of His Movement,” JBL 122 (2003) 53–87 (82 n. 76); Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 45.

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made more recently by John J. Collins, who notes that the pesharim “are not fully intelligible to us as they stand, since they allude to a fuller narrative which they do not recount.” He continues, further observing that if the community lacked other tradition, “the disjoined references in the commentaries would have been as enigmatic to them as they are to us.”68 Such an argument rests on a basic foundation of interpersonal communication, viz. the idea of shared understanding. To adequately and accurately transmit information to another person, it is crucial to consider that person’s perspective.69 In particular, a reader or listener must possess an adequate amount of the background knowledge about the information being received in order for communication to occur effectively.70 The same is true of the Damascus Document and the pesharim: the intended readers (or hearers) were expected to have access to the necessary tools of communication. To properly understand the Teacher episodes, which are referenced, they would need to know – among other things – when the Teacher lived, the basic story of his life, and his importance to the community.

68

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Collins, “Reading for History in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 309. Cf. idem, “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 209–226: “In order to serve this purpose [i.e., establishing the reliability of the prophecy], the events to which reference is made must be well known, at least to the presumed readers of the pesher. They must reflect an account of the historical episodes in question that was accepted by the pesherist’s community, whether or not it was objectively true” (216). Cf. George Herbert Mead, The Philosophy of the Present (London: Open Court, 1932) 161–175; idem, Mind, Self, and Society from the Standpoint of a Social Behaviorist (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1934) 89, who claims that for interaction to occur, one has to adopt the perspective of the other. See further Robert M. Krauss and Susan R. Fussell, “Perspective-Taking in Communication: Representations of Others’ Knowledge in Reference,” Social Cognition 9 (1991) 2–24. See, e.g., Herbert H. Clark and Catherine E. Marshall, “Definite Reference and Mutual Knowledge,” in Elements of Discourse Understanding (eds. A. K. Joshi et al.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981) 10–63; Herbert H. Clark and Thomas B. Carlson, “Speech Acts and Hearers’ Beliefs,” in Mutual Knowledge (ed. N. V. Smith; London: Academic, 1982) 1–36; Robert M. Krauss and Susan R. Fussell, “Mutual Knowledge and Communicative Effectiveness,” in Intellectual Teamwork: Social and Technical Bases of Collaborative Work (eds. J. Galegher et al.; Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 1990) 111–145; Susan R. Fussell and Robert M. Krauss, “Coordination of Knowledge in Communication: Effects of Speakers’ Assumptions About What Others Know,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 62 (1992) 378–391.

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Comparative evidence suggests that the source of their information would have been a body of oral tradition in circulation within the community.71 Evidence from the Rwala Bedu of Northern Arabia provides a close analogy. The poems of these Bedouins are often confusing to outsiders. In the case of one particular poem, battles are referenced without providing specific details as to when and where they took place. Over the space of a few short verses, scenes shift without any indication. At times, descriptions of a more general conflict are set alongside specific events from disputes with the Ottoman military and with opposing Bedouins. As anthropologist Michael E. Meeker points out, even a “detailed analysis demonstrates how very little we learn about the course of the battle from the poem.” What is to be noted, however, is that “[t]he Rwala … do not share our ignorance since their narrative tradition fills out the details which are missing from the poem.” In this way, the (seemingly) confused state of the poem marks the separation between insiders, who have access to the larger body of oral tradition, and outsiders, who must interpret the poetry without the proper context. “The necessity of knowing the narrative tradition in order to place the scenes in context only emphasizes how discontinuous, fragmentary, and unstorylike the poem is.”72

7.3 Conclusion We began this chapter with the question of whether, and to what extent, the Teacher was remembered by his community in the decades following his death. What we have demonstrated is that the Teacher played a prominent role in the group’s collective memory. While the small number of explicit references in the textual record might seem like evidence of his lack of importance, when considered in light of certain factors (viz. the availability of the manuscript evidence and the nature of comparative evidence), there is little reason to doubt that the group held him in high esteem. Confirmation is found in the existence of an oral tradition

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Cf. John Miles Foley, “What’s in a Sign?” in Signs of Orality: The Oral Tradition and Its Influence in the Greek and Roman World (ed. E. A. Mackay; Mnemosyne Supplements 188; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 1–27: “Traditional referentiality enables an extremely economical transaction of meaning, with the modest, concrete part standing for a larger and more complex whole” (11). Michael E. Meeker, Literature and Violence in North Arabia (Cambridge Studies in Cultural Systems 3; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979) 120.

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that related a larger narrative about the Teacher’s life. This traditional material reveals the significant influence that the memory of the Teacher exerted in the community. When reflecting on the implications of these conclusions, proper perspective is necessary. Even if there was ample tradition from which the authors of the pesharim could have drawn, this would not prove that the details recorded in the commentaries accurately reflect the past. Like other factors that have been discussed thus far, the existence of a body of tradition within the Teacher’s later community shapes the type of explanation that can be offered for the mnemonic evidence. That is, when we eventually begin to ask historical questions about what might have happened in the actual past, the Teacher tradition must play an important role in this reconstruction.

part iii THE PROCESSES OF MEMORY

We now transition from a focus on the socio-historical circumstances of the community that remembered the Teacher to the processes by which this memory would have been formulated, articulated, and preserved within the group. This will involve tracing the development of memory through various stages, beginning at the level of cognitive perceptions and working our way to the solidification of communal traditions. By exploring the various factors that impact memory during the transmission process, we will be in a better position to evaluate the extent to which the collective memory of the Teacher relates to the actual past.

8 The Cognitive Origins of Memory Scripturalizing the Life of the Teacher

Our examination of the processes of memory will begin at the cognitive level with a focus on the formulation of individual memories. This approach intersects with an important concern that often shapes the way scholars perceive the Teacher materials: the scripturalization of the Teacher’s image. Since the first references to the Teacher were uncovered, scholars have noted that many of the details about his life bear a close resemblance to characters and themes from the Jewish scriptures. Descriptions are often couched in scriptural language, and at times, he is depicted stereotypically in ways that conform to biblical typology. For instance, scholars have long pointed out the similarities with the story of Moses.1 The Teacher was “raised up” (‫ )יקם‬by God (CD-A 1.11) in the way that Deut 18:15, 18 predicted God would “raise up” (‫ )יקים‬a prophet like Moses (cf. 4Q175 5). His task, like that of Moses, was to bring the law to God’s people in the desert (CD-A 1.3–11). To carry out this role of covenant mediator, God put his words in the mouth of Moses (Deut 18:18–19; cf. 4Q175 5–6; 4Q377 2 ii 11) and the Teacher (1QpHab 2.2–3). Similar to Moses, the Teacher became an object of trust for the people of God (1QpHab 8.2–3; cf. Exod 14:30–31). These and other2 See further Otto Betz, Offenbarung und Schriftforschung in der Qumransekte (WUNT 6; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1960) 61–68; Peter R. Jones, “The Apostle Paul: A Second Moses according to II Corinthians 2:14–4:7,” (PhD diss., Princeton Theological Seminary, 1973) 187–202. 2 It is possible that the title “shepherd” was ascribed to the Teacher by his community (1Q34bis 3 ii 8; CD-B 19.7–8); if so, it would reflect the same designation by which later rabbis described Moses (see Renée Bloch, “Quelques aspects de la figure de Moïse dans la tradition rabbinique,” in Moise. L’homme de l’alliance [ed. H. Cazelles; 1

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connections reveal that the Teacher’s community understood him, in typological fashion, as a new Moses. In other places, the Teacher’s story is conformed to alternative scriptural themes. Most notably, his life is read as an illustration of the innocent sufferer motif found in the Psalms.3 This connection is evident from the fact that the community chose Psalm 37 as one of the scriptural texts on which to write a commentary. In this work, the Teacher’s pursuit of righteousness is contrasted with that of the Wicked Priest and the Liar, both of whom stand in conflict with the Teacher. The latter, it seems, has rejected the Teacher’s instructions and has led others to do the same (4QpPsa 1–10 i 26–27); the former, on the other hand, has made an attempt on the Teacher’s life (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8). Just as in the psalm, their actions reflect the attempts of evil-doers to oppose God’s people, even to the point of death (cf. Ps 37:12–15). But despite the tumult, the pesherist reminds his readers that the Teacher will not be abandoned by God (cf. 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 9), and that both he and his followers will ultimately be vindicated, as they are “delivered from all the traps of Belial,” thereafter to “delight” in the inheritance of the promised land (4QpPsa 1–10 ii 10–11). Evildoers, however, “will be cut off and will be destroyed forever” (4QpPsa 1–10 iii 12–13). In memory studies, the use of persons or events from the past to interpret the present has been explored through two interrelated processes: framing and keying.4 According to Barry Schwartz, groups often align Paris: Desclée, 1955] 93–167 [138–139]). Others have argued for a connection on the basis of parental imagery (see Jacob Cherian, “The ‫ מורה הצדק‬as the Nursing Father of the ‫יחד‬,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 2: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006] 351–361). 3 See Lothar Ruppert, Der Leidende Gerechte. Eine motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Alten Testament und zwischentestamentlichen Judentum (FB 5; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1972) 114–133; Karl Theodor Kleinknecht, Der leidende Gerechtfertigte. Die alttestamentlich-jüdische Tradition vom “leidenden Gerechten” und ihre Rezeption bei Paulus (2nd edn.; WUNT 2/13; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1988) 146–147. 4 The concepts of keying and framing were introduced into the memory discussion by Barry Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System: Abraham Lincoln in World War II,” American Sociological Review 61 (1996) 908–927; cf. also idem, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory [Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000] 225–226; idem, “Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire: Memory and History,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with idem [ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014] 7–37 [15–16]; Barry Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” in Routledge International Handbook of Memory Studies [eds. A. L. Tota and T. Hagen; London:

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their experience with a meaningful frame of reference, which provides an interpretive context from which to view their circumstances. This frame is any person, event, or institution from the past that “unifies and animates a society, orients or reorients it in fundamental ways.”5 One example is the way the Civil War served as a frame for participants in World War II. As the keyed entity, the Civil War provided the World War II generation with the normative values for interpreting their own experiences. The mechanism by which this process of interpretation works is described as keying. “Keying transforms the meaning of activities understood in terms of one primary framework by comparing them with activities understood in terms of another.”6 By way of example, the early Christians keyed the violent death of Jesus to traditional motifs in ancient Judaism, such as the rejected prophet and the righteous martyr.7 This allowed them to make sense of their leader’s unexpected demise, and it provided a moral guide for their own experience of suffering. Keying goes beyond merely establishing a historical analogy for the purpose of mental organization; it “matches publicly accessible (i.e., symbolic) models of the past (written narratives, pictorial images, statues, motion pictures, music, and songs) to the experience of the present,” and in this way, “arranges cultural symbols into a publicly visible discourse that flows through the organizations and institutions of the social world.”8 Routledge, 2016] 9–21 [15]). These concepts are borrowed from the work of Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience (New York: Harper & Row, 1974) 21–82, although Schwartz slightly modifies their meaning to fit his purposes. 5 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 911. 6 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 911. Cf. Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering (Maidenheard: Open University Press, 2003) 96: “Keying’s function of meaning-making expresses itself by connecting events of separate periods in such a way that the events of one period are appropriated as a means of interpreting the events of the other.” 7 See, e.g., Alan Kirk, “The Memory of Violence and the Death of Jesus in Q,” in Memory, Tradition, and Text: Uses of the Past in Early Christianity (eds. A. Kirk and T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 52; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005) 191–206; Chris Keith and Tom Thatcher, “The Scar of the Cross: The Violence Ratio and the Earliest Christian Memories of Jesus,” in Jesus, the Voice, and the Text: Beyond the Oral and the Written Gospel (ed. T. Thatcher; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008) 197–214; Rafael Rodríguez, “‘According to the Scriptures’: Suffering and the Psalms in the Speeches in Acts,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 241–262. 8 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 911.

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There are two levels on which framing and keying has taken place in the Teacher material. At one level, the life of the Teacher has been keyed to characters and themes from the Jewish scriptures; at another level, the Teacher himself serves as a frame to which his later followers keyed their own experiences. It is the former that will be the focus of this chapter.9 We will consider the challenge that these scriptural connections pose to historical inquiry. For many, such associations are taken as evidence of the reshaping of the Teacher’s image in conformity with the needs and circumstances of the later Scrolls community. Scholars have argued that when this occurred, the historical details of the Teacher’s life were concealed behind stereotypical language and stock phrases. It is only natural, therefore, that some would doubt the possibility of drawing historical information from such descriptions.10 The purpose of this chapter is to clarify the scripturalization of the Teacher’s life by drawing from the cognitive dimensions of memory. We will demonstrate that the keying phenomenon does not undermine the historical value of our sources; instead, when properly understood, this process contributes to an informed perspective on the nature and shape of the Teacher tradition. The clue lies in the way his earliest followers would have formulated their experiences of him. Through the use of experimental data from psychological accounts of knowledge structures and neurobiological theories of systems memory, we will show that the mind does not process experience as a tabula rasa; rather, humans “integrate new incoming information from the surroundings in relation to our pre-existing knowledge about the world.”11 Consequently, memory The use of the Teacher’s life as a frame for interpreting the experiences of later community members is discussed in Appendix 2. 10 For concerns about how the stereotypical language and stock phrases in the pesharim might impede historical investigation into the life of the Teacher, see George J. Brooke, “The Pesharim and the Origins of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 339–353 (340–343); Ida Fröhlich, Time and Times and Half a Time: Historical Consciousness in the Jewish Literature of the Persian and Hellenistic Eras (JSPSup 19; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996) 159 n. 11; Joseph L. Angel, Otherworldly and Eschatological Priesthood in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 86; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 4; Pieter B. Hartog, “Pesharim,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 293–295 (294). 11 Garvin Brod et al., “The Influence of Prior Knowledge on Memory: A Developmental Cognitive Neuroscience Perspective,” Frontiers in Behavioral Neuroscience 7 (2013) 219–231 (219). 9

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consists not of exact copies of one’s experiences, but of representative interpretations.12 More specifically, the process of integration and interpretation is facilitated through cognitive schemas, which are supplied by previous experience in a given cultural environment. This consideration is especially pertinent when considering memory within an ancient Jewish community. For few cultural artifacts played a more significant role in how they understood themselves and others around them than their sacred scriptures. In what follows, we will briefly introduce memory schemas and explain how they operate, with a view toward how the Teacher would have been perceived within his earliest community.

8.1  An Introduction to Memory Schemas When information or experience is processed at a cognitive level, the data is interpreted through categorical frameworks called schemas. Schemas can be defined as “superordinate knowledge structures that reflect abstracted commonalities across multiple experiences, exerting powerful influences over how events are perceived, interpreted, and remembered.”13 These frameworks were first introduced as a cognitive structure in 1912, when neurologists Henry Head and Gordon Holmes employed the designation “body schema” to describe the postural model, which organized the position of body limbs.14 This concept was later employed in cognitive psychology by Jean Piaget, who studied the mental framework used by children for the purpose of representation and Memory is a constructive process, which “works by extracting the meaning of what we encounter, not by retaining a literal record of it” (Larry R. Squire and Eric R. Kandel, Memory: From Mind to Molecules [2nd edn.; Greenwood Village, CO: Roberts & Co., 2009] 85; cf. John D. Bransford and Jeffery J. Franks, “The Abstraction of Linguistic Ideas,” Cognitive Psychology 2 [1971] 331–350). 13 Asaf Gilboa and Hannah Marlatte, “Neurobiology of Schemas and Schema-Mediated Memory,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 21 (2017) 618–631 (618); Cf. Todd M. Gureckis and Robert L. Goldstone, “Schema,” in The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the Language Sciences (ed. P. C. Hogan; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 725–727: “A schema is a high-level conceptual structure or framework that organizes prior experience and helps us to interpret new situations. The key function of a schema is to provide a summary of our past experiences by abstracting out their important and stable components” (725). See further Barry Schwartz, “Schema,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 350–351. 14 Henry Head and Gordon Holmes, “Researches into Sensory Disturbances from Cerebral Lesions,” Lancet 179 (1912) 144–152. 12

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association.15 Piaget’s work on cognitive schemas set a strong foundation for future research. Most notably, he described two processes by which new information is integrated into existing schemas: assimilation (the integration of information that is consistent with activated schemas) and accommodation (the modification of existing schemas to account for conflicting information). From a memory perspective, however, the name most commonly associated with cognitive schemas is Frederic C. Bartlett.16 Against the behaviorism that was popular during his time, Bartlett stressed the internalized frameworks that shaped behavior and thought. In one well-known set of experiments, Bartlett read his subjects a Native American folktale entitled The War of the Ghosts. After certain designated time periods had elapsed, participants were asked to reproduce the story. What Bartlett discovered was that the folktale was gradually transformed into a story that made sense to his British participants: much of the unfamiliar material – particular that involving supernatural ­powers – was omitted, the structure was simplified, and certain elements were reinterpreted to align with the participants’ cultural perspectives.17 As a way of explaining this cognitive makeover, Bartlett proposed a theory of remembering in which humans process new sensory information through the organization of past experience, which he called a schema.18 This framework, which develops over the course of one’s lifetime, allows the person to respond to new stimuli based on previouslycollected information. Discovering this transformative mental process led Bartlett to stress the constructed nature of memory. “Remembering,” he noted, “is not the re-excitation of innumerable fixed, lifeless, and fragmentary traces. It is an imaginative reconstruction, or construction, built out of the relation of our attitude towards a whole active mass of

Jean Piaget, La représentation du monde chez l’enfant (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1926). Cf. also idem, Le langage et la pensée chez l’enfant (Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1923); idem, La construction du réel chez l’enfant (Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1937); Jean Piaget and Bärbel Inhelder, L’Image mentale chez l’enfant: étude sur le développement des représentations imagées (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1966). 16 Frederic C. Bartlett, Remembering: A Study in Experimental and Social Psychology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932). See further William F. Brewer, “Bartlett’s Concept of the Schema and Its Impact on Theories of Knowledge Representation in Contemporary Cognitive Psychology,” in Bartlett, Culture and Cognition (ed. A. Saito; New York: Psychology Press, 2000) 69–89. 17 Bartlett, Remembering, 63–94. 18 Bartlett, Remembering, 197–214. 15

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organized past reactions or experience, and to a little outstanding detail which commonly appears in image or in language form.”19 Following the work of Bartlett, schema theory has been adopted and extended in different ways across a variety of disciplines.20 For the purposes of memory research, schemas provide an explanation for the distortive nature of human remembering. Rather than assuming that memories are accurately received by the brain, only to be negatively altered through the retrieval process, scholars instead have come to conclude that “what is encoded, or stored in memory, is heavily determined by a guiding schema or knowledge framework that selects and actively modifies experience in order to arrive at a coherent, unified, expectationconfirming and knowledge-consistent representation of an experience.”21 In this way, distortion is thought to be inherent within the process of memory formation.22 To better understand how schemas work and how better to apply them to the perception of the Teacher, we will begin with a structural analysis, which examines the operation of schemas at a neurobiological level, and then transition to a functional analysis, which explores how schemas operate at the level of behavior.

8.2  A Structural Analysis of Memory Schemas Although schema theory began as a theoretical construct to help cognitive psychologists explain ways that knowledge is structured in the mind, schemas have since been recognized as a crucial element in 19

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Bartlett, Remembering, 213. Subsequent research in memory has continued to stress memory’s constructive nature, cf. Endel Tulving, “Episodic Memory and Common Sense: How Far Apart?” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 356 (2001) 1505–1515: “a good part of the activity of memory consists not in reproduction, or even in reconstruction, but in sheer construction” (1507). For a review of schema theory, see David E. Rumelhart, “Schemata: The Building Blocks of Cognition,” in Theoretical Issues in Reading Comprehension: Perspectives from Cognitive Psychology, Linguistics, Artificial Intelligence, and Education (eds. R. J. Spiro et al.; Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 1980) 33–58; Jean Matter Mandler, Stories, Scripts, and Scenes: Aspects of Schema Theory (New York: Psychology Press, 1984); Michael A. Arbib, “Schema Theory,” in The Handbook of Brain Theory and Neural Networks (ed. M. A. Arbib; 2nd edn.; Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002) 993–997. Joseph W. Alba and Lynn Hasher, “Is Memory Schematic?” Psychological Bulletin 93 (1983) 203–231 (203). On the distortive nature of memory formation at the cognitive level, see Daniel L. Schacter, The Seven Sins of Memory: How the Mind Forgets and Remembers (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 2001).

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neurobiological theories of systems memory. By examining memory at the level of brain activity, a cognitive neuroscience approach provides a structural explanation of how schemas work. Within this field, semantics and knowledge congruency have been studied for some time now.23 However, only recently have scientists begun to consider the neural mechanisms related to the frameworks of knowledge. What has been discovered over this brief period is that cognitive schemas have a tremendous impact on the encoding and (re-)consolidation of memory. The process of memory begins when perceptual information24 is encoded in the brain. This “encoding process intervenes between the perception of an event and the creation of the corresponding trace,” which “converts the stimulus energy into mnemonic information.”25 In this distinct operation, “the material we encounter is attended to, processed, and prepared for storage in memory.”26 Whereas non-declarative memory is processed effortlessly, the encoding of specific content in declarative memory requires effort. Each event has an almost limitless number of

See, e.g., Shitij Kapur et al., “Neuroanatomical Correlates of Encoding in Episodic Memory: Levels of Processing Effect,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 91 (1994) 2008–2011; Jonathan B. Demb et al., “Semantic Encoding and Retrieval in the Left Inferior Prefrontal Cortex: A Functional MRI Study of Task Difficulty and Process Specificity,” Journal of Neuroscience 15 (1995); Anthony D. Wagner et al., “Building Memories: Remembering and Forgetting of Verbal Experiences as Predicted by Brain Activity,” Science 281 (1998) 1188–1191. 24 The nature of this “information” is still undefined in contemporary cognitive science. The term simply serves as a placeholder to describe “the intangible, ineffable, unknown ‘stuff’ that is somehow created, transferred, transformed, preserved (‘processed’) in the mind/brain, which, when appropriately ‘converted,’ determines behavior and conscious thought” (Endel Tulving, “Introduction,” in The New Cognitive Neurosciences [ed. M. S. Gazzaniga; 2nd edn.; Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000] 727–732 [729]). 25 Endel Tulving and Donald M. Thomson, “Encoding Specificity and Retrieval Processes in Episodic Memory,” Psychological Review 80 (1973) 352–373 (354). 26 Squire and Kandel, Memory, 74. For more on the encoding of episodic memory, see Fergus I. M. Craik et al., “Encoding and Retrieval Processes: Similarities and Differences,” in Theories of Memory (eds. M. A. Conway et al.; East Sussex: Psychology Press, 1998) 2:61–86; Scott C. Brown, “Encoding and Retrieval of Information,” in The Oxford Handbook of Memory (eds. E. Tulving and F. I. M. Craik; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 93–107; Fergus I. M. Craik, “Encoding: A Cognitive Perspective,” in Science of Memory: Concepts (eds. H. L. Roediger et al.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 129–135; W. Scott Terry, Learning and Memory: Basic Principles, Processes, and Procedures (4th edn.; London: Routledge, 2016) 255–292. 23

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features that could be remembered, but memory is an economic process that only successfully encodes the salient features to which one devotes the most attention.27 The encoding of new information through prior schemas is facilitated by the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (vmPFC) in its interaction with the hippocampus and various neocortical structures.28 During memory-guided behavior, the vmPFC affects one’s confidence in memory by producing “feelings of rightness” when retrieval cues correspond to a given schema.29 For information that is not consistent with any existing cognitive schema, source memory networks (including the lateral PFC) are engaged.30 Once information has been encoded, it is stored as an engram (or memory trace) during the retention interval. To stabilize the engram and, thus, make it less susceptible to disruption, it must go through the process of consolidation. Through interaction between the medial temporal lobe and certain neocortical areas, systems consolidation integrates memory into preexisting knowledge structures.31 In the past, the consolidation of Cf. Morris Moscovitch and Fergus I. M. Craik, “Depth of Processing, Retrieval Cues, and Uniqueness of Encoding as Factors in Recall,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 15 (1976) 447–458; cf. Gary L. Bradshaw and John R. Anderson, “Elaborative Encoding as an Explanation of Levels of Processing,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 21 (1982) 165–174; David A. Gallo et al., “Deep Levels of Processing Elicit a Distinctiveness Heuristic: Evidence from the Criterial Recollection Task,” Journal of Memory and Language 58 (2008) 1095–1111. 28 See Marlieke T. R. van Kesteren et al., “Persistent Schema-Dependent HippocampalNeocortical Connectivity during Memory Encoding and Postencoding Rest in Humans,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 107 (2010) 7550–7555; Szu-Han Wang et al., “Anterior Cingulate Cortex in Schema Assimilation and Expression,” Learning & Memory 19 (2012) 315–318; N. Spalding Kelsey et al., “Investigating the Neural Correlates of Schemas: Ventromedial Prefrontal Cortex Is Necessary for Normal Schematic Influence on Memory,” Journal of Neuroscience 35 (2015) 15746–15751. 29 As recently demonstrated by Melissa Hebscher and Asaf Gilboa, “A Boost of Confidence: The Role of the Ventromedial Prefrontal Cortex in Memory, DecisionMaking, and Schemas,” Neuropsychologia 90 (2016) 46–58. 30 See Garvin Brod et al., “Differences in the Neural Signature of Remembering SchemaCongruent and Schema-Incongruent Events,” NeuroImage 117 (2015) 358–366; cf. also Christina E. Webb et al., “What’s the Gist? The Influence of Schemas on the Neural Correlates Underlying True and False Memories,” Neuropsychologia 93 (2016) 61–75. 31 On the neurobiological processes involved, see Larry R. Squire and Pablo Alvarez, “Retrograde Amnesia and Memory Consolidation: A Neurobiological Perspective,” Current Opinion in Neurobiology 5 (1995) 169–177; Matthew P. Walker and Robert Stickgold, “Sleep-Dependent Learning and Memory Consolidation,” Neuron 44 (2004) 121–133; Paul W. Frankland and Bruno Bontempi, “The Organization of Recent and Remote Memories,” Nature Reviews Neuroscience 6 (2005) 119–130. 27

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memory traces was understood as a gradual process. Intercortical connections were believed to require an extended amount of time before being strong enough to facilitate memory retrieval. But more recent studies have shown that “the rate at which systems consolidation occurs in the neocortex can be influenced by what is already known.”32 If the new information is consistent with a pre-existing schema, then consolidation can occur very rapidly.33 Earlier treatments of consolidation also understood it as a process that made a memory impervious to disruption. But this idea of a “fixed” engram has been overturned in recent years.34 As it turns out, ­consolidation is a never-ending process in which memories must be ­continually reconsolidated in order to avoid erasure.35 What is more, the recurrence of the (re-)consolidation process reveals that memory traces are regularly “subject to meaningful transformation as a function of new experience.”36 Thus, the shaping of one’s perceptual experiences by cognitive schemas is not a one-time occurrence. These frameworks of knowledge play a continual role in the formation and reformation of memory.

Dorothy Tse et al., “Schemas and Memory Consolidation,” Science 316 (2007) 76–82 (81). 33 See Szu-Han Wang and Richard G. M. Morris, “Hippocampal-Neocortical Interactions in Memory Formation, Consolidation, and Reconsolidation,” Annual Review of Psychology 61 (2010) 49–79; Dorothy Tse et al., “Schema-Dependent Gene Activation and Memory Encoding in Neocortex,” Science 333 (2011) 891–895. 34 The possibility that a consolidated memory might be susceptible to change was first raised during the 1960s (see Allen M. Schneider and William Sherman, “Amnesia: A Function of the Temporal Relation of Footshock to Electroconvulsive Shock,” Science 159 [1968] 219–221; James R. Misanin et al., “Retrograde Amnesia Produced by Electroconvulsive Shock after Reactivation of a Consolidated Memory Trace,” Science 160 [1968] 554–555). Now, after much debate and extensive research, scientists have conclusively demonstrated the vulnerability of consolidated memory (see, e.g., Yadin Dudai and Mark Eisenberg, “Rites of Passage of the Engram: Reconsolidation and the Lingering Consolidation Hypothesis,” Neuron 44 [2004] 93–100; Karim Nader and Oliver Hardt, “A Single Standard for Memory: The Case for Reconsolidation,” Nature Reviews Neuroscience 10 [2009] 224–234). 35 Therefore, consolidation and reconsolidation are often viewed as one and the same process (see Sam McKenzie and Howard Eichenbaum, “Consolidation and Reconsolidation: Two Lives of Memories?” Neuron 71 [2011] 224–233). For a full review of the (re-)consolidation process, Cristina M. Alberini, ed., Memory Reconsolidation (London: Academic Press, 2013). 36 Lynn Nadel, “Consolidation: The Demise of the Fixed Trace,” in Science of Memory: Concepts (eds. H. L. Roediger et al.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 177–181 (180). 32

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This means the schematic interpretation of the Teacher would have been a continual process undertaken by members of the community, both during his lifetime and after his death. With each new experience, their memories of the Teacher would have been reconsolidated and reinterpreted. But, as we will demonstrate below, what would have provided continuity to these (re-)interpretations would have been the scriptural text.

8.3  A Functional Analysis of Memory Schemas Given the brief period within which schemas have been studied on a neuroscientific level, scientists have only begun to scratch the surface of their structural role in memory and cognition. The same cannot be said about the functional role of schemas, which cognitive psychologists have explored for many years. Much of this research has been behavioralbased and has focused on how schemas facilitate the processing of new information through a complex organizational framework. This process will be described below. Before we can understand the way memory schemas process information, we must have a proper perspective on their distinguishing characteristics. 8.3.1  The Essential Features of Memory Schemas Memory schemas are believed to contain four essential features.37 The first is an associative network structure. Schemas consist of numerous interrelated units, which retain information about past experience. Second, schemas are formed through the accumulation of data on the basis of multiple episodes. While each episode may be different, if enough of their form and content are similar they can be viewed as representative of a more general construct. A third feature is the lack of unit detail. Since schemas are formed on the basis of multiple episodes,

37

Vanessa E. Ghosh and Asaf Gilboa, “What Is a Memory Schema? A Historical Perspective on Current Neuroscience Literature,” Neuropsychologia 53 (2014) 104–114 (105); cf. also Perry W. Thorndyke, “Applications of Schema Theory in Cognitive Research,” in Tutorials in Learning and Memory: Essays in Honor of Gordon Bower (eds. J. R. Anderson and S. M. Kosslyn; San Francisco, CA: W. H. Freeman, 1984) 167–191 (173). Along with these defining characteristics, Ghosh and Gilboa also suggest that schemas have sensitivity to four additional features: (1) chronological relationships; (2) hierarchical organization; (3) cross-connectivity; and (4) embedded response options. These will not concern us here, however.

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which are all unique in their own way, schemas cannot reflect a rigid definition. They must be general enough to allow for variation and fluidity. Finally, schemas must be adaptable. With the constant influx of sensory information, schemas must be able to integrate new experiences and modify themselves accordingly. With the essential features of memory schemas established, we can now move on to consider how they operate. 8.3.2  The Basic Processes of Memory Schemas There are four basic processes by which cognitive schemas shape information processing: selection, abstraction, interpretation, and integration.38 The schematization of memory begins as the mind selects from a mass of perceptual data, information that will be encoded based on its salience to an activated schema. This means that not every detail about an experience will have the opportunity to be stored away as an engram. Whether or not information is designated for encoding depends on a few variables. The existence of an available schema is particularly important. Prior knowledge about a given topic tends to facilitate the acquisition of new information.39 Yet, the existing schema must be activated for encoding to take place; that is, the proper knowledge structure must be applied to the incoming data.40 Even when this activation takes place, however,

This section is largely dependent upon Alba and Hasher, “Is Memory Schematic?” 204–212. 39 Cf. John D. Bransford and Marcia K. Johnson, “Contextual Prerequisites for Understanding: Some Investigations of Comprehension and Recall,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 11 (1972) 717–726; William G. Chase and Herbert A. Simon, “Perception in Chess,” Cognitive Psychology 4 (1973) 55–81; Harry L. Chiesi et al., “Acquisition of Domain-Related Information in Relation to High and Low Domain Knowledge,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 18 (1979) 257–273. Memory theorists have discovered that this is not always the case, however (see Krystyna Rojahn and Thomas F. Pettigrew, “Memory for Schema-Relevant Information: A Meta-Analytic Resolution,” British Journal of Social Psychology 31 [1992] 81–109, where the opposite was discovered, viz. material inconsistent with preexisting schemas was remembered better). 40 See, e.g., D. James Dooling and Roy Lachman, “Effects of Comprehension on Retention of Prose,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 88 (1971) 216–222; Marcia K. Johnson et al., “Context Effects in Sentence Memory,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 103 (1974) 358–360; Perry W. Thorndyke, “Cognitive Structures in Comprehension and Memory of Narrative Discourse,” Cognitive Psychology 9 (1977) 77–110; Andrew Ortony et al., “Interpreting Metaphors and Idioms: Some Effects of Context on Comprehension,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 17 (1978) 465–477. 38

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only some of the vast amount of details will be processed. Attention is directed only to information that is deemed most important or most relevant.41 For instance, experiential input that is representative of highly typical events is often filtered out due to the fact that the information can be gleaned from previously stored scripts.42 After the perceptual data is selected for encoding, this information is further reduced through abstraction.43 In this process, the meaning of the original stimulus is preserved in an abstract form while many of the specific details of the experience are forgotten. “This abstraction encodes the constituent properties that define a typical instance of its referent.”44 The process of abstraction can be demonstrated in a number of ways. When linguistic information is assimilated, the lexical forms of individual words and the syntactic relationships within sentences are not usually preserved in memory; instead, what is encoded is the semantic content of the message.45 In some cases, synonyms might be substituted for an original term.46 The phenomenon is further reflected by

As demonstrated, e.g., by Ronald E. Johnson, “Recall of Prose as a Function of the Structural Importance of the Linguistic Units,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 9 (1970) 12–20; Ann L. Brown and Sandra S. Smiley, “Rating the Importance of Structural Units of Prose Passages: A Problem of Metacognitive Development,” Child Development 48 (1977) 1–8; Valerio V. Santangelo, “Forced to Remember: When Memory Is Biased by Salient Information,” Behavioural Brain Research 283 (2015) 1–10. 42 Cf. István Czachesz, Cognitive Science and the New Testament: A New Approach to Early Christian Research (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017) 69–70: “Once the script is instantiated, it supplies additional information about the situation that is not directly available: scripts make clear what is going to happen in a given situation and what acts of various participants indicate.” On stored memory scripts, see Roger C. Schank and Robert P. Abelson, Scripts, Plans, Goals and Understanding: An Inquiry into Human Knowledge Structures (The Artificial Intelligence Series; Hillsdale, NJ: John Wiley and Sons, 1977); Gordon H. Bower et al., “Scripts in Memory for Text,” Cognitive Psychology 11 (1979) 177–220. 43 For a fuller discussion of this process, see Michael I. Posner, “Abstraction and the Process of Recognition,” Psychology of Learning and Motivation 3 (1970) 43–100. 44 Perry W. Thorndyke and Frank R. Yekovich, “A Critique of Schema-Based Theories of Human Story Memory,” Poetics 9 (1980) 23–49 (27). 45 See, e.g., Jacqueline S. Sachs, “Recognition Memory for Syntactic and Semantic Aspects of Connected Discourse,” Perception & Psychophysics 2 (1967) 437–442; Samuel A. Bobrow, “Memory for Words in Sentences,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 9 (1970) 363–372; Roger C. Schank, “The Role of Memory in Language Processing,” in The Structure of Human Memory (ed. C. N. Cofer; San Francisco, CA: W. H. Freeman, 1976) 162–189. 46 As recorded by William F. Brewer, “Memory for Ideas: Synonym Substitution,” Memory & Cognition 3 (1974) 458–464. 41

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experiments in which participants were given two versions of the same message (one simple and one complex), and yet when tested, both were stored in the same form.47 Experiential input is also shaped by interpretation, which seeks to align perceptual data with existing schemas. Like abstraction, the interpretive process has a distorting effect on the perceived information. In this case, however, it produces constructive errors, which “involve the addition of information to the memory representation of a complex event.”48 This interpretive process works through inference.49 Because of certain expectations, the encoding of memory often includes information that was not explicit in the original experience but has been inferred from the perceiver’s interpretation.50 The tendency to insert missing information is particularly common when its presence is implied. When this is the case, it is even typical for subjects to remember the inserted information as part of the original stimuli.51 Finally, the information that remains from this process is integrated into a cognitive schema. How it is integrated is dependent upon the See, e.g., Walter Kintsch and Dorothy Monk, “Storage of Complex Information in Memory: Some Implications of the Speed with which Inferences Can Be Made,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 94 (1972) 25–32; David R. King and James G. Greeno, “Invariance of Inference Time When Information Was Presented in Different Linguistic Formats,” Memory & Cognition 2 (1974) 233–235. 48 Alba and Hasher, “Is Memory Schematic?” 209. 49 Richard J. Harris and Gregory E. Monaco, “Psychology of Pragmatic Implications: Information Prcessing Between the Lines,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 107 (1978) 1–22; cf. Carl H. Frederiksen, “Representing Logical and Semantic Structure of Knowledge Acquired from Discourse,” Cognitive Psychology 7 (1975) 371–458: “Understanding… may be regarded as a process whereby a listener or reader attempts to infer the knowledge structure of a speaker or writer by using the available linguistic message, contextual information, and his own knowledge store as ‘data structures’ from which the inference is to be made” (371). 50 For evidence of this phenomena, see William F. Brewer and Edward H. Lichtenstein, “Recall of Logical and Pragmatic Implications in Sentences with Dichotomous and Continuous Antonyms,” Memory & Cognition 3 (1975) 315–318; Kenneth G. Schweller et al., “Memory for Illocutionary Forces and Perlocutionary Effects of Utterances,” Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal Behavior 15 (1976) 325–337; William F. Brewer, “Memory for the Pragmatic Implications of Sentences,” Memory & Cognition 5 (1977) 673–678. 51 On the insertion of missing information, see Scott G. Paris and Barbara K. Lindauer, “The Role of Inference in Children’s Comprehension and Memory for Sentences,” Cognitive Psychology 8 (1976) 217–227; Scott G. Paris and Laurence R. Upton, “Children’s Memory for Inferential Relationships in Prose,” Child Development 47 (1976) 660–668. On the remembering of inserted information as part of the original stimulus, see Marcia K. Johnson et al., “Memory for Tacit Implications of Sentences,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 98 (1973) 203–205. 47

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existence of prior knowledge. When prior knowledge about a subject is limited, the formation of a new schema may be required. In cases where the new information overlaps with preexisting frameworks, the result will be some form of modification. If the perceptual input is dissimilar to a preexisting schema, then either the schema will be modified to account for the conflicting information (accommodation), or the information itself will be changed to align with the schema (assimilation).52 Once this new information becomes integrated into an existing schema – whether through accommodation or assimilation – it is remembered not as the original experiential data, but only in its current integrated form.53 The process of schematization plays an important role in how we understand the memory of the Teacher of Righteousness. It reveals that interpretation would have begun at perception. When community members listened to his instructions or watched his interactions with outsiders, they would have processed these experiences through the representational structures of their individual cognitive schemas. Not every part of these experiences would have been remembered. While the exclusion of some material would have occurred because it was not congruent with pre-existing knowledge structures, many of the details would have been omitted for cognitively economic reasons. In some cases, information might have been changed or content added in an effort to conform the perceptual data to schematized frameworks. Thus, what we would expect to find within the cognitive perceptions of the earliest community members is not an exact recording of events from the life of the Teacher, but an interpretive representation of who they understood their leader to be in light of their individually-constructed schematic frameworks.

See further Jack Block, “Assimilation, Accommodation, and the Dynamics of Personality Development,” Child Development 53 (1982) 281–295, who offers a slight corrective to Piaget’s work. 53 This is demonstrated by the hindsight bias (Dagmar Stahlberg and Anne Maass, “Hindsight Bias: Impaired Memory or Biased Reconstruction?” European Review of Social Psychology 8 [1997] 105–132; Ulrich Hoffrage et al., “Hindsight Bias: A By-product of Knowledge Updating?” Journal of Experimental Psychology 26 [2000] 566–581) or the “knew-it-all-along” effect (see Baruch Fischoffer and Ruth Beyth, “I Knew It Would Happen: Remembered Probabilities of Once-Future Things,” Organizational Behavior and Human Performance 13 [1975] 1–16; Gordon Wood, “The Knew-It-All-Along Effect,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance 4 [1978] 345–353). These phenomena reveal that postoutcome events shape a person’s perspective on pre-outcome judgments. 52

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This just leaves us to ask one final question: from where would the followers of the Teacher derive the cognitive schemas necessary to interpret his life and ministry? The answer to this question connects the cognitive dimensions of memory with the social and cultural dimensions. 8.3.3  The Experiential Basis of Memory Schemas It is well-established that cognitive schemas have an experiential basis; that is, they derive from one’s accumulated experience.54 Each framework of knowledge is shaped and reshaped through the continuous flow of perceptual data afforded from daily life. This is where cognitive operations and cultural artifacts converge. Life is experienced through culture; therefore, every experience that informs the creation or reshaping of cognitive schemas is interpreted through cultural patterns.55 Or, to put it another way, “[t]he cognitive schemas that mediate memory formation are drawn from a cultural repertoire of schemas and scripts that have been internalized through socialization.”56 Therefore, how one perceives the world is shaped in large part by one’s cultural environment. Culture’s supply of schematic frameworks has an important bearing on how we approach the scripturalization of the Teacher. We must recognize that when community members formulated their perceptions of the Teacher, these experiences would have been processed through cognitive Perry W. Thorndyke and Barbara Hayes-Roth, “The Use of Schemata in the Acquisition and Transfer of Knowledge,” Cognitive Psychology 11 (1979) 82–106 (83), describe the notion that schemas develop through past experience as one of the few universally-accepted assumptions about schemas. 55 Cf. Jürgen Straub, “Psychology, Narrative, and Cultural Memory: Past and Present,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 215–228, who notes that memory and recollection “depend on cultural resources, tools, and templates” (222). 56 Alan Kirk, “The Formation of the Synoptic Tradition: Cognitive and Cultural Approaches to an Old Problem,” in Social Memory and Social Identity in the Study of Early Judaism and Early Christianity (eds. S. Byrskog et al.; NTOA 116; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016) 49–67 (52; emphasis removed). Others have likewise pointed out that cognitive schema follow cultural patterns, cf. Claudia Strauss and Naomi Quinn, A Cognitive Theory of Cultural Meaning (Publications of the Society for Psychological Anthropology 9; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) 49; Siegfried J. Schmidt, Kognitive Autonomie und soziale Orientierung. Konstruktivistische Bemerkungen zum Zusammenhang von Kognition, Kommunikation, Medien und Kultur (3rd edn.; Münster: Lit Verlag, 2003) 169; Harald Welzer, Das kommunikative Gedächtnis: Eine Theorie der Erinnerung (4th edn.; Munich: C.H. Beck, 2016) 146. 54

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schemas developed over a lifetime within the context of Second Temple Judaism. For ancient Jews immersed in the traditions of their ancestral past, it would have been natural to interpret the words and deeds of the Teacher according to the patterns of scripture. In fact, the scriptural text would have been the primary cultural resource for interpretation. Authoritative scripture often influences the interpretation of perceptual experience. This could be demonstrated through a variety of examples from European history. “In early modern Europe,” as Peter Burke has noted, “many people had read the Bible so often that it had become part of them and its stories organized their perceptions, their memories and even their dreams.”57 In his autobiography, Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners (1666), John Bunyan described his own conversion in a way that reflected the Damascus road experience of the apostle Paul (Acts 9:1–8).58 Similarly, the personal memoirs of Johan Kessler, a Protestant pastor from Switzerland, describe a chance encounter that he and an associate had at the Black Bear Inn (Jena) on their way to Wittenberg, Germany in search of Martin Luther. After sharing a table with a man whom they did not recognize and who impressed them with his theological knowledge, they eventually came to realize that the man before them was none other than Luther himself. When the episode is recounted, it is structured according to the pattern of the two disciples who walked with the risen Jesus on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35).59 Even more perspective can be gained through a comparison of the Teacher’s situation with the way early Christians remembered Jesus. A brief perusal of the gospels reveals that Jesus’ life was frequently read through the lens of scripture. In fact, similar to the case of the Peter Burke, “History as Social Memory,” in Memory: History, Culture and the Mind (ed. T. Butler; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989) 97–114, revised and reprinted as “History as Social Memory,” in Varieties of Cultural History (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997) 43–59 (50). See further G. W. Trompf, The Idea of Historical Recurrence in Western Thought: From Antiquity to the Reformation (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1979). 58 Michael Davies, “Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners: John Bunyan and Spiritual Autobiography,” in The Cambridge Companion to Bunyan (ed. A. DunanPage; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 67–79 (69). cf. also Dayton Haskin, “Bunyan, Luther, and the Struggle with Belatedness in Grace Abounding,” University of Toronto Quarterly 50 (1981) 300–313. 59 See Emil Egli and Rudolph Schoch, eds., Johannes Kesslers Sabbata, mit kleineren Schriften und Briefen (St. Gallen: Fehr’sche Buchhandlung, 1902) 76–78. For similar uses of this scriptural pattern, see Kat Hill, Baptism, Brotherhood, and Belief in Reformation Germany: Anabaptism and Luteranism, 1525–1585 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) 87–89. 57

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Teacher of Righteousness, the story of Moses is used as a frame of reference for interpreting Jesus,60 and the passion of Jesus is patterned after the innocent sufferer motif.61 While interpretive categories like these probably developed progressively over time, the process of scriptural interpretation began with Jesus himself.62 In the decades that followed, the Christian community continued to use the scriptures to interpret his life and ministry. As with this latter example, much of the scriptural influence on the Teacher’s community would have arisen directly through the socialization process within a culture immersed in sacred writings. However, we cannot overlook the possibility that the scriptural interpretation of the Teacher may also trace its origin back to the Teacher himself. Other ancient Jewish figures interpreted their roles in salvation history in a similar scripturalized manner. In fact, it would be strange if the Teacher had not turned to the scriptures to understand his experiences. He was, after all, a member of the same Jewish culture and, thus, steeped in the same tradition. Furthermore, if the Teacher had been part of the community for a number of years, his self-perception would have played an important role in how he was understood by his followers.63 This consideration requires us to re-evaluate the influence of scripture within the Teacher

See Dale C. Allison, The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1993); Michael Theophilos, Jesus as New Moses in Matthew 8–9: Jewish Typology in First Century Greek Literature (GSPT 4; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2011). 61 See Lothar Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Gerechte? Der Weg Jesu im Lichte eines alt- und zwischentestamentlichen Motivs (SBS 59; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1972). 62 See Roland Deines, “Jesus and Scripture: Scripture and the Self-Understanding of Jesus,” in All That the Prophets Have Declared: The Appropriation of Scripture in the Emergence of Christianity (ed. M. R. Malcolm; Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2015) 39–70: “What is rarely explored with regard to the scriptural quotations in the gospels, which are now within the editorial parts and form the commentary of the evangelists, is the possibility that the evangelists or their sources actually learned something from Jesus’ own handling of Scripture. We may have in the gospels not so much the result of the creative exegesis of unknown source compilers but a reflection of the influence of Jesus as teacher of Scripture” (57; original emphasis). 63 The question of what the Teacher might have thought about himself is crucial for understanding the collective memory of the community. In certain places, this issue has been posed (see, e.g., George J. Brooke, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” in Jesus and Brian: Exploring the Historical Jesus and His Times via Monty Python’s Life of Brian [eds. J. E. Taylor; London: Bloomsbury, 2015] 127–140 [137]), but an answer is rarely pursued. 60

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tradition. It raises the possibility that the authors of the Scrolls applied specific scriptural passages to the life of the Teacher not only because it matched their current experiences, but also because the Teacher had previously used similar imagery to describe himself. But regardless of whether the scripturalization of the Teacher began with his followers or with the Teacher himself, the important question is how this conclusion impacts our effort to understand the Teacher historically. Is it possible to glean any historical information from such stereotypical and typological interpretations? If our goal was to sift through the pesharim or the Damascus Document in order to determine which details might be unaffected by the perceptions and interpretive tendencies of the authors,64 then there would be very little upon which to base our historical conclusions. But since we have adopted a mnemonic approach toward history, the scripturalization of the Teacher is exactly the type of interpretive evidence that allows us to make informed hypotheses about what might have initiated these mnemonic traces. Given that the interpretation of the Teacher would have begun with the experiences of his earliest followers and would have continued up until the time when the written documents were composed, it is appropriate to ask, what made scriptural images like Moses,65 or the innocent sufferer, appropriate frames of reference from which to interpret the Teacher? What must the Teacher have said or done to cause his followers to perceive him in ways that were consistent with these images, particularly when there were other options available within their cultural environment? Whether the mnemonic evidence reflects the initial perceptions of the Teacher or simply

This is the suggested approach of Philip R. Davies, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 92; cf. also James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids, MI, : Eerdmans, 2002) 76. Even apart from the insights of memory theory, some have recognized the problem of excluding details about the Teacher that might be derived from the scriptural text. For instance, Timothy H. Lim notes, “It is in the nature of pesherite exegesis to read into the scriptural text allusions to contemporary figures and events. To disqualify categorically comments that are related to the biblical lemma is to exclude information that may be potentially significant” (Pesharim [CQS 3; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002] 68–69). 65 Interestingly enough, George J. Brooke, who is otherwise very skeptical about what can be known about the Teacher, admits that “the two most secure aspects of the Teacher’s biography were his priesthood and the way he portrayed himself as a Mosaic teacher of some kind” (“The ‘Apocalyptic’ Community, the Matrix of the Teacher and Rewriting Scripture,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism [ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 37–54 [49]). 64

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the reflections of his later community, the path-dependence of collective memory requires that the interpretative categories through which he is remembered be explained.66 And in this case, such an explanation must account for the strong tradition that was in circulation at the time when the written documents were composed.67

8.4 Conclusion The framing and keying of the Teacher’s life must be examined on two levels. Each contributes in different ways to our understanding of the Teacher tradition. In this chapter, we have explored how the memory of the Teacher was framed by scriptural themes and characters, a process that probably began while the Teacher was still alive. Scripturalization was not merely a rhetorical strategy designed to convince individuals to adopt certain perspectives about the Teacher; instead, it reflects a mnemonic strategy by which perceptual data is interpreted. Human experience is conceptualized through cognitive frameworks that are developed in a given cultural environment. For the members of the Teacher’s community (and even for the Teacher himself), the Jewish scriptures would have provided the greatest influence for understanding the world around them, including the life and legacy of the Teacher. However, the process of memory transmission is more complicated than the initial formation of cognitive perceptions, however. The next chapter will explore how individual memories contribute to the establishment of tradition. We will seek to explain how the early cognitive perceptions of the Teacher would have been transformed into the body of tradition that was in circulation at a later point in the history of the community. In doing so, we will clarify the nexus between memory and tradition. Only after this foundation has been laid will we be able to draw conclusions about the (dis)continuity of memory.

66 67

On the path-dependence of collective memory, see Chapter 11. On the existence of oral tradition within the Teacher’s later community, see Chapter 7.

9 From Cognitive Perceptions to Community Traditions The Formation of Collective Memory

The transmission of memory is a topic that holds out the potential for ­significant confusion. Having discussed the cognitive formation of ­memories related to the Teacher as well as the lifespans of individuals who carried those memories to subsequent generations, one could very easily draw the conclusion that our efforts have been informed by an individual-seriatim approach toward memory transmission. According this model, isolated individuals pass along their personal memories to succeeding generations through a single line of communication. This concept of the serial transmission of memory is sometimes illustrated using the children’s game, “Telephone.”1 Throughout our study, we have been careful not to suggest (or even imply) that the transmission of the Teacher tradition was carried out in this manner. The relationship between the individual and the group in the formation of collective memory is

The telephone game analogy is sometimes used with regard to the Jesus tradition (see, e.g., Robert W. Funk and Roy W. Hoover, The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus [New York: Macmillan, 1993] 16; John Dominic Crossan, The Birth of Christianity: Discovering What Happened in the Years Immediately after the Execution of Jesus [New York: HarperCollins, 1998] 49–93; Bart D. Ehrman, Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millenium [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999] 48–52). Within Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship, interpreters have likewise tended to emphasize the role of individuals in the process of transmission. For instance, Philip R. Davies asserts that collective memory, despite the communal nature, is driven by individuals. He notes, “collective memory is often initiated, and usually shaped, by individuals within the group and is only rarely the direct product of a genuinely shared experience that generates an identical recollection in everyone” (“What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts [ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010] 31–46 [34]).

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considerably more dynamic than the individual-seriatim model entails.2 It is the complexity of this transmission process that we will explore in the present chapter. As an entry point into this discussion, we will consider a feature that is notably absent from the relevant source materials: identifiable traces of eyewitness recollections. In an effort to explain the type of historical information provided by the pesharim, George J. Brooke has recently provided a helpful assessment of the military exploits of the Kittim. Observing that traditional language has significantly impacted the representation of this group, Brooke draws attention to the fact that the pesharim lack any indication that they were informed by the direct reminiscences of eyewitnesses: “the description of the military aggression of the Kittim is largely described in the terms of Habakkuk itself or of other scriptural texts; it is stereotyped according to tradition rather than written up from reports of front-line witnesses of any contemporary events.”3 This observation is thought to cast doubt on the possibility that the commentaries might contain useful historical information about the earlier people and events, which the texts purport to describe.4 What is most pertinent about Brooke’s treatment of this issue, however, is the foundational assumption upon which his conclusions are based. He appears to work from the notion that eyewitness memories would

A more appropriate analogy might be a net or a web through which information is passed along multiple lines of transmission. For the various problems inherent within the individuals-seriatim model, see Alan Kirk, “Memory Theory and Jesus Research,” in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, vol. 1: How to Study the Historical Jesus (eds. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 809–842 (822–823). 3 George J. Brooke, “The Kittim and Hints of Hybridity in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in People under Power: Early Jewish and Christian Responses to the Roman Power Empire (eds. M. Labahn and O. Lehtipuu; ECRW 1; Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015) 17–32 (22). Further, he notes, “Nearly all the terminology that is used to describe such excesses is derived either from the texts of the Minor Prophets themselves or from other closely related scriptures, so the cost of the intervention is presented stereotypically and not closely in relation to any particular set of military or political circumstances” (23). Later, he echoes a similar idea: “The use of the term [Kittim] gives priority to tradition and stereotype over precise contemporary historical concerns” (29). Cf. idem, “The Kittim in the Qumran Pesharim,” in Images of Empire (ed. L. Alexander; JSOTSup 122; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991) 135–159: “the image of empire in the pesharim is primarily suggested by exegetical tradition and contemporary experience, elements of which may be read back into an earlier period” (137). 4 Cf. Brooke, “The Kittim in the Qumran Pesharim,” 159: “We can learn little to nothing of the history of the Qumran community from these texts, and little enough about the Romans.” He even goes so far as to say that “[t]o derive history from the use of such texts in a commentary like 1QpHab seems foolhardy” (158). 2

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possess certain characteristics by which they could be distinguished from descriptions that arose through traditional formulations, and that those distinct features would have been unaffected when the memories were included in the written sources.5 This assumption plays a crucial role in his overall assessment of the evidence, for it allows him to separate eyewitness testimony from the later formulations of the Scrolls community, a move that reflects a broader tendency within biblical scholarship to draw sharp lines of division between memory and tradition.6 The validity of this approach holds out significant implications for our understanding of the Teacher of Righteousness, for the Teacher materials also lack any reference to, or distinguishing features that might suggest that they were sourced in, eyewitness memory. Using this evaluative method, many, therefore, imagine that the information represents tradition that was formulated long after the Teacher’s death in response to the social and theological needs of the community.7 This would be contrasted with the personal reminiscences of those within the Teacher’s original community, which are thought to have little, if any, actual connection to the tradition.8 By distinguishing memory and tradition in this way, the extant descriptions appear to reveal little about the historical Teacher. Some apologists have even attempted to provide specific characteristics that point to the presence of eyewitness testimony in the gospels (see Larry Hart, The Annunciation: A New Evangelization and Apologetic for Mainline Protestants and Progressive Catholics in Postmodern North America [Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2017] 124–125). 6 This distinction is similar to the one made by New Testament form critics in their assessment of the gospels (see, e.g., Dennis E. Nineham, “Eyewitness Testimony and the Gospel Tradition, I,” JTS 9 [1958] 13–25; idem, “Eyewitness Testimony and the Gospel Tradition, II,” JTS 9 [1958] 243–252; idem, “Eyewitness Testimony and the Gospel Tradition, III,” JTS 11 [1960] 253–264). For a correction to this approach, see Alan Kirk, “The Memory–Tradition Nexus in the Synoptic Tradition: Memory, Media, and Symbolic Representation,” in Memory and Identity in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity: A Conversation with Barry Schwartz (ed. T. Thatcher; SemeiaSt 78; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2014) 131–159. 7 While the discussions are not formulated using the same terminology employed here, it is noteworthy that Brooke’s conclusions on this matter are often approvingly cited with reference to the reliability of the Teacher material (see, e.g., Jutta Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretations [eds. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; SBLSymS 30; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005] 23–34 [27]). 8 We have already demonstrated that eyewitnesses could have survived up until the point when the pesharim were written (see Chapter 5). But this fact is immaterial if the commentaries do not reflect the details remembered by these direct links to the Teacher. 5

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With this approach in mind, it will be important to consider how the cognitive perceptions of eyewitnesses would have related to the body of established tradition that later circulated within the community. In the previous chapter, we discussed how, at the cognitive level, the memory of individual community members would have been mediated through schemas, which allowed them to interpret perceptual data related to their experience of the Teacher.9 Now, we will turn our attention to the process by which the individual memories of the Teacher’s original followers would have been incorporated into the collective memory that was shared by the community.10 In doing so, we will argue that an important nexus unites memory and tradition; the two phenomena relate to one another through a reciprocal relationship in which one informs the other. This fact will have an important bearing on the eventual shape of the Teacher tradition.

9.1  The Communication of Teacher Memories We will begin by exploring the initial communication of memories within the community of the historical Teacher. It is here that members of the group would have first discussed their experiences and perceptions. What we will seek to determine is how the individual memories, which community members formed through their interaction with and observance of the Teacher, were communicated to others in the group. Further, it is important to understand what forms these memories might have taken.

See Chapter 8. This question is intentionally framed to sidestep the unproductive fixation on the reliability of eyewitness testimony (cf. Barry Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” in Routledge International Handbook of Memory Studies [eds. A. L. Tota and T. Hagen; London: Routledge, 2016] 9–21 [18]). While we recognize that “human memory is eminently fallible,” we must also acknowledge that “its sources of fallibility are often reflections of its strengths” (Alan Baddeley, “The Psychology of Remembering and Forgetting,” in Memory [ed. T. Butler; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989] 33–60 [58]). We assume that a large group who witnessed the Teacher of Righteousness over many years could preserve the basic contours of who he was and how he contributed to the community. Consequently, we feel that the discussion would be better served by tracing the development of memory from its cognitive formation to its integration into the larger body tradition, which was transmitted by the community.

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9.1.1  Individual Communicative Settings The sharing of individual memories of the Teacher would have taken place in both formal and informal settings. The latter will be our concern here, while the former will be taken up below. From indications given in the Damascus Document, it would appear that the Teacher’s community was not limited to a single location; instead members seem to have been spread out around Palestine. This rule text makes frequent reference to those who live in “camps” (‫ ;מחנות‬e.g., CD-A 7.6; 9.11; 10.23; 12.23; 13.13; CD-B 19.2), a term that “refers to Essene settlements or communities in Palestinian towns and villages, outside of Qumran.”11 Further, the group appears to have been a family-based organization.12 Stipulations are given that imply the existence of households made up of husbands, wives, children, and even servants (CD-A 7.6–9; 11.11–12; 12.1; 13.17–21; 15.5–6; 16.10–12). Each household would have been separate, given the fact that members were free to own private property (CD-A 10.18; 14.12–17).13 In this setting, memories of the Teacher would have been recounted among members of the household. While warnings are given about disclosing the statutes of the group with those who were not full members (CD-A 15.10–11), this would not have prevented families from discussing the life of the Teacher and the history of the early community. What would have been created through this process is smaller, family traditions. The dispersion of membership means that not everyone (or every household) would have shared the same experiences and, thus, the

Sarianna Metso, “Qumran Community Structure and Terminology as Theological Statement,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 2: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006) 283–300 (289). With reference to the Essenes, Josephus notes, “They do not live in any one particular city, but many dwell in every city” (J.W. 2.124). However, Philo claims that the Essenes “live in villages (κωμηδόν), avoiding cities because of the habitual lawlessness of those who reside there” (Prob. 76). 12 See John J. Collins, “Beyond the Qumran Community: Social Organization in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 16 (2009) 351–369 (355–356). 13 Lawrence H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1995) 106–107. Although, cf. Charlotte Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction (STDJ 29; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 38, who warns, “it seems advisable to exercise caution in interpreting the references to private property in the halakhic material.” 11

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same personal memories. Among the separated “camps,” there would have been opportunities to share the stories of the Teacher with others. It is assumed that members of the community would have interacted with one another outside of the collective “assembly of all the camps” (CD-A 14.3). For this reason, stipulations are given about taking oaths in the field (CD-A 9.8–10) and discussing business transactions (CD-A 10.19–21; 11.2; 13.15–16). This suggests that there would have been opportunities to share (informally) with other members of the group. Stories about the Teacher might have also been circulated through members who traveled from community to community. It is natural to think that there would have been some mobility between the various “camps.” Some type of travel seems to be indicated in CD-A 11.1, which describes one who is on a journey. In both Josephus and Philo, the Essenes are portrayed as a group marked by hospitality for traveling members.14 If this ascription of mobility is accurate, it is likely that travelers could have “deliver[ed] halakhic instructions and important theological treatises,”15 and perhaps even stories about the Teacher.16 9.1.2  Individual Communicative Genres When individuals shared their personal recollections about the Teacher, what form(s) might these memories have taken? As we mentioned above,

Cf. Josephus, J.W. 2.124, who notes (regarding the Essenes), “On the arrival of any of the sect from elsewhere (τοῖς ἑτέρωθεν ἥκουσιν αἱρετισταῖς), all the resources of the community are put at their disposal, just as if they were their own; and they enter the houses of men whom they have never seen before as though they were their most intimate friends” (trans. Thackeray [LCL]; see also Hippolytus, Haer. 9.20). Philo makes a similar claim: “First of all then no one’s house is his own in the sense that it is not shared by all, for besides the fact that they dwell together in communities, the door is open to visitors from elsewhere (τοῖς ἑτέρωθεν ἀφικνουμένοις) who share their convictions” (Prob. 85; trans. Colson [LCL]). 15 Phillip R. Callaway, “Methodology, the Scrolls, and Origins,” in Methods of Investigation of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Khirbet Qumran Site: Present Realities and Future Prospects (eds. M. O. Wise et al.; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 722; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1994) 409–427 (414–415), although the travel he envisions is between the headquarters at Qumran and the satellite camps around Palestine. 16 On the spread of oral tradition through mobility in ancient Judaism and early Christianity, see Catherine Hezser, “Oral and Written Communication and Transmission of Knowledge in Ancient Judaism and Christianity,” Oral Tradition 25 (2010) 75–92. 14

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it is sometimes assumed that eyewitness recollections would have possessed recognizable traces that set them apart from the traditions of the community. It is important to remember, however, that the memories that were preserved through the cognitive facilities of individuals were shaped by mental schemas formed through cultural experience. In other words, one’s personal recollections would have taken cultural forms.17 The conceptualization of personal experience through culturallyprovided schemas has a significant effect on the communication of the past. When memories are recounted to others, they regularly conform to cultural genres.18 Rather than constantly inventing new forms by which to transmit memories of the past,19 “[e]very cultural community possesses a basic inventory of conventionalized forms by means of which the past can take shape and can become an object of cultural memory.”20 When memories are recounted, communicators regularly shape their past experiences in ways that align with these traditional forms.21 This means that memories “become public by

See Chapter 8. Beyond merely constructing our articulation of memories according to genres, this representation of experience through conventionalized form finds its origins in the way humans perceive reality. At the cognitive level, genres function as models that are applied to human action as a way to interpret experience (see Carol Fleisher Feldman, “Genres as Mental Models,” in Psychoanalysis and Development: Representations and Narratives [eds. M. Ammaniti and D. N. Stern; Psychoanalytic Crosscurrents; New York: New York University Press, 1994] 111–122). 19 See Jan Assmann, “Das kulturelle Gedächtnis,” Erwägen, Wissen, Ethik 13 (2002) 239–247: “Die Form wird nicht immer wieder neu erfunden, sonder steht in einer Tradition, die sie voraussetzt und aufnimmt, auch dort, wo sie willentlich verändert und abwandelt” (239–240). 20 Ruben Zimmermann, “The Parables of Jesus as Media of Collective Memory: Marking Sense of the Shaping of New Genres in Early Christianity, with Special Focus on the Parables of the Wicked Tenants (Mark 12:1–12),” in Making Sense as a Cultural Practice: Historical Perspectives (ed. J. Rogge; Mainzer Historische Kulturwissenschaften 18; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013) 23–44 (25–26). This is not to imply that genres are static. “A genre,” as Mikhail M. Bahktin notes, “lives in the present, but always remembers its past, its beginning. Genre is a representative of creative memory in the process of literary development” (Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics [Theory and History of Literature 8; Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1984] 106). 21 Given the conventional nature of these genres, they have been described as “forms of re-use” (Wiedergebrauchs-Formen), see Astrid Erll and Klaudia Seibel, “Gattungen, Formtraditionen und kulturelles Gedächtnis,” in Erzähltextanalyse und Gender Studies (eds. V. Nünning and A. Nünning; Sammlung Metzler; Weimar: Metzler, 2004) 180–208 (189); cf. also Jan Assmann, “Collective Memory and Cultural Identity,” New German Critique 65 (1995) 125–133 (132). 17

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being based on narrative properties such as genre and plot type that are widely shared within a culture.”22 The conventionalized nature of genres impacts the way that ­memory – even eyewitness memory – is communicated. This has been observed by anthropologists who study the transmission of oral tradition across various cultures. Elizabeth Tonkin, who explored the oral history of the Jlao Kru from Liberia, has noted, “witnesses are social beings who must bring previous understandings to their lived experience in order to interpret it.” Consequently, “when they try to proffer this experience in words, they will turn to known formulations, modes and genres to do so. This may mean that deeply felt experiences appear cliché-ridden, but even the most ‘original’ experience has to be represented through accepted rules of language and of narrative production.”23 The recognition that all memory reflects cultural forms has an important bearing on our assessment of the nexus between ­eyewitness memory and tradition. It means that we cannot render judgment on the origins of material based simply on its form or genre (see further below). While there would have been opportunities to share personal memories of the Teacher in different genre-specific forms, the circulation of these recollections would not constitute tradition.24 Tradition assumes preservation over a longer period with constraints regulating the ­stability of content to some degree. This would require more formal settings wherein the memories of persons and events could be assigned

22

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24

Jerome Bruner and Carol F. Fleisher, “Group Narrative as a Cultural Context of Autobiography,” in Remembering Our Past: Studies in Autobiographical Memory (ed. D. C. Rubin; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) 291–317 (293). For more on the way that genre shapes memory, see Astrid Erll, Memory in Culture (trans. S. B. Young; Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011) 147–149. Elizabeth Tonkin, Narrating Our Pasts: The Social Construction of Oral History (Cambridge Studies in Oral and Literate Culture 22; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) 86–87. Cf. Eric Eve, “Memory, Orality and the Synoptic Problem,” EC 6 (2015) 311–333: “the form of something may not always be a reliable guide to whether it originated as oral tradition, not least because individual and social memories are so thoroughly intertwined. Since similar memorial processes are involved, oral history [i.e., personal reminiscences] can come to resemble oral tradition even on the lips of an eyewitness, particular if that eyewitness is an habitual raconteur of his or her memories” (319). See further Edward Shils, Tradition (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1981) 31–32.

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significance by the group. What this informal process would have accomplished, however, is the dissemination of Teacher material among the group. It means that group members would have been exposed to other memories beyond those they had formed through their own cognitive processing. In what follows, we will consider how these memories were incorporated into the body of reminiscences that eventually became the Teacher tradition.

9.2  Establishing the Teacher Tradition The establishment of tradition presumes the collaboration of a group of people who share information, that is shaped and reshaped into an enduring body of material which can be handed down to subsequent generations. Our focus in this section will be on the formative stages of this process: collaborative remembering/memory. “Collaborative memory occurs when people work together to jointly remember a past event.”25 During the early history of memory research, attention was devoted primarily to the recall of individuals. More recently, scholars have begun to focus on memory as a collective phenomenon, exploring the impact of group collaboration in the memory process.26 What has been discovered is that interaction within a group influences both collective and personal memory in significant ways – many of which are relevant to the development of Teacher tradition. 9.2.1  The Setting of Collaborative Memory Collaborative memory begins with an appropriate communicative setting. To a large degree, this contextual factor shapes the way that tradition is formulated. “The specific group setting dictates a set of norms and

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Michelle L. Meade et al., “Expertise Promotes Faciliation on a Collaborative Memory Task,” Memory 17 (2009) 39–48 (39). Cf. Magda Saraiva et al., “Custos e Benefícios de Recordar em Colaboração: Breve Revisão da Literatura,” Psicologia: Teoria e Pesquisa 32 (2016) 17–23, who define collaborative memory as “o processo que envolve duas ou mais pessoas na recordação de informação que foi presenciada em conjunto pelos elementos que constituem o grupo colaborativo” (17). For an overview, see Suparna Rajaram and Luciane P. Pereira-Pasarin, “Collaborative Memory: Cognitive Research and Theory,” Perspectives on Psychological Science 5 (2010) 649–663; Noel K. Clark and Geoffrey M. Stephenson, “Group Remembering,” in Psychology of Group Influence (ed. P. B. Paulus; 2nd edn.; New York: Psychology Press, 2015) 357–391.

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values that prioritize certain items for retrieval, as well as the style and contents of recall that are appropriate, the social dynamics of who speaks when and whose recollections are given the most weight, and the purpose of remembering.”27 In the case of the Teacher tradition, the communicative context in which collaborative memory was formulated would have been group meetings led by the historical Teacher. It is there that the foundations of a formal body of tradition would have been laid down. The reason why the Teacher’s role in tradition-formation would have been significant is because of the role that “experts” play in collaborative memory. Normally, within a group of equals, discussion tends to focus on shared information; that is, conversational partners often prefer to deliberate on matters known by all participants, rather than information only known by one member.28 However, when one member of a group is identified as an authority, he or she tends to introduce information into the process of collaborative recall that is not shared by all participants.29 As the recognized leader of the community, the Teacher would have played a major role in shaping how memories were shared in the group and which memories would (eventually) be taken up into the tradition. But despite the Teacher’s impact on collaborative memory, there is still much that is unknown about the specific procedures through which this information would have been discussed and transmitted. Modern scholars have virtually no information about how the Teacher taught the

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Celia B. Harris et al., “Collaborative Recall and Collective Memory: What Happens When We Remember Together?” Memory 16 (2008) 213–230 (216). See Gwen M. Wittenbaum and Garold Stasser, “Management of Information in Small Groups,” in What’s Social about Social Cognition? Research on Socially Shared Cognition in Small Groups (eds. J. L. Nye and A. M. Brower; Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, 1996) 3–28; Gwen M. Wittenbaum and Ernest S. Park, “The Collective Preference for Shared Information,” Current Directions in Psychological Science 10 (2001) 70–73; cf. also R. Scott Tindale and Susan Sheffey, “Shared Information, Cognitive Load, and Group Memory,” Group Processes and Intergroup Relations 5 (2002) 5–18. For a discussion on the role of “experts” in collaborative recall, see Garold Stasser et al., “Expert Roles and Information Exchange during Discussion: The Importance of Knowing Who Knows What,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 31 (1995) 244–265; Dennis D. Stewart and Garold Stasser, “Expert Role Assignment and Information Sampling during Collective Recall and Decision Making,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 69 (1995) 619–628; cf. Robert L. Moreland et al., “Socially Shared Cognition at Work: Transactive Memory and Group Performance,” in What’s Social about Social Cognition? Research on Socially Shared Cognition in Small Groups (eds. J. L. Nye and A. M. Brower; Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, 1996) 57–86.

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group, or even where the group met. The only resource that is available are the references to the communal gatherings of the Teacher’s later followers. If we can assume some continuity between this situation and the practices observed during the time of the historical Teacher, then we can draw a few conclusions about the initial stages of tradition-formation. According to the Damascus Document, the community met regularly in a general assembly (CD-A 14.3–18a). In this setting, there were two ways that members were exposed to information about the Teacher. The first involved interaction with the overseer. Part of the meeting seems to have involved the overseer instructing the congregation on God’s work among his people both in the past and the future. According to CD-A 13.7–8, the overseer “instruct[ed] the Many about the works of God, and allow[ed] them to discern the wonder of his mighty deeds, and relat[ed] to them the happenings of eternity together with their interpretations.”30 It is not a stretch to imagine that this teaching role would have been performed earlier by the Teacher. A second way that members of the group might have received information about the Teacher would have been through the public reading of sacred texts. Most believe that the scriptures were read audibly within the group (cf. Philo, Prob. 81–82).31 The question is

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Translation from Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 2: Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/ Westminster John Knox Press, 1995) 4–57 (55). See Charles Perrot, “The Reading of the Bible in the Ancient Synagogue,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. M. J. Mulder; CRINT 2/1; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1988) 137–159 (152–153); Shemaryahu Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission, or the Heard and the Seen Word in Judaism of the Second Temple Period,” in Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991) 121–158 (157–158). As proof, the Damascus Document regulates who can and cannot read from the scriptures (4Q266 5 ii 1–3; 4Q267 5 iii 3–5; 4Q273 2 1). At issue is the proper enunciation of the words so that they might be heard by the audience (cf. 4Q264a 1 4–5 // 4Q421 13 + 2 + 8 2–4, which seems to prohibit the enunciation of a text for proofreading purposes on the Sabbath). In light of evidence like this, it is surprising to find Lee I. Levine claim that “despite the centrality of liturgical patterns as reflected in the scrolls, nothing whatsoever is said about the public reading of Scriptures” (The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years [2nd edn.; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005] 64).

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whether texts containing Teacher material were also read in this communal gathering.32 We would argue that texts such as the pesharim and the Damascus Document were likely read publicly, based on the authoritative nature of the texts and the reading event assumed at such meetings.33 Some have gone further, claiming that there are indicators of public performance within the formal scribal characteristics of the documents themselves. According to Gregory H. Snyder, the X-marks at the end of some lines in Pesher Habakkuk “are best understood as cues for textual

On the performative nature of the texts from Qumran, see Martin S. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) 28–38; cf. also David M. Goodblatt, “Judean Nationalism in the Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Historical Perspectives: From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 27–31 January, 1999 (eds. D. M. Goldblatt et al.; STDJ 37; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 3–27 (22–27); Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra, “Bücherlesen im Jachad Qumrans: Himmlische Bücher zwischen Katechese, kollektivem Studium und esoterischer Geheimschrift,” in Metatexte: Erzählungen von schrifttragenden Artefakten in der alttestamentlichen und mittelalterlichen Literatur (eds. F.-E. Focken and M. R. Ott; MT 15; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016) 75–95. The case for the oral delivery of parabiblical texts (such as 4Q225) has been made by Robert A. Kugler, “Hearing 4Q225: A Case Study in Reconstructing the Religious Imagination of the Qumran Community,” DSD 10 (2003) 81–103 (83–88). He bases his argument on the community space at Qumran (which is thought to be the site of public recitation), formal scribal characteristics in the manuscripts, the direct reference to the reading of the scriptures (1QS 6.6–8), and the literary content of many scrolls (e.g., repetitions, formulae, patterns). 33 Scholars often focus on the question of whether reading in the ancient world was performed audibly or silently. While some have argued that all reading was audible (e.g., Paul J. Achtemeier, “Omne verbum sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” JBL 109 [1990] 3–27; Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995] 203–205), there is ample evidence to indicate otherwise (see Bernard M. W. Knox, “Silent Reading in Antiquity,” GRBS 9 [1968] 421–435; Frank D. Gilliard, “More Silent Reading in Antiquity: Non Omne Verbum Sonabat,” JBL 112 [1993] 689–696; Alexander K. Gavrilov, “Techniques of Reading in Classical Antiquity,” CQ 47 [1997] 56–73; Myles F. Burnyeat, “Postscript on Silent Reading,” CQ 47 [1997] 74–76). A better approach is to ask about the reading event, which includes the type of text being read, the context of reading, the community before whom reading occurs, and the social and cultural context in which reading takes place (see William A. Johnson, Readers and Reading Culture in the High Roman Empire: A Study of Elite Communities [Classical Culture and Society; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010] 11–12). 32

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performance.”34 As a way to avoid any unwanted pauses, which could arise from the long spaces at the end of lines, he suggests that “[t]he marks prompt the reader to continue on to the next line without any alteration in reading.” Such a consideration, it is argued, “suggests a public context where fluent performance was crucial, probably a formal liturgical setting of some kind.”35 Whether the scribal characteristics in the pesharim can be used as evidence for their ancient performance remains to be seen.36 What we can say is that the pesher commentaries would be ideal candidates for use in a teaching setting.37 When texts were “performed” in the ancient world, the work was commonly recounted to the audience from memory. “In teaching situations, on the other hand, the teacher often read from a text and interspersed the reading of the text with exposition of its meaning.”38 In the case of the pesharim, the reading/recitation of the scriptural text would have been naturally followed by the commentary, which could have been adapted over time to fit the changing circumstances of the community. One can imagine that this would have been an ideal setting for the Teacher to offer his followers instructions and interpretations of events from the life of the community.

H. Gregory Snyder, “Naughts and Crosses: Pesher Manuscripts and Their Significance for Reading Practices at Qumran,” DSD 7 (2000) 26–48 (42). Cf. idem, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World: Philosophers, Jews and Christians (Religion in the First Christian Centuries; London: Routledge, 2000) 145–147. 35 Snyder, “Naughts and Crosses,” 43. 36 The view of Snyder has been challenged on the grounds that such a function would be redundant in some instances (see Stephen Llewelyn et al., “A Case for Two Vorlagen Behind the Habakkuk Commentary (1QpHab),” in Keter Shem Tov: Essays on the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Alan Crown [eds. S. Tzoref and I. Young; PHSC 20; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2013] 123–150 [129–130]). Others claims that the X-marks are simply line-fillers (e.g., Emanuel Tov, “Scribal Markings in the Texts from the Judean Desert,” in Current Research and Technological Developments on the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. D. W. Parry and S. D. Ricks; STDJ 20; Leiden: Brill, 1996] 41–77 [66–67]; Gregory L. Doudna, 4QPesher Nahum: A Critical Edition [JSPSup 35; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001] 235–240). 37 Cf. Bilhah Nitzan, “Ancient Jewish Traditions of Biblical Commentary in Qumran Literature,” in With Wisdom as a Robe: Qumran and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Ida Fröhlich (eds. K. D. Dobos and M. Köszeghy; HBM 21; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2009) 288–300 (288–289); Mladen Popović, “Reading, Writing, and Memorizing Together: Reading Culture in Ancient Judaism and the Dead Sea Scrolls in a Mediterranean Context,” DSD 24 (2017) 447–470 (461). Even earlier interpreters allowed for the possibility that some of the pesher commentaries would have been “communicated verbally” (Cecil Roth, “The Subject Matter of Qumran Exegesis,” VT 10 [1960] 51–68 [53]). 38 Whitney Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel: First-Century Performance of Mark (Harrisbug, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003) 48. 34

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Collaborative recall and reflection on the group’s past would have exerted an important formative influence on both the personal memories of individuals as well as the collective memory of the group. In each case, idiosyncratic materials would have been filtered out in favor of memories relevant to the group’s collective identity. 9.2.2.1  The Effects of Collaboration on Collective Memory When groups collaborate to remember the past, there are certain consequences that can impact the content of collective memory. One negative consequence is what scholars describe as “collaborative inhibition.” Studies have shown that through collaborative remembering, groups tend to demonstrate better recall than individuals. However, their memory performance is much poorer when compared with the responses from nominal groups (i.e., the non-redundant recollections of pooled individuals who are recalling by themselves).39 Various explanations have been offered for this phenomenon;40 but regardless of the cause, what collaborative inhibition reveals is that during group interaction individuals often neglect details of the past they might otherwise recall.41

See, e.g., Jan Andersson and Jerker Rönnberg, “Recall Suffers from Collaboration: Joint Recall Effects of Friendship and Task Complexity,” Applied Cognitive Psychology 9 (1995) 199–211; Mary S. Weldon and Krystal D. Bellinger, “Collective Memory: Collaborative and Individual Processes in Remembering,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition 23 (1997) 1160–1175; Sarah J. Barber et al., “When Two Is Too Many: Collaborative Encoding Impairs Memory,” Memory & Cognition 38 (2010) 255–264. 40 In the earliest research on collaborative inhibition, attention was focused primarily on the idea that group interaction disrupted the retrieval process (see, e.g., Barbara H. Basden et al., “A Comparison of Group and Individual Remembering: Does Collaboration Disrupt Retrieval Strategies?” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition 23 [1997] 1176–1189). More recently, other factors have been considered (see Sarah J. Barber et al., “Why Two Heads Apart Are Better Than Two Heads Together: Multiple Mechanisms Underlie the Collaborative Inhibition Effect in Memory,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition 41 [2015] 559–566). 41 Collaborative inhibition can be overcome through the proper stimuli (see Masanobu Takahashi and Satoru Saito, “Does Test Delay Eliminate Collaborative Inhibition?” Memory 12 [2010] 722–731; Adam R. Congleton and Suparna Rajaram, “The Influence of Learning Methods on Collaboration: Prior Repeated Retrieval Enhances Retrieval Organization, Abolishes Collaborative Inhibition, and Promotes Post-Collaborative Memory,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 140 [2011] 535–551; Müjde Peker and Ali Tekcan, “The Role of Familiarity Among Group Members in Collaborative Inhibition and Social Contagion,” Social Psychology 40 [2009] 111–118). 39

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With regard to collective remembering in the Scrolls community, this suggests that we should not expect every detail about the Teacher’s life to have been preserved. When the group met together to remember the life of their deceased leader, collaborative inhibition suggests that certain stories would not have been preserved because members of the group would have simply failed to retrieve them. This possibility declines considerably, however, when the participants and the content are taken into account. The results mentioned above have generally derived from experiments with participants who had little to no attachment to the material or to one another. Among friends and families who interact with material that is emotionally significant, “collaborative inhibition is reduced or even eliminated.”42 Another negative consequence is the potential for introducing social contagion. As group members share with one another, it is always possible that one person’s false memories could infect the memories of others. Studies have found that members of a group tend to recall information that they had not experienced, but which had been falsely introduced by a confederate. The views of others can be so impactful, in fact, that participants continue to report misinformation even when they are warned about the confederate’s error.43 In light of this tendency, one must consider the possibility that some details recorded about the Teacher could reflect false memories, which were introduced by one member of the group (possibly the Teacher himself?) and then incorporated into the tradition through the acceptance of others. Despite the various ways that collective memory is negatively impacted from collaborative remembering, this type of recall does offer important benefits to the group. At one level, sharing memories in a group setting can remind members of information they might otherwise forget.44 Even more importantly, collaborative recall shapes a collective memory into a

John Sutton et al., “The Psychology of Memory, Extended Cognition, and Socially Distributed Remembering,” Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 9 (2010) 521–560 (549); cf. Michael Ross et al., “Collaboration Reduces the Frequency of False Memories in Older and Younger Adults,” Psychology and Aging 23 (2008) 85–92; Celia B. Harris et al., “We Remember, We Forget: Collaborative Remembering in Older Couples,” Discourse Processes 48 (2011) 267–303. 43 For evidence of social contagion, see Henry L. Roediger et al., “Social Contagion of Memory,” Psychonomic Bulletin & Review 8 (2001) 365–371; Michelle L. Meade and Henry L. Roediger, “Explorations in the Social Contagion of Memory,” Memory & Cognition 30 (2002) 995–1009; Fiona Gabbert et al., “Memory Conformity: Can Eyewitnesses Influence Each Other’s Memories for an Event?” Applied Cognitive Psychology 17 (2003) 533–543. 44 See Alexandru Cuc et al., “On the Formation of Collective Memories: The Role of a Dominant Narrator,” Memory & Cognition 34 (2006) 752–762 (753). 42

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form that is edifying to the social and moral identity of the community. This occurs through the formation of a body of material that is embraced by the constituents. Studies have shown that when members of groups engage in collaborative discussion about a particular past event, “the recollections of the individuals who made up the discussion group are more similar than they were before the discussion.”45 This brings us to the emerging stages of tradition. The collective memory that is formed through collaborative recall is not the accumulated total of the distinct memories of each individual. Rather, this body of memory has emergent properties.46 When collaborative remembering occurs, the collective memory of the group progressively takes shape, and if the process continues, tradition will eventually emerge.47 Through the formative processes of collaboration, the personal memories of individuals become the collective memory of the group.48 Memories that contribute to the social and moral ethos of the group tend to replace more personalized elements. This explains why idiosyncratic reminiscences of individual eyewitnesses are absent from the Teacher

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Harris et al., “Collaborative Recall and Collective Memory,” 220; cf. Harold E. Yuker, “Group Atmosphere and Memory,” Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 51 (1955) 17–23. On the emergent properties of collective memory, see William Hirst et al., “The Social Construction of the Remembered Self: Family Recounting,” in The Self across Psychology: Self-Recognition, Self-Awareness, and the Self Concept (eds. J. G. Snodgrass and R. L. Thompson; Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 818; New York: New York Academy of Sciences, 1997) 163–188; William Hirst et al., “The Construction of a Collective Memory,” in Constructive Memory (eds. B. Kokinov and W. Hirst; Sofia: New Bulgarian University, 2003) 111–116. This transformation from memory to tradition is observed in classical Athens by Rosalind Thomas, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens (Cambridge Studies in Oral and Literate Culture 18; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 118. See William Hirst, “A Virtue of Memory: The Contribution of Mnemonic Malleability to Collective Memory,” in The Cognitive Neuroscience of the Mind: A Tribute to Michael S. Gazzaniga (eds. P. A. Reuter-Lorenz et al.; Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2010) 139–154; Adam D. Brown et al., “Memory’s Malleability: Its Role in Shaping Collective Memory and Social Identity,” Frontiers in Psychology 3 (2012) Article 257. This distinction is not meant to suggest that memory can be understood in a purely psychological and individualistic manner (cf. Jeffrey K. Olick, “Collective Memory: The Two Cultures,” Sociological Theory 17 [1999] 333–348). As we have already shown, memory is influenced by social and cultural factors even at the cognitive level (see Chapter 8). It is merely a way to distinguish the shape of memory before and after the development of a collective form.

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material.49 It is not because the tradition developed in a way that was driven by present concerns completely unconnected with the memories of individuals.50 Instead, the explanation lies in the fact that “tradition is neurally assimilated such that it displaces individual eyewitness memory: tradition becomes the cognitive basis for individual recollection.”51 While the loss of memory’s individual, eyewitness character might seem like a negative consequence of collaboration, it actually serves an important purpose for the group. By filtering out the individualistic peculiarities, emphasis shifts to the formative and normative elements of the past.52 That is, tradition helps a community understand who they are and how they should live. This fact allows us to better understand the prototypical function of the Teacher in the Scrolls material.53 As the early leader of the community, the Teacher’s life performs a normative function for his later followers through the process of commemoration. It is this form of remembering that “celebrates and safeguards the ideal,” and “lifts from an ordinary historical sequence those

The rapid displacement of the idiosyncrasies of eyewitness memory has been noted in other ancient literature. Commenting on Xenophon’s description of the life of Socrates, Loveday Alexander points out, “Xenophon could justly claim to be writing on the basis of his own personal recollection of Socrates. But a glance at Xenophon’s work makes it clear from the outset that even within one generation, memory, however personal in origin, is already molded by the literary forms and expectations of the larger society” (“Memory and Tradition in the Hellenistic Schools,” in Jesus in Memory: Traditions in Oral and Scribal Perspective [eds. W. H. Kelber and S. Byrskog; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009] 113–153 [121]). 50 When Davies claims that the type of history preserved in the Scrolls “is not to be understood in the sense of reliable recollection, but as a shared understanding of the past that serves to create or sustain a group identity” (“What History Can We Get?” 32–33), his statement requires a slight modification. It is true that the Teacher tradition – like any tradition – is meant to have a formative influence in the community. But this does not imply that the tradition is, therefore, unrelated to the memories of individuals. The Teacher tradition flows out of and is sourced in the memory of group members. Whether (or to what extent) this tradition reflects the historical events it commemorates is a separate question, which must be answered through different criteria. 51 Alan Kirk, “The Formation of the Synoptic Tradition: Cognitive and Cultural Approaches to an Old Problem,” in Social Memory and Social Identity in the Study of Early Judaism and Early Christianity (eds. S. Byrskog et al.; NTOA 116; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016) 49–67 (61; original emphasis). 52 See Jan Assmann, Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies (Cultural Memory in the Present; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006) 38; idem, Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 122–123. 53 See Appendix 2. 49

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extraordinary [persons and] events which embody [a group’s] deepest and most fundamental values.”54 Anthropologists have observed how the process of tradition formation occurs in native groups. One example is noted by Liisa Malkki, who studied the communities of Hutu refugees from Burundi who were driven into exile in Tanzania after an unsuccessful insurrection against the dominant Tutsi group. From her interviews with the refugees, Malkki observed that the group’s account of the violence and dispossession rapidly took on a symbolic tone, forming into what she described as “moral and cosmological ordering stories.”55 She explains, Accounts of these key events very quickly circulated among the refugees, and, often in a matter of days, acquired what can be characterized as ‘standard versions’ in the telling and retelling. These ‘standard versions’ were not simply isolated accounts of particular events, told for the sake of telling and soon to be forgotten. Rather, they were accounts which, while becoming increasingly formulaic, also became more didactic and progressively more implicated in, and indicative of, something beyond them. In this sense, the ‘standard versions’ acted as diagnostic and mnemonic allegories connecting events from everyday life with wider historical processes impinging on the Hutu refugees.56

In this way, the emerging tradition does not severe its ties to the past; it simply adopts and adapts those memories that are most salient for the formation of group identity.57

Barry Schwartz, “The Social Context of Commemoration: A Study in Collective Memory,” Social Forces 61 (1982) 374–402 (377). Cf. idem, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” 11, who notes that, “Commemoration … distinguishes events and persons believed to be deserving of celebration from those deserving of being merely remembered.” In this process, a person or event is “invested with extraordinary significance and assigned a qualitatively distinct place in [the] groups’ [sic] conception of the past” (Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering [Maidenheard: Open ​University Press, 2003] 13). 55 Liisa H. Malkki, Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National ​Cosmology among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1995) 54. 56 Malkki, Purity and Exile, 106. 57 Cf. Qi Wang, “On the Cultural Constitution of Collective Memory,” Memory 16 (2008) 305–317: “for a collective memory to be formed and maintained, it has to be functionally related to the achievement of the group goals of a community, and the content and structure of the memory have to exhibit meaningful relationships to these goals” (306). 54

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9.2.2.2  The Effects of Collaboration on Individual Memory Along with the impact that is produced on the collective memory of the community, collaborative recall also affects the personal memory of individuals. One way that this occurs is by providing a context for facilitating memory. When individuals are required to remember information that their group collaboratively discussed, these memories tend to be much stronger than if an individual had attempted to recall the same information on their own.58 In this way, the group atmosphere appears to solidify the memory of individuals. But the impact on individual memory goes deeper than merely aiding the retrieval process; there are also important consequences once collective memory is formed. As we have demonstrated, the personal memories of individuals shape the collective memory of the group during collaborative recall. At the same time, when collective memory has been formed – and especially once it has solidified into a tradition – it has a reciprocal effect on the personal memories of individuals. That is, collective memory impacts personal memory. This occurs through the frequent rehearsal of past events. It is no surprise to find that memories that are rehearsed, are remembered better than those that are not rehearsed. What researchers have discovered, however, is that retrieving information that has been rehearsed, causes other associated information to be forgotten. This phenomenon is called retrieval-induced forgetting.59 It generally effects the retrieval of semantic information (i.e., general knowledge about the world not drawn from experience), but studies have

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See Helena M. Blumen and Suparna Rajaram, “Influence of Re-Exposure and Retrieval Disruption during Group Collaboration on Later Individual Recall,” Memory 16 (2008) 231–244. Cf. also Barbara H. Basden et al., “Costs and Benefits of Collaborative Remembering,” Applied Cognitive Psychology 14 (2000) 497–507; Suparna Rajaram, “Collaboration Both Hurts and Helps Memory: A Cognitive Perspective,” Current Directions in Psychological Science 20 (2011) 76–81. On retrieval-induced forgetting, see Michael C. Anderson et al., “Remembering Can Cause Forgetting: Retrieval Dynamics in Long-Term Memory,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition 20 (1994) 1063–1087; Michael C. Anderson, “Rethinking Interference Theory: Executive Control and the Mechanisms of Forgetting,” Journal of Memory and Language 49 (2003) 415–445.

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shown that even autobiographical memories are susceptible to this selective amnesia.60 Such a phenomenon could hold out important implications for the memory of the Teacher. When emerging traditions were formed and then repeatedly shared within the community, it is possible that the associative memories of individuals – who may have provided an alternative perspective on the same past events – would have been forgotten. The possibility of this occurrence is underlined by the fact that retrievalinduced forgetting does not require active participation in informationrehearsal; the same effect can occur merely by listening to other parties review the past.61 Therefore, even those who might not have shared within the general assembly could have been impacted by the emerging tradition. This effect helps to further account for the disappearance of eyewitness perspectives within the tradition: as the idiosyncratic, personalized elements in the tradition are eliminated, their absence might go unnoticed by those involved. Since the group has chosen to adopt and rehearse a particular version of events from the past, alternative perspectives become immaterial.

9.3 Conclusion The questions that gave rise to this chapter centered on the absence of identifiable eyewitness characteristics within the pesharim. The assumption underlying these questions was that the personal memories of those involved in historical events would naturally possess certain features that would distinguish them from traditional descriptions that developed over time and could be incorporated into written source materials without any affect to their form. In this way, a strong division is drawn between

The evidence for the effects of retrieval-induced forgetting in autobiographical memory is provided by Amanda J. Banier et al., “Retrieval-Induced Forgetting of Emotional and Unemotional Autobiographical Memories,” Cognition and Emotion 18 (2004) 457–477; Celia B. Harris et al., “Mood and Retrieval-Induced Forgetting of Positive and Negative Autobiographical Memories,” Applied Cognitive Psychology 24 (2010) 399–413; and Celia B. Harris et al., “Autobiographical Forgetting, Social Forgetting, and Situated Forgetting: Forgetting in Context,” in Forgetting (ed. S. D. Salla; Current Issues in Memory; New York: Psychology Press, 2010) 253–284. 61 Alexandru Cuc et al., “Silence Is Not Golden: A Case for Socially-Shared RetrievalInduced Forgetting,” Psychological Science 18 (2007) 727–733; Charles B. Stone et al., “Building Consensus about the Past: Schema-Consistency and Convergence in Socially-Shared Retrieval-Induced Forgetting,” Memory 18 (2010) 170–184. 60

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memory and tradition. Yet, what this chapter has revealed is that memory and tradition function in a reciprocal relationship. Within this process, individual memories of eyewitnesses are passed along in conventional forms and incorporated into a larger body of collective memory; therein personal, idiosyncratic elements are replaced by stable mnemonic forms that contribute to the social and moral identity of the group. Consequently, one cannot judge whether memory has its historical basis in eyewitness testimony simply on the presence or absence of individualized perspectives. While this consideration offers a correction to a common objection raised against the Teacher materials, it still does not completely explain the presence of an established tradition in the decades following the Teacher’s death. The collective memory of the group has the qualities of an emerging tradition; it simply needs to be passed down to others over time. In the next two chapters, we will consider what happens to this emerging tradition as it is transmitted. Does the process of transmission alter the memory of the Teacher, and is collective memory malleable enough to allow for such changes?

10 Tracing the Development of Memory The Transmission of the Teacher Tradition

We have no way of accessing the memories of the Teacher that were transmitted through the community’s oral tradition, and so we cannot draw any conclusions about how this material might have changed over the years. Instead, the issue that we want to address in this chapter is how the process of transmission impacted the image of the Teacher once the group’s memory of him was recorded in written media. The available textual evidence records the memory of the Teacher at various intervals across a 40-year period. To understand something about how these memories were transmitted in the decades following the Teacher’s death, we will perform a diachronic assessment of the one representation of the Teacher that is most widely attested in the group’s collective memory, viz. his role as an instructor. Our analysis will begin in the Damascus Document with the earliest recorded memories of the Teacher’s instructional role and then work backwards toward the latest representations in the pesharim. This will allow us to consider any notable shifts or developments in this important communal tradition. What this survey will reveal is that despite the various functional categories into which the Teacher might be placed,1 there is a general

Cf. Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 197 n. 285: “The teacher was [remembered as] a ‘multi-tasker,’ who combined different roles in his own personality: that of a priest, a new Moses and lawgiver, prophetic commentator, a poet and a sage.” For more on how the Teacher combined distinct elements in his teaching ministry, see George J. Brooke, “The ‘Apocalyptic’ Community, the Matrix of the Teacher and Rewriting Scripture,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 37–54.

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consistency in the collective memory about the instructional role that the Teacher performed in the community. In the extant source materials, he is remembered as the group’s unique and authoritative teacher who provided them with instructions that were essential for their eschatological salvation. The consistency with which this memory was transmitted helps us better understand the nature of the Teacher tradition.

10.1  Collective Memory in the Damascus Document The Damascus Document provides a glimpse into the earliest form of collective memory on the Teacher. From this text, we will attempt to discern the perception of the Teacher’s instructional role by considering various aspects of its representation. One important consideration will be the nature of the task the Teacher is said to have performed. More specifically, we will focus on how his teaching role positioned him in relation to the structure of the community. Another significant aspect of this survey will be the types of instructions the Teacher is said to have imparted. This includes not only the topics he addressed, but also how his teaching was expected to be received by group members. 10.1.1  The Role(s) of the Teacher in the Damascus Document Within the Damascus Document, the Teacher is identified by various titles. Each reveals something unique about how the group remembered his role as authoritative instructor. We will focus on two of these designations: “the Teacher of Righteousness” and “the Teacher of the Community.” 10.1.1.1  “The Teacher of Righteousness” The designation ‫ מורה צדק‬appears twice in the Damascus Document (CD-A 1.11; CD-B 20.32), but there are questions about how this construction should be understood. First, the anarthrous form could be assigned an indeterminate meaning, referring to a particular category (“a teacher of righteousness”). According to this interpretation, the indefinite form would be viewed as an indication that the sobriquet was intended to denote an authoritative position within the group that was held by leaders in succession, rather than a description of a singular

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individual.2 Thus, the teacher of righteousness in question would be one among many who fulfilled this role for the community. While this hypothesis provides a reasonable interpretation of the anarthrous form, the theoretical framework around which it is built is not entirely convincing. The same indefinite form was used in later Jewish sources as a title for various functionaries and leaders,3 but such parallels are too late to be considered relevant to the material from Qumran. This theory was occasionally espoused within an earlier generation of Scrolls scholarship, see, e.g., Bo Reicke, “Die Ta’ām ire-Schriften und die Damaskus-Fragmente,” ST 2 (1948) 45–70 (60); Johannes Hempel, “Die Handschriften vom Toten Meer in ihrem Verhältnis zum Urchristentum,” Unterwegs 6 (1952) 94–99 (97); Isaac Rabinowitz, “The Authorship and Date of the De Vaux Fragment of an Unknown Work,” JBL 71 (1952) 19–32 (31); idem, “The Guides of Righteousness,” VT 8 (1958) 391–404 (401–403); Theodor H. Gaster, The Dead Sea Scriptures in English Translation (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1956) 27–28; Edmund Wilson, The Dead Sea Scrolls 1947–1969 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1969) 67; Edward J. Pryke, “The Identity of the Qumran Sect: A Reconsideration,” NovT 10 (1968) 43–61 (49); George W. Buchanan, “The Priestly Teacher of Righteousness,” RevQ 6 (1969) 553–558; idem, “The Office of the Teacher of Righteousness,” RevQ 9 (1977) 241–243; Jean Starcky, “Les Maîtres de Justice et la chronologie de Qumrân,” in Qumrân: Sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu (ed. M. Delcor; BETL 46; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1978) 249–256. It still continues to find supporters today, e.g., Johann Maier, “Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit,” in Interesse am Judentum: Die Franz-Delitzsch-Vorlesungen 1989–2008 (eds. J. C. de Vos and F. Siegert; MJS 23; Münster: LIT, 2008) 72–103; Heinz-Josef Fabry, “Der ‘Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit’ - eine Gestalt zwischen Ablehnung und Vollmacht. Überlegungen zur frühjüdischen Rezeption der LeidensknechtsThematik,” in Martyriumsvorstellungen in Antike und Mittelalter: Leben oder sterben für Gott? (eds. S. Fuhrmann and R. Grundmann; AJEC 80; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 21–43 (23–24); Reinhard G. Kratz, “The Teacher of Righteousness and His Enemies,” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke (eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017) 515–532. Cf. also Richard A. Freund, Digging through the Bible: Modern Archaeology and the Ancient Bible (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2010) 282–288. 3 The designation ‫ מורה צדק‬was used by the Karaites to describe the coming of Elijah (see Louis Ginzberg, An Unknown Jewish Sect [Moreshet Series 1; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1976] 211–219; Yoram Erder, “The Desert and the Teacher of Righteousness Motifs in the Messianic Doctrine of the Karaite Mourners of Zion,” in Meghillot: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls. V-VI. A Festschrift for Devorah Dimant [eds. M. Bar-Asher and E. Tov; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007] 31–47 [Hebrew]). Its presence has been noted in a number of other Jewish texts up to the modern period (see, e.g., Johann-Christian von Kölichen, “Der ‘Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit’ und Hos 10,12 in einer rabbinischen Handschrift des Mittelalters,” ZAW 74 [1962] 324–327; Buchanan, “The Priestly Teacher of Righteousness,” 553–554; idem, “The Office of the Teacher of Righteousness,” 214–243; Jonathan P. Siegel, “Two Further Medieval References to the Teacher of Righteousness,” RevQ 9 [1978] 437–440; Marc Bregman, “Another Reference to ‘A Teacher of Righteousness’ in Midrashic Literature,” RevQ 10 [1979] 97–100). 2

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Furthermore, the title itself weighs against this suggestion. Not only does the label never appear in the plural (as a reference to the group of those who have held the office),4 but the use of synonymous designations (e.g., “the Teacher of Righteousness,” “the Teacher of the Community,” “the Teacher,” “the Interpreter of Knowledge,” “the Interpreter of the Law,” “the Priest”) suggests that an individual is in view, not an office.5 What is more, if ‫ מורה צדק‬describes an office that was held by a contemporary member of the community, then why are this teacher’s responsibilities not spelled out in the Rule documents, like those of other leaders, and why is he not assigned a present role – rather than just a past and future role – in the life of the community?6 Perhaps the most significant objection to this view, however, is the fact that this designation was applied to only one individual who held a unique referential identity (see below). Another suggestion that has been offered to explain the absence of the article is that the form ‫ מורה צדק‬represents “a developmental stage of the sobriquet” prior to the time when it reached its standardized form (‫)מורה הצדק‬. This proposal contrasts with the previous approach by attributing a unique referential identity to the teacher, while maintaining that the community’s understanding of this individual and the labels they applied to him have evolved over time. The specifics of this theory have been set forward by Matthew A. Collins,7 whose views are grounded in the redaction-critical theories of Philip R. Davies. As pointed out by Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, “A propos du Maître de Justice et du temple de Jérusalem: Deux problèmes de nombre,” RevQ 15 (1991) 265–274 (267). 5 Cf. Samuel Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community (ConBNT 24; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1994) 116. 6 On the individuals who are assigned a leadership role in the life of the community and the duties they performed, see Colin G. Kruse, “Community Functionaries in the Rule of the Community and the Damascus Document: A Test of Chronological Relationships,” RevQ 10 (1981) 543–551; Nathan Jastram, “Hierarchy at Qumran,” in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995, Published in Honour of Joseph M. Baumgarten (eds. M. J. Bernstein et al.; STDJ 23; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 349–376 (356–360); Charlotte Hempel, “Community Structures in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Admission, Organization, Disciplinary Procedures,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment (eds. J. C. VanderKam and P. W. Flint; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 67–92 (79–84). 7 See, e.g., Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls (LSTS 67; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 55–57; cf. also J. David Stark, Sacred Texts and Paradigmatic Revolutions: The Hermeneutical Worlds of the Qumran Sectarian Manuscripts and the Letter to the Romans (JCTC 16; London: Bloomsbury, 2015) 71–72. 4

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According to Collins, “the formulation (and insertion) of [‫]מורה צדק‬ was primarily dependent upon the existence of [‫יורה הצדק‬, CD-A 6.11] already within the pre-Yahidic form of the text.”8 During what Collins labels the “early sectarian period” (ESP), this teacher of righteousness came to be viewed as the fulfillment of an earlier prediction. It was only during the “late sectarian period” (LSP) that the titular use of the sobriquet took a consistent form (‫מורה הצדק‬, “the Teacher of Righteousness”). The merit of this proposal can be assessed in large part on modern interpreters’ ability to assign relative chronological relationships to materials from Qumran. Given the difficulty of this task, it is questionable whether such a strict evolutionary hypothesis can be maintained. This proposal also runs into problems from the lack of consistency in the application of developmental forms. As Joseph L. Angel has noted, “if this is the true direction of development, it remains unclear why the definite article would be added to the scriptural source in the earlier stage (FSP), but removed in the later stage (ESP).”9 To maintain consistency with the model of chronological development that Collins proposes, it would seem more appropriate to argue that the indefinite form ‫מורה צדק‬ (CD-A 1.11) preceded the definite form ‫( יורה הצדק‬CD-A 6.11). But if neither of these suggestions brings us closer to the meaning of the designation, how should we understand the anarthrous form? It is important to recognize that in ancient Hebrew, the article was not a formal marker of determination.10 Although the language seems to have been developing in this direction, throughout biblical Hebrew and on into Mishnaic Hebrew, formal consistency had not been reached.11 Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 56. Joseph L. Angel, “Review of Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls,” H-Judaic, H-Net Reviews. September, 2010. http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=25652. 10 See James Barr, “‘Determination’ and the Definite Article in Biblical Hebrew,” JSS 34 (1989) 307–335. This stands in contrast to traditional ways of introducing the function of the article in Hebrew. For instance, in the introductory grammar of John F. A. Sawyer, it is claimed that the article “makes the noun definite” (A Modern Introduction to Biblical Hebrew [Stocksfield: Oriental Press, 1976] 17 [original emphasis]). Evidence for the contradiction of this “rule” can be found in any standard reference grammar (see, e.g., Emil Kautzsch, ed., Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar [2nd edn.; trans. A. E. Cowley; Oxford: Clarendon, 1910] 404–410; Paul Joüon and Takamitsu Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew [2nd edn.; SubBi 27; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2006] §137–140). 11 On the development of the article as a marker of definiteness, see Stefan Schorch, “Determination and the Use of the Definite Article in the Samaritan and in the Masoretic Text of the Torah,” JSS 48 (2003) 287–320. 8 9

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Therefore, to assess the definiteness of the construction, we must consider how the form ‫ מורה צדק‬is used in its present context. There are a few factors that must play into any decision. First, it is important to recognize that ‫ מורה צדק‬is used to refer to a specific historical individual who held a unique title within the community. This person is the intended referent of each of the occurrences of the designation ‫ מורה‬in the Damascus Document (CD-A 1.11; CD-B 20.1, 28, 32; cf. CD-B 20.14). At the time when the text underwent its final redaction, this individual was remembered as a prominent instructor from the community’s past whom God had raised up to lead the group by providing regulations crucial for the members’ ultimate salvation. The only other individual to whom similar terminology is attached is “the one who will teach righteousness (‫ )יורה הצדק‬in the last days” (CD-A 6.11). If, as some have argued, this description refers to the Teacher, then his status remains unrivaled.12 But even if this description reflects the expectation of another figure who will perform a similar function in the future,13 it would not take away from the Teacher’s unique referential identity. What is more, there appear to be other instances in the Damascus Document where the anarthrous form carries a definite sense. This seems to be the case with ‫ מטיף כזב‬in CD-A 8.13. It is possible to contrast this anarthrous form with the articular form found in the pesharim (‫)מטיף הכזב‬14 Some have claimed that ‫ יורה הצדק‬refers to a future (resurrected) coming of the Teacher of Righteousness (Charles T. Fritsch, The Qumrân Community: Its History and Scrolls [New York: Macmillan, 1956] 81–82; André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran [Oxford: Blackwell, 1961] 131 n. 6; John M. Allegro, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Reappraisal [2nd edn.; Baltimore, MD: Penguin, 1964] 167). Others argue that the Teacher of Righteousness was perceived by the community as the fulfillment of a prior expectation that someone would come to teach righteousness (Philip R. Davies, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the ‘End of Days’,” RevQ 13 [1988] 313–317; Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 44–47). 13 On this interpretation of “the one who will teach righteousness,” see Michael A. Knibb, “The Teacher of Righteousness–A Messianic Title?” in A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History (eds. P. R. Davies and R. T. White; JSOTSup 100; Sheffield: JSOT, 1990) 51–65, and John J. Collins, “Teacher and Messiah? The One Who Will Teach Righteousness at the End of Days,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. E. C. Ulrich and J. C. VanderKam; CJA 10; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994) 193–210. 14 See 1QpHab 10.9. According to the editio princeps, the same phrase (‫ )מטיף הכזב‬also appears in 1QpMic 10 4 (see Józef T. Milik, “Commentaire de Michée,” in Qumran Cave 1 [eds. D. Barthélemy and J. T. Milik; DJD 1; Oxford: Clarendon, 1955] 77–80 [78]; but cf. the preliminary publication, Józef T. Milik, “Fragments d’un Midrash de 12

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and thereby to argue that the latter represents a more developed, standardized usage. But, at times, the articular form is present in the Damascus Document as well, e.g., ‫איש הכזב‬, “the Man of Deception” (CD-B 20.15; cf. 1QpHab 2.1–2; 5.11; 4QpPsa 1–10 i 18; 1–10 iv 14). In fact, if “the Man of Deception” is the same as “the Spreader of Deception” (which seems to be the case),15 then it would demonstrate that the author(s)/ editor(s) of Damascus Document chose to vary not only the phraseology of this sobriquet but also its articular form. This consideration, along with the previous one, leads us to the conclusion that the anarthrous form in CD-A 1.11 and CD-B 20.32 (‫ )מורה צדק‬carries a definite sense with a unique referential identity (“the Teacher of Righteousness”),16 and in each case, the form seems to reflect a stylistic choice on the part of the final author(s)/editor(s) of the Damascus Document.17 10.1.1.2  “The Teacher of the Community” At one place in the Damascus Document, the Teacher is referred to as ‫( מורה היחיד‬CD-B 20.1).18 According to this reading, the adjective ‫יחיד‬, which means “only” or “unique” (cf. Gen 22:2; Judg 11:34; Jer 6:26; Prov 4:3), Michée dans les manuscrits de Qumran,” RB 59 [1952] 412–418 [414], which reads ‫)מיטיף כזב‬, although the reading has been disputed (see Jean Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” RevQ 3 [1962] 505–538 [516]; Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books [CBQMS 8; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979] 60). From the photograph (PAM M40.437), it would appear that this reading is plausible. 15 This is the position that is adopted by most scholars (see, e.g., Timothy H. Lim, “Liar,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000] 493–494; James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002] 94–97). 16 Some have reached a similar conclusion based on the fact that in poetic contexts definite forms often lack the article (e.g., Timothy H. Lim, Pesharim [CQS 3; London/ New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002] 75; Jutta Jokiranta, “The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context [ed. P. F. Esler; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006] 254–263 [262]). Yet, it seems like a stretch to label this portion of the Damascus Document as poetry. 17 Another possibility is that the anarthrous form represents a time before the designation reached a fixed form (see Annette Steudel, “Dating Exegetical Texts from Qumran,” in Dynamics of Language and Exegesis at Qumran [eds. D. Dimant and R. G. Kratz; FAT 2/35; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009] 39–53 [49–50]). 18 Some claim that a different individual is in view at this point (Leonhard Rost, “Der gegenwärtige Stand der Erforschung der in Palästina neu gefundenen hebräischen Handschriften, 23: Das Verhältnis von ‘Damaskusschrift’ und ‘Sektenrolle’,” TL 77 [1952] 723–726; Ephraim Wiesenberg, “Chronological Data in the Zadokite

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is taken to function as an attributive genitive and is, thus, translated “the unique Teacher.”19 Such a designation is thought to emphasize the special status that is attributed to the Teacher.20 In light of the schism that the Damascus Document records, the pertinent question (and one which the  text seeks to answer on a number of occasions) is the authority of the Teacher and his unrivaled ability to communicate truth to his community. However, there is some debate about the form and function of this designation. The term (‫ )היחיד‬appears two other times in the subsequent lines, and in each case, it is difficult to attribute this same meaning. In one instance, members of the group are referred to as ‫( אנשי היחיד‬CD-B 20.32). It is possible to render this phrase, “the men of the Unique One.”21 Where the difficulty arises is in reconciling this interpretation with a designation found through the literature from Qumran: ‫“( אנשי היחד‬the men of the community”).22 Translators regularly exhibit inconsistency in their approach toward these two phrases. Rather than translating ‫ אנשי היחיד‬as

Fragments,” VT 5 [1955] 284–308 [305–308]; Johannes Hempel, Die Texte von Qumran in der heutigen Forschung. Weitere Mitteilungen über Text und Auslegung der am Nordwestende des Toten Meeres gefundenen hebräischen Handschriften [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962] 340). Most, however, recognize that the ‫ מורה היחיד‬refers to the same Teacher that referenced in the surrounding context. 19 See, e.g., Solomon Schechter, Documents of Jewish Sectaries, vol. 1: Fragments of a Zadokite Work (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910) xliii–xliv; DupontSommer, Essene Writings from Qumran, 139; Florentino García Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated: The Qumran Texts in English (2nd edn.; Leiden: Brill; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996) 46. According to Chaim Rabin, the reading ‫מורה היחיד‬ (as opposed to ‫ )מורה היחד‬may find support from the mention of μονογενοῦς προφήτου in T.Benj. 9.2 (see Chaim Rabin, “The ‘Teacher of Righteousness’ in the ‘Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs’?” JJS 3 [1952] 127–128; idem, The Zadokite Documents: I. The Admonition. II. The Laws [2nd edn.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1958] 37 n. 1). 20 Those who have adopted this view include: Per Wallendorff, Rättfärdighetens lärare: En exegetisk undersökning (Helsingfors: Aarhus Stiftsbogtrykkeri 1964) 67–68; Rainer Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer. Eine Untersuchung zum Ursprung der Evangelien-Überlieferung (3rd edn.; WUNT 2/7; Tübingen: Mohr, 1988) 264; Hartmut Stegemann, “‘The Teacher of Righteousness’ and Jesus: Two Types of Religious Leadership in Judaism at the Turn of the Era,” in Jewish Civilization in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (ed. S. Talmon; Philadelphia, PA: Trinity, 1991) 196–213 (209–210); Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History, 90–91 n. 273. 21 This is the translation offered by Ben Zion Wacholder, The New Damascus Document: The Midrash on the Eschatological Torah of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Reconstruction, Translation and Commentary (STDJ 56; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 49. 22 E.g., 1QS 5.1, 3, 16; 6.21; 7.20, 24; 8.16; 9.6, 7, 10, 19; 1Q31 1 1; 4QpIsae 9 3; 4Q177 5-6 1; 4Q252 5.5; 4Q254 4 4; 4Q256 9.8; 4Q258 1.7, 8; 6.5; 8.3; 4Q259 2.7; 4Q284a 2 4; 4Q286 20 4.

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“men of the Unique One,” consistent with their rendering of CD-B 20.1, Baumgarten and Schwartz take the phrase to mean, “men of the community.”23 It is even more difficult to maintain consistency with the second usage in CD-B 20.14, where one finds the label ‫יורה היחיד‬. While some translate the phrase identically to 20.1, in this case, the adjective ‫היחיד‬ cannot perform an attributive function (“the unique Teacher”); instead, it must serve as the object of the participle ‫“( יורה‬the one who teaches the unique one”; cf. CD-A 6.11). Given the difficulties surrounding an attributive function for ‫ היחיד‬in CD-B 20.1, some have suggested that the term is better understood as an objective genitive. In this case, “the unique one” would be distinguished from “the one who teaches,” with the former (presumably) functioning as a designation for the community.24 This communal reading of the passage is made even more explicit in some textual reconstructions, which propose emending the text to ‫“( מורה היחד‬the Teacher of the community”),25 a reading that is assumed in various translations.26 According to Moses H. Segal, this would restore the original ‫מורה היחד‬, which was changed to ‫ מורה היחיד‬by the “medieval copyist of CDC.”27 Such a reading

See Joseph M. Baumgarten and Daniel R. Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 2: Damascus Document, War Scroll, and Related Documents (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/Westminster John Knox Press, 1995) 4–57 (37). Similarly, Michael O. Wise et al., The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (2nd edn.; San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 2005) 59–60, translate ‫ מורה היחיד‬as “the Beloved Teacher” but ‫ אנשי היחיד‬as “the members of the Yahad.” 24 See, e.g., Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher, 116–117; Stark, Sacred Texts and Paradigmatic Revolutions, 73–74. 25 See Elisha Qimron, “The Text of CDC,” in The Damascus Document Reconsidered (ed. M. Broshi; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1992) 9–49 (47 nn. 1, 4); cf. also Charlotte Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction (STDJ 29; Leiden: Brill, 1998) 109 n. 11; Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 59–60. 26 Jean Carmignac et al., Les textes de Qumran traduits et annotés, II: Régle de la Congrégation, Recueil des bénédictions, Interprétations de prophètes et de psaumes, Document de Damas, Apocryphe de la Genèse, Fragments des grottes 1 et 4 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1963) 178; Eduard Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran [I]: Hebräisch und Deutsch (4th edn.; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1986) 105; Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community (CCWJC 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 70; Géza Vermès, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (7th edn.; London: Penguin, 2011) 136. 27 Moses H. Segal, “The Habakkuk ‘Commentary’ and the Damascus Fragments: A Historical Study,” JBL 70 (1951) 131–147 (132). 23

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would be consistent with the frequent use of ‫ יחד‬as a nomen rectum through the Qumran literature.28 Regardless of whether textual emendation is conjectured, it seems clear that the focus of this title is placed on the Teacher’s role as instructor (“Teacher of the community”), rather on any unique status that he might possess (“Unique Teacher”). Nevertheless, he is the only one who bears this title in the Qumran literature, and in this way, one could view his role as unique. 10.1.2  The Instructions of the Teacher in the Damascus Document The Damascus Document remembers the Teacher of Righteousness as the preeminent source of instruction within the Scrolls community. What remains to be considered is the nature of his instructions. On what subject did the Teacher instruct the community? Was he remembered as a sage who provided wisdom?29 Did his teaching relate to the laws of Torah, or was he primarily concerned with providing the group with a prophetic perspective on contemporary circumstances? Further, how did the Teacher’s instructions relate to prior revelations preserved in the Jewish scriptures? Did he attempt to offer a completely new set of standards, which departed from previous regulations, or were his

28

29

For a list of occurrences, see Carsten Claussen and Michael Thomas Davis, “The Concept of Unity at Qumran,” in Qumran Studies: New Approaches, New Questions (eds. M. T. Davis and B. A. Strawn; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007) 232–253 (244–245). Various scholars have described the Teacher of Righteousness as a wisdom teacher (e.g., Matthew J. Goff, Discerning Wisdom: The Sapiential Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls [VTSup 116; Leiden: Brill, 2007] 6; Leo G. Perdue, The Sword and the Stylus: An Introduction to Wisdom in the Age of Empires [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008] 374). This description is best understood in light of the great diversity in the form and worldview of Jewish wisdom during the Second Temple period. Understood more broadly, wisdom is best defined simply as “instructional material” (John J. Collins, “Wisdom Reconsidered, in Light of the Scrolls,” DSD 4 [1997] 265–281 [281]). This took on a unique form in the Scrolls community: “Wisdom for the Qumran sectarians derives chiefly from divine revelation, and not so much from empirical observation of creation and human relations” (Daniel J. Harrington, Wisdom Texts from Qumran [London: Routledge, 1996] 80). Some have, thus, referred to the Teacher as providing his community with “charismatic wisdom” (Adam S. van der Woude, “Wisdom at Qumran,” in Wisdom in Ancient Israel: Essays in Honour of J. A. Emerton [eds. J. Day et al.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995] 244–256 [256]). In this way, “[t]he Teacher of Righteousness was a wisdom teacher, just as surely as Ben Sira, even though they had different concepts of what constituted wisdom” (Collins, “Wisdom Reconsidered,” 280).

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The Processes of Memory

instructions intended to explain existing traditions? Questions like these will help us better understand the types of instructions provided by the Teacher, and they will help us determine how his teaching might have been received by the community. 10.1.2.1  The Subject of the Teacher’s Instructions The nature of the Teacher’s instruction is a question that was recently taken up by Devorah Dimant. Departing from the traditional understanding of the Teacher,30 she claims that “the Teacher of Righteousness is never presented as the expounder of the Torah.” She argues, instead, that “the ‘sectarian’ literature explicitly assigns Torah interpretations to the Interpreter of the Torah, a figure distinct from the Teacher of Righteousness.” Further, she notes that “[e]ven the prescription in CD XX, 32, ‘and they listen to the voice of a Teacher of Righteousness’ (‫ )והאזינו לקול מורה צדק‬does not necessarily refer to the Teacher, or a Torah exegesis.” “It may refer,” she contends, “to the ordinances of the community.” Even the reference to the Teacher sending the Torah to the Wicked Priest (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–9) is thought to “allude to the particular teaching of the community rather than to the Torah of Moses.”31 What we will discover, however, is that the Damascus Document seems to preserve a somewhat different memory of the Teacher’s instructions than the one proposed by Dimant. In this text, the Teacher is remembered as one who was engaged in the interpretation of Torah, and from his interpretive activities, he is said to have produced ordinances, which the members of the group were expected to follow. Consequently, the Teacher’s instructions were distinct from the Torah; yet they were closely connected to it and naturally derived from it. The basis for this

Most recognize that the Teacher interpreted the Torah alongside of the prophetic scriptures. See, e.g., Michael A. Fishbane, “Use, Authority and Interpretation of Mikra at Qumran,” in Mikra: Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. M. J. Mulder; CRINT 2/1; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1988) 339–376 (264, 361); Timothy H. Lim, Holy Scripture in the Qumran Commentaries and Pauline Letters (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997) 117; John R. Levinson, “The Two Spirits in Qumran Theology,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 2: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Qumran Community (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006) 169–194 (185). 31 Devorah Dimant, “Exegesis and Time in the Pesharim from Qumran,” REJ 168 (2009) 373–393, reprinted in Devorah Dimant, History, Ideology and Bible Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Collected Studies (FAT 90; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014) 315–332 (318 n. 19). 30

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253

representative image of the Teacher stems from his titles as well as explicit statements made about his activities. The title ‫“( דורש התורה‬the Interpreter of the Law”) appears twice in the Damascus Document. It is used in CD-A 7.18 (//4Q266 3 iii 19 and 4Q269 5 2), where it introduces a quotation from Num 24:17: “A star has appeared out of Jacob and a staff has arisen from Israel.” The star is identified as ‫דורש התורה‬, and it is stated that “he will come to Damascus” (CD-A 7.19). The temporal aspect of the attributive participle ‫ הבא‬is difficult to discern and must be judged on the basis of contextual clues.32 Some believe that it indicates past time: “the Interpreter of the Law who came to Damascus.”33 This is possible, but given the Interpreter’s connection with the “Prince of the Congregation” (CD-A 7.19–21), a future messianic figure, it is probably best to understand the participle as expressing a future sense: “the Interpreter of the Law will come to Damascus.”34 Elsewhere, reference is made to “the Branch of David, who will arise with the Interpreter of the Law (‫)דורש התורה‬, who […] in Zi[on in the] latter days” (4Q174 1–2 i 11).35 These two figures represent the diarchic messianism of Qumran.36 Therein, a priestly Aaronic figure is

Most studies of Qumran Hebrew have concluded that verbal tense functioned in much the same way that it did in the Hebrew Bible (cf. John Charles Kesterson, “Tense Usage and Verbal Syntax in Selected Qumran Documents” [PhD diss., Catholic University of America, 1984]), and this includes the participle (Gregor Geiger, Das hebräische Partizip in den Texten aus der judäischen Wüste [STDJ 101; Leiden: Brill, 2012] 518). In its attributive form, the participle “expresses neither time nor aspect: the time and the aspect can only be deduced from the context” (Joüon and Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, 383; cf. Bruce K. Waltke and Michael P. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax [Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990] 623). 33 See, e.g., Chaim Milikowsky, “Again: Damascus in Damascus Document and in Rabbinic Literature,” RevQ 11 (1982) 97–106 (104); Philip R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant: An Interpretation of the “Damascus Document” (JSOTSup 25; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982) 147; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “The Damascus Document Revisited,” RB 92 (1985) 223–246 (242); Stephen Hultgren, From the Damascus Covenant to the Covenant of the Community: Literary, Historical, and Theological Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 66; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 100 n. 45. 34 Cf. Adam S. van der Woude, Die messianischen Vorstellungen der Gemeinde von Qumran (SSN 3; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1957) 53, 57; Knibb, The Qumran Community, 63. 35 The same designation is also used in 4Q177 11 5, but the text is too fragmentary to draw any firm conclusions about its referent. Variations of this label appear in the Community Rule (1QS 6.6: ‫‏איש דורש בתורה‬, “one who is engaged in the study of the law”; 1QS 8.12: ‫הדורש‬, “the Interpreter”). 36 See further K. G. Kuhn, “The Two Messiahs of Aaron and Israel,” NTS 1 (1954–55) 168–180; J. Liver, “The Doctrine of the Two Messiahs in Sectarian Literature in the Time of the Second Commonwealth,” HTR 52 (1959) 149–185; Frank Moore Cross, 32

254

The Processes of Memory

placed alongside a regal Davidic figure (cf. 1QS 9.11; 1QSb 2.11–14). This same idea seems to be reflected in the Damascus Document, where multiple references are made to ‫משיח אהרן וישראל‬, “the messiah(s) of Aaron and Israel” (CD-A 12.23–13.1; 14.19; CD-B 19.10–11; 20.1).37 As such, the “Interpreter of the Law” would be identified with this Aaronic messiah.38 In another place, however, the Damascus Document refers to ‫דורש התורה‬ not as a future figure, but as someone from the community’s past. The history of the community is rehearsed and interpreted in light of Num 21:18 (“the princes dug the well, the nobles of the people dug it with a ruler’s staff”). According to the text, “the ruler’s staff (‫ )המחוקק‬is the Interpreter of the Law” (CD-A 6.7 [//4Q267 2 15]). Further, in a play on the root ‫חקק‬, it is stated that “the nobles of the people were the ones who came to dig the well by the statutes (‫)במחוקקות‬, which the ruler’s staff ordained (‫ )חקק המחוקק‬to walk in them during the time era of wickedness” (CD-A 6.8–10). In this passage, “[t]he point being made by means of the word-play is that those who joined the movement after it had come into being were under an obligation to obey the law as it was defined by ‘the interpreter’.”39 Thus, it would appear that this figure played an important and authoritative role in the early stages of the group’s formation. Based on the contention that CD-A 6.2–11 derives from an earlier stratum of the Damascus Document, which predates the Teacher recension,

“Notes on the Doctrine of the Two Messiahs at Qumran and the Extracanonical Daniel Apocalypse (4Q246),” in Current Research and Technological Developments on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Conference on the Texts from the Judean Desert, Jerusalem, 30 April, 1995 (eds. D. W. Parry and S. D. Ricks; STDJ 20; Leiden: Brill, 1996) 1–13; Craig A. Evans, “Diarchic Messianism in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Messianism of Jesus of Nazareth,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after Their Discovery 1947–1997: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (eds. L. H. Schiffman et al.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society & The Shrine of the Book, 2000) 558–567; John J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: Messianism in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (2nd edn.; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) 74–83. 37 There are places in both the Hebrew Bible (Gen 14:10; Judg 7:25) as well as the Dead Sea Scrolls (1QM 3.13–14) where a singular noun is in construct with two nouns and functions as though it were plural (see Martin G. Abegg, “The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment [eds. P. W. Flint and J. C. VanderKam; Leiden: Brill, 1998] 325–358 [334–335]). 38 Cf. Adam S. van der Woude, “Le Maître de justice et les deux Messies de la communauté de Qumrân,” in Le Secte de Qumrân et les origines du christianisme (ed. J. P. M. van der Ploeg; RechBib 4; Paris: Desclée De Brouwer, 1959) 121–134, although his identification of this eschatological figure with Elijah is unlikely. 39 Knibb, The Qumran Community, 50.

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255

Davies has argued that the ‫ דורש התורה‬mentioned in CD-A 6.7 was a historical figure who preceded the Teacher of Righteousness in the leadership of the community.40 This individual, he contends, gave instructions to the community that were followed prior to the Teacher’s arrival. When the Teacher joined the group, he was then heralded as the fulfillment of this anticipated (messianic) teacher. One major problem with this view is that the Scrolls fail to make any reference to the Teacher fulfilling such an expectation.41 Furthermore, if this were the case, it would add another prominent figure to the group’s already complicated history, and as John J. Collins has noted, “[i]t is gratuitous to multiply teachers without cause.”42 The parallels between CD-A 1.1–11 and 6.2–11 are sufficient to indicate that the Interpreter of the Law is the same figure as the Teacher of Righteousness whom God raised up to guide the community in the way of his heart.43 As such, it marks out the primary task of the Teacher as that of instructing the community with regard to the interpretation of Torah. 10.1.2.2  The Interpretive Basis of the Teacher’s Instructions On its own, the label ‫ דורש התורה‬need not connote any more than one who closely reads through the Torah in an effort to better understand its contents and to better follow its precepts (cf. Ezra 7:10). In the Damascus Document, however, the process of interpreting the Torah requires something more. Most important among them, God must provide access to the proper meaning and specific application of the Torah, access which would otherwise be concealed from humanity. From the perspective of the Scrolls community, their group had been granted exclusive access

See Davies, The Damascus Covenant, 124; idem, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 35, 47–48; idem, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the ‘End of Days’,” 314–315. Others have followed this proposal, e.g., Murphy-O’Connor, “The Damascus Document Revisited,” 241; Phillip R. Callaway, The History of the Qumran Community: An Investigation (JSPSup 3; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988) 107–116; idem, “Qumran Origins: From the Doresh to the Moreh,” RevQ 14 (1990) 637–650 (642–643); Michael O. Wise, A Critical Study of the Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (SAOC 49; Chicago, IL: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1990) 184. 41 For a fuller rebuttal to Davies’ proposal, see Knibb, “The Teacher of Righteousness–A Messianic Title?” 59–60. 42 Collins, “Teacher and Messiah?” 194. 43 See further Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher, 126–127. 40

256

The Processes of Memory

to these mysteries. As the text claims, “out of those who held fast to God’s ordinances, who remained of them, God established his covenant with Israel forever, revealing to them hidden things (‫ )נסתרות‬in which all Israel had strayed: his holy Sabbaths, the glorious appointed times, his righteous testimonies, his true ways, and the desires of his will, which a person shall do and live by them” (CD-A 3.12–16; cf. 15.13–14).44 The reception of this divine revelation required a conduit through whom God could discloses the hidden mysteries. In the Damascus Document, this is the role assigned to the Teacher.45 While the specific method through which this information was made available is not disclosed, the Teacher’s ability to obtain divine revelation is assumed. This fact is important for understanding the instructions he provides. 10.1.2.3  The Authoritative Function of the Teacher’s Instructions The Damascus Document references the instructions of the Teacher on two separate occasions, and in both cases, it describes them as binding regulations that guide the conduct of his followers. These teachings are first mentioned in CD-A 6.8-10, where it is stated that the nobles dug the well “by the statutes (‫ )במחוקקות‬which the ruler’s staff ordained (‫)חקק‬.” The qal stem of ‫ חקק‬is employed elsewhere to refer to God’s pronouncement of commands (1Q25 1 4), although it can represent the enactment of human ordinances that regulate the social life of a community (Isa 10:1).46 Elsewhere in the Damascus Document, it describes a divine decree with stipulations and ensuing punishments for disobedience (4Q266 2 i 3; 4Q268 1 5; 4Q270 2 ii 18). Sometimes this involves recording the statutes on a scroll or some other form of durable media (4Q417 1 i 14; 4Q418 43–45 i 11).

44 45

46

Translation from Baumgarten and Schwartz, “Damascus Document (CD),” 17. Cf. George J. Brooke, “Moving Mountains: From Sinai to Jerusalem,” in The Significance of Sinai: Traditions about Sinai and Divine Revelation in Judaism and Christianity (eds. G. J. Brooke et al.; TBN 12; Leiden: Brill, 2008) 73–90: “the Law of Moses by itself requires appropriate priestly elucidation, interpretation which itself has also been revealed. To some extent, then, Moses and his Law were compromised from the outset; there is the need for an Interpreter of the Law (dwrš htwrh), whether the Teacher of Righteousness or another” (84). See also Cf. Matthew J. Goff, “Students of God in the House of Torah: Education in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Second Temple Jewish ‘Paideia’ in Context (eds. J. M. Zurawski and G. Boccaccini; BZNW 228; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017) 71–89 (77). HALOT 347. See further Jack P. Lewis, “‫ח ַקק‬,” ָ in Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (eds. R. L. Harris et al.; Chicago, IL: Moody, 1980) 316–318.

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The specific type of stipulations that are envisioned in CD-A 6.8–10 is difficult to determine, however. They are described with the rare nominal form ‫מחוקקח‬, which appears to be a play on the title ‫“( המחוקק‬the ruler’s staff”). Since “digging the well” is identified as the group’s attempt to properly observe the Torah (CD-A 6.4–5), and the statutes of the Teacher are the means (‫ )ב‬by which they are able to do so, then it would appear that the instructions of the Teacher performed an explanatory function. They represent a set of statutes that prescribe how the Torah was to be interpreted and followed. “When the Qumran writings insist that the sectarians must observe the Law, they mean the Law as it was interpreted by the Teacher.”47 Further clarification on the nature of these statutes is provided in CD-B 20.27–33. The text reads, But all who hold fast to these ordinances (‫)משפטים‬, going out and coming in according to the Torah; who obey the voice of the Teacher; who confess before God, ‘We have sinned; we have acted wickedly, we and our ancestors, by living contrary to the statutes of the covenant (‫)חקי הברית‬. Your judgments against us are just and true’; who do not raise a hand against his holy statutes (‫)חקי קדשו‬, his righteous ordinances (‫)משפטי צדקו‬, and his reliable testimonies (‫;)עדוות אמתו‬ who have been instructed in the former ordinances (‫ )משפטים הראשונים‬by which the men of the congregation were governed; who listen the voice of the Teacher of Righteousness; who do not forsake the righteous statutes (‫ )חקי הצדק‬when they hear them, they will rejoice and exult and be strong in heart.

Within this list of criteria, the Teacher of Righteousness is mentioned twice (CD-B 20.28, 32).48 In both cases, the readers’ (or hearers’) responsibility involves “listening to” (‫[ שמע‬l. 28] and ‫[ אזן‬l. 32]) his voice.

47

48

Raymond E. Brown, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the Messiah(s),” in The Scrolls and Christianity: Historical and Theological Significance (ed. M. Black; Theological Collections 11; London: SPCK, 1969) 37–44 (39–40). This proper observance of the law came to be characterized as ‫צדק‬, “righteousness” (cf. CD-A 1.1, 16; 4.17; CD-B 20.17). See further Benno Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew and His World of Thought (SNTSMS 41; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980) 17–23; John Kampen, “‘Righteousness’ in Matthew and the Legal Texts from Qumran,” in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995, Published in Honour of Joseph M. Baumgarten (eds. M. J. Bernstein et al.; STDJ 23; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 479–487 (471). Some believe that ‫( לקול מורה‬CD-B 20.28) is meant to refer to God, not the Teacher of Righteousness (so, e.g., Albert-Marie Denis, Les themes de connaissance dans le document de Damas [Studia Hellenistica 15; Louvain: Publications universitaires de Louvain, 1967] 176; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “A Literary Analysis of Damascus Document XIX,33–XX,34,” RB 79 [1972] 544–564 559 n. 50; Knibb, The Qumran Community, 76; Callaway, The History of the Qumran Community, 114; John

258

The Processes of Memory

It is instructive to consider how this same phrase is used elsewhere in the Damascus Document. In CD-A 3.7–8, it describes the disobedience of the Israelites in the wilderness. The text states that “they did not obey the voice (‫ )שמעו לקול‬of their creator.” The specifics of what they failed to do is explained as “[observing] the commandments of their teacher [i.e., God].” So, as it does in the Hebrew Bible (cf. Exod 19:5; Num 14:22; Deut 8:20), listening to the voice of God relates to following divine instructions. But this language also appears with reference to God’s servants. In 4Q266 1a-b 15–16, mention is made of those who “[did not obey] the voice (‫ )]שמעו[ לקול‬of Moses.” While the surrounding context is fragmentary, the passage seems to proceed by further describing this defiance as making false statements about “statutes and commandments of God (l. 17).”49 Presumably, then, listening to the voice of Moses meant keeping the commands that God delivered through him. Based on these parallels, one could deduce that obeying the voice of the Teacher of Righteousness meant following the statutes that God revealed to him.50 As such, the Damascus Document preserves the memory of an established set of ordinances believed to have been prescribed by the Teacher regulating the life of the Scrolls community in the years following the Teacher’s death. A point of particular importance is the purpose that these statues serve in the community. The Damascus Document sets forth a promise to those who meet all of the prescribed criteria: “they will rejoice and exult and be strong in heart” (CD-B 20.33). But the next line makes it clear that this reward represents much more than internal satisfaction. This rejoicing relates to the fact that “they will prevail over all the inhabitants of the earth,” and that “God will make atonement for them and they will experience his salvation” (CD-B 20.33–34). The statutes of the Teacher, therefore, are held up alongside the Torah in a position that is distinct, yet equally authoritative. Fidelity to his instructions was thought to play a crucial role in a person’s ultimate eschatological deliverance.

49

50

Yueh-Han Yieh, One Teacher: Jesus’ Teaching Role in Matthew’s Gospel Report [BZNW 124; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004] 115). The parallel reference in CD-B 20.32 (‫ )לקול מורה צדק‬makes this unlikely, however. In contrast, 4Q378 26 3 refers to “the Council of the Most High” who “­listened to the voice (‫ )הק[ש]יבו לקול‬of Moses.” Florentino García Martínez, “Beyond the Sectarian Divide: The ‘Voice of the Teacher’ as an Authority-Conferring Strategy in Some Qumran Texts,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts (eds. S. Metso et al.; STDJ 92; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 227–244, claims that this expression “is used as a strategy to give authority to the norms of the group” (233).

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259

10.2  Collective Memory in the Pesharim Depending on the text in question and its assigned date,51 the pesharim provide a (fragmentary) glimpse into the way that the Teacher was remembered a few decades after the Damascus Document. What is noteworthy is that there is very little diachronic development with regard to the instructional role assigned to the Teacher. The pesharim do, however, offer a few new points of emphasis: the Teacher is now described as a priest, a much greater focus is placed on his role in interpreting prophetic literature, and mention is made of the specific methods used by the Teacher to obtain divine revelation. These points are not explicitly mentioned in the Damascus Document, yet one could make the case that they are implied in some instances. Our survey of collective memory in the pesharim, much like with the Damascus Document, will focus on the instructional role that is ascribed to the Teacher as well as the nature of his instructions. 10.2.1  The Role(s) of the Teacher in the Pesharim We will begin by exploring the Teacher’s role as community i­nstructor. The memory of this function can be accesses, in part, by the titles that are found throughout the commentaries. There are three designations by which this instructional role is emphasized in the pesharim. 10.2.1.1  “The Teacher of Righteousness” The title by which this early community leader is most commonly referenced in the pesharim is ‫“( מורה הצדק‬the Teacher of Righteousness”).52 Most recognize that the name arose through the group’s interaction with their

51 52

On the dating of the pesharim, see Chapter 4. In most cases, both terms (or at least portions of both terms) are visible (1QpHab 1.13; 2.2 [which reads ‫ ;]מורה הצדקה‬5.10; 7.4; 8.3; 9.9–10; 11.5; 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15; 1–10 iv 8; 4QpPsb 1 4; 2 2; 4Q172 7 1). In a few instances, only (a portion of) one word from this title is visible due to lacunae (see 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 19; 1–10 iv 27; 4QpIsac 21 6). In the editio princeps, 1QpMic 10 6 [10 4 in Horgan] is said to read ‫( מורי הצדק‬Milik, “Commentaire de Michée,” 78; cf. Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” 516–517, who reads the phrase as ‫)מה הציץ‬, but the photograph (PAM M40.437) seems to suggest that it might be better restored as ‫( מורה‬for a discussion of this problem, see Horgan, Pesharim, 60).

260

The Processes of Memory

sacred texts.53 Identifying the specific scriptural passage from which the title derives has been somewhat more controversial. A number of potential sources have been proposed. The text that is most commonly associated with this title is Joel 2:23, which reminds the people of Israel, “God has given to you the early rain for vindication (‫)המורה לצדקה‬.”54 While the term ‫ מורה‬normally means “teacher,” it is used in this instance to represent rain (cf. Ps 84:6). Given this rare usage, some ancient versions translated the term with a personal referent.55 This reading, in fact, led some early interpreters to conclude that the title was already in existence prior to its adoption within the Scrolls community, with a few even claiming that it reflected Jewish expectations about a future leader who would guide the people through spiritual renewal.56 It is more likely, however, that this designation arose out of the community’s interpretive activities,57 apart from any known

There have been a few who claim that the designation was introduced by the Qumran commentary apart from any scriptural allusions, e.g., Rudolf Meyer, “Melchisedek von Jerusalem und Moresedek von Qumran,” in Volume du Congrès: Genève, 1965 (VTSup 15; Leiden: Brill, 1966) 228–239 (230 n. 3); Hans Walter Wolff, Dodekapropheten, 2: Joel und Amos (BKAT 14/2; Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969) 75–76; S. Wagner, “‫יָ ָרה‬,” in Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, Bd. 3: Ḥmr - jāt ar (eds. G. J. Botterweck et al.; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1982) 909– 930 (919). 54 Cf. Albert Michel, Le Maître de Justice d’après les documents de la Mer Morte, la littérature apocryphe et rabbinique (Paris: Maison Aubanel, 1954) 266; Lim, Pesharim, 74–75. Note, however, that Charlesworth (The Pesharim and Qumran History, 33 n. 78) questions whether Joel 2:23 explains the background of the title. 55 Tg. Neb. Joel 2:23 (‫ ;)אתיב לכון ית מלפיכון בזכו ומחית לכון מטר בכיר בעדניה ולקישׁא בירח ניסן‬Vulgate (quia dedit vobis doctorem iustitiae); Symmachus (ἔδωκεν ὑμῖν τὸν ὑποδεικνύοντα εἰς δικαιοσύνην). 56 For this understanding of the title, see L. H. van der Meiden, “De Vertaling van het woord ‫מֹורה‬ ֶ in Joël 2:23,” GTT 51 (1951) 136–139; Jacob Weingreen, “The Title Moreh Sedek,” JSS 6 (1961) 162–174; Cecil Roth, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the Prophecy of Joel,” VT 13 (1963) 91–95; Gösta W. Ahlström, “Hammōreh liṣd āqāh,” in Congress Volume: Rome 1968 (VTSup 17; Leiden: Brill, 1969) 25–36. 57 Cf. André Lemaire, “Remarques sur le vocabulaire hébreu de l’enseignement et de l’étude à Qumrân et dans Ben Sira,” in Conservatism and Innovation in the Hebrew Language of the Hellenistic Period: Proceedings of a Fourth International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls & Ben Sira (eds. J. Joosten and J.-S. Rey; STDJ 73; Leiden: Brill, 2008) 109–124 (112). According to O. R. Sellers, the reading ‫לצדקה‬ was inserted into the textual tradition of Joel by a scribe who was part of (or at least, familiar with) the Scrolls community. He claims that when the scribe “saw the word ‫ מורה‬he automatically thought of the Teacher of Righteousness” (“A Possible Old Testament Reference to the Teacher of Righteousness,” IEJ 5 [1955] 93–95 [95]). Such a conjecture seems questionable at best. 53

Tracing the Development of Memory

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connections with anticipated historical figures. This collocation of terms (‫ מורה‬and ‫ )צדקה‬provided the group with an appropriate symbolic representation of their leader. But Joel 2:23 was not the only text that served as the scriptural background for the sobriquet.58 This verse was probably read in conjunction with (and informed by) other passages as well. Another likely candidate is Hos 10:12, which reads, “it is time to seek YHWH so that he might come and rain righteousness (‫ )ירה צדק‬upon you.”59 This verse also draws a connection between “rain,” which shares the same root with the word “teacher” (viz. ‫)ירה‬, and “righteousness.” Further, it is possible that Isa 30:20–21 may have also added to the community’s conception of the Teacher’s title. In this passage, the prophet encourages his people with the promise: “your teacher will not be hidden any longer, but your eyes will see your teacher” (Isa 30:20). These two instances of the participial form ‫“( מורה‬teacher”) represent nearly half of the occurrences in the Hebrew Bible,60 a usage that is present in the sobriquet in question. The scriptural background of the epithet provides insight into how the Scrolls community sought to interpret and legitimate the role of the Teacher. Nevertheless, it does not reveal the meaning that they assigned to the label. To understand what this designation was intended to communicate, and how the Teacher was remembered, we must consider the function of the nomen rectum ‫)ה(צדק‬. This, too, has been a matter of debate. Some have understood ‫ )ה(צדק‬as an objective genitive, “one who teaches what is right.”61 In this case, ‫ )ה(צדק‬stresses the legitimacy of

Most recognize that more than one scriptural text probably contributed to the “Teacher of Righteousness” designation (see Gert Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit [SUNT 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963] 312–313). 59 For the association of the title “Teacher of Righteousness” with Hos 10:12, see Devorah Dimant, “Qumran Sectarian Literature,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus (ed. M. E. Stone; CRINT 2/2; Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1984) 483–550 (505); Jonathan G. Campbell, The Use of Scripture in the Damascus Document 1–8,19–20 (BZAW 228; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1995) 62. 60 Substantival participles: Job 36:22; Prov 5:13. Adjectival participle: 2 Chron 15:3. See further Wendy L. Widder, “To Teach” in Ancient Israel: A Cognitive Linguistic Study of a Biblical Hebrew Lexical Set (BZAW 456; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014) 68. 61 Those who have adopted this view include: Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 308–317 (although he allowed for an attributive sense as well); Wallendorff, Rät tfärdighetens lärare, 27–28; John A. Ziesler, The Meaning of Righteousness in Paul: A Linguistic and Theological Enquiry (SNTSMS 20; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972) 91–92; Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew, 17–20; Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea 58

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the Teacher’s instruction. Support for this view is drawn from parallel expressions, such as ‫“( יורה הצדק‬the one who teaches righteousness,” CD-A 6.11), where ‫ הצדק‬represents the object of teaching. Other ancient texts describe “righteousness” in a similar manner.62 This objective function for ‫ צדק‬is also apparent in two of the scriptural sources for the title (cf. Hos 10:12; Joel 2:23). Rival sobriquets provide further support for the objective genitive reading. In both the Damascus Document and the pesharim, one of the primary opponents of the Teacher is ‫מטיף הכזב‬, “the Spreader of Deception” (CD-A 8.13; 1QpHab 10.9; cf. CD-A 1.14; 4.19; CD-B 19.25), whose title involves an objective function for the nomen rectum ‫הכזב‬. Others take ‫ )ה(צדק‬as an attributive genitive (“righteous Teacher”), wherein the genitive modifier communicates some characteristic about the Teacher.63 This usage is thought to confirm the legitimacy of the Teacher’s role in offering authoritative instructions to the community. Further, it would place his efforts in contrast to others who claimed to speak for God. Proponents of this view often point to the fact that the term ‫“( צדק‬righteousness”) is used as an attributive genitive elsewhere in Scrolls,64 with a particularly strong parallel being found in 4Q252 5.3: ‫“( משיח הצדק‬true/legitimate messiah”).65 Additional support is drawn from

Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49 (44–45). 62 Cf. Annie Jaubert, “Le pays de Damas,” RB 65 (1958) 214–248 (238–239). In 1 En. 12.4, Enoch is referred to as “the scribe of righteousness” (ὁ γραμματεὺς τῆς δικαιοσύνης). Similarly, Noah is described as “a preacher of righteousness” (δικαιοσύνης κήρυκα) in 2 Pet 2:5, and in 1 Clem. 5.7, the apostle Paul is said to have been “the one who taught righteousness” (δικαιοσύνην διδάξας). 63 See, e.g., A. M. Honeyman, “Notes on a Teacher and a Book,” JJS 4 (1953) 131–132 (131); Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 76, 126; R. K. Harrison, The Dead Sea Scrolls: An Introduction (New York: Harper, 1961) 134; Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher, 119–122; Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History, 28–30; Holly J. Carey, Jesus’ Cry from the Cross: Towards a First-Century Understanding of the Intertextual Relationship between Psalm 22 and the Narrative of Mark’s Gospel (LNTS 398; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 102–103. 64 Against those who challenge the grammatical validity of this usage (e.g., William Sanford LaSor, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Christian Faith [Chicago, IL: Moody, 1974] 164–165) and those who question whether ‫ צדק‬can carry such a function in the Scrolls (e.g., Mark A. Elliott, The Survivors of Israel: A Reconsideration of the Theology of Pre-Christian Judaism [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000] 134 n. 61). 65 Other examples from the Damascus Document could be given (cf. CD-A 3.15; 20.11, 30–31, 33).

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the fact that the major antagonist with whom the Teacher is contrasted in the “sectarian” literature is the ‫( הכוהן הרשע‬1QpHab 9.9–10; 11.4–5), a figure whose title consists of a construct form with the nomen rectum (‫ )הרשע‬serving as an attributive qualifier (hence “the Wicked Priest”). Recognizing the limits of emphasizing one aspect over another, some have advocated for a plenary usage. According to this interpretation, “the Teacher is both the one who teaches what is right and as a result is the correct teacher.”66 This approach seems to best capture the nuance of the construction.67 If the legitimacy of the Teacher is stressed above that of other instructors – the point that seems to receive the greatest emphasis in this construction – then the validity of his teaching would follow as a natural corollary. The difficulty is that this meaning is not easily communicated in English translation. To avoid accentuating one aspect to the neglect of the other, it is best to render the sobriquet as “the Teacher of Righteousness,” a translation that has a long history within scholarship. This title reflects the Teacher’s impact on the moral order of the community. It signifies that within the collective memory of the group the Teacher is remembered as a unique and authoritative interpreter of scripture, and his explanation of the Law and Prophets becomes the path to righteousness that the community must follow. In this way, the “community’s commemorated past exerts powerful normative force,” which means “that its images of archetypal persons and events embody [the] group’s moral order and thus are mnemonic of group-defining norms.”68

66

67

68

George J. Brooke, “Was the Teacher of Righteousness Considered to Be a Prophet?” in Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Prophecy (eds. K. De Troyer et al.; CBET 52; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 77–97 (81 n. 13). Cf. also Håkan Ulfgard, “The Teacher of Righteousness, the History of the Qumran Community, and Our Understanding of the Jesus Movement: Texts, Theories and Trajectories,” in Qumran between the Old and New Testament (eds. F. H. Cryer and T. L. Thompson; JSOTSup 290; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998) 310–346 (312). Some advocate translating the title, “true lawgiver” (see, e.g., Weingreen, “The Title Moreh Sedek,” 162–174; John C. Reeves, “The Meaning of Moreh Ṣ edeq in the Light of 11QTorah,” RevQ 13 [1988] 287–298). This translation captures an important part of the meaning that is often lost through traditional renderings, but the form “Teacher of Righteousness” is both flexible enough to reflect the plenary usage and to allow for important lexical connections to be drawn in certain places, e.g., CD-A 1.1–16 (Kampen, “‘Righteousness’ in Matthew,” 471–472). Alan Kirk, “Memory Theory and Jesus Research,” in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, vol. 1: How to Study the Historical Jesus (eds. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 809–842 (818; original emphasis).

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10.2.1.2  “The Mediator of Knowledge” Another title used to describe the Teacher is ‫( מליץ דעת‬4QpPsa 1–10 i 27). Individually, these terms are common within the Hodayot, and the same phrase even appears in 1QHa 10.15 and 23.26 (plural form).69 While the term ‫ דעת‬can simply denote a person’s understanding or mental capacity (cf. CD 10.10; 1QS 1.11; 3.2), in the “sectarian” literature, it is often used in a restricted sense to denote a special knowledge, which is not the possession of all people (1QHa 12.12; 1QS 4.6; 9.17) but has to be divinely revealed (1QHa 20.16; 1QpHab 11.1).70 It is natural, therefore, that it is employed in connection with ‫מליץ‬, a word that appears frequently in the Hodayot,71 where the implied author describes himself as one who mediates between humans and the divine. In the hymns, the divine will is viewed as mysterious and impossible to discern apart of special revelation. It is, consequently, the task of a “mediator” to disclose this information to humans. From the perspective of the hymnist, the problem is that some attempt to speak for God without authentication; thus, misrepresenting the divine will. These are the ones described as mediators of error (1QHa 10.16), falsehood (10.33; 12.11–12), and deceit (12.8). The designation ‫ מליץ דעת‬is used in a similar manner in 4QpPsa 1–10 i 27, where the Teacher stands in opposition to “the Man of the Lie” (‫)איש הכזב‬. According to the pesher interpretation, the latter has “led many astray with words of falsehood,” and as a result, this group “chose frivolous matters (‫ )בקלות‬and did not listen to the Interpreter of Knowledge.” What was involved in this exchange may shed light on the nature of the

69

70

71

As a result of the identical nature of these designations, some believe that the phrase in 4QpPsa 1–10 i 27 may have been drawn from the Hodayot (see Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism, 176 n. 216). This is certainly possible, but it could also reflect a common designation used by the community to denote the one(s) who has/ have access to divine revelation. From the “Community Hymns,” it would appear that there was more than one “mediator of knowledge” (1QHa 23.26). For more on knowledge in the Dead Sea Scrolls, see W. D. Davies, “‘Knowledge’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Matthew 11:25–30,” HTR 46 (1953) 113–139 (118–129); Helmer Ringgren, “Gnosis i Qumrantexterna,” SEÅ 24 (1959) 41–53; Elliot R. Wolfson, “Seven Mysteries of Knowledge: Qumran E/Sotericism Recovered,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (eds. H. Najman and J. H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 177–213 (199–206). In the Hebrew Bible, the term ‫ מליץ‬refers to either one who interprets a foreign language (Gen 42:23) or a human envoy sent on behalf of another a person or group (Isa 43:27; 2 Chron 32:31). It appears two other times within Qumran literature (4Q368 3 7; 4Q374 7 2), but the texts are too fragmentary to decipher the term’s meaning.

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sobriquet. In 1QpHab 2.1–3, a similar situation is described wherein the Man of the Lie and his followers refused to heed the instructions of the Teacher, which were said to derive ‫“( מפיא אל‬from the mouth of God”). More specifically, it is stated later in the commentary that the Man of the Lie “rejected the Torah (‫ )התורה‬in the midst of the whole congregation” (1QpHab 5.11–12). At issue, then, was the group’s failure to accept the Teacher’s divinely-revealed interpretation of scripture. When the Teacher is referenced as ‫מליץ דעת‬, the emphasis is placed on his role as an authoritative interpreter of scripture to whom God reveals the secret mysteries of the divine will.72 10.2.1.3  “The Priest” The Teacher of Righteousness is referred to as ‫ הכוהן‬in 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15–17, where Ps 37:23–24 is said to “refer to the Priest, the Teacher of R[ighteousness whom] God [ch]ose to stand before him, f[or] he ordained him to build a congregation.” This designation also appears again in 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 18–20, which describes “the wicked ones of Ephraim and Manasseh who will attempt to seize the Priest and the men of his congregation during the time of testing which is coming upon them.” While some view this priest as an anticipated figure from the group’s future,73 its proximity to 4QpPsa 1–10 iii 15–17, along with its lack of any distinguishing qualifiers (e.g., “the final priest,” 4QpHosb 2 3), most likely indicates that it too should be understood as a reference to the Teacher of Righteousness. Another occurrence of this label is found in Pesher Habakkuk. In this particular instance, no identification with the Teacher is provided, although it is implied. This priest is the one “to whom God has placed into [his heart understand]ing to interpret all the words of his servants the prophets” (1QpHab 2.8–9). Some have expressed doubts about whether the reference to the Teacher as a priest was intended to be taken literally,74 while others have claimed To balance the prominence afforded to this special role of the Teacher, it has been pointed out that this title “elevates him, but such an accolade also places him below what is being interpreted” (James H. Charlesworth and James D. McSpadden, “The Sociological and Liturgical Dimensions of Psalm Pesher 1 (4QPPSa): Some Prolegomenous Reflections,” in The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, vol. 1: Scripture and the Scrolls [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006] 317–349 [342]). 73 See Section 4.1.2.3. 74 E.g., Jacob L. Teicher, “Jesus in the Habakkuk Scroll,” JJS 3 (1952) 53–55 (54); idem, “Priests and Sacrifices in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” JJS 5 (1954) 93–99. 72

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The Processes of Memory

that the definite form (“the Priest”) is an indication that the Teacher served in the role of high priest.75 Rather than pursing these lines of historical inquiry, our concern is with how this designation related to the Teacher’s role in the instruction of the community. In various places in the Hebrew Bible, the task of instructing the people of Israel is placed on the priests (Lev 10:11; Deut 17:10; Hag 2:11–13; Mal 2:7). However, it is commonly believed that during the Second Temple period, a lay group of interpreters, designated as scribes, arose to prominence alongside the priests. Removed from elite circles, this scribal class took over the interpretive and teaching duties among the Jewish population.76 In response to this view, Steven D. Fraade has demonstrated that “the extant sources, right up to and shortly following the destruction of the temple, continue to associate the overall authority to preserve, interpret, teach, and legally apply sacred Scriptures with the priesthood.”77 The literature from Qumran, in particular, reveals that priests played an important role in teaching the group (cf. 1QS 1.21–22; 4Q400 1 i 17; 4Q419 1 1–4?).78 By referring to the Teacher as “the priest,” therefore, it

75

76

77

78

The argument for the titular use of ‫ הכוהן‬was first set forth by Hartmut Stegemann, Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde (Bonn: Rheinische Friedrich-WilhelmsUniversität 1971) 102, 210. This position was later adopted by others (e.g., Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “The Essenes and Their History,” RB 81 [1974] 215–244 [229– 230]; idem, “Demetrius I and the Teacher of Righteousness (I Macc X, 25–45),” RB 83 [1976] 400–420 [412]; Michael A. Knibb, “Keeping up with Recent Studies: III. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Reflections on Some Recent Publications,” ExpTim 90 [1979] 294–300 [298, 300]). It has since been called into question, however (see Michael O. Wise, “The Teacher of Righteousness and the High Priest of the Intersacerdotium: Two Approaches,” RevQ 14 [1990] 587–613). Proponents of this view include: George Foot Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era: The Age of the Tannaim (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927–30) 1:308–309; Victor Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (trans. S. Applebaum; New York: Atheneum, 1959) 124–125; Elias J. Bickerman, From Ezra to the Last of the Maccabees: Foundations of Post-Biblical Judaism (New York: Schocken Books, 1962) 67–71; Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C - A.D. 135) (2nd edn.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–1987) 2:322–323. Steven D. Fraade, “The Early Rabbinic Sage,” in The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East (eds. J. G. Gammie and L. G. Perdue; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990) 417–436 (421). Cf. William M. Schniedewind, “Scibal Education in Ancient Israel and Judah into the Persian Period,” in Second Temple Jewish ‘Paideia’ in Context (eds. J. M. Zurawski and G. Boccaccini; BZNW 228; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017) 11–28: “the role of the scribe was particularly associated with priests in the late Second Temple period” (28). Cf. Lawrence H. Schiffman, The Halakhah at Qumran (SJLA 16; Leiden: Brill, 1975) 76.

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may be an indication of his role in the instruction of the community: a priest is offering non-priests a priestly education.79 10.2.2  The Instructions of the Teacher in the Pesharim In the pesharim, the Teacher of Righteousness is remembered as an inspired scriptural exegete who served as the source of instruction for his community. This section will consider the nature of these instructions, including the subjects on which he taught, the basis through which he received his unique insights, and the authoritative role that these instructions played within the life of the community. 10.2.2.1  The Subject of the Teacher’s Instructions In the pesharim, the Teacher’s instruction is connected with both the Law and the Prophets. The latter has been the subject of much discussion over the years. On two separate occasions, the Teacher is described as one who interpreted prophetic scripture. In 1QpHab 2.8, it is stated that “God placed into [his heart understand]ing to interpret all the words of his servants the prophets.”80 A similar statement is made in 1QpHab 7.4–5, where it is said that “God made known all the mysteries of the words of his servants the prophets” to the Teacher. In this latter case, a connection is specifically made to the written prophecies of Habakkuk. The commentator states that “God told Habakkuk to write down (‫ )לכתוב‬the things that were going to come upon the last generation, but the fullness of the end-time he did not make known to him” (cf. 7.1–2). By reading and interpreting these scriptural texts, the Teacher then issued specific explanations of the prophecies related to 79

80

David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) 215. Cf. Goff, “Education in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 78: “The sect also offers a counterpoint to Ben Sira, in that the sect provides evidence that advanced instruction of Torah took place in this period outside of elite, aristocratic circles.” In 1QpHab 2.8, the one in whose heart God is said to have placed an understanding of the prophets is referred to as “the Priest” (‫)הכוהן‬. But given the parallel statement just a few lines earlier about the traitors who would not believe (with the restoration, ‫ )האמינו בדברי‬that the Teacher of Righteousness spoke from the mouth of God (2.1–3), and the similar role that is assigned to the Teacher elsewhere in the commentary (cf. 1QpHab 7.4–5), most regard this as a reference to the Teacher (see, e.g., Bilhah Nitzan, Meˇgīllat pešer habaqūq: mimeˇgillōt midbar yeˇhūdah (1QpHab) [Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1986] 154; Hans M. Barstad, “Prophecy at Qumran?” in In the Last Days: On Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic and Its Period [eds. K. Jeppesen et al.; Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1994] 104–120 [106]).

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contemporary circumstances. His message is said to have focused on “all that is going to come upon the last generation” (1QpHab 2.7). This, seemingly, included a national focus (1QpHab 2.10: ‫ )כול הבאות על עמו‬as well as a more particular focus on the situation of the Scrolls community and their enemies ([‫)וע[דתו‬.81 Much less attention has been devoted to the way that the pesharim connect the Teacher to the interpretation of the Law. Two passages provide indirect evidence that even at this later time the Teacher was remembered as one who provided his community with instructions on the meaning and proper observance of the Torah.82 One of these is 1QpHab 5.8–12, which reads, “How can you look upon treachery and be silent when a wicked person swallows up one who is more righteous than he?” [Habakkuk 1:13b] Its interpretation refers to the house of Absalom and the men of their congregation, who remained silent at the rebuke (‫ )נדמו בתוכחת‬of the Teacher of Righteousness, and did not support him against the Man of the Lie, who rejected the Torah (‫ )התורה‬in the presence of all their congregation.

This passage is filled with interpretive difficulties, including the identity of “the house of Absalom,”83 the antecedent of ‫“( עדתם‬their congregation”),84 and the object of rebuke. For our purposes, however, the latter is most important. The restoration follows Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 162 n. 32. It is tempting to posit a third connection between the Teacher of Righteousness and the Torah from 4QpIsae 1-2 3. The text reads, “the interpretation refers […] has revealed the Torah of righte[ousness].” Elsewhere, the term ‫“( גלה‬revealed”) is used to denote the supernatural revelation of God’s work in history (cf. CD-A 2.2–3, 14–15) and the hidden mysteries of the Torah (cf. CD-A 3.12–15; 15.13–14). It is this revelation that separates those inside the community from those outside (1QpHab 11.1). It would be reasonable, therefore, to restore the text as follows: “the interpretation refers [to the Teacher of Righteousness, who] has revealed the Torah of righte[ousness]” (cf. Maurya P. Horgan, “Isaiah Pesher 5 (4Q165 = 4QpIsae),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations, vol. 6B: Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; PTSDSSP; Tübingen/Louisville: Mohr Siebeck/Westminster John Knox Press, 2002) 99–107 [100 n. 4]). 83 On the potential avenues for identifying “the house of Absalom,” see David Noel Freedman, “The ‘House of Absalom’ in the Habakkuk Scroll,” BASOR 114 (1949) 11–12. 84 Some have suggested that the antecedent was the congregation to which both the Teacher and the Man of the Lie belonged (Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit, 86). At issue, however, is not an inner-community dispute. The Man of the Lie seems to have had a broader audience than just the community (cf. CD-A 1.14, where it says that the Man of Scoffing [= Man of the Lie] dripped his lying waters “on Israel”). It is more likely that it refers to the house of Absalom (Stegemann, Die Entstehung der Qumrangemeinde, 49). 81 82

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Related to the object of rebuke, there are two options for interpreting the genitive ‫מורה‬. Some view the noun as a subjective genitive, and consequently, view the Teacher performing the reprimand on the Man of the Lie.85 In this case, it would seem that the latter held a view of the Torah that was viewed as incorrect by the former. When the Teacher attempted to correct this misunderstanding, the house of Absalom failed to offer support for the Teacher’s interpretation.86 The basis for this reading derives from the claim that when reproof (‫ )תוכחת‬takes place in the Hebrew Bible and in the Qumran literature, it is normally performed by the righteous on the wicked (cf. Ezek 5:15; Ps 39:12[11]; 1QpHab 5.4; 1QHa 17.8–9).87 If this were the case, however, the shame ascribed to the house of Absalom for their inaction would be mitigated considerably by the Teacher’s offensive strategy. The lack of effort on their part could have been attributed to the absence of a perceived threat. Therefore, this reproof was more likely directed toward the Teacher by the Man of the Lie.88 When the former was attacked, the house of Absalom failed to 85

86

87

88

E.g., Mathias Delcor, Les manuscrits de la Mer Morte: essai sur le Midrash d’Habacuc (Lectio divina 7; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1951) 31; Gustave Lambert, Le Maître de Justice et la Communauté de l’Alliance: Étude historique et version du Commentaire d’Habacuc et de quelques “Psaumes” du Désert de Juda (ALBO II/28; Louvain: Universitaires de Louvain, 1952) 267–268; Dominique Barthélemy, “Notes en marge de publications récentes sur les manuscrits de Qumran,” RB 59 (1952) 187–218 (216 n. 2); Michel, Le Maître de Justice, 182–183; Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” 507–510; William H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk (SBLMS 24; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1979) 93–94. Alternatively, some translate ‫ נדמו‬as “they were reduced to silence” rather than “they remained silent.” As a result, it is claimed the Teacher’s rebuke of the Man of the Lie led the house of Absalom to reconsider any support they may have given to the Liar’s erroneous position (see, e.g.., H. G. M. Williamson, “The Translation of 1QpHab V, 10,” RevQ 9 [1977–78] 263–265; Timothy H. Lim, “The Translation of NDMW and its Significance for the Groningen Hypothesis,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection [ed. G. Boccaccini; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005] 291–293). See Brownlee, Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk, 93–94. At times, however, the righteous can be chastised (1QHa 17.24, 33; 4Q381 33ab+35 2; 4Q421 1aii-b 10; 4Q525 5 9). Even YHWH experiences rebuke on certain occasions. Later in the text of Habakkuk, which is cited in the commentary, it is the prophet that admits to offering a reproof (‫ )תוכחתי‬directed toward YHWH (1QpHab 6.12–14, citing Hab 2:1). Those who adopt this view include: Karl Elliger, Studien zum Habakuk-Kommentar vom Toten Meer (BHT 15; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1953) 185 n. 8; Georg Molin, Die Söhne des Lichtes: Zeit und Stellung der Handschriften vom Toten Meer (Munich: Herold, 1954) 13; Millar Burrows, The Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Viking Press, 1955) 147–148; Edmund F. Sutcliffe, The Monks of Qumran as Depicted in the Dead Sea Scrolls (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1960) 174; Horgan, Pesharim, 34; Knibb, The Qumran Community, 230; et al.

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offer any support for the Teacher. This interpretation is better able to account for the scriptural lemma, where the righteous one is the victim. Regardless of which figure is the object of reproof, the nature of the dispute is clear. It derives from the fact that the Man of the Lie “rejected the Torah” (1QpHab 2.11–12). Since the outright rejection of the Torah would be extremely unusual for any Jewish leader within the first century BCE, it is likely that this antagonistic stance related to the Teacher’s interpretation of the Torah, and in particular, centered on “some of the halakic issues that separated this movement from the rest of Israel.”89 Such a hypothesis finds support from another reference to the Man of the Lie in Pesher Habakkuk. Although the text is fragmentary, it seems that the Man of the Lie, along with other traitors, denied that the instructions of the Teacher derived “from the mouth of God” (1QpHab 2.1–3). The second place where the pesharim associate the Teacher with the interpretation of Torah is 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–10. According to this passage, the Wicked Priest “laid in wait for [the Teacher of Righte]ousness and attempted to kill him90 […] and the Torah that he sent to him.” The precise meaning of this text is difficult to discern because of the lacuna. An early suggestion for its restoration was offered by John Strugnell. He proposed that the passage originally read: ‫“( ]החו על דברי]ק והתורה‬because of the precepts and law”).91 Although this reconstruction has become popular, it is doubtful whether it can be sustained. Elsewhere in 4QpPsa, the vertical line of the ‫ ק‬is written with a straight, right slant. The portion of the letter that is visible in the photograph has more of a curvature. According to Maurya P. Horgan, this letter looks “more like a final ‫נ‬,” which is written with a considerable downward curve.92 However, from the infrared image (B-506739), there appears to be a visible horizontal stroke on the top right portion of the curved vertical stroke, which would rule out a

John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010) 49. 90 This translation reflects the restoration ‫( אשר צ[פה למור]ה הצד[ק ויבקש ל]המיתו‬Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1,” 18), which departs from the editio princeps reading, ‫אשר צ[ופ]ה הצד[יק ומבקש] להמיתו‬ (John M. Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186) [DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968] 45). 91 John Strugnell, “Notes en marge du volume V des ‘Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan’,” RevQ 7 (1970) 163–276 (216), who is followed by Dennis G. Pardee, “A Restudy of the Commentary on Psalm 37 from Qumran Cave 4 (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert of Jordan, vol. V, no 171),” RevQ 8 (1972–75) 163–194 (188); cf. also Carmignac, “Notes sur les peshârîm,” 524. 92 Horgan, Pesharim, 222; cf. Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1,” 18. 89

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final ‫נ‬. Perhaps the most likely option is that the letter should be read as a ‫ת‬,93 but this is by no means certain since the scribe composed the ‫ ת‬with varying degrees of curvature throughout the scroll. Without being able to reconstruct this specific portion of text, it is difficult to draw too many firm conclusions about the nature of this situation. Nevertheless, some particulars can be deduced. The attempt on the Teacher’s life seems to be in response to some action; therefore, it is more likely that the Teacher was the one who sent the Torah to the Wicked Priest.94 Further, the act of sending a copy of the Torah to a priest seems somewhat unusual, which is why many think that what the Teacher actually sent was his interpretation of the Torah.95 The difficulty is determining what form this might have taken. Some have claimed that ‫ התורה‬refers to the Temple Scroll,96 while others believe that MMT is the intended referent.97 Otto Betz claims that both are in view and restores the passage: “who tried to kill him on account of the letter (bigĕlal hā-’iggeret) and the law (ha-tôrāh), which he sent to him.”98 This historical question need not concern us here, however. What is more important at this point is the fact that the Teacher was engaged in the interpretation of Torah.

See Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186), 45; Hartmut Stegemann, “Der Pešher Psalm 37 aus Höhle 4 von Qumran (4QpPs 37),” RevQ 4 (1963–64) 235–270 (254–255). 94 Pace John M. Allegro, “Further Light on the History of the Qumran Sect,” JBL 75 (1956) 89–95 (94), who has the situation reversed. 95 Elsewhere, the term ‫ תורה‬is used to refer to the community’s unique understanding of Torah requirements, which are provided by the Teacher (see 4QpPsa 1–10 ii 2–3; 11 1). 96 E.g., Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983) 1:396; Moshe Weinfeld, Normative and Sectarian Judaism in the Second Temple Period (LSTS 54; New York: T&T Clark, 2005) 180. 97 E.g., Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1998) 104–106; Arthur E. Palumbo, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Personages of Earliest Christianity (New York: Algora, 2004) 110 n. 596; Paul Foster, Community, Law and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (WUNT 2/177; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 87; Barry D. Smith, The Tension between God as Righteous Judge and as Merciful in Early Judaism (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2005) 153; Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (SDSS; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008) 46–47. Cf. also Elisha Qimron and John Strugnell, Qumran Cave 4.V: Miqṣat Maʻas´e ha-Torah (DJD 10; Oxford: Clarendon, 1994) 120. 98 Otto Betz, “The Qumran Halakha Text Miqṣat Maʻasê Ha-Tôrāh (4QMMT) and Sadducean, Essene, and Early Pharisaic Tradition,” in The Aramaic Bible: Targums in Their Historical Context (eds. D. R. G. Beattie and M. J. McNamara; JSOTSup 166; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994) 176–202 (194). 93

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10.2.2.2  The Interpretive Basis of the Teacher’s Instructions The instructions of the Teacher were drawn from his interpretation of the Law and the Prophets, but it is clear that the process involved more than just the conventional study of written texts.99 As in the Damascus Document, his interpretive efforts are said to have been facilitated by divine revelation. What is noteworthy is that the descriptions of the Teacher’s reception of the divine word is reminiscent of prophetic ­activity – despite the fact that he is never ascribed the title ‫“( נביא‬prophet”).100 The message received by the Teacher is said to have derived “from the mouth of God” (1QpHab 2.2–3; cf. 4QpIsac 8–10 8). Further, it was to the Teacher that “God made known (‫ )הודיעו‬all the mysteries (‫ )רזי‬of the words of his servants the prophets” (1QpHab 7.4–5). Elsewhere this process of revelation is described as God granting to the Teacher “understanding to interpret” the prophets (1QpHab 2.8–9). One might say, then, that the Teacher’s instructions were thought to follow in the prophetic tradition.101 Viewed from this angle, a comparison of the Teacher’s knowledge with that of the prophet Habakkuk is instructive. According to 1QpHab 7:1–2, Habakkuk was told, “to write down the things that were going to come upon the last generation.” But what was not revealed (‫ )הודעו‬to

99

100

101

Cf. Morris Ashcraft, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and Early Christianity,” RevExp 54 (1957) 7–22: “The Teacher of Righteousness made known the mysteries of God which were evidently not available to other interpreters using conventional methods of interpretation” (16). See further Otto Betz, Offenbarung und Schriftforschung in der Qumransekte (WUNT 6; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1960) 88–92; Brooke, “Was the Teacher of Righteousness Considered to Be a Prophet?” 77–97. Unlike classical prophecy represented in the Hebrew Bible, prophecy and prophetic activity in the Second Temple period did not consist of the direct oral reception and communication of a divine message; instead, in many segments of Second Temple Judaism, mediation of the divine word took place through the inspired exegesis of earlier prophetic oracles and pronouncements (cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, Prophecy and Canon: A Contribution to the Study of Jewish Origins [University of Notre Dame Center for the Study of Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity Studies 3; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1977] 128–132; John Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986] 179–213; William M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period [JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995]).

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him was “the fullness of the end-time (‫)הקץ גמר‬.”102 In contradistinction, it was this very information that God had revealed (‫ )הודיעו‬to the Teacher (1QpHab 7.4–5). Consequently, without the Teacher’s work of extracting the hidden mysteries from the prophetic pronouncements, the real meaning of the text would have remained entirely veiled. The means by which this revelation was received is delineated through the interplay between the biblical lemma and the pesher exegesis in 1QpHab 7.3–5.103 Here the pesherist describes God’s revelation of “all the mysteries of the words of his servants the prophets,” which had been granted to the Teacher. The key is that the biblical lemma upon which this interpretation is based focuses on “reading” (‫ )הקורא‬as a means of facilitating “running” (‫)ירוץ‬, an expression thought to be an allusion to interpretation or explanation.104 From this, it would appear that “reading” was a necessary prerequisite to the Teacher’s acquisition of divine revelation. So while the Teacher had been granted insight into divine oracles, his access came through his interaction with the textual medium.105 By diligently studying the ancient prophetic scriptures (in which the mysteries of God had been encoded), the Teacher of Righteousness was

102

103

104

105

Our interpretation of the difficult phrase ‫ גמר הקץ‬follows the treatment by Brownlee, Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk, 110, who argues: “It was not mere chronological knowledge which Habakkuk lacked, such as when the consummation would come or how long the period of the last days would last…; but it was an understanding of the specific events to which his words made veiled and enigmatic allusions” (cf. also Eva Osswald, “Zur Hermeneutik des Habakuk-Kommentars,” ZAW 68 [1956] 243–256 [249]). It is possible that within the Scrolls community divine revelation was thought to be received through other media as well. See George J. Brooke, “Prophetic Interpretation in the Pesharim,” in A Companion to Biblical Interpretation in Early Judaism (ed. M. Henze; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012) 235–254 (237), who stresses the need to consider various media as mechanisms for the reception of divine revelation. This sense is achieved as the pesherist disregards the meaning of the biblical root and offers an alternative root (which fits the morphological form) in its place, see Lou H. Silberman, “Unriddling the Riddle: A Study in the Structure and Language of the Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab),” RevQ 3 (1961–62) 323–364 (344–345). Hence, his role could be described as that of a “divinely inspired and ordained exegete of the prophetic word” (James E. Bowley, “Prophets and Prophecy at Qumran,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A Comprehensive Assessment [eds. J. C. VanderKam and P. W. Flint; Leiden: Brill, 1999] 354–378 [371; original emphasis]). For more on the process of revelatory exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls, see Alex P. Jassen, Mediating the Divine: Prophecy and Revelation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Second Temple Judaism (STDJ 68; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 197–240.

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granted discernment, through which he was able to decipher the divine message meant to address the historical circumstances of his late Second Temple community. 10.2.2.3  The Proclamation of the Teacher’s Instructions Few places in the pesharim provide details about the oral proclamation of the Teacher’s message. But one passage that is often cited in this regard is found in Pesher Psalmsa. After quoting Ps 45:2b (“and my tongue is the pen of a skilled scribe”), the pesherist states, “[Its interpretation] concerns the Teacher of [Righteousness…] God […] him with an eloquent tongue […]” (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 27).106 Some believe that this passage might imply that the Teacher performed scribal duties, particularly related to the composition of written material.107 This is certainly possible, especially if there are traditions about the Teacher’s composition of certain documents.108 But if this were the case, it is surprising that no connection is made with written media in a text where the lemma explicitly mentions “the pen of a skilled scribe.” The focus, instead, is placed on the Teacher’s oral proclamation. Most understand the passage as depicting the extraordinary quality of the Teacher’s oral delivery.109 This interpretation is taken one step further by Alex P. Jassen, who claims that it “refers to the interpretive process, whereby the Teacher of Righteousness provides the correct understanding of the ancient prophetic pronouncements.” More specifically, he suggests, “If the ‘tongue’ of the psalmist is understood as a conduit for the divine word, then the pesher suggests that it is the Teacher who is now mediating God’s message. The assignment of ‘purposeful

106 107

108 109

Translation is from Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186), 47. This suggestion is offered by David E. Orton, The Understanding Scribe: Matthew and the Apocalyptic Ideal (JSNTSup 25; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989) 129–130; George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Nature and Function of Revelation in 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and Some Qumranic Document,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the International Symposium of the Orion Center, 12–14 January, 1997 (eds. E. G. Chazon and M. E. Stone; STDJ 31; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 91–119 (99); Brooke, “The ‘Apocalyptic’ Community,” 42 n. 15. See Appendix 1. Cf. Barbara E. Thiering, Redating the Teacher of Righteousness (ANZSTR; Sydney: Theological Explorations, 1979) 101, who notes that the passage relates to the Teacher’s “gift of oratory.” See also Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 169: “The association with ‘tongue’ and ‘lip’ betray a possible didactic function.”

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speech’ would then refer to the Teacher’s ability to interpret properly the divine message as encoded in ancient Scripture.”110 While this interpretation is consistent with the inspired exegetical activity of the Teacher described elsewhere in the pesharim, it is difficult to reconcile with the most probable reconstruction of the passage. The meaning of the pesher turns on the letter(s) that are visible just before ‫אל‬. In the editio princeps, Allegro read an undecipherable word ending in ‫ ו‬immediately prior to ‫אל‬.111 In the infrared photograph (B-506751), however, the ending ‫ ני‬is visible. It is identical, in fact, to the endings of ‫ במעני‬on the same line and ‫ ולשוני‬in the line directly above. One can even make out a horizontal stroke on the baseline, which may be the remnants of an original ‫ פ‬immediately before ‫ני‬. Based on this evidence, a likely reconstruction is ‫ לפ]ני‬... ‫“( מורה[הצדק אשר‬the Teacher [of Righteousness who… be]fore God”).112 If this reconstruction is correct, the pesher is not about the Teacher delivering a message to the community, but about his communication with God. The meaning of the phrase ‫ במעני לשון‬adds substance to this hypothesis. This phrase is commonly translated in a way that emphasizes the quality of the Teacher’s speech (“eloquent tongue”).113 But this rendering runs counter to the construction’s repeated use in the Hodayot (4.29; 8.24; 10.9; 15.14, 16; 19.31, 37), where it is employed to describe an appropriate response to a given situation. This might involve verbally extoling the greatness of God (cf. 1QHa 4.29), or it could describe prostrating oneself in repentance (cf. 1QHa 8.24). Rather than focusing on the quality of the Teacher’s speech, therefore, the meaning relates to the suitability or adequacy of this communication: the Teacher spoke in the presence of God with language that was appropriate for the situation. The nature of this communication may have something to do with the Teacher’s interaction with God in the reception of divine revelation. This assertion is based on 4QpPsa 11 1–2, which reads […]‫לשוב יחד לתורה ב‬ (“[…] to return together to the Torah […] the elec[t] of Israel […]”). If this

110

111 112

113

Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 350; cf. Brooke, “Was the Teacher of Righteousness Considered to Be a Prophet?” 94. Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186), 45. See Horgan, “Psalm Pesher 1,” 20. Cf. also Wacholder, The New Damascus Document, 169. E.g., Allegro, Qumran Cave 4.I (4Q158–4Q186), 47; García Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated, 206; Wise et al., The Dead Sea Scrolls, 224.

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The Processes of Memory

fragment represents the top of column 5 (and, thus, are a continuation of the commentary on Ps 45:2b),114 then the statement “the Teacher [of Righteousness who … be]fore God with the appropriate reply,” relates in some way to the community’s turning back to the Torah with language that is reminiscent of the Damascus Document (CD-A 15.7–10, 12; cf. CD-B 20.28). There is, however, indirect evidence of the proclamation of the Teacher’s message. The fact that he is remembered as a teacher (‫)מורה‬ indicates that he was viewed as playing an active role in the communication his message. The proclamation of his teaching is further implied by the fact that some “traitors” did not believe all that the Teacher predicted was going to happen to the last generation (cf. 1QpHab 2.5–10). Such rejection assumes that either the “traitors” heard the Teacher proclaim his predictions directly or that someone relayed his message to them. Either way, the situation assumes that the interpretive activities of the Teacher were communicated to others, and his perspectives appear to have been known within the community. 10.2.2.4  The Authoritative Function of the Teacher’s Instructions The conflicts that are recorded in the pesharim indicate that the interpretations of the Teacher (and even more generally, the Teacher’s role as inspired exegete) were contested. Among his followers, however, his instructions were ascribed supreme authority. Unlike many false prophets, which spread alternative messages, God had made the Teacher’s “path straight to the truth” (4QpPsa 1–10 iii 17). The one passage that provides the most insight into the authoritative function of the Teacher’s instructions is 1QpHab 8.1–3. In this text, which is a commentary on Hab 2:4b (“and the righteous one will live by his faith”), it is promised that God will save “all those who observe the Torah in the house of Judah.” The basis (‫ )בעבור‬of this deliverance is “their suffering and their faith(fullness) (‫ )ואמנתם‬in/to the Teacher of Righteousness.”

114

This has been posited by Strugnell, “Notes en marge,” 217. Both fragments 11 and 12 reflect the top margin of a column, and the mention of ‫“( שפה‬lip”) might be connected with the ‫“( לשון‬tongue”) of 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 27. On the other hand, based just on what is fully visible, the reading […]‫ ]…[בשפת ע‬could be a reference to the words of the Teacher’s/group’s enemies (cf. 1QHa 10.13: “I have become slander on the lip of the ruthless [‫ ;”]בשפת עריצים‬13.26: “they speak evil against me with an unjust lip [‫)”]בשפת עול‬.

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There has been considerable debate surrounding the meaning of the term ‫אמנתם‬.115 Upon the discovery of the Scrolls, many drew comparisons between this passage and the discourse of the apostle Paul. Just as Paul – who also cites Hab 2:4 (cf. Rom 1:17) – wrote about “faith in (Jesus) Christ” (πίστεως (Ἰησοῦ) Χριστοῦ),116 it is thought that the present passage describes belief in the Teacher of Righteousness.117 According to this interpretation, the Teacher is the object of the community’s faith: members must believe that the Teacher is in fact a divinelyinspired interpreter of the scriptures whose instructions are necessary to achieve final salvation. Others have maintained that the point in question is not mental assent, but fidelity or loyalty to the Teacher.118 More specifically, the ultimate salvation of community members is 115

116

117

118

The word could be vocalized as ‫ וְ ַא ְמנָ ָתם‬from the root ‫( ֲא ָמנָ ה‬see Abraham M. Habermann, ‘Edah we-’Eduth: Three Scrolls from the Judean Desert [Jerusalem: Maḥbaroth LeSifruth, 1952] 50 [Hebrew]; Abraham M. Habermann, Megilloth Midbar Yehuda: The Scrolls from the Judean Desert [Jerusalem: Maḥbaroth LeSifruth, 1959] 46 [Hebrew]; Gary A. Rendsburg, “The Nature of Qumran Hebrew as Revealed through Pesher Habakkuk,” in Hebrew of the Late Second Temple Period: Proceedings of a Sixth International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira [eds. E. J. C. Tigchelaar and P. Van Hecke; STDJ 114; Leiden: Brill, 2015] 132–159 [148]), which occurs twice in the Hebrew Bible. On one occasion, it refers to the Israelite community’s binding pledge to remain obedient to their God (Neh 10:1 [9:38]), and on the other, it denotes a royal command (Neh 11:23). However, it is probably best to vocalize it as ‫ וֶ ֱא ֻמנָ ָתם‬from the root ‫אמּונָ ה‬, ֱ which appears various times throughout Qumran literature. Rom 3:22, 26; Gal 2:16bis; 3:22; Phil 3:9. The deutero-Pauline epistles (Col 2:5) and the Pastor Epistles (1 Tim 1:14; 3:13; 2 Tim 1:13; 3:15) express similar ideas. Proponents of this view include: André Dupont-Sommer, “Le ‘Commentaire d’Habacuc’ découvert près de la Mer Morte. Traduction et Notes,” RHR 137 (1950) 129–171 (162); Burrows, The Dead Sea Scrolls, 368; Fritsch, The Qumrân Community, 82; James Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961) 202; Harrison, The Dead Sea Scrolls, 121; Helmer Ringgren, The Faith of Qumran: Theology of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1963) 185–186; J. C. O’Neill, Who Did Jesus Think He Was? (BibInt 11; Leiden: Brill, 1995) 63; Francis Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith (2nd edn.; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016) 110–111. Proponents of this view include: Johannes P. M. van der Ploeg, “Les Rouleaux de la Mer Morte,” BO 8 (1951) 1–13 (7); Sherman E. Johnson, “Paul and the Manual of Discipline,” HTR 48 (1955) 157–165 (165); Matthew Black, The Dead Sea Scrolls and Christian Doctrine (Ethel M. Wood Lecture; London: Athlone, 1966) 9; John G. Harris, The Qumran Commentary on Habakkuk (CST 9; London: Mowbray, 1966) 39; Walter Grundmann, “The Teacher of Righteousness of Qumran and the Question of Justification by Faith in the Theology of the Apostle Paul,” in Paul and Qumran: Studies in New Testament Exegesis (ed. J. Murphy-O’Connor; London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1968) 85–114 (97); Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “Habakkuk 2:3–4 and the New Testament,” in To Advance the Gospel: New Testament Studies (New York: Crossroad, 1981) 236–246 (242); Nitzan, Měgīllat pešer habaqūq, 175–176.

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thought to depend on whether they are “faithfully following the Torah as interpreted by the Teacher.”119 Thus, proponents of this view often seek to distinguish this passage from the Pauline discourse on justification by faith in Christ.120 These interpretations of the phrase ‫ אמנתם במורה הצדק‬are commonly set up as alternative, or even opposing, options.121 But we would suggest that the two are not as conflicting as they are often made out to seem. It is true that the noun ‫ אמונה‬is used throughout Qumran literature with an active sense, “faithfulness” (cf. 1QM 13.3; 1QHa 4.26; 4Q393 1ii–2 5; 4Q418 126 ii 10). But it is equally important to account for the presence of the preposition ‫ ב‬in this instance. Since there are no other places in the Scrolls corpus where the preposition is used in connection with the noun, interpreters seek to understand its function based on parallels with the verbal form. In 1QpHab 2.6–7, the formula ‫ ב‬+ ‫ האמין‬seems to denote mental assent about a given proposition. It is the validity of the Teacher’s explanation about “all that is going to come upon the latter generation” that these “cruel Israelites” fail to affirm. Nevertheless, in the same context, the two other instances of this construction appear to communicate something more than mental assent. The negative portrayal of the “traitors” in 1QpHab 2.3–4 stems from more than just their failure to affirm the validity of the New Covenant.

119

120

121

Joachim Jeremias, The Central Message of the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1965) 68. See Timothy H. Lim, “Qumran Scholarship and the Study of the Old Testament in the New Testament,” JSNT 38 (2015) 68–80 (75). To be fair, however, even among those who emphasize the similarities between 1QpHab 8.1–3 and the writings of the apostle Paul, there is still a recognition of an important difference: “this faith in the Teacher of Righteousness is not, as for Paul, faith in an act of atonement accomplished in the death of Christ for the forgiveness of sins” (Oscar Cullmann, “The Significance of the Qumran Texts for Research into the Beginnings of Christianity,” JBL 74 [1955] 213–226 [217]). See, e.g., Marc Turnage, “Is It the Serpent That Heals? An Ancient Jewish Theologoumenon and the Developing Faith in Jesus,” in Israel in the Wilderness: Interpretations of the Biblical Narratives in Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. K. E. Pomykala; TBN 10; Leiden: Brill, 2008) 71–88: “The Hebrew wording of this passage does not insinuate that the members of the sect believed something about the Teacher of Righteousness; rather, he served as the communicator of the true interpretation of the Torah, which is the essential meaning of the Hebrew phrase ‫להאמין ב‬. In other words, those described as ‘doing the Torah’ (‫ )עושי התורה‬follow the Teacher’s interpretation of the Torah” (82).

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Their abandonment of the community122 displays not only a lack of faith in the New Covenant, but also a lack of faithfulness to its regulations. The same is the case in 1QpHab 2.14–15, where this formula (‫ ב‬+ ‫ )האמין‬is used to describe “the Kittim and the wick[ed who will betray the covena] nt.” Even if their rebellion lies in the fact that “they will have no faith in the statutes of God,” such mental rejection cannot be separated from the concomitant ritual obligation to follow the statutes. Again, a lack of faith leads to a lack of faithfulness. This suggests that the two meanings are complimentary not contradictory: to maintain loyalty to the Teacher, one would need to believe that his interpretation of scripture was reliable.123 Much like the situation in the Damascus Document, then, the author of Pesher Habakkuk believed that the instructions of the Teacher played a crucial, salvific function. As he understood it, salvation was dependent upon faith in the legitimacy of the Teacher’s role as an inspired exegete, and upon faithful adherence to the instructions that the Teacher provided to the community.

10.3 Conclusion This chapter set out to explore how the memory of the Teacher’s instructional role was transmitted within written media. What we have shown is that in the Damascus Document the Teacher is remembered as an authoritative instructor who provided the community with regulations for properly observing the Torah. Most importantly, his teaching was understood to play a crucial role in an individual’s eschatological salvation. Only those who trusted his authority and who maintained fidelity to his instructions would experience God’s ultimate deliverance. This image of the Teacher is echoed decades later in the pesharim. As such, there seems to have been considerable continuity in the perception of his

122

123

The designation ‫“( הבוג[דים בברית] החדשה‬the traitors of the New Covenant”) probably indicates that the group did, at one time, subscribe to and follow the tenets of this New Covenant. They had since turned away, however. Cf. Alex P. Jassen, “Survival at the End of Days: Aspects of Soteriology in the Dead Sea Scrolls Pesharim,” in This World and the World to Come: Soteriology in Early Judaism (ed. D. M. Gurtner; LSTS 74; London: T&T Clark, 2011) 193–210: “the importance of the Teacher is as the authoritative interpreter of the law. Thus, ‘faith’ (‫ )אמנה‬in him is commensurate with fidelity to his interpretation of the law” (207).

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instructional role over about a 40-year period.124 The only real developments in this representation is the way that the pesharim extend the subject of the Teacher’s interpretive focus to include prophetic scripture and their application to contemporary circumstances, and even then, one could make the case that similar perceptions of the Teacher were available in the Damascus Document. By suggesting that this particular image of the Teacher remained consistent within the collective memory of the community, we are not arguing that the Teacher tradition was static, nor are we claiming that the Damascus Document and the pesharim present the same portrait of the Teacher. Each time the stories about the Teacher were transmitted, they would have been shaped, to some extent, by the present circumstances of the community, and each retelling would have been impacted by previous versions. Naturally, then, there would have been some development in the way the Teacher was remembered over time. The point is that the one image of the Teacher that is attested in multiple documents across a wide timeframe and is, thus, capable of being assessed diachronically, reveals stability not variation. After nearly four decades, this memory of the Teacher remained relatively consistent. The question that needs to be asked, therefore, is not whether the pesher commentaries have revived a little-known (or even an unknown) figure from the past, but what the historical Teacher might have said or done that would have led to the establishment of such a strong tradition shortly after his death.

124

It is noteworthy that at various intervals following the Teacher’s death, his later followers understood their beliefs and practices as being informed by and consistent with what the Teacher taught. This position naturally assumes that the members had access to the Teacher’s instructions. The problem that arises is that none of the material found in the extant texts from Qumran is explicitly attributed to the Teacher. The question of how this situation might be explained is taken up in Appendix 3.

11 Evaluating the Potential for Change The Malleability and Persistence of the Teacher Tradition

It has become common for scholars to claim that the contemporary situation of the pesher commentators had a determinative influence on the memory of the Teacher of Righteousness. One of the most noteworthy proponents of this approach has been George J. Brooke. He makes the case for the view that the details recounted in the commentaries are representative of the circumstances and perspectives of the pesherists, who were decades removed from the time of the Teacher. According to Brooke, the pesharim “contain a projection back on to the Teacher of what the composers or compilers considered to have been suitable ways of describing the founding figure of the past.”1 The perceived suitability of the Teacher’s image is thought to have been judged by how well it mediated present concerns, more so than how accurately it reflected the past. In other words, for Brooke, it is the present that has the greatest influence on how the Teacher was remembered. As such, the pesharim are best understood as “a reflection of the experiences of the Qumran community in the middle of the first century BCE, reflections that are artificially retrojected into the past.”2

George J. Brooke, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” in Jesus and Brian: Exploring the Historical Jesus and His Times via Monty Python’s Life of Brian (ed. J. E. Taylor; London: Bloomsbury, 2015) 127–140 (134). 2 George J. Brooke, “Some Issues behind the Ethics in the Qumran Scrolls and Their Implications for New Testament Ethics,” in Early Christian Ethics in Interaction with Jewish and Greco-Roman Contexts (eds. J. W. van Henten and J. Verheyden; STR 17; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 83–106 (90 n. 24); cf. idem, “The Messiah of Aaron in the Damascus Document,” RevQ 15 (1991) 215–230 (229); idem, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” 136. 1

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According to this approach, the pesher authors were not trying to provide reliable information about the past; they were instead attempting to shape the social identity of their community. The memory of the Teacher, Brooke contends, “is in no small part remembrance as a mechanism for coping with contemporary issues, the projection back on to some earlier leader of all the contemporary anxieties about priestliness, authoritative interpretation, communal fragility, infighting and outfighting, as well as a genuine quest for meaning.”3 Therefore, one could say that the image of the Teacher serves a utilitarian purpose,4 and the malleability of the past allows it to be “plundered” when necessary “to give the community a better sense of its own identity and to provide meaning to the present by assisting in identifying more precisely god’s plans, and more precisely just when god would be bringing the present world order to an end.”5 It is not just Brooke who emphasizes the influence of the present on the memory of the Teacher. Many proponents of the new perspective advocate a similar approach toward the mnemonic evidence in the pesharim, wherein the experiences and characteristics of Teacher are either exaggerated or invented to facilitate the authors’ agenda.6 In this Brooke, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” 135. Cf. idem, “Was the Teacher of Righteousness Considered to Be a Prophet?” in Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and ExtraBiblical Prophecy (eds. K. De Troyer et al.; CBET 52; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 77–97, who notes that Pesher Habakkuk and Pesher Psalmsa “seem to represent a contemporary historicization of the Teacher as a way of meeting the ongoing struggles of the community.” Further, he argues that “[t]he purpose of such a representation of the Teacher is to invoke a focal character from the past who could hold the community together against those inside who speak and act against it, and also who could symbolize the value of surviving those outside against the odds” (91). 4 Cf. Brooke, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” 137: “the Teacher is useful in a time of conflict. Discourse about him helps people not only to take the right side, but also once on the right side to be part of a core group.” 5 George J. Brooke, “Types of Historiography in the Qumran Scrolls,” in Ancient and Modern Scriptural Historiography. L’historiographie biblique, ancienne et moderne (eds. G. J. Brooke and T. Römer; BETL 207; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2007) 211–230; reprinted in George J. Brooke, Reading the Dead Sea Scrolls: Essays in Method (EJL 39; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2013) 175–192 (192). 6 For a discussion of the ways that the present shapes the representation of the past in the pesharim, see Jutta Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretations (eds. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; SBLSymS 30; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005) 23–34; idem, “The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. P. F. Esler; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006) 254–263; idem, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 203–208. 3

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way, “[t]he Pesher commentators determine the image of the Teacher; the Teacher does not determine the contents of the Pesharim.”7 The same is thought to be true of the Damascus Document. Some have surmised that “a reading of the Damascus Document tells us more about what the covenant community thought of itself, or could potentially understand itself to be, than it tells us, in any objective way, about ‘what really happened’ in the history of this community.”8 At the heart of this position lies a crucial assumption about the malleability of collective memory. Scholars have worked from the notion that perspectives on the past were malleable enough to allow the authors of the Scrolls to shape the memory of the Teacher into a form that best suited their social, rhetorical, and theological purposes.9 While Brooke and others have used this perspective to provide a helpful corrective to essentialist models of earlier scholarship, what has been fully explored is the “receiveability” of this reconfigured image of the Teacher within the group’s collective memory. An adequate explanation of the mnemonic evidence requires scholars to consider not only what types of memories could have been created, but also the likelihood that such constructed memories would have been accepted.10 In other words, advocates of a presentist position must explain not only the circumstances that gave rise to the invention of such tradition, but also the reason(s) why this reconstituted memory gained prominence amidst competing representations of the past. In this final chapter, we will examine the malleability and persistence of collective memory more closely. By identifying the factors that influence memory, we will suggest that it would have been very difficult to manipulate the Teacher tradition in the way that has been suggested. Pieter B. Hartog, “Interlinear Additions and Literary Development in 4Q163/Pesher Isaiah C, 4Q169/Pesher Nahum, and 4Q171/Pesher Psalms A,” RevQ 28 (2016) 267–277 (268). 8 Maxine L. Grossman, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 209. 9 Philip R. Davies notes that “the past is configured and reconfigured to reflect the nature of the here and now,” which he claims is “the way in which communal, collective memory works” (“Historiography,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. G. J. Brooke and C. Hempel; London: T&T Clark, 2019] 228–236 [234–235]). 10 Advocates of the new perspective have focused exclusively on what Barry Schwartz describes as “a supply-side theory that attends to the production of images but ignores their reception” (Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory [Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000] 255; cf. idem, Abraham Lincoln in the PostHeroic Era: History and Memory in Late Twentieth-Century America [Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2008] 115–116). 7

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As an alternative, we propose that it would be worthwhile for scholars to reconsider the possibility that the actual past may have impacted the memory of the Teacher more than many have imagined.

11.1  Malleability and Persistence in Memory Studies The discussion about the manipulation of the Teacher tradition connects us to the heart of a significant debate within memory studies. For years, memory theorists have deliberated over the malleability and persistence of social memory.11 The dialogue has centered around the extent to which past and present reality shape what is remembered. While some scholars have argued that communities possess the freedom to construct (almost) any past they desire, others have claimed that the actual past plays an important role in constraining what groups remember. Both sides of this debate have labored to understand how the present shapes the memory of past experience, as well as how the past exerts an impact on present conceptions. The factors that contribute toward the malleability and persistence of collective memory can be categorized into three classes: instrumental, cultural, and inertial influences. Each facilitates change constancy through different means. Recent discussions on the or ­ Teacher have focused on ways that human agents altered representations of the past for the purpose of molding the social identity of their community. Our attention, therefore, will be given to the ways that individuals and groups use the memory of the past to achieve certain aims. Not only will we consider the limitations of this type of instrumental change, we will also explore certain cultural and inertial ­factors that are often overlooked in discussions of the Teacher tradition (Table 11.1). Our discussion will begin with a brief review of how malleability and persistence have been approached within modern memory studies. This will help us refine the types of questions that we will later ask about the (dis)continuity of the Teacher’s legacy.

11

For a review of this debate, see Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, “Social Memory Studies: From ‘Collective Memory’ to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices,” Annual Review of Sociology 24 (1998) 105–140 (128–130); Barbara A. Misztal, Theories of Social Remembering (Maidenheard: Open University Press, 2003) 50–74.

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Table 11.1  Ideal types of mnemonic malleability and persistence12 Instrumental

Cultural

Inertial

Persistence

Self-conscious orthodoxy, conservativism, heritage movements

Continued relevance, canon

Habit, routine, repetition, custom

Change

Revisionism, memory entrepreneurship, redress movements, legitimation, invented tradition

Irrelevance, paradigm change, discovery of new facts

Decay, atrophy, saturation, accidental loss, death

11.1.1  The Malleability of the Past A presentist approach toward social memory, as we discussed in Section 3.1.1,13 emphasizes the role of the present in shaping the memory of the past. According to this view, the interests, needs, and conditions of the present serve to determine how the past is remembered. Within this framework, there are two dimensions that tend to receive emphasis: instrumentality and interpretation. The latter approach, which was classically articulated by George Herbert Mead,14 stresses the perspectival and interpretive nature of any attempt to understand the past. The former approach focuses on the agents of memory who dictate how the past is remembered for the purpose of achieving particular goals. It is this position with which we are most concerned. The instrumental view is associated most commonly within the analytical perspective, known as the politics of memory.15 Since there are different ways that the past could be construed and various meanings attached to the same event, the politics of memory focuses on the fact that a

Taken from Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 129. See Chapter 3. 14 See, e.g., George Herbert Mead, “The Nature of the Past,” in Essays in Honor of John Dewey, on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, October 20, 1929 (New York: Henry Holt, 1929) 235–242; idem, The Philosophy of the Present (London: Open Court, 1932); cf. also Karl Mannheim, “The Problem of Generations,” in Essays on the Sociology of Knowledge (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1952) 276–320. 15 For a general introduction to this perspective, see Nicole Maurantonio, “The Politics of Memory,” in The Oxford Handbook of Political Communication (eds. K. Kenski and K. H. Jamieson; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014) 219–232. 12

13

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considerable amount of power is afforded to the one who is able to shape how the past is remembered. In light of the constructed nature of the past, scholars have explored various ways that memory agents seek to construct a “usable past.” Attention has been devoted to the reputations of historical figures, memorials, rituals, and various other ways through which the past is remembered.16 The most extreme form of the instrumental position is found in works that emphasize the invented nature of the past.17 In recent decades, opposition has been voiced against the presentist position and the instrumental approach in particular.18 While this perspective is able to account for some representations of the past, it cannot serve as an adequate paradigm by which to assess memory on a more general level. The problems that surround this approach have been See, e.g., Thomas L. Connelly, The Marble Man: Robert E. Lee and His Image in American Society (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1977); John Bodnar, Remaking America: Public Memory, Commemoration, and Patriotism in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992); Shaunna L. Schott, “Dead Work: The Construction and Reconstruction of the Harlan Miners Memorial,” Qualitative Sociology 19 (1996) 365–393; Vera L. Zolberg, “Contested Remembrance: The Hiroshima Exhibit Controversy,” Theory and Society 27 (1998) 565–590; Gary Alan Fine, Difficult Reputations: Collective Memories of the Evil, Inept, and Controversial (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2001); Vered Vinitzky-Seroussi, “Commemorating a Difficult Past: Yitzhak Rabin’s Memorials,” American Sociological Review 67 (2002) 30–51. 17 A study that has become paradigmatic on this issue is Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Past and Present Publications; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). This collection of essays focuses on rituals and practices, which are recent in origin, despite claims about their antiquity. Other works have followed this instrumentalist pattern, e.g., James R. Lewis and Olav Hammer, eds., The Invention of Sacred Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Hugh Trevor-Roper, The Invention of Scotland: Myth and History (2nd edn.; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014); cf. also John Van Seters, “Cultural Memory and the Invention of Biblical Israel,” in Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis (eds. P. Carstens et al.; PHSC 17; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2012) 53–80. 18 See Christina Simko, “Rhetorics of Suffering: September 11 Commemorations as Theodicy,” American Sociological Review 77 (2012) 880–902 (885). One of the first to recognize the limitations of the presentist position was Barry Schwartz. In a number of studies, Schwartz has worked to highlight the continuity of social memory and the ways in which the past often constrains attempts to manipulate it (see Chapter 3). However, he is not the only one who has emphasized the formative role of the past in the shaping of collective memory. Others have likewise voiced similar views (e.g., Michael Schudson, “The Present in the Past versus the Past in the Present,” Communication 11 [1989] 105–113; Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember [Themes in the Social Sciences; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989] 122; James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory [New Perspectives on the Past; Oxford: Blackwell, 1992] 24; Iwona Irwin-Zarecka, Frames of Remembrance: The Dynamics of Collective Memory [New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1994] 17–18). 16

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well-rehearsed within scholarship.19 First, some memories are difficult, if not impossible to change, and the presentist perspective does not account for the ways that the (memories of the) past constrain(s) and compel(s) the present. Second, it is difficult, if not impossible, to account for the rise of present interests merely on the basis of a presentist approach; for something in the past must have led to those interests. Finally, a purely presentist approach cannot explain the interest in the past as a means of present influence and persuasion. If the past never had any impact on the present (and the past could be made into whatever anyone wanted or needed), then why would anyone care about the past? 11.1.2  A Processual Approach toward Malleability and Persistence Based on the correctives that have been offered to the presentist and essentialist positions, current memory scholarship appears to be moving beyond earlier attempts to demonstrate that either the past or present is the determinative factor in the production of social memory. “Though there of course remain tensions over the malleability of memory, the prevailing wisdom is that the relationship between past and present is a complex and variable one.”20 It is recognized that some memories were formed by the needs of the present and, thus, are only marginally connected with the past (e.g., Scottish kilt), while other memories clearly have a strong connection with the past despite the influence of the present (e.g., Holocaust). Most will now agree that, to some extent, the past is continually constructed and re-constructed in light of the present; at the same time, there are certain constraints that restrict how the past can be remembered.21 As a result, it is unproductive to erect paradigms that prescribe how social memory must function at a very general level. 19

20

21

See, e.g., Jeffrey K. Olick, “From Usable Pasts to the Return of the Repressed,” Hedgehog Review 9 (2007) 19–31 (20). Christina Simko, “Forgetting to Remember: The Present Neglect and Future Prospects of Collective Memory in Sociological Theory,” in Handbook of Contemporary Sociological Theory (ed. S. Abrutyn; Cham: Springer, 2016) 457–475 (461). For more on this complexity, see Lyn Spillman, “When Do Collective Memories Last? Founding Moments in the United States and Australia,” Social Science History 22 (1998) 445–477 (448–453). Cf. Jeffrey K. Olick, “From Collective Memory to the Sociology of Mnemonic Practices and Products,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (eds. A. Erll and A. Nünning; Media and Cultural Memory 8; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 151–161, who points out that collective memory should not be viewed “either as the authentic residue of the past or as an entirely malleable construction in the present”; instead, it should be understood as “a fluid negotiation between desires of the present and the legacies of the past” (159).

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In response to these earlier approaches, scholars have begun to emphasize the processual nature of memory.22 In other words, “contemporary memory studies view memory as a process continually evolving across many points in time and space.” According to this perspective, “[r]emembering is processual action by which people constantly transform the recollections that they produce.”23 The focus of this processual approach has, thus, shifted away from general questions about the malleability and persistence of collective memory and toward the factors that shape representations of the past. Scholars have focused on cultural influences, institutional dynamics, and even individual processes.24 The key is that each situation presents unique circumstances that impact memory in different ways. In what follows, therefore, we will seek to construct an evaluative model by which to assess the specific mnemonic evidence related to the Teacher of Righteousness. It will focus, in particular, on how the memory of historical figures are shaped by later reputational entrepreneurs.

22

23

24

Examples of those who emphasize the processual nature of memory (aside from those listed below) include: Jacob J. Climo and Maria G. Cattell, “Introduction,” in Social Memory and History: Anthropological Perspectives (eds. M. G. Cattell and J. J. Climo; Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 2002) 1–36 (36); Amanda Lagerkvist, Media and Memory in New Shanghai: Western Performances of Futures Past (Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies; Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013) 30, 50–51; Kelvin E. Y. Low, Remembering the Samsui Women: Migration and Social Memory in Singapore and China (Contemporary Chinese Studies; Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2014) 209–211; Daniel Levy, “Memory and Methodological Cosmopolitanism: A Figurative Approach,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to Memory Studies (ed. S. Kattago; London: Routledge, 2016) 211–224. Barbie Zelizer, “Reading the Past against the Grain: The Shape of Memory Studies,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12 (1995) 214–239 (218). Cf. Olick and Robbins, “Social Memory Studies,” 122: “memory is a process, not a thing, and it works differently at different points in time” and under different circumstances. See, e.g., Arjun Appadurai, “The Past as a Scarce Resource,” Man 16 (1981) 201–219; Howard Schuman and Jacqueline Scott, “Generations and Collective Memories,” American Sociological Review 54 (1989) 359–381; Michael Schudson, Watergate in American Memory: How We Remember, Forget, and Reconstruct the Past (New York: Basic Books, 1992); Jeffrey K. Olick and Daniel Levy, “Collective Memory and Cultural Constraint: Holocaust Myth and Rationality in German Politics,” American Sociological Review 62 (1997) 921–936; Tong Zhang and Barry Schwartz, “Confucius and the Cultural Revolution: A Study in Collective Memory,” International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society 11 (1997) 189–212; Carolyn Hamilton, Terrific Majesty: The Powers of Shaka Zulu and the Limits of Historical Invention (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998).

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11.2  Constructing an Evaluative Model for Reputational Memory In the past, doubts have been expressed about the possibility of discerning the inventive character of memory claims. According to Philip R. Davies, “we cannot determine that any ‘memory’ is not the invention of an individual.”25 But this claim speaks more to the lack of methodological engagement within Dead Sea Scrolls research than it does to the potential of memory theory. There is much that can be learned about the formation and preservation of collective memory, and using this information, scholars can make critical judgments about specific memory projects. To do so simply requires a more nuanced methodological framework than has been employed so far. In this section, we will introduce a model for evaluating the malleability and persistence of the Teacher tradition. By considering the various factors involved in the formulation of the Teacher’s image and its later reception as part of the group’s collective memory, we will be able to make a better-informed decision about the extent to which the image of the Teacher was reformulated in the decades following his death. 11.2.1  The Foundation of Reputational Memory Any model of reputational character must begin with the recognition that collective memory is path dependent. Since the past is over and cannot be repeated, the only access to the past comes through representative forms of memory. The act of remembering involves a dialogue with these previous representations. Path dependence refers to the fact that “earlier representations of the past affect the availability and resources required for present representations.”26 One might say, then, that “[i]t isn’t what ‘actually happened’—the past in some pristine, unreconstructed sense— that limits what speakers can do with it. Rather, cultural conventions of commemoration, that is, accepted ways of publicly remembering, shape

25

26

Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts (ed. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 31–46 (34). Barry Schwartz, “Culture and Collective Memory: Comparative Perspectives,” in Handbook of Cultural Sociology (eds. J. R. Hall et al.; London: Routledge, 2012) 619–628 (622). Cf. Joachim J. Savelsberg and Ryan D. King, American Memories: Atrocities and the Law (Rose Series in Sociology; New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2011) 19–20. On path dependence more generally, see James Mahoney, “Path Dependence in Historical Sociology,” Theory and Society 29 (2000) 507–548.

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what one can do with the past (the rhetorical form of commemoration) and when one can do it (the occasions on which commemoration is acceptable).”27 So, while the conceptualization of the past requires negotiation between present circumstances and the originating event, it is the subsequent interpretive representations, following the originating event, which play a key role in shaping the formulation of collective memory. The path dependence of collective memory has been illustrated by sociologist Jeffrey K. Olick, who documented how the anniversary of May 8, 1945 (the surrender of Germany that marked the end of WWII in Europe) was commemorated in Germany during the decades following the Nazi defeat.28 What he discovered was that in an attempt to navigate both the country’s guilt and liberation, German political discourse was always in dialogue not simply with the past that was being commemorated, but also with each of the prior commemorations of that past. In his explanation of how path dependence operates, Olick notes, “from the moment being remembered, present images are constantly being reproduced, revised, and replaced.” Therefore, when representations of the past are examined, they cannot be understood “as successions of discrete moments, one present-to-past relation after another”; instead, it must be recognized that “images of the past depend not only on the relationship between past and present but also on the accumulation of previous such relationships and their ongoing constitution and reconstitution.”29 Path dependence, therefore, has an important bearing on the malleability of representations of the past. “Once a memory is established within a collectivity, it is difficult to modify let alone ignore.”30 This

27

28

29

30

Francesca Polletta, “Legacies and Liabilities of an Insurgent Past: Remembering Martin Luther King, Jr., on the House and Senate Floor,” Social Science History 22 (1998) 479–512 (507; original emphasis). Jeffrey K. Olick, “Genre Memories and Memory Genres: A Dialogical Analysis of May 8, 1945 Commemorations in the Federal Republic of Germany,” American Sociological Review 64 (1999) 381–402. Jeffrey K. Olick, “Genre Memories and Memory Genres,” 382. This does not mean, however, that earlier representations completely determine what shape later recollections must take. See Jeffrey K. Olick, The Sins of the Fathers: Germany, Memory, Method (Chicago Studies in Practices of Meaning; Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2016) 76: “memory is path-dependent but not unyieldingly so, shaped by the past but not ­completely so, and responsive to the present but not directly so” (emphasis removed). Barry Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” in Routledge International Handbook of Memory Studies (eds. A. L. Tota and T. Hagen; London: Routledge, 2016) 9–21 (15). Cf. the motto quoted by Georg Simmel, The Problems of the Philosophy of History: An Epistemological Essay (New York: Free Press, 1977) 92: “‘We are free to make the first move, but we are servants of the second’.”

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is clear from the unsuccessful attempt to revise the collective memory of the Chinese War of Resistance against Japan (1931–1945). Despite government efforts to amend the official account of the War in a way that aligns with Communist interests, the story has continued to remain relatively consistent. In his examination of these memories, Rui Gao has discovered that “the grand narrative about the War as prescribed and promulgated by the Chinese government in the post-Mao era retains many of the basic narrative structures, interpretive framework, and rhetorical and aesthetic features inherited from public discourses in Maoist China.”31 In this way, “the official revision of the War, regardless the instrumental purpose it is intended to serve, remains ultimately limited in both its scope and depth,” a fact that Gao attributes to “the highly path-dependent nature of collective remembrance.”32 It is noteworthy, therefore, that among proponents of the new perspective, few have sought to understand how the memory of the Teacher preserved in the textual record relates to earlier representations of the past, or how (and why) the audience toward whom it was directed might have received it. When the written sources are discussed, they are often detached from the past – not just the past as it related to the Teacher, but any past leading up to the time of composition. As a way of remedying this situation, the model of reputational memory, that we are proposing, is grounded in the fact that the formation of memory is dependent upon the reception of prior representations. With this foundation now defined, we can consider how path dependence impacts the progress of collective memory. 11.2.2  The Mnemonic Conditions of Reputational Memory Path dependence shapes collective memory by providing opportunities for and constraints on memory agents who seek to represent the past in the present. To understand the prospects and limitations inherent within this process, we must consider the mnemonic conditions of each specific situation. This involves identifying and exploring two important factors that impact how memory agents represent the past: (1) the memory

31

32

Rui Gao, “Cacophonous Memories of the War: Revision of the Official Narrative on the War of Resistance against Japan in Post-Mao China and Its Limitations,” in Routledge Handbook of Memory and Reconciliation in East Asia (ed. M. Kim; London: Routledge, 2016) 26–46 (27). Gao, “Cacophonous Memories of the War,” 27.

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agents and their intended audience, and (2) the mnemonic representations that preceded the memory project. First, establishing the reputation of a historical figure requires supporters who can promote his or her memory and defend it against alternative perspectives.33 These custodians of memory are often called reputational entrepreneurs.34 According to Gary Alan Fine, entrepreneurial success is dependent upon three factors: motivation, narrative facility, and institutional placement.35 To begin with, memory agents must view their entrepreneurial work as beneficial not only to themselves but also to their wider community. In this way, “status placement is a strategic game played by self-interested parties, even if their tactics depend on the obdurate character of those they hope to promote.”36 Along with this motivation, reputational entrepreneurship requires a plausible narrative whose truth is to be accepted by both the memory agent and his/her audience. Finally, the entrepreneur must hold a position in which his/her claims are positively received by and approvingly disseminated among the intended audience. But even a motivated and institutionally-placed memory agent does not guarantee the success of a reputational memory project. One must This is true not only of historical figures, but in any type of reputational pursuits. In the world of literature, Jane Tompkins has noted that “works that have attained the status of classic, and are therefore believed to embody universal values, are in fact embodying only the interests of whatever parties or factions are responsible for maintaining them in their preeminent position” (“Masterpiece Theater: The Politics of Hawthorne’s Literary Reputation,” American Quarterly 36 [1984] 617–642 [618]). 34 This designation comes from Fine, Difficult Reputations, 12, 21, 63; and idem, Sticky Reputations: The Politics of Collective Memory in Midcentury America (New York: Routledge, 2012) ix, xii. The label has been adopted by others as well, e.g., Chris Post, “Reputational Politics and the Symbolic Accretion of John Brown in Kansas,” Historical Geography 37 (2009) 92–113 (95); Phillip G. Payne, Dead Last: The Public Memory of Warren G. Harding’s Scandalous Legacy (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2009) 9; Giuseppe Toscano, “How to Turn a Social Interaction into a Work of Art? Performances, Frames and Reputational Entrepreneurs,” in Present and Future of Symbolic Interactionism: Proceedings of the International Symposium, Pisa 2010, vol. 2 (eds. A. Salvini et al.; Sociologia 719; Milano: FrancoAngeli, 2012) 199–212. 35 Gary Alan Fine, “Reputational Entrepreneurs and the Memory of Incompetence: Melting Supporters, Partisan Warriors, and Images of President Harding,” American Journal of Sociology 101 (1996) 1159–1193 (1162–1163). See also Rafael Rodríguez, “Reputation,” in The Dictionary of the Bible and Ancient Media (eds. T. Thatcher et al.; London: Bloomsbury, 2017) 332–334. For a slight nuancing of these three elements, see Marianne Wheeldon, Debussy’s Legacy and the Construction of Reputation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017) 31. 36 Michael Sauder and Gary Alan Fine, “Arbiters, Entrepreneurs, and the Shaping of Business School Reputations,” Sociological Forum 23 (2008) 699–723 (700). 33

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also account for the audience who will receive the memory. In particular, it is important to consider their predisposition toward a given narrative. The acceptance or rejection of a historical reputation often centers around the extent to which the beliefs relate to those that have already been accepted.37 As a result, it is important to consider what the group knows and believes about the past. Even when these factors align, however, it is not always possible to gain acceptance from everyone in a given audience. There may be times when memories are contested. “In these debates the contest is often over how truth can best be conveyed, rather than what actually happened. There may be agreement as to the course of events, but not over how the truth of those events may be most fully represented, or what should be the explanatory and narrative context that would make sense of a given episode.”38 The second factor that provides opportunities for and constraints on memory agents is the prior representation of the past within the community. To understand how previous mnemonic representations affect subsequent memory projects, it is necessary to explore what Robert S. Jansen describes as the “reputational trajectories” of collective memory. A reputational trajectory refers to “a path-dependent series of ‘­presents’—each with its own memory dynamics—in which symbolic shifts at one moment (a ‘critical juncture,’ to use the language of path analysis) set the terrain for later moments of contestation.”39 Through a diachronic analysis of memory, one is able to identify not only the reputational path of a given

Fine, Difficult Reputations, 22. Cf. David S. Meyer, “Claiming Credit: Stories of Movement Influence as Outcomes,” in Culture, Social Movements, and Protest (ed. H. Johnston; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009) 55–75: “The impact of a particular understanding of a movement’s history and influence is a function of how subsequent actors use that understanding to frame the possibilities of new collective action. In organizing for the future, activists must make sense of the events of the past, explaining previous triumphs and defeats by constructing narratives that resonate with popular beliefs and shared values even as they challenge them” (62). 38 Katharine Hodgkin and Susannah Radstone, “Introduction: Contested Pasts,” in Contested Pasts: The Politics of Memory (eds. K. Hodgkin and S. Radstone; Routledge Studies in Memory and Narrative; London: Routledge, 2003) 1–21 (1). 39 Robert S. Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation: Reputational Trajectories, Memory Work, and the Political Use of Historical Figures,” American Journal of Sociology 112 (2007) 953–1007 (961). Others have used the trajectory of collective memory as a way of better understanding the historical situation that gave rise to the memory (see Anthony Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus: Memory, Typology, and the Son of David [Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009] 65–92; idem, Historical Jesus: What Can We Know and How Can We Know It? [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011] 78–79, 128–130). 37

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historical figure, but also any critical shifts causing this path to be redirected.40 The outcomes of these shifts in perspectives have a significant impact on the subsequent formulation of memory. They provide the new conditions under which reputational entrepreneurs must construct their memory projects. By understanding the reputational trajectories inherited by memory agents, we are better able to identify the specific factors that enable and restrict the manipulation of collective memory. When it comes to the memory of historical figures, Jansen lists three dimensions of a figure’s reputational character that impact these conditions: salience, valence, and ownership.41 Salience refers to the extent to which a figure is remembered within a given social milieu: those with high salience are attributed an important place in a group’s collective memory, while those with little to no salience are forgotten.42 Valence describes the quality of a historical figure’s reputation. Within collective memory, a figure might be perceived positively, negatively, or even neutrally. The idea of ownership flows out of the struggle between groups to associate themselves and their position with a particular historical figure. Depending on which party lays claim to the figure, he or she could be a viewed as a protagonist, antagonist, or as unaffiliated. The key to understanding the impact of these variables lies in their coalescence. “Different combinations of values on these three variables present reputational entrepreneurs with different sets of inherited symbolic conditions.”43 Table 11.2 expresses the different ways that these variables could be combined, and then describes how each combination impacts the memory agents who inherit them. Some inherited reputations provide more opportunities for alterations than others. In the case of a non-salient figure from the past

In sociological research, these critical junctures are often referred to as “turning points” (see Andrew Abbott, “On the Concept of Turning Point,” Comparative Social Research 16 [1997] 85–105; cf. Glen H. Elder, “Perspectives on the Life Course,” in Life Course Dynamics: Trajectories and Transitions, 1968–1980 [ed. G. H. Elder; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985] 23–49 [35]). 41 Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation,” 962–964. 42 It is important to recognize that “[t]he absence of memory is just as socially constructed as memory itself, and with an equally strong intervention of morally as well as ideologically grounded claims to truth” (Irwin-Zarecka, Frames of Remembrance, 116). 43 Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation,” 964. 40

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Table 11.2  Possible combinations of inherited symbolic conditions44 Combination 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Salience

Valence

Ownership

Immediate Implication

S S S S S S S S S N

+ + + – – – 0 0 0 NA

P A 0 P A 0 P A 0 NA

Advantageous Threatening Neutral Threatening Advantageous Neutral Neutral Threatening Neutral Neutral

Note: S = salient; N = not salient; + = positive valence; – = negative valence; 0 = neutral or ambivalent valence; P = protagonist; A = antagonist; 0 = other.

(no. 10 in Table 11.2), reputational entrepreneurs must “resurrect” the memory of the figure. This situation affords memory agents with a great deal of liberty. They are “free to shape their forgotten figure in ways helpful to the development of their movement because they [do] not need to devote much energy to overcoming preexisting ­symbolic attachments and meanings.”45 At the same time, there are certain tradeoffs with this extended freedom. Not only does the project require considerable effort to make the historical figure known to a given audience, the image of the figure has no rhetorical value until it has been incorporated into collective memory.46 Certain combinations make the reputational character of historical figures more difficult to alter. This fact is documented by Minna Bromberg and Gary Alan Fine, who have considered the purification of Pete Seeger’s vilified Communist image. These scholars recognize that the transformation of Seeger into a national hero lends support to the idea that “reputations are radically malleable, even when the figure

44 45

46

Table from Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation,” 989. Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation,” 986. For examples of historical figures whose reputations have been “resurrected” from the past, see Bernard Lewis, History: Remembered, Recovered, Invented (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975) 3–42; Oz Frankel, “Whatever Happened to ‘Red Emma’? Emma Goldman, From Alien Rebel to American Icon,” Journal of American History 83 (1996) 903–942. Jansen, “Resurrection and Appropriation,” 986.

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has not changed dramatically.”47 At the same time, they note that there are certain structural constraints that limit the malleability of reputational memory. In the case of Seeger, it is argued that “he will never be remembered as a conservative.” This is because Seeger’s political affiliations have become part of a strong collective memory. Given such public knowledge Bromberg and Fine suggest that there are now only a few transformative options available: “They can be ignored; they can be celebrated; they can be transformed from a mark of Cain to a badge of honor, but they cannot be obliterated.”48 With the general contours of this model of reputational memory now sketched, we will seek to apply it to the memory of the Teacher.

11.3  Mnemonic Conditions within the Scrolls Community The question that remains to be addressed is how the mnemonic conditions of the Scrolls community impacted the representation of the Teacher. More specifically, we will need to determine which factors enabled and constrained the manipulation of the Teacher’s image and whether it is likely that the group’s memory was significantly altered following the Teacher’s death.49 Our discussion will begin with the memory agents and their audience, and then move to the representations of the Teacher inherited from earlier memory projects. We will show that certain factors likely had a constraining influence on the memory of the Teacher to the extent that it would have been difficult for later reputational entrepreneurs to make significant changes to the image that was already accepted within collective memory. 47

48 49

Minna Bromberg and Gary Alan Fine, “Resurrecting the Red: Pete Seeger and the Purification of Difficult Reputations,” Social Forces 80 (2002) 1135–1155 (1151). See further Allan M. Winkler, “To Everything There Is a Season”: Pete Seeger and the Power of Song (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Bromberg and Fine, “Resurrecting the Red,” 1151. It should be stressed that references to “alterations” or “changes” in memory are not intended to suggest that the events from the life of the Teacher had inherent meaning or that later agents of memory were obliged to remember the Teacher and the events of his life “as they really happened.” The meaning of cultural objects is not fixed, nor do they possess any inherent significance (see Stuart Hall, “Encoding/Decoding,” in Media and Cultural Studies: Keyworks [eds. M. G. Durham and D. M. Kellner; 2nd edn.; Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006] 163–173; cf. Wendy Griswold, “The Fabrication of Meaning: Literary Interpretation in the United States, Great Britain, and the West Indies,” American Journal of Sociology 92 [1987] 1077–1117). “Changes” and “alterations” relate to how the past was remembered, not to “what actually happened” in the past.

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11.3.1  Memory Agents and Their Audience Recent work on the Teacher has concentrated on how and why his memory was reconstructed (or invented) in the decades following his death. Since our knowledge about those who produced the images is extremely limited,50 most of the attention has been devoted to the various ways that the images were relevant to the group’s contemporary circumstances. These studies have contributed greatly to our understanding of the Teacher materials; yet, the production of images from the past can only take the discussion so far. What must also be considered is how and by whom those images would have been received.51 This requires asking questions about who may have been alive when any new images of the Teacher would have been introduced, and what version of past events this group already accepted. Each mnemonic situation is unique in that it presents different factors that might influence an audience’s reception of reputational claims. In the case of the Teacher, there are two factors that are most important: the present state of affairs and the group’s temporal distance from the Teacher. These conditions would have provided reputational entrepreneurs with both freedom and constraints in their representation of the Teacher. In the end, however, the latter would have exerted the most powerful influence. 11.3.1.1  Present State of Affairs One factor that impacts how the past is remembered is the current state of affairs inherited from an earlier set of circumstances.52 Regardless of how much one might try to invent a new memory of the terrorist attacks

Their identities are never disclosed in the documents they wrote. At most, we can conclude that they were literate members of the community who perhaps held some position of authority (cf. Matthew Neujahr, Predicting the Past in the Ancient Near East: Mantic Historiography in Ancient Mesopotamia, Judah, and the Mediterranean World [BJS 354; Providence, RI: Brown University, 2012] 184). 51 See Alon Confino, “Collective Memory and Cultural History: Problems of Method,” American Historical Review 102 (1997) 1386–1403: “The crucial issue in the history of memory is not how a past is represented but why it was received or rejected. For every society sets up images of the past. Yet to make a difference in society, it is not enough for a certain past to be selected. It must steer emotions, motivate people to act, be received; in short, it must become a socio-cultural mode of action” (1390). 52 Cf. Mead, “The Nature of the Past,” 238, who defines the past as “that which must have been before it is present in experience as a past.” 50

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on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, any memory that is constructed must account for the fact that the Twin Towers are no longer standing. In this way, “reality sets limits to perception.”53 The limitations created by the present are particularly evident when the story of the past is recounted in historical forms. Evidence could be drawn from any number of time periods. Medieval historiographers, for instance, took license in how they recounted the details of the war between the Lombards and the Gepids; however, they were constrained by certain incontrovertible facts that had to be reflected in their accounts. Most important was the fact that “the Lombards had to win, for… Italy was a Lombard not a Gepid kingdom, and the region around Milan and Pavia was called Lombardy.” In other words, “people knew what their past had led to.”54 The same constraints were placed on ancient Israelite historians as well. Ehud Ben Zvi has shown how existing social, political, and religious structures served as mnemonic constraints that limited how the past of Israel could be remembered during the late Persian/early Hellenistic period.55 Since the temple played such a prominent role in Israelite religion, the early monarchic times of David and Solomon, who were believed to have been responsible for its construction, had to be valorized. At the same time, the rule of later kings had to be vilified to account for the Babylonian destruction, which occurred in 587/586 BCE.

Alfred R. Lindesmith et al., Social Psychology (8th edn.; London: SAGE Publications, 1999) 164. 54 Walter Pohl, “Memory, Identity and Power in Lombard Italy,” in The Uses of the Past in the Early Middle Ages (eds. Y. Hen and M. Innes; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) 9–28 (28). While some medieval historiographers did take some license in how they recounted the past, Pohl points out that they were not completely free to invent any past they chose: “The war between Lombards and Longobards reported by Codagnellus is invented to a considerable degree. But even to him, the distant Lombard past was not infinitely malleable. Medieval historiographers mostly dealt with truths that were already there, with an order of discourse about the past that gave meaning to the narrative modules they arranged or produced. Even invented pasts could not be created freely, they had to be likely enough to have come to pass” (27). 55 Ehud Ben Zvi, “Memory and Political Thought in Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Yehud/Judah: Some Observations,” in Leadership, Social Memory and Judean Discourse in the Fifth-Second Centuries BCE (eds. D. V. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi; WANEM; Bristol, CT: Equinox Publishing, 2016) 9–26. Elsewhere, Ben Zvi addresses more fully the constraints on the malleability of the past within history-writing (see idem, “Malleability and Its Limits: Sennacherib’s Campaign against Judah as a CaseStudy,” in ‘Like a Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE [ed. L. L. Grabbe; JSOTSup 363; London: Sheffield Academic, 2003] 73–105). 53

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What is important to clarify is how the constraints of the present can impact the representations of the past. “That previous events must have happened in order for their consequence to occur does not mean that all memories are true; it does mean that present conditions can only be the result of past events.”56 In other words, present reality places limits on the type of past that can plausibly be constructed. While memory agents exercise some freedom in explaining how a group arrived at a certain point, there are only so many routes that can be taken to get there. Any attempt to account for the mnemonic evidence related to the Teacher of Righteousness, therefore, must have explanatory power; that is, it must be able to explain how the present circumstances known and experienced by the readers developed from that past. The contemporary circumstances of the Scrolls community would have provided the boundaries in which their past could be remembered. The group seems to have held only a marginal position in the larger social and political structures of ancient Judaism. Further, they maintained comparatively strict observance of Jewish laws and understood themselves to be the recipients of divine revelation, which disclosed the meaning of current events. To explain how the group reached this point, a number of interpretive possibilities would have been available. This makes the community’s situation somewhat different from the aftermath of the Holocaust or 9/11. The present in which the group found itself seems to allow for a more malleable past. Among the explanations that would have been available to them was the invention of a figure from the past who could bear responsibility for the community’s present reality. To this founding figure, ancient memory agents could assign the origins of the group’s strict halakhic interpretations, their divinely-inspired interpretive techniques, and even their current experience of marginalization that comes from following God’s righteous leaders. This variety of interpretive possibilities appears to be one of the primary reasons why so many scholars have been drawn to a presentist approach toward the Teacher. However, as we will discuss below, what is rarely accounted for are the other factors that would have limited how the past could be represented. Most important among them is the fact that the audience was only a few decades removed from the events in question, and that some members of the community may have even been contemporaries of the Teacher.

56

Schwartz, “Rethinking the Concept of Collective Memory,” 16.

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11.3.1.2  The Audience’s Distance from the Teacher For many, a presentist approach toward the Teacher tradition is based on the audience’s lack of familiarity with the origins of the group. Since the life of the Teacher had been forgotten by the time the pesharim were composed, the commentators were free to exaggerate (or perhaps invent) his role in the history of the community.57 On the surface, there is much that could be used to support this conclusion. When the past is forgotten, memory agents are presented with tremendous inventive opportunities. One could use the fictitious claims that grew up around Pacificus, archdeacon of the cathedral of Verona (776–844 CE), as a prime example. Because Carolingian history had been all but forgotten in the three centuries following the death of Pacificus, scholars of Verona were provided with the opportunity to construct his story according to their contemporary agenda. As documented by Cristina La Rocca, “from the twelfth century his personality was completely reshaped and reinvented, initially with no great care, turning him into a local Carolingian forebear whose actions and prestige created worthy precedents for the new practices and legal relations coming into existence in the twelfth century between the cathedral chapter of Verona and the bishop and urban elites.”58 Examples like this could be multiplied across a number of time periods.59 Yet, as we have already demonstrated, it is difficult to argue that the life and ministry of the Teacher would have been forgotten prior to being recorded in the textual record. Not only could some of his

57 58

59

See Chapter 4. Cristina La Rocca, “A Man for All Seasons: Pacificus of Verona and the Creation of a Local Carolingian Past,” in The Uses of the Past in the Early Middle Ages (eds. Y. Hen and M. Innes; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) 250–279 (251). See further Cristina La Rocca, Pacifico di Verona: Il passato carolingio nella costruzione della memoria urbana (Nuovi studi storici 31; Rome: Istituto storico italiano per il Medio Evo, 1995). Within Hebrew Bible scholarship, there has been much discussion about the extent to which the early history of ancient Israel has been invented. Those who advocate invented history include: Philip R. Davies, In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’ (2nd edn.; JSOTSup 148; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995); Niels Peter Lemche, The Israelites in History and Tradition (LAI; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1998); Thomas L. Thompson, The Mythic Past: Biblical Archaeology and the Myth of Israel (New York: Basic Books, 1999). Those who defend the historicity of the biblical accounts include: K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2006); Daniel I. Block, ed., Israel: Ancient Kingdom or Late Invention? (Nashville, TN: B&H Academic, 2008); Bill T. Arnold and Richard S. Hess, eds., Ancient Israel’s History: An Introduction to Issues and Sources (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2014).

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contemporaries have survived for decades after his death,60 the written accounts, which reference the Teacher, began to be composed shortly after the Teacher passed away.61 This is particularly important when it comes to the historical references made in the pesharim. According to Kevin O’Donnell, “the fact that the readers already knew the events to which the pesher author is referring, would not permit the possibility of his falsifying these events. He could not state that someone was a priest or a ruler, if this were not true, nor could he claim that someone had been killed if that were not the case.”62 While such a claim seems to attribute too determinative of a force to the audience’s knowledge of the past,63 it correctly emphasizes the constraints of an informed readership upon the pesherist’s rehearsal of the past.64 A better way to explain the situation might be to say that the reception of any description of the past would have been influenced by the extent to which it aligned with collective memory.65 What this means is that the memory of the Teacher presents a situation that differs dramatically from most cases involving the invention of tradition.

See Chapter 5. See Section 4.3. 62 Kevin O’Donnell, “Historical Allusions in the Pesharim: A Systematic Attempt to Determine Their Credibility and to Identify the Principal Historical Characters” (PhD diss., Oxford University, 1978) 220. 63 In the next sentence, O’Donnell rephrases his claim: “That his readers had necessarily to be conversant with the facts to which he was alluding, limited his license in recounting the events” (O’Donnell, “Historical Allusions in the Pesharim,” 220). This focus on the limitations created by the perceptions of the audience is much closer to the mark. It indicates the difficulty – rather than the impossibility – of misrepresenting the past. 64 Along with the knowledge and experience of the readers, the future predictive element also shaped the descriptions of the past. “The fact that the [prophetic scriptures] are shown by the pesherist to have ‘predicted’ accurately past events enjoins faith in the accuracy of the predictions of future events” (Neujahr, Predicting the Past, 191). So regardless of whether the primary aim of the pesharim was to communicate the fulfilment of scriptural prophecy (cf. James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002] 115, with Jokiranta, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” 33–34), there was an important connection between the representation of the past and the expectation for the future. 65 Cf. John J. Collins, “Prophecy and History in the Pesharim,” in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (ed. M. Popović; JSJSup 141; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 209– 226, who notes that the references to historical events “must reflect an account of the historical episodes in question that was accepted by the pesherist’s community, whether or not it was objectively true” (216). 60

61

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Aside from the Teacher tradition taking shape within living memory of the events themselves, it is also equally crucial to realize that any revision of the Teacher’s image would have involved asking the audience to change their established perceptions about the past.66 The fact that the memory of the Teacher was preserved in diverse media over an extended portion of time holds out important implications for the constraints inherited by memory agents. The task of convincing a group to accept a revised image of the past is often difficult, especially when collective memory is firmly established. Collective memory’s resistance to change has been documented in a number of studies.67 One of the more notable is a study by Howard Schuman, Barry Schwartz, and Hannah D’Arcy on the resiliency of Christopher Columbus’ reputation within popular American ­memory. Throughout much of American history, Columbus has been lauded as a hero for discovering America in 1492. However, with the rise of revisionist history and due to critiques from Native American activists, the legacy of Columbus has undergone considerable revision within intellectual circles.68 But, as a survey by Schuman, Schwartz,

66

67

68

According to Davies, the memory of the Teacher of Righteousness eventually came to replace the earlier memory of the Interpreter of the Law as the founder of the group (“What History Can We Get?” 35–37, 44). What Davies does not address is how memory entrepreneurs would have convinced their audience to accept this revised history. For instance, in spite of attempts to rewrite Russian history after the Soviet period, the earlier triumph-over-alien-forces schematic narrative template continued to impact historical discussions to the point that the revisions have been amended to align with earlier perspectives (see James V. Wertsch, Voices of Collective Remembering [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002]). Cf. also the unsuccessful government attempts to amend the official account of the Chinese War of Resistance against Japan (see above). See further Stephen J. Summerhill and John Alexander Williams, Sinking Columbus: Contested History, Cultural Politics, and Mythmaking during the Quincentenary (Gainesville, FL: University of Florida Press, 2000); Timothy Kubal, Cultural Movements and Collective Memory: Christopher Columbus and the Rewriting of the National Origin Myth (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008); Heike Paul, The Myths That Made America: An Introduction to American Studies (American Studies 1; Bielefeld: Transcript, 2014) 43–78. Even some children’s books have attempted to communicate these critical reflections on Columbus (see, e.g., Stephen Krensky, Who Really Discovered America? [New York: Hastings House, 1987]; Kathy Pelta, Discovering Christopher Columbus: How History Is Invented [Minneapolis, MN: Lerner Publications, 1991]; Avery Hart, Who Really Discovered America? Unraveling the Mystery and Solving the Puzzle [Charlotte, VT: Williamson Publishing Company, 2001]).

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and D’Arcy has revealed, this revisionist account of Columbus has not changed popular perceptions.69 One of the reasons why the American collective memory of Columbus has been difficult for revisionists to displace is because it has become established through a long history of frequent rehearsal. In other words, “[r]evisionist ideas that may have reached the public through textbooks and occasional treatment in the mass media have had to face the ‘inertia’ of Columbus’s long-established reputation as the intrepid discoverer of America.”70 For decades and even centuries, there was continuity in the reputation of Columbus, and over time this consistency generates a social force that is difficult to alter. As Michael Schudson puts it, “Once commemoration gets under way, it picks up steam; it operates by a logic and force of its own.”71 The other reason why the memory of Columbus has remained stable despite contestation by revisionists is because of the connection between collective memory and social identity. “[C]ollective remembering inevitably involves some identity project—remembering in the service of constructing what kind of people we are—and hence is resistant to change even in the face of contradictory evidence.”72 For many, reimagining the role of Columbus in the discovery of America would, to some extent, require re-envisioning American identity. These same considerations apply to the memory of the Teacher of Righteousness. The members of the community, as we have already discussed,73 would have been exposed to a considerable amount of information about the Teacher during their lifetime. Each year (if not more frequently), they would have listened to the story of the group’s origins rehearsed at the annual covenant renewal ceremony. At this time, texts

69

70 71

72

73

Howard Schuman et al., “Elite Revisionists and Popular Beliefs: Christopher Columbus, Hero or Villain?” Public Opinion Quarterly 69 (2005) 2–29. Schuman et al., “Elite Revisionists and Popular Beliefs,” 22. Schudson, “The Present in the Past,” 108. Cf. Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln in the PostHeroic Era, 220. James V. Wertsch and Henry L. Roediger, “Collective Memory: Conceptual Foundations and Theoretical Approaches,” Memory 16 (2008) 318–326 (320). Cf. James V. Wertsch, “Collective Memory,” in The Cambridge Handbook of Sociocultural Psychology (eds. J. Valsiner and A. Rosa; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 645–660, who notes that collective memory’s resistance to change “should come as no surprise, given the extent to which memory is typically tied to identity and the threat that changes in collective accounts to the past could pose to the group” (656). See Section 7.2.2.

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such as the Damascus Document were likely read. Further, stories about the Teacher would have been shared among the group through oral media, as indicated by the presumption of the pesher authors that their readers would have been familiar with the details of the Teacher’s life. The memory of the Teacher may have even been part of the group’s commemorative ceremonies on the Day of Atonement. At that time, traditional Yom Kippur celebrations would have been reinterpreted in light of the Wicked Priest’s attempt on the Teacher’s life. All of this repetition would have created a significant inertia that would have been difficult for memory agents to reverse. Therefore, the fact that the pesher commentaries reference details about the Teacher without any hint that the tradition might be contested suggests that their representation of the Teacher was not controversial. 11.3.2  Prior Representations of the Teacher The memory agents who work to shape the reputational character of historical figures and the audiences to whom they present these memories are crucial for any memory project. But equally important are the prior, inherited representations of the past. For it is from these mnemonic images that reputational entrepreneurs must construct their version of the past. 11.3.2.1  Early Memories of the Teacher Some have claimed that there were few, if any, traditions about the Teacher in circulation at the time when the pesharim were composed.74 This lack of available source material required the authors to search for information from “sectarian” and scriptural works.75 In terms of the inherited symbolic conditions described above, this would have placed the Teacher at combination 10: a non-salient historical figure without valence or ownership. Although not always explicitly stated, it is assumed that the absence of the Teacher tradition would have facilitated the efforts of the pesher author. From this perspective, the pesherists were free to construct the image of the Teacher in any way they chose, a task that was simplified by the lack of competing views.

74 75

See Chapter 7. See Chapter 6.

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One place where this proposal is vulnerable to critique is its lack of grounding in the processes of collective memory. A case in point is the assumption that the lack of tradition would unequivocally aid the invention of memories about the Teacher. It is noteworthy that some studies have shown the exact opposite to be the case, viz. that the paucity of information about the past can serve to constrain memory agents. This has been demonstrated by Rogers Brubaker and Margit Feischmidt, who have highlighted the differences in the way that the 150th anniversary of the great European revolutions of 1848 were commemorated in Hungary, Slovakia, and Romania. What they have pointed out is that whereas the year 1848 was celebrated as an important holiday in Hungary, marking out the country as a nation of progressives who embraced Western values, “[i]n the Romanian public sphere (outside of Transylvania), and especially in Slovakia, the outstanding feature of 1848 in 1998 was its invisibility.”76 That is, similar sesquicentennial celebrations of the revolutions were absent in Slovakia and Romania. To explain this situation, Brubaker and Feischmidt suggest that “there was just not enough ‘there’ there, not enough ‘material’ suited for myth-making today, and no previous commemorative traditions to build on.” The mnemonic materials “had not been incorporated into a vibrant commemorative tradition like that of Hungary.”77 The contrast between the commemorative efforts in Hungary, Slovakia, and Romania illustrate “the way in which the nature and structure of ‘available pasts’ constrain commemorative opportunities in the present.”78 The potential for the paucity of information to serve as a limiting (rather than an enabling) factor does not invalidate the claim that 76

77 78

Rogers Brubaker and Margit Feischmidt, “1848 in 1998: The Politics of Commemoration in Hungary, Romania, and Slovakia,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 44 (2002) 700–744 (740). Brubaker and Feischmidt, “1848 in 1998,” 740. Brubaker and Feischmidt, “1848 in 1998,” 740–741. Cf. Schudson, “The Present in the Past,” 109: “Given that people can choose only from the available past and that the available past is limited, are individuals free to choose as they wish? Far from it. There are a variety of ways in which the freedom to choose is constrained.” In the case of the Teacher, Schudson’s concept of “available pasts” might be beneficially extended to “publicly available past,” which “emphasize[s] the importance of the public availability of diverse narrations of the past in investigating the relationship of a society with its history” (Ayça Çiftçi, “Kurdish Films in Turkey: Claims of Truth-Telling and Convergences between Fiction and Non-Fiction,” in Kurdish Documentary Cinema in Turkey: The Politics and Aesthetics of Identity and Resistance [eds. S. Koçer and C. Candan; Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2016] 86–111 [89]).

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the Teacher tradition was invented. Instead, it highlights the need to account for the unique mnemonic conditions of each situation. As we have already stressed, proponents of a presentist perspective must go further than merely proposing the invention of tradition if they want to lend credibility to their position. They must also be able to show how the absence of traditions about the Teacher would have helped to facilitate the malleability of collective memory in this particular instance. This would include explaining how the image of the Teacher would have served the socio-rhetorical aims of the reputational entrepreneurs when the audience was unfamiliar with the Teacher, and how these same memory agents managed to convince their readers to accept the image of the Teacher and then to integrate it within the group’s collective memory of the past. The most difficult hurdle for this position to overcome is the fact that both oral and written traditions were in circulation during the decades following the Teacher’s death. How this factor would have limited the malleability of collective memory will be considered below. 11.3.2.2  Reputational Trajectory of the Teacher The memory of the Teacher cannot be treated as though it emerged out of nowhere. As we have previously discussed, a body of oral tradition was already in existence during the Teacher’s lifetime and it continued to circulate within the community following his death.79 Furthermore, there were written documents to which the members of the group had access. At various intervals over the 40-year period following the Teacher’s death, different textual witnesses made references to events from his life and his function within the community. The earliest references are found in the final redaction of the Damascus Document, which was produced shortly after the Teacher’s death.80 Here, the Teacher is

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See Chapter 7. If we possess memory about the Teacher so close to his lifetime, then the common portrayal of alteration (viz. the invention of memories long after the Teacher’s death) must be reconsidered. In this case, any changes to the collective memory of the Teacher would have occurred very soon after his death, and these traditions would have stayed relatively consistent for the rest of the community’s documented history. But, here too, serious questions arise: what would have led to such a change, and how would it have gained acceptance among a group who had just experienced the life of the Teacher?

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remembered as the one who took on the leadership of a fledgling group (CD-A 1.8–10) and instructed them in the proper observance of the Torah (CD-B 20.27–28).81 His prominence in collective memory is evidenced by the fact that the community viewed fidelity to his instructions as a necessary prerequisite for eschatological deliverance (CD-B 20.27–34). The existence of this tradition about the Teacher – especially its presence in a written medium82 – would have limited the representational options of future memory agents. Each subsequent reflection had to, in some way, relate to this representation as well as those representations that followed it on the path of collective memory. This means that, despite the relative malleability of the Teacher’s image, reputational entrepreneurs could not make him into whatever they wanted. To significantly alter this image of the Teacher would have required a substantial social force. It is no surprise, therefore, to find that certain representations of the Teacher found in later material are very similar to the earlier ones.83 What is more, there is no evidence that the image of the Teacher presented in the written accounts would have been contested by the audience. Each author seems to be offering his readers a perspective on the Teacher that was consistent with what had already been accepted. The only indication of a schism further confirms the continuity of the Teacher’s image. In the Damascus Document, reference is made to those who have “returned and betrayed and departed from the well of living water” (CD-B 20.34). This appears to describe members of the community who abandoned the group – presumably after becoming disillusioned by their current situation. “Since the revolution awaited by the sectarians failed to materialize and they did not gain control of the leadership or the temple, some members must have begun to question whether the path mapped out by the Teacher was indeed the correct one.”84 In response to this apostasy, the Damascus Document offers assurance to its readers

See Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49 (34–35). 82 On the constraining force that written accounts exert on collective memory, see Ehud Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” ST 71 (2017) 69–90 (76–77). 83 See Chapter 10. 84 Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008) 58. 81

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that the end would come.85 Like the Israelites in the wilderness, however, they would have to wait 40 years until all of the wicked perished (CD-B 20.13–15).86 What should not be overlooked about this dispute is the fact that, at some point, both those responsible for the Damascus Document (and the pesharim) and those who eventually left the group shared the belief that the Teacher was the one whom God had appointed to instruct the community at the end of the age. This schism, therefore, provides evidence for the Teacher’s prominence within collective memory shortly after his death, further confirming that the image of the Teacher maintained relative consistency in the subsequent decades.

11.4 Conclusion After reviewing the specific mnemonic conditions of the Scrolls community, there is little that would support the hypothesis that later reputational entrepreneurs were able to dramatically alter the memory of the Teacher so that his story would align with their contemporary needs. When the tradition is examined in light of our proposed model of reputational memory, it appears that the opportunities to manipulate the Teacher’s image would have been considerably limited. In order for such a transformation to have taken place, it would have required the coalescence of a number of improbable contingencies. Later reputational entrepreneurs would have had to convince members of the community to change their perspective about the early history of the group, despite the strong tradition, which had built up around these beliefs, and (perhaps) despite the actual experience of some members

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It is possible that predictions had been made by the Teacher of Righteousness, which failed to come to fruition (see Annette Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 [1993] 225–245 [235–236]; Albert I. Baumgarten, The Flourishing of Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation [JSJSup 55; Leiden: Brill, 1997] 180). As a result, opposition toward his leadership grew (cf. 1QpHab 2.5–7). The group would continue to wrestle with the fact that their eschatological calculations never materialized (see Eyal Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran: A Cross-Cultural Perspective [RelSoc 45; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007] 62–64). See Hanan Eshel, “The Meaning and Significance of CD 20:13–15,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technical Innovations, New Texts and Reformulated Issues (eds. D. W. Parry and E. C. Ulrich; STDJ 30; Leiden: Brill, 1999) 330–336; cf. Benjamin G. Wold, “Revelation’s Plague Septets: New Exodus and Exile,” in Echoes from the Caves: Qumran and the New Testament (ed. F. García Martínez; STDJ 85; Leiden: Brill, 2009) 279–297 (285).

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who had lived through the events. Further, this dramatic shift in collective memory would have needed to have occurred without any indication in the written source materials that the image being presented might be contested within the group. While such a scenario is not beyond the realms of possibility, it does tend to stretch the limits of credulity. This is not to suggest that the memories of the Teacher recorded in the pesharim necessarily reflect “what actually happened” in the past. Any such historical judgments await further investigation into specific mnemonic claims. We simply hope to emphasize that interpreters should not be too quick to attribute exaggeration or invention to the pesher commentators.

Conclusion

The Teacher of Righteous is remembered as a prominent figure within certain texts discovered at Qumran. As a result, an early generation of scholars focused considerable attention on reconstructing his biography. Informed by historical positivism, this group of interpreters attempted to chart the Teacher’s career with meticulous detail, seeking to identify him with known personages from the Second Temple period. Despite the vast differences among the conclusions that were reached, scholars remained confident that the source materials were sufficient to draw reasonably certain conclusions using the standard tools of historical criticism. In recent years, however, scholarship on the Teacher has undergone a radical transformation. A new perspective has emerged, and it has been marked by a skeptical approach toward the sources and the information they provide. The doubts surrounding this material have led scholars to posit considerable discontinuity between the image of the Teacher preserved in the written accounts and the historical Teacher whose life gave rise to these representations. The Teacher is often viewed as a figure from the community’s distant past about whom later group members were not well-informed. Consequently, the details which are recorded about him are thought to have been constructed by later authors as a way to facilitate certain views about the origins and social identity of the group. The focus of scholarship has thus shifted away from concerns about the historical origins of the group and toward issues related to the later composition and consumption of the texts. With this epistemological shift, scholars have focused primarily on deconstructing earlier positivistic approaches and pointing out the need for extreme caution when undertaking historical investigation into the 310

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life of the Teacher. What has not been given proper attention is how one might employ the relevant source materials as witnesses to the (authors’) past. In light of this situation, we have suggested the use of memory theory as a means of informing traditional methods of historical investigation. We argued that before plausible hypotheses about the historical Teacher could be constructed, it is necessary to first understand the socio-historical circumstances, interpretive processes, and cultural contexts out of which the mnemonic evidence developed. Our study began by establishing the theoretical and methodological frameworks in which such an approach could be carried out. The first question that was addressed was the issue of epistemology (Chapter 2). Informed by recent discussions on the philosophy of history, we considered whether and to what extent the past can be accessed and adequately represented by modern historians. What we suggested was that the way forward involved a modification of traditional methods, not the abandonment of empirical history. This perspective situated our approach between an earlier generation of Scrolls scholars whose confidence led them to draw overzealous conclusions about the Teacher and more recent treatments which, at times, underemphasize the value of our historical sources. While rejecting any notions that historians are able to reconstruct “what really happened” in the life of the Teacher, we strongly affirmed the fact that scholars can offer plausible hypotheses about what might have given rise to the traces of the past that have been left behind. As a way of facilitating the process of historical inquiry, we next introduced memory theory, a methodological approach designed to apply insights from memory studies to the relevant sources (Chapter 3). What separates this method from recent approaches to the Teacher materials is the idea that the interpretive categories of the sources should inform (rather than negate) historical investigation. Such interpretive traditions, we maintained, are the only means of understanding an inaccessible past. Rather than attempting to remove the perspectival reflections on the Teacher (as though they were obstacles which obscure, or even conceal, past reality), we proposed that they must be explained. For any historical reconstruction to be considered plausible, it must be able to account for the emergence of such representations from a historical progression that began with the Teacher. To assess the Teacher materials, we proposed a mnemonic–historical approach designed to place the available textual evidence in conversation with the various factors which would have influenced the memory of the Teacher.

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Parts II and III worked to apply this method to the ancient source materials. Due to the diverse contextual considerations behind each mnemonic representation, our efforts were limited to the processes through which the memories of the Teacher were formulated and then transmitted by his community, as well as the circumstances in which they were eventually recorded in written media. With a view toward the latter, we began by calculating the temporal distance between the historical Teacher and the written accounts which preserve his memory (Chapter 4). While many have assumed that the authors of the pesharim were too far removed from the Teacher to possess any reliable historical information, we demonstrated that that Pesher Habakkuk was written a little over forty years after the Teacher’s death, while Pesher Psalmsa was composed even closer to the time of the Teacher. In other words, both commentaries were written within living memory of the Teacher’s lifetime. Such a distance, we maintained, does not guarantee the historicity of the claims which are found in these texts, but it does help us understand the type of memory from which the pesher authors constructed their accounts (viz. communicative memory). With the temporal timeframe established, we next turned our attention to the memory carriers who would have transmitted the traditions about the Teacher prior to being recorded in the pesharim (Chapter 5). By examining average lifespans in the Greco-Roman world, we were able to estimate how long the members of the Teacher’s original community might have survived after his death. What our calculations demonstrated was that many who actually witnessed the life and ministry of the Teacher could have potentially been alive when the pesher commentaries were written. Much like the conclusions regarding the temporal distance between the Teacher and the sources, this consideration was not used to argue for the accuracy of the mnemonic evidence; instead, it merely allowed us to better situate the transmission of memory within the proper temporal framework. The impact of eyewitnesses on the tradition lies in the creation of mnemonic inertia: the longer these memory carriers survived, the longer they would have been able to perpetuate their perceived image of the Teacher; and the more this image was repeated through the years, the more established it would have become. While the potential survival of eyewitness memory carriers is a crucial consideration that must be factored into any explanation of the Teacher tradition, it does not dictate how the memory of the Teacher would have been transmitted. For this reason, we moved on to consider the possibility that certain details found in the pesharim might have been borrowed

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from other written sources (Chapter 6). In particular, we explored the suggestion that the information which the pesharim provide about the Teacher’s life represents a historical narrative that has been inferred from the Hodayot. After examining the details of this hypothesis, we found no evidence to indicate that the commentators constructed an otherwise unknown biography for the Teacher out of poetic allusions. Moreover, we showed that even if an intertextual relationship did exist between the pesharim and the Hodayot, this consideration would not be enough to demonstrate that the specific details of the Teacher’s story were exegetically deduced by the pesherists. Such a conclusion could only be established after ruling out the existence of other traditions about the Teacher at the time when the commentaries were composed. The next chapter, therefore, took up the question of the availability and influence of the Teacher tradition in the decades following the Teacher’s death (Chapter 7). One important question addressed in this chapter was the reason why the Teacher is only mentioned in a few of the texts that were discovered at Qumran. What we pointed out is that the textual evidence can be misleading, especially given the chance nature of the extant materials. When compared with other important figures from the ancient world, there is no need to question the Teacher’s prominence within collective memory. Partially underlying this conclusion was the observation that written texts represent only one medium through which the group remembered the Teacher. His memory was also preserved in a body of oral tradition that circulated among the community. This focus on the memory of the Teacher across a variety of ancient media led us to conclude that the Teacher’s appearance in the pesharim should not be understood as the revival of an otherwise unknown figure from the past, but as the continuation of an already vibrant tradition. After exploring the circumstances in which the memory of the Teacher was recorded, we took a step back to consider the processes through which this memory would have been formulated and transmitted. This began with an examination of the scripturalization of the Teacher within collective memory (Chapter 8). We noted how the textual evidence keys the life of the Teacher to characters and themes from the Jewish scriptures. It is often assumed that this phenomenon took placed long after the Teacher’s death, having been carried out by later authors who employed their sacred texts to formulate a character who would be useful for their theological and sociological purposes. Consequently, many have viewed the scripturalized depiction of the Teacher as a significant barrier for historical investigation. We argued, instead, that the process of interpreting

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the Teacher through scriptural categories likely began during his lifetime. It relates to the mnemonic strategy by which all perceptual data is interpreted using cognitive frameworks (or schemas) that are developed in a given cultural environment. For ancient Jews immersed in the story of Israel, the scriptures would have provided a natural grid for understanding the life and legacy of the Teacher. The question that must be asked, then, is what the historical Teacher might have said or done to cause his followers to perceive him in ways that were consistent with the image of Moses and the innocent sufferer, rather than alternative images available in that cultural environment. The scripturalized form of the Teacher materials raised another important issue related to the transmission of memory: the lack of any identifiable traces of eyewitness testimony in the pesharim. The absence of this type of material has led some to conclude that the authors’ descriptions of the Teacher reflect traditions that were far removed from specific memories of individuals who actually witnessed his life. As such, the material is viewed as tradition that is only marginally connected to the past. Given this presumed dichotomy between the memory and tradition, the next chapter was devoted to the relationship between the cognitive perceptions of eyewitnesses and the body of established tradition which later circulated within the community (Chapter 9). What our examination revealed was that, in actuality, memory and tradition function in a reciprocal relationship. In the same way that the personal memories of individuals are formed using cultural schemas, these same reminiscences are commonly transmitted in conventional forms. Moreover, when the members of a group share their memories in a collaborative setting, the personal, idiosyncratic elements of individual memories are replaced by more stable mnemonic forms which the group perceives as contributing toward its social and moral identity. For this reason, one cannot judge the historical basis of the Teacher material simply on the presence or absence of individualized perspectives. Once this collective memory was formed, it would have been transmitted through various media. How the process of transmission impacted the image of the Teacher was the question taken up in Chapter 10. Since the oral Teacher tradition is unavailable, our attention focused on the memory of the Teacher preserved in the available textual evidence. Through a diachronic assessment of the memory of the Teacher as an authoritative instructor – which was one of the few representations attested in multiple documents across a wide timeframe – we demonstrated that this p ­ articular image remained consistent within written media over a forty-year period.

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Although this conclusion was not meant to prove that the memory of the Teacher was static, it was taken as evidence that the tradition was firmly established and had generated significant inertia by the time the pesharim were written. Consequently, any changes made to the memory of the Teacher could have only been generated by a significant social force. Our study concluded by considering the malleability and persistence of collective memory. Scholars commonly assume that the contemporary situation of the pesher commentators had a determinative influence on the memory of the Teacher. Consequently, his image is believed to have been constructed according to the needs and expectations of the later Scrolls community. This position rests on a crucial assumption about the manipulation of representative images of the past. It assumes that the memory of the past was malleable enough to allow the authors of the Scrolls to shape collective remembrance into a form that best suited their social and rhetorical purposes. But while this may be true of some memories, we argued that each memory project has different factors which impact the limits to which the representations of the past can be shaped and reshaped. After reviewing the specific mnemonic conditions of the Scrolls community, we concluded that certain factors (e.g., audience’s distance from the Teacher; the inertia of prior representations of the Teacher) would have made it difficult for later reputational entrepreneurs to dramatically alter the memory of the Teacher. The question that remains, then, is where all of this evidence leaves us. This study has served to delineate a number of factors that would have impacted how the Teacher was remembered by the Scrolls community: the fact that the sources were composed within living memory of the Teacher; the potential presence of a group of eyewitnesses at the time when the details about the Teacher were recorded in written media; the existence of a body of oral tradition supplementing written media; and the inertia of the established image of the Teacher. These factors would have worked to create continuity within collective memory. It must be recognized, however, that such continuity would have been between the later representations of the Teacher and the earlier mnemonic perceptions. That is, the details found in the textual evidence would have likely been consistent with the perspectives that were held by the Teacher’s early followers. But this does not necessarily prove that the later images of the Teacher found in the pesharim accurately reflect historical reality. While this may be the case, it could only be fully demonstrated through further investigation.

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The final step toward constructing an informed perspective on the memory of the Teacher involves an examination of the contextual ­background of individual memories. This requires considering anything pertinent (e.g., historical environment, sociological dimensions, political background, economic setting, and prevailing theological perspectives) for understanding the preconceptions of those who would have experienced the Teacher along with the categories available for interpreting that experience. When such a project is carried out, it is possible that someone may discover that the image of the Teacher underwent a d ­ ramatic shift at some point in time. What our study has indicated is that such a transformation would have had to have occurred very soon after the Teacher passed away rather than in the subsequent decades (as many have proposed). If scholars wish to view the Teacher tradition as a reflection of manipulation by reputational entrepreneurs, they must focus on what might have occurred in the wake of the Teacher’s death that would have led the group to attribute such a prominent role to his instructions, and how this representative image could have gained unrivaled acceptance within the group so quickly. The other alternative is to explore the possibility that the Teacher was, in fact, afforded a prominent place within the early Scrolls community. If this were the case, then the question turns to how the Teacher’s authority related to other texts (and perhaps their representative communities?) within the Qumran corpus. In this way, subsequent investigations must move beyond the reasons why the Teacher’s legacy was commemorated in certain documents, to offer informed hypotheses about why his memory was omitted from so many others. Addressing questions like these will move scholarship one step closer to understanding this enigmatic figure.

Appendix 1 The Historical Value of Attributed Authorship

Some historical conclusions adopted within Dead Sea Scrolls research are based on implicit information related to the collective memory of the Scrolls community. In these instances, the perceptions of the past held by the original readers of the Scrolls are never made explicit through direct claims in the extant sources, but they are nonetheless implied from statements which are made. Since the evidence for such memory must be deduced from the source materials, these types of details are naturally speculative. Yet, given the limited amount of evidence on early community figures such as the Teacher of Righteousness, they remain an important part of the historiographical process – as long as their tentative nature is recognized. One example of an implicit memory which has been commonly postulated is the Teacher’s role in the composition of certain documents. In the early days of Scrolls research, scholars exhibited a strong predisposition to connect the “sectarian” literature with the group’s leader. In fact, as John Strugnell noted while reflecting on the changing landscape of scholarship, “unless clearly excluded on internal grounds,” most earlier interpreters assumed that “all the non-biblical writings from Qumran were composed (or at least inspired) by one and the same author, that Teacher of Righteousness who founded the Qumran sect.”1 The Teacher has been credited with authoring such

John Strugnell, “Qumranology Then and Now,” NEA 63 (2000) 175–176 (175).

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works as the Temple Scroll,2 the War Rule,3 and Pesher Habakkuk. 4 Portions of the Community Rule and the Damascus Document have also been attributed to him.5 But more than any other documents discovered at Qumran, it is the Hodayot and MMT that have been most closely associated with the Teacher. His role in the composition of these texts was posited shortly after they were discovered. As a result, the documents were believed to provide direct access to the thoughts and intentions of the founder of the Scrolls community.6 The problem is that neither the Hodayot nor MMT are directly attributed to the Teacher. In the case of MMT, the evidence used to support his authorship came from 4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–9, a fragmentary passage which seems to refer to a document (related in

See, e.g., Yigael Yadin, The Temple Scroll (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1983) 1:393–397; idem, The Temple Scroll: The Hidden Law of the Dead Sea Sect (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1985) 87, 195–196, 226–228; Ben Zion Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah and the Teacher of Righteousness (HUCM 8; Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union College Press, 1983) 202–212; Florentino García Martínez, “Qumran Origins and Early History: A Groningen Hypothesis,” FO 25 (1988) 113–136, reprinted in Qumranica Minora I: Qumran Origins and Apocalypticism (ed. E. J. C. Tigchelaar; STDJ 63; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 3–29 (17); Hubert Lignée, “La place du Livre des Jubilés et du Rouleau du Temple dans l’histoire du mouvement Essénien. Ces deux ouvrages ont-ils été écrits par le Maître de Justice?” RevQ 13 (1988) 331–345; Michael O. Wise, A Critical Study of the Temple Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 (SAOC 49; Chicago, IL: Oriental Institite of the University of Chicago, 1990) 179–189; idem, “The Temple Scroll and the Teacher of Righteousness,” in Mogilany 1989: Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls Offered in Memory of Jean Carmignac. Part II: The Teacher of Righteousness, Literary Studies (ed. Z. J. Kapera; QM 3; Kraków: Enigma, 1991) 121–147; Frederick M. Schweitzer, “The Teacher of Righteousness,” in Mogilany 1989: Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls Offered in Memory of Jean Carmignac. Part II: The Teacher of Righteousness, Literary Studies (ed. Z. J. Kapera; QM 3; Kraków: Enigma, 1991) 53–97 (55–57, 95). 3 See, e.g., Jean Carmignac, La règle de la guerre des fils de lumière contre les fils de ténèbres (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1958) xiii; Jean Carmignac and Pierre Guilbert, Les textes de Qumran traduits et annotés, I: La Règle de la Communauté, La Règle de la Guerre, Les Hynnes (Autour de la Bible; Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1961) 13, 86, 136. Cf. also Schweitzer, “The Teacher of Righteousness,” 73, who connects the document to the influence of the Teacher. 4 See, e.g., Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran, 185–193. 5 See Appendix 3. 6 Some went so far as to claim that if a composition like the Hodayot represents the autobiographical reflections of the Teacher, then modern scholars possess insights into the most secret and revealing depths of the Teacher’s soul (see Henri Michaud, “Le Maître de la Justice d’après les hymnes de Qumrân,” Bulletin de la Faculté libre de théologie protestante de Paris 19 [1956] 67–77 [67]). 2

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some way to the Torah) sent by the Teacher to the Wicked Priest. This situation, it was believed, was consistent with the form and function of MMT, which was understood to be an explanation of the group’s legal observances sent to a prominent Judean figure. If this were the case, then the Teacher may well have authored MMT. The authorship of (portions of) the Hodayot was reached through slightly different means. What scholars have pointed out in this case are the noteworthy parallels between the statements made in the hymns and the experiences that are attributed to the Teacher in the pesharim. These connections led scholars to conclude that the autobiographic perspective could have only been that of the Teacher. Like other early claims about the Teacher, skepticism related to his authorship of the Hodayot and MMT has progressively mounted over the years. While many scholars believe that the Scrolls community understood these texts to be connected to the Teacher in some way, most deny that he actually composed them; consequently, they are not thought to provide direct access to the historical Teacher in the way scholars once assumed. For this reason, many contend that the question on which interpreters should be focusing is not whether the Teacher actually composed the Hodayot or MMT, but whether his later followers attributed them to him. Working from this perspective, some have claimed that the original audience mistakenly assumed the Teacher to be the author of these works; others have maintained that the authorship of the documents was purposefully constructed to reflect the persona of the Teacher. While, in many ways, attributed authorship stands opposed to the earlier theory of direct authorship, it is noteworthy that both seem to be driven by the same underlying assumption, viz. that direct authorship determines historical value.7 This was certainly the working assumption in many of the early discussions about authorship. Scholars believed that their historical investigations would be significantly informed by the autobiographic reflections of the Teacher (Hodayot) or from a letter written by the Teacher (MMT), and for this reason, they spent a considerable amount of time and effort defending the Teacher’s authorship. But it is noteworthy that the same assumption seems to be shared by those

Note, e.g., John Yueh-Han Yieh, One Teacher: Jesus’ Teaching Role in Matthew’s Gospel Report (BZNW 124; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004) 124: “The usefulness of the ‘Halakhic Letter’ (4QMMT) as a historical source for our study of the Teacher of Righteousness is also debatable, because of the uncertainty about its authorship.”

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who have raised doubts about the Teacher’s role in the composition of the Hodayot and MMT. For once scholars have rendered a negative verdict on the Teacher’s direct connections to the works, they are then removed from consideration as potential witnesses to the historical Teacher. In other words, as skepticism about the Teacher’s authorship has increased, the role of these documents as historical sources has been marginalized. The problem is that such an approach overlooks a key insight which is offered by memory studies: whether or not the Teacher actually composed the Hodayot and MMT, they could potentially serve as important witnesses to his life and influence. To explain how these documents might function as sources for the construction of history without a direct connection to the historical author, we will take a closer look at the notion of attributed authorship. Generally, when this theory is proposed, interpreters concentrate on how the documents inform our understanding of the later Scrolls community. What we would like to suggest, however, is that they might also direct us toward the historical Teacher.8 If, in fact, these views were held by members of the Teacher’s later community, they would be an invaluable witness to the group’s collective memory and, by extension, to the process of historical investigation. At the very least, they require some explanation: Why might the community have (falsely) attributed these documents to the Teacher, or why might they have believed the details contained therein were appropriate reflections of the Teacher’s life? We will consider these questions in light of two recent forms of the attributed authorship hypothesis: the notion that the community mistakenly assumed that the Teacher was the author of these works, and the idea that a member of the group composed the documents with the Teacher as the implied author.

A1.1  The Teacher of Righteousness and Assumed Authorship One interpretive trajectory which has developed out of recent authorship debates is the idea of assumed authorship. Given the limitations surrounding investigations into the direct authorship, some have argued that a more appropriate place to begin is by asking how compositions like Hodayot or MMT might have been received and perceived

Cf. Hanan Eshel, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008) 47, who notes, “The question of the author’s identity as perceived by the readers of MMT is no less important than the question of the author’s actual identity.”

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by their early readers/hearers. More specifically, the focus has been placed on the individual(s) to whom the texts were ascribed by their original audience. The investigation into assumed authorship was suggested some years ago by Philip R. Davies, who considered the case of the Hodayot. Despite his skepticism about attributing direct authorship to the Teacher, he concluded that “within the Qumran community these hymns – and at the very least the autobiographical ones – were understood to be compositions of the ‘Teacher’.”9 For Davies, they functioned as a “sort of hagiography”; that is, “they enshrined what were seen as the most authentic data about the life and experiences of the founder of the community that could possibly exist.”10 The way he reached this conclusion was through a comparison with the book of Psalms and their later attribution to king David. “During the latter part of the Second Temple period,” Davies points out, “David came to be regarded as the author of all the biblical psalms, and as a result, certain references in these psalms could be taken to reflect experiences in his life.”11 Herein lies the key to his interpretation of the Hodayot. He continues: “In the same way, it can be supposed, the ‘teacher’ came to be regarded, within his community of followers, as the author of the Hodayoth, and references in these hymns were interpreted as his own historical experiences.”12 According to Davies, then, it was this assumption Philip R. Davies, Behind the Essenes: History and Ideology in the Dead Sea Scrolls (BJS 94; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1987) 89–90. Others have similarly identified the Teacher of Righteousness as the assumed author of the Hodayot (e.g., Michael O. Wise, The First Messiah: Investigating the Savior before Jesus [San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999] 45; Matthew A. Collins, The Use of Sobriquets in the Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls [LSTS 67; London: T&T Clark, 2009] 96–97; Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement [STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012] 182 n. 233). 10 Davies, Behind the Essenes, 90. 11 Philip R. Davies, “What History Can We Get from the Scrolls, and How?” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Contexts (eds. C. Hempel; STDJ 90; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 31–46 (41). Cf. idem, Behind the Essenes, 88: “The biblical book of Psalms also contains many pieces written in the first person singular and recounting personal experiences, be they private experiences of public ones. Of the author of the psalms, and the recipient of these experiences there was apparently general agreement: it was David who had written them all, and it was his experiences which were revealed in them.” 12 Davies, “What History Can We Get?” 41; cf. idem, Behind the Essenes, 89–90: “I would certainly take it for granted that within the Qumran community these hymns – and at the very least the autobiographical ones – were understood to be compositions of the ‘Teacher’. Hence, they comprised a sort of hagiography; they enshrined what were seen as the most authentic data about the life and experiences of the founder of the community that could possibly exist.” 9

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that led the authors of the pesharim to borrow from the hymns and out of their poetic language to construct a biographical narrative for the Teacher. Some have proposed that ancient perspectives on MMT might have developed in a similar way. According to Maxine L. Grossman, one of the potential readings of MMT is as an intracommunal treatise composed early in the group’s history and preserved through successive generations. In such a scenario, later members of the community, who were removed from the historical circumstances of the document’s composition, could have drawn incorrect conclusions about its actual author. This, Grossman argues, is what may have occurred in the pesharim: the first-century writers of the pesharim, aware of their community’s history of schism and conflict, may have retrojected that history of schism onto its earliest foundation. Reading MMT at face value, and taking it as evidence for a personal confrontation between the Teacher and the Priest, the first-century pesher writers may have composed an account of the community’s founding (the Psalms pesher) that invents a conflict that never happened. As real as this founding schism may have been to the author of the pesher text, the event itself may never have occurred.13

From this perspective, it seems, a historical reading of MMT would provide insights into the collective memory of the group, but it would not inform us about the historical Teacher. While the discussion of assumed authorship has generally been carried out separately from (and even in opposition to) the pursuit of historical information about the Teacher, it has the potential to provide a new avenue through which memory might inform history. It does so by forcing interpreters to provide an adequate historical explanation for the origin and development of mnemonic traditions. From a memory perspective, it is not enough to simply disprove the Teacher’s direct

13

Maxine L. Grossman, “Reading 4QMMT: Genre and History,” RevQ 20 (2001) 3–22 (19). Cf. also idem, Reading for History in the Damascus Document: A Methodological Study (STDJ 45; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 73–78. Similar claims have been made by others. In response to the reference to a document sent by the Teacher to the Wicked Priest (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–9), John Strugnell claimed that such a statement “looks rather much like an affabulation in the later Pesharim of a legend about a venerable work circulating in the sect, ascribing it to one of the better known figures of the sect’s beginnings” (“MMT: Second Thoughts on a Forthcoming Edition,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant: The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. E. C. Ulrich and J. C. VanderKam; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994] 57–73 [72]).

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involvement in a composition or to demonstrate that his later followers mistakenly believed that he wrote a particular work. Further explanations are required. In the case of the Hodayot, interpreters would be required to explain why the Teacher was remembered as one whose life fit with the circumstances described in the hymns and whose claims of authority were consistent with those made by the poetic author. In the case of MMT, scholars would need to provide reasons for why the Teacher could have been remembered as one who represented the group in disputes over Torah observance. The importance of explaining the rise and transmission of mnemonic tradition can be illustrated by evaluating the claims of those who have posited a mistaken authorial attribution. If the Teacher of Righteousness did not compose the Hodayot or MMT, and if the references contained therein were not reflective of his life, then proponents of this view must be able to explain why and when the tradition about the Teacher’s authorship developed. Without addressing this issue, most scholars have ended their investigations prematurely. Only by exploring the negotiation between received past and commemorated present will the memory of the Teacher be fully understood. The idea that later community members (mistakenly) assigned a historical context to the Hodayot or MMT requires explanation on two separate fronts. First, one must explain why the group might have been mistaken in their authorial attribution. According to many who espouse this view, the error results from a lack of knowledge about the documents’ original composition and about the Teacher himself. Both, it is thought, predated these later community members by decades (perhaps even a century). Yet, when we consider the specific circumstances involving the memory of the Teacher, the notion that the readers were uninformed is not consistent with the mnemonic evidence. To illustrate why this explanation is insufficient, we will consider the Davies’s hypothesis in light of modern memory studies. As we have already discussed, most memory theorists acknowledge that a temporal horizon exists in the transmission of memory.14 At 80–100 years (or 3–4 generations) communicative memory must be transformed into cultural memory in order to extend across the expanse of time. This chronological demarcation is helpful in assessing the proposal of Davies.

14

See further Chapters 3 and 4.

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The scriptural Psalms, as Davies notes, can provide an important starting point for comparative authorial ascriptions; however, the explanation he provides turns out to be unconvincing. Where the proposed analogy breaks down is in its failure to distinguish communicative memory from cultural memory. Davies assumes that any collective memory about the authorship of the Hodayot must necessarily represent cultural memory. That is, it would reflect the group’s beliefs about the distant past which could not be verified. But while it is true that the Jewish scribes who attributed the Psalms to king David made their ascriptions on the basis of cultural memory – David was, after all, a figure from Israel’s remote history whose life had taken on a mythic form – the collective memory surrounding the authorship of the Hodayot would have been categorically different.15 The pesher authors, whom Davies claims were familiar with a tradition about the Teacher’s composition of the hymns, can easily be located within onehundred years of the death of the Teacher.16 As such, the tradition about the Teacher’s authorship would have developed among a group with access to communicative memory. While this timeframe would not guarantee the reliability of the tradition, it would have constrained the introduction of new memories which were inconsistent with existing perspectives on the Teacher. Such a close temporal connection presents the historian with a few potential options: either (a) the Teacher actually wrote (portions of) the Hodayot; or (b) the Teacher claimed an existing work as his own, and it was accepted as such by his followers; or (c) the hymns were written shortly after the Teacher’s death by a follower who claimed that it derived from the Teacher; or (d) the hymns were discovered after the Teacher’s death and were mistakenly attributed to him. Those who adopt one of the latter two options must provide some explanation as to how these claims could have been made in light of the group’s established memory of the Teacher – p ­ articularly if the portrayal of the Teacher in the Hodayot is

The ascription of the Psalms to David was not simply about the question of authorship. This practice also involved “effusions of historical, ethical, and aesthetic interest in a compelling character—as biography, not bibliography” (Eva Mroczek, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016] 53). In the same way, the question of the Teacher’s connection with the Hodayot involves more than simply whether he composed the hymns – it also centers around whether his life is being depicted by the poetry. 16 See Chapter 4. 15

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different from the way he was represented within collective memory. One possibility, of course, is that the portrayal is consistent with existing memory; as such, it would force us to ask why the Teacher was remembered this way by his (near) contemporaries. The second front on which a memory approach requires explanation is how the attribution of authorship was made to this particular historical figure. That is, why did (members of) the community think the Teacher would be an appropriate candidate to ascribe certain documents? This question is especially important when it comes to MMT. According to Grossman, the authors of the pesharim were recipients of traditions which had been transmitted by the community. She notes that “[m]embers of the community in its later (first century BCE and CE) setting … would have inherited a tradition that included not just the memory of a single ‘founding moment,’ but the memory of a number of separations, negotiations, and clarifications of doctrine and law.”17 From this tradition, she contends that the pesherists would have made certain interpretive deductions about the historical circumstances that may have given rise to MMT. While this hypothesis represents a plausible historical reading, it does not fully answer the question of why the authorship of MMT would be attributed to the Teacher. It merely moves the question back one level to the tradition which was received by the pesherists, and thus leads us to ask: How must this tradition have portrayed the Teacher so as to lead later recipients to attribute the authorship of MMT to him? Further, where did such representations originate? At the very least, this tradition would have needed to specifically identify the Teacher and the Wicked Priest and to place the two in conflict with one another. Moreover, it is plausible, and perhaps even likely, that the tradition would have ascribed MMT to the Teacher. The reason why this deduction is plausible is because the pesher author does not elaborate on his claim that the Teacher sent a document to the Wicked Priest, nor does he seek to justify it in any way. It is merely stated in a matterof-fact manner. This suggests that the tradition was already known by the readers/hearers of the commentary, and given the date of Pesher Psalmsa as well as the mnemonic factors involved in the transmission of the Teacher tradition, this memory of the Teacher as author is more

17

Grossman, “Reading 4QMMT: Genre and History,” 18.

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than likely consistent with early representations of the Teacher.18 In other words, it is possible to connect the belief that the Teacher composed MMT with the contemporaries of the Teacher. Again, this does not guarantee that the tradition is accurate, but it does set the limits for possible historical explanations. If MMT was originally meant to be anything other than a letter, then it is crucial to explain how its function became misinterpreted during the brief interval between its composition and the development of the “letter” tradition. While these potential historical pursuits are worthy of consideration, they must however be qualified with an important caveat. They are only possible to the degree that the community held to the belief that the Teacher actually composed the Hodayot and MMT. The problem is that nowhere in any of the documents is this belief made explicit. In the case of the Hodayot, scholars have assumed that ancient readers/hearers would have drawn this conclusion based on the similarities between the personal reflections of the poetic author and the details which are revealed about the Teacher in the pesharim.19 In the case of MMT, there is a specific tradition about the Teacher sending a document related to laws and precepts (4QpPsa 1–10 iv 8–9), but the identification of this document with MMT represents an interpretive deduction. For this reason, we must recognize that these suggestions are merely possibilities that await a firmer evidential basis.20

Cf. Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Legacy of the Teacher of Righteousness in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in New Perspectives on Old Texts: Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (eds. E. G. Chazon et al.; STDJ 88; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 23–49 (25 n. 4), who, with regard to the Teacher’s authorship of the Hodayot, notes: “To be sure, it is possible for the memory of a specific authorship to be sustained through the passing on of traditions, even anonymously.” 19 See Collins, The Use of Sobriquets, 96 n. 140: “even if the pesharim were written concerning a distinct individual and without regard for the Hodayot, modern scholars were quick to spot the points of contact between these two shadowy figures; would readers in the community not have done the same and thus read the ‘teacher’ within the Hodayot?” 20 One who has voiced skepticism over the notion that the Scrolls community attributed the Hodayot to the Teacher is Michael A. Knibb, “The Teacher of Righteousness: A Messianic Title?” in A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History (eds. P. R. Davies and R. T. White; JSOTSup 100; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990) 51–65. He says that he is unable to “find any evidence for [this] suggestion” (54).

18

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A1.2  The Teacher of Righteousness and Implied Authorship Another important interpretive trajectory within recent Scrolls scholarship has been the notion of implied authorship. Abandoning the search for the actual author of a given work, interpreters have instead focused on the way in which authorship is constructed. In this way, the question has shifted to whether a composition projects itself as originating from the Teacher of Righteousness. The possibility that the Teacher could have been the projected (but not the real) author of the Hodayot was raised very early by André DupontSommer. In light of the parallels between the “Teacher Hymns” and the descriptions of the Teacher found in other Qumran literature, he claimed that the Hodayot may have been written by a later follower who composed the work according to the Teacher’s persona. As such, “the hymns in which the Teacher of Righteousness seems to express himself are, in reality, not his own work but that of one of his disciples speaking as it were through the Teacher’s mouth.”21 Like some of the other controversial views of Dupont-Sommer, this theory gained few adherents. Part of the reason was because many were still convinced that the Teacher was the actual author of the hymns. Aside from this fact, the proposal lacked the necessary methodological grounding. It would be a few decades until this theoretical underpinning was provided. The question of the implied authorship was eventually taken up by Grossman. Attempting to provide a firmer foundation, she has worked to steer the discussion toward the literary and rhetorical aspects of authorship. Building on the work of literary theorist Roland Barthes, she notes the ever-increasing dissatisfaction with the search to find real historical experiences behind texts, and has thus advocated textual multiplicity or plurality. This strategy is thought to delegitimize the traditional quest for a document’s authorship. As a result, she turns toward an audienceoriented approach, which provides the concept of the implied author of a text. “This figure,” she notes, “remains a fictional aspect of [the text],

21

André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961) 200; cf. idem, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A Preliminary Survey (trans. E. M. Rowley; New York: Macmillan, 1952) 70. See also Jason Maston, Divine and Human Agency in Second Temple Judaism and Paul: A Comparative Study (WUNT 2/297; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) 78.

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in the sense that he or she is accessible only through the text and as a product of the audience’s experience of it.”22 On the basis that both the implied audience and the implied author of a composition are textual constructs, Grossman advocates “following different threads of historical possibility and asking ourselves which are most promising, which less so, and whether any might be eliminated as impossible.” In terms of the authorship of texts like the Hodayot and MMT, this involves considering the possibility that the Teacher of Righteousness may have composed the works, while still allowing for other possibilities. Such alternatives include the prospect “that a given text was written as a retrospective treatment of the Teacher’s message, or as an idealized version of what the Teacher might have said in novel circumstances, or even what a later group member or leader might wish to say, irrespective of the Teacher and his message.”23 Consistent with this approach – although not always informed by the same critical theory – many scholars have begun to gravitate toward the idea of implied authorship. The parallels between the personal reflections found in the Hodayot and the details recorded about the Teacher in other “sectarian” literature have led some to conclude that the “Teacher Hymns” were composed with the intent of reflecting the persona of Teacher. As a result, when the hymns were read or recited in the community, the group would have heard the voice of the Teacher.24 Similarly, the 22

23 24

Maxine L. Grossman, “Roland Barthes and the Teacher of Righteousness: The Death of the Author of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls [eds. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 709– 722 (715). Cf. Angela Kim Harkins, “Who Is the Teacher of the Teacher Hymns? Re-examining the Teacher Hymns Hypothesis Fifty Years Later,” in A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam (eds. E. F. Mason et al.; JSJSup 153; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 449–467: “the vivid and dramatic language in the Teacher Hymns should not be understood as evidence of a real person’s experience but rather as a marker of a textualized self, a rhetorical persona that seeks to describe phenomenal, extraordinary experiences through an imaginal body” (464; original emphasis). Grossman, “Roland Barthes and the Teacher of Righteousness,” 718. See, e.g., Carol A. Newsom, “Kenneth Burke Meets the Teacher of Righteousness: Rhetorical Strategies in the Hodayot and the Serek ha-Yahad,” in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins, Presented to John Strugnell (eds. H. W. Attridge et al; College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5; Lanham, MD: University of America Press, 1990) 121–131 (122–123). In a subsequent work, however, Newsom revises her view, claiming that it is not the Teacher who is the implied author but the institutional leader of the community (see idem, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran [STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004] 287–300; cf. Jacob Licht,

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elevated claims found in the Self-Glorification Hymn have also led many to believe that the speaker was modelled after the Teacher.25 Like attributed authorship, the notion of implied authorship would also be important to any historical investigation of the Teacher. The way in which it could contribute is by providing access to the collective memory of the Scrolls community. The significance of this fact has not been clearly recognized because many have drawn such strong lines of separation between history and memory. While collective memory cannot provide us with unmediated access to the historical Teacher, it can provide the necessary resources for historical inquiry. The key to allowing this evidence to inform historical inquiry is through a proper understanding of the memory itself. Based on how the memory was formed and transmitted within the Scrolls community, we can draw plausible hypotheses about the life of the Teacher. An examination of the Hodayot requires that we ask why the actual author felt that the claims made by the implied author and the details which he shared in his “autobiographic” reflections would have been

25

The Thanksgiving Scroll: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea: Text, Introduction, Commentary and Glossary [Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1957] 22–26 [Hebrew]). Even after this position was put forward, it seems as though Newsom still allows for the possibility that the group would have heard the hymns as the voice of the Teacher (see idem, “Rhetorical Criticism and the Reading of the Qumran Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls [ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010] 683–708 [700–704]). Cf. also George J. Brooke, “The Silent God, the Abused Mother, and the Self-Justifying Sons: A Psychodynamic Reading of Scriptural Exegesis in the Pesharim,” in Reading the Dead Sea Scrolls: Essays in Method (EJL 39; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2013) 151–173 (160). See, e.g., Martin G. Abegg, “Who Ascended to Heaven? 4Q491, 4Q427, and the Teacher of Righteousness,” in Eschatology, Messianism, and the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. C. A. Evans and P. W. Flint; SDSS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997) 61–73; Michael O. Wise, “‫מי כמוני באלים‬: A Study of 4Q491c, 4Q471b, 4Q427 7 and 1QHa 25:35–26:10,” DSD 7 (2000) 173–219 (218–219); Philip S. Alexander, The Mystical Texts (LSTS 61; London: T&T Clark International, 2006) 89; Eyal Regev, Sectarianism in Qumran: A Cross-Cultural Perspective (RelSoc 45; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007) 365; Émile Puech, “L’hymne de la glorification du Maître de 4Q431,” in Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday (eds. J. Penner et al.; STDJ 98; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 377– 408; cf. also Esther Eshel, “The Identification of the ‘Speaker’ of the Self-Glorification Hymn,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technical Innovations, New Texts and Feformulated Issues (eds. D. W. Parry and E. C. Ulrich; STDJ 30; Leiden: Brill, 1999, 619–635, who notes that “one may assume that it was a scribe who had difficulties coping with the death of the Teacher of Righteousness who composed the Self-Glorification Hymn, thinking of the Teacher of Righteousness while describing the Eschatological High Priest” (634).

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suitable to place in the mouth of the Teacher. Informed by a presentist perspective on collective memory, many have focused on the influence of contemporary circumstances in the construction of the Teacher’s image. This is the case in the recent assessment of the Hodayot by J. David Stark, who claims that “the ‘Teacher Hymns’ seem to reflect language like that which surrounds the Teacher precisely because these hymns function to situate the Yahad within the matrix of the Teacher’s prototypical identity.” As a result, the hymns tell us more about the community than the Teacher. In fact, Stark suggests that it is “best [to] regard the ‘Teacher Hymns’ not as developing the image of the Teacher himself but as portraying the image of the Yahad with respect to its vocation as the people of Yahweh just as the Teacher was remembered to have done.”26 While it is true that the circumstances of the community would have impacted not only what was remembered about the Teacher but also how it was remembered, it is equally important to recognize that for these “autobiographical” reflections to be accepted by the community they would have needed to be consistent with what the group had previously believed about the Teacher.27 Therefore, if the Teacher is the implied author of the Hodayot, these hymns provide us with the fullest representation of the Teacher of any of the documents found at Qumran. What is more, since there is very little development within certain memories of the Teacher from around the time of his death (Damascus Document) to a few decades thereafter (pesharim), this interpretive portrait may potentially reflect the way the Teacher was perceived by his contemporaries. Again, the early origins of the memories found in the Hodayot would not mean that the text provides scholars with a glimpse at the Teacher unencumbered by the ideological perspectives of his followers. It would, however, mean that the pesherists’ claim about the Teacher being an authoritative leader who understood himself to be a conduit of divine revelation had a very early origin, perhaps even deriving from the J. David Stark, Sacred Texts and Paradigmatic Revolutions: The Hermeneutical Worlds of the Qumran Sectarian Manuscripts and the Letter to the Romans (JCTC 16; London: Bloomsbury, 2015) 78. 27 See Chapter 11. This is also important to remember when examining MMT. Grossman notes that she prefers an audience-oriented approach to MMT because “its historical importance extends past those moments of origin to the variety of interpretations that its readers would have given it, during the entire history of its use” (Grossman, “Reading 4QMMT,” 22 n. 60). What must be recognized is that those interpretations that later readers assigned to MMT would have been path-dependent, meaning that one must account for why those interpretations would have been acceptable in light of previous interpretations. 26

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Teacher himself. But, as we noted when assessing the value of attributed authorship, this hypothesis only has merit if someone actually composed the Hodayot with the intent of constructing the authorship according to the persona of the Teacher,28 and this is a difficult (if not, impossible) proposition to demonstrate conclusively.

A1.3 Conclusion Whether the Teacher of Righteousness directly composed (portions of) the Hodayot and MMT is an important historical question; but this matter falls outside of our current purview. Rather than attempting to make a case for or against the Teacher’s authorship of the Hodayot or MMT, we merely hoped to show how memory theory opens up new avenues for historical pursuits based on the interpretive hypotheses that are currently being postulated in Scrolls scholarship. We have argued that if the Scrolls community remembered the Teacher as the author of these documents, or if some within the community composed the documents according to the Teacher’s persona, these considerations can be equally significant for historical purposes. If either of these were the case, then the documents provide modern interpreters with more historical resources than most have recognized. The evidence would simply need to be approached through a new set of methodological lenses. It would require historical investigation into the origin and transmission of these memories with a view toward what the tradition might reveal about the historical Teacher.29 As these types of investigations are pursued in the future, memory theory is poised to play a prominent role.

28

29

This possibility raises other related questions about how the work would have been perceived by its reader/hearers. Would they have received the hymns as a transparent fiction, or should the work be considered a “non-pseudepigraphic forgery,” in which it “puts forth clear, but false, authorial claims without actually naming an author” (Bart D. Ehrman, Forgery and Counter-Forgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012] 35)? If the latter were the case, then implied authorship and attributed authorship could be treated together. In the discussion above, we have provided some suggestions on how these sources might be used for historical purposes. But, in each case, they are offered tentatively. Since we are dealing with implied memories, any conclusions that might be drawn would only be applicable if attributed authorship could be demonstrated. As it stands, however, this question remains open.

Appendix 2 The Life of the Teacher as an Interpretive Frame

When addressing the scripturalized representations found in the relevant source materials, we suggested that the phenomenon could be attributed to the schematic processes by which the memory of the Teacher was initially formulated.1 A related question that was not considered is how to understand the use of the Teacher’s life as a frame of reference. It is important to recognize that these are separate mnemonic phenomena that were most likely connected to different social situations. The former represents an attempt of earlier followers to interpret the ministry of the Teacher by aligning his words and deeds with the patterns of scripture. The latter represents the attempt of later followers to interpret their contemporary circumstances by aligning them with the past experiences of the Teacher.2 See Chapter 8. One could argue that these separate examples of framing/keying occurred at the same time. In fact, this appears to be the way most within the new perspective have interpreted the situation. It is assumed that the life of the Teacher was keyed to the scripture and the situation of the community was keyed to the life of the Teacher at the same time, both occurring long after the Teacher’s death. This explanation creates some difficulty, however. First, it is marked by an unnecessary complexity. If the community wanted to draw on an ideal figure from the past, why would they construct a figure as well as conform his life to that of earlier scriptural characters? It would have been much easier to simply draw from the lives of scriptural figures directly. Second, this explanation raises a further (unanswered) question: What did members of the Teacher’s contemporary community think about him, and how did the collective memory of the Teacher from this early period impact the introduction of such scriptural categories at a later time? Thus, to assign these examples of framing/ keying to a singular event requires some consideration be given to the complexity of the processes involved in forming and reforming tradition (see Chapter 9).

1 2

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The strategy of using the Teacher as a frame of reference has been thoroughly reviewed in a recent essay by Jutta Jokiranta, who uses the concept of prototypicality in social-identity theory to explain the similarities between the Teacher and the members of the in-group. Jokiranta argues that “the teacher of the Pesharim represents an ideal community member, who captures some essential characteristics of [the] group’s identity.”3 Two characteristics, in particular, are noted. The Teacher is portrayed as one who is distressed by the attacks of outsiders. At the same time, he is depicted as a privileged figure who has been chosen by God and granted special revelation so that he can teach righteousness. “This prototypical image,” Jokiranta contends, “serves a group identity, in which belonging to the group is necessary to gain access to God’s covenant, and afflictions are one part of testing the righteous.”4 The assessment by Jokiranta serves as a helpful guide to a complex social situation. But our concern is with the implications that are commonly drawn from these conclusions. Some have understood this situation to imply that most, if not all, of the details about the Teacher must reflect the present needs of the community and not his own experience.5 Jutta Jokiranta, “The Prototypical Teacher in the Qumran Pesharim: A Social Identity Approach,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. P. F. Esler; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2006) 254–263 (255); cf. idem, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 175–182. Others (following Jokiranta) have likewise claimed that the Teacher is portrayed prototypically in the Scrolls, see, e.g., Martti Nissinen, “Pesharim as Divination: Qumran Exegesis, Omen Interpretation and Literary Prophecy,” in Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and ExtraBiblical Prophecy (eds. K. De Troyer et al.; CBET 52; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 43–60 (53); Holly J. Carey, Jesus’ Cry from the Cross: Towards a First-Century Understanding of the Intertextual Relationship between Psalm 22 and the Narrative of Mark’s Gospel (LNTS 398; London: T&T Clark, 2009) 102–106; J. David Stark, Sacred Texts and Paradigmatic Revolutions: The Hermeneutical Worlds of the Qumran Sectarian Manuscripts and the Letter to the Romans (JCTC 16; London: Bloomsbury, 2015) 78; George J. Brooke, “Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” in Jesus and Brian: Exploring the Historical Jesus and His Times via Monty Python’s Life of Brian (ed. J. E. Taylor; London: Bloomsbury, 2015) 127–140 (138); Angela Kim Harkins, “How Should We Feel about the Teacher of Righteousness?” in Is There a Text in This Cave? Studies in the Textuality of the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of George J. Brooke (eds. A. Feldman et al.; STDJ 119; Leiden: Brill, 2017) 493–514 (507). 4 Jokiranta, “The Prototypical Teacher,” 263 (original emphasis). 5 Elsewhere, Jokiranta attributes the content of the pesharim to the group’s present circumstances – although without denying that some historical reality lies behind their stereotypical language (see idem, “Pesharim: A Mirror of Self-Understanding,” in Reading the Present in the Qumran Library: The Perception of the Contemporary by Means of Scriptural Interpretations [eds. K. De Troyer and A. Lange; SBLSymS 30; Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2005] 23–34). 3

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This assessment is thought to be confirmed by the idealized portrait of the Teacher which is constructed by the pesherists. What has not been recognized, however, is that the framing of the past can be idealized without compromising a basic correspondence with the image of the past in collective memory.

A2.1  The Referential Latitude of Framing/Keying The model of collective memory from which Barry Schwartz proposes his theory of framing and keying is grounded in a semiotic understanding of culture.6 In this way, the identification of persons and events occurs by interpreting them according to an appropriate symbol.7 Within this framework, memory plays a semiotic function for the collective in that it clarifies the morals and values that are expected within a community.8 Part of this process includes the construction of idealized models from the past. As Schwartz has noted, “a past that merely reproduces the present suggests no answers to its dilemmas. Ideal models, not realistic ones, inspire and energize.”9 The idealization of the past is consistent with Jokiranta’s observation about the prototypical function of the Teacher within the Scrolls. But it raises an important question: To what extent can images of the past be manipulated to meet the needs of the present? Many Scrolls scholars have assumed that framing provides a great deal of latitude in the use of images from the past. The process, it is believed, even allows for the possibility that a figure from the past can be assigned a new biography or perhaps even be completely invented. And, to some extent, this view finds evidential support. It is widely recognized that groups use images from the past to inform their perspective on the present. This is particularly common during times of war or national crisis.10 Often the purpose is to For a discussion of Schwartz’s view of framing and keying, see Chapter 8. Cf. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic, 1973). 8 Barry Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System: Abraham Lincoln in World War II,” American Sociological Review 61 (1996) 908–927 (921); cf. Barry Schwartz et al., “The Recovery of Masada: A Study in Collective Memory,” Sociological Quarterly 27 (1986) 147–164 (160). 9 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 922. 10 See, e.g., Howard Schuman and Cheryl Rieger, “Historical Analogies, Generational Effects, and Attitudes Toward War,” American Sociological Review 57 (1992) 315–326; Christopher Hemmer, “Historical Analogies and the Definition of Interests: The Iranian 6 7

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convince participants to adopt certain perspectives toward their c­ urrent ­circumstances. Prototypical images from the past provide explanation, justification, and even sympathy.11 When this occurs, there is some degree of latitude in the manipulation of the past. In Schwartz’s treatment of memory as a cultural system, he draws attention to the following interpretive strategies by which the “World War II generation exploited the memory of Abraham Lincoln”: (1) selection: a specific historical event, the Civil War, was invoked as a primary framework; (2) scanning: Civil War episodes were perused with a view to locating actions relevant to World War II predicaments; (3) event alignment: emphasis on relevant similarities rather than contrasts helped render World War II a ‘­repetition’ of the Civil War—’the same thing all over again’; (4) identification: World War II participants expressly ‘identified’ with the Civil War generation, looked upon its members as predecessors and themselves as descendants; (5) values alignment: World War II participants saw themselves and their Civil War ancestors struggling toward the same moral ends; (6) idealization: complex Civil War images were summarized in the familiar image of Abraham Lincoln, and because they were summarized in him, they enlarged him and elevated him and made him bigger than life.12

As these strategies reveal, the past can be shaped to fit the needs of the present in a variety of ways, and in many instances, the past is malleable enough to allow for manipulation. The problem is that the past is not completely malleable.13 There are limits to which frames can be adopted and how entities are keyed to one another. In this way, the manipulation of the past has certain boundaries. But even more, when framing is involved, it requires a considerable degree of continuity.

Hostage Crisis and Ronald Reagan’s Policy toward the Hostages in Lebanon,” Political Psychology 20 (1999) 267–289; David H. Noon, “Operation Enduring Analogy: World War II, the War on Terror, and the Uses of Historical Memory,” Rhetoric and Public Affairs 7 (2004) 339–364; Annika Brändström et al., “Governing by Looking Back: Historical Analogies and Crisis Management,” Public Administration 82 (2004) 191–210. 11 The Holocaust is one recent frame through which groups may seek to interpret their situation by sympathetic means (see Arlene Stein, “Whose Memories? Whose Victimhood? Contests for the Holocaust Frame in Recent Social Movement Discourse,” Sociological Perspectives 41 [1998] 519–540). Journalists can perform similar interpretive tasks (see Jill A. Edy and Miglena Daradanova, “Reporting through the Lens of the Past: From Challenger to Columbia,” Journalism 7 [2006] 131–151). 12 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 921–922. 13 See further Chapter 11.

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A2.2  The Referential Constraints of Framing/Keying The process of framing is based on a recognizable connection between the collective memory surrounding the keyed entity and the group’s perception of their present experience. To successfully accomplish its sociological aim, a correspondence between the present events and the past frame of reference must be acknowledged and accepted by members of the group. Lack of congruency can lead to the frame being rejected.14 As such, one could say that “[t]he machinery of invocation (keying) presupposes rather than creates the affinity of the events it brings together.”15 The use of Lincoln’s image during World War II illustrates the constraints that dictate the framing process.16 By the time the war began, the collective memory of Lincoln was already well-established within American culture.17 During the decades leading up to the conflict, the image of Lincoln had been transmitted through books, magazine articles, plays, movies, statues, and many other forms of media. This fact is crucial for understanding how framing operated. First, collective memory provided the raw materials from which image brokers were able to shape their wartime portraits of Lincoln. It was not simply a matter of inventing stories from the lifetime of the former president that could then be applied to the present situation. As such, the traditional image(s) of Lincoln served as the point of departure for all new images.

A recent case in point is George W. Bush’s attempt to align himself with the memory of Harry Truman during the final years of his presidency. “This parallel proved to be unconvincing, as memory consumers perceived many discrepancies such as the fact that Truman was a Democrat and that Bush’s motives may have been more venal than virtuous when deciding to invade Iraq” (Lorraine Ryan, “Memory, Power and Resistance: The Anatomy of a Tripartite Relationship,” Memory Studies 4 [2010] 154–169 [160]). 15 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 922. 16 On Franklin D. Roosevelt’s use of the memory of Abraham Lincoln during wartime, see Merril D. Peterson, Lincoln in American Memory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994) 319–323; Ronald D. Rietveld, “Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Abraham Lincoln,” in Franklin D. Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln: Competing Perspectives on Two Great Presidencies (eds. W. D. Pederson and F. J. Williams; M.E. Sharpe Library of Franklin D. Roosevelt Studies 5; Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharp, 2003) 10–60 (32–50); Barry Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln in the Post-Heroic Era: History and Memory in Late Twentieth-Century America (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2008) 59–90; cf. also Alfred Hayworth Jones, Roosevelt’s Image Brokers: Poets, Playwrights, and the Use of the Lincoln Symbol (Port Washington, NY: Kennikat, 1974). 17 See Barry Schwartz, Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000) 191–292. 14

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The second way that collective memory shaped the framing of Lincoln was by establishing the parameters within which comparison could take place. The inertia of collective memory dictated how Lincoln’s story could (and could not) be told. It provided the boundaries of appropriate representation based on what people already knew and believed. In this way, collective memory serves as a counter-balance to idealization,18 providing a proper perspective on the sequential nature of the process. Contrary to the presentist perspective, “Lincoln … was not a model because he was idealized; rather he was idealized because he was already a model.”19 When these considerations are applied to the Teacher materials, they provide new insights into how we should approach the framing of the Teacher’s life. For this mnemonic strategy to be successful, the interpretive image of the Teacher presented in the written sources would need to be reasonably consistent with collective memory at the time when the texts were composed. Consequently, the idealized portrait of the Teacher does not irreparably conceal all information about this ancient historical figure. Rather, it provides a window into the collective memory of the group. Whether and to what extent that memory is consistent with the life of the historical Teacher must be determined on other grounds. The important point is that it provides us with the necessary mnemonic evidence from which to draw informed hypotheses about the historical situation.

Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 922: “Simplistically idealized visions of the past are not credible enough to serve as a model for a present that is complex and imperfect. Tension, not easy compatibility, defines the relation between memory and experience.” 19 Schwartz, “Memory as a Cultural System,” 922–923. Schwartz continues by noting, “And he [Lincoln] was already a model because of real, not imaginary (constructed), accomplishments and traits” (923). 18

Appendix 3 The Instructions of the Teacher

The Teacher’s perceived importance within the Scrolls community led early interpreters to draw certain conclusions about how his instructions might have been preserved and transmitted by his followers. “[I]n view of the Teacher’s singular standing in the community and the momentous weight which the members attached in his message,” Shemaryahu Talmon claimed that, “it stands to reason that his pronouncements were collected and written down in his lifetime.”1 What is noteworthy about Talmon’s claim is that he assumes that “in the transfer of the Teacher’s message from one medium to the other, the one-time oral tradition became written transmission without undergoing any spectacular changes.” He even goes so far as to assert that “the written version retained the original wording, as much as the cadences of oral delivery, and the typical structure of a speech or an oration.” These instructions, he believes, “became part of the Torah which the Covenanters studied periodically, audibly proclaiming his message, both from memory and from manuscript.”2 Shemaryahu Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission, or the Heard and the Seen Word in Judaism of the Second Temple Period,” in Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991) 121–158 (158). Further, he claims that the community would have recorded the words of the Teacher “almost simultaneously with their oral delivery” (158), a claim that others have echoed (e.g., Alan R. Millard, Reading and Writing in the Time of Jesus [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000] 222–223; Craig L. Blomberg, Making Sense of the New Testament: Three Crucial Questions [Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2004] 35; Paul Barnett, The Birth of Christianity: The First Twenty Years [After Jesus 1; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005] 114). 2 Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission,” 158. 1

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While Talmon’s reconstruction represents an extremely conservative view of the transmission process, many would at least agree that later group members inherited “an oral catechesis and perhaps some writings” from the Teacher.3 Such a hypothesis is a reasonable inference drawn from the significance that is attributed to the Teacher. Some go further, claiming that the Teacher may have been responsible for specific materials found in the Rule texts. Various sections of the Community Rule have been attributed to him.4 Some have claimed that 1QS 8.1–16a and 9.3–10.8 represent a “Manifesto” written by the Teacher himself.5 Portions of the Damascus Document have also been assigned to the Teacher.6 According to Talmon, the first part of this text contains “three paraenetic orations,” each of which being “prefaced by the formula ‫( ועתה שמעו‬CD 1.1; 2.2; 2.14).” These “sermons” contain “a string of exhortations, wrapped in a series of references to events in Israel’s past or to the Covenanters’ contemporary history,” and are believed to have been “delivered by the Righteous Teacher.”7 Józef T. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judea (trans. J. Strugnell; SBT 26; London: SCM Press, 1959) 79; cf. 87. See also Michael F. Bird, The Gospel of the Lord: How the Early Church Wrote the Story of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014) 35: “the Teacher of Righteousness … had his teachings recorded in literary form, including his unique interpretation of prophetic literature and laws pertaining to the celebration of festivals, and perhaps he even authorized a specific calendar” (cf. Richard N. Longenecker, “Christological Materials in the Early Christian Communities,” in Contours of Christology in the New Testament [ed. R. N. Longenecker; MNTS; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005] 47–76 [62]). 4 Many allow for the possibility – with some making the claim directly – that some (if not all) of the work was written by the Teacher of Righteousness (see, e.g., Geoffrey Graystone, “The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament,” ITQ 22 [1955] 214–230 [222]; Jean Carmignac, “Conjectures sur les écrits de Qumrân,” RSR 31 [1957] 140– 167 [156]; Milik, Ten Years of Discovery, 37; André Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961) 71–72; James H. Charlesworth, “Qumran Scrolls and a Critical Consensus,” in Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1992] xxxi–xxxvii [xxxiv]). 5 See Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “La genèse littéraire de la Règle de la Communauté,” RB 76 (1969) 528–549 (531); idem, “The Essenes in Palestine,” BA 40 (1977) 100–124 (114, 121); cf. also Jean Pouilly, La Régle de la communauté de Qumrân. Son évolution littéraire (Paris: Gabalda, 1976) 15–34. Others believe that 1QS 3.13–4.14 (see Dale C. Allison, “The Authorship of 1QS III,13 – IV,14,” RevQ 10 [1980] 257–268), 1QS 8.1–9.26 (see Edmund F. Sutcliffe, “The First Fifteen Members of the Qumran Community: A Note on 1QS 8:1ff,” JSS 4 [1959] 134–138), and 1QS 10.1–11.22 (see A. R. C. Leaney, The Rule of Qumran and Its Meaning [Philadelphia, PA: Westminster, 1966] 115–116) may be from the Teacher as well. 6 See Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, “Critères internes de datation des MSS de la mer Morte: ‘ordonnances premières’ et ‘ordonnances dernières’,” RevQ 13 (1988) 453–464 [462–464]; Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission,” 142. 7 Talmon, “Oral Tradition and Written Transmission,” 157. 3

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The problem is that nowhere in the Qumran corpus is any written material directly attributed to the Teacher (e.g., “as the Teacher said…”).8 This consideration allows for two potential historical explanations. It may be that the Teacher was, in fact, an important and authoritative instructor within the early Scrolls community, but over time, his instructions were simply not preserved by the group.9 Many prefer an alternative view, however. They contend that the Teacher was recognized as a prominent instructor during his lifetime, and that the materials found in the extant written sources derive directly from him. In this case, the lack of attribution is explained by the community’s familiarity with the material: since each member was aware of the origin of the materials contained in the Rule texts and other relevant documents, it was unnecessary to list their specific source. In this way, scholars acknowledge that the community had access to more than just the textual traditions. “There were presumably oral means of communicating the traditions’ attachment to the Teacher.”10 But even this explanation runs into problems. Recent redactional studies of the Damascus Document have shown that the work reflects a composite nature and that many of the laws that are contained in the text This problem is noted by Michael W. Pahl, who points out that his “teachings ­presumably formed the basis for much of the sect’s beliefs, yet there is no clear and explicit citation of teachings as from this teacher” (Discerning the “Word of the Lord”: The “Word of the Lord” in 1 Thessalonians 4:15 [LNTS 389; London: T&T Clark, 2009] 69). Cf. also Steven D. Fraade, “Interpretive Authority in the Studying Community at Qumran,” JJS 44 (1993) 46–69 (51). 9 Cf. Edward J. Young, “The Teacher of Righteousness and Jesus Christ: Some Reflections Upon the Dead Sea Scrolls,” WTJ 18 (1955) 121–145: “we have no sample of the instruction of the Teacher. That he spoke the way of God, or what he thought was the way of God, we may be sure, but we do not know what he said. No precepts or maxims of his have remained. Whether he was a good or a poor teacher, we do not know. His teaching has perished completely, and all that we have are a few references to him” (141–142). Some suggest that it is not just modern interpreters who lack access to the Teacher’s instructions. According to George J. Brooke, the material that was taught by the Teacher was also inaccessible to the later community members as well. He notes that “the readers of the Damascus Document and the sectarian scriptural commentaries are left with the need to make the jump from what is offered in those texts by way of legal and prophetic interpretation to supposing that it was instigated or certainly was in tune with what the Teacher said” (“Brian as a Teacher of Righteousness,” in Jesus and Brian: Exploring the Historical Jesus and His Times via Monty Python’s Life of Brian [ed. J. E. Taylor; London: Bloomsbury, 2015] 127–140 [136]). 10 Samuel Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community (ConBNT 24; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1994) 152. 8

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predate the time of the Teacher.11 For some, this “suggest[s] that the sectarians adopted certain halakhic positions, rather than rel[ying] on the charismatic teaching of one individual.”12 It may even be enough to indicate that the memory of the Teacher was exaggerated or even invented by later reputational entrepreneurs: if the historical Teacher was not engaged in an authoritative teaching ministry (and this reputation was only ascribed to him after his death), then it would explain both the disparate origins of the halakhic material and the lack of direct attributions in the extant material. At the very least, this evidence would show that the instructions of the Teacher were not granted a privileged place within the community, distinguished from material deriving from other sources. If his teaching was preserved, it was included anonymously within the textual evidence alongside other material – a fact which would require further explanation. Upon closer examination, however, the problem lies not in the process by which the Scrolls community transmitted the instructions of the Teacher, but in the model used by modern scholars to represent this transmission. The issue arises out of the fact that ancient media practices are approached like a modern print culture. In this latter case, the words of a speaker or writings of an author are transmitted in a fixed form across oral and written media. While such stability and uniformity is emphasized in later rabbinic literature,13 such a model is incompatible with understanding of inspiration and revelation within the Scrolls community, as illustrated by the fluidity and variability of the textual evidence discovered at Qumran. For this reason, alternative models are necessary to explain how the instructions of the Teacher would have been transmitted.

On the redactional history of the laws contained in the Damascus Document, see Robert W. Davis, “The History of the Composition of the ‘Damascus Document’ Statutes,” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1992); Charlotte Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction (STDJ 29; Leiden: Brill, 1998); idem, “The Laws of the Damascus Document and 4QMMT,” in The Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery: Proceedings of the Third International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 4–8 February, 1998 (eds. J. M. Baumgarten et al.; STDJ 34; Leiden: Brill, 2000) 69–84. 12 Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement (STDJ 105; Leiden: Brill, 2012) 189. 13 See Birger Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript: Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity (ASNU 22; Lund: Gleerup, 1961); cf. idem, Tradition and Transmission in Early Christianity (ConBNT 20; Lund: Gleerup, 1964). 11

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In recent scholarship, a number of potential alternatives have been proposed and employed with considerable success. From a textual standpoint, scholars have begun to employ insights from material philology and digital textuality,14 and from the perspective of oral transmission, some have begun to engage the material using recent insights from orality studies.15 When approached from perspectives like these, the transmission of the Teacher’s instructions takes on a new dynamic. What these new models illustrate is the potential for fluctuation and change while maintaining some level of consistency. Applied to the situation of the Teacher, they might suggest that as the community preserved his teachings, they would have also updated, amended, and altered them to address shifting circumstances. But despite these changes, each new presentation of the m