The Identity of Jesus: Nordic Voices 3161522044, 9783161522048

Citation preview

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament · 2. Reihe Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg)

373

The Identity of Jesus: Nordic Voices Edited by

Samuel Byrskog, Tom Holmén and Matti Kankaanniemi

Mohr Siebeck

Samuel Byrskog, born 1957; 1994 ThD from University of Lund; currently professor of New Testament studies at University of Lund. Tom Holmén, born 1963; 1999 ThD from Åbo Akademi University; currently adjunct professor of New Testament Exegetics at Åbo Akademi University and University of Helsinki. Matti Kankaanniemi, born 1974; 2002 M. Sc. Econ from Turku School of Economics and Busines Administration; 2010 ThD from Åbo Akademi University; currently lecturer of Biblical Studies and Social Sciences at Iso Kirja College, Keuruu Finland.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-152402-8 ISBN 978-3-16-152204-8 ISSN 0340-9570 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

© 2014 by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper and bound by Laupp & Göbel in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

Table of Content

Foreword.......................................................................................................VII +ARI3YREENI The Identity of the Jesus Scholar Diverging Preunderstandings in Recent Jesus Research....................................1 0ER"ILDE Approaching the Issue of the Originality of Jesus...........................................17 -ATTI+ANKAANNIEMI Jesus the Son of Joseph Reflections of Father-Son Relationship in the Ministry of Jesus.....................38 4OBIAS(ØGERLAND A Prophet like Elijah or according to Isaiah? Rethinking the Identity of Jesus.....................................................................70 (ANS+VALBEIN Jesus as Preacher of the Kingdom of God.......................................................87 3AMUEL"YRSKOG The Didactic Identity and Authority of Jesus – Reconsidered.........................99 2ENATE"ANSCHBACH%GGEN Understanding the Identity of Jesus on the Basis of His Parables.................110 4HOMAS+AZEN Revelation, Interpretation, Tradition Jesus, Authority and Halakic Development.............................................................................127 *OSTEINªDNA The Role of Jerusalem in the Mission of Jesus..............................................161

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Table of Content

4OM(OLM£N Caught in the Act Jesus Starts the New Temple – A Continuum Study of Jesus as the Founder of the Ecclesia...........................................................................181 Ancient Literature.........................................................................................233 Modern Authors............................................................................................244 Subject Index................................................................................................249

Foreword Samuel Byrskog, Tom Holmén and Matti Kankaanniemi Since the very days of the so-called Old Quest of the 19th century, the search for the historical Jesus has been tackling the question of Jesus’ identity. More becoming revealed about the context of Jesus, methods and axioms of the search being introduced, elaborated, refined and replaced, it is necessary every now and then to return to the question. Understandably, too, the concept of identity is an inseparable part of any attempt to profile a figure of the past. Scholars struggling in a stream of progress and change, a short standstill in a collegial island, discussing, reflecting, comparing and combining viewpoints and conjectures is most welcome. With this goal in mind, the Historical Jesus Workshop of Åbo Academi University organized the first Nordic Symposium on the Historical Jesus in October 2010 in Turku/Åbo, Finland. The Symposium was summoned by Tom Holmén, and it was patronized by the Åbo Akademi Faculty of Theology. Due to the above-mentioned reasons, the Symposium was titled "The Identity of Jesus", which turned out to be a fortunate choice; it enabled a meaningful sharing of study results as well as suggestions of ideas of more suggestive nature. While the philosophers of science are still out for an exact definition of science, it is imperative for all descriptions of the discipline that critical collegial interchange is not compromised. Especially in historical sciences – the most comfortable and natural locus of the search for the historical Jesus – the term "identity" has had a strong social psychological echo. This is due to the essentially relational and contextual nature of the concept. Consequently, in order to define the identity of Jesus, it is necessary to approach this enigmatic figure of history from more than one perspective. In what follows, a short overview is given of the general lines of thought brought forward by the participants of the current volume. Some are almost exact copies of the oral presentations held in the Symposium, whereas a few have significantly reworked their original thoughts. The study of a historical figure always reflects the context and mind of the one conducting the research. No scholar approaches the issue independently from his or her frames of reference, which makes the question about the researcher’s horizon a meaningful way to embark on the journey aiming to chart the identity of Jesus. Thus, in the first chapter of this volume Kari Syreeni

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analyses the concepts and paradigms used in the quests of Jesus, while paying critical attention especially to the dichotomies used by scholars in categorizing the scholarship. Syreeni’s viewpoint is not a standard presentation of the history of the "quests". For instance, against the general practice, he points to the possible truism in such concepts as "historical" Jesus and the "Jewish" Jesus. From the horizon of the scholar, the focus moves on to a comparative analysis of Jesus and other ancient figures. This important approach, from the field of comparative study of religions, is provided by Per Bilde, who deals with the originality of Jesus – indeed, explicitly outside of a confessional framework. The identity of a person is, by necessity, defined along with a constant comparison of oneself with the figures around. Those features that make a person "original" or "exceptional" are, in all likelihood, imperative in identity formation. The approach is thus very appropriately discussed in the present volume. In comparison with other eschatological prophets of his day, Jesus seemed to be original for example in his announcement of the imminence of the kingdom of God, in his activity as a healer and miracle worker, and in his rather unique relationship to the Mosaic Law. The recent renaissance of the psychological studies of Jesus has produced strikingly different pictures of Jesus. Not least because of the soon centurylong hegemony of the psychoanalytical paradigm in psychology, Jesus’ childhood has been interpreted as an important factor in his identity formation. Matti Kankaanniemi analyses two theories concerning the paternal relationship of Jesus and Joseph. He concludes that in the light of the exegetical data and empirical developmental psychological research, it is probable that John W. Miller – contra Andries van Aarde – is correct in maintaining that Jesus had a warm and loving relationship with his father Joseph. Later, his socioemotional skills as well as the inclusive and accepting attitude towards the marginalized and stigmatised can be seen as a result and manifestation of this. Since the identities are defined with the help of existing categories and significant figures in the context where a religious person operates, it is meaningful to search for the most important points of identification for Jesus in the Scriptures. In the fourth article of the volume, Tobias Hägerland evaluates John P. Meier’s suggestion that Jesus would have taken up the role of Elijah the prophet. On the basis of a scrutinizing analysis, Hägerland concludes that while there are numerous similarities between Jesus’ and Elijah’s ministries, possibly consciously engendered by Jesus, it was the anointed prophet in Isaiah 61 that in particular inspired the primary role-taking by Jesus. The charismatic experience of the spirit and success as a healer led Jesus to consider the possibility that he might be the prophetic Messiah. This apparently led him to act out the other tasks of the anointed one. One of the most broadly accepted facts about the historical Jesus is his message of the kingdom of God. The kingdom forming the very center of Jesus’ activity as a teacher and prophet, it is logical to assume that his identity

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was keenly tied with this concept. Hans Kvalbein elaborates the countercultural behaviour of Jesus as a preacher of the kingdom of God, concluding, alongside with Joachim Jeremias, that the table fellowship of Jesus with the sinners was an "acted parable". Furthermore, the very ethos of these banquets was likely echoed in the early Christian Eucharist praxis and the selfunderstanding and the identity of the historical Jesus. It can hardly be doubted that Jesus was a teacher and thus had a didactic identity. Didactic identity, argues Samuel Byrskog, did not encompass only a verbal aspect but was intrinsically mixed with visual teaching as well. Therefore, discussing Jesus’ didactic identity separately from considering his mighty acts may be an incorrectly biased scholarly practice . As Byrskog maintains, the widely accepted role of "Jesus as a teacher" includes very likely more than meets the eye in the first reading of the relevant source material. This challenges the reader to evaluate many other role categories. As suggested in the present volume, these should be seen as partly overlapping descriptions of Jesus, each of them coming with the potential to contribute to a deeper understanding of the identity of Jesus. Jesus of Nazareth did not leave anything written for modern scholars to depend on when seeking to profile his identity. The closest scholarship ever gets to him are probably the parables he told, their being regarded as the most authentic block of the preserved sayings of Jesus. Thus it is possible, in some sense, to hear the vox Jesu in these figurative narratives he told as an important part of his teaching activity. However, as Renate Banschbach Eggen points out in her article, using the parables as sources for the historical Jesus is complicated, to say the least. The message of the parables is often intergrally connected with the parable contexts that, unfortunately from a Jesus scholar’s point of view, vary greatly, thus making the reconstruction of the original setting in the life of Jesus difficult. While the very notion of Jesus having been a Jew and having lived in a Jewish cultural context is becoming all but a self-evident axiom in the contemporary Jesus research, the influence of this fact on the scholarly understanding of Jesus’ identity has much to gain from a detailed study of rabbinic and Qumranic hermeneutical practices. Thomas Kazen sets out to illuminate the complicated question of the characteristics of the halakah Jesus taught and its subsequent development in the tradition process. Special emphasis is given to the conflict stories over halakah. This is of importance for the topic of the book, since the identity of a person is closely connected with the intergroup conflicts he or she participates in, either passively or – as in Jesus’ and his followers’ case – actively. Indeed, it is evident that different "Jesuses" may be reconstructed on the basis of the presentations of the volume at hand. Some might want to highlight the contradictions in order to plead for the pessimistic assertion that the whole scholarship dealing with the "historical Jesus" is but a chaotic mess, a playground for subjective depictions and wishful thinking. Nevertheless, other

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could focus on the points of agreement between the different "Jesuses" and come to a conclusion that is quite the opposite or at least one that affords some credit and credibility to this branch of research. While we as the editors sensed a breath of consensus in the presentations of the Symposium, and subsequently in the articles of the current volume, it is wiser to leave it to the reader to decide whether any optimism is justifiable. It might be asked what the idea of "Nordic" in the title stands for? The scholarly world has been shrinking due to electronic means of communication and even the greatest of the geographical distances are less of a hindrance than, say, half a century ago. Thus, the old division into "geographical scholarships", such as North American, British or German, can legitimately be questioned. Nonetheless, it can also be maintained that "Nordic Jesus scholarship" has enough local flavour in it to deserve their voices to be heard through a specific volume. Most of the contributors here know each other due to frequent participation in common seminars, doctoral disputations and more down-to-earth types of occasions like birthday parties. It is undeniable that this may help to a better understanding of the argumentation of others and, human beings as we are, perhaps sometimes even adds to the willingness to really get the point behind the claims. The common cultural background catalyses discussion and also enhances mutual understanding. The process is reminiscent of one Nordic curiosity, a language called skandinaviska, which is when everyone speaks his or her mother tongue and others answers with theirs. Words may be different, pronunciation varies and sometimes idioms are missed, but everyone is communicating and getting understood without having to compromise anything essential.

The Identity of the Jesus Scholar: Diverging Preunderstandings in Recent Jesus Research Kari Syreeni My paper discusses three areas of disagreement in recent Jesus scholarship, pertaining to, first, the (hi)story of Jesus research, secondly, the ideological double of Jesus, and, thirdly, Jesus. In all these areas, disagreements arise from the scholars’ diverging preunderstandings and reflect their differential social and individual identity.1 Before embarking on the three topics, I want to explicate my own epistemological preunderstanding, which is a moderate (or "weak") constructivist stance with a slight narrative touch. To illustrate this position and its alternatives, I start from the related field of Qumranic studies – an outside vantage point often gives a clearer view.

1. Overture: From Plato’s Cave to Schweitzer’s Well In a chapter of his book Historical Knowing, the philosopher Leon J. Goldstein discusses three interpretations of the Dead Sea Scrolls in order to expose the nature of scholarly disagreement.2 Throughout the book, Goldstein argues against historical realism, by asserting that "the historical past is not the real past."3 By the same token, Goldstein asserts that the historian "in no way confronts the real past. And rather than confront it, he constitutes the historical past."4 In other words, the historian is no eyewitness but one, who constructs, 1 My point of view is hermeneutical, and it is basic to hermeneutical theory that understanding, interpretation and application are functions of both the object (Jesus) and subject (the scholar) of the process of meaning-making. Therefore, in speaking of Jesus we are also speaking of the Jesus scholar. 2 L.J. Goldstein, Historical Knowing (Austin 1976) 93-137 (Ch. 4: Disagreement in History). 3 Goldstein, Historical Knowing (see n. 2), 38. 4 Goldstein, Historical Knowing (see n. 2), 136 (original emphases). In Chapter 3: Historical Facts, Goldstein discusses the related distinction between the actual event and the historical fact and acknowledges that this distinction is made by the historian Carl Becker, who unfortunately "is not sufficiently radical in his thinking to realize that he cannot expect to say anything about the former" (p. 74). Similarly, I suggest, we should not expect to reach

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or reconstructs, the past. For a number of reasons, not nearly all historians agree with Goldstein’s view of historical constitution. For one thing, most historians – and exegetes – are more interested in scholarly praxis rather than in abstract theory, and the practical work is done with concrete documents and data in order to find out how things "really" were "back then." This attitude corresponds to our everyday experience of the "reality" of things. However, the remoter in time, space and cultural affinity the "real past" is, the more everyday experience comes to its limits. Goldstein may have gone too far in denying the relevance of "the real past" to historians, but in some respects his idea is backed up by common sense considerations. If ancient texts and archaeological finds are all we have from the past, then these remains are the historian’s object of study and, when interpreted, the best and only available substitute for the "real" past. However, Goldstein also rejects a narrative view, which treats historywriting as story-telling.5 Here I find Goldstein’s arguments inconclusive, at least if the narrative view is articulated in ways other than those discussed in his book.6 The canonical Gospels, which are among the best available sources in Jesus research, are four different stories. If we cannot ask to what degree and in which ways these stories are historically reliable, I wonder what Jesus scholars are doing. When scholars write books and essays about Jesus, the resulting texts, while of course having argumentative elements, are also narratives about Jesus, and much of the learned scholarly discourse is about the adequacy of these different narratives. As is known, a standard definition of

the real or actual Jesus. A scholarly inquiry can only construct an image of the historical Jesus, or simply (as most people would say) an image of Jesus. 5 Narrative (or rhetorical) and conceptual constructionism are the two distinct but related "families" of epistemological non-foundationalism. Goldstein is the prime representative of the latter. See M. Hobart, "The Paradox of Historical Constructionism," History and Theory 28/1 (1989) 43–58 esp. 43–45. 6 Goldstein, Historical Knowing (see n. 2), 139–182 (Ch. 5: The Narrativist Thesis). See also 98–99. Goldstein distinguishes between history’s superstructure and infrastructure. The former consists of "the literary product of the historian’s work," while the latter is "that range of intellectual activities whereby the historical past is constituted in historical research…" (141). Goldstein rightly observes that all narratives are not history writing and that all historical evidence is not in narrative form. However, his discussion is vitiated by the vague infrastructure/superstructure dichotomy. I would rather distinguish between three levels (based on the hermeneutical model of three worlds): the historical evidence (documents and artifacts), the procedures of assembling, evaluating, arranging and interpreting the evidence, and the process of writing the results. The middle level (which corresponds to the "symbolic" world) is already part of the research process leading to the written product. When a scholar publishes a Jesus book, the readers expect to find in it a somewhat unified "plot" – the author’s main thesis – as well as arguments that reflect the scholar’s way of evaluating and interpreting the evidence. Also, the readers expect that all the relevant evidence is referred to (often in the footnotes). Hence, to say that a narrative view implies that Jesus scholars (or for that matter, the Gospels) "just tell stories" would be quite misleading.

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story is that it has a plot, a meaningful sequence of cause and effect.7 Every time a Jesus scholar opines about the "aims" of Jesus, asks "why" something has happened or constructs a chain of interconnected events, a story is being told. Thus, in Dale Allison’s words, "we need to admit that, as historians of the Jesus tradition, we are story-tellers."8 Goldstein then goes on to ask whence scholarly disagreements arise. The objects of historical research are usually very complex and much less determinate than single events in real life. Goldstein selects three Qumran scholars – J.T. Milik, Chaim Rabin, and Cecil Roth – who constructed the history behind the scrolls within quite differing frameworks: as the history of the Essenes, the beginning of the rabbinic tradition, and a moment of the Zealot movement. Depending on the framework, these scholars selected different parts of the historical past to interpret the evidence. Goldstein’s example makes the point he wished to make, but it does not explain why the scholars chose different frameworks in the first place. Understandably it was not his task to evaluate the relative strength of these scholarly constructions. However, since he has no interest in explaining the emergence of the three different scholarly stories, the point he makes is not particularly enlightening in practice. Scholars select the relevant data differently and may also interpret the same data differently – but what should we make of this observation? Another, more recent philosophical inquiry into Qumranic studies by Edna Ullmann-Margalit is more helpful.9 Her book, Out of the Cave, discusses the archaeological and textual evidence, as well as the different scholarly frameworks and hypotheses that seek to interpret this evidence. In addition, she gives an account of the emergence and perseverance of the Essene hypothesis, making its inherent appeal as a scholarly paradigm understandable and exposing its moot points. She also suggests several types of ideological bias among both Christian and Jewish as well as conservative and liberal scholars, introducing a number of useful explanatory models and concepts.10 UllmannMargalit also takes a constructivist stance, but from a more practical sociology-of-knowledge point of view. She takes the evidence seriously but also focuses on the complexities and social constraints of interpretation. Her study

7 The classic example of a rudimentary plot is as follows: "The king died and then the queen died of grief." If the last two words ("of grief") are missing, there is no plot but just two statements. A story with a plot is always an interpretation of facts or events. 8 D. Allison, "How to Marginalize the Traditional Criteria of Authenticity," in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S.E. Porter; Leiden 2011) 1:3–30, here 30. 9 E. Ullmann-Margalit, Out of the Cave: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Dead Sea Scrolls Research (Cambridge 2006). 10 Among these, I just mention resilience and consilience (53), elasticity, co-optation and phonetic fanaticism (55), prior and posterior probabilities (74–78), and confirmation bias (92– 93).

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is an instructive example of hermeneutically – rather than purely philosophically – oriented research history. 11 However, Samuel Thomas, a reviewer of Ullmann-Margalit’s book, discovers in it a much bolder subjectivist or postmodern program. According to this reviewer, the book title suggests a reference to Plato’s metaphor of cave: "If so," the reviewer concludes, then the author "implies that Qumran scholars themselves have been living in a cave, mistaking their perceptions of history for the ancient reality itself. Drawn out of the cave, we now can see nonreflected truth, and debates about history and text and artifact resolve into the ideal form of a second-order science by which we come to understand not history but ourselves."12 I am not sure if this vision is quite serious; the book’s author certainly did not imply all that. Incidentally, the reviewer also refers to Jesus research: "Not unlike the various quests for the historical Jesus, perhaps our reconstructions of Qumran end up reflecting less real history and more of the historian than we might like to admit." If the reference to Plato’s cave was a sarcastic overstatement, this suggestion seems serious, and to my mind quite plausible. It may indeed be the case that our reconstructions – or simply constructions – of the "historical" Jesus reflect our own ideals, hopes and fears much more than we are ready to admit. What consequences should we draw? I doubt that any form of science can draw us out of Plato’s cave, which is our historical, social, and empirical reality. And what if we saw the daylight? Plato would see the objects of desire as they really, or ideally, are. Thomas thinks we would see ourselves as we truly are. However, as things are, we only see traces of the past as well as glimpses of our own biases in constructing the past, and we continuously risk mixing the two. Living in Plato’s cave, our only route goes through the cave. Or, to shift to another well-known metaphor, our route to the past is through the well of history. This is the well – a well found by Albert Schweitzer and named by George Tyrrell – where the early questers thought they saw the historical Jesus but in fact only saw their own face reflected in the deep water. This again is an overstatement. More likely, I suggest, they saw a mixture of both.

2. Scholarly Constructions of Research History The first issue where I look for the impact of scholarly identity is how we construct the (hi)story of Jesus research. A simple plot has only two epochs, "then" and "now." James H. Charlesworth, in his recent contribution to the 11 At the same time, the hermeneutical interest makes her study to some extent partisan (i.e., against the Essene hypothesis). That is not my concern here, however. 12 S. Thomas, "Review of Edna Ullmann-Margalit, Out of the Cave: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Dead Sea Scrolls Research," RBL (2010) n.p. [cited 7 July 2012]. Online: http://www.bookreviews.org.

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symposium volume Jesus Research (2009), deems that "more advances have been achieved in biblical research over the past twenty-five years than in the preceding 250 years." Also, "works published after 1980 are often paradigmatically different from those issued in the preceding 1900 years."13 I think this is short-sighted. Where would Jesus research be today without all the work done, for example, on the synoptic problem during the past two centuries? In his introductory article to the same volume, Charlesworth does mention a more customary periodizing of the study of Jesus. At the same time, however, he dubs all previous work "quests," while the new era is called "Jesus research."14 As such, "Jesus research" is a very practical expression, and I have no objection if it is used for the previous "quests," too. But if the term only refers to the present phase in order to propagate a superior scholarly identity, it sounds like a praise to Amazing Grace – "I once was blind, but now I see" – or worse, as when Charlesworth speaks of the "blindness" of other, previous scholars which he among others has helped cure. Certainly much progress has been made during the last decades, but to a great extent this is because we are standing on the giants’ shoulders. John Dominic Crossan is critical of the terms "quest" and "search," because" (t)hose terms seem to indicate a positivistic process in which we are going to attain an answer once and for all forever."15 Instead, Crossan speaks of reconstruction of the historical Jesus, something that each generation of scholars must do again, because "the historical reconstruction is always interactive of present and past." I agree in principle. The Jesus "quester" is no Mr. Stanley looking for Dr. Livingstone, because the search will not stop when a scholar says, "Jesus of Nazareth, I presume." Nevertheless, to the degree that scholars are aware of the metaphorical nature of the terms, I think that the terms are relatively harmless. A modified and slightly nuanced standard version is presented in Gerd Theissen’s and Annette Merz’s study book. The "five phases of the quest of the historical Jesus" include (1) the critical impulse, (2) the optimism of the liberal quest, (3) the collapse of the quest, (4) the new quest and (5) the third quest.16 This periodization pays special attention to the early phases, which 13 J.H. Charlesworth, "From Old to New: Paradigm Shifts concerning Judaism, the Gospel of John, Jesus, and the Advent of ‘Christianity’," in Jesus Research: An International Perspective (ed. J.H. Charlesworth and P. Pokorný; Grand Rapids 2009) 56–72, here 56. 14 J.H. Charlesworth, "Introduction: Why Evaluate Twenty-Five Years of Jesus Research?" in Jesus Research (see n. 13), 1–15 here 2–4. The well-known phases are according to Charlesworth: Old Quest (Reimarus to Schweitzer), the so-called Moratorium (1906 to c. 1953), New Quest (c. 1953 to c. 1980), and Jesus Research (c. 1985 to the Present). 15 J.D. Crossan, "Historical Jesus as Risen Lord," in The Jesus Controversy: Perspectives in Conflict (ed. J.D. Crossan et al.; Harrisburg 1999) 1–47, here 5. 16 G. Theissen and A. Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide (Minneapolis 1998) 2–13.

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causes an inconvenience in the number of the quests. The third quest is characterized by the interest in social history, by the effort to find Jesus’ place within Judaism, and by the attention to non-canonical sources. Theissen and Merz note that the recent Jesus research has split into different trends, the most important differentiation being between eschatological and noneschatological images of Jesus. However, the authors accept that both trends are part of the ongoing third quest.17 The standard story does not cut off the present Jesus scholars from the past, but rather identifies the former generations as their "forebears." Despite some justified criticisms, I find this story true enough. There is some irony in the fact that Tom Wright, who first coined the term "third quest" and thus contributed to the by now massive objectivation of the conception of three historical epochs in Jesus research, actually wanted to tell a very different story. It is a story of two ways, one leading – after a fortunate fall caused by the Enlightenment – back to truth and the other to error. Only the way back deserves the status of "third quest." This right path is the Schweitzerstrasse, which for Wright means not only Schweitzer’s picture of Jesus as a Jewish apocalyptic but apparently also that one need not spend more time in assessing sources and traditions than Schweitzer did. The wrong path is the Wredebahn, or the Wrede-Bultmann line, alias the renewed new quest, the followers of which are "endlessly discussing criteria, reconstructing Q, and most recently, setting up a new Seminar."18 In the middle of the 1990s, Wright could list some twenty scholars as the chief exponents of the genuine third quest.19 Wright’s criteria for inclusion and exclusion of scholars are arbitrary, however. The two main criteria for the right path – accepting the central role of eschatology in Jesus’ mission and accepting the substantial reliability of the Gospels as historical reports – seem often inconclusive so as to raise the question of other, not articulated criteria. Thus Wright concedes that Borg and Crossan "have a far less minimal Jesus than Wrede" and "insist on the importance of "eschatology", in some sense, within Jesus’ work" but due to "their major emphases" he nevertheless counts them among "heavily modified Wrede-followers."20 Also, one of the characteristics of the present scholarship is precisely a keen discussion of the criteria of authenticity. Theissen especially has done much work on clarifying the criteria of historical plausibility, but this does not prevent Wright from classifying him as a genuine representative for the "third quest." As it happens, I

17 18

Theissen and Merz, The Historical Jesus (see n. 16), 10–11. N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis 1996) 25 (quotation) and pas-

sim.

19 20

Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (see n. 18), 84. Wright, Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (see n. 18), 28.

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myself find an apocalyptic Jesus the most plausible image 21and consider the temple incident a decisive fact in explaining Jesus’ death. Yet why should I follow Schweitzer in his dated methodology? The usefulness of Wright’s metaphor of two ways is also questionable as he simultaneously blurs the clear-cut distinction "just for showing the spectrum"22of scholarship. If there is a colorful "spectrum" of views, why reduce them into black and white? That there is a need for such a reduction perhaps depends on still another metaphor Wright employs, namely, the two brothers in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son.23 The elder brother who never left home stands for the traditional Christian Orthodoxy that cherishes an "iconic" view of Jesus. The wastrel son represents the Enlightenment which set off to the far country of historical skepticism. The Enlightenment marked the emergence of critical biblical scholarship, which Wright seems to regard as a felix culpa, a necessary and virtually fortunate fall from the Church’s traditional creed. To be sure, salvation after the fall is only for those who return home along the Schweitzerstrasse. This application of the Lukan parable reflects, not only Wright’s high Christology (instead of the father, Jesus comes running to meet the returning son!) but his skilful rhetoric as well. Through the parable, Wright sets himself among the paradigmatic "we" who have wandered in the far country and then returned. The slight Ricoeurian intimation – one thinks of the dictum "Beyond the desert of criticism, we wish to be called again" – adds to the suggestive idea that Wright is not less, but more critical than critical scholarship when first leaving home and then returning. In other words, the return is not back to biblicism but to a truer form of criticism. Wright suggests that we can have it both ways, be critical and yet abandon criticism in the end.24 This is good rhetoric, but is it a good story? I think not. Wright is not alone in telling a story of two ways. Robert W. Funk, one of Wright’s main antagonists, is just as determined to categorize the "players in the current quest" in two distinct groups, calling the third questers the "pretend questers."25 These scholars – Funk mentions such relatively mainstream scholars as Raymond E. Brown and John P. Meier – "express no real interest in, or regard for, the Jesus of history beyond historical curiosity." They "take critical scholarship about as far as it can go without impinging on the fundamentals of the creed or challenging the hegemony of the ecclesiastical bureaucracy." For Funk, the present quest is a struggle between "the revolution21 By contrast, it is not evident that Wright is firmly on the Schweitzerstrasse, as he understands the apocalyptic language of the Gospels metaphorically (Jesus and the Victory of God [see n. 18], 81, 95–97). 22 Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (see n. 18), 28. 23 Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (see n. 18), 9–10, 662. 24 The circuitous route via criticism legitimates Wright’s apparent distancing from traditional conservative Christianity, which according to him worships the "icon" (the Christ of faith) instead of "the real thing," i.e. the historical Jesus. 25 R. W. Funk, Honest to Jesus: Jesus for a New Millennium (San Francisco 1996) 64.

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aries" and those who want to maintain the "prevailing orthodoxy."26 Obviously this battle allows no neutrality; if you are not with the revolutionaries, you are against them. More recently, the conventional division of Jesus research into subsequent quests has been criticized by Colin Brown. He, too, suggests that there are just two paths: "Perhaps there are only two quests with many forms: the quest of the unhistorical Jesus and the quest of the historical Jesus." Obviously the latter path is recommended: "…a Jesus of faith detached from history is a figment of the imagination."27 As in Wright’s and Funk’s case, it is doubtful that all Jesus scholars are willing to categorize themselves as representatives of just one of two paths. For my part, I find the standard story of the phases of Jesus research (to use the terms I prefer) plausible enough for the purpose it serves. We should be reminded, however, that this purpose is narrowly academic in taking the Enlightenment and the birth of critical study of the Bible as its starting-point; other stories might begin well before Reimarus.28 In the academic storyline, the newest turn should not be confined to defenders of a certain kind of Jesus or to scholarship that dismisses authenticity criteria and an analysis of sources, tradition-history, and redaction. This said, the story can still be told in many ways.

3. Scholarly Constructions of the Double of Jesus A strange, yet so familiar expression in the scholarly discourse is the "historical" Jesus. Is this but an instance of scholarly jargon, a means for the initiated to show their superiority by creating complicated expressions? Ordinary people and even historians and scientists from other fields would simply speak of Jesus. There is indeed much in recommending this plain way of speaking, because there is no other than the "historical" Jesus that historians and Jesus scholars are able to study.29 There are, of course, reasons why Jesus scholars 26

Funk, Honest to Jesus (see n. 25), 65. C. Brown, "The Quest of the Unhistorical Jesus and the Quest of the Historical Jesus," in Handbook of the Study of the Historical Jesus: How to Study the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. Porter; Leiden 2011) 2:855–886, here 886. 28 See A. Le Donne, "The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A Revisionist History through the Lens of Jewish-Christian Relations," in JSHJ 10 (2012) 63–86 esp. 64–74. Le Donne’s story has several alternative beginnings: Origen, the rabbis, perhaps already Josephus. If the scope is thus widened, why not begin with the Gospels? 29 R. Bauckham, "Review article: Seeking the Identity of Jesus," JSNT 32 (2010) 337–346 here 337, observes that many contributors to the volume, Seeking the Identity of Jesus: A Pilgrimage (2008) speak of "the historians" Jesus’ instead of "the historical Jesus." This is quite in place: the "historical" Jesus is the Jesus that the historians study. Naturally the Gospel stories about Jesus may be objectivated as "the Markan Jesus" or even "the narrative Jesus." The interpretations and beliefs concerning Jesus can be summed up as "the Jesus of 27

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customarily add the seemingly redundant epithet "historical." The fact is that many other Jesuses are around, often with a heavy theological (or christological) package. The distinction between "real" and "historical" Jesus is the most elementary one. In the opening chapter of the first volume of A Marginal Jew, John P. Meier contrasts these two concepts, emphasizing that the "real" Jesus – the total reality or at the minimum a "reasonably complete" record of Jesus – is beyond our reach. What remains for scholars to study is the "historical" Jesus, which is a scholarly construction. Meier’s "real Jesus" corresponds to Goldstein’s "real past," and both of them are irrevocably lost. Meier rightly sets off to examine the "historical" Jesus, but thereby he shows that there is little use for the "real" Jesus in academic discourse.30 The "real" Jesus is actually a straw man, but once erected, it calls for the notion of "historical" Jesus.31 However, for some scholars the straw man is truly the real thing, unlike the pale image of an "historical" figure. With this turning of the tables we arrive at the realm of ideological (theological) construct – the double of Jesus. This other Jesus, who is yet the same Jesus,32 has a variety of names: the real Jesus, the risen Christ, the Jesus of faith, the biblical Jesus, the Christ myth, "our eternal contemporary,"33 to name a few. By invoking such other-thanhistorical Jesuses – or by not doing so – scholars unveil elements of their own identity. The double of Jesus is as old as Christianity, or maybe still older,34 and is necessitated by faith in the risen (assumed/living) Christ. What may seem a faith" etc. Such usage is unproblematic as far as the terms are descriptions of the interpretation, effect or reception – direct or indirect – of (the historical) Jesus. 30 The same holds true for Jesus’ audience, too. Cf. M. Wolter, "Jesus as a Teller of Parables: On Jesus’ Self-Interpretation in His Parables," in Jesus Research (see n. 13), 123–139. Wolter distinguishes between Jesus’ real listeners, the historical listeners, and the intended listeners. "The problem is, however, that the real listeners are an absolutely inaccessible quantity, for as soon as we reconstruct them, they change into the second type of listener," namely, the historical listeners (126). 31 I concede that this statement is a bit provocative in that most research histories regard the emergence of the "historical" Jesus quest as a reaction against the traditional, dogmatic view of Jesus (Christ). So it was; but the story I am telling here is that of the secular Jesus quest, and Kähler’s response was to declare the dogmatic Christ as the "real" Jesus. 32 J.D.G. Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity (3rd ed.; London 2006) 403, 437, states that the main unifying feature of New Testament writings is the identity of the earthly Jesus and the risen one. 33 This suggestive term was proposed by the neoliberal theologian W.M. Horton in his Our eternal Contemporary: A Study of the present-day Significance of Jesus (New York 1942). The subtitle – as well as the authors’ reluctance to deal with the bodily resurrection of Jesus – indicate that Horton’s "doubling" of Jesus is in fact a rhetorical way of speaking of the continuing significance of (the "historical") Jesus. 34 It is possible but not certain that a double of Jesus originates with Jesus: "the Son of Man" is in the Gospel tradition solely attested in Jesus’ words and refers to either a coming heavenly figure or Jesus himself.

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"biblical" Christ is really a composite figure: a resurrected body with or without the crucified’s wounds, a non-recognized stranger, a visionary experience, a ruler on God’s right side, a ubiquitous pneumatic reality, a pre-existent divine Logos and an instrument of the creation. For Paul the double was by far more significant than the earthly Jesus. In 2 Cor 5 and Rom 5, Paul elaborates on a dichotomy which is anthropologically grounded: the believer’s former identity is dead and buried with Jesus – the new life is a life together with the resurrected Christ! This was, roughly speaking, also Bultmann’s existential model. Martin Kähler35 was seemingly anticipating Bultmann’s "Pauline" position, but his motivation was very different. Some decade before Schweitzer, Kähler realized that the historical reconstructions of Jesus could not reaffirm the biblical and doctrinal image of Jesus. And certainly the old quest never intended to do that. Seeing the frightening results of this liberal movement, Kähler declared the whole life-of-Jesus research a blind alley. Insisting on the primacy of the church’s faith in the crucified and resurrected Christ, he recalled Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 5:16. Kähler’s distinction between the "historical" (historisch) and the "historic" (geschichtlich) Jesus is much discussed. As I see it, the historical/historic duality is valid to the extent that it can be applied to any person or event, but when Kähler equals the historic Jesus with the "biblical" Jesus of "faith," a new level is suggested. Norman Perrin realized this when making a three-part distinction where the Jesus of faith is distinguished from a mere "historic" Jesus. Perrin wished to refine Kähler’s distinction,36 but in fact he only showed that the "historic" Jesus is a theological concept in secular disguise.37 More recently Kähler’s line of reasoning is perpetuated by Luke Timothy Johnson. The title of his book, The Real Jesus: The Misguided Quest for the Historical Jesus and Truth of the Traditional Gospels38 is telling enough. While his main target is the Jesus Seminar and some of its prominent representatives, Johnson also sets forth his own stance with unmistakable clarity. As with Kähler, there is a pessimistic evaluation of the possibilities to gain 35 "M. Kähler, Der sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Jesus (Leipzig 1892). I have consulted the reprint in Theologishe Bücherei: Neudrucke und Berichte aus dem 20. Jahrhundert (München 1953). The reprint is based on the second, slightly reworked edition. 36 N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (London 1967) 234, "First, there is the essentially descriptive historical knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth […] Then, secondly, there are those aspects of this knowledge which, like aspects of historical knowledge of any figure from the past, can become significant to us in our present in various ways. Thirdly, there is knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth which is significant only in the context of specifically Christian faith…" In what follows Perrin discusses each kind of "knowledge" in turn, making clear that he is attempting "further to refine" (238) Kähler’s terminology. 37 See also J.P. Meier, The Roots of the Problem and the Person, Vol. 1 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1991) 29–30. 38 New York 1996.

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secure historical data about the "historical" Jesus. Johnson by no means belittles the differences and discrepancies between the Gospels. Quite the contrary, his point is that "the present shape of the canonical Gospel is not such as to encourage the historian."39 But whereas historians are likely to make the best of the available sources in reconstructing the past, Johnson like Kähler downgrades the value of "historical" Jesus because the "real" Jesus is the effect of his history. Similarly, Johnson argues, the "historical" Socrates cannot be distinguished, ultimately, from the Socrates of his interpreters: "It was this Socrates, furthermore, especially the Socrates of Plato, that exercised "historical influence" on succeeding generations of Athenians and indeed on Western thinkers from Epictetus to Kierkegaard, and up to the present […] The ‘remembered and interpreted Socrates,’ or, if one prefers, the ‘Socrates of faith,’ is ultimately the ‘historical Socrates.’"40 If this argument is taken at face value, historical research in general would only focus on Wirkungsgeschichte, perhaps with the exception of contemporary history. Obviously, however, Johnson is not telling what historians should do, but what biblical scholars ought to be doing. He is – I gather – not prescribing that historians should focus solely on the Socrates of faith, but that Jesus scholars should study nothing but the Jesus of faith. In another context, Johnson even more sharply contrasts the real, biblical, risen and living Jesus of faith with the "fantasies and abstractions" produced by the "misguided quest" of the historical Jesus. While all the critical reconstructions present "a dead person of the past," the believers "whose lives are being transformed by the Spirit of the Living One" recognize "the Jesus depicted in the literary compositions of the New Testament" as true.41 This implacable antagonism – against which the somewhat un-Pauline harmony between the spirit and the letter in the quoted passage is all the more striking – makes one ask whether Johnson should be excluded from Jesus research by his own request. Modern Jesus research usually rests on subtler ways of doubling Jesus. Meier represents a standard solution, where faith commitments are severed from critical scholarship. This solution comes close to an objectivist ideal, but Meier gives it an ecumenical slant by imagining an "unpapal conclave" where a Catholic, a Protestant, a Jew, and an agnostic, all honest historians cognizant of first-century religious movements, are locked up in a room and put on a spartan diet until they have hammered out a consensus document on who Jesus was and what he intended.42 In all likelihood, the poor scholars would either starve to death or publish a very short and uninteresting list of virtually certain things we know of Jesus. 39

Johnson, The Real Jesus (see n. 38), 108. Ibid., 106. 41 L.T. Johnson, "The Humanity of Jesus," in The Jesus Controversy (see n. 15), 74. 42 Meier, A Marginal Jew (see n. 37), 1–2. 40

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Another typical strategy is to bridge the Easter gulf with concepts fitted to hold together historical Jesus and his ideological double. James Dunn, in his magisterial Jesus Remembered, treats the Gospels as the "memory" and faithful "impact" of Jesus.43 While the concepts of memory and impact are a variant of Jesus’ "historic" effect, these serve especially as a connection between Jesus, the oral Jesus traditions, and the Gospels – the written memoirs. The concepts are feasible enough, but of course not everything in the Gospels is memory; there is also imagination, theologizing, story-telling, and even repression. Dunn’s discussion is hermeneutically attuned, touching on a variety of issues such as the hermeneutical circle, Gadamer’s idea of a fusion of horizons, and reading as a dialogical encounter.44 However, in reasserting Kähler’s key point that there is no "historical Jesus" apart from the Christ of faith as provided by the Gospels,45 Dunn adopts a position that risks surrendering to fideism. The attempt to hold history and faith together, even if in a tensive unity, is quite conceivable, but Dunn’s hermeneutic excludes in principle the possibility of reconstructing any "historical" Jesus other than one seen through faith. Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses sets out to replace the historical Jesus with the Jesus of "testimony". Bauckham suggests that the concept of testimony is "both a reputable historiographic category […] and also a theological model for understanding the Gospels". 46 "It is where history and theology meet."47 At the same time, I suppose, it is where a believing Jesus scholar like Bauckham finds rest. Although the concept of testimony is philosophically sanctified through reference to Paul Ricoeur, in Bauckham’s use it makes a special plea to treating the Gospels in a way that most other historical documents are not treated. To regard the Gospels as "uniquely unique" testimonies which can give "privileged access to truth"48 is simply to beg the question. If the category of testimony offers little more to Jesus scholarship than openly biblicist watchwords "the word of God" and the like), the concluding chapter of Bauckham’s book at least elaborates on an attractive theological concept: "the Jesus of Testimony."49 In it, the Jesus of historians 43 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003) esp. 129. 44 Dunn, Jesus Remembered (see n. 43), 118–125. 45 Dunn, Jesus Remembered (see n. 43), 126. Dunn stresses (99) that he takes only this key point from Kähler, not Kähler’s larger theological agenda. Perhaps this restriction explains why Dunn deplores "the antithetical polarization of the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith" (51). 46 R. Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony (Grand Rapids 2006) 5. 47 Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (see n. 46), 6. 48 Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (see n. 46), 502. It is hard to see how Bauckham’s comparison with Holocaust testimonies proves his point. 49 Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (see n. 46), 472–508.

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and the Christ of the faithful community converge, even though only for members of that community. Exegetically, it is noteworthy that remembrance and testimony are major themes first in the Gospels of Luke and John50, as well as in the Acts, which are later than Mark and Matthew – and it was Justin the Martyr well in the second century who spoke of the "memoirs" of the apostles. There are many more fusions of Jesus and his double in recent scholarship that I must leave unnoticed, but it is worth noting that Theissen’s and Winter’s criteria for a "plausible Jesus"51 can be regarded as an exegetical, secular way of bringing together Jesus and his impact or "post-history." In essence, the plausibility criteria demand that any reconstruction of Jesus’ words, deeds and aims must make sense both in his contemporary Jewish environment and in view of his effect on the emergent Christian movement. This general idea will have to suffice for historical (as well as secular "historic") Jesus research, which is governed by the principles of secondary hermeneutic. Biblical scholars may, and almost invariably, do have primary hermeneutical interest in Jesus and Christian origins, that is, they ask for the significance of Jesus and early Christian faith for themselves or for "us." The relationship between the study object and the interpreting subject is a basic hermeneutical phenomenon, and in this sense "there is always a dialectic between an historically-read Jesus and a theologically-read Christ."52 However, primary hermeneutical convictions concerning Jesus are not Jesus research, no matter how much or little a scholar’s faith is reflected in his or her historical construction of Jesus.

50

Bauckham’s discussion lends much weight to the "Beloved Disciple" in John. See Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (see n. 46), 358–411, and even the two following chapters, 412–471. I have argued elsewhere for the view that the Beloved Disciple is a late invention in John (a relatively common view) and that its function was above all to legitimate a Synoptic (Mark/Matthew) type of passion and resurrection narrative, and to emphasize the bodily nature of the incarnation of God’s Son. See K. Syreeni, "The Witness of Blood: The Narrative and Ideological Function of the ‘Beloved Disciple’ in John 13–21," in Lux Humana, Lux Aeterna: Essays on Biblical and Related Themes in Honour of Lars Aejmelaeus (ed. A. Mustakallio et al.; PFES 89; Helsinki 2005) 164–185. 51 G. Theissen and D. Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus: The Question of Criteria (Louisville 2002) esp. 210–12. The definition is given on p. 212, with original emphasis: "What we know of Jesus as a whole must allow him to be recognized within his contemporary Jewish context and must be compatible with the Christian (canonical and noncanonical) history of his effects." 52 J.D. Crossan, "The Historical Jesus in Earliest Christianity," in Jesus and Faith: A conversation on the work of John Dominic Crossan (ed. J. Carlson and R.A. Ludwig; Maryknoll 1994) 1–21 here 20, cf. also 145.

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4. Scholarly Constructions of (the Historical) Jesus The point that the historical portrayals of Jesus tend to look like the scholars who advocate them has been made often since Schweitzer. Not unexpectedly the ideological biases of a scholar are best visible to those of his or her colleagues who hold a different image of Jesus. I must leave aside the numerous examples of modernizing or – as is often the case – archaizing53 constructions of Jesus. It is vital to remember, however, that even anachronistic interpretations can contain grains of historical truth. For example, Theissen notes that a counter-cultural, aphoristic and cynic-like Jesus has a Californian rather than Palestinian "local color"54 – which is obviously a correct observation but does not render all the work of the Jesus seminar obsolete. Instead of multiplying such examples, I focus on a more peculiar phenomenon in recent scholarship, namely, a disagreement on a fact that virtually no scholar denies: the Jewishness of Jesus. There is no disagreement about Jesus being a Palestinian and Galilean Jew, so one might assume that the historical question only concerns the kind of Jesus’ Jewishness. However, some recent Jesus scholars have accused their colleagues of presenting a "non-Jewish" Jesus. William Arnal, in his The Symbolic Jesus, has argued convincingly that the accusations are false.55 Arnal then ponders the reasons for this distortion of other scholars’ views.56 His first explanation is the need to distinguish the new phase clearly from the basically German new quest, which the critics see as continued by some profiled American scholars. This explanation coheres with the observation that the supposedly "non-Jewish" images of Jesus are sometimes seen as symptomatic of anti-Semitism, which brings to memory the horrors of Nazi ideology and the Holocaust. At the same time, the defenders of a "Jewish Jesus" tend to have a stereotyped and normative picture of what being a Jew implies, both then and now. In the last analysis, Arnal traces here a clash of cultural identities, with postmodern and liberal scholars on one side and traditionalists on another. The former group regards religious identities as complex and flexible, for the latter they are or should be firm and distinctive. Thus, Arnal concludes: "Promotions of an identifiably and distinctively Jewish Jesus are re53 Idea-historically, many modern historical Jesuses are in fact redressed figures from previous epochs. The main historical types are presented by J. Pelikan, Jesus through the Centuries: His Place in the History of Culture (2nd ed.; New Haven 1999). 54 Theissen and Merz, The Historical Jesus (see n. 16), 11. 55 W. Arnal, The Symbolic Jesus: Historical Scholarship, Judaism and the Construction of Contemporary Identity (London 2005) 20–38. The term "symbolic Jesus" depicts seemingly yet another double of Jesus, but one which is merely a way of describing the use of Jesus as a symbol. 56 Ibid., 39–72. Arnal’s discussion is useful for its differentiation between different sorts of identities: political, religious, and cultural identities. Perhaps professional exegetes can also be said to have a variety of academic identities.

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sisting postmodern or globalizing homogenization and fragmentation precisely in their insistence on the coherence of "Jewish" identity."57 I think Arnal’s provocative book has a point. It is in fact surprising that precisely the traditionalists make claims for a "Jewish Jesus." E.P. Sanders’s Jesus and Judaism signaled this new emphasis, and his driving force was to combat the negative picture of first-century Judaism. In conservative circles this emphasis seems to have another motivation. Jesus the Jew is now the guarantee of the continuity of "biblical" salvation-history, which of course is a thoroughly Christian story: a story from Abraham, Moses and the prophets through Jesus on to Paul, the apostles, and the new people of God. Jesus was a Jew, so the Christians are the Israel of God. No matter how one refines this preunderstanding, the result is some version of Ersatztheologie. The equation of Jesus the Jew with the biblical Jesus of Christian faith is typically accomplished by demonstrating that the key points of early Christology, soteriology and ecclesiology come from Jesus. In recent reconstructions, one of the most salient tendencies is to trace as much atonement theology as possible back to Jesus. I must leave it for others to decide whether an image of Jesus orchestrating his sacrificial death or interpreting his body as the replacement of the temple is more plausible than the previous quests’ claims of Jesus’ unique ethics, personality or self-awareness. What I suggest, however, is that these constructions cohere remarkably with the Christian preunderstanding of the scholars who present them. This is not to say that a Christian or any other preunderstanding is a hindrance to the historical study of Jesus. Preunderstanding is simply the prerequisite of understanding. In happy cases, a scholar’s personal identity is a resource in finding aspects of the historical reality that mainstream scholarship tends to ignore. When, for instance, Halvor Moxnes "puts Jesus in his place"58 by applying a postmodern queer approach, the resulting interpretation59 proves that there are surprising ways in which contemporary identities can resonate with the ethos of Jesus. Other examples of unexpected resonance might be found in interpretations that focus on the political, social and counter-cultural aspects of Jesus’ activity. We need not deny our modern sensitivities to get in touch with the stranger from a distant past.

57

Ibid., 72. H. Moxnes, Putting Jesus in His Place: A Radical Vision of Household and Kingdom (Louisville 2003). 59 It should be pointed out that Moxnes builds his interpretation on very plausible historical and exegetical observations, e.g. that Jesus was not married, that he chose 12 male apostles, and that he preached the Kingdom of God. 58

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To follow that stranger after two millennia may not be other than metaphorical, or mystical as Schweitzer described it, but it may still be a metaphor to live by.60 :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :

60 When finalizing this manuscript, I received a Festschrift on the occasion of my 60th birthday, S.-O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi (ed.), Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni (Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11; Åbo 2012). Kankaanniemi’s article in that volume ("Will the Real Third Quest Please Stand Up?" 102–123) discusses the history of Jesus research.

Approaching the Issue of the Originality of Jesus Per Bilde

1. Background When I was asked to contribute a paper to the seminar on "The Identity of Jesus" in Åbo, Finland, in October 2010 I chose the subject of "the originality of Jesus" because I had reached the conclusion that, to my surprise, this problem had been neglected in previous Jesus research (cf. section 3). After the seminar I immediately began revising my oral contribution in preparation for the planned anthology of the seminar papers. However, when the process of the editing and publication of this anthology dragged out I decided to continue working on the subject intending to expand and transform my original manuscript into a monographic presentation. The first result was a Danish book: Hvor original var Jesus? (How Original was Jesus?) which was published in Copenhagen in November 2011. I was so fond of this result that I decided to revise it and translate it into English under the title The Originality of Jesus. The English manuscript was finished in July 2012, and it has now been accepted for publication in a new series of Danish New Testament contributions: Studia Aarhusiana Neotestamentica (SANt) to be issued by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht in Göttingen. The publication of the English monograph is expected sometime during the spring of 2013. On this background it has little meaning to publish my original contribution to the seminar in Åbo. Therefore I have decided to write a new and brief article focussing on some of the problems and possibilities involved in my title "Approaching the Issue of the Originality of Jesus," and presenting a summary of some of the results achieved in my Danish and English monographs.

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2. Why Has the Problem of the Originality of Jesus Been Neglected? The question of whether Jesus was original or unique has rarely been posed. For a very long period the reason for this fact was that, for Christians in a Christian culture, this question simply could not arise because everybody regarded it as an unspoken presupposition that Jesus, as the only saviour of sinful mankind, per definitionem was unique and therefore also absolutely original. This view was dissolved in the Age of Enlightenment, but its core continued, however not any longer in a mythological, but in an ethical form. After the Enlightenment Jesus continued to be regarded as unique, but now not any longer as the only legitimate representative of god, but as the greatest personality ever, and as the uncomparable teacher of ethics and culture. And these two ideas of Jesus also continued to dominate modern Jesus research from the Enlightenment to our own time. Accordingly, the question of the originality of Jesus could not be raised because it presupposed that Jesus was a human being as everybody else and therefore could be compared to other humans (cf. section 4-5). This is the main reason why the question of the originality of Jesus has only rarely been posed, and this implies that the question at stake in this issue is the very idea of Jesus as the fundamental and dominating icon of the Christian, Western world.

3. Why Is a Study of Jesus’ Originality Necessary? Why is it now necessary to consider, analyse and examine this subject? This has to be done for several reasons. Generally spoken, it is today possible – and necessary – to pose the question of the originality of Jesus because this Christian Western world has culturally, ideologically and religiously been shaken in its foundations by the Enlightenment, by the critical research of the Bible, by the globalisation and by the meeting of this world with other cultures and religions. In additions come a number of more specific reasons: First, I had personally neglected to address this issue explicitly in my contributions to Jesus research before 2011. The question of Jesus’ originality can perhaps be said to have been touched upon indirectly in my attempt to determine the nature and character of Jesus’ project,1 but so far I had only preliminarily investigated the explicit question about Jesus’ possible originality.2 1

Cf. P. Bilde, En religion bliver til (Copenhagen 2001) 123–170; Den historiske Jesus (Copenhagen 2008) 157–232. 2 Cf. P. Bilde, "Tilløb til overvejelser over komparative undersøgelser af Jesus. Et bidrag til den teoretiske drøftelse af relationerne mellem komparation og faglig terminologi," in

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Second, my studies of the history of modern Jesus research on this problem have demonstrated that the question of Jesus’ possible originality has received only scant attention, particularly in research since 1970. This fact surprised me because it would seem to be of great importance and therefore might be expected to have received a lot of attention in modern Jesus research.3 A great number of scholars take it for granted that Jesus was original or unique, but do not bother to justify this assumption.4 Only a few scholars have addressed this Religionsvidenskabens comparative udfordring (ed. J. Haviv, A. Lisdorf and P. Weiss Poulsen; Copenhagen 2005) 37–54. 3 A large number of scholars have not treated this topic explicitly, cf., e.g., S.J. Case, Jesus. A New Biography (Chicago 1927); N. Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus (London [1963] 1967); C.K. Barrett, Jesus and the Gospel Tradition (London 1967); C.H. Dodd, The Founder of Christianity (London 1970); E. Schillebeeckx, Jesus. Die Geschichte von einem Lebenden (Freiburg [1974] 1976); B.F. Meyer, The Aims of Jesus (London 1979); J.D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus. The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh [1991] 1993); B. Thiering, Jesus the Man (New York 1992); R.A. Martin, Studies in the Life and Ministry of the Historical Jesus (Mangham 1994] 1995); J. Becker, Jesus von Nazareth (Berlin [1995] 1996); B.H. Young, Jesus the Jewish Theologian (Peaboby [1995] 2008); G. Theissen und A. Merz, Der historische Jesus. Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen 1996); B. Witherington, Jesus the Seer. The Progress of Prophecy (Peaboby 1999); D.L. Bock, Studying the Historical Jesus. A Guide to Sources and Methods (Grand Rapids 2002); M. Ebner, Jesus von Nazaret. Was wir von ihm wirklich wissen (Stuttgart [2004] 2007); K. Berger, Jesus (München [2004] 2007); L.M. White, From Jesus to Christianity (New York 2004); W.R. Herzog II, Prophet and Teacher. An Introduction to the Historical Jesus (Louisville 2005); R. Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses. The Gospel as Eyewitnesses Testimony (Grand Rapids 2006); Jesus. A Very Short Introduction (Oxford 2011); M. Hengel und A.M. Schwemer, Jesus und das Judentum. Geschichte des frühen Christentums (Tübingen 2007); J.H. Charlesworth, The Historical Jesus. An Essential Guide (Nashville 2008); C.A. Evans (ed.), Encyclopedia of the Historical Jesus (London 2008); H. Kvalbein, Jesus – hvad ville han? Hvem var han? En innføring I de tre første evangelienes budskap (Oslo 2008); C.S. Keener, The Historical Jesus of the Gospels (Grand Rapids 2009); D.C. Allison, Constructing Jesus. Memory, Imagination, and History (Grand Rapids 2010); M. Casey, Jesus of Nazareth. An Independent Historian’s Account of His Life and Teaching (London 2010); D.J. Harrington, Historical Dictionary of Jesus (Lanham 2010); A. Puig i Tàrrech, Jesus. An Uncommon Journey. Studies on the Historical Jesus (Tübingen 2010); G.L. Borchert, Jesus of Nazareth. Background, Witnesses, and Significance (Macon, GA 2011); T. Holmén and S.E. Porter (eds.), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (Leiden 2011); G. Lohfink, Jesus von Nazaret – was er wollte, wer er war (Freiburg [2011] 2012); H.K. Bond, The Historical Jesus (London 2012); N. Scholl, Jesus von Nazaret. Was wir wissen, was wir glauben können (Darmstadt 2012). This situation corresponds to the fact that the question of the originality of Jesus has not been treated explicitly in one single contribution in the first ten volumes (2003–2012) of the Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus. Regrettably, the same is the case in the dictionaries and encyclopaedia on the historical Jesus mentioned above. I am particularly surprised by the fact that in the Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, a massive compilation of 111 individual articles written by nearly all the most well-known Jesus scholars, not a single one treats the question of Jesus’ originality explicitly. 4 Thus, e.g., R. Banks, Jesus and the Law in the Synoptic Tradition (Cambridge 1975) 262; A. Goschen-Gottstein, "Hillel and Jesus: Are Comparisons Possible?," in Hillel and

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issue explicitly,5 and, as far as I know, only in relatively few cases has the question of the originality of Jesus been the subject of a separate investigation.6 Jesus. Comparative Studies of Two Major Religious Leaders (ed. J.H. Charlesworth and L.L. Johns; Minneapolis 1997) 31–55. A third example is David Flusser. He has chosen to give the English version of his German book on Jesus, Jesus in Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten (Hamburg [1968] 1975), the following title: The Sage from Galilee. Rediscovering Jesus’ Genius (Jerusalem [1997] 2007), however, without explaining what he means by "genius." A fourth example is C.L. Blomberg, "The Historical Reliability of John: Rushing in Where Angels fear to Tread," in Jesus in the Johannine Tradition (ed. R.T. Fortna and T. Thatcher; Louisville 2001) 71–82: "But the time has come for Johannine scholars to push back one stage further and ask the question many students of the Synoptics have raised of Matthew, Mark, and Luke: Does an origin with the unique genius of the historical Jesus not account for the bulk of John’s material better than a Jewish-community formulation in the early church, …" (p. 82). A fifth example is D.C. Allison, Constructing Jesus (see n. 3), 23, "I find it very difficult to come away from the primary sources doubting that I have somehow met a strikingly original character." 5 First and foremost A. von Harnack, Das Christentums (Tübingen [1900] 2005) 34–36; A. Jülicher, "Die Religion Jesu und die Anfänge des Christentums bis zum Nicaenum," in Die Kultur der Gegenwart. Ihre Entwickelung und ihre Ziele (ed. P. Hinneberg; Berlin 1909) 42–131; H.J. Holtzmann, Lehrbuch der neutestamentlichen Theologie in zwei Bänden (Tübingen 1911) 1, 173–175, 405–420; H.J. Cadbury, The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (New York [1937] 1962) 68–71; Banks, Jesus and the Law in the Synoptic Tradition (see n. 4), 262 (Jesus’ attitude to the Law of Moses was unique); R.H. Stein, The Method and Message of Jesus’ Teachings (Philadelphia [1978] 1994) 109–111; D. Hill, "Jesus and Josephus’ Messianic Prophets" in Text and Interpretation. FS Matthew Black (ed. E. Best and A. McL. Wilson; Cambridge 1979) 143–154; S.S. Carver, The UnGospel. The Life and Teaching of the Historical Jesus (Eugene [1982] 2004) 24–25; E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London 1985) 137–140, 239–240; The Question of Uniqueness. The Ethel M. Wood Lecture 15 February 1990 (London 1990); I.M. Zeitlin, Jesus and the Judaism of His Time (Oxford [1988] 1990) 61–62. 99–114; J.P. Meier, The Roots of the Problem and the Person, Vol. 1 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1991) 171–174; R.W. Funk, R.W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar, The Five Gospels. The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus. New Translation and Commentary (San Francisco [1993] 1997); Ch.-H. Sung, Vergebung der Sünden. Jesu Praxis der Sündervergebung nach den Synoptikern und ihre Voraussetzungen im Alten Testament und frühen Judentum (Tübingen 1993) 282; P.S. Alexander, "Jesus and the Golden Rule," in Charlesworth and Johns, Hillel and Jesus (see n. 3), 489–508; D.C. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth. Millenarian Prophet (Minneapolis 1998); Constructing Jesus (see n. 3), 82–88. 6 So far I am only aware of C.S. Braden, Jesus Compared. A Study of Jesus and Other Great Founders of Religions (Englewood Cliffs 1957); Zeitlin, Jesus and the Judaism of His Time (see n. 5); Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (see n. 5); Uniqueness (see n. 5); Cowdell, Is Jesus Unique? A Study of Recent Christology (New York 1995); L. Swidler and P. Mojzes, The Uniqueness of Jesus. A Dialogue with Paul F. Knitter (Maryknoll 1997); P.F.M. Zahl, The First Christian. Universal Truth in the Teaching of Jesus (Grand Rapids 2003); P.J. Amer, The Five Commandments of Jesus. A New Approach to Christianity (New York 2009). However, the last-mentioned two works primarily discuss the originality of the "Christian" Jesus, i.e., Christ, or, more precisely, Christ’s unique character (cf. n. 20 and 26). Even though Amer’s The Five Commandements cannot be regarded as an examination of the origi-

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Third, a treatment of this topic is required in connection with the discussion of the origins of Christianity. There can be little doubt that with Christianity emerging, something relatively new gradually appeared. Despite the numerous important preconditions to Christianity in Early Judaism and in the Hellenistic-Roman world it can hardly be doubted that the deification of Jesus and his central position already in the early Christian cult may be described as a novum in the history of religions.7 Therefore, we have to ask from where this new phenomenon came? Did it begin already with the historical Jesus?8 Fourth, in continuation of point three this idea, that today we need a comprehensive examination of the originality of Jesus, is supported by the observation that both parties – the Jesus movement and other Jewish groups – seem to have regarded the separation of early Christianity from the rest of Early nality of Jesus, this work can be understood as an interpretation of the essence of Jesus’ message. On the other hand, this small book does not contain any comparison between Jesus and other, Jewish and non-Jewish, comparable personalities, and therefore I do not consider this work as a monographic investigation of the originality of Jesus. The same is true of Sanders’ printed lecture from 1990 containing the most qualified discussion so far of my subject. Perhaps the dialogue between Leonard Swidler and Paul Mojzes with Knitter comes closer to a proper attention to the issue of the originality of Jesus. On the other hand, these authors do not carry out any comparisons with Jesus either. The most comprehensive examination of my subject is M. Kearney and J. Zeitz, World Saviors and Messiahs in the Roman Empire 28 BCE – 135 CE. The Soterial Age (Lewyston 2009), first and foremost because this work compares Jesus with 27 contemporary Jewish and non-Jewish personalities. However, these authors do not distinguish properly between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the NT and later Christianity either. 7 It is generally admitted that most of the traditional as well as the new religions in the Hellenistic-Roman period focussed on mythical, not historical deities. Furthermore, it is almost impossible to compare the religions that were concentrated on historical persons, first and foremost the ruler cult and the worship of Apollonius from Tyana, with Christianity, as I demonstrate it in P. Bilde, The Originality of Jesus. A Critical Discussion of Earlier (Re)constructions of the Originality of Jesus and a New Attempt at a Comprehensive Comparative Interpretation (SANt 1; Göttingen 2013 [in press]) chapter 5.4. This fact is due to our lack of knowledge of the number and the personal engagement of their adherents caused by the poverty of the existing sources, cf. P. Bilde, Den hellenistisk-romerske verden (Copenhagen 1998), 43–73, 104–112; En religion bliver til (see n. 1), 276–284; "Guddommeliggørelsen af Jesus: Hvad går den ud på? Og hvornår fandt den sted? – et oplæg til debat," Chaos 50 (2008) 7–37. 8 This issue is discussed briefly by D. Flusser, Jesus (see n. 4), 175–177; M. Müller, Jesuliv-litteratur i Danmark (Copenhagen 2008) 160, and more thoroughly by Zahl, The First Christian (see n. 6); B.D. Ehrman, Jesus Interrupted (New York 2009) 225–268; M.F. Bird, Crossing Over Sea and Land. Jewish Missionary Activity in the Second Temple Period (Peaboby 2010); P. Flores d’Arcais, Gésu. L’invenzione del Dio cristiano (Torino 2011). P. Barnett, Finding the Historical Christ. Vol. 3 of After Jesus (Grand Rapids 2009) 252–253, claims that Jesus not only regarded himself as the Messiah, but also identified himself with the Jewish god and thus regarded himself as divine. A similar point of view has been argued in detail in several publications by L.C. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ. Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids 2003). This important issue is thoroughly discussed in Bilde, "Guddommeliggørelse af Jesus" (see n. 7); Originality (se n. 7), chapter 3.9; 4.9; 5.2.1.

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Judaism around 100–120 CE as inevitable.9 It is therefore necessary to ask whether the innovations in relation to Judaism, which may be claimed to be involved in Christianity’s gradual establishment as an independent religion, had any connection to the historical Jesus, or whether it can be considered to have been created entirely by the Jesus movement after the death of Jesus? At the same time these two last-mentioned questions also belong to the wider complex of problems that is often described as the issue of "continuity or discontinuity" in the relationship between the historical Jesus and the Jesus movement after his death.10 Fifth, the investigation of the originality of Jesus is required by the importance of the so-called criterion of historical plausibility (or of historical context) in actual Jesus research.11 In the first half of the 20th century when the Bultmann School dominated historical Jesus-research the criterion of dissimilarity was considered to be most important to define and identify genuine Jesus-tradition.12 The historical Jesus emerging from such studies by definition 9

Thus Bilde, En religion bliver til (see n. 1). This question is also discussed explicitly by, e.g., D.C. Allison, The End of Ages Has Come (Philadelphia 1985) 142–162; V. Hampel, Menschensohn und historischer Jesus. Ein Rätzelwort als Schlüssel zum messianischen Selbstverständnis Jesu (Neukirchen 1990); T. Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakha. Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? (Stockholm 2002) 31; U. Wilckens, Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Band I: Geschichte der urchristlichen Theologie. Teilband 1: Geschichte und Wirkens Jesu in Galiläa (Neukirchen [2002] 2005) 25–35; Zahl, The First Christian (see n. 6); D. Catchpole, Jesus People. The Historical Jesus and the Beginnings of Community (Grand Rapids 2006); T. Holmén (ed.), Jesus from Judaism to Christianity. Continuum Approaches to the Historical Jesus (London 2007) 1–16; Müller, Jesu-liv-litteratur I Danmark (see n. 8), 160; Ehrman, Interrupting Jesus (see n. 8); W. Stegemann, Jesus und seine Zeit (Stuttgart 2010) 407–421; Flore d’Arcais, Gésu (see n. 8). 11 In modern Jesus research these criteria of authenticity play a major role. In the second period of modern historical Jesus research many scholars attached great weight to the socalled criterion of difference or dissimilarity. According to this criterion, gospel traditions about sayings or doings of Jesus that differed from contemporary Judaism as well as from early Christianity were regarded as possibly authentic. In the third period of modern historical Jesus research, on the other hand, numerous scholars have replaced the criterion of dissimilarity with the criterion of historical plausibility or context. According to this criterion, those texts in the gospels are regarded as authentic which in a "natural" way 1) may be claimed to belong to Early Judaism, and 2) contributes to making the development in early Christianity understandable, 3) while, at the same time, they reflect some individual peculiarity, cf. G. Theissen and D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung. Vom Differenzkriterium zum Pausibilitätskriterium (Göttingen 1997) 175–217. Recently, however, Dale C. Allison, Constructing Jesus (see n. 3), 20–30, has contended that all these criteria of authenticity are of a dubious quality. I have described the three periods of modern Jesus research more closely in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.2-3. 12 Cf., e.g., E. Käsemann, "Das Problem des historischen Jesus," ZThK (1954) 51, 125– 153; Hill, "’Jesus and Josephus’ ‘Messianic Prophets’" (see n. 5); Theissen and Winter, Die Kriterienfrage (se n. 11), 11–174, in particular 107–144; W. Stegemann, Jesus und seine Zeit (see n. 10), 124–153. 10

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became an original innovator who clearly stood out from both Early Palestinian Judaism and Early Christianity. In the third period of Jesus research, which in 1954 was signalled by Ernst Käsemann, substantially commenced by Geza Vermes,13 and really received momentum with E.P. Sanders’ famous book Jesus and Judaism (1985). However, this criterion has been subjected to severe and justified criticism.14 Instead of the criterion of dissimilarity many scholars, most notably Gerd Theissen and Dagmar Winter, have argued in favour of the criterion of historical plausibility (or historical context). With this criterion, however, the emphasis in the interpretation of the historical Jesus was moved from one extreme position to another because the historical Jesus was now interpreted as a fully integrated Palestinian Jew.15 If each of these two criteria is used in isolation, consequently and thoughtlessly, they are both to be described as problematic and even as unhistorical. In my view it is historically unthinkable, and thus historically implausible, that the historical Jesus should have been a completely original innovator who in all respects differed from his contemporaries. But it is just as historically unthinkable, and just as historically implausible, that he should have been a totally integrated Palestinian Jew, who did not differ at all from his contemporaries. In the present research situation where Jesus research is dominated by the criterion of historical plausibility, therefore, there is an urgent need to ask and consider the question about Jesus’ possible originality.

13

G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew. A Historian’s Reading of the Gospels (New York 1973). Cf., e.g., Hill, "Jesus and Josephus’ ‘Messianic Prophets’" (see n. 5); Theissen and Winter, Die Kriterienfrage (see n. 11); C. Niemand, Jesus und sein Weg zum Kreuz. Ein historisch-rekonstruktives und theologisches Modelbild (Stuttgart 2007) 23–24; A.J.M. Wedderburn, Jesus and the Historians (Tübingen 2010) 161–182. 15 Cf. for example, H. Hahn, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, Bd. 1, Die Vielfalt des Neuen Testaments. Theologiegeschichte des Urchristentums (Tübingen [2002] 2005) 37, "Das spezifische der Gestalt und des Wirkens Jesu wird bewusst zugunsten einer Einordnung in die Tendenzen seiner Zeit zurückgestellt; bisweilen wird die Frage nach der Originalität Jesu geradezu als unzulässig angesehen." Similarly W. Stegemann, Jesus und seine Zeit (see n. 10), 153–207. 14

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4. Analysing Earlier Attempts at Describing the Originality of Jesus As stated above, during my studies of the possible originality of Jesus it soon became clear that this problem had been neglected to a large extent. Of course, we have a considerable number of primarily liberal theological studies of the historical Jesus defining Jesus as the great personality with an extraordinarily charismatic authority who in a unique manner transformed the traditional Jewish ritualistic and sacrificial religion into a new ethical religion or religious ethics.16 We also know that Albert Schweitzer in 1906 convincingly demonstrated that this attempt at defining the originality of Jesus was ill-founded and anachronistic.17 However, this historical achievement of Schweitzer has not prevented a number of later scholars, including members of the American Jesus Seminar, to renew the efforts of the liberal theologians to construct and portray the historical Jesus as a great philosopher and as a liberator of human beings.18 Again and again such (idealistic) scholars make new attempts to construct Jesus as the great – and then more or less "original" – illuminator and liberator of mankind. This sad situation in a way illustrates that many modern Jesus scholars seem to close their eyes to what they regard as unpleasant scholarly results, and thus are unable to make any further progress in Jesus research. To me, the reason for this standstill appears to be that these scholars are unwilling to give up their idealistic wish to find a "relevant" historical Jesus.19 This idealistic wish prevents them from accepting a genuine historical methodology, and therefore leads them to unhistorical results. The traditional Christian idea, that the "true" historical Jesus is identical with the Christ figures of the writings of the NT,20 is, of course, no better than 16

Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.2; 3.2; 3.4. A. Schweitzer, Geschichte der Leben Jesu Forschung (Hamburg [1906, 1913] 1966). 18 Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.3–4; 3.2 and 3.4–6. 19 Similarly T. Engberg-Pedersen, "Gevinst og risiko i jagten på den historiske Jesus," in Den historiske Jesus og hans betydning (ed. T. Engberg-Pedersen; Copenhagen 1998) 11–49. 20 Thus first and foremost M. Kähler, Den sogenannte historische Jesus und der geschichtliche, biblische Christus (München [1892] 1956), and, in recent years, particularly J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003); Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (see n. 3); Kvalbein, Jesus (see n. 3); Keener, The Historical Jesus of the Gospels (see n. 3). It is, however, necessary to distinguish between the issue of the possible originality of the human being Jesus from Nazareth, the historical Jesus, a subject that has been examined by very few scholars, and the question of the unique character of the religious belief in Christ or Christianity, which has been discussed on a much larger scale. These two issues represent two different historical problems. The first one is examined in my books from 2011 and 2013, and the second one has recently been discussed in, e.g., P.F. Knitter, No Other Name? A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes toward World Religions (London 1985); Cowdell, Is Jesus Unique? (see n. 6); J. Hick and P. Knitter, The 17

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the unhistorical ideas of the liberal and neo-liberal theologians about the historical Jesus. The "church fathers" of the first group are Martin Kähler and Rudolf Bultmann, and today this group is growing at great speed because most of the rapidly expanding group of evangelical scholars have accepted this position. Kähler and Bultmann (and his school) preferred the biblical Christ to the historical Jesus whom they declared partly theologically uninteresting, partly impossible to reconstruct because of the poor quality of the gospels as historical sources.21 Many of the evangelicals agree to some extent in those two points, but emphasise at the same time that the historical Jesus is interesting, and that the pictures of Jesus in the canonical gospels are as close to the historical Jesus as we can come.22 Because of their ideological or theological presuppositions all these three groups are actually excluded from approaching the historical Jesus. It is therefore logical to assume that none of them are genuinely interested in the comparative Jesus, or in the problem of the originality of the historical Jesus. This fact is the main reason for the fact that until today almost no Jesus scholar has demonstrated any interest in the issue of the originality of Jesus.

5. The Problems at Stake in the Issue of the Originality of Jesus One of the reasons that led me to take up the subject of the originality of Jesus was the problem of the comparative Jesus, that is, the attempts to compare Jesus with related figures in preparation for encircling his possible originality or uniqueness. On the one hand, this task seems to be a rather obvious one (cf. section 3 above). On the other hand, it soon became clear to me that this subject appeared to have been neglected in earlier Jesus research. This fact roused my curiosity and stimulated my wish to investigate the problem. I already knew that the problem of comparing Jesus to relevant similar figures was not an easy one because I had worked on it earlier, partly specifically,23 partly theoretically,24 and perhaps these difficulties were part of the reasons for previous scholars having neglected this problem. However, rather early in my studies it also became clear that other, probably mainly ideological or theological, reasons seem to have played a role for scholars neglecting this issue (cf. section 2 and 4). To many Christian theological scholars the absolute religious uniqueness of Jesus was an unproblemMyth of Christian Uniqueness (Maryknoll 1987); C.E. Braaten, No Other Gospel! Christianity among the World’s Religions (Minneapolis 1992); Swidler and Mojzes, The Uniqueness of Jesus (see n. 6); Zahl, The First Christian (see n. 6). 21 Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 1.4 and 2.2. 22 Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.3. 23 Cf. Bilde, Den hellenistisk-romerske verden (see n. 7); En religion bliver til (see n. 1); Den historiske Jesus (see n. 1). 24 Cf. Bilde, "Tilløb til overvejelser over komparative undersøgelser af Jesus" (see n. 2).

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atic premise, and not an open issue. And such a premise obviously obstructed comparisons between Jesus and similar figures.25 A genuine comparison somehow presupposes similarity and comparability, and it seems to be very difficult for Christian theological scholars to accept Jesus really to have been a historical figure that can be compared with related figures, such as John the Baptist, the Teacher of Righteousness or Judas from Galilee. To me this observation implies that the difficulties of comparing Jesus with related contemporary figures thus seems to be connected with the general difficulties of constructing the historical Jesus because this enterprise likewise presupposes the idea that the real Jesus was a historical, that is a human, being of the same kind as those mentioned above. Accordingly, the fundamental issues at stake in analysing on the originality of Jesus (which necessarily implies working comparatively) are the same as those involved in studying the historical Jesus, namely the various christologies of Christian theologians. A genuine historical investigation of Jesus necessarily presupposes that Jesus was a human being, and this presupposition endangers the Christian belief in Christ, because it calls this belief into question by opening the possibility of discontinuity between Jesus and Christ.26 The question about the possible originality of Jesus, that demands a historical comparison between the constructed human Jesus and contemporary, related Jewish figures, only increases this problem because it turns the historical Jesus into a relative being. Apart from this fundamental problem, another one of almost equal significance is the question of whether it is possible for scholars analytically to penetrate the surface of the gospels with their (editorial) religious images of Jesus as the Christ, and, in a proper methodological manner, to force one’s way through this religious, editorial net of religious ideology and back to possible existing traces and remnants of the real Jesus.27 Since the form critical school this issue has been one of the major battlefields in gospel research, and today this "war" seems to be fought with the same ardent zeal as before. On the one hand, we see the legions of the adher25 Cf. Sanders, The Question of Uniqueness in the Teaching of Jesus (see n. 5), 22, "selective reading combines with confessional interest to produce claims of uniqueness." 26 Cf. section 2 and 4. The discontinuity between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the New Testament and Christianity has been contended particularly by H.S. Reimarus, Fragmente des wolfenbüttelschen Ungenannten (ed. G.E. Lessing [1774–1778] Berlin 1835); Schweitzer, Geschichte der Leben Jesu Forschung (see n. 17); V. Sørensen: Jesus og Khristus (Copenhagen 1992); Bilde, Den historiske Jesus (see n. 1). On the other hand, the continuity, has been argued by, e.g., Kähler, Der sogenannte historische Jesus (see n. 20); H. Ristow and K. Matthiae (eds.), Der historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus. Beiträge zurm Christusverständnis in Forschung und Verkündigung (Berlin [1961] 1962); P. Stuhlmacher, Jesus von Nazareth Christus des Glaubens (Stuttgart 1988); Holmén, Jesus from Judaism to Christianity (see n. 10); Jesus in Continuum (Tübingen 2012). 27 Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 1.4–5 and 2.2–3.

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ents of Birger Gerhardsson consisting primarily of James D.G. Dunn and Richard Bauckham, with their numerous followers, who claim that we are unable to get closer to the historical Jesus than the Jesus figure remembered in the canonical gospels. And on the other hand, we find the followers of Reimarus, David Friedrich Strauss, the form critical school and today mainly Dale C. Allison, Gerd Theissen, Bart D. Ehrman and Maurice Casey contending that traces and remnants of the real Jesus do exist in the gospels, and that scholars using proper methodological tools are able to discover them, and to combine them in attempting to construct the historical Jesus.

6. My Position and Approach I think that the vast majority of the works in modern Jesus research, I am aware of, can be argued to belong to one of the following three main schools: 1) the school of the traditional Christian interpretation of Jesus,28 2) the school that understands Jesus as a person determined by time and space, and interprets him as an eschatological, perhaps apocalyptic, Jewish prophet, perhaps a messianic pretender,29 and 3) the school that interprets Jesus as a Jewish sage and moralist, perhaps a philosopher, who - along with Socrates and Diogenes have presented humanity with a philosophy of life and an ethics of a timeless character.30 Over time these three schools have been given different names, and I find it justified to describe them as the "traditional Christian" school, the "Judeo-eschatological" school and 3) the "liberal-philosophical" school.31 28 I connect this traditional, orthodox or conservative interpretation of Jesus (cf., e.g., Stuhlmacher, Jesus von Nazareth [see n. 26]; Schillebeeckx, Jesus [see n. 3]; Berger, Jesus [see n. 3]; J. Ratzinger, Jesus von Nazareth [Freiburg 2007 and 2011]; Lohfink, Jesus von Nazaret [see n. 3]) partly with the school that was initiated by Martin Kähler in 1892 (see n. 20), partly with the school which today is spreading at a great speed especially in the US and Great Britain, a school that is often called "fundamentalist" or "evangelical." At the same time it should be noticed that this evangelical school consists of two main wings, one following Martin Kähler denying the very possibility of constructing the historical Jesus, and another wing that seems to be historically interested and to some extent appears to follow the above mentioned Jewish eschatological school. (cf. Bilde, Originality [see n. 7], chapter 2.3). 29 This school includes the critical Jesus research from Reimarus over David Friedrich Strauss, Johannes Weiss, Albert Schweitzer, the form and redaction critical schools and Rudolf Bultmann to the present Geza Vermes, B.F. Meyer, E.P. Sanders, A.E. Harvey, Gerd Theissen, James H. Charlesworth, Sean Freyne, Paula Frederiksen, Dale Allison, Bart D. Ehrman, John P. Meier, Martin Hengel – Anna-Marie Schwemer and Maurice Casey (cf. P. Bertalotto, Il Gésu storico (Rome 2010) 93–115). 30 So liberal theology (cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.2), the American Jesus Seminar (cf. chapter. 2.3) and a number of recent philosophical interpretations of Jesus (cf. chapter 2.4). 31 I have presented my interpretation of modern Jesus research since Reimarus in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 2.

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I understand myself as working in the tradition of Spinoza, Reimarus, Strauss, Johannes Weiss and Albert Schweitzer. In relation to today’s general Jesus studies, I see my own position as closely connected to the works of Ben F. Meyer, E.P. Sanders, Gerd Theissen, Séan Freyne, John P. Meier, Dale C. Allison, Bart D. Ehrman and Maurice Casey.32 Fundamentally, this means that I regard Jesus as an apocalyptically orientated eschatological prophet and a messianic pretender. My fundamental approach consists of two steps: first, to construct the historical Jesus as adequately as possible and, second, to compare this hypothetical figure with the 14 selected Jewish figures, who lived in Palestine between 170 BCE and 135 CE, mentioned below in footnote 43. As for the first step, I have revised my reconstruction of the historical Jesus published in 200833 in light of the specialised studies of first and foremost N.T. Wright, Scot McKnight, Brant Pitre, Michael F. Bird and R.H. Bell, who have significantly advanced our understanding of the aims of the historical Jesus.34 In continuation of these scholars I came to believe that the fundamental project of the historical Jesus was to contribute to the eschatological restoration of the twelve tribes of Israel.35 An important tool in my methodology is the effort to understand and interpret the historical Jesus with the help of Josephus’s works.36 In my opinion, it is a pity and a failure to reduce Josephus to a reservoir of geographical and historical data, because this author contains material of a potentially great and most valuable help to understand Jesus’ eschatology, that is, his information 32 For critical presentations of modern Jesus research, I refer to M.J. Borg, Jesus in Contemporary Research (Valley Forge 1994); J.H. Charlesworth and W.P. Weaver (eds.), Images of Jesus Today (Valey Forge 1994); a thematic presentation of B. Chilton and C.A. Evans, Studying the Historical Jesus. Evaluations of Current Research (Leiden 1994); B. Witherington, The Jesus Quest. The Third Search for the Jew of Nazareth (Downers Grove [1995] 1997); Theissen and Merz, Der historische Jesus (see n. 3), 22-31; M.A. Powell, Jesus as a Figure in History. How Modern Historians View the Man from Galilee (Nashville [1998] 2000); important (extracts of) contributions are translated into English in J.D.G. Dunn and S. McKnight (eds.), The Historical Jesus in Recent Research (Winona Lake 2005); Casey, Jesus of Nazareth (see n. 3), 1–59; J.K. Bejlby and P.R. Eddy (eds.), The Historical Jesus. Five Views (Downers Grove 2010); W. Stegemann, Jesus und seine Zeit (see n. 10), 73–180. Strange to say, Holmén and Porter, Handbook (see n. 3) have not included any essay at all on research history. 33 Bilde, Den historiske Jesus (see n. 1). 34 N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London 1996); S. McKnight, A New Vision for Israel. The Teaching of Jesus in National Context (Grand Rapids 1999); B. Pitre, Jesus, the Tribulation, and the End of Exile. Restoration Eschatology and the Origin of Atonement (Grand Rapids 2005); M.E. Bird, Jesus and the Origin of the Gentile Mission (London 2006); R.H. Bell: Deliver Us from Evil. Interpreting the Redemption from the Power of Satan in the New Testament (Tübingen 2007). 35 Presented in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 4. 36 Cf. my interpretation of Josephus in P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome (Sheffield 1988).

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about the eschatological expectations in the Jewish people in Palestine in the first two thirds of the first century CE. The most important is his information in The Jewish War that the first great Jewish revolt against Rome was ignited by the belief that the messianic predictions in the Jewish Bible, e.g., Num 24:15-19 and Dan 2:36-45; 7:9-27, about the eschatological reestablishment of the Jewish people were about to be fulfilled.37 This eschatological interpretation of Jesus, combined with the relevant contents of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Old Testament Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, the works of Josephus (and Philo) represents the decisive argument against the interpretation of the American Jesus Seminar and Bernhard Lang of Jesus as a Cynical philosopher.38 As for the second step, comparing the historical Jesus as constructed above with somehow related contemporary figures in Jewish Palestine,39 these comparisons represent my most important contribution. First, because nothing similar has been done before, and second, because these comparisons enable us to view Jesus in the historical context of a number of closely related figures. By studying Jesus comparatively, it is possible to see and understand that Jesus belongs to the same religion phenomenological type of eschatological figures as the Teacher of Righteousness, Judas the Galilean, John the Baptist, Theudas, the Samaritan and the Egyptian prophets, Jesus Son of Ananiah and Simon Bar Kochba.

37 Bell. 6,312 –313: "(312) But what more than all else incited them (.e. Jews) to the war was an ambiguous oracle, likewise found in their sacred scriptures, to the effect that at that time one from their country would become ruler of the world. (313) This they (i.e. Jewish supporters of the rebellion) understood to mean someone of their own race, and many of their wise men went astray in their interpreting of it. The oracle, however, in reality signified the sovereignty of Vespasian, who was proclaimed Emperor on Jewish soil." (Bell. 6.312–313, transl. H.St.J. Thackeray, LCL, III, (Cambridge [1928] 1968) 466–467. 38 When I read Bernhard Lang’s book, Der Hund Jesus. Leben und Lehre eines jüdischen Kynikers (München 2010) I was amazed by the extent to which Lang ignores the eschatological and apocalyptical contents of the canonical gospels as well as all the other Jewish sources mentioned above. 39 Presented in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 5.

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7. What Is Meant by This Phrase: "The Originality of Jesus"? Here I will not discuss the difficulties contained in the concept of "originality."40 It is, however, obvious that "originality" in an absolute sense can hardly be expected in the area of human history and culture. Quite apart from the perennial problem of the insufficient number and quality of the existing sources, originality here cannot be but a relative concept expressing some sort of a new combination and interpretation of earlier existing ideas. By the phrase "the originality of Jesus," therefore, I understand Jesus’ possible innovative combinations and interpretations of former elements in Jewish religion and culture.

8. The Concept of "Originality" Implies Comparison It goes without saying that such innovations cannot be established without comparing Jesus to other, similar figures, that is, the originality of Jesus cannot be defined without relevant comparisons. When we look at earlier attempts to compare Jesus with other figures (cf. section 4) it is, however, obvious that although we, on the one hand, have relatively many comparisons between Jesus and founders of religions and great personalities in other respects,41 on the other, we have fewer comparisons between Jesus and comparable Jewish figures.42 For example, I know of 40

They are discussed in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 1.6. Cf., e.g., J. Priestley, Socrates and Jesus (Philadelphia 1803); F.C. Baur, Apollonius von Tyna und Christus. Ein Beitrag zur Religionsgeschichte der ersten drei Jahrhunderte nach Christus (Hildesheim [1876] 1966); E. Rasmussen, Jesus. En sammenlignende Studie (Copenhagen 1905); Braden, Jesus Compared (see n. 6); C.F. Afnan, The Great Prophets Moses – Zarathustra – Jesus (New York 1960); J.-L. Bernard, Appolonius de Tyane et Jésus (Paris 1977); R.C. Amore, Two Masters. One Message. The Lives and Teachings of Gautama and Jesus (Nashville 1978); P.W. Gooch, Jesus and Socrates. Word and Silence (New Haven 1996); D.N. Freedman and M. McClymond (eds.), The Rivers of Paradise: Moses, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus, and Muhammed as Religious Founders (Grand Rapids 2001); U. Luz and A. Michaels, Encountering Jesus and Buddha: Their Lives and Teachings (Minneapolis 2002); M.A. Gabriel, Jesus und Muhammed. Erstaunliche Unterschiede und überraschende Ähnlichkeiten (Gräfeling [2004] 2006); F. Jacobi, Sokrates & Jesus. Essays om to processer (Århus 2005); T.J. Ryme, Gandhi and Jesus. The Saving Power of Nonviolence (Maryknoll 2008); J. Gnilka, Wer waren Jesus und Muhammad? Ihe Leben im Vergleich (Freiburg 2011). 42 Cf., e.g., B. Noack, Jesus Ananiassøn og Jesus fra Nasaret (København 1975); Hill, "Jesus and Josephus’ ’Messianic Prophets’" (see n. 5); H. Stegemann, Die Essener, Qumran, Johannes der Täufer und Jesus. Ein Sachbuch (Freiburg – Basel – Wien [1993] 1994); C.A. Evans (ed.), Jesus and His Contemporaries. Comparative Studies (London 1995); J.H. Charlesworth and L.L. John (eds.), Hillel and Jesus. Comparative Studies of Two Major Religious Leaders (Minneapolis 1997); M.O. Wise, The First Messiah. Investigating the Saviour before Jesus (San Francisco 1999); I. Knohl, The Messiah Before Jesus. The Suffering Servant of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Berkeley 2000). 41

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no explicit and comprehensive comparisons between Jesus and Judas the Galilean, Jesus Barabbas, Josephus, Jochanan Ben Zakkai, Rabbi Akiba and Simon Bar Kochba respectively. And, most important of all, I am not aware of any general comparisons between the historical Jesus and a whole group of relevant contemporary Jewish figures.43 Therefore, a comprehensive comparison between Jesus and relevant contemporary Jewish figures is needed, and with "relevant contemporary Jewish figures" I refer to Jewish figures in the period between ca. 170 BCE and 135 CE, and not later Jewish figures like Sabbataj Zvi (1626–1676) or Mendel Menachem Schneersohn (1902–1994). I regard the cross-cultural comparisons between Jesus and such figures as Zarathustra, Buddha, Socrates, Mani, Muhammed, Gandhi, Reverend Moon and Ron Hubbard as irrelevant for my purpose of reaching a more adequate understanding and interpretation of the originality of the historical Jesus.

9. A Summary Sketch of the Historical Jesus My own construction of the historical Jesus belongs without reservation to what I designate as the Jewish eschatological school. Accordingly, I interpret Jesus as the best documented representative of a religion phenomenological type and category familiar in early Palestinian Judaism, not least in the period of the Roman occupation of Jewish Palestine, namely the eschatological

43 Keaner and Zeitz, World Saviours (see n. 6). These two authors compare Jesus with 27 contemporary Jewish and non-Jewish personalities. They examine nine contemporary secular Jewish messianic pretenders: 1) Simon from Peraea, 2) Judas the Galilean, 3) Athronges, 4) Jacob and Simon, 5) Menachem, 6) John from Giskala, 7) Simon Bar Giora, 8) Lukius from Cyrenaica and 9) Simon Bar Kochba. From this group the two scholars separate 18 religious saviour pretenders, and 10 of these are Jewish or Samaritan: 1) John the Baptist, 2) Jesus, 3) the Samaritan Taheb, 4) Dositheus, 5) Simon the Sorcerer, 6) Herod Agrippa I, 7) Theudas, 8) The Egyptian Prophet, 9) the "Bedouin" and 10) Jonathan from Cyrenaica. Their distinction between "secular" and "religious" is ill-founded, and their selection of figures to be compared with Jesus are far from obvious. If we compare these lists with the 14 selected figures that I have compared with Jesus (the Hasmonean prince Simon, the Teacher of Righteousness, Rabbi Hillel, Judas the Galilean, John the Baptist, Jesus Barabbas, Theudas, Paul, the Egyptian Prophet, Jesus son of Ananiah, Josephus, Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai, Rabbi Akiba and Simon Bar Kochba, (cf. Bilde, Originality [see n. 7], chapter 5), Kearney and Zeits leave out Simon, the Teacher of Righteousness, rabbi Hillel, Jesus Barabbas, Jesus Son of Ananiah, Josephus, rabbi Jochanan Ben Zakkai and rabbi Akiba, that is nine of my 14 samples. This small statistical survey underlines the uncertainty of the actual selections of figures, both theirs and mine, with whom Jesus is compared. In addition, these two authors do not distinguish properly between the historical Jesus and the Christ of the NT and later Christianity either (cf. n. 6, 20 and 26).

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prophet.44 This figure generally interpreted the numerous biblical predictions about the future liberation of the Jewish people and the restoration of the twelve tribes of Israel to its former and ideal power and glory as standing immediately before their eschatological, that is, their final and ultimate, realization. Jesus thus belongs to the same category as the Teacher of Righteousness, Judas the Galilean, John the Baptist, Theudas, Paul, the Egyptian Prophet, Josephus and Rabbi Akiba. This "eschatological prophet" was often identified with the returned Moses, predicted in Deut 18:14–19, or the returned Elijah, mentioned in Mal 4:5–6. This means a figure that should and would repeat the primeval salvation and liberation of Israel by the hand of Moses in Egypt and the Sinai Desert, and by the hand of Joshua in the land of Canaan. Thus the task and purpose of this figure was eschatologically to restore the Jewish people to the greatness, power, glory, piety and justice that they believed had existed in the times of their "fathers": Moses, Aaron, Joshua, Elijah and David.45 In the first period of Jesus’ public career he seems to have joined the movement of John the Baptist and to have shared John’s concentration on his divinely inspired eschatological call to penance, conversion and baptism, which was provoked by the belief that the final judgement of the Jewish god and his "day of wrath" was imminent. When this eschatological event did not appear, but was delayed, John, Jesus and their like-minded followers experienced their first "delay of the parousia," an experience other Jews seem already to have had, as it appears from such texts of Dan 9:25–27 and 1QpHab 7:1–14. Perhaps it was this experience (and/or the experience of John the Baptist’s imprisonment and martyrdom) that resulted in the fact that, at a specific time, Jesus left the established group of Baptist-followers and started his own independent eschatological project and the formation of his own "school" with a group of followers. These events led to the second period of Jesus’ public career. In this period, according to the canonical gospels, the centre of gravity in Jesus’ eschatological activities seems to have moved from John’s focus on the imminent eschatological judgment to the imminent kingdom of god, which Jesus claimed was already partly present in his exorcisms, healings and miraculous meals. In this period Jesus’ ideas about his own role and status seem to have grown, and

44

This insight is not new, but has been reached by a great number of modern Jesus scholars such as Ben F. Meyer, E.P. Sanders, Dale Allison, Bart Ehrman, John P. Meier, Gerd Theissen and Maurice Casey. 45 This means that the scheme, "end time as primeval time" ("Als die Urzeit so die Endzeit"), appears to play an important role in the eschatology of the eschatological prophet, cf. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (see n. 5).

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he appears gradually to have become convinced that, in the approaching Passover, he would be divinely enthroned as the Messiah in Jerusalem.46 However, in a third period of Jesus’ public career this hope seems to have been replaced by a vision of a darker near future. Perhaps it was the growing opposition Jesus experienced in his public career in Galilee and Jerusalem that forced him to transform his belief in his imminent visible revelation as the Messiah in Jerusalem to the idea of a necessary transient period of suffering and of the death as a Jewish martyr. The opposition Jesus experienced may have caused the formation of this new idea that, before his final messianic enthronement in Jerusalem, he had to suffer martyrdom. Perhaps he also interpreted this coming martyrdom in the light of the Book of Isaiah 53 that is, as a vicarious atonement for the sins of the Jews who had not yet accepted his message and therefore had not yet repented, converted and joined him.47 At this moment Jesus and his adherents apparently believed that immediately after his atoning martyr death Jesus would be resurrected, rehabilitated and enthroned as the Messiah in Jerusalem. However, as it appears in the canonical gospels, in Jerusalem Jesus and his followers experienced a new disappointment of these two sets of eschatological expectations. Jesus was executed, and the Jewish god did not immediately resurrect and enthrone him. Obviously, this disappointment provoked new reinterpretations of Jesus’ eschatological message and new transformations of the disappointed eschatological beliefs among his adherents.48 A major element in this new belief was the idea that, after his humiliating crucifixion Jesus had in fact been resurrected by the Jewish god on the third day after his death, despite the fact that he had been seen by nobody apart from a few of his own adherents. There are two other important elements in this reinterpretation: First, the new idea that Jesus had in fact already been enthroned, certainly not here on the earth and in Jerusalem, but in the heavenly world and at the right side of the heavenly Jewish god himself. This was a "fact" that was much more important than an earthly enthronement in Jerusalem. Second, that Jesus would return to the earth very soon in order to establish his power and kingdom here, too. Thus, these reinterpretations and transformations gradually led to what became a new Jewish current, the Jesus movement, that in the course of time gradually separated itself from its mother

46 This construction is built first and foremost on Luke 19:11; 24, 21; Acts 1:6–8 as interpreted in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 4.6. 47 This interpretation is presented and substantiated in Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 4.7 48 I have constructed this process of revised understanding, reinterpretation and transformations of earlier beliefs in P. Bilde, "Kognitive Dissonanzreduktion in der Jesusbewegung. Ein sozialpsychologischer Beitrag zum Verständnis neutestamentlicher Texte," EvTh (2005) 65, 118–135; Den historiske Jesus (see n. 1), 235–258; "Guddommeliggørelsen af Jesus" (see n. 7).

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religion, Judaism, and eventually and gradually was transformed into a new and independent religion, Christianity. According to this construction of the life and death of the historical Jesus, during his public activity, Jesus himself and his followers seem gradually to have attached more and more significance to the person and status of Jesus, ending by giving him a unique and decisive position in the eschatological salvation historical sequence. As far as I know, this series of reinterpretations and transformations have no obvious parallel or analogy in ancient Judaism or in the Hellenistic-Roman world. We know of nothing similar in the cases of the comparable figures, primarily the Teacher of Righteousness, John the Baptist and Simon Bar Kochba, and secondarily regarding figures like Apollonius from Tyana, Simon Magus or any ancient political ruler. If this hypothesis is correct, the process of the divinisation of Jesus and the process of the establishment of Christianity seem to be unique. In principle, however, the historical Jesus as constructed here does not seem to have been absolutely unique, but this problem will be discussed in the following section.

10. How Original Was the Historical Jesus? It follows from the fundamental concepts, "originality" and "comparison," presented above, that the historical Jesus as constructed here cannot be classified as original in an absolute sense. On the contrary, this Jesus should rather be described as the best known and most characteristic example of the religion phenomenological type or category of the "eschatological prophet," who appears to have been a rather common figure in early Palestinian Judaism in the period examined here. Accordingly, as an eschatological prophet Jesus cannot be classified as original. However, the fact of the matter is that this early Jewish eschatological prophet, whom we otherwise only find with rather vague and fragmentary characteristics in Josephus’ works, the Dead Sea Scrolls and other early Jewish sources, thanks to the canonical gospels, can now be portrayed with much clearer and much more distinctive features. Furthermore, I contend that the comparisons conducted in The Originality of Jesus (chapter 5) have not only helped to clarify the overall picture of this religion phenomenological type. They have also revealed a number of peculiar characteristics of the historical Jesus, that is, features that he only shares with a few, one or none of the other figures I have compared him with. First, a feature that Jesus apparently shares with some of the other figures: I refer to what I have called Jesus’ "apocalyptical quietism."49 Unlike the Hasmonean war lords, Judas the Galilean, Jesus Barabbas, the so-called "Zealots" 49

Cf. Bilde, Originality (sec n. 7), chapter 4.10 and 5.3.4.

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and the Sicarians in 66 to 70 (74) CE, and Simon Bar Kochba, Jesus from Nazareth did not belong to the militant eschatological Jewish messianic movement, but to a non-militant, quietistic strand which declined to take up arms, perhaps in order to hasten a divine intervention. In contrast, this quietistic eschatology and messianology was apocalyptical, that is, it expected the eschatological deliverance of the Jewish people as a result of an exclusively divine intervention. However, Jesus was not alone in this position, and therefore here he cannot be described as "original" in the strict sense of the word either, for Jesus shared this position with John the Baptist, and probably, also with the Teacher of Righteousness, Theudas and perhaps others. Jesus may also have shared another feature with the Teacher of Righteousness, namely, the anticipation and the prediction of his own death. Perhaps both of them understood and interpreted their feelings of their coming death in the light of Isa 53 about the suffering Servant of the Lord. The interpretation of Jesus’ death – either his own interpretation (what I believe) or that of his adherents – as a vicarious atoning sacrificial death can have been taken over from Isa 53 and perhaps also from 2 Macc 7. The combination, however, of this idea with the conviction that he was the designated Messiah, a combination which of course theoretically could have been made in the time before Jesus, for example by the Teacher of Righteousness, must still be assessed to be original, if you, my readers, like me, do not accept the arguments presented by Michael Wise and Israel Knohl.50 We move closer to the idea of absolute originality when we turn to Jesus’ combination of his expectation of the kingdom of god with his activity as an exorcist, healer and worker of miracles in general. This combination is not known in the cases of any other of the figures whom I have compared with Jesus. It thus seems to be an authentic, original feature, that Jesus interpreted his miracles as a testimony that the imminent kingdom of god was already partly present. In addition, Jesus’ relationship to Mosaic Law appears to have been rather unique.51 I have here demonstrated that three of the four aspects of Jesus’ attitude toward the Law of Moses were shared with other contemporary Jewish groups: 1) Jesus’ rejection of (part of) the so-called oral part of the Law of Moses, claimed by the Pharisees, was shared by the Sadducees and the Samaritans; 2) some of Jesus’ tightening of parts the Mosaic Law, especially on 50 Wise, The First Messiah (see n. 42); Knohl, The Messiah Before Jesus (see n. 42). If we return to one of my arguments for a renewed examination of the question of the originality of Jesus, presented above in section 3, namely, argument no. 4: the question of continuity or discontinuity between Jesus and his movement before his death and the Jesus movement and early Christianity after his death, it appears to me that my construction of the historical Jesus and his originality, presented above, makes it easier to understand the historical development – the "continuum" – from the historical Jesus to the beginnings of Christianity in the Jesus movement after his death. 51 Cf. Bilde, Originality (see n. 7), chapter 4.4.

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divorce and oaths, was shared with the Essenes of the Qumran community, some of the Pharisees and perhaps also by the so-called "Zealots"; 3) Jesus’ preference for the ethical commandments of the Law of Moses over the cultic commandments was shared with the biblical prophets. 4) In contrast, however, Jesus’ reference to a pre-Mosaic Law of a higher rank, the "Law of Creation," appears to be his original innovation. Furthermore, there are a few other features that seem to be unique, partly the strong testimony of our sources that Jesus went only to "the lost sheep of the house of Israel" (Matt 10:6; 15:24), which, with some confidence, can be interpreted as pointing to the poor, diseased, outcast, and otherwise marginalized Jews, partly the unambiguous reference to the Jewish twelve tribes (Matt 19:28). If we finally include the few original features I have found in chapter 3 of my coming book (2013), partly Jesus’ emphasis on the importance of forgiveness and good deeds, partly (some of) his stories, parables and proverbs, I think we have completed our list of original features documented for the historical Jesus. On this basis I feel that I am forced to conclude that Jesus is not only the best documented early example of the Jewish eschatological prophet and messianic pretender, but that his project and his teaching, to the extent defined above, must be described as original.

11. Conclusions I conclude this article by formulating the following hypotheses: As a historical concept the idea of "originality" is by definition not absolute, but relative, and therefore it cannot be used about the Christian theological concept of Christ. The concept of the "originality of Jesus" focuses on the historical Jesus compared to similar Jewish figures, primarily in the period between 170 BCE and 135 CE. This implies that comparisons between Jesus and founders of new religions such as Buddha, Muhammad and Mani are less relevant, and the same is true of comparisons between Jesus and great personalities like Zarathustra, Socrates, Francis from Assisi and Gandhi. In the period between 170 BCE and 135 CE in Jewish Palestine we meet the religion phenomenological type of the Jewish "eschatological prophet." The historical Jesus belongs to this category, and it is most fruitful to compare Jesus with other members of this category. In addition I believe that Jesus regarded himself to be the Messiah and as such it is relevant to compare him with other Jewish messianic pretenders in Jewish Palestine in the period between 170 BCE and 135 CE, that is, primarily with Simon Bar Kochba. Compared to the following contemporary eschatological prophets, primarily The Teacher of Righteousness, Judas the Galilean, John the Baptist, Theu-

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das, The Egyptian Prophet and Jesus son of Ananiah Jesus seems to be original by virtue of his combination of his announcement of the imminence of the kingdom of god and his activity as a healer and miracle worker, further by his rather unique relationship to the Mosaic Law and perhaps by his capacity of storyteller. In contrast, the historical Jesus cannot be maintained to have been original by virtue on his teaching the double commandment of love, the Golden Rule or the command to love one’s enemies.

Jesus the Son of Joseph Reflections of Father-Son Relationship in the Ministry of Jesus Matti Kankaanniemi

1. A Psychological Study of Jesus 1.1. Schweitzer’s dilemma It will quite likely still take some time before the words psychology and Jesus are mentioned in the same article without at least a passing reference to Albert Schweitzer, who wrote a medical dissertation to demonstrate how problematic the psychopathological diagnoses of Jesus are.1 The short but paradigmatic book was to become a frequently referred work when problems of the psychological research on Jesus of Nazareth are brought forward within the changing quests of the historical Jesus. Schweitzer’s criticism was pointed towards the scholars, whom he considered to be using non-historical material in diagnoses.2 Especially, the dominant status of the fourth Gospel, argued Schweitzer, was bound to lead the psychopathological school to misguided reconstructions of Jesus.3 While the historical value of the fourth Gospel is not so pessimistically evaluated in all corners of modern scholarship, and some of Schweitzer’s "most certain results" are all but uncertain, the question of reliable data in psychological profiling remains still most valid.4 Schweitzer 1

A. Schweitzer, The Psychiatric Study of Jesus: Exposition and Criticism (Transl. C. R. Joy; Boston 1948). 2 Schweitzer writes, "De Loosten, Hirsch and Binet-Sanglé busy themselves with the psychopathology of Jesus without becoming familiar with the study of the historical life of Jesus. They are completely uncritical not only in the choice but also in the use of sources; therefore, before we can enter into a psychiatrical discussion of their studies, we must recall what they neglected." (Ibid., 44-45.) 3 Schweitzer argues, "Discarding the Fourth Gospel is of the greatest importance. This source long permitted the psychopathologists the assumption that we can follow Jesus’ mental development through the course of three years; only this allowed them to draw a personality continually occupied with his ego, placing it in the foreground of his discourses, asserting his divine origin and demanding of his hearers a corresponding faith." (Ibid., 54.) 4 He, for instance, argues with confidence that "Jesus did not permit the conviction that he was destined to be the coming Messiah to play a part in his message. This is one of the most certain results of modern critical research." (Schweitzer, The Psychiatric [see n. 1], 51.)

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also demonstrates, rather convincingly I think, how difficult it is to diagnose a figure of history on the basis of only short depictions of events. All in all, his famous criticism against the psychopathological profiling of Jesus can be divided into two categories. First, the basic material used should be established by appropriate methods instead of uncritically choosing material, which corresponds with the hypothetical idea of the diagnoser. Secondly, hesitancy in drawing psychological conclusions from the scanty material is recommendable. As for the latter, the socio-historical background of expressions and concepts should also be taken into account.5 However, Schweitzer does not axiomatically reject a psychiatric approach to the study of the historical Jesus. Actually, he argues that Jesus’ high self-understanding and the hallucination during baptism, for instance, are psychiatric phenomena and to be studied respectively.6 When psychological, save psychoanalytical, methods are applied to historical scholarship, no scholar is safe. Perhaps the most remarkable pioneer of the psychobiographical approach, Erik H. Erikson, has been analyzed with the very methods he developed; so has Gordon Allport, another trailblazer in the field.7 In a similar manner Schweitzer’s very motives to discredit the psychopathological profiling of Jesus have been explained in reference to his own life situation. David Dungan argues that Schweitzer was reacting to the doubts of family and friends concerning his mental health after his decision to leave to Africa.8 Should Dungan’s theory be accepted, ironically enough, a psychological explanation would have been found for keeping the "shrinks outside the Jesus quest". Be it as it may, it is evident that there is what Walter Wink calls Heisenberg principle in action whenever psychological models are

However, this "certain result" is still, a century later, seriously challenged. See e.g., S.-O. Back, Han som kom: Till frågan om Jesu messianska anspråk (Åbo 2006). 5 Schweitzer writes, "Out of the material which is certainly historical, a number of acts and utterances of Jesus impress the authors as pathological because the latter are too little acquainted with the contemporary thought of the time to be able to do justice to it. A series of wrong deductions springs also from the fact that they have not the least understanding of the peculiar problems inherent in the course of the public ministry." (The Psychiatric [see n. 1], 72). 6 Ibid., 72. 7 E.H. Erikson, Young Man Luther: A Study in Psychoanalysis and History (New York 1958) is often regarded as the first proper psychobiography. For a psychobiographical analysis of Erikson, see I. Alexander, "Erikson and Psychobiography, Psychobiography and Erikson," in Handbook of Psychobiography (ed. William Todd Schultz; Cary 2005) 265–284. Allport’s person and life is analysed in N.B. Barenbaum, "Four, Two, or One? Gordon Allport and the Unique Personality," in Handbook of Psychobiography (see n. 6), 223–239. 8 D.L. Dungan, "Albert Schweitzer’s Disillusionment with the Historical Reconstruction of the Life of Jesus," Perkins Journal 29 (1976) 27–48.

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applied to historical endeavor.9 Within that paradigm, the researcher is a part of the reality he studies, not a separate and objective entity.10 However, this subjectivity cannot be avoided by an outright exclusion of psychology as a discipline from the historical Jesus studies. There is, namely, a remarkable difference between giving psychiatric diagnoses to Jesus, on one hand, and using modern psychological theories to better understand and explain the life of a historical figure, on the other. No student of history can avoid analogical reasoning, and whenever human behaviour is under study, there are psychological elements at work. At its best, the integration of psychology (and other social sciences for that matter) to the study of history means submitting one’s intuitive analogies to scientific and empirical scrutiny. The method that applies psychological theories to profile Jesus differs from the so-called Psychological Criticism of the Bible.11 The latter operates primarily within the narrative world the text creates, or in the mind and motives of the writers and readers. Psychological Jesus research, in its part, is more reminiscent of psychobiography, a method which uses psychological concepts to explain history.12 It tries to explain and understand the person and biographical episodes in the life of Jesus. To put it simply, it is not the Matthean or Markan Jesus the student is analysing, but rather the reconstruction of the historical Jesus. Nevertheless, the narrative approach and psychological criticism of the narrative worlds may contribute to this endeavour, especially if the pericopes studied are believed to originate from Jesus himself. For example, the parable of the prodigal son has inspired a number of interpretations within Jungian psychology, and should it be regarded as authentic, the parable could be added to the material used in profiling Jesus.13 1.2 Sufficiency of Data A common complain is that there simply is not enough material for making psychological analyses of the historical Jesus. While this may be true in the 9 W. Wink, "Original Impulse of Jesus," in From Christ to Jesus, Vol. 4 of Psychology and the Bible: A New Way to Read the Scriptures (ed. J.H. Ellens and W. G. Rollins; Westport, CT 2004) 209–222, here 211. 10 See S.H. Howell, "Students’ Perceptions of Jesus’ Personality as Assessed by Jungiantype Inventories," Journal of Psychology & Theology 32 (2004) 50–58. She found that the personality traits of the students correlate with how they understand the personality of Jesus. 11 For a good introduction, see A. Kille, Psychological Biblical Criticism (Guides to Biblical Scholarship Series; Minneapolis 2001) 12 See e.g. W.T. Schultz, "Introduction," in Handbook of Psychobhiography (see n. 6), 3– 18. 13 Cf. J.A. Sanford, "Jesus, Paul and Depth Psychology," Religious Education 68 (1973) 673–689, here 684; D.O. Via, "Prodigal Son: A Jungian Reading," Semeia 9 (1977) 21–43; P.V. Veliyannoor, "The Parable of a Father and Two Sons: Jungian Hermeneutics and Therapeutic Applications," Journal of Psychology and Christianity 28 (2009) 338–349.

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Schweitzerian sense, i.e., concerning psychiatric diagnosing, psychological profiling can be conducted on many different levels and with various demands of accuracy. For a psychologically educated interviewer, it takes hardly more than a minute or two to categorize a job applicant on an extravert-introvert scale with sufficient accuracy.14 On the other hand, the amount of information needed in a profound psychoanalysis is insurmountable requiring years of weekly sessions between the patient and the analyst. As for history, some psychologically informed conclusions can be drawn from relatively humble data, like "the almost indisputable facts" presented by E.P. Sanders.15 Dan McAdams has suggested a three-leveled approach in applying personality psychology to psychobiographical studies.16 Level one concerns dispositional traits of personality, which can be categorized by various scales measuring the comparative features of human individuality. 17 These traits are to a great extent heritable and thus rather stable over time.18 At level two there are characteristic adaptations that have more to do with context-dependent issues such as developmental environment.19 At level three, attention is paid to the narratives an individual uses to give meaning to his past, present and future.20 This approach may be useful for providing a general picture of the sufficiency of data in psychoprofiling Jesus. Its strength is the holistic approach, which does not try to explain the complexity of a human life with too simple a theory. What can be said about the heritable personality traits of Jesus? An impressive number of factor analyses have convinced many personality psychologists that the so-called Big Five model is, from the cross-cultural and 14 The same applies to conscientiousness, a feature which has been demonstrated to predict a person’s future performance in many different jobs. See M.R. Barrick and M.K. Mount, "The Big Five Personality Dimensions and Job Performance: A Meta-Analysis," Personnel Psychology 44 (1991) 1–26. 15 E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia 1985) 11. 16 D.P. McAdams, "What Psychobiographers Might Learn From Personality Psychology?" in Handbook of Psychobiography (see n. 6), 64–83. 17 "Broad dimensions of personality that describe assumedly internal, global, and stable individual differences in behavior, thought, and feeling. Traits account for consistency in individual functioning across different situations and over time." (Ibid., 68.) 18 But see S.J.T. Branje, C.F.M. van Lieshout, J.R.M. Gerris, "Big Five Personality Development in Adolescence and Adulthood," European Journal of Personality 21 (2007) 45– 62. 19 "More particular facets of personality that describe personal adaptations to motivational, cognitive, and developmental challenges and tasks. Characteristic adaptations are usually contextualized in time, place, situation, or social role." McAdamas, "What Psychobiographers" (see n. 6), 68. 20 "Internalized and evolving narratives of the self that people construct to integrate the past, present, and future and provide life with some sense of unity, purpose, and meaning. Life stories address the problems of identity and integration in personality— problems especially characteristic of modern adulthood." McAdamas, "What Psychobiographers" (see n. 6), 68.

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empirical point of view, the most descriptive way to measure and describe these traits. In a normal situation, when the model is used in empirical studies, a person fills a self-evaluative questionnaire, or is evaluated by someone else much in the same way. Thus, in principle it should be possible to find at least some of the personality traits of the historical Jesus by studying the gospel material. Jesus is told to have spent time alone, which could indicate introversion, but he also was frequently the center of attention and had a reputation of party-goer, indicating extraversion. Given that the extraversion-introversion scale is meaningful, it seems rather safe to label Jesus as an ambivert, i.e., somewhere between both extremes, like some 68% of other human beings. Another trait, agreeableness, is also evident in numerous different pericopes as Jesus helps people out of pity. 21 McAdams’ level two has been, with different names of course, the object of so-called normal research on the historical Jesus. Quite often when the question, "why does Jesus do this?" is expressed, we are operating on this level. Among the myriad of scholarly Jesus reconstructions, it is hard to find one without at least an implicit admission of his exceptionality. This makes the search for the phenomena behind his exceptional behaviour most interesting. As for the study currently at hand, one possible factor on level two is scrutinized, namely Jesus’ paternal relationship with Joseph, or lack of it. Using level three, narratives Jesus used to give meaning to his life, is challenging as Jesus did not write anything for the generations to come. However, should the parables and logia be taken as authentic, it is possible to add these to the data used for profiling Jesus’ personality.

2. Two Views on Jesus and His Father The following section analyzes two reconstructions of Jesus, both commenting on his father relationship. These studies are interesting, not only because of the very subject they handle, but also as examples of the acute challenges already evident in Schweitzer’s criticism of psychological Jesus research: how to gather relevant data from the sources and how to analyse it. 2.1 John W. Miller John W. Miller wrote a psychobiography of Jesus with a rather modest aim of providing another (psychological) way of looking at Jesus’ life as it is recon21

The genetic determination of dispositional traits is not an entirely unknown idea in recent Jesus research. For example Donald Capps has referred to the high incidence of hypochondria among Jews which could, he argues, explain the healings of leprosy. See D.Capps, "A Psychobiography of Jesus," in From Christ to Jesus (see n. 9), 59–70 here 64.

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structed by Jesus researchers.22 According to Miller, the baptism was of decisive importance for Jesus, who experienced God as gracious father in that moment. He also believes this to be a major force behind his subsequent activity.23 Miller thinks that the new experience of God as gracious father did not happen in a vacuum, but built on Jesus’ childhood experience of a loving father relationship. He divides the material into hard data and supplementary data. As for the hard data, the nativity stories (Matt 1–2 and Luke 1–2) are excluded since they are "now generally regarded as legendary and of very little historical value".24 On the other hand, that Jesus had a father named Joseph is attested in Luke, Matthew and John.25 Miller believes that the traditional idea of Joseph having died during Jesus’ adolescence is the most convincing explanation for the hard data. Joseph lived to give Jesus a great number of siblings (four brothers and several sisters), but not long enough to arrange Jesus’ marriage. Thus the death of Joseph is most conveniently dated in the late adolescence of Jesus.26 This theory would also explain why the people in Jesus’ hometown called him the son of Mary instead of the son of Joseph. After establishing the hard data, Miller moves to what he calls supplementary data. Aware of the exceptional character of his approach in the historical Jesus studies, Miller refers to the fact that psychohistorians are "working backward to childhood from analogous experiences in the life of the adult".27 The approach is based on an assumption that everyone has a reservoir of "father-type" experiences that are connected to every new experience he or she has in this regard. There are four different points where Miller hears echoes of Jesus’ relationship with Joseph. 1) Miller follows Joachim Jeremias’ thesis about the special nature of the word "Abba". He argues that the word is "first and foremost a child’s word" whose "primal home is the deep affectional bond fashioned between father and son early in life".28 2) Jesus’ saying about children demonstrates how he considered the relationship between father and child to be a "supremely important one".29 In Mark 9:33–37, Jesus takes a little boy into his arms, which Miller regards as "especially striking". Much in the same fashion, Jesus blesses the children who are brought to him and rebukes the 22 J.W. Miller, Jesus at Thirty (Minneapolis 1997). In page 2 he writes, "Developmental psychology (which seeks to inform us regarding the genesis of aspects of our emotionality) simply offers the historian another way of looking at whatever facts are available for whatever insights can be garnered from viewing them in this light." 23 Ibid., 31. 24 Miller is especially referring to Meier’s painstaking study of the stories. Cf. J.P. Meier, The Roots of the Problem and the Person, Vol. 1 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1991) especially 317–332. 25 Luke 3:23; 4:22, Matt 1:16 and John 1:45; 6:42. 26 Miller, Jesus (see n. 22, 33–34. 27 Miller, Jesus (see n. 22), 36. 28 Ibid., 37. 29 Ibid., 37.

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disciples for trying to prevent this. 3) Jesus’ attitude towards fathers and father-son relationship is reflected in his parables. According to Miller, "a strong, fatherly-type man is a recurrent figure in the forty or so stories he told".30 He also concludes that the dominant figure in Jesus’ stories is a fatherly type, who executes his responsibilities in "forceful, competent, but often surprisingly gracious ways".31 4) Finally, Jesus has explicit instructions about how to treat one’s parents. In one case he cites the command to honour father and mother in the reply given to a young man asking what to do to inherit an eternal life (Mark 10:19 pars). It is also remarkable that Jesus attacks the Pharisees with harsh criticism against their korban practice (Mark 7:9–13).32 All these four points suggest that Jesus harboured a warm and loving memory of his own relationship with Joseph. Miller summarizes his arguments with the question: "Could Jesus have spoken of fathers and the father-child relationship so often in such utterly realistic yet positive terms, had he not had a deeply meaningful experience somewhere along the way with his own personal father?33" 2.2 Andries van Aarde Inspired partly by Miller, Andries van Aarde wrote a book about Jesus’ father relationship with similar emphasis on the baptism but totally opposite overall conclusions.34 According to van Aarde "no known father played a role in the life of the historical Jesus".35 For van Aarde, Jesus was a mamzer, a bastard child of Mary, who suffered from the despised status and the absence of father figure.36 He argues that Joseph, the stepfather or the father of Jesus in Matthew, Luke and John, is a fictitious figure. There are two main arguments for this theory. First, there is no mention of Joseph in the sources before year 70 CE.37 Secondly, van Aarde suggests a motive for creating Joseph.38 Matthew, 30

Ibid., 39. Ibid., 39. 32 Ibid., 40. 33 Ibid., 40. 34 A. van Aarde, Fatherless in Galilee: Jesus as Child of God (Harrisburg 2001). 35 A. van Aarde, "Jesus as Fatherless Child," in The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels (ed. W. Stegemann, B.J. Malina and G. Theissen; Minneapolis 2002) 65–84, here 68. 36 Mamzer status is an important concept also in J. Schaberg, Illegitimacy of Jesus: A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the Infancy Narratives (Sheffield 1987); B. Chilton, Rabbi Jesus: An Intimate Biography (New York 2000); D. Capps, Jesus: A Psychological Biography (St. Louis 2000); S. McKnight, "Calling Jesus Mamzer," JSHJ 1 (2003) 73–103. 37 Van Aarde writes, "From a historical viewpoint, it becomes highly questionable to refer to Joseph as the father of Jesus. References to Joseph do not occur in writings antedating the separation of the Pharisaic synagogue and Jesus groups after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 C.E., and the termination of the earliest Jesus groups in Jerusalem." (Jesus as Fatherless [see n. 35], 68). 38 "My thesis is that the "ethical example" that the figure of Joseph in the Old Testament provided in Hellenistic-Semitic literature served as a model for the transmitters of the early 31

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Luke and John needed a father-figure for Jesus in the controversies with the Jews during the period between the wars (70–135 CE). They found it from the Hellenistic-Semitic tradition about Joseph, the son of patriarch Jacob. Van Aarde produces a list of episodes and phenomena he regards as historical in the life of Jesus.39 Among them is the fact that Jesus defended fatherless children, patriarchless women, and other outcasts. The very essence of van Aarde’s theory is the suggestion that this behavior is mother-like and explained by Jesus’ female social identity which was, in its part, due to the absence of a father in Jesus’ life.40 As for social-scientific methods, van Aarde claims to share the criticism of David Stannard against the psychohistorical approach.41 The psychoanalytical paradigm, applied by Miller for instance, is accordingly "completely lacking empirical observation." Instead of psychoanalytical theories, van Aarde leans on social psychology. His main empirical basis is a cross-cultural study published in 1961 concerning the status envy as an important motive for young males to adopt adult masculine identity.42 Accordingly, in the cultures where boys grow up with women and adopt feminine behaviour models before adolescence, it is crucial for them to go through elaborate initiation rites in order to masculinize the social identity of a boy. Crucial in this theory are sleeping arrangements. Van Aarde points out: "In the above-mentioned sample of sixtyfour societies, there are thirteen in which there are ‘elaborate initiation ceremonies with genital operations’".43 All thirteen of these have exclusive mother-infant sleeping arrangements, which according to the hypothesis, would cause a primary feminine identification and status envy. Furthermore, twelve of these thirteen had patrilocal residence, which would produce the maximum conflict in identity and the need for an institution such as the initiation rite to help to resolve this conflict. Initiation rites serve the psychological function of replacing the primary feminine identity with a firmly established male identity.44 When introducing his methodological approach, van Aarde utilizes a socalled ideal type, thus not claiming that his historical Jesus construction is Jesus tradition. The authors of the Gospel of Matthew, Luke, and John knew the Joseph tradition. They found themselves (likes others from 70 to 135 C.E.) in controversies with fellow Israelites about, among others, Jesus "illegitimacy." They counteracted by positioning Jesus as the "son of Joseph, the son of Jacob." (Ibid., 68). 39 See A. van Aarde, "Social Identity, Status Envy and Jesus as a Fatherless Child," in From Christ to Jesus (see n. 9), 233–246, here 231–232. 40 "Typical female behavior included taking the last place at table, serving others, forgiving wrongs, having compassion, and attempting to heal wounds." (Social Identity, 237) 41 D. Stannard, Shrinking History: On Freud and the Failure of Psychohistory (Oxford 1980) 42 R.V. Burton and J.W.M. Whiting, "The Absent Father and Cross-Sex Identity," MerrillPalmer Quarterly 7 (1961) 85–95. 43 Van Aarde, "Social Identity" (see n. 39), 236. 44 Ibid., 236.

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based on what is common to all or even most fatherless people in the firstcentury Galilee.45 On the other hand, he defines the ideal type as referring "to what is common to all relevant cases of similar concrete situations of what could in reality have happened.46" Finally, for van Aarde the project was not only a scholarly project, but also a reflection of his very own psychohistory.47

3. Analyzing the Views In the scientific ideal world, the historical facts are first found and then models and theories, based on a cumulative array of empirical studies, are used to interpret them. In practice, however, the process is more interactive and subjective. For example, in the historical Jesus research the much-used criterion of dissimilarity is finally dependent, to a considerable degree, on the psychological analogy construed by the modern interpreter, who reasons what the motives of the ancient writer were or were not. Thus the psychological interpretations are inevitably present when the historical bedrock for the subsequent analysis is established. As already became evident in Schweitzer’s dissertation, the finding of agreed-upon historical facts is of crucial importance for any further study. Failure in finding them would create quite a challenge for any psychobiographical attempt to analyse Jesus of Nazareth. We could perhaps compare Miller and van Aarde to two psychotherapists, who are counselling two different men, who happen to be known by the same name. Neither of these scholars is operating outside of scientific Jesus research in the sense the popular novelist Dan Brown, for instance, does.48 They just represent very different schools of thought and interpretational traditions. The key expression in van Aarde’s evaluation of Miller’s presentation is his judgment that "almost none of the examples that Miller presents with regard to father-son imagery are exegetically convincing."49 What does this "exegetically convincing" mean in this context? In order to understand the incommensurable difference between these scholars, it may be useful to start cutting van Aarde’s procedure into smaller and more readily analysable pieces.50 45

Van Aarde, Jesus as Fatherless (see n. 35), 66–67. Van Aarde, Social Identity (see n. 38), 226. 47 Van Aarde writes, "My voyage began with a strenuous relationship with my father, but as a child and adult I experienced the warmth of the believing community. This chapter is a survey of my journey and those suppositions that illumine my image of Jesus." Jesus as Fatherless (see n. 34), 4. 48 D. Brown, The Da Vinci Code (New York 2003) 49 Van Aarde, Fatherless (see n. 34), 81. 50 There would certainly be another way, ably chosen e.g. by Bas van Os, who attempts to gather common historical facts and thereby evaluate different constructions B. van Os, "Psychological Method and the Historical Jesus: The Contribution of Psychobiography," HTS 63 46

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3.1 Scholarly devaluation Van Aarde uses the expression "from the perspective of biblical scholarship", thus indicating that he, but not Miller, is operating within serious scientific paradigm. The procedure is called scholarly devaluation and works often as a rhetorical shortcut to downgrade a disagreeing scholar. The phenomenon has much to do with social-psychological group dynamics in biblical studies and may include some logically flamboyant elements. A case in point is James H. Charlesworth who, in the same manner as van Aarde, criticizes Miller rather harshly for incompetence in the use of the orthodox critical methods like redaction criticism.51 As will be seen, this judgment lacks actual substance and works as a demonstration of prejudiced attitudes towards "outsiders" in the field. Miller writes that he is "relying on the more substantial conclusions of the recognized historians at work in the field.52" In other words, he claims to have tried to find a sort of consensus reconstruction of Jesus of Nazareth and then applied the psychological models to that figure. The historians he explicitly mentions are Joachim Jeremias, Geza Vermes, James Dunn, Ben Meyer, Martin Hengel, J. Ramsey Michaels, Marcus Borg and John Meier. By accusing Miller for ignoring redaction criticism, Charlesworth is actually claiming that all these scholars from Jeremias to Meier are taking the gospels at face value without any critical reflection with appropriate methods. It gets only more astonishing when Charlesworth reveals whom he considers as the leading Jesus scholars, reading E. P. Sanders, Richard Horsley, James Dunn, John Meier, Gerd Theissen, Petr Pokorný and Craig Evans to this elite.53 The limited space does not enable any deeper analysis, but according to my, admittedly subjective, understanding and reading experience of the publications from each scholar here mentioned, I would maintain that there are no significant differences between the general sketches of these two "lists". I would also locate Charlesworth himself to be well in line with the scholars mentioned by (2007) 327–346. The lists of facts are also produced by James H. Charlesworth as well as Miller and van Aarde. Not that they would agree upon the historicity of all the facts listed. However, I prefer a somewhat more constructivistic approach, where the exegetical procedure is critically scrutinized, and then, independently from this, the application of the psychological theories is examined. 51 "New Testament scholars will find Miller’s analysis unconvincing, because he misses the "Tendencies of the Evangelists" [Redaktionsgeschichte]. It is certain that each of the four canonical evangelists not only received traditions, some of which may be reliable historically, but that they also shaped and edited what Jesus did and said. No one can simply read the Gospels as if they are objective biographies." J.H. Charlesworth, "Psychobiography: A New and Challenging Methodology in Jesus Research," in From Christ to Jesus (see n. 38), 21–58, here 43. 52 Miller, Jesus (see n. 22), 9. 53 Charlesworth, "Psychobiography" (see n. 51).

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Miller.54 Where does this illogical categorizing come? My guess is that if a scholar’s salient identity in the eyes of critic is something else than "one of us", namely a biblical scholar, there is a great risk to scholarly devaluate him without paying careful attention to what he actually says. For van Aarde it is even easier than for Charlesworth, because van Aarde regards John Dominic Crossan as the leading Jesus scholar and there is a significant difference between the Jesus reconstruction of "the list" and that of Crossan.55 The human tendency to stereotypize the outgroup members and interpret their performance with a negative bias is a well-demonstrated fact in the empirical social psychological research.56 The intergroup antagonism may also be embedded in the expressions used about the outgroup members. Here the famous labels "critical" or "uncritical" are readily put on the representatives of the competing paradigms.57 Van Aarde concludes that Miller, just like John P. Meier, "uncritically accepts the patristic tradition that Joseph died early in Jesus’ life".58 Categorizing Miller and Meier is legitimate. It is evident from the footnotes that Miller follows Meier rather closely when it comes to deciding the question of historicity in the nativity stories.59 However, the claim that the procedure of Miller and Meier is uncritical falls short of substance. Meier lists different options in resolving the mystery of Joseph not being present in the adult Jesus’ life concluding that, "Theoretically, a number of different reasons might be suggested for Joseph’s absence […] But the traditional solution, already known in the patristic period, remains the most likely: Joseph had died by the time Jesus began his public ministry. 60" Whatever is thought about Meier’s conclusion, his method of arguing the case can hardly be called "uncritical". He first presents the premises: a) Joseph is present in nativity stories, 54 See J.H. Charlesworth, Jesus within Judaism. New Light from Exciting Archaeological Discoveries (ABTL; New York 1988). 55 For a good representation of respective reconstructions, see e.g. B. Witherington, The Jesus Quest (Downers Grove 1997) 56 See especially H. Tajfel, Human Groups & Social Categories: Studies in Social Psychology (Cambridge 1981). 57 For van Aarde, late Graham N. Stanton represents uncritical scholarship. He (together with N. T. Wright) is "not suspicious at all of the reliability of the New Testament writings" (Fatherless [see n. 34], 25). Against these "non-scholars" there are "Jesus scholars" who "are inclined not to accept so easily the historical trustworthiness of the documents without critical scrutiny because of the faith biases of these writings." (Ibid., 26). When writing my doctoral dissertation on Matthew’s gospel, I had a chance to get acquainted with the Matthean scholarship where Stanton seems to be, against van Aarde’s judgment, a well-respected scholar with impeccable critical credentials. For a sample of his "criticality," see G.N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh 1992). 58 In verbatim van Aarde writes, "His uncritical acceptance of the historicity of the patristic tradition (like John P. Meier and Marvin Cain) that Joseph died early in Jesus’ life." (Fatherless [see n. 34], 80.) 59 See Miller, Jesus (see n. 22), 129. 60 J.P. Meier, The Roots of the Problem (see n. 24), 317.

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and b) he is "not present on the narrative stage once the ministry begins", and then draws conclusions. Even without a single patristic reference, the explanation that Joseph had died could hardly be excluded when a solution for the dilemma created by these premises is examined. Criticality, in van Aarde’s case, does not seem to reach to the presuppositions of old German form criticism and "scholarly omniscience" in establishing the correct Sitz im Leben for pericopes of the gospels.61 According to van Aarde, it is possible to discern "the respective prophecies memorized and prophecies historicized in the messages of Gospel writers like Mark and Matthew (although not fully in concordance with each other) from the historical facts".62 With this method, he reaches the reconstruction of Jesus, different from a typical prophet.63 But how exactly can we discern and peel fictive "prophetized" material from the historical facts when reading the gospels? Take the Matthean version of Judas’ death (27:3-10), which is imbedded in prophetic language and biblical symbols, and even the very theme (deception) comes from the Hebrew Bible.64 Despite this, there is a broad and well-based consensus that the betrayal of Jesus by Judas, and his subsequent unexpected death, are historical.65 This would suggest that much of the material could rather be called history scripturized than prophecy historized.66 Much in the 61

A good example of growing criticism against the naïve acceptance of this paradigm is well crystallized by C.A. Evans who concludes, "Of the three traditional criticisms, form criticism is the most problematic. It is problematic because, by its very nature, a great deal of subjectivity comes into play. We really do not know what the practices were of first-century Christians who told and retold the sayings of and stories about Jesus." ("Life of Jesus," in Handbook to Exegesis of the New Testament (ed. S.E. Porter; Boston 2002) 427–477 here 434. For sophisticated critical analysis of the paradigm, see especially S. Byrskog, "A New Quest for the Sitz im Leben: Social Memory, the Jesus Tradition and the Gospel of Matthew," NTS 52 (2006) 319–336; idem., "A Century with the Sitz im Leben: From FormCritical Setting to Gospel Community and Beyond," ZNW 98 (2007) 1–27. 62 Van Aarde, Fatherless (see n. 34), 76. 63 "It is a picture of a "sinner," away from his home village, trapped in a strained relationship with relatives, but experiencing a fantasy homecoming in God’s kingdom." (Ibid., 76.) 64 More about the problems in finding the traditional material behind the Matthean text, see M. Kankaanniemi, The Guards of the Tomb (Mt 27:62–67 and 28:11–15): Matthew’s Apologetic Legend Revisited (Åbo 2010) 78–106. 65 So "even" J. D. Crossan, Who Killed Jesus (San Francisco 1995) 81. 66 Joel B. Green mentions in his review of Crossan’s book The Cross That Spoke that recent studies in pesharim and other relevant literature show that the prevailing tendency in Jewish religious writing was rather history scripturized than prophecy historized. "A Review of John Dominic Crossan’s The Cross That Spoke," JBL 109 (1998) 356–358. Essentially the same is argued in F.F. Bruce, "Biblical Exposition at Qumran," in Gospel Perspectives III: Studies in Midrash and Historiography (ed. R. T. France and D. Wenham; Sheffield 1983) 77–98. See also R.T. France, "Jewish Historiography, Midrash, And The Gospels," in Gospel Perspectives III, 99–128. Bruce (p. 87) describes the method of the commentators of Qumran, "On thing these commentators did not do was to try to "create" recent history out of the biblical texts. Recent events and the current situation provided them with their data. If adaptation was necessary to make the "mystery" and the interpretation fit each other, it was the

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same manner, the passion narrative, surely historical in its core, is told with biblical expressions and interpretations.67 There is of course a risk when a scholar believes to be able to discern the fiction from the fact, and does this in a way that results in rejecting most of the material as non-historical. The risk is that he picks up the parts that match up with his theory and rejects potentially falsifying material as later creation, or prophecy historized. The situation is essentially different if one follows the lead of Craig A. Evans, who concludes, "In my judgment, the most prudent position to take is that, on principle, most material ultimately derives from Jesus, but that most material has been edited and recontextualized.68" Not many psychobiographical works have been written from this modestly sourceoptimistic Third Quest perspective, as is perhaps suggested in the comment of van Aarde who points out that, "it is Miller’s academic prerogative to differ from other psychoanalyses of Jesus.69" The prevailing paradigm in establishing the relevant source material in psychological Jesus studies seems to be "the Jesus Seminar Quest". The dilemma faced with this division of paradigms is what Thomas Kuhn calls incommensurability, i.e., the inability of two paradigms to meaningfully communicate with each other due to the profound disagreements on the axioms.70 Therefore Miller’s and van Aarde’s arguments cannot just be put side by side and compared. Instead, there should be an attempt to analyse the very basic historical solutions in both scholar’s reconstruction and then, partly independently from this, an attempt to evaluate how convincing their socialscientific (here mostly psychological) explanations are. 3.2 The Historicity of Joseph Surely the most decisive question in the current study concerns the very existence of Jesus’ father. In what follows, I attempt to examine the arguments of

"mystery" – i.e. the biblical text – that was adapted, not the data which formed the raw material of the interpretation." 67 For example, a theme of a suffering servant in the passion narratives is illustrated with a table and with references to psalms used by J.B. Green, "Crucifixion," in The Cambridge Companion to Jesus (ed. M. Bockmuehl; Cambridge 2001) 87–101, here 100. 68 Evans, "Life" (see n. 61), 436. 69 Van Aarde, Fatherless (see n. 34), 76. Though this may be changing as e.g. B. van Os points out that, "I personally am inclined to ascribe to the gospels quite a bit of historical value." ("Psychological Method" [see n. 48], 340). As for the Third Quest perspective, I have attempted to argue for the view that the term Third Quest should perhaps be used in the sense N. T. Wright had in view when coining it. See M. Kankaanniemi, "Will the Real Third Quest Please Stand Up?" in Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni (ed. SO. Back and M. Kankaanniemi; Studier I exegetic och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi; Åbo 2012) 108–130. 70 T. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolution (the 2nd edition; London 1962) 149–150

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both scholars for their respective theories concerning Joseph, traditionally believed to have fathered Jesus. As already pointed out, van Aarde regards Joseph as pure fiction. However, the logic in his main argument against the historicity of Joseph may be slightly problematic. Namely, if the absence of pre-70 mention is used as an argument against his historicity, the whole Q-material should be rejected. If Matthew and Luke are dated to post-70 period and Q is by definition the common material in Matthew and Luke not found in Mark, then Q is post-70 and not historical. Van Aarde is going against a quite convincing array of arguments. For example, there seems to be rather strong multiple attestation for the historicity of Joseph, or at least for the early origin of the idea of his existence. The Matthean and Lucan infancy stories are so different that most scholars regard them, and with good reason for that matter, as independent from each other.71 Thus both have taken the figure of Joseph from their own sources. There is also a rather good case for Luuk 2:41–40 being traditional material, this adding to the multiple attestation of the historicity of Joseph.72 In that story, Joseph is not a stepfather, but rather the father of Jesus, despite the fact that Luke has just told a story about the virginal conception of Jesus. The fourth evangelist also mentions Joseph as the father of Jesus (John 6:42). Van Aarde seems to regard this mention of Joseph, along with all the others, as a counter against illegitimacy accusations.73 However, it escapes my understanding why, if that would be the case, the context is juxtaposing the question of divine origin of Jesus and his status as the son of Joseph, the former being explicitly promoted by the evangelist. Of course, it is theoretically possible that such a fine-tuned and overly implicit way is developed by the author, but in the light of his otherwise unconstrained way to record the verbal attacks against Jesus, this sounds overly complicated and hence unconvincing. There may also be a hint of circular reasoning in van Aarde’s argument. He claims that there was a motive for mentioning (and thus inventing) the father of Jesus during the period 70–135 C.E. However, was Joseph not mentioned before this because nobody knew about him, or because there was no need for mention, as van Aarde seems to think? As far as I can see, he cannot have it both ways. Now the argument sounds disturbingly like the famous "heads – I win, tails – you lose" game. A Sitz im Leben for creating something cannot be too different from the Sitz im Leben for just mentioning it. Especially so within the old form critical paradigm where van Aarde clearly operates. Van Aarde takes great pains to demonstrate how important a father was for a boy in the 1st century Galilee. If accepted, this assumption can turn out to be 71

For a minute analysis on the differences, see R.E. Brown, The Birth of Messiah (New updated edition; ABRL; New York 1993) 33–37. 72 See Ibid., 480–481. 73 Van Aarde, "Jesus as Fatherless" (see n. 35), 68.

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problematic for the idea that Joseph was nothing more than a fictive figure. Had the first, the second and the fourth evangelists created a fictive father to Jesus, they would have introduced a new father for the brothers of Jesus as well. The position of Jesus’ brothers in the early Christianity was relatively important, and in their patriarchal society, the name of their father was hardly unknown in the churches.74 Further, van Os has convincingly argued that it is significantly more likely than not, that Jesus had younger siblings.75 This leads us to wonder if he was willing and able to so exclude Jesus that it is meaningful to speak about the absence of father or father figure in Jesus’ childhood? Van Aarde goes to great length in an attempt to find the motive for the late introduction of a Joseph figure to Christian tradition. The result is innovative and has much to recommend itself. There are elements of benevolence, virginity, sexual impurity etc. in the Joseph speculation of the day. The Joseph figure, as it is construed in the sources van Aarde presents, does fit to the hypothesis he is suggesting. Or, to put it differently, he succeeds in demonstrating that the name Joseph would by no means appear as an embarrassing choice for the name of Jesus’ father. However, this hardly counts as an evidence for the non-historicity of Joseph. With the same energy and dedication, it might be possible to create a compelling motive for the invention of numerous other characters in the New Testament.76 When evaluating this argument, the very phenomenon of creating a fictive character on the basis of religious traditions must be first analysed. It is known for a fact that numerous characters in the Gospels were actual historical figures. This can be established with the help of external attestation. Some of them carry the name of an Old Testament hero and thus, if the path set up by van Aarde is followed, it would be possible to see them as no more than fictive creations. On the other hand, there are hardly other cases in the New Testament where a convincing case can be made for the phenomenon under study. Mary (Miryam) the mother of Jesus, Mary of Magdala, the other Mary or the disciples named James, save Jesus’ brother, are all keenly anchored to history instead of being fictive echoes of Moses’ sister Miryam or the patriarch Jacob. According to Miller, Joseph was the father of Jesus. He dismisses any speculation about the illegitimate origin of Jesus by referring to the status of nativity stories as legend in modern scholarship. However, this conclusion is not nec74 In 1 Cor 9:5 Paul refers to the practice of the other apostles, Cephas and the brothers of the Lord, which suggests that they were important enough to make the argument compelling. James, the most important of the brothers, was also mentioned in the old confession form in 1 Cor 15:3–8. See also Gal 1:18–20 and 2:9–12. 75 See B. van Os, Psychological Analyses and the Historical Jesus: New Ways to –Explore Christian Origins (LNTS 432; London 2011) 53–54. 76 For a similar attempt to show how Joseph of Arimathea was an invented figure, see R.D. Aus, The Death, Burial, and Resurrection of Jesus, and the Death, Burial and Translation of Moses in Judaic Tradition (New York 2008) 162–168.

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essarily so self-evident. First, there are different judgments concerning the historical value of the nativity stories.77 Secondly, the inclusion of legendary and non-historical elements in a story does not mean that there would not be any historical data to be found.78 For example Mary’s premarital pregnancy has eventually a rather good claim of historicity despite each scholar’s judgment of the general nature of the nativity stories. It may be useful to briefly examine this with the criteria of authenticity. The premarital pregnancy of Mary is found in both Matthew’s and Luke’s gospel. The stories are to such great extent different, even contradictory, that the hypothesis of a common source fails to convince. Depending, to a degree, on the dating of Matthew and Luke, we can nonetheless quite confidently assume that the idea of virginal conception (premarital pregnancy being sine qua non for this) predates year 70 C.E.. The criterion of Palestinian environment is met by the Semitic nature of Luke’s tradition(s) behind Luke 1–2.79 Stephen Farris argued that the Greek used in these chapters has the most Semitic flavour in the whole NT, whereas in Acts 15–28 the Greek is the least Semitic.80 This might suggest that the story originates from a Palestinian environment. Should these already mentioned premises be accepted, it is reasonable to assume that the idea of Mary’s premarital pregnancy had been known in pre-70 Palestinian Christianity. The criterion of dissimilarity handles the question of the probable motivation for inventing the virginal conception. As is generally acknowledged, the early Christians do not seem to need this idea in their theological systems. It is indicative that Paul and John, those with perhaps the highest christological ideas in the New Testament, can create their theology without any mention whatsoever of the virginal conception of Jesus. The stronger form of the criterion of dissimilarity, that of embarrassment, may also be seen as being met in this case.81 In Justin Martyr’s dialogue with Trypho, a Jew, we have an explicit example of a Jewish reaction to the idea.

77 In the recently published four-volumed The Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (4 vols; ed. T. Holmén and S.E. Porter; Leiden 2011), there are two articles that concentrate on the nativity stories. Both are rather optimistic as for the historical value of these narratives. See R.T. France, "The Birth of Jesus," in Handbook, 3:2361–2382 and A. Puig I Tárrech, "Why Was Jesus Not Born in Nazareth?" in Handbook, 4:3409–3436. 78 A disturbingly arrogant way to dismiss any historical value of the nativity stories is poignantly present, for instance in Bruce Chilton’s comment, "The scholarly consensus that the whole story is legendary, like the nativity chapters as a whole in both Matthew and Luke, seems so well founded that it is now a matter of common sense." (Chilton, Rabbi Jesus [see n. 36], 49.) 79 The same is maintained concerning the Matthean nativity story. See R. Brown, The Birth (see n. 68), 104–119. 80 S.C. Farris, "On Discerning Semitic Sources in Luke 1–2," in Gospel Perspectives II (ed. R.T. France and D.Wenham; Sheffield 1981) 201–238. 81 About the different levels of the criteria of dissimilarity, see Kankaanniemi, The Guards (see n. 64), 57–58.

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According to Trypho, the idea is shameful.82 This suggests that in a Jewish context, the idea of a virginal conception, with inevitable associations with Hellenistic legends, was potentially offending and perhaps even counterproductive to the status of Jesus. Further, to cast a shadow of doubt on Jesus’ origin was to question the moral purity of Mary, the mother of the very leaders of Palestinian Christianity. The Palestinian Christ-believer who introduced the idea of Mary’s premarital pregnancy can hardly have been unaware of this innuendo. The parallels for the virginal conception in Mediterranean religions are frequently brought forward when discussing the motive behind the creation of Jesus’ nativity stories. While these parallels are noteworthy and cannot be ignored, the dilemma of the Palestinian context of the tradition remains. There is also a curious detail in Mark 6:1–6, where Jesus visits his hometown. He is recognized with the metronyme "son of Mary" instead of a reference to Joseph. There is a difference of opinions as for the significance of this detail. It has often been seen as an evidence of Jesus not being Joseph’s legitimate son, the use of metronyme being derogatory in nature. On the other hand it has been argued that the use of a metronyme was not uncommon or necessarily derogatory in 1st century Palestine.83 If Joseph had been dead for years, it was only natural that Jesus was defined with a person (his mother) who was living and known to villagers. While I find McHarvey’s and Ilan’s arguments for the non-derogatory nature of the metronyme quite convincing as such, it is, especially when examined with Matt 1–2 and Luke 1–2 in mind, interesting that in any case the more common patronyme is not used here. Could the metronyme be an echo from three decades prior, when young Mary became pregnant before marrying Joseph? When all the evidence is put together, it seems to me that the case for the premarital pregnancy of Mary is stronger than the assumption of a totally normal family background for Jesus. At the same time, it seems the most probable conclusion is that Joseph had accepted Jesus as his son by marrying Mary, thus making the idea of a fatherless Jesus an unlikely hypothesis. William Todd Schultz points out some traps where a psychobiographist risks falling. One trap concerns the invention of psychological facts inferentially, a risk Schultz sees acute especially when there are no reliable data on the childhood of the person under study. 84 This warning is noteworthy in respect to both Miller’s and van Aarde’s theories. They both reject the biblical 82

Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, a Jew, LXVII. For this, see H. McArthur, "Son of Mary," NovT 15 (1973) 38–58 and T. Ilan, "’Man Born of Woman…’ (Job 14:1): The Phenomenon of Men Bearing Metronymes at the Time of Jesus," NovT 34 (1992) 23–45; and J. F. McGrath, "Was Jesus Illegitimate? The Evidence of His Social Interactions," JSHJ 5 (2007) 81–100. 84 W.T. Schultz, "Introduction," in Handbook of Psychobiography (see n. 6), 3–18. On page 10 he writes, "Inventing psychological facts inferentially for which no direct evidence exists. Often resorted to in the absence of verifiable data about childhood history." 83

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sources on the childhood of Jesus as legendary and thus are reconstructing his childhood without much of a narrative framework, save evidence. 3.3 Ministry of Empathy Another crucial historical question for this study, in addition to that concerning the very historicity of Joseph, has to do with Jesus’ behaviour and the way it was motivated. There are few facts in Jesus’ life with such a strong claim to authenticity as his boundary-breaking inclusion of sinners in the kingdom of God.85 According to van Aarde, Jesus was "defending fatherless children, "patriarch-less" women, and other social misfits," and "calling these ‘misfits’ a family by resocializing them into God’s household, through empowering healing and by acting as an agent of the Spirit of God.86" From the psychohistorical point of view, the sheer fact that Jesus socialized with the sinners does not tell much without some elaboration of the motives behind this conduct. In principle, there could be a variety of reasons for this behaviour, and our decision on which one is the most probable greatly affects the psychological profiling of Jesus. First, did Jesus gather followers among those ranks of society where followers were easily found and lured to build up the kingdom of God?87 Cults are often lead by charismatic but manipulative personalities, whose only reason to hang out with those of lower status is to abuse them. To take extreme examples, both Adolf Hitler and Josif Stalin posed with children in public pictures, a fact hardly counting as evidence for their emotional warmth and empathy. Should the scene with Jesus allowing children to come to him be juxtaposed with these propaganda pictures? Secondly, did Jesus preach repentance to the lost children of Israel? Maybe he felt compelled to live through his prophetic call by reaching the sinners with the call to repentance. With the terms of personality theories, one might speak about a highly neurotic personality, who is driven by a compulsion to straighten things out and change everyone’s thinking to line up with one’s own.88 Thirdly, did Jesus meditate the Scriptures and, after concluding that he is the herald of the new eschatological era, adopt the idea of reaching those from the lowest status from the Scriptures? In Luke 4:16ff, it is seen how Jesus explains what he has come to do by citing the book of Isaiah. If the passage ech85

For a concise presentation, see G. Carey, Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers, (Waco 2009). 86 Van Aarde, "Jesus as Fatherless" (see n. 6), 70. 87 About the view point of the mass movement social psychology, see e.g. D.A. Fiensy, "Leaders of Mass Movements and the Leader of the Jesus Movement," JSNT 74 (1999) 3–27. 88 This would come close to analysing Jesus with the concepts of the theory of an authoritarian personality. See e.g. R. Altemeyer, The Authoritarians, 2006 [cited 8 June 2012]. Online http://members.shaw.ca/jeanaltemeyer/drbob/TheAuthoritarians.pdf.

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oes a historical episode, it could support the idea that Jesus was conceptualising his mission and agenda with a biblical model.89 According to this scenario, Jesus would, for instance, have entered the house of ritually impure Zacchaeus because "the Scripture tells him so," not necessarily so much out of compassion. Fourthly, did Jesus act out of empathic intuition? According to this interpretation Jesus would have scored low on the Eysenck’s scale of psychoticism and high with empathy. Jesus’ activity would be emotionally driven and motivated by tangible feeling of compassion. As suggested with these examples, when the "historical fact" of Jesus socializing with the outcast is used as raw material for psychohistorical study, there must be an interpretation about the nature and motive for this behaviour, as well as a hypothesis about its location in the Jewish symbolic universe. To make the things even more complicated, it is probable that more than one motive was operative in Jesus’ behaviour.90 As for reading the data from adulthood to childhood, the crucial question is whether there was a strong emotional element imbedded in Jesus’ habit to socialize with the social outcasts. In other words, do people who are exceptionally empathic and still ready to break conventional rules have a different kind of father-relationship than those who are less empathic? In the narrative world of the four canonical gospels, Jesus appears as a rather emotional character. He is quick to anger, sometimes frustrated with the slowness of the disciples, compassionate and empathic.91 While it is appropriate to take into consideration the evident bias of a reader to see Jesus as a representative of a certain (his own?) type of personality, it is difficult to see the Jesus of the gospels as a non-emotional and psychotic person. The Jesus of the gospels is not the historical Jesus though, scholars having different opinions about the depth of the gap between these two. Could it be that the emotional details had been added by a tradent or an evangelist to vivify the description of a given event? This is possible, but not necessarily very

89 See e.g. B. Chilton, "Targumic Transmission and Dominical Tradition," in Gospel Perspectives, Vol. 1: Studies of History and Tradition in the Four Gospels (ed. R.T. France & D. Wenham, Sheffield, 1980) 21–46; J.C. Poirier, "Jesus as an Elijianic Figure in Luke 4:16– 30," CBQ 71 (2009) 349–363. 90 The methodological problems as for interpreting a historical event are poignantly handled by W. McKinnes Runyan, "How to Critically Evaluate Alternative Explanations of Life Events," in Handbook of Psychobiography (ed. William Todd Schultz; Cary 2005) 96–103, who compares different explanations given for a curious episode of Van Gogh cutting his left ear and giving it to a prostitute. This episode is something of a archmystery 91 For a succinct list of Jesus’ emotions in the gospels, see S. Voorwinde, Jesus’ Emotions in the Gospels (London 2011).

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likely. The emotionality of Jesus is multiply attested in both Mark and John.92 The emotional reactions in Mark’s gospel are sometimes omitted by Luke and Matthew, which suggests that at least some among the early Christians did not regard the emotions of Jesus as benefiting their agendas. It is quite legitimate to claim that the emotional Jesus meets the criterion of dissimilarity, perhaps even the criterion of embarrassment. In Mark 3:1–6, Jesus is healing a man with a withered hand, and when criticized by the Pharisees, he looks around with anger (μετ᾽ ὀργῆς). This scene is considered confusing, as it mixes two different types of emotion into the same episode.93 Both Matthew and Luke have omitted this emotional detail. However, on the basis of what is known of emotionality, the combination of anger and compassion are not at all an unlikely combination. It is seen, for instance, in mother’s altruistic and passionate love for her child turning into a blind fury when she feels that the child is threatened. Had Jesus’ motives for socializing with the social outcasts been calculated and essentially nonemotional, the bursts of anger in this kind of a situation might be harder to explain. Van Aarde writes about Jesus’ mother-like behaviour which, at least when emotions are touched, seems credible enough to me. It is very likely that Jesus explained his socializing with the outcasts within the biblical symbolic universe. However, I assume that his strong feelings of empathy towards the lowest strata of society contributed in the psychological process of choosing the role he adapted from the Scriptures. As psychobiographist William Todd Schultz warns, no lives should be attempted to explain with one experience or phenomenon only. With this due warning in mind, I suggest that Jesus’ public ministry was to a remarkable extent motivated by his emotions of empathy towards the outcast. This is more or less in accordance with both van Aarde’s and Miller’s reconstructions.

92 See a concise, but informative description of L.F. Cribbs, "Reassessment of the Date of Origin and the Destination of the Gospel of John," JBL 89 (1970) 38–55, here 43. 93 See Vorwinde, Jesus’ Emotions (see n. 87), 79.

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4. Analysing the Views – Psychological Viewpoints The social-scientific models and the way they are applied to the current question can be analysed within the reconstructions, which both scholars have produced. Consequently, while there could be problems, as I believe there are, in their historical reconstructions, it is possible to analyse the psychological and social psychological explanations they suggest. In what follows, I will make some general notes on both scholar’s use of psychology and then go deeper to analyse their central statements. 4.1 Social-Scientific Models Miller works firmly within the psychoanalytical paradigm and claims that it is the only school of psychology which "has thus far not only survived empirical testing but demonstrated a remarkable capacity for interacting with historical disciplines in fruitful ways".94 This is the closest Miller ever gets in defending the paradigm he applies in his psychological profiling of Jesus.95 The reader is left guessing which empirical studies demonstrate the superiority of the paradigm. Given, for example, the poignant criticism of David Stannard against the psychoanalytical study of history, the silence may somewhat diminish the value of the book as a scholarly contribution. While building his psychological profile of Jesus within the psychoanalytical framework, Miller is rather modest in explaining Jesus’ adult behaviour and performance as a reflection of his paternal relationship. No nurturing, empathic or altruistic tendencies are explained as resulting from the secure relationship of Jesus with his father. However, in Miller’s theory the way one talks about a father correlates with his own experience of the father. This applies to the father figures of the stories one tells as well as the names one uses of the father. Thus the positive way to tell about the old father-like figures in the parables and the use of diminutive "Abba", are to be taken as clear signs of positive father relationship. What remains to be demonstrated is the probability for the phenomenon that an author ignores benevolent father figures in the stories and teachings if he happens to have traumas in that area and vice versa. Numerous major questions arise from van Aarde’s way of applying socialscientific theories to the subject. He builds practically the whole case on one article written approximately forty years earlier by Roger V. Burton and John 94

Miller, Jesus (see n. 22), 10. For example, B.E. Wampold, The Great Psychotherapy Debate: Models, Methods, and Findings (Mahwah 2001) 10, points out that "it is generally accepted that psychotherapy works" but that "the causal determinants of efficacy are not as well established." That Wampold’s book, based on an impressive array of meta-analyses, is published four years after Miller’s Jesus at Thirty suggests that the basis for Miller’s self-confidence in this respect might be a bit premature. 95

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W. M. Whiting.96 Surprisingly, this very article is guilty of the major fallacies that Stannard, highly acclaimed by van Aarde, criticizes. For example, Stannard accuses psychoanalytical theory of non-falsifiability; no matter what the phenomenon, it is always explainable within the Freudian framework.97 Burton and Whiting claim that "the absence of the father produces in the boy cross-sex identification which is either acted out or, more usually, defended against by exaggerated masculine behavior.98" There are two important considerations here. First, van Aarde is curiously silent about this "more usual exaggerated masculine behavior", which would come close to falsifying his theory. If probabilities are counted, the fatherless Jesus should be known of "exaggerated masculine behavior" instead of feminine mother-like nurturing of the outcasts. Secondly, the status envy theory hardly differs from those hypotheses and models which Stannard so energetically, and often convincingly, criticizes.99 There may be correlation between certain phenomena, and if this is seen as an empirical observation, the psychoanalytical approach is not at all on such a shaky ground as a superficial reading of Stannard could perhaps suggest. However, the point is the causality and the exact mechanism therein. Van Aarde uses Stannard to downplay Miller’s theory, but as far as I can see, by doing so he more or less exposes his own theory to Stannard’s criticism. Finally, it is questionable whether the status envy hypothesis actually contributes anything to a psychobiographical analysis. A theory that explains everything risks explaining nothing.

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Not that the age of a study would automatically make it irrelevant. However, the status envy hypothesis has received its share of informed criticism challenging any scholar who utilizes it to comment on that criticism. 97 Stannard poignantly criticizes the empirical verification of Oedipus complex, "If, in other words, a male has great fondness for his mother and displays animosity toward his father (however covertly, for repression is another inevitable factor in the equation) psychoanalysis can claim that these emotions are based in his Oedipus complex. If, on the other hand, he exhibits dislike for his mother and a relative fondness for his father, psychoanalysis can equally claim that his attitude is rooted in his Oedipus complex, though in this case it is inverted. The existence of the Oedipus complex is thus spuriously "proven" by virtually any emotional feeling of any male for his mother or his father." (Stannard, Shrinking [see n. 41], 59) 98 Burton and Whiting, "Absent" (see n. 42), 285. 99 See for example Bandura and others who write, "Whiting’s theory represents an extension of the Freudian defensive identification hypothesis that identificatory behavior is the outcome of rivalrous interaction between the child and the parent who occupies an envied consumer status." (A. Bandura, D. Ross, and S.A. Ross, "A Comparative Test of the Status Envy, Social Power, and Secondary Reinforcement Theories of Identificatory Learning," Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 67 [1963] 527–534, here 528.)

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4.2 The Mediterranean factor It may be useful to pay attention to one much-used, but somewhat suspicious argument, which plays no insignificant role in van Aarde’s theory. Many scholars have "found" the fact that modern psychology and social-scientific analogies are imbedded with Western culture and thinking. This argument is utilized and turned into a rhetorical strategy in van Aarde’s theory. Within this ethos, it is alluring to dismiss any competing theory by pointing out that it does not take "the Mediterranean factor" duly into account. Van Aarde, for instance, writes that, "It has been especially John J. Pilch who has pointed to the shortcomings of modern psychiatry and psychology in describing the behavior of the people of whom we read in the New Testament […] Modern psychiatry and psychology function within modern Western categories.100" I find the enthusiastic use of the "Mediterranean factor" slightly problematic due to the ambiguity and empirical shallowness of the concept. For example, in Pilch’s paradigm, practically all the phenomena labelled as miracles and wonders are "explained" by referring to the concept of the Altered State of Consciousness.101 However, 1) there is no method to measure the brave wavelength of those who experienced "miracles" in Antiquity. All we can do is to try to reason from the descriptions of the events whether the people involved were in a normal or an altered state of consciousness.102 Now in the Pilchian model, all these phenomena seem to be, by definition, ASCexperiences. 2) If these were "normal" and 80% of the Mediterranean people had experienced them, how come some of these experiences (or rumours about them) inspired rather massive folk movements? 3) For better or worse, the way to define and conceptualise the ASC is as a mostly Western, modern and positivistic venture. A poignant example of this "social-scientific insight" is Pilch’s review of Richard Bauckham’s book on the eyewitness–factor in gospel formation.103 According to Pilch, "Moreover, anyone even superficially familiar with Mediterranean society understands that people often report what others want to hear (e.g., eyewitnesses testifying to weapons of mass destruction in Iraq)." First, pleasing the guest by modifying rhetoric accordingly is an all-human phenomenon. Are we, for instance, really to dismiss Lucian’s writings due to his 100

Van Aarde, "Jesus as Fatherless" (see n. 34), 66. See John J. Pilch, "Altered States of Consciousness in the Synoptics," in The Social Setting (see n. 34), 103–116. See also B. J. Malina, "Assessing the Historicity of Jesus’ Walking on the Sea: Insights from Cross-Cultural Social Psychology," in Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (ed. C. A. Evans and B. Chilton, Leiden 1999) 351–372. 102 The very concept of Altered state of consciousness is far from clear in modern psychology. See especially A. Revonsuo, S. Kallio and P. Sikka, "What Is an Altered State of Consciousness?" Philosophical Psychology 22 (2009) 187–204. 103 J.J. Pilch, "Jesus and the Eyewtinesses; Book Review," CBQ 70 (2008) 137–139, here 139 101

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Mediterranean background and willingness to "report what the readers will hear"? For example Kenneth Bailey, whose familiarity with things Mediterranean can hardly be doubted, has a more optimistic opinion of the trustworthiness of the culture.104 That there are differences between the actual episodes and the reports of them is a well-known dilemma in Western historical sciences. Anyone, even superficially familiar with human psychology, understands that people often report what others want to hear.105 Secondly, Pilch uses a modern day example (WMD reports in Iraq) to cast light over the gap of some two thousand years. To sum it up, this "Pilchian devaluation" of other scholars fails to convince as a serious scientific criticism and appears to me as a shortcut sometimes used to sweep away disturbing facts from contradicting one’s own favourite theory. Not only are some of Pilch’s arguments questionable, but reciting "Mediterranean" may, at worst, hide utterly simplistic interpretations of the culture. For example, van Aarde argues that Jesus was not married because there was no father to arrange the marriage. Otherwise very politely writing van Os calls the idea "nonsensical", and with good reason.106 According to life expectancy statistics van Os refers to, a third of the people had lost their fathers before age ten.107 In multidisciplinary research there is a danger of the oversimplification of the research situation and seeing consensuses where they do not exist. A hasty jump to the models and theories of one particular school risks leaving those better aware of the dynamics and heterogeneity in the research field unconvinced. Miller begins with the assumption that childhood and paternal relationship is connected with later performance in adulthood. However, there are dissenting voices against this axiom, such as that of Judith Rich Harris, who has argued strongly against this position and suggested that it is actually the peer groups that play the crucial role in the process of identity formation.108 Still another viewpoint is provided by those who regard genes and inherited attributes as decisive in determining how a personality develops.109 104

See K.E. Bailey, "Informed Controlled Oral Tradition and the Synoptic Gospels," Themelios 20 (1995) 4–11. 105 See the discussion inspired by and around the legendary study conducted by Solomon Asch. S.E. Asch, "Opinions and Social Pressure, Scientific American 193 (1955) 31–35. E.g. K. Mori and M. Arai, "No Need to Fake It: Reproduction of the Asch Experiment without Confederates," International Journal of Psychology 45 (2010) 390–397; and R. Friend, Y. Rafferty, and D. Bramel, "A Puzzling Misinterpretation of the Asch ‘Conformity’ Study," European Journal of Social Psychology 20 (1990) 29–44. 106 Van Os is one of those scholars who succeed in arguing convincingly without overly hostile rhetoric. 107 Van Os, Psychological (see n. 48), 24. 108 J.R. Harris, "The Outcome of Parenting: What Do We Really Know?" Journal of Personality 68 (2000) 625–637. 109 See e.g. D.C. Rowe, "As the Twig is Bent? The Myth of Child-Rearing Influences on Personality Development," Journal of Counceling & Development 68 (1990) 606–612.

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There is something reminiscent of this nature vs. nurture debate from developmental psychology in van Aarde’s and Miller’s approaches. The theory emphasizing the mamzer status and the shame it brought upon Jesus sees fatherlessness as an indirect factor in his personality formation. The shameful status caused discrimination and marginalized its bearer among the peers, thus having harmful effects on his personal development. According to van Aarde, it was this traumatizing marginalization that created those features in Jesus’ personality which actualised later in nurturing other oppressed and marginalized people.110 This, together with the fact that Jesus did not have a father to lead him from the feminine role of a child to masculine manhood, resulted in Jesus becoming "socially female". Given the central role of this idea in his theory, one of the most surprising social-scientific weaknesses in van Aarde’s presentation is his disregard of any empirical research on the psychology of bullying. Oyaziwo Aluede and others examined earlier research on bullying, concluding that those bullied suffer, for example, from poorer self-esteem and a higher level of depression and anxiety. Bullied persons are also described as more passive and submitting than others.111 In most reconstructions of the historical Jesus, these attributes do not fit into the picture. Schultz warns against making use of theories which lack empirical support and credibility in the field.112 It seems to me that van Aarde’s idea about a bullied mamzer becoming self-confident nurturer of the oppressed might count as an example of this fallacy. As the very basic rule in the philosophy of science points out, correlation does not automatically indicate causality. However, claiming causality without correlation defies both common sense and the very principles of science. The following analyzes three areas which are central to the plausiblity of the psychobiographical reconstructions of Jesus’ paternal relationship. 4.3 The Influence of the Father and Adult Behavior A bold challenge against the axioms of a prevailing paradigm, such as Harris’ criticism against reading correlation as causality in developmental psychology, contributes to the field of study at least by, hopefully, inspiring discussion. The clash of the paradigms often makes the field more nuanced, and the complexity of the issues under study more readily admitted among the scholars. As for personality psychology, it is rather legitimate to say that the 110

The central argument in Harris’ criticism against nurture-hypothesis concerns mixing correlation with causality. She argues that fatherlessness is connected to the poorer standard of living and thus non-beneficial growth environment, which would explain the poorer performance in life of the fatherless. (Harris, "The Outcome" [see n. 107].) 111 O. Aluede, F. Adeleke, D. Omoike, and J. Afen-Akpaida, "A Review of the Extent, Nature, Characteristics and Effects of Bullying Behaviour in Schools," Journal of Instructional Psychology 35 (2008) 151 –158, here 158. 112 Schultz, "Introduction" (see n. 7), 158.

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clash of paradigms have lead to some sort of a consensus where the development of personality is seen as a complex phenomenon where genes, peer groups and parents all influence the process. 113 While by no means the only and perhaps not even the dominant factor, the influence of a father on a child’s personality development is supported by an impressive amount of empirical research.114 For example, Stein and others analysed the correlation between 501 runaway teenagers’ deviant behavior and their parental relationship.115 It was found that the quality of the paternal relationship correlated, among other things, with lower drug use and a lower degree of delinquent behavior. This seems to support the idea that paternal influence cannot be explained away with non-causal correlatives like a lower standard of living or a poorer growth environment. There is also strong empirical support for a positive paternal relationship contributing to the later success in a child’s life.116 Boys with good paternal relationship have better self-esteem, self-concept and they are socioemotionally more competent.117 It 113 See for example W.A. Collins, E.E. Maccoby, Laurence Steinberg, E.M. Hetherington, and M.H. Bornstein, "Contemporary Research on Parenting: The Case for Nature and Nurture," American Psychologist 55 (2000) 218–232; and A. Sarkadi, R. Kristiansson, F. Oberklaid and S. Bremberg, "Fathers’ Involvement and Children’s Developmental Outcomes: A Systematic Review of Longitudinal Studies," Acta Paediatrica 97 (2008) 153–158. See also Rowe, known as a proponent of the genetic explanation of behaviour, who points out, "This is not to say that parents have no influence on their children. Parents can and do have an impact on their children, but it may be neither on the big personality traits, such as extraversion and neuroticism, nor on intellectual traits such as verbal ability, nor on severe forms of psychopathology, such as schizophrenia." ("As the Twig" [see n. 109], 608) 114 Cf. T.L. Goodsell, J.T. Meldrum, "Nurturing Fathers: A Qualitative Examination of Child-Father Attachment," Early Child Development & Care 180 (2010) 249–262. 115 J.A. Stein, N.G. Milburn, J.I. Zane and M.J. Rotheram-Borus, "Paternal and Maternal Influencess on Problem Behaviors Among Homeless and Runaway Youth," American Journal of Orthopsychometry 79 (2009) 39–50. 116 According to H. Geddes, "There is considerable research and comment concerning the role and importance of fathers which indicates that ‘positive’ father involvement is associated with more desirable outcomes for children and young people and in education and achievement in particular." ("Reflections on the Role and Significance of Fathers in Relation to Emotional Development and Learning," British Journal of Guidance & Counseling 36 [2008] 399–409, here 402). So also Sarkadi et al. who after a meta-analysis conclude that, "There is evidence to support the positive influence of father engagement on offspring social, behavioural and psychological outcomes." (A. Sarkadi, R. Kristiansson, F. Oberklaid and S. Bremberg, "Fathers’ Involvement and Children’s Developmental Outcomes: A Systematic Review of Longitudinal Studies," Acta Paediatrica 97 [2008] 153–58, here 153). 117 T.S. Parish and J.C. Taylor, "The Impact of Divorce and Subsequent Father Absence on Children’s and Adolescent’s Self-Concepts," Journal of Youth and Adolescence 8 (1979) 427–432; K. Jones, "Assessing Psychological Separation and Academic Performance in Nonresident-Father and Resident-Father Adolescent Boys," Child & Adolescent Social Work 21 (2004) 333–54; and P.A. Foster, M. Reese-Weber and J.H. Kahn, "Father’s Parenting Hassles and Coping: Associations with Emotional Expressiveness and Their Sons’ Socioemotional Competence," Infant & Child Development 16 (2007) 277–93.

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is also interesting that the presence of a father-figure (not necessarily the biological father) has a positive influence on a child’s self-esteem. In one study there was no significant difference found between the self-esteem of children who lived with their biological father and those who lived with a stepfather.118 On the other hand, the absence of a father has been found to correlate with a higher rate of delinquency, use of drugs and alcohol, and an increased level of psychiatric problems and behavioral difficulties.119 The effect seems to be different between boys and girls as shown, for instance, by Mandara and Murray, who found that a father’s absence correlated with drug use among adolescent boys, but not among girls.120 Perhaps the most important finding in modern empirical research for the question at hand is the relation between empathy and paternal relationship. The children with present fathers seem to be more empathic towards others and feel that they had some amount of control over their own life.121 That the ever-so-slippery accusation of the Western bias of modern psychology does not demolish these results is suggested, for example, by a study among the Australian aboriginals. This study showed that boys initiated younger if they had paternal support.122 When the profile of Jesus of Nazareth is reconstructed on the basis of what a scholar considers to be the most convincing historical method, it is possible to compare this "Jesus" to the probabilistic outcome of given paternal relationship. I would suggest that in most Jesus reconstructions, the prophet from Nazareth is socio-emotionally competent with emphaticism combined with relatively high self-confidence and self-esteem.123 While he nurtured 118 Parish and Taylor, "The Impact" (see n. 112). According to Jones the presence of the father in son’s life correlated with morality, social development, peer relations and self esteem. The absence of father was related to delinquent behaviour, use of alcohol, increased level of psychiatric problems, and behavioral difficulties. See Jones, "Assessing" (see n.112), 337. For the relationship between nurturing habits and the development of self-esteem, see W. Tafarodi, N. Wild, and C. Ho, "Parental Authority, Nurturance, and Two-Dimensional Self-Esteem," Scandinavian Journal of Psychology 51 (2010) 294–303. 119 K. Jones, "Assessing Psychological Separation and Acadeic Performance in Nonresident-Father and Resident-Father Adolescent Boys," Child & Adolescent Social Work 21 (2004) 333–354, here 337. See also C.C. Harper & S.S. McLanahan, "Father Absence and Youth Incarceration," Journal of Research on Adolescence 14 (2004) 369–397. 120 J. Mandara & C.B. Murray, "Father’s Absence and African American Adolescent Drug Use," Journal of Divorce & Remarriage 46 (2006) 1–12. 121 J. Fagan & A. Iglesias, "Father Involvement Program Effects on Fathers, Father Figures, and their Head Start Children: A Quasi-Experimental Study," Early Childhood Research Quarterly 14 (1999) 243–269. 122 B.A. Scelza, "Father’s Presence Speeds the Social and Reproductive Careers of Sons" Current Anthropology 51 (2010) 295–303. The deeply traumatizing effects of the undisclosed identity of the absent father in non-Western context are demonstrated in M. Nduna and R. Jewkes, "Undisclosed Paternal Identity in Narratives of Distress Among Young People in Eastern Cape, South Africa," Journal of Child & Family Studies 20 (2011) 303–310. 123 Hubbard and Coie define socioemotional competence as "the social outcomes that children achieve including having friends, being popular or liked by other children, and

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children, patriarchless women and social outcasts, he also had the selfconfidence and cognitive abilities to lead a group of young men, to attract large crowds and to frequently challenge the ruling religious authorities. Miller’s theory of Jesus’ warm and secure relationship with Joseph is more plausible than van Aarde’s absent father –theory when evaluated within the framework of empirical research on the subject. 4.4 Jesus in a Woman’s Role? Van Aarde sees Jesus as a "social female", who did not have a father-figure to guide him from childhood to adult masculinity. Before the actual argument is analysed, it may be useful to pay attention to some curious features in Jesus’ ministry as they appear in the Canonical gospels concerning his ambiguous sex role. Perhaps the most striking detail is the way Jesus relates to women with questionable sexual reputations.124 Against the cultural background, it could be claimed that Jesus has adopted, at least to a degree, a female role due to the fact that he steps into the private space of women. The exceptionality of Jesus’ behaviour with women is well indicated in the reaction of his disciples when they see Jesus at the well of Sychar with a Samaritan woman.125 According to the fourth evangelist, the disciples asks a poignant question: "Why does he talk with a woman?" The independent tradition about Jesus and the woman who was caught in adultery also depicts Jesus as more or less indifferent to the sexual sin of a woman.126 Could Jesus find it so easy to socialize with the women due to him lacking initiation to the masculine adult world? Despite this exceptional attitude towards female privacy, the theory van Aarde suggests hardly stands up under closer scrutiny. First, as van Os points out, the study van Aarde uses to support his theory is not readily compatible with the context of Jesus.127 Not much is known about sleeping arrangements in the 1st century Galilee, male genitals were not "brutally handled" in bar mitzhva initiation rites and historical records are short of non-initiated and outcast nurturing feminine males.128 Secondly, while Jesus’ public role seems to have broken gender boundaries, it is very likely that his inclusive approach engaging in effective social interaction with peers". (J.A. Hubbard and J.D. Coie, "Emotional Correlates of Social Competence in Children’s Peer Relationships," Merril-Palmer Quarterly 40 [1994] 1–20). 124 For example, in Luke 7:15–36 and par. an anonymous woman anoints Jesus’ feet in a sexually suggestive manner and Luke identifies her quite clearly as a prostitute. See J.B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids 1997), I. Avaren, Sex Working and the Bible (London 2009) 120–165, and K. Corley, "The Anointing of Jesus in the Synoptic Tradition: An Argument for Authenticity," JSHJ 1 (2003) 61–73. 125 John 4:1–42. 126 About the tradition, see G.M. Burge, "A Specific Problem in the New Testament Text and Canon: The Woman Caught in Adultery," JETS 27 (1984) 141–148. 127 Van Os, "Psychological" (see n. 50) 24. 128 Of course the disclaimer "as far as I know" must be attached to this kind of claim.

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to "the sinners" would be somewhat unfamiliar to the women of Galilee as well. Again, the historical records are silent on women who would fight against "class hierarchies of Galilee". Thirdly, the very fact that Jesus had a public role is problematic for van Aarde’s hypothesis. As Jerome Neyrey demonstrates, the women were active in private space while the public space was almost exclusively for males.129 Had Jesus identified with the women and acted in accordance with his non-initiated role, he should have remained in the private space instead of becoming a most public figure. How could Jesus adopt a woman’s role when acting in public if there was no such role as "a public woman" in the first place? Fourthly, while a number of studies suggest that women are somewhat more empathic than men, there certainly are highly empathic men.130 Thus it would be questionable to claim, on the basis of Jesus’ sympathetic behaviour, that he was in the role of a woman. Likewise, it would not be justified to claim that Jesus could not be feminine because he acted aggressively in the temple and, according to empirical studies, men are more aggressive than women.131 Finally, there are rather clear traits of empathy and sympathy in the prophetic tradition of the Hebrew Bible.132 This is significant for at least two reasons. First, it shows that there was an empathic ethos in masculine religiosity, which formed the context for writing the prophetic scriptures. Secondly, these texts could inspire and confirm empathic behaviour among those Jewish men who read, heard and meditated them, as Jesus in all likelihood did.133 While some features in Jesus’ activity crossed conventional gender barriers, there are serious problems in van Aarde’s theory that Jesus’ salient public identity would be female due to lack of initiation to masculine adulthood. 129 J. Neyrey, "What's Wrong With This Picture? John 4, Cultural Stereotypes of Women, and Public and Private Space," Biblical Theology Bulletin 24 (1994) 77–91. 130 L. Toussaint and J. R. Webb, "Gender Differences in the Relationship Between Empathy and Forgiveness," Journal of Social Psychology 145 (2005) 673–685. This study showed that while women are more empathetic than men, there is no difference in the forgiveness of sexes. For a complexity of the issue at hand, see e.g. M. Silfver and K. Helkama, "Empathy, Guilt, and Gender: A Comparison of Two Measures of Guilt," Scandinavian Journal of Psychology 48 (2007) 239–246. 131 According to Campbell, "Laboratory studies, cross-cultural research, archaeological analysis, psychometric inventories, observational studies and crime statistics all affirm that men as a sex are more physically and verbally aggressive than women." (A. Campbell, "Intent to Harm or Injure? Gender and the Expression of Anger," Aggressive Behavior 34 [2008] 282–293, here 282). 132 For a concise but informative presentation of God’s mercifulness in the Hebrew Bible, see A. Kaplan, "The Judaic View of God," Judaism 33 (1984) 402–415, esp. 410-414. 133 For Jesus’ literacy, see C.A. Evans, "Jewish Scripture and the Literacy of Jesus," in From Biblical Criticism to Biblical Faith (ed. C.A. Evans and W.H. Brackney; Macon: 2007) 41–54. Even if Jesus could not read, which is improbable, it is possible that he meditated and identified with the biblical narratives and prophecies. See also T. Hägerland’s article in this volume.

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4.5 The Parable of the Prodigal Son Miller refers to the figure of an older man frequently appearing in the parables Jesus told. He sees this benevolent figure as a reflection of the positive fatherrelation of Jesus. The parable of the prodigal son is perhaps the most prominent story in this respect. The father in the parable – empathic, loving, forgiving, diplomatic and quick to express his warm emotions – perfectly fills the role of an ideal father according to modern empirical research. That the character in all his emotionality is not unstable or weak is evident in the authority he exercises as the head of the household. However, there are two important questions to be resolved when the story is used for psychoprofiling Jesus. The first concerns the origin of the story. Is the prodigal son a creation of an anonymous early Christ-believer or the evangelist, or did Jesus himself first tell it? The second question is whether it is justified to claim that only (or mostly) people with personal experience of a loving father can describe a father as it is done in the parable of the prodigal son. As for the origin of the parable, suffice it to refer Ollilainen’s study, where he concludes that the parable is of Jesuanic origin.134 I proceed with this assumption as the working hypothesis. In what follows, three different explanations for the character of the father are briefly analysed from the psychological point of view. First, could the loving father of the prodigal be a subconscious wish of a fatherless Jesus? That would more or less fit into van Aarde’s theory of Jesus projecting his traumatic longing for a loving father on God. While the theory is not totally without appeal, it would be curious that hardly any more of this longing is found in the forty or so parables in the gospels. The explanation would also demand, from the rhetorical point of view, that Jesus is describing God with the father character, this being questioned by some as will be seen. Furthermore, had Jesus the mamzer projected the traumatic childhood of his as a despised outsider to the story, a strong defence for his status could perhaps be expected instead of an overly emotional and diplomatic father. Secondly, could the father be a created figure whose characteristics are needed for the plot of the story in a patriarchal culture? In this scenario, the father would be a carefully premeditated character, which Jesus wanted to use to emphasize the love of God or love of man. Certainly a person without an experience of a father can construct a fictive ideal father, at least in a Western culture where this comes close to being some kind of a cultural archetype. As for the modern psychology, it has been found in empirical research that men may compensate their negative experiences of their own fathers with affec-

134

V. Ollilainen, Jesus and the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Åbo 2008). The authenticity of the parable is questioned for instance by H. Räisänen, "The Prodigal Son in a Far Country: Finnish Scholars Read Luke’s Parable," in Voces Clamantium (see n. 69), 267–280.

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tionate attitudes towards their sons.135 This means that people with a negative fathering experience do have an idea about what a good and affectionate father could be like and behave accordingly. On the other hand, that authors seem to react to their troublesome father-experiences by ignoring fathers in the narratives they create may speak against the idea.136 If a father would be a strong and practical rhetorical device, it would be worth asking why he is not in the parables more often. The third explanation is in accordance with Miller’s theory. Jesus is describing the behaviour and character of the father on the basis of his very own experience. If the parable is regarded as comparable to literature and then compared to the way the characters in modern literature are analysed in relation to the authors’ lives, "the good father of the prodigal" may be worth giving attention as a possible reflection of Jesus’ own paternal relationship.137 Lauri Thurén suggests that the father in the story is not so much "God" but a Pharisee, the listener of the parable, the point being that "don’t we all do like this when our prodigal sons come back to us?"138 Should Thurén’s interpretation be accepted, it would practically demand a warm and empathic relationship between Jesus and his father.139 If the behaviour of the father is presented as self-evident for an average Galilean, it must have been Jesus’ experience of his father as well. This is well in accordance with Miller’s point about the generally positive depiction of old male figures in the parables of Jesus.

135

M.T. Morman and K. Floyd, "Affectionate Received from Fathers as a Predictor of Men’s Affection with Their Own Sons: Tests of the Modelling and Compensation Hypothesis," Communication Monographs 67 (2000) 347–361. 136 See e.g., J.M. Armengol-Carrera, "Where Are Fathers in American Literature? Revisiting Fatherhood in U.S. Literary History," The Journal of Men’s Studies 16 (2008) 211– 226. 137 See for instance, T.T. Green, A Fatherless Child: Autobiographical Perspectives of African American Men (Columbia 2009). 138 L. Thurén, "Jeesuksen vertaukset uudessa valossa – Tuhlaajapojan isä olikin fariseus!" n. p. [cited 2 April 2012] Online: http://www.teologia.fi/index. 139 About the associative connection between a father and God, see T. Freeman, "Psychoanalytic Concepts of Fatherhood: Patriarchal Paradoxes and the Presence of an Absent Authority," Studies in Gender & Sexuality 9 (2008) 113–139. On page 117 he points out, "From a cultural perspective, the psychoanalytic conceptualization of the symbolic role of the father clearly carries strong religious overtones, with the omnipotence of God, the procreator, providing an archetypal metaphor of a materially absent yet symbolically present father.".

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5. Conclusion While much has changed both within New Testament scholarship and psychological studies after Schweitzer wrote his critical book on the psychopathological analyses of the historical Jesus, his two essential considerations are to be taken into account whenever psychological studies of the historical Jesus are made. The first is the methodologically sound and critical analysis of the source material at hand. The second is finding a proper theory with sufficient empirical support to explain the phenomena found in the data. In this article, two psychohistorical theories concerning the paternal relationship of Jesus were examined with these concerns in mind. According to Adries van Aarde’s suggestion, Jesus did not have any father or father-figure in his childhood or adolescence. This lack of a father was later seen in Jesus’ life in the lack of guidance into adult masculinity and in his subsequent mother-like behaviour. The second theory under scrutiny was John W. Miller’s reconstruction where Joseph, mentioned in Matthew, Luke and John, was the warm and emotionally close biological father of Jesus, this being later seen in the way Jesus spoke about children and fathers as well as father-figures. In the analysis, van Aarde’s case for the non-historicity of Joseph was found unconvincing. While Miller’s theory seemed to be based on a more solid exegetical research, it may have ignored the traditional material and details behind the Matthean and Lucan infancy narratives. Instead of these reconstructions, it was suggested that Joseph perhaps was not the biological father of Jesus, but played the role of a father-figure by practically adopting Jesus. This could explain the origin of the idea which was later conceptualised as a virginal conception in some early Christian circles, but also the evident presence of Joseph in the childhood of Jesus. As for the psychological theories used in explaining the data, the approach of van Aarde was found somewhat problematic due to the status of the social psychological theory he applied. It was further demonstrated that a rather broad array of empirical research within developmental psychology actually speaks against the probability of van Aarde’s combination of a traumatic childhood with highly emphatic behaviour, high self-esteem and selfconfidence as adult. Miller’s psychological analysis, even though some axioms like the status of psychoanalytical approach may be questioned, was found in most respects meaningful and well in accordance with the empirical research on the effects of a paternal relationship on human behaviour. While psychological theories are usually generalizations and dealing with probabilities, it may be maintained that the idea of Jesus having a good and warm relationship with Joseph rather well meets the demands of a solid psychobiographical explanation.

A Prophet like Elijah or according to Isaiah? Rethinking the Identity of Jesus Tobias Hägerland

1. The Emerging Elijah-Like Jesus of John Meier In his monumental project A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, John P. Meier has chosen to enter the hermeneutical circle from the "detailed side," assessing each item of the gospel tradition by his criteria of authenticity, and only gradually building up a holistic portrait of Jesus from the authenticated details.1 It is getting increasingly clear that Meier finds the paradigm for the shaping of Jesus’ identity in Jesus’ applying to himself early Jewish understandings of the prophet Elijah. Meier himself has remarked that he did not have this idea at the outset of the project, that it began to crystallize only in the second volume of his work and that it was then confirmed at several points by the results presented in the third volume.2 As a matter of fact, in the first volume, The Roots of the Problem and the Person (1991), Meier connects Elijah typology not with Jesus, but with John the Baptist, suggesting that "[i]n his radical itinerant prophetic ministry, John may have consciously been imitating Elijah, an OT itinerant prophet of judgment."3 After this, one gets the impression that John decreases and Jesus increases as a candidate for the role of the eschatological Elijah. When discussing the Baptist at greater length in the second volume, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (1994), Meier clarifies that he does "not see enough historical evidence to support the claim that John… saw himself as playing the role of Elijah in the end time,"4 and in the 1

J.P. Meier, The Roots of the Problem and the Person, Vol. 1 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1991); J.P. Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles, Vol. 2 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1994); J.P. Meier, Companions and Competitors, Vol. 3 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 2001); J.P. Meier, Law and Love, Vol. 4 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (AYBRL; New Haven 2009). 2 J.P. Meier, "From Elijah-like Prophet to Royal Davidic Messiah," in Jesus: A Colloquium in the Holy Land (ed. D. Donnelly; New York 2001) 45–83, here 45–46. 3 Meier, The Roots of the Problem (see n. 1), 340. 4 Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 90, n. 138.

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third volume, Companions and Competitors (2001), he points out a number of Elijah-like characteristics present in Jesus but absent from John.5 Jesus, and not John, acted in manners reminiscent of Elijah. There is a seemingly small, yet very important, shift in perspective between the second and third volumes of the series – a shift that Meier himself has left uncommented. In Mentor, Message, and Miracles, Meier suggests that some of Jesus’ miracles "would almost inevitably remind pious Jews of the miracles of Elijah and Elisha,"6 and since "Elijah was the eschatological prophet par excellence… [Jesus] would naturally be connected with Elijah rather than Elisha."7 So far, Meier seems to conceive of the eschatological Elijah as a role that others gave to Jesus. In Companions and Competitors, he goes much further: Meier now claims that Jesus "consciously presented himself to Israel in the likeness of Elijah."8 This was a "deliberately chosen image,"9 the "role that Jesus chose for himself,"10 "the self-image intentionally projected by the historical Jesus."11 The difference in language expresses a real change in perception. Jesus, Meier thinks by the end of the third volume, actively strove to be the eschatological Elijah. Having listed a number of features in Jesus’ career that purportedly evoke the image of Elijah, Meier sums up: If the historical record had contained only one of these elements, one might question Jesus’ intention of evoking the image of Elijah. But the convergence of so many different carefully chosen, programmatic actions inevitably creates a Gestalt, a complex configuration of interrelated elements that clearly bespeaks the intention of Jesus to present himself to his fellow Jews as the Elijah-like prophet of the end time.12

In my opinion, despite the many elements of similarity between Jesus and Elijah identified by Meier, there is still reason to question his conclusion about the intention and identity of Jesus. I hope to demonstrate the weakness of the "Elijah-like Jesus" hypothesis by assessing individually the five points of similarity on which Meier builds his case, namely the following: (1) Jesus’ performance of miracles, especially the raising of dead people;13 (2) his itinerant style of ministry, located primarily in northern Israel;14 (3) his habit of

5

Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 91–92. Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 699. 7 Ibid., 1045. 8 Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 48. 9 Ibid., 48. 10 Ibid., 495. 11 Ibid., 497. 12 Ibid., 623–624. 13 Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 1044; Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 623. 14 Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 1044–1045; Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 623. 6

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communicating his message in speaking rather than in writing;15 (4) his calling of disciples;16 (5) his commissioning of the Twelve to symbolize the restoration of the tribes of Israel.17 In his most recent volume, Law and Love (2009), Meier proposes that Jesus’ self-professed authority to interpret the Torah may have been a sixth aspect of Jesus’ mission modelled on expectations for the eschatological Elijah, but since Meier himself acknowledges this suggestion to be "a conjecture," I will not pursue it any further here.18 It will become clear in the following that my objection to Meier’s interpretation of the evidence is prompted by three reasons. First of all, two of the characteristics supposedly connecting Jesus and Elijah seem to be quite general traits of early Jewish prophecy and thus cannot be invoked to establish this precise connection. Secondly, as was pointed out by Markus Öhler subsequently to the publication of Mentor, Message, and Miracles, Meier appears to overlook the distinction between the earthly Elijah and the eschatological Elijah, integrating aspects of both into the Elijah-like image with which Jesus is presumed to have identified.19 Thirdly, the distinction between the formative and interpretative functions of the figure of Elijah is neglected. To my mind, only Meier’s fifth point could reasonably be taken as an indication of Jesus’ intention to play the role of the returning Elijah or "the Elijah-like prophet of the end time." Even in this case, however, an alternative explanation is possible and, I think, preferable.

2. Illiteracy and Itinerancy – Elements Not Specifically Associated with Elijah Two of the elements pointed out by Meier connect Jesus with the biblical picture of the earthly Elijah – that is, with the stories about the ninth-century prophet – but only in a very general way. Like Elijah, Jesus delivered his prophecies in speaking rather than in writing; like Elijah, Jesus was an itinerant prophet, whose mission was concentrated to Galilee. Neither of the elements is associated with the return of Elijah in early Jewish literature, and in neither case is it plausible that the image of Elijah exerted a formative influence on Jesus’ mission as a prophet.

15

Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 1045. Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 48–49, 247, 623. 17 Ibid., 623. 18 Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1), 656–657. 19 M. Öhler, Elia im Neuen Testament: Untersuchungen zur Bedeutung des alttestamentlichen Propheten im frühen Christentum (BZNW 88; Berlin 1997) 248–249. 16

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2.1 Elijah and Jesus as Oral Prophets The fact that Jesus seems only to have prophesied by word of mouth, and not in writing, is not surprising. For all the prophets of old, oral communication had been the primary medium, although some of them – who were later to be known as "literary prophets" – also had their oracles written down in books. Instances of prophets communicating their message through the written medium, such as those imagined in the Book of Baruch and the Letter of Jeremiah, are rare exceptions to the rule that prophecy is delivered through speaking or acting, but not through writing. Moreover, we do not know of any early Jewish prophets who did not deliver their message orally. This is true even of those prophets who belonged to the upper strata of society and who exercised their abilities as an expression either of their priestly status or of their recognized skill as interpreters of the Scriptures. These "professional prophets" were probably well trained in reading and writing.20 Nevertheless, Jaddua the high priest (Ant. XI.328), John Hyrcanus I (Ant. XIII.283), Samaias/Pollion the Pharisee (Ant. XIV.172–174; XV.4), Menahem the Essene (Ant. XV.373–378), Simon the Essene (Bell. II.113), Joseph Caiaphas (John 11:49–50) and Flavius Josephus (Bell. III.400– 402) all prophesied orally, and there is no record of any prophet having delivered their message through, for example, a book or a letter. With popular prophets, who may have had only some rudimentary understanding of how to write, or who may even have been completely illiterate, the oral means of communication naturally suggests itself. The first-century "leadership popular prophets" must have appealed to orally delivered oracles in order to gain a following among the masses.21 In this category we find the preaching of John the Baptist (Mark 1:7–8; Q 3:7–9; cf. Ant. XVIII.118) as well as the fatal oracle of an unnamed prophet at the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem (Bell. VI.285). So-called "solitary popular prophets," such as those emerging in Jerusalem during Herod’s siege in 37 CE (Bell. I.347) and then shortly before the destruction of the city in 70 CE (Bell. VI.286) also prophesied by word of mouth. Especially noteworthy here are, of course, the irritating oracles of doom against Jerusalem delivered by Jesus son of Ananias (Bell. VI.300–309), whom Josephus explicitly brands as being among "the commoners" or "uneducated people" (τῶν ἰδιωτῶν).

20 See T. Hägerland, Jesus and the Forgiveness of Sins: An Aspect of His Prophetic Mission (SNTSMS 150; Cambridge 2012) 203–204. This builds on the earlier work of D.E. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids, MI 1983) 138–152; R.A. Horsley, "‘Like One of the Prophets of Old’: Two Types of Popular Prophets at the Time of Jesus," CBQ 47 (1985) 435–463; R.L. Webb, John the Baptizer and Prophet: A Socio-Historical Study (JSNTS 62; Sheffield 1991) 307–348. 21 Webb, John the Baptizer (see n. 20), 315.

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Jesus himself belongs to the category of leadership popular prophets.22 Whether he was at all able to read and write is uncertain. Some have suggested that Jesus in all probability was illiterate, granted the generally low rate of literacy among the masses in antiquity.23 Others claim that not only the Scripture-oriented character of early Jewish culture, but also the actual evidence that we do have for Jesus’ literacy, point to the likelihood that he was in fact able to read and write.24 Even if the latter stance is accepted, the level of Jesus’ literacy is very difficult to assess, and may have been so already to his contemporaries.25 At any rate, most would agree that Jesus probably lacked any formal, higher education.26 Consequently, there is reason to doubt that Jesus faced any real choice concerning the form of communication that was available to him. Writing was hardly an option for a first-century Jewish prophet, especially for one who was not a trained scribe. Jesus’ oral preaching, then, cannot be taken as an indication of his "intention" to play the role of Elijah; nor is it likely that his contemporaries would have identified it as a specifically Elijah-like trait. 2.2 Elijah and Jesus as Travelling Prophets Meier also finds a point of similarity between Jesus and Elijah in the itinerant character of their respective ministries, both of which were concentrated to Galilee. To begin with the geographical location of the two missions, it is again doubtful if the convergence could indeed have resulted from Jesus’ intention to imitate Elijah. After all, Jesus was a Galilean by birth. Moreover, neither Elijah nor Jesus restricted their field of activity to the North. Elijah’s travels took him far beyond the Northern Kingdom: to Zarephath (1 Kgs 17:8– 10), Jericho (2 Kgs 2:4), Damascus (1 Kgs 19:15), Beer-Sheba (19:3), even Mt. Horeb (19:8)! Jesus saw it fit to address his fellow Israelites not only in Galilee, but also in Judea and Jerusalem; if the Gospel of John should be con22 R.A. Horsley, "Popular Prophetic Movements at the Time of Jesus: Their Principal Features and Social Origins," JSNT 26 (1986) 3–27, here 21–22; Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 21–27. 23 J.D. Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (New York 1994) 25–26; P.F. Craffert and P.J.J. Botha, "Why Jesus Could Walk on the Sea but He Could not Read and Write: Reflections on Historicity and Interpretation in Historical Jesus Research," Neot 39 (2005) 5– 35, here 21–31. 24 P. Foster, "Educating Jesus: The Search for a Plausible Context," JSHJ 4 (2006) 7–33; Craig A. Evans, "Jewish Scripture and the Literacy of Jesus," in From Biblical Criticism to Biblical Faith (ed. W.H. Brackney and C.A. Evans; FS L.M. McDonald; Macon, GA 2007) 41–54. 25 C. Keith, "The Claim of John 7.15 and the Memory of Jesus’ Literacy," NTS 56 (2010) 44–63. 26 Meier, The Roots of the Problem (see n. 1), 276–278. Cf. the cautious suggestion to the contrary made by T. Vegge, "The Literacy of Jesus the Carpenter’s Son: On the Literary Style in the Words of Jesus," ST 59 (2005) 19–37, here 30–32.

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sidered more accurate historically in its framework than the synoptic Gospels, Jesus repeatedly visited Jerusalem and its vicinity. The itinerant character itself of Jesus’ mission is more likely to have been deliberate. Jesus apparently viewed a peripatetic existence to be part of his calling, as expressed most clearly in the saying about a prophet’s dishonour in his hometown (Mark 6:4 parr.; John 4:44; Gos. Thom. 31:1).27 His model for this roaming activity may certainly have been Elijah, but there are other candidates. According to Sean Freyne, the precedent for Jesus’ journeys through the idealized territory of the Promised Land is Abraham’s nomadic lifestyle.28 Another option is Jonah, the prophet whose preaching Jesus associated with his own message according to Q 11:29–30, 32.29 An itinerant ministry is not specifically Elijah-like. We may also note that travels were undertaken or planned by several leadership popular prophets in the first century. For example, Theudas in the 40s led his followers towards the Jordan (Ant. XX.97–98); a group of prophets during Felix persuaded the masses to follow them into the desert (Bell. II.259; Ant. XX.167–68), as did another unnamed prophet during Festus (Ant. XX.188); and the Egyptian prophet of the 50s marched through the desert to the Mount of Olives with the aim of besieging and conquering Jerusalem (Bell. II.261–62; Ant. XX.169; Acts 21:38). As already mentioned, Meier earlier pointed to the similarity of John the Baptist’s roaming mission to Elijah’s career (Mark 1:4–5; Q 7:24–26; John 3:23). Whereas none of these prophets was evidently itinerant in the durable and consistent manner of Jesus, they all practiced some form of instabilitas loci that was evocative of scriptural paradigms and that proved attractive to the crowds. Gerd Theissen has proposed that a more direct, historical impetus for Jesus’ itinerant mission and his appointment of messengers is the activity of Judas the Galilean (Bell. II.118; Ant. XVIII.23; Acts 5:37). Theissen sees reason to believe that Judas’ propagation of his radical, theocratic and anti-Roman message took the form of an itinerant ministry with some external resemblance to that of Cynic philosophers. In a manner similar to that of Judas, Jesus would have aimed to spread a message centred on the kingdom of God, but without the militant overtones of Judas’ campaign. For this purpose, he organized a mission that largely imitated, but at some crucial points differed from, that of

27 J.R. Michaels, "The Itinerant Jesus and His Home Town," in Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (ed. B. Chilton and C.A. Evans; NTTS 28:2; Leiden 1999) 177–93, here 188– 189. 28 S. Freyne, Jesus, a Jewish Galilean: A New Reading of the Jesus-Story (London 2004) 69, 75, 83–84, 90–91. 29 G. Theissen, "Jesus as an Itinerant Teacher: Reflections from Social History on Jesus’ Roles," in Jesus Research: An International Perspective: The First Princeton-Prague Symposium on Jesus Research, Prague 2005 (ed. J.H. Charlesworth and P. Pokorný; PrincetonPrague Symposia Series on the Historical Jesus 1; Grand Rapids 2009) 98–122, here 108.

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Judas.30 Whether Theissen’s intriguing hypothesis hits the mark or not, it is clear that travelling was not only widespread among first-century Jewish prophets, but was also a natural strategy for non-prophetic teachers like Judas the Galilean, who wanted their message to reach the broad population as efficiently as possible. The case for Jesus’ Elijah-like identity cannot be built on such a general characteristic of his mission.

3. Miracles and Mentorship – Elements Associated with the Earthly Elijah Two other features seem to connect Jesus and Elijah in a more specific way. Jesus had the reputation of being a performer of miracles of the kind that Elijah was thought to have worked, and Jesus called disciples in a manner reminiscent of how Elijah called Elisha to be his disciple. Of these features, only the latter could possibly be part of an intentional strategy to imitate Elijah, and neither of them is associated with the return of Elijah. 3.1 Elijah and Jesus as Miracle-Working Prophets The Hebrew Bible narrates how Elijah the prophet worked miracles during his lifetime (1 Kgs 17:8–16, 17–24; 2 Kgs 1:12; 2:8). His fame as a miracleworker was not diminished in the first century. Josephus dwells more extensively on the miracle-working capability of Elisha than on that of Elijah (Ant. IX.58, 60, 182), but he also acknowledges that Elijah performed miracles that served to verify him as a true prophet (Ant. VIII.327). In Josephus’ terminology, such miracles are "wondrous deeds" (παράδοξα ἔργα or simply παράδοξα).31 Apart from Jesus of Nazareth, none of the early Jewish prophets whom we know from Josephus is explicitly said to have worked "wondrous deeds" of this kind. Many of the popular prophets promised that some miraculous event was about to occur. At least in the cases of Theudas and the Egyptian, these miracles were also expected to happen through the active agency of the respective prophet (Ant XX.97, 170).32 But these two prophets, and presumably also the other leadership prophets mentioned by Josephus, appear to have expected a single, grandiose miracle; they did not, as far as Josephus tells, aim at a career of repeatedly performing "wondrous deeds." Thus, the performance of miracles is a distinctive trait of Jesus’ mission that does associate him specifically with Elijah and Elisha. 30

Theissen, "Jesus" (see n. 29), 109–116. See E. Eve, The Jewish Context of Jesus’ Miracles (JSNTS 231; London 2002) 28–29. 32 R. Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine: The Evidence from Josephus (Oxford 1993) 116–118, convincingly argues that Ant. XX.170 is more historically reliable than Bell. II.262. 31

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In Mentor, Message, and Miracles, Meier cautiously concludes that Jesus’ miracles "would naturally conjure up thoughts of Elijah and Elisha."33 This is entirely plausible. The memory of Elijah functions in a similar way in the literary interpretations of the miracle-workers Honi the Circle Drawer and Hanina ben Dosa; in the case of Honi, the Tosefta brings to overt expression the analogy with Elijah that is implicit in the Mishna.34 The interpretation of Jesus as an Elijah-like prophet probably began already in his lifetime. People suggested that he might be Elijah, presumably because of his reputation as a miracle-worker (Mark 6:15; 8:28), and it is not unlikely that Jesus himself was aware of the similarities. Commenting on Jesus’ reply to John the Baptist’s question concerning his identity as "the coming one" in Q 7:22, Meier acknowledges that the references to lepers being cleansed and dead people being raised may echo the miracles of Elijah and Elisha, but he also remarks that "Jesus is first of all speaking of what he has done and only secondarily clothing it in scriptural language." 35 Put differently, the Elijah-Elisha motif had an interpretative function in relation to Jesus’ career as a miracle-worker. However, in Companions and Competitors, Meier argues differently: here, Jesus’ performance of miracles is one of the "carefully chosen, programmatic actions" that reveal his intention to present himself as the Elijah-like prophet;36 in other words, the Elijah-Elisha motif had a formative influence on Jesus. In essence, Meier here reasons similarly to A.E. Harvey, who, while viewing the prophecies of Isaiah rather than the figure of Elijah as the real background of Jesus’ profile as a miracle-worker, suggested that Jesus had a "motive and intention in choosing" to perform miracles of a certain kind.37 Ed Sanders’s criticism of Harvey is worth quoting: [T]he greatest difficulty with Harvey’s argument is that he considers the selection of miracles to reflect Jesus’ intention… as if Jesus had at his disposal any number of miracles that he could perform and selected just those which pointed to the coming new age… It seems much more likely that Jesus performed those miracles which came to hand. Once one grants that Jesus healed, the prominence of cures of the lame, the dumb and the blind is not surprising. Those diseases respond to faith-healing, and they are quite frequent in pagan sources… The miracles will not tell us what Jesus had in mind.38

33

Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 1044; see also 199 n. 90. H. Lichtenberger, "Elia-Traditionen bei vor- bzw. frührabbinischen Wundertätern," in Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Yearbook 2008: Biblical Figures in Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature (ed. H. Lichtenberger and U. Mittmann-Richert; Berlin 2009) 547–563, here 555. 35 Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles (see n. 1), 201 n. 95. 36 Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 623–624. 37 A.E. Harvey, Jesus and the Constraints of History: The Bampton Lectures, 1980 (London 1982) 115–118. 38 E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London 1985) 163. 34

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I propose that Sanders’s rejoinder applies also to Meier’s argument and that this criticism can be stated even more forcefully: not only cannot Jesus have chosen actively what miracles to perform, but also, his successful career as a miracle-worker cannot possibly have been the result of careful planning. Unless a conscious forgery, faith-healing does not work from strategic thinking. Rather, as a faith-healer Jesus would have developed his identity gradually, in a process of interplay between his own successful healings and other people’s positive response to them.39 The Gospel of Mark, by recounting how Jesus failed to perform any mighty work in Nazareth because of the critical and distrustful attitude there, confirms this picture: Jesus’ success was dependent on other people’s trust in his abilities (Mark 6:5–6a). It is difficult to see, then, how the historical Jesus could have decided to heal the sick, cleanse lepers, and raise the dead in order to play the role of Elijah. Moreover, this is an instance where one needs to consider the distinction in early Judaism between, on the one hand, the earthly Elijah – that is, the stories about the prophet thought to have lived some 900 years earlier – and on the other hand, the eschatological Elijah – that is, the expected functions of Elijah at his return in the latter days. In early Jewish literature the two figures have little in common, and there is no unambiguous evidence for the notion of the eschatological Elijah as a miracle-worker. John Collins has proposed that the Lord’s "anointed one" (hy#m) in the so-called Messianic Apocalypse from Qumran is indeed the coming Elijah or a prophet like Elijah (4Q521 2 ii 1). Through his anointed one, according to Collins’s interpretation, the Lord will perform wondrous deeds, some of which echo the memories of the earthly Elijah: the sky will be obedient to the anointed one, and he will raise the dead.40 However, although another column apparently alludes to Mal 4:5–6 (4Q521 2 iii 2), Elijah is not named in the context of miracles, and some of the activities predicated of the messianic agent, such as preaching good news to the poor, have no basis in the Elijah stories. It may be more appropriate to speak of an image of the eschatological prophetic Messiah in this text, based primarily on the mission of the spirit-filled prophet in Isa 61, and not specifically modelled on Elijah. Thus, even on the likely assumption that Jesus himself and his contemporaries recognized the similarity between his miracles and those of Elijah, we should not infer from this that Jesus actually intended to play the role of the eschatological Elijah.

39

E. Eve, The Healer from Nazareth: Jesus’ Miracles in Historical Context (London 2009) 62–63. 40 J.J. Collins, "The Works of the Messiah," DSD 1 (1994) 98–112, here 102; J.J. Collins, "A Herald of Good Tidings: Isaiah 61:1–3 and Its Actualization in the Dead Sea Scrolls," in The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality: FS J. A. Sanders (ed. C.A. Evans and S. Talmon; BIS 28; Leiden 1997) 225–240, here 235–236.

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3.2 Elijah and Jesus as Prophets with Disciples On the other hand, what Meier labels Jesus’ "peremptory" calling of disciples could possibly be an instance where the memory of Elijah exerted a formative influence on Jesus’ mission. According to 1 Kgs 19:19–21, Elijah found Elisha plowing and threw his cloak on him. Elisha left his oxen, ran after Elijah and became a follower of the prophet, but only after having asked permission of Elijah to "kiss" his father and his mother (the Septuagint mentions only the father). Josephus’s rewriting of this episode makes it explicit that Elisha became a disciple of Elijah (Ant. VIII.354).41 Apart from the Gospels, there are no reports of first-century prophets summoning their followers or disciples in a way similar to this. The clearest echoes of Elijah’s calling of Elisha in the Gospels are found in the parallel units Matt 8:19–22 and Luke 9:57–62, the core of which is probably derived from Q. We find here Jesus’ encounters with two or three potential disciples and his "hard sayings" about the cost of discipleship. In the first brief scene (Q 9:57–58), in which an individual spontaneously exclaims "I will follow you wherever you go," only to be told by Jesus that the Son of Man has no place to rest his head, no influence from the Elijah episode is discernible. In the second scene (Q 9:59–60), one may detect such an influence, as a person here responds to Jesus’ calling by requesting permission first to bury his father. A reader who is familiar with the Elijah episode will notice that Jesus’ reply, "Let the dead bury their dead," is far more demanding than was that of Elijah. Early Jewish interpreters understood the Elijah episode to say that Elisha had permission granted for kissing his parents farewell.42 The anonymous would-be disciple in Q has his even more reasonable request rejected by Jesus. A third scene occurs only in Luke (9:61–62), and it is uncertain whether it was in Q (in which case it was probably left out by Matthew as being a less radical repetition of the second scene), comes from Luke’s special material, or was modeled by Luke on the second scene in imitation of 1 Kings 19.43 In this scene, another person asks for permission to say good-bye to his family, but Jesus tells him: "No one who has put his hand to the plow and then looks back is fit for the kingdom of God." This is the scene which comes closest to the Elijah episode. Although there are echoes of 1 Kings 19 in these scenes, serving to portray Jesus as one who called his followers in a manner similar to that of Elijah, inferences about Jesus’ identity should be drawn with caution. The echoes are not restricted to Jesus’ responses, but occur also in the requests of the interlocutors. In the second scene, Jesus’ utterance bears no similarity to the Elijah 41 V.K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Philadelphia 1984) 98–101. 42 M. Hengel, Nachfolge und Charisma: Eine exegetisch-religionsgeschichtliche Studie zu Mt 8,21f. und Jesu Ruf in die Nachfolge (BZNW 34; Berlin 1968) 18–19. 43 See Öhler, Elia (see n. 19), 154–155.

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episode apart from its being framed by the interlocutor’s request. One must accordingly reckon with the possibility that the two scenes emulate the Elijah motif on a literary, rather than historical, level. Nevertheless, even on the presumption that the Elijah typology in these scenes is the result of primitive Christian interpretation, the unit corroborates what we also find in the Gospel of Mark: that Jesus called individuals to be his disciples and to follow him in a most literal sense, leaving behind themselves the duties and priorities of daily life.44 Since, as already mentioned, no mention is made of other firstcentury prophets singling out their followers in this way, here Jesus’ strategy may be distinctive enough to warrant the conclusion that he was indeed imitating Elijah. Again, however, the distinction between the earthly and the eschatological Elijah needs to be maintained. Elijah’s relationship with Elisha belonged exclusively to his career in the past, and there was no expectation that the eschatological Elijah would call disciples to follow him. Thus, whereas Elijah’s calling of Elisha may certainly have had both an interpretative and a formative function in relation to Jesus’ calling of disciples, there is no reason to assume that such a summoning of followers was an expression of Jesus’ identity as an eschatological Elijah-like prophet.

4. Restoring the Rulers – An Element Possibly Associated with the Eschatological Elijah The final feature to be considered is Jesus’ election of the Twelve as an inner group intended to symbolize, or even to bring about, the restoration of the tribes. If an early Jewish conception of Elijah lies behind this action, it is likely to have had a formative function rather than a mere post factum interpretative function, and it would indeed be tied to eschatological expectations rather than to memories of the earthly Elijah. This feature, then, would be the most solid piece of evidence for Meier to build his case for Jesus’ identity as an eschatological Elijah-like prophet. Yet, I will argue that it is not compelling. 4.1 The Restorer of Israel – Servant, Elijah, Messiah? Meier points to the fact that in early Judaism, the returning Elijah was expected to be a restorer. Not only would Elijah restore the inner harmony of Israel, in accordance with God’s promise through the prophet Malachi that Elijah would "turn (by#h/ἀποκαταστήσει) the hearts of the fathers to the children and the hearts of the children to their fathers" (Mal 3:24), but according 44 J. Nützel, "Die Faszination des Wanderpredigers," in Jesus von Nazaret – Spuren und Konturen (ed. L. Schenke et al.; Stuttgart 2004) 255–274, here 262.

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to Ben Sira, it would also be the task of the returning Elijah "to restore (καταστῆσαι) the tribes of Jacob" (Sir 48:10).45 Now, that Jesus elected the Twelve and that the Twelve were meant to constitute the nucleus of restored Israel is the common opinion in historical Jesus research.46 Is this an instance where expectations for the returning Elijah can be seen to have had a formative influence on Jesus? As I have already intimated, I doubt this to be the case, first of all because the role of restorer was not uniquely reserved for Elijah in early Judaism, and secondly because Jesus’ program of restoration apparently did not conform to the pattern associated with Elijah. It cannot be assumed that Ben Sira’s assignment of the restoration of the tribes to Elijah was universal in early Judaism. Evidently, the phrasing "to restore the tribes of Jacob" (καταστῆσαι φυλὰς Ιακωβ) in Sir 48:10 echoes Isa 49:5–6: And now the LORD says, who formed me from the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob back (συναγαγεῖν) to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him… he says: "It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob (τοῦ στῆσαι τὰς φυλὰς Ιακωβ) and to restore (ἐπιστρέψαι) the preserved of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations" (Isa 49:5–6 RSV)

By combining this passage with Mal 3:24, Ben Sira identifies the Servant who will restore the tribes of Jacob with the returning Elijah, thus providing "the earliest example of the eschatologizing of the Isaianic Servant and his mission."47 But we also have indications of an early Jewish interpretation of Isa 49:5–6 without any reference to Elijah. The portrayal of the Messiah in the Psalm of Solomon 17, as is commonly acknowledged, draws on the depiction of the Davidic "branch" in Isa 11:1–10.48 The psalm also attributes to the Messiah the task of gathering the people and restoring the tribes to the land. Plausibly, this motif has been inspired by the Isaianic Servant’s commission as a restorer: He will gather (συνάξει) a holy people, which he will lead with justice, and he will judge the tribes of a people sanctified by the Lord, their God. (…) And he will divide them according

45 The fragmentary Hebrew text is commonly restored to say "the tribes of Israel." On this reading, see P.C. Beentjes, "Prophets and Prophecy in the Book of Ben Sira," in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (ed. M. Floyd and R.D. Haak; LHB/OTS 427; New York 2006) 135–150, here 141–142. 46 S. McKnight, "Jesus and the Twelve," in Key Events in the Life of the Historical Jesus: A Collaborative Exploration of Context and Coherence (ed. D.L. Bock and R.L. Webb; WUNT 247; Tübingen 2009) 181–214 (with bibliography). 47 J. Blenkinsopp, Opening the Sealed Book: Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity (Grand Rapids 2006) 261. 48 M. Hengel, "Jesus als messianischer Lehrer der Weisheit und die Anfänge der Christologie," in Der messianische Anspruch Jesu und die Anfänge der Christologie (ed. M. Hengel and A.M. Schwemer; WUNT 138; Tübingen 2001) 81–132, here 108–110.

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to their tribes in the land, and no foreigner or stranger will stay with them any more. (Ps. Sol. 17:26, 28) Blessed are those who will live in those days, to see the good that God will do to Israel at the gathering of the tribes (ἐν συναγωγῇ φυλῶν)! (Ps. Sol. 17:44)

In Ps. Sol. 17, then, it is the Davidic Messiah, with no Elijah-like traits at all, who is expected to perform the task of restoring the tribes and who is thus implicitly identified with the Isaianic Servant. Likewise, Jesus’ identity as a restorer of Israel may have been formed by his own interpretation of Isa 49:5– 6 without any influence from the motif of the returning Elijah. Remarkably, as Öhler has pointed out, it seems that Jesus did not set out to perform the work of reconciliation between generations that was expected of Elijah. On the contrary, Jesus claimed to bring division through families and between generations – a theme that is attested in Q (12:51–3; cf. 14:26), Mark (13:12) and Thomas (16; cf. 55; 101).49 This seems very strange if we are to assume that Jesus indeed modeled his mission on the portrayal of Elijah in Ben Sira. It is far more likely that Jesus drew directly on his knowledge of the book of Isaiah, as the Gospels repeatedly indicate that Isaianic motives had both an interpretative and a formative function in Jesus’ mission.50 Jesus seems to have recalled the book of Isaiah in order to understand his own calling and the experience of being "anointed with the spirit" (cf. Isa 61:1);51 if the vision of the fall of Satan recorded in Luke is authentic, a passage from Isaiah again appears to have guided Jesus’ interpretation of his vision (Luke 10:18; cf. Isa 14:12).52 Jesus’ reply to John the Baptist in Q, which summarizes his mission as a miracle-worker and preacher, draws together several Isaianic passages, indicating that this was the framework within which Jesus tried to make sense of his successful career (Q 7:22; cf. Isa 26:19; 29:18; 35:5–6; 42:7, 18; 61:1).53 Furthermore, he made use of Isaiah in order to explain why some people took a negative stance towards him: Jesus’ comment about his aim to harden the hearts of "those outside" by speaking in "parables" (Mark 4:11–12; cf. Isa 6:9–10),54 his woes against the Galilean towns (Q

49 Öhler, Elia (see n. 19), 249 n. 676. On the historicity of this theme, see Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 67–72. 50 S. Moyise, "Jesus and Isaiah," Neot 43 (2009) 249–270. 51 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003) 376. 52 R.T. France, Jesus and the Old Testament: His Application of Old Testament Passages to Himself and His Mission (London 1971) 75. 53 S.-O. Back, Han som kom: Till frågan om Jesu messianska anspråk (Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 1; Åbo 2006) (with bibliography). 54 H. Yoshimura, Did Jesus Cite Isa 6:9–10? Jesus’ Saying in Mark 4:11–12 and the Isaianic Idea of Hardening and Remnant (Åbo 2010).

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10:13–15; cf. Isa 14:13),55 and his parable about the tenants of the vineyard (Mark 12:1–9; cf. Isa 5:1–6)56 all draw on the book of Isaiah. In addition to this use of Isaiah as a matrix for interpreting his calling, his success, and his failure, Jesus apparently also formed part of his mission from the contents of the prophetic book. His "gospel" of the kingdom of God has clear affinities with the Targumic interpretation of Isaiah (Mark 1:15; cf. Isa 52:7).57 Jesus’ preference for the poor and his pronouncing them blessed seem to be inspired by Isaiah 61 (Q 6:20; cf. Isa 61:1–2).58 Elsewhere, I have argued that the conjunction of healing and forgiveness in Isaianic eschatology is likely to have prompted Jesus’ prophetic announcement of forgiveness (Mark 2:5; cf. Isa 33:23–4).59 In sum, Isaianic motives are present in a wide variety of sayings and narratives in the Gospels. Some of these, in particular the so-called ransom saying (Mark 10:45) and other allusions to Jesus as the suffering Servant, are certainly more likely to postdate the historical Jesus.60 Occasionally, however, the presence of the Isaianic motives is so subtle that one may doubt whether the evangelists themselves were aware of them, which indicates that the Isaianic echoes are not in toto the result of primitive Christian prooftexting. A cumulative argument can be made, then, that Jesus’ acceptance of a significant role in the purported restoration of Israel is more likely to have been inspired by his acquaintance with the book of Isaiah than by any interpretative tradition that identified Elijah as the restorer. If it was his mission "to restore the tribes of Jacob," this probably implies that Jesus identified himself as the Isaianic Servant. He certainly did not expect to act out his role in the destructive way of the Messiah of Ps. Sol. 17, but I see no compelling reason to doubt that his notion of the eschatological anointed prophet also integrated a plurality of Isaianic aspects and functions: the Davidic "branch" and the Lord’s "servant," both of whom are gifted with the spirit of the Lord (Isa 11:1–2; 42:1), and the "messenger," who proclaims the good news (Isa 52:7).61

55

France, Jesus and the Old Testament (see n. 52), 74–75. Moyise, "Jesus and Isaiah" (see n. 50), 252–257. 57 B. Chilton, God in Strength: Jesus’ Announcement of the Kingdom (SNTU B 1; Freistadt 1979) 70–95. 58 Dunn, Jesus Remembered (see n. 51), 516. 59 Hägerland, Jesus and the Forgiveness of Sins (see n. 20), 199–201. 60 G. Theissen and A. Merz, Der historische Jesus: Ein Lehrbuch (3 rd ed.; Göttingen 2001) 377–378. 61 See also D.C. Allison, Constructing Jesus: Memory, Imagination, and History (London 2010) 113–115. 56

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4.2 The Restoration of the Tribal Rulers The Gospel passage that most explicitly associates the Twelve with restoration eschatology is the Q saying behind Matt 19:28b and Luke 22:30b: "You will sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel."62 I suggest that this saying may also be understood against an Isaianic backdrop. It will be clear that this proposal is somewhat speculative, and if taken on its own, it is no more compelling than Meier’s suggestion that Jesus was playing the role of Elijah; however, as concluded above, Jesus’ repeated and extensive use of Isaiah is more securely attested than his alleged use of the Elijah motif, and in the light of this, the following suggestion may at least be worthy of consideration. Interpreters have often suggested that Daniel’s vision, where thrones are placed and judgment given for the saints of the Most High (Dan 7:9, 22), forms the background of Q 22:30.63 There is no reason to question that Daniel 7 could have had an influence on Jesus’ saying, or to deny that the saying alludes to Ps 122:4–5, which speaks of "the tribes of the Lord" and "thrones for judgment," and which the rabbis interpreted to concern the restoration of the tribes, the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the temple, and the judgment of the nations.64 On the other hand, there may also be an Isaianic background of the saying, which fits well with Jesus’ extensive use of the book of Isaiah elsewhere. A passage in Isa 16 displays a number of similarities with Q 22:30. It speaks of a righteous ruler sitting on his throne to judge: And a throne (LXX: θρόνος) will be established in mercy, and upon it will sit (καθίεται ἐπ’ αὐτοῦ) in truth, in the tent of David, one who will judge (κρίνων) and who will seek justice and who will promote righteousness. (Isa 16:5)

According to the eschatological hope of Isaiah, the return of justice and righteousness to restored Jerusalem will be embodied by an enthroned Davidic ruler. The paraphrase of Isa 16:5 in Targum Jonathan says explicitly that it is "the Messiah of Israel" who will "set up his throne" to judge. 65 Moreover, this passage is among those that apparently influenced Ps. Sol. 17, according to which the Messiah will certainly execute judgment on the nations, and cleanse Jerusalem from sinful Gentiles, but he also "will judge the tribes" (κρινεῖ φυλάς, Ps. Sol. 17:26; cf. 17:29, 43) in the sense of ruling the people justly. The Isaianic passage was evidently interpreted in a messianic sense by some quarters in early Judaism. 62

For this reconstruction, see Meier, Companions and Competitors (see n. 1), 135–137. G.R. Beasley-Murray, Jesus and the Kingdom of God (Grand Rapids 1986) 275–276. 64 C.A. Evans, "The Twelve Thrones of Israel: Scripture and Politics in Luke 22:24–30," in Luke and Scripture: The Function of Sacred Tradition in Luke-Acts (ed. C.A. Evans and J.A. Sanders; Minneapolis 1993) 154–170, here 160–164. 65 J.A. Fitzmyer, The One Who Is to Come (Grand Rapids 2007) 166. 63

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The keywords "throne," "sit," and "judge" in Isa 16:5 all recur in Q 22:30. There seems to be a relationship between these two eschatological passages. If Jesus recognized his own mission of Israel’s restoration to be that of the Isaianic Servant, who was at the same time to be identified with the Davidic "branch," it is reasonable that he also expected to be the one who would sit on the throne to judge in accordance with Isa 16:5.66 But whence the idea of twelve judges and many thrones? An impetus for this notion could also be found in Isaiah. Isa 1 laments the apostasy of present Jerusalem, recalling the former glory of the city, which "used to be filled with justice" (Isa 1:21) but is no longer so. At the same time, the purification and restoration of the city is promised. This involves the reinstatement of "judges," that is, righteous rulers who will endorse justice: I will restore your judges as in former times, and your counsellors as long ago. After this you will be called "city of righteousness", "faithful city". Zion will be redeemed with justice, and through righteousness those who return to her (Isa 1:26–27).

The book of Isaiah envisions both a single "judge" on the throne of David (16:5) and a plurality of "judges" (1:26). In the Hebrew text, the many judges in 1:26 are not related in any way to the Davidic judge in 16:5. However, in the Targumic paraphrase of Isa 28:5–6, also the restoration of "judges" belongs to the messianic era, and these "judges" are directly linked to the Messiah. Here it is stated that "the Messiah of the Lord Sabaoth will be… a word of truth in judgment (Nyd) for those who sit in the house of justice 67 )nyd (tybb) so that they may judge (Nyd Ndml) in accordance with truth." 68 This interpretation is commonly dated before the Bar Kokhba revolt. Although it cannot be shown conclusively either that it was current during Jesus’ lifetime or that, if it was, Jesus would have been familiar with and approving of it, I submit that it would provide a credible background of the saying in Q 22:30. If, in accordance with a Palestinian interpretative tradition witnessed by the Targum, Jesus expected the Messiah to be concerned with the restoration of the tribes, to be enthroned for judgment, and to be assisted by several judges, it would be but a small creative step for him to imagine precisely twelve such subsidiary judges, each of whom would be seated on his own throne. As God’s prophetic servant, then, Jesus was not only called to restore the tribes of Israel, but also to rule over the re-established nation. His appropriation of this role did not exclude his notion that the Twelve would also function as rulers of the tribes. A number of Isaianic passages (1:26–27; 16:5; 28:5–6; 66

Allison, Constructing Jesus (see n. 61), 247–251. I am grateful to Prof. Antti Laato for drawing my attention to this. 68 B. Chilton, "Two in One: Renderings of the Book of Isaiah in Targum Jonathan," in Vol. 2 of Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah: Studies of an Interpretive Tradition (ed. C.C. Broyles and C.A. Evans; VTSup 70:2; Leiden 1997) 547–562, here 554. 67

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49:6), I propose, blend together to form Jesus’ expectation, expressed in Q 22:30, that his disciples would share in the task of "judging" – that is, ruling69 – the restored tribes of Israel. This does not, by itself, rule out the possibility that Jesus also viewed himself as the eschatological Elijah, but that hypothesis appears to be superfluous, and thereby ready to be shaved away with Occam’s razor.

5. Conclusion The historical Jesus was indeed a prophet – in his own estimation as well as in that of others. He was also recognized as a prophet "like Elijah" – that is, a prophet who performed miracles and who called disciples, just as the earthly Elijah of the distant past had done. He may even consciously have modeled his strategy of calling disciples on the ministry of the earthly Elijah. On the other hand, nothing, to my mind, really indicates that Jesus actively took up the role of the returning, eschatological Elijah, as Meier proposes. I find it more likely that the role that Jesus wanted to play, and according to which he shaped his identity, was that of the anointed prophet who was speaking in Isaiah 61 and whose career was prefigured all across the book of Isaiah. Once his charismatic experience of the spirit, and his successful career as a healer, had led Jesus to consider the possibility that he might indeed be the prophetic Messiah, he apparently thought it his mission to act out other tasks that, as he saw it, were also reserved for the anointed one: to proclaim the kingdom of God, to mediate the forgiveness of sins, and to begin the restoration of Israel by appointing those who would soon be "judging" the twelve tribes .

69 This sense is suggested for κρίνειν by the Isaianic background that I propose. For discussion of this and other possible interpretations, see J. Verheyden, "The Conclusion of Q: Eschatology in Q 22,28–30," in The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (ed. A. Lindemann; BETL 158; Leuven 2001) 695–718.

Jesus as Preacher of the Kingdom of God Hans Kvalbein There is no doubt that the βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ, the kingdom of God, is the main concern in the message of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels. His message is summarized as "The kingdom of God has come near" (Matt 4:17; 10:7; Mark 1:15; Luke 10:9, 11). This summary corresponds to the central place of the kingdom concept in the sayings and parables of Jesus in the first three gospels. There is also a broad consensus among scholars that this expression is somehow rooted in the ministry of the historical Jesus and is connected to his identity as a messenger from God to Israel.1 In the OT or in contemporary Jewish sources we cannot find any similarly broad use of the concept of ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ or the corresponding twklm Mym#h (kingdom of heaven). The concept also had a less prominent role in Early Christian literature in the first centuries A.D. In this way, it satisfies the criterion of dissimilarity. Understanding the message of ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ in the synoptic gospels is an important step in understanding the message of the historical Jesus. The phrase ἡ βασιλεία τῶν οὐρανῶν, kingdom of heaven, which is unique to the gospel of Matthew, has traditionally been understood as a reverential circumlocution for ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ, the kingdom of God. This widespread view is due to the influence of the work of Gustaf Dalman, who indicated at the Jewish habit of avoiding pronunciation of God’s name or speaking directly of God. In an important recent monograph, Jonathan T. Pennington has shown that Dalman’s thesis is untenable. The phrase kingdom of heaven should be interpreted in the light of the tension between heaven and earth in this gospel. It corresponds to the prominent use of "Father in heaven" and "Heavenly Father" as designations for God in Matthew. Heaven serves in Matthew as a metonym for God (e.g. Matt 21:25: "Is the baptism of John from heaven or 1

G. Theissen and A. Merz, Der historische Jesus: ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen 1997); J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003); J.P. Meier, Mentor, Message, and Miracles, Vol. 2 of A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (ABRL; New York 1994); E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London 1985); N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, Vol. 2 of Christian Origins and the Question of God (Minneapolis 1996).

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from human beings?"), not as a circumlocution. Matthew had not coined the phrase KH in order to avoid speaking about God. The phrase serves a positive "rhetorical and theological purpose: to contrast heaven (God’s realm) with earth (humanity’s realm)."2 In the first part of my paper, I want to ask the linguistic question: What is the meaning of the expression ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ in the message of Jesus? I want to approach the problem by a semantic analysis of the word field of this phrase in the Synoptic texts. In the second part, I want to look at an important metaphor or image of the kingdom as it is found in the sayings and parables of Jesus: the kingdom as a meal, a banquet or as a wedding feast.

1. The Meaning of ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ: Realm or Reign/Rule? There has been a broad consensus in the interpretation of this phrase that it is a verbal noun, describing the activity or position of God as king. In this view, it is a circumscription for "God is king" or "God rules as king" and can be rendered as "rule of God" or "(Königs)herrschaft Gottes". This is the interpretation of the influential dictionary BDAG, where most of the references from the Gospels are under the heading 1b: God’s rule, the royal reign of God and not under the concrete meaning kingdom.3 In a lexicon by two leading Bible translators, this view is combined with an explicit refutation of the alternative interpretation: It is generally a serious mistake to translate the phrase the βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ ‘the kingdom of God’ as referring to a particular area in which God rules. The meaning of this phrase in the NT involves not a particular place or special period of time but the fact of ruling.4

Contrary to this, I want to argue that the conception of the βασιλεία as "a particular area" that Louw-Nida dismiss as a "serious mistake" is the best starting point for understanding the βασιλεία-message of Jesus in the synoptic gospels. A presupposition for the consensus of taking ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ as a nomen actionis for God’s function as king is a belief in a unity and coherence in the meaning of a word, linking it directly to a concept or a Begriff, which is the same in different contexts and even may keep its meaning from one language to another. This is the problem with Dalman’s analysis in 1898, where the abstract meaning of twklm/ )twklm inOT and Jewish literature is decisive

2

J.T. Pennington, Heaven and Earth in the Gospel of Matthew (Leiden 2007) 36 (italics original). 3 BDAG: W. Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature (rev. and ed. by F.W. Danker; Chicago 2000) 168–169. 4 Quotation from J.P. Louw and E.A. Nida, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament Based on Semantic Domains (New York 1988–9) 480.

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for his understanding of ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ in the teaching of Jesus.5 This semantic approach also seems to be a presupposition for the great dictionaries by Bauer and Kittel/Friedrich.6 However, after James Barr’s criticism of this approach in his "Semantics of biblical language," these old works need to be used with a great deal of skepticism.7 A better approach to the meaning of a word according to modern semantics and lexicography is to ask for its syntagmatic and paradigmatic relations in the actual texts. The meaning of a word should not be derived diachronically from its history and etymology, but synchronically from its specific contexts in the text as a whole and in similar, contemporary texts.8 Here I want to point briefly first (A) to some important syntagmas or collocations in the gospels connected to ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ and then (B) to its synonyms and antonyms as they are found in the Synoptic texts. (A) 1. An important group of βασιλεία-syntagms in the Synoptic Gospels are linked to the prepositions εἰς, ἐν, ἐκ, into, in and out of/from, and clearly implies a spatial understanding of the βασιλεία. In many sayings, the crucial question for human beings is to enter the kingdom εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ, to be in the βασιλεία not to be thrown out of the βασιλεία or be excluded from it. This is implied when the kingdom is described with the image of a great meal or a wedding feast. This image of the kingdom as a place of joy and fullness is related to the images of the narrow door (Luke 13:24–30) and the keys of the βασιλεία (Matt 16:19 cf. 23:13). The image of a meal implies a room or festival hall and a community of participants at the meal. The spatial dimension of these images is related to the comparison of the βασιλεία to a house οἰκία or a city πόλις that should not be divided against itself (Matt 12:25–28 par.).9 In similar syntagmas, the concrete, spatial meaning of the βασιλεία is evident.10 The kingdom is seen as a location.11 It is hardly meaningful to speak 5 G. Dalman, The Words of Jesus (Edinburgh 1909 [German original: Die Worte Jesu, Leipzig 1898]). 6 For Bauer, see n. 3. In the great Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, edited by R. Kittel Vols. I–IV 1933–1945 and by Gerhard Friedrich Vols. V–IX (Stuttgart), the article on βασιλεία was published already in the early thirties. 7 J. Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (Oxford 1961). 8 W. Egger: How to read the New Testament: An Introduction to linguistic and historicalcritical methodology (Peabody 1996); P. Cotterell and M. Turner, Linguistics and Biblical Interpretation (Downers Grove 1989). 9 S. Aalen, "’Reign’ and ’House’ in the Kingdom of God in the Gospels," NTS 8 (1962) 215–240. 10 So also Dunn, Jesus Remembered (see n.1), 388. 11 The descriptions of the kingdom as location and as possession are basic categories in J. Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus: Parable, aphorism, and Metaphor in the Sayings Material Common to the Synoptic Tradition and the Gospel of Thomas (BZNW 102, Berlin 2001).

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about being inside or outside of God’s royal reign, he who "forms the light and creates darkness, bring prosperity and create disaster" (Isa 45:7). The βασιλεία in the Gospels is not referring to God’s kingship, but rather to the area of salvation in opposition to darkness and disaster. 2. In another important group of syntagmas, the βασιλεία is conceived as a gift to human beings, a treasure that is important to seek (Matt 6:33; 13:44– 46), or an inheritance you may inherit or receive (Matt 25:34). They may be categorized together under the heading of βασιλεία as a possession. The eight beatitudes in Matt 5 are framed by a declaration of who shall possess the kingdom: the poor in spirit, those who are persecuted because of righteousness: the kingdom is theirs. In the great judgment, the sheep on the right hand of the king shall inherit the kingdom prepared for them since the creation of the world (Matt 25:34). In such contexts, the phrase cannot be a verbal noun: they are not promised a share in God’s kingship or his royal rule. They will have a share in the new world, in the eschatological salvation. The notions of the βασιλεία as a gift and as a location are related to each other in the important saying: "Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." (Mark 10:15 par.). In this saying, the double temporal aspect of the kingdom is noted; as a gift, it can be received now and is present in the message of Jesus. As an area to be entered, it is a future reality in the coming fulfillment. The language of these two groups of syntagmas is strikingly different from the use of twklm/ )twklm in the OT and Jewish sources. An uncritical transfer of meaning from one language to another or from one context to a quite different one should be avoided. 3. The βασιλεία is often presented as a subject for verbs for coming. In the Lord’s Prayer, the disciples are instructed to pray "Your kingdom come" (Matt 6:10 par.), and some of them will not taste death until the kingdom comes (ἔρχομαι) in power (Mark 9:1). The message of Jesus is summarized as "the kingdom has come near" (ἐγγίζω), and if his exorcisms are done by the finger of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you (φθάνω). The different Greek verbs refer to the coming of the βασιλεία either in the future or in the present time. The syntagmas themselves can support both meanings, referring either 1) to the establishment or manifestation of God’s kingship or 2) to the new eschatological order, parallel to the rabbinic expression for the place of salvation: )bh Mlw(, the coming world (e.g. Sanh. 10). The latter, concrete meaning is more probable, especially in the saying about exorcisms in Matt 12:28 par., where the immediate context parallels a kingdom divided against itself to a divided house or city. In this connection, it may be important to notice that expressions for the βασιλεία as being revealed are not found in a saying from the mouth of Jesus. This is an expression that occurs 8 times in the Targum to the Prophets, with the Masoretic text often rendering expressions for God as king. B.D. Chilton

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regards this as a key to understanding the βασιλεία -message of Jesus.12 In the Gospels, however, a similar expression can be found only in Luke 19:11, which described a popular expectation that the βασιλεία may appear immediately when Jesus approaches Jerusalem. Jesus seemed to refute this view by telling the parable of the pounds. The nobleman is absent for a time, indicating that the kingdom is not to appear imminently. The difference in expressions, in addition to the distance in time between the Gospels and the Targums as written sources, makes it difficult to understand Targum renderings as a hermeneutical key to Jesus' message of the kingdom. (B) A look at the paradigmatic relations (synonyms and antonyms) of the βασιλεία confirms its concrete reference to a realm more than its reference to a function or activity of God. In the story of the rich man, it can be noted that the expressions "inherit eternal life", "enter the kingdom of God" and "be saved" are used interchangeably, and can be seen as synonyms. (Mark 10:17– 31 pars.). In the Beatitudes, the promises can be taken as parallel expressions referring to the same eschatological reality. In Matt 5:3-10, this means that the "kingdom of heaven" is explained as "be comforted," "inherit the earth," "be filled with righteousness," "be shown mercy," "see God," and "be called sons of God". The promise of the kingdom of heaven in vv. 3 and 10 forms a beautiful frame or inclusio around this poetic description of the status of salvation. In Luke 6:20–26, the situation of the disciples in the future consummation is explicitly put in contrast to their status "now," when they are poor, when they hunger and weep and when they are hated by men. The kingdom of God implies a reversal: they will be satisfied and laugh and have a great reward in heaven. The rich will experience a different reversal. They shall have no consolation. Antonyms to "the kingdom of God" in this text are hunger, sorrow and weeping in the eschatological future. In other texts, the kingdom of God is opposed to different concepts which function as antonyms. In the great parable of the judgment in Matt 25:31–46 to "inherit the kingdom" (v.34) is opposed to entering "the eternal fire" (v.41) and the two possibilities are at the end described as "eternal life" in contrast to "eternal punishment" (v.46). In Mark 9:42–48, to "enter life" or to "enter the kingdom of God" is opposed to "go into hell" or to "be thrown into hell". God alone has the authority to cast into hell (Matt 10:28; Luke 12:5). Hell is of course no popular topic. But in these texts there is no doubt that the antonym to βασιλεία is γέεννα, hell. The spatial meaning of the two concepts is evident; they refer to two places, one attractive and the other unpleasant. Further examination of some parables, where the kingdom of God as the great eschatological banquet is opposed to "the darkness outside," is given in the fol-

12 B.D. Chilton, "Regnum Dei Deus est," in The Historical Jesus: Critical Concepts in Religious Studies, Vol. 2 of The Teaching of Jesus (ed. Craig A. Evans; London 2004) 213–220.

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lowing section. It would be semantically irresponsible to interpret the βασιλεία-sayings without relating the concept to its antonyms. This brief list of synonyms and antonyms definitely points in the direction of a concrete, spatial meaning of the βασιλεία of God.13 It refers to the realm of God’s eschatological salvation, and is not identical with God’s royal power or rule as a king, which would include both salvation and judgment, both the enlightened festival hall and the "darkness outside".

2. The βασιλεία as a Meal, a Banquet or a Wedding in Sayings and Parables of Jesus In the second part of my paper, I want to further develop some of the characteristic syntagms where the ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ is connected with verbal expressions for entering, being in, or being thrown out of the kingdom. This is a basic motive in sayings and parables connecting the βασιλεία with a meal, a banquet or a wedding feast. In some of them, their content or their context explicitly links them to the expression ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ.14 The first saying to be reviewed can hardly be called a parable or a similitude, but in it the kingdom is presented in the image of a meal. The feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has partakers from the east and the west, but the sons of the Kingdom are thrown outside (Matt 8:11f; Luke 13:28f). The metaphor of the βασιλεία as a banquet is evident from the expression ἀνακλιθήσονται ἐν τῇ βασιλείᾳ τῶν οὐρανῶν: "They will recline at table in the kingdom." Israels’s fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are the hosts of the meal. The metaphor seems to be a combination of the story of Abraham’s meal, with the three guests representing God in Gen 18:1–15, with the image of the eschatological gathering on Mt. Zion (Isa 25:6). The expression "from east and west" is mostly connected with the promise of Israel’s return from exile (Ps 107:3 Isa 49:12; Bar 4:37; 5:1–9). It may be combined with the motive of God’s judgment on the nations (Isa 59:18–20), but also with a promise 13 This spatial and concrete interpretation of the kingdom of God as a place has recently been confirmed by the excellent excursus "The Kingdom of God and the World to come," in D.C. Allison Jr., Constructing Jesus: Memory, Imagination, and History, (Grand Rapids 2010) 164–204. Allison gives a broad discussion of OT, Early Jewish and Rabbinic material in addition to the NT evidence and the Gospel of Thomas for this view. 14 A. J. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus: A Commentary, (Grand Rapids 2000) 3, gives the following working definition of a parable: "A parable is a figure of speech in which a comparison is made between God’s kingdom, actions, or expectations and something in this world, real or imagined." For a broader presentation of recent literature on the parables, see e.g. K. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus (Grand Rapids 2008). R. Zimmermann and G. Kern (eds.) Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu: Methodische Neuansätze zum Verstehen urchristlicher Parabeltexte (WUNT 231; Tübingen 2008).

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that God’s name will be great among the nations. They will no more follow the stubbornness of their evil hearts (Jer 3:14-18, se also Isa 2:1–4 = Mic 4:1– 4; Isa 60:1–22). Only in Isa 25:6–8, however, is the gathering on Mt. Zion presented as a meal: a feast of rich food and a banquet of aged wine. There is no explicit link from the idea of that great meal to God’s kingship on Mt. Zion. In the Isaiah apocalypse, God’s kingship is mentioned in Isa 24:21–23, though only in connection with his punishment of the powers of heaven above and the kings of the earth below. The contemporaries of Jesus would of course know that the time of salvation would give abundance of food and drink (Isa 55:1–2; 65:13; 1 Enoch 62:14; 2 Bar 29). In the OT and in Jewish sources though, this is never connected with the notion of God’s βασιλεία, neither with his kingship nor his kingdom. In Luke 13:22–30, the image of the kingdom of God as a banquet hall includes the image of a narrow door (v. 25) that will be closed (v.26). The door marks the limit between those who are outside and those who are inside. Those "outside" expected to get in, because they "ate and drank" with the owner of the house when he taught in their streets. To their surprise, they are excluded and people from the east and west and north and south may partake in the feast of the kingdom. In the broader context of Luke’s gospel this ma allude to the fate of disobedient Israel in contrast to Gentiles accepting Christ. As an isolated logion in the life of Jesus, however, it may be a warning to Jesus’ contemporaries and even to his own disciples who enjoyed table fellowship with him. The saying does not give any hint of a mission from Jerusalem to the ends of the world. The movement is exclusively centripetal, not centrifugal. In Luke’s Gospel, the people from far away, from the four directions of the wind, are Gentiles, not Diaspora Jews. This may well be rooted in the message of Jesus himself.15 This saying, however, applies the OT motive of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem more as a threat and warning to Jesus’ contemporaries than as a promise to the nations or as an appeal to mission. In Luke, the saying is introduced by the question, if there are few that shall "be saved". Being "saved" evidently functions as a synonym to "enter the kingdom of God," as in the story of the rich man and the following dialogue with the disciples, Matt 19:23–25 pars.. The βασιλεία is a soteriological concept for the final salvation. In the parallel version in Matthew (8:11–12), the saying is given in a different context: the healing of the officer’s servant in Capharnaum. At the center of the story is the officer’s faith, which gives even a Gentile access to the healing power of Jesus. With the solemn introduction "Truly I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such faith," the judgment against Israel is underlined; they are the "sons of the kingdom" that will be thrown into the "darkness outside" the banquet hall. The kingdom of God, in contrast to the "darkness outside," seems to be conceived as an illuminated house or place. The 15

J. Jeremias, Jesus’ Promise to the Nations (Philadelphia 1982).

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possibilities of being inside or outside the kingdom of God are thus compared to the contrast between light and darkness. It is evident that the idea of the salvation as a meal and as abundance of food and drink is rooted in the OT and contemporary Judaism, though the connection between this idea and the kingdom of God seems to be an innovation by Jesus. It is developed in some important kingdom parables. The parable of the great banquet in Luke 14:15–24 has a close relationship to the parable of the king’s wedding feast for his son and the wedding garment in Matt 22:1–13. Both of them have their main interest in the reactions of the invited guests to the call to come and enter the celebration. Both of them also have an introduction describing them as parables of the kingdom. For my purpose, there is no need to give a detailed comparison between the two parables, or to the parallel in the Gospel of Thomas 64. Let me briefly point to some more similarities between them. The man and the king both have made a firm decision to arrange the banquet/ the wedding. They are not giving up in spite of the negative reactions from the invited guests. Three times they send out their servant/ servants to urge the guests to come and fill the banquet hall. Both parables also end with a separation of the guests. Luke’s version ends in a word of judgment, "none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet". They had failed to accept the call to come when the time was there. So when the banquet begins, the door is closed for them. The beginning of the banquet is the time of definitive separation, pointing to God’s final judgment. Matthew has a quite different ending, with the story of the man without a wedding garment. This man had evidently been let inside the palace of the king, but the king ordered him to be thrown out. It can be speculated if this wedding garment is actually a metaphor for something outside the story itself (faith, obedience etc.).16 His fate is described with typical expressions for the opposite of the salvation in the kingdom of God: the "outer darkness," and weeping and gnashing of teeth. In both these kingdom parables, the kingdom is defined as a place of joy, fellowship and abundance, in contrast to a space outside the banquet hall or the royal palace. Both parables also start with an invitation and a period in which the guests can accept or refuse to come to the meal or to the wedding feast. In Luke, the exclusion of those who refused is proclaimed at the end of the parable. In Matthew, they exclude themselves and experience the wrath of the king when they mistreat his messengers.17 A special feature in Matthew is that "both bad and good" are invited and allowed to enter the wedding hall. This requires a new act of separation. The man without a wedding garment is cast out. This creates a double aspect of the wedding time: the period when both bad and good are together in the wedding hall, probably corresponding to 16

Hultgren, Parables (see n. 14), 347 The army conquering their city and the destruction of the city by fire is evidently an allusion to the destruction of Jerusalem year 70 AD. See Hultgren, Parables (see n. 14), 345. 17

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the time of the church, and a period after the exclusion of the bad, corresponding to the time for the consummation of the kingdom. The parable of the ten maidens (Matt 25:1–13) is also presented as a kingdom parable. The wise maidens had made a sufficient preparation for the arrival of the bridegroom, the foolish had not. The wise maidens went in with the bridegroom to the marriage feast, and "the door was shut". The foolish met this closed door and a blunt rejection. In this parable, the joy of the kingdom of God is also compared to a wedding feast. The shutting of the door has a symbolic meaning, representing the final judgment and the separation of those inside from those outside the kingdom of God.18 The Greek word for judgment (κρίσις) means separation, and the motive of God’s judgment is regularly preceding the concept of the eschatological kingdom. The parable of the ten maidens is followed by the parable of the talents in Matt 25:14–30. It has no introduction of its own presenting it as a kingdom parable, but it should probably be read as a new illustration of what the kingdom of heaven is like and how to live in expectation of its coming. The introduction Ὥσπερ γὰρ (NIV: Again, it will be like…) seems to link itself to the parable of the maidens as a kingdom parable. This corresponds to the two possibilities that are demonstrated in both parables. For the maidens, the great question is to come inside or be closed outside the wedding hall. For the servants who received different amounts of talents a similar separation is the outcome of the story. The first two servants were accepted with the same words: "Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much; enter into the joy of your master." (v. 21, 23). Most commentators agree that the "joy" of your master points to a feast, and it is very probable that this expression "enter the joy" is a metaphor for entering the kingdom of heaven. This interpretation is made probable by the description of the fate of the third servant. He is thrown outside, in the darkness, "where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" (v.30). We have seen that this is a stock description functioning as an antonym to the kingdom of God, as in Matt 8:11 par Luke 13:28; Matt 13:42, 50; 22:13. This metaphorical interpretation of the "joy" of the master in contrast to the darkness outside is strengthened not only by the preceding parable of the maidens, but even more by the following judgment scene in Matt 25:31–46, with its contrast between those who may inherit the kingdom prepared for them and those who are sent away to eternal punishment. This metaphorical application of reward and punishment for the servants is, however, absent from the parallel parable of the pounds in Luke 19:11–27. There, the reward for the faithful servants is to take charge over 10 or 5 cities, whereas the unfaithful simply is ordered to give his mina to the one with ten minas. This difference of course raises the question of what form and what 18 Hultgren, Parables (see n. 14), 176–177, argues for the authenticity of this parable from its use of traditional Jewish metaphors.

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kind of application of the parable can be traced back to the historical Jesus. My point, however, is not to argue for the historicity of the metaphorical application in the Matthean parallel against the Lukan version. Even if it may be secondary, it is evidence for the strong impact from this motive and imagery in the message of Jesus. If the kingdom of God is comparable to a great meal or feast, it is urgent to react to Jesus' message in a way that puts you inside, not outside the festival hall. If this motive has been productive and has entered into contexts where it did not belong originally, this may be an argument for and not against the historicity of this motive as part of Jesus’ message in general. In Luke 15 there are three parables closely linked together with a common introduction. They serve as an apology for Jesus’ table fellowship with sinners and tax collectors and are addressed to the Pharisees and the teachers of the law 15:1–2. The three parables have as a common motive that all of them reach their conclusion in a picture of a great and joyful feast. From the previous chapter with the parable of the great banquet, this great feast may easily be understood as a metaphor for the kingdom of God. In my view, this interpretation is probably independent of the context, which is a result of the Lucan redaction. The image of a great feast has a prominent place in sayings and parables of the kingdom and is probably anchored in the message of the historical Jesus. The first two parables are based on the contrast between the one (sheep or coin) which is lost and the bigger group (99 or 9) which is "inside" all the time, 15:4–10. The shepherd and the woman make great efforts to find and save the lost. In both cases they succeed, and the happy end is told as a great celebration quite out of proportion with its occasion. A feast for both friends and neighbors would probably be more expensive than the one sheep or the one coin that was found. This extravagance points in the direction of a metaphorical interpretation: The feast represents the kingdom of God. The shepherd and the woman point to God’s efforts to include everyone in its celebration. This metaphorical interpretation is even taken one step further in the concluding saying, applying the lost sheep and the lost coin to "one sinner who repents" (μετανοέω). In the parables there is, of course, no hint of any "repentance" by the sheep or by the coin.19 This topic may, however, be found in the third parable, where the lost son "came to himself" and confessed his sin against heaven and his father 15:17– 19, 21. This has been the main point in the interpretation and application of this parable in sermons and devotions, as reflected in the name of the parable as the parable of the Lost Son or the Prodigal Son.

19 For a comparison and evaluation of the versions of the parable of the lost sheep, in Luke 15:4–7, Matt 18:12–14, The Gospel of Thomas 107, and the Gospel of Truth 31–32, see Hultgren, Parables (see n. 14), 46–63.

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The parable, however, is not finished with a feast at the return of the younger son. It ends in an argument between the father and the older son. The father urges the older son to enter the great feast where the fattened calf is the main dish and where there is music and dancing, but the older son is not impressed by the celebration. He "became angry and refused to go in" (v.28). His reaction to his younger brother is the opposite of his father’s, who was "filled with compassion" even when he was a long way off and before he had confessed his sin (v.20). The parable seems to be unfinished. Did the older brother enter the celebration or did he stay outside? Could he share his father’s feelings for the son who "was dead and is alive again; was lost and is found" (v.23, 32)? I think we can grasp the full power of this parable only if we can see the celebration at the return of the younger brother as a metaphor for the kingdom of God, in accordance with the other kingdom parables ending in a contrast between the inside and the outside of the banquet hall. The appeal to the Pharisees and Jesus’ adversaries is not only to join the good feelings of God the Father to sinners who return to him. It is also a warning to them not to stay "outside" the kingdom of God. These motives should not be played out to compete with one another. There is a deep inner connection between the acceptance of God as the forgiving Father and receiving the kingdom as God’s gift.20 According to Luke 15:1–2, the occasion for the three parables was the grumbling of the Pharisees and the teachers of law that Jesus welcomed sinners and ate with them. This picture of Jesus is not isolated to this text, but deeply embedded in the Jesus tradition of the Synoptic Gospels. The call of the tax collector Levi to be his disciple was confirmed by a dinner in Levi’s house, with many tax collectors and sinners eating with him. The critical remarks from the Pharisees were encountered by a slogan: "I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners" (Mark 2:15–17 pars.). Jesus was accused of being "a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners" (Matt 11:19 par.). When he entered the house of the rich tax collector Zacchaeus, people muttered and said: "He has gone to be the guest of a sinner" (Luke 19:7). A similar, though not identical, motive can be seen in the story of the sinful woman anointing the feet of Jesus in the Pharisee’s house. Jesus has to defend her against his host (Luke 7:35–50). No wonder evil suspicions were raised against such a man, because, as everybody knows, "bad company corrupts good character" (1 Cor 15:33). 20 Hultgren, Parables (see n. 14), 85–86 discusses what the main point of the parable is: 1) the loving character of God as Father, 2) a vindication of the message of Jesus and his fellowship with the outcasts, or 3) the time has arrived for celebration with those who have repented and responded to his message. A choice is unnecessary, for all these points "make common cause to depict the ministry of Jesus as the inauguration of the kingdom of God, a God whose love surpasses all typical expressions known to humanity, and which is celebrated by those who are caught up in the joy of the kingdom."

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When Jesus acted like this, contrary to the expectations of his contemporaries, we see a behavior that is a conscious part of his message and his selfunderstanding. He has been sent to these despised groups in order to bring them a message from God, a call to accept the invitation to the kingdom of God which was at the centre of his mission. I think J. Jeremias and his many followers are right in seeing the table fellowship of Jesus with tax collectors and sinners as an "acted parable" (Gleichnishandlung). The time of fulfillment has come, and the table fellowship with sinners is a proleptic sign of the coming celebration in the kingdom of God. The coherence with the parables of the kingdom is evident. The challenge of the acted parable, as well as the spoken parables, is consistent: the narrow door is still open. Now the invitation is there. Come to join the joyful fellowship of the kingdom of God, now present in the person of Jesus, once to be fulfilled at the creation of a new heaven and a new earth. At the same time the image of the kingdom as a meal contains a warning. If you do not respond positively to the invitation when it still is time for it, the door will be shut. The kingdom of God is contrasted to the darkness outside. In these parables Jesus urges his listeners to repent and come inside. "Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." (Mark 10:15 par.) The institution of the Lord’s Supper in the "night when he was betrayed" can be seen as an extended acted parable, integrating the death of Jesus as a sacrifice into the proleptic celebration of the kingdom of God. The vision of the kingdom of God as a feast and as fellowship is a central element of early Christian Eucharistic praxis and theology. I am convinced that this has its roots in the self-understanding of the historical Jesus and his message of the kingdom.

The Didactic Identity and Authority of Jesus – Reconsidered Samuel Byrskog

1. Problematic Notions of Didactic Identity and Authority In his influential book Jesus Remembered James Dunn asks what it was about the authority implicit in Jesus’ teaching which caused surprise and offence. Dunn refers to six possible answers: (1) Jesus lacked formal training; (2) Jesus did not appeal to past tradition or earlier authorities; (3) Jesus did not direct the main thrust of his teaching to the exposition of Torah; (4) Jesus introduced his teaching with the distinctive "Amen"; (5) Jesus used the emphatic "I" to set his teaching apart from other authorities; and (6) Jesus expected a high priority on his call to discipleship and to the response to his words. Dunn then goes one step further and asks what it means that Jesus was something greater than a teacher and suggests tentatively that he claimed a direct and immediate authority from God.1 Thus, we might infer, the authority of Jesus was at the end not didactic authority based on his didactic identity but part of Jesus’ elevated self-understanding and his claim to prophetic and ultimately divine prerogatives. Dunn’s discussion reflects the opinion of traditional Biblical scholarship and is thoroughly influenced by theological aspects concerning the distinctiveness of Jesus’ mission. Although it might shed some light on the specific reaction indicated in Mark 1:21–28 par., three general considerations make it problematic as an explanation of Jesus’ didactic identity and authority in general. Firstly, the concept of authority is unclear. Granted authority is something that certain people for reasons embedded in the appearance of a person positively ascribe to that person, it is insufficient, if not misleading, to speak of an authority implicit in Jesus’ teaching as such and seek for some unusual and distinctive didactic characteristics or refer to Jesus’ own selfunderstanding. Secondly, the concept of teacher and teaching is equally unclear. Unless it will become meaningless to discuss any didactic aspect of Jesus’ identity and authority, we will have to reserve this concept for things that have to do with a person’s particular instruction of specific pieces of 1 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003) 698–704.

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information to certain people and to distinguish it from activities where people proclaim a message of less informative character to more undefined groups of people. If we follow the tendency in the synoptic Gospels concerning their use of specifically didactic terms, we will find that Jesus was recalled not as a teacher of Israel or of the crowds primarily, but of his own disciples. This mnemonic tendency is not consistent, to be sure, but it is sufficiently clear.2 His didactic authority stems from his association with his students and relates, at best, only indirectly to the way he generally might have introduced his words or claimed to be the eschatological emissary of God. Thirdly, Jesus’ didactic identity and authority cannot be measured only in terms of how his verbal teaching was recalled. The very passage that records the surprise and offence noticed by Dunn deals in fact with one of Jesus’ mighty acts (Mark 1:23–28). The notion of teaching forms an inclusio to the exorcism performed by Jesus (1:22, 27). Teachers in antiquity acted as much as they spoke and the actions were an essential part of the teaching. Being a student had to do with observing and imitating the teachers in addition to listening to them and remembering their words. The two activities of verbal and of visual teaching were often intrinsically mixed in various didactic events.3 Scholars certainly discuss the acts of Jesus, not least his mighty acts, but they do so in separate studies and book-chapters without relating these acts to the specifically didactic aspects of Jesus’ mission and appearance, probably because they believe that teachers did not normally act the way Jesus did.

2. The Data The data for Jesus’ identity as teacher are rarely taken seriously in historicalJesus research. In face of the abundant amount of references to Jesus as teacher in the Gospels, it is striking that the didactic conception of him has not to any larger extent become a corner-stone for reconstructing and reconfiguring the historical Jesus. It is a good starting-point, a kind of "root identity," from where it is possible to plausibly move on to other aspects of his person and mission. A general survey of the data gives an impressive picture.4 The terms used for "teacher" – ῥαββί or ῥαββουνί and διδάσκαλος – occur 65 times in address to Jesus (except John 8:4). Luke also employs ἐπιστάτης didactically seven 2 See S. Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community (ConBNT 24; Stockholm 1994) 221–228, 234–236. 3 See Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher (see n.2), 270–275. 4 For complete lists of references, see R. Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer: Eine Untersuchung zum Ursprung der Evangelien-Überlieferung (3d ed.; WUNT 2.7; Tübingen 1988) 246–276; Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher (see n. 2), 202–204, 221–224.

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times.5 On four or five occasions people speak about him in the third person as teacher;6 on six occasions he refers to himself as teacher.7 We find the verb "to teach" (διδάσκειν) 56 times (except John 8:2) and the noun "teaching" (διδαχή) nine times. Both verbs refer almost always to the activity of Jesus. The term "disciple" (μαθητής) – "student," "the one taught" – is used in the Gospels 234 times, mostly for the Twelve, but also for the adherents of other teachers (e.g. Matt 9:14; 22:16; Acts 9:25) and – in the Lukan material – for additional followers of Jesus and Christ-believers in general (e.g. Luke 6:17; Acts 9:1; 11:26). In John the Jews are disciples of Moses (John 9:28). The verb "to make disciples" (μαθητεύειν) is never employed in the active mode to describe what Jesus does, only for what the disciples themselves and Paul and Barnabas do (Matt 28:19; Acts 14:21), but it is twice found in the passive mode – or possibly medium – in reference to persons who have become disciples of Jesus (Matt 13:52; 27:57). Three times we find the verb "to learn" (μανθάνει) describing the appropriation of something to which Jesus refers (Mark 13:28 par.; Matt 9:13; 11:29). This is however not a prominent term in the Gospels. The disciples learn primarily by following (ἀκολουθεῖν) Jesus, that is, by hearing, seeing, and imitating their master. These data in the Gospels become significant when compared with the rest of the New Testament. While leaders in the early Christian congregations are called teachers, Jesus is never given this didactic label outside the Gospels. The rest of the New Testament is surprisingly reserved in this regard. Only Acts 1:1 describes his activity didactically, and perhaps Paul alludes to him as an exemplary teacher in Rom 6:17, but these instances are exceptions and provide no evidence for the use of the term "teacher" in regard to Jesus. Similarly, the terms "disciple" and "to make disciples" – or "to become disciple" – are employed only in the Gospels and Acts. They never became a prominent label for the early Christ-believers. By the standards and criteria of historical-Jesus research, however we define them, this statistical feature is a firm indication that the early Jesus movement unanimously recalled Jesus as teacher. Rainer Riesner’s attempt, in his book Jesus als Lehrer, to situate the origin of the Jesus tradition within Jesus’ didactic identity and mission has been criticized on account of its picture of the transmission process,8 but Riesner has undoubtedly placed Jesus’ teaching role on firm footing. Scholars who minimize the importance of Jesus’ didactic appearance and place him in other roles have to confront the data of the early Christ-believers outlined above. 5

Luke 5:5; 8:24 (bis), 45; 9:33, 49; 17:13. Matt 9:11; 17:24; Mark 5:35; Joh 11:28. Cf. John 3:2. 7 Mark 14:14 pars.; Matt 10:24–25 par. (bis); Matt 23:8; John 13:13–14 (bis). 8 Riesner, Jesus als Lehrer (see n. 4). Cf. also Riesner, "Jesus as Preacher and Teacher," in Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed. H. Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield 1991) 185–210. 6

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It is to be added that our attention to the didactic aspect of Jesus’ person and mission means that we single out one dimension of his appearance and of the narrative reminiscence and interpretation of him. Each Gospel has in its own particular way incorporated the notion of Jesus as teacher into its plot and added significance to it, integrating the teaching into the revelatory importance of his person and ministry. In the Gospels Jesus is both the subject and – implicitly – the object of teaching, the teacher and the one taught.9 The author of Matthew, in particular, enhanced this notion into a didactic Christology of his own.10

3. The Basic Didactic Characteristics of Jesus’ Identity and Authority What is specifically didactic about Jesus in these passages? They do not suggest that Jesus was a rabbi to be measured against later rabbinic teachers. No one would claim this today; and no one should be accused of claiming it! Each and every occurrence of ῥαββί or ῥαββουνί cannot be regarded as a reflection of a didactic designation of the historical Jesus, even if they might eventually have carried such connotations among Christ-believers later on. These terms went through a significant semantic change around 70 CE and were employed in a narrow didactic fashion only after the Jewish war, when they became labels for legitimizing the emerging new rabbinic movement and slowly developed into a didactic title given to the Jewish teachers at the moment of ordination.11 Matthew, our most Jewish Gospel relating to other Jewish teachers, avoids for this reason these rabbinic terms for Jesus. For its author, probably active in the 80s, Jesus is not a rabbi. Only Judas, the traitor, addresses him as rabbi in Matthew (26:25, 49); and the scribes and the Pharisees, the Matthean Jesus says polemically, love it when the people call 9

This is the basic argument in S. Byrskog, "Das Lernen der Jesusgeschichte nach den synoptischen Evangelien," in Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung (ed. B. Ego and H. Merkel; WUNT 180; Tübingen 2005) 191–209. 10 See Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher (see n. 2), 290–306; idem, "Jesus as Messianic Teacher in the Gospel According to Matthew: Tradition History and/or Narrative Christology," in The New Testament as Reception (ed. M. Müller and H. Tronier; JSNTSup 230; Sheffield 2002) 83–100; M. Müller, "The Theological Interpretation of the Figure of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew: Some Principal Features in Matthean Christology," NTS 45 (1999) 157–173. Cf. also J. Yueh-Han Yieh, One Teacher: Jesus’ Teaching Role in Matthew’s Gospel Report (BZNW 124; Berlin 2004). 11 Cf. the debate between H. Shanks, "Is the Title ‘Rabbi’ Anachronistic in the Gospels," JQR 53 (1962/63) 337–345; idem, "Origins of the Title ‘Rabbi’," JQR 59 (1968/69) 152–157, and S. Zeitlin, "A Reply," JQR 53 (1963/63) 345–349; idem, "The Title Rabbi in the Gospels is Anachronistic," JQR 59 (1968/69) 158–160.

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them rabbis (23:7). It is an entirely negative label in Matthew. Some might indeed have called the historical Jesus rabbi, but, in that case, primarily as an expression of respect, "my great one," possibly with a didactic slant attached to it. The term ybr could carry such connotations. Perhaps the Hebrew hrwm was employed as a more specifically didactic address.12 Three general features set him apart from most other teachers of his own time and later on and are unanimously recalled as basic characteristics of him as a teacher. They all concern the relationship to his disciples and have only little to do with claims of prophetic or divine authority. First of all, he selects his own disciples. We have no record of how Jesus calls each and every one of the disciples, but only of his calling of Peter and Andrew, James and John, and Levi/Matthew. Here Jesus is the active one. Perhaps we are so accustomed to read the calling episodes in Mark 1:16–20; 2:14 in light of Jesus’ call to repentance – even if the significance of this Motif for Jesus’ mission is open to debate – that we miss to observe that he actually calls people to follow (ἀκολουθεῖν) him, not to repent, thus urging them to join him as a teacher with the didactic expression of discipleship going back to the Hebrew yrx) xlh (e.g. 1 Kgs 19:20, LXX 3 Kgdms 19:20). But while Jesus addresses them as potential students, not converts, he acts at the same time in an unusual way by himself selecting disciples. The normal procedure in Greek, Roman and Jewish antiquity was that students themselves approached a teacher and asked to be allowed to follow him, especially on the more advanced level. Teachers, on their part, competed for adherents, like Jesus ben Sirach who challenged the new Greek gymnasium in Jerusalem and urged the foolish inhabitants to turn to his house of instruction/education, r#wm / #rdm tyb (Sir 51:23; LXX οἶκος παιδείας), to his hby#y (Sir 51:29). Only on one occasion in the Gospels, in the double tradition recorded in Matt 8:18–22 and Luke 9:57–62, are people coming up to Jesus asking to follow him. In the Mattehan version of that episode the scribe addresses Jesus as teacher. But Jesus is reluctant to accept them. He is not competing with other teachers for popularity and points to the harsh and extremely radical character of the kind of discipleship he has to offer. For that reason, and in quite an unusual way, he prefers himself to actively look for and select the persons to follow him. Secondly, Jesus is the only teacher of his chosen disciples. There is no one else teaching them. Matthew is most prolific and emphatic on this point, introducing in 23:8–10 a Jesus-saying emphatically forbidding the disciples to call themselves teachers because they have only one teacher and instructor. But all four Gospels are equally focused on Jesus as the one teacher of the disciples. Again, the Christology of the Gospels might have blinded us to the unusual didactic and pedagogical feature to promote only one teacher. The 12 For the history of the terms and their use in Matthew, see further Byrskog, Jesus the Only Teacher (see n. 2), 93–96, 284–287.

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ideal, generally speaking, was to consult several teachers. "A sage is the one who learns from everybody" (m. Avot 4:1), especially when it comes to more advanced studies requiring reflection and not only passive learning. Avot Rabbi Nathan A 3 gives the explicit recommendation, attributed to Rabbi Meir (c. 150 CE), that several teachers are to be consulted (cf. similarly b. Ber. 63b). In rabbinic literature the individual teacher was an embodiment of the Torah and not of significance apart from the Torah. It is not by chance that we have no bioi of prominent rabbis. Ultimately the students followed the teaching – the Torah – rather than the teacher. In the collective memory visible in the Gospels, by contrast, there is only one teacher binding his students tightly and radically to his own person and his teaching. Thirdly, the students never became independent teachers of their own. The double tradition recorded in Matt 10:40 and Luke 10:16 mentions Jesus’ general principle that those who received the disciples in fact received Jesus. This seems to have been also his didactic principle. He did not – unusually enough in antiquity – educate the disciples to become authoritative teachers of their own. The only indication that he might have handed over his didactic authority to another person who should serve as a didactic authority is perhaps the episode in Matt 16:19 where Jesus gives Peter the authority to bind and loose, before telling the disciples of his future death. The meaning and connotations of the act of binding and loosing are open to different interpretations. Either we have the basic meaning of putting into chains and setting free or the connotation of imposing and removing a ban or the frequent rabbinic interpretation of declaring by halakhic teaching what is forbidden and permitted. The immediately preceding episode concerning the yeast of the Pharisees and the Sadducees, which is to be understood as the διδαχή of the Pharisees and the Sadducees, might indicate that the author attached a didactic connotation to what Jesus hands over to Peter. Nevertheless, and regardless of the historicity of this famous passage, Peter never becomes a teacher or a didactic authority himself in the Matthean story, even less "the supreme Rabbi" of the Church in Antioch, as Burnett H. Streeter once proposed, or the "Christian chief Rabbi," as Ernst von Dobschütz claimed long ago.13 In Matthew Peter disappears entirely from the scene after he has denied Jesus and cursed (Matt 26:69–75). The author has no interest in restoring him as a positive character subsequently in the story. The occurrence of teachers in the early Christ-believing communities was probably a reflection of the existence of learned people who were assigned specific didactic tasks, but this is no evidence that Jesus’ disciples turned from being students to being independent 13 B.H. Streeter, The Four Gospels: A Study of Origins, treating of the Manuscript Tradition, Sources, Authorship, & Dates (London 1924) 515; E. von Dobschütz, "Matthew as Rabbi and Catechist," in The Interpretation of Matthew (ed. G. Stanton; Philadelphia 1983) 19–29, here 25.

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teachers. From Matthew’s perspective disclosed fully at the end of the Matthean story, the disciples are to teach, indeed, but only on the basis of the final and all-embracing ἐξουσία of Jesus himself.14 As it seems, even when the disciples are to teach, they will do so as students of Jesus and refrain from claiming or relying on their own or any other didactic authority. These three basic features of Jesus’ didactic identity and authority concern the relationship with his students. They are specifically didactic because they deal directly with his activity as a teacher and hence give the particularly didactic aspect of Jesus’ person and mission a distinctive character. It will not do to enhance Jesus as teacher by saying that he was in addition a number of other, greater things – prophet, Messiah, Son of Man, Son of God, etc – and that he claimed divine authority. He might have claimed to be (some of) these things. His full identity and authority was certainly a complex combination of various notions that he cherished and of different conceptions attached to him, as all constructions of identity are. But that combination does not define him as teacher and has little to do with didactic authority. So, in addition to the specific contours of his relationship to his students, we need to look for traits in his person and his activity that remain within the boundaries of his appearance as a teacher.

4. The Didactic Implications of Jesus’ Healings What about the other major part of Jesus’ activity, namely, his healings? They have often been seen as a visible manifestation of his dynamic and kerygmatic proclamation of the Kingdom of God and only vaguely related to his appearance as teacher. Is it possible to understand them, or at least some of them, or parts of them, more specifically in relation to his activity as teacher? Although we have little miracle tradition in the double tradition and Matthew and Luke seem to draw almost exclusively on Mark when they tell about Jesus’ healings, the fact that he soon received a reputation as a wonder worker indicates that what was remembered as miracles was from the beginning told as miracle stories. This is, as Dunn correctly points out, as close as we can come to the historicity of the miracles.15 Memory interpreted him from the beginning as a miracle worker. Mark has thirteen such stories, in addition to summary statements. In the sermons in Acts, Jesus is proclaimed as a person who did mighty works and wonders (Acts 2:22) and as healing all who were oppressed by the devil (Acts 10:38). Josephus refers to him as "a 14 See S. Byrskog, "Slutet gott, allting gott: Matteus 28:16–20 i narrativt perspektiv," in Matteus och hans läsare – förr och nu: Matteussymposiet i Lund den 27-28 september 1996. En hyllning till professor Birger Gerhardsson (ed. B. Olsson, S. Byrskog and W. Übelacker; Religio 48; Lunf 1997) 85–98. 15 Dunn, Jesus Remembered (see n. 1), 671–672.

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doer of extraordinary things" (Ant. 18:63) and Celsus, according to Origen, attributed magical powers to him (Contr. Celsum 1.28, 68). The accusation of sorcery in rabbinic tradition could also be seen as an echo of the charge leveled against Jesus that he expelled demons by the power of the ruler of demons (b. Sanh. 43a). These accounts, which have no intention to magnify Jesus, never dispute that he performed miracles, only the reasons for their success. In the Gospels, especially in Matthew, there is often some indication that people understood the teaching of Jesus to be closely connected with something that he is also doing or performing. In Matt 4:24–25 Jesus heals sick people that subsequently are present at the teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. In the collection of nine or ten miracle episodes in Matt 8–9 Jesus is twice referred to as teacher (8:19; 9:11). Moreover, just as the words of teaching might be called λόγοι (7:24, 26, 28), some miracles are said to be effective by a λόγος from Jesus (8:8, 16). To be noticed is also that although the people in Jesus’ home-town react to his teaching in the synagogue, they are astounded not only over his wisdom but also over his deeds of power; and Jesus reacts, it is said, by not doing many deeds of power there (13:54–58). The general impression is that when Jesus performs a miracle, he is in fact teaching. As is well-known, Mark 1:22–23 and Luke 4:31–32 indicate together with Matt 7:28–29 that Jesus’ teaching caused amazement because he taught with authority. Older scholars, such as David Daube, mistakenly explained this by reference to the fact that Jesus was not ordained.16 Ordination (hkyms) or the formal appointment (ywnm) of Jewish teachers was probably a post-70 occurrence. Although its historical origin is uncertain, we should notice that Jochanan ben Zakkai from the latter half of the first century CE is mentioned as the first in a row of rabbis practicing ordination (y. Sanh. 19a).17 Other scholars have taken recourse to prophetic categories or Christological titles and suggested that Jesus taught in that capacity. To be noted, however, is that Mark 1:21–28 and Luke 4:31–37 link the account of the people’s reaction to Jesus’ teaching in the synagogue with the episode of the man with an unclean spirit and Jesus’ rebuke of the spirit or demon, "Be silent, and come out of him" (Mark 1:25/Luke 4:35), and then return to the amazement of the people. Especially Mark has them keep on asking about Jesus’ teaching, "What is this? A new teaching (διδαχή) – with authority!" (Mark 1:27), while Luke focuses more on the utterance (λόγος) to the demon (Luke 4:36).

16

D. Daube, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism (London 1956) 205–223. See further J. Newman, Semikhah (Ordination): A Study of its Origin, History and Function in Rabbinic Literature (Manchester 1950); E. Lohse, Die Ordination im Spätjudentum und im Neuen Testament (Göttingen 1951); K. Hruby, "La notion d’ordination dans la tradition juive," La Maison-Dieu 102 (1970) 30–56. 17

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Of equal significance is the only occasion where Jesus’ authority is openly questioned by the Jewish leaders and he is forced to respond (Mark 11:27–33 pars.). According to Mark 11:27 the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders came to Jesus while he "was walking around" – περιπατοῦντος – in the temple. Both Matthew and Luke detect a didactic connotation in the verb used and render it with διδάσκειν (Matt 21:23) or διδάσκειν in combination with εὺαγγελίζεσθαι (Luke 20:1). Evidently the collective memory recalled Jesus as teaching in the temple. But the question of the Jewish leaders does not concern what he is saying, but what he is doing. All three synoptic Gospels put the question of the leaders in identical terms: "By what authority are you doing (ποεῖς) these things" (Mark 11:28 pars.). And all three synoptic Gospels end the episode with Jesus saying, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing (ποιῶ) these things" (Mark 11:33 pars.). So we have unanimous agreement that when Jesus was teaching in the temple the Jewish leaders found occasion to ask what he was doing rather than saying. It is uncertain what they were referring to – perhaps all that he had done after coming to Jerusalem: the entry, the cleansing of the temple, the cursing of the fig tree, etc. However, it is significant that the evangelists recalled him as a teacher with such an unusual authority that he became the object of things that were broader and yet closely related to his didactic activity.

5. The Servant of God as Teacher and Healer The combination of these passages – Mark 1:22f par. and Mark 1:27–33 pars. – dealing with Jesus’ didactic authority suggests that the mighty therapeutic acts were of interest for understanding him also as teacher. In the attempt to explain Jesus as a miracle worker, we often take recourse to other traditional roles that the disciples and others used as labels for him and lose sight of the abundant indication of his basic didactic identity. There is, however, one label that relates to Jesus’ didactic activity and links it to his miracles, in particular to his healings, namely, the notion of God’s servant. I am not here thinking of the Suffering Servant and the disputed question of Jesus’ use of it for conceptualizing the significance of his death. I am thinking of the neglected fact that our most Jewish Gospel with the most developed awareness of Jesus didactic identity and authority in a self-evident way uses it to combine the didactic and therapeutic activity of Jesus into one notion of identity. Two of the important fulfillment quotations in Matthew are taken from the servant songs, in 8:16–17 and 12:18–21. The former passage describes how Jesus heals many at Peter’s house. The quotation from Isa 53:4, "He took our infirmities and bore our diseases," clearly relates to that therapeutic activity. The idea that Jesus himself reflected on his therapeutic mission by recalling the book of Isaiah might be confirmed from his response to the messengers

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from John the Baptist in the double tradition recorded in Matt 11:2–6 and Luke 7:18–23), which is filled with allusions to various parts of Isaiah – and Isaiah only. The latter passage in Matthew 12 quotes from Isa 42:1–4. Although Matthew frames the quotation with references to how Jesus cured people, the central part of the quotation tells of a servant who proclaims justice to the nations (v. 18) and whose name will give them hope (v. 21). The author thus incorporates a didactic trait into the notion of the servant and subtly prepares the hearers/readers for the fuller commission of the disciples in Matt 28:16–20. When they will go to the nations and make new disciples of Jesus, teaching them to follow his commands, the mission of Jesus the servant will be continued in the mission of the disciples and finally find its full manifestation. The notion of the servant, it seems, serves as a cognitive matrix for the fusion of the therapeutic and the didactic activity in the collective memory of the Matthean group cherishing, as no one else, the memory of Jesus as teacher. This tiny in Matthew indication might easily be pushed aside were it not for the particular didactic and sapiential background attached to the Servant in Isa 42:1–4; 50:4; and 53:5. Already Bernhard Duhm saw here a reference to the Servant as a Torah teacher, especially in the notions that the Servant will bring forth "justice" (+p#m) in 42:1 and that he will establish "justice" (+p#m) and that the coastlands wait "for his teaching" (wtrwtl) in 42:4.18 The notion of the Servant subsequently went through an interpretation that linked him with messianic, didactic notions. As is well known, the Psalms of Solomon 17 and 18 use Isaiah 11 to portray the Messiah as a person of great wisdom, to the extent that the messianic figure performs the activity of παιδεία (17:42– 43). We are probably here dealing with an interpretation going back to the Greek translation of Isa 50:4; 53:5, which both describe the Servant. The expression "the tongue of a teacher" – lit. "a tongue of those who are taught"(Mydwml Nw#l) – is in 50:4 translated "a tongue of instruction" (γλῶσσαν παιδείας); and "upon him was the punishment that made us whole" – lit. "discipline was upon him for our peace" ( wyl( wnmwl# dswm) in 53:5 became "instruction of our peace was on him" (παιδεία εἰρήνης ἡμῶν ἐπ’ αὐτόν).). As teacher, God’s servant becomes the model of the Messiah performing paideia. There is more to it. The Targum of Isaiah, while not clearly depicting the figure in Isa 50:4 as Messiah, says that the Servant received "a tongue of teachers" and that he was able to teach with wisdom the righteous who faint for the words of God’s Torah. The comment on 53:5 is messianic and explains the significance of the teaching: "By his [i.e. the servant Messiah] teaching his peace will increase upon us, and in that we attach ourselves to his words our sins will be forgiven us." Evidently some pious circles related to the synagogue before the CE employed the image of God’s servant and attached 18

B. Duhm, Das Buch Jesaia (Göttingen 1892) 285–287.

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to it didactic connotations. The Matthean indication of a cognitive combination of Jesus as teacher and as miracle worker by reference to God’s servant might thus have deeper roots than what appears at first sight. The texts referred to above – Isa 42:1–4; 50:4; and 53:5 – indicate that the concept of God’s servant had received didactic connotations and therefore could be employed to label Jesus as a teacher who performed miracles. It is, of course, extremely difficult to know with precision if Jesus actually entertained similar ideas about himself and his mission. And this is, in a sense, irrelevant when considering his didactic identity and authority. As we have learned from sociologists and others, and as I indicated in my introductory remarks above, these concepts have to do with social belonging and social environment and with what people in that contextual field of significant others ascribe to a particular person as her or his identity and authority. We know that early Christ-believers immediately recalled Jesus as a teacher and a miracle worker; we know that the Jewish group which cherished him more than anyone else as their sole teacher also regarded him as miracle worker; we know that this group employed the concept of the Servant to explain his miracles and to indicate his prominent and finally all-embracing didactic activity; and we know that in doing so this group resembled other Jewish groups from pre-Christians times. The evidence is accumulative and circumstantial, but impressive enough to make us draw a conclusion. As an occurrence of the collective memory of the early Christ-believers, the didactic identity and authority of Jesus was of the past – it resided in past tradition – and of the present – it was cherished in the present. So, to conclude, I submit that the memory of Jesus which is visible in the Gospels negotiated, so to say, with Jesus of history, using traditions from and about him and a label from before CE to make sense of him and, by doing so, confirming his identity and authority without losing sight of what was specifically didactic. And this memory is probably as close as we will ever get to the didactic identity and authority of the historical Jesus. And it is close enough for assuming historicity.

Understanding the Identity of Jesus on the Basis of His Parables Renate Banschbach Eggen The parables of Jesus have always been a focal point in discussions about the historical Jesus. Most scholars consider them as some of the most authentic sayings of Jesus.1 The parables are "a fragment of the original rock of tradition" as Jeremias puts it.2 However, being some of the most original sayings of Jesus does not necessarily make the parables the most reliable sources in our quest for the historical Jesus.

1. Parables as Sources Parables are figurative texts.3 This means that they convey their messages, not by telling them directly, but via an image-text. Consequently, understanding a 1 A. Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen, Vol. 1 of Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2nd ed.; Tübingen 1910; repr. Damstadt 1979) 24; C.H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (rev. ed.; London and Glasgow 1961) 13; H. Weder, Die Gleichnisse Jesu als Metaphern: Traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Analysen und Interpretationen. (3d rev. ed. FRLANT 120; Göttingen 1984) 15–16; J.R. Donahue, The Gospel in Parable: Metaphor, Narrative, and Theology in the Synoptic Gospels (Philadelphia 1988) 2; C.L. Blomberg, Interpreting the Parables. (Downers Grove 1990) 21; G. Theissen and A. Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide, trans. John Bowden (trans. John Bowden; London 1996) 337–339; A.J. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus: A commentary (Grand Rapids 2000), 1; R. Zimmermann, "Gleichnisse als Medien der Jesuserinnerung. Die Historizität der Jesusparabeln im Horizont der Gedächtnisforschung," in Methodische Neuansätze zum Verstehen urchristlicher Parabeltexte (ed. R. Zimmermann; WUNT 231; Tübingen 2008) 87–121 here 88. 2 J. Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (3d rev. ed.; London 1972) 11. 3 Concerning the character of Jesus’ parables, positions in New Testament parable research can roughly be divided into three groups: 1.) There are approaches that consider parables as figurative texts, as for example A. Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2nd ed.; 2 vols; Tübingen 1910; repr., Damstadt 1979); Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1); Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2) and in more recent approaches: B.B. Scott, Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of Jesus (Minneapolis 1990); Blomberg, Interpreting (see n. 1); J.W. Sider, Interpreting the Parables: A Hermeneutical Guide to Their Meaning (Grand Rapids 1995) and R. Banschbach Eggen, Gleichnis, Allegorie, Metapher: Zur Theorie und Praxis

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parable demands more than understanding the words of a parable in their literal meaning. It requires an additional cognitive process that leads from the literal meaning of a parable’s text to its "real" message. The parable in Luke 15:4–7 for example, tells about a sheep that got lost, and about the great joy the owner felt when he found it. No New Testament scholar, however, considers the information about the sheep and its owner to be the parable’s real message or only purpose. Adolf Jülicher, for example, is convinced that Jesus used the Parable of the Lost Sheep to convey one of the basic thoughts of his religion: God’s love for every single sinner.4 Similarly, Joachim Jeremias formulates the message of the parable as follows: Such is the character of God; it is his pleasure that the lost should be redeemed, because they are his; their wanderings have caused him pain, and he rejoices over their return home. It is the ‘redemptive joy’ of God, of which Jesus speaks, the joy of forgiving.5

According to Charles H. Dodd, the Parable of the Lost Sheep tells us something about the coming of the Kingdom of God through the ministry of Jesus. More specifically it tells us that "one of the features of its coming was this unprecedented concern for the ‘lost.’"6 According to Hans Weder, the parable tells something about Jesus’ relationship to tax-collectors and sinners: "Im Kontext des Lebens Jesu muß dieses Gleichnis auf sein eigenes Verhalten gegenüber Zöllnern und Sündern angewendet werden."7 Craig L Blomberg interprets the Parables of The Lost Sheep and Lost Coin together, and arrives at three points for each of them: (1) Just as the shepherd and woman go out of their way to search diligently for their lost possessions, so God takes the initiative to go to great lengths to seek der Gleichnisauslegung (TANZ 47; Tübingen 2007). 2.) Others reject the distinction between image-text and a parable’s message. These approaches are generally termed "New Hermeneutics." They consider parables not as texts which tell us something about the kingdom of God and which should be intellectually understood, but as language events, which create new reality. Confronted with this new reality the listener of a parable is compelled to make an existential decision. Such approaches are found in E. Fuchs, Hermeneutik (4th rev. ed.; Tübingen 1970); E. Jüngel, Paulus und Jesus: Eine Untersuchung zur Präzisierung der Frage nach dem Ursprung der Christologie (3d rev. ed.; HUTh 2; Tübingen: 1962); J.D. Crossan, In Parables: The Challenge of the Historical Jesus (Sonoma 1992); W. Harnisch, Die Gleichniserzählungen Jesu: Eine hermeneutische Einführung (UTB.W 1343; Göttingen 1985); Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1). 3.) A third group of New Testament scholars places the narrative character of Jesus' parables at the center of attention. For example D.O. Via, The Parables: Their Literary and Existential Dimension (Philadelphia 1967); E. Rau, Reden in Vollmacht: Hintergrund, Form und Anliegen der Gleichnisse Jesu (FRLANT, 149; Göttingen 1990) and C.W. Hedrick, Parables as Poetic Fictions: The Creative Voice of Jesus (Peabody 1994). 4 A. Jülicher, Auslegung der Gleichnisreden der drei ersten Evangelien, Vol. 2 of Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2nd ed.; Tübingen 1910; repr., Damstadt 1979) 331. 5 Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 136. 6 Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1), 90. 7 Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1), 174.

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and to save lost sinners. (2) Just as the discovery of the lost sheep and coin elicit great joy, so the salvation of lost men and women is a cause for celebration. (3) Just as the existence of the ninety-nine sheep and nine coins afford no excuse for not searching for what is lost, those who profess to be God’s people can never be satisfied that their numbers are sufficiently great so as to stop trying to save more.8 Starting out from a story about a sheep and its owner, the interpreters arrive at a message about sinners and God. This means that there has been a cognitive process in addition to the mere literal understanding. To get from a parable’s literal meaning to its actual message obviously requires a particular interpretation process that allows the recipient to understand something other than what is being explicitly formulated in the parable’s text. Using the parables as sources for a quest for the historical Jesus means that we are interested in the actual messages Jesus himself wanted to communicate through his parables. If these messages are not explicitly given in our sources, but are the result of an interpretation process performed by the recipients themselves, then we need to know the interpretation method Jesus expected his recipients to use in order to be able to retrieve the original messages of the parables. It is, however, not only the method that is essential for the result of an interpretation process, but also the context in which a parable is placed that has a considerable effect on its message. Without a context the parables are only stories. It is the context that makes a story a parable. On its own, the text in Luke 15:4–6 tells about a person who owns a hundred sheep and loses one of them. It is only by reading it as part of Luke 15:1–7 that we are actually able to understand it as a message about God’s joy over one sinner who repents. Only when a parable is placed in a specific context it is able to convey a message different from its literal meaning. However, the context within which a parable is heard or read not only makes it possible to understand a message differently from what is actually said or written there, it also determines, to a considerable degree, the content of this message. If we place the Parable of the Lost Sheep within the context of Jesus’ teaching, it conveys a message about God’s joy over a repentant sinner. If we place it within the context of a newspaper story that tells us about a pupil who got lost on a school-trip, and was found after many hours of searching, the parable may tell us something about a teacher’s joy and relief. Depending on the context, the same parable is able to convey significantly different messages. Consequently, a search for the original message of Jesus’ parables always has to be based on a search for the original contexts of those parables. So far, we may conclude that in order to be able to use the parables as sources, we have to know the original method of their interpretations and their 8

Blomberg, Interpreting (see n. 1), 181.

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original contexts. At first sight that might seem unproblematic, since our main sources for the parables of Jesus, the Synoptic Gospels, contain both. The most explicit demonstration of how to find a parable’s actual message is given in Mark 4:14–20 (par. Matt 13:18–23; Luke 8:11–15). Furthermore, the same method of interpretation is visible in the applications that follow many of the parables. In Luke 15:7 for example, we do find the following as an application of the Parable of the Lost Sheep: "I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent." (Luke 15:7 NIV). An obvious explanation for the process leading from the story about one sheep that gets lost and is found again, to this message about God and one sinner who repents, seems to match the method demonstrated in Mark 4:14–20 (par. Matt 13:18–23; Luke 8:11–15): The shepherd is interpreted as God, the one sheep as a sinner and the remaining ninety-nine as righteous people. There is no lack of instructions in the Synoptic Gospels for how to interpret the parables of Jesus. The question is, however, if we accept them as matching the way in which Jesus wanted his parables to be interpreted. The same case can be made for the context. In the Synoptic Gospels all parables are placed within specific settings. Reading the parables as the Synoptics present them, gives us concrete contexts for our interpretations of the parables of Jesus. This means that the Synoptics provide us with all the information that is necessary to find the parables’ actual message. They demonstrate a method of interpretation, and they place the parables within specific contexts. The question is, however, does this mean that we are able to retrieve the original messages of Jesus’ parables, the messages Jesus originally meant to convey? In fact many New Testament scholars consider both the method of interpretation, and the contexts presented in the Gospels, as secondary. Consequently, many of them are convinced that the original way of interpreting the parables of Jesus and their original contexts have to be reconstructed by the scholars themselves. The foundation for this conviction was laid by Adolf Jülicher. At the end of the 19th century he published his seminal work on the parables of Jesus. His two-volume work, "Die Gleichnisreden Jesu"9 represents in many ways the beginning of modern parable research. Even though some scholars soon began to question different parts of Jülicher's work, his rejection of the method of parable interpretation presented in the Gospels has been widely accepted.10 9

Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden (see n. 3). Cf. K. Erlemann, "Adolf Jülicher in der Gleichnisforschung des 20. Jahrhunderts," in Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899 – 1999: Beiträge zum Dialog mit Adolf Jülicher (ed. Ulrich Mell; BZNW 103; Berlin 1999) 5–37, here 33 and Donahue, The Gospel (see n. 1), 8. Both Harnisch, Die Gleichniserzählungen (see n. 3), 42 and Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1), 11 clearly express their agreement with Adolf Jülicher. Paul Fiebig argued quite early against Jülicher's rejection of allegory, referring to Jewish parables. Cf. P. Fiebig, Die 10

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This rejection also paved the way for a distinction between the original settings of the parables in the life of Jesus, and their secondary settings within the life of the primitive church. Fifty years later Joachim Jeremias’ research provided a thorough methodological foundation for this distinction.11 Most New Testament scholars agree that the parables’ contexts within the Gospels are more likely to reflect situations in the life of the primitive church than the original settings for the teaching of Jesus.12 Consequently, in most approaches the parables’ contexts given in the Gospels are considered secondary. As we have seen above, the same is the case for the interpretation method used in the Gospels. However, if we do not accept what is presented in the Gospels, the reconstruction of more authentic contexts and a more authentic way of interpreting the parables is left to the scholars themselves. In fact, a considerable part of New Testament parable research consists of approaches that argue for a new way of parable interpretation, or sketch contexts for the parables which are considered to be closer to their original settings than the ones presented in the Gospels.

2. Reconstructions of the Method of Interpretation A main part of the first volume of Adolf Jülicher’s Die Gleichnisreden Jesu is dedicated to his long and thorough argument against the Gospels’ way of interpreting the parables and the development of his own method of parable interpretation. According to Jülicher’s theory, the main step in understanding the parables of Jesus consists of finding the one point of comparison.13 This is a way of interpretation that, according to Jülicher, did not expect more from a listener or reader than even an uneducated person could manage, and therefore does more justice to Jesus’ true nature than the interpretation method pre-

Gleichnisreden Jesu im Lichte der rabbinischen Gleichnisse des neutestamentlichen Zeitalters: Ein Beitrag zum Streit um die "Christusmythe" und eine Widerlegung der Gleichnistheorie Jülichers (Tübingen 1912) 119–132. According to him allegory and parable cannot be defined as incompatible types of text (132). In P. Fiebig, Altjüdische Gleichnisse und die Gleichnisse Jesu (Tübingen 1904) 89, he emphasizes that allegorical elements are natural parts of the parables of Jesus. However, his work had little effect on the further development of parable research. 11 Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 11–114. 12 Exceptions are to be found in the studies of W.R. Herzog II, Parables as Subversive Speech: Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed (Louisville 1994) and Hedrick, Parables (see n. 3). Both accept the original contexts to a certain degree, and fit them in with their own concepts. 13 Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen (see n. 1) 69–70. A critical analysis of Jülicher’s theory is to be found in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3) 28–37.

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sented in the Gospels.14 Adolf Jülicher is convinced that his own method is more adequate to the parables of Jesus than the method used in the Gospels. A substantially different conception of the interpretation process was developed on the basis of the so-called "New Hermeneutic". In this approach, language is considered to possess the power of revealing new dimensions of being. This is made possible through so-called "language-events" which gain their power from analogy. New Hermeneutic approaches are based on a specific conception of metaphor. Metaphor is understood as a figure of speech, in which two incompatible ideas or concepts are brought together. The bringing together of incompatible ideas leads to a tension, which creates a new reality.15 Based on this conception of metaphor, New Hermeneutic parable theories regard parables as extended metaphors. Parable theories grounded on the New Hermeneutic are developed by Ernst Fuchs,16 Eberhard Jüngel,17 Wolfgang Harnisch18 and Hans Weder19, among others. According to these theories, parables are considered as language-events, which confront their listeners or readers with the content of Jesus’ teaching in a very direct way. They give them a completely new perspective, and force them to make a decision. Yet another different approach is to be found in the work of Charles W. Hedrick.20 He considers it most probable that Jesus didn’t use his parables in order to tell something about the kingdom of God. In his opinion "They most certainly are products of Jesus’ creative imagination, [...]"21. Jesus "most certainly ‘made up’–created–fabricated–stories."22 It should not be assumed that the parables are meant to refer to something beyond the narratives themselves. They "should be read ‘poetically’– as freely created fictional narratives of 14 Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen (see n. 1) 142–146. Jülicher’s own interpretations of the parables, based on his theory of the one point of comparison, often end up in ethical commonplaces and not in concrete messages about the Kingdom of God. This problem has early on been pointed out by Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1), 24, "Those who follow Jülicher’s method tend to make the process of interpretation end with a generalization." 15 Conceptions of metaphor which had a decisive influence on parable theories are mainly to be found in P. Ricoeur, "Stellung und Funktion der Metapher in der biblischen Sprache," in Metapher. Zur Hermeneutik religiöser Sprache (ed. P. Ricoeur and E. Jüngel; München 1974) 45–70 and E. Jüngel, "Metaphorische Wahrheit: Erwägungen zur theologischen Relevanz der Metapher als Beitrag zur Hermeneutik einer narrativen Theologie," in Metapher. Zur Hermeneutik religiöser Sprache (ed. P. Ricoeur and E. Jüngel; München 1974) 71–122. Their conceptions and the influence of their conceptions on different theories of parable interpretation are thoroughly discussed in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3). 16 Fuchs, Hermeneutik (see n. 3). 17 Jüngel, Paulus (see n. 3). 18 Harnisch, Die Gleichniserzählungen (see n. 3). 19 Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1). 20 Hedrick, Parables (see n. 3). 21 Ibid. 32. 22 Ibid. 35.

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Jesus’ poetic vision of reality."23 Instead of interpreting the parables, one should try to engage in, and interact with, the stories told.24 The three approaches referred to above present clearly different methods for interpreting the parables of Jesus. Yet each of them claims to present the original method, the way in which Jesus himself wanted his parables to be understood. Since each approach reflects its own image of Jesus, and the purpose of his parables, we may suspect a certain correspondence between the scholars’ own theological conceptions and the methods of interpretation they argue for. In fact, it is not difficult to see that Jülicher’s method of the single point of comparison fits his picture of Jesus as a unique teacher of wisdom, who goes to great length to make his message understandable for all people.25 In New Hermeneutic approaches, the thought of language as an existential power is fundamental. Accordingly, the method of interpretation presented in these approaches reflects Jesus as a person with extraordinary linguistic abilities, who through his words, and especially his parables, is able to make the Kingdom of God present in our lives, even today. Charles W. Hedrick looks at the parables of Jesus partly from a literary point of view, with an intention to develop "a Poetics for the Stories of Jesus."26 His method of understanding the parables by reading, and not by interpreting, reflects an image of the historical Jesus as a poet. The same correspondence between the scholars’ theological conceptions and their reconstructions of the original method of interpreting the parables of Jesus can also be found by looking at the scholars’ reconstructions of the parables’ original contexts.

3. Reconstructions of Original Contexts In the following we shall discuss the reconstruction of the original contexts in some approaches, using the Parable of the Lost Sheep in Luke 15:4–6, and the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly in Mark 4:26–29, as examples. Charles H. Dodd, one of the central scholars in early modern parable research, developed a conception of realized eschatology which in his opinion represents the original context for many of Jesus’ parables. He is convinced that: "The teaching of Jesus is […] related to a brief and tremendous crisis in which He is the principal figure and which indeed His appearance brought 23

Ibid. 32. Ibid. 5. 25 In Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen (see n. 1), 191, he characterizes the teaching of Jesus as "[…] liebevoll zur Fassungskraft der Geistesärmsten herabsteigende Kinderlehre." 26 Hedrick, Parables (see n. 3), 57. 24

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about."27. If we take a look at Dodd’s own interpretations, we can easily see that his conception of realized eschatology has influenced the messages he deduces from the parables. Dodd’s interpretation of the Lost Sheep, for example, results in a message that points to the fact that the Kingdom of God has already come: "In the ministry of Jesus the Kingdom came; and one of the features of its coming was this unprecedented concern for the lost."28 In his interpretation of the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly (Mark 4:26–29) Dodd focuses on the harvest in v. 29: "That is what the Kingdom of God is like. It is the fulfillment of the process."29 Dodd’s interpretations of both parables emphasize the Kingdom of God as being present within and through the teaching of Jesus. It is not difficult to see that Charles H Dodd’s interpretations of both the Parable of the Lost Sheep, and the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly, are grounded on his theory of realized eschatology. Joachim Jeremias, another central scholar of New Testament parable research sketches a context for the parables of Jesus, which is quite different from Charles H. Dodd’s realized eschatology. In Jeremias’ opinion, the original settings of Jesus’ parables are mainly to be found in situations of conflict, such as "justification, defense, attack and even challenge,"30 and they are mainly meant to be "weapons of controversy."31 If we turn to Jeremias’ interpretation of the Parable of the Lost Sheep, we find, according to him, that the original message of this parable is the following: "Such is the character of God; it is his good pleasure that the lost should be redeemed, because they are his; their wanderings have caused him pain, and he rejoices over their return home."32 In this message, which Jeremias characterizes as "Jesus’ defence of the gospel" 33 it is not the coming of the Kingdom that is at focus but God’s great joy. The purpose of defense is even more explicitly pointed out in the specific original setting, which Joachim Jeremias sketches for the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly: It has often been conjectured that this parable was intended as a contrast to the efforts of the Zealots to bring in the Messianic deliverance by a forcible throwing off of the Roman yoke: and here it must be remembered that exZealots too belonged to the circle of the disciples. Why did Jesus not act when action was what the hour demanded? Why did he not take vigorous steps to purge out the sinners and establish the purified community […]? Was not this refusal of Jesus a denial of the claim of his mission?34 27

Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1), 23. Ibid. 90. 29 Ibid. 134. 30 Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 21. 31 Ibid. 21. 32 Ibid. 136. 33 Ibid. 136. 34 Ibid. 152. 28

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Accordingly, the message which Jeremias deduces from this parable reads as follows: "Thus it is with the Kingdom of God; […] Man can do nothing with regard to it; he can only wait with the patience of the husbandman (James 5:7)."35 Joachim Jeremias lays stress on the middle part of the parable, in which the inactivity of the sower is at focus. In contrast to Dodd’s interpretation of the same parable, there is no thought of realized eschatology in the message Jeremias develops from this parable. Instead, he interprets the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly on the basis of the disappointed expectations of Jesus’ followers as a defense of his mission.36 Another context for the parables of Jesus, which clearly differs from both Charles H. Dodd’s and Joachim Jeremias’ approaches, is reconstructed by William R. Herzog II, who studies the parables of Jesus from a sociological point of view. In his opinion, the most likely original context37 of Jesus’ parables is a specific vision of Jesus’ public activity as a strategy to fight the contemporary political and economic system. In his view, the parables were perceived as a threat to the existing political and economic structures in Jerusalem. This leads William R. Herzog II to the conclusion: If parabling was a part of Jesus’ public activity that was followed with suspicion and eventually deemed actionable, then his parables must have dealt with dangerous issues, which always means political and economic issues, […].38 Neither the Parable of the Lost Sheep nor the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly is discussed thoroughly in his book. Instead we may take a look at his interpretation of the Parable of the Dishonest Steward (Luke 16:1–9). After thorough analyses and discussions of the interpretations of many other scholars, William R. Herzog II summarizes his own sociological interpretation as follows: Out of the battle came a temporary respite for the debtors, a glimpse of a time when debts would be lowered and a place where rejoicing could be heard. This may not be a parable of the reign of God, but it suggests how the weapons of the weak can produce results in a world dominated by the strong.39 35

Ibid. 151–152. Mary Ann Tolbert, after having analyzed both Charles H. Dodd’s and Joachim Jeremias’ interpretation of this parable, states: "Dodd and Jeremias are using essentially the same historical-critical method; they are both interested in understanding what the parables meant in the time of Jesus; and they both agree that interpreting the parables in the light of Jesus’ eschatology is the right way to arrive at that goal. However, because they each formulate the eschatological message of Jesus in slightly different terms, their interpretations of the same parable diverge radically." (M.A. Tolbert, Perspectives on the Parables: An Approach to Multiple Interpretations [Philadelphia 1979] 25). 37 W.R. Herzog II is well aware of the subjectivity of searches for the historical Jesus, including the search for the original context of the parables. See Herzog II, Parables (see n. 12), 44. 38 Ibid, 27. 39 Ibid. 258. 36

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The interpretations of Charles H. Dodd, Joachim Jeremias and William R. Herzog II, show that the context which is chosen for a parable determines the message which is extracted from it. At the same time it is not difficult to see that the reconstructions of original contexts reflect the scholars’ individual visions of the historical Jesus, which again are influenced by their theological conceptions or methodological approaches.40 To use the parables in order to affirm a certain conception of the historical Jesus and his mission is therefore problematic. In his book on the parables, Charles H. Dodd first develops his conception of realized eschatology on the basis of non-parabolic texts. Then he presents his own interpretations of the parables of Jesus, applying the notion of realized eschatology as the context. Dodd seems to be convinced that by doing this he is able to prove the adequacy of his theory of realized eschatology: "The theory which I have enunciated may be regarded as an hypothesis to be tested applying it to the interpretation of the parables."41 Since the message of a parable is determined by its context, Dodd is guaranteed to arrive at interpretations that support his theory. Surprisingly we meet the same dilemma in the book of Herzog II, even though he actually seems to be aware of the problem: Any study of Jesus’ parables will be predicated on some larger understanding of what Jesus’ public work was all about. It is not possible to analyze the pieces without some view of the whole.42

Nevertheless, he obviously considers applying his theory of the historical Jesus and his mission to the interpretation of the parables as an adequate method for testing the accuracy of his theory. After having proposed his theory that the parables of Jesus originally were provoking contributions to discussions on political and economic issues, he continues: "It would seem reasonable to pose this hypothesis and test it through reading some parables."43 To use the parables in order to confirm a certain conception of the historical Jesus, almost inevitably leads to a circular argument. In these cases the conception which is to be proved, at the same time constitutes the context for the parables, and that means it also determines their actual message. In other words: You get what you give. 40

After having presented the New Testament scholars’ different interpretations of the Parable of the Widow and the Judge Snodgrass comments, "What is obvious in all of these attempts to interpret the Parable of the Widow and the Judge is that the more one cuts a parable from its contexts in the Gospels, the life of Jesus, and the theology of Israel, the more there exists a lack of control and the more subjectivity reigns." (K.R. Snodgrass "From Allegorizing to Allegorizing: A History of the Interpretation of the Parables of Jesus," in The Challenge of Jesus' Parables [ed. R.N. Longenecker; Grand Rapids 2000] 3–29, here 26) 41 Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1), 83. 42 Herzog II, Parables (see n. 12), 14. 43 Ibid. 27.

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Parables gain meaning within context, and their meaning is determined by that context. As long as we do not have the original contexts of the parables, trying to understand the identity of Jesus on the basis of his parables is a problematic undertaking. If we expect a parable to express something about a main topic of Jesus’ teaching, we automatically place the parable within our own vision of what Jesus’ teaching was about, thereby influencing considerably on the result of our interpretation.44 Albert Schweitzer already discussed this dilemma with regard to research on the historical Jesus in general in 1906.45 Within parable research the recognition of this dilemma has made scholars like John R. Donahue,46 John Drury,47 Birger Gerhardsson,48 Arland J. Hultgren49 and Ruben Zimmermann50 consider the contexts in the Gospels as the only reasonable basis for an interpretation. None of them claims that these contexts are the original ones. Rather they accept that it is not possible to reach back any further than to the earliest sources that are directly accessible to us.51 New Testament scholars are widely in agreement on that the contexts in the Gospels in many cases do not represent the original settings of the parables. After Jesus’ death, his sayings were most probably first passed on orally as small units. Later these units were collected into larger text groups and finally presented within the framework of coherent narratives, the Gospels. During this process the situations in which Jesus originally told his parables might easily be forgotten and new contexts were formed, partly by the way in which

44 See also R. Banschbach Eggen, "The Reception of the Parables of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels," in The New Testament as Reception (ed. M. Müller and H. Tronier; JSNT.S 230; Sheffield 2002) 58–82, here 67–69. 45 A. Schweitzer, "But it was not only each epoch that found its reflection in Jesus; each individual created Him in accordance with his own character." (The Quest of the Historical Jesus: A critical Study of Its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede [New York 1968] 4). 46 Donahue, The Gospel (see n. 1). 47 J. Drury, The Parables in the Gospels: History and Allegory (New York 1989). 48 B. Gerhardsson, "If We Do Not Cut the Parables Out of Their Frames," NTS 37 (1991) 321–335. 49 Hultgren, The Parables (see n. 1). 50 Zimmermann, "Gleichnisse" (see n. 1). 51 Both J.R. Donahue’s and A.J. Hultgren’s main perspective is the use of the parables in preaching. For this they consider parable interpretations based on the contexts in the Gospels the most appropriate. Cf. Donahue, The Gospel (see n. 1), 214 and Hultgren, The Parables (see n. 1), 17–18. For John Drury it is the historical inquiry that is in focus which for him means searching for evidence which actually can be found. Cf. Drury, The Parables (see n. 47), 3. The purpose of Birger Gerhardsson’s study is to examine the character of Jesus parables. For this he considers it absolutely necessary to examine the parables within their contexts in the Gospels. Cf. Gerhardsson, "If We Do Not Cut" (see n. 48), 325–327. Ruben Zimmermann argues for the parables as means of remembering Jesus. He leaves no doubt that the original settings of the parables are lost and the contexts in the Gospels therefore have to make the basis for his study. Cf. Zimmermann, "Gleichnisse" (see note 1), 111.

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the text units were put together.52 Due to this tradition process the original contexts of the parables are lost forever. We are not able to tell, if some of the contexts presented in the Gospels in fact reflect the original settings of the parables in the life of Jesus and not (only) the situations in the life of the primitive church. Reconstructions of the original contexts of the parables of Jesus will always be based on hypotheses, and to a certain degree influenced by the scholars’ own theological conceptions. That doesn’t mean we should stop trying. New hypotheses may challenge established views, open new perspectives, and cast new light on our understanding of the parables and our images of the historical Jesus. One should be careful, however, when claiming that one’s own reconstruction of the historical settings of Jesus’ parables is closer to the historical Jesus than the approaches of others, including the ones presented in the Gospels. We are not able to prove which reconstruction is the most original one. If we are not able to identify the original contexts of the parables of Jesus, we are not able to retrieve the original messages of Jesus’ parables.53 Consequently the conclusion of our observations so far has to be: Trying to understand the identity of Jesus on the basis of the messages of his parables hardly brings us closer to the historical Jesus. It is, however, important to notice that this applies only for the messages of the parables. The question has still to be answered if understanding the identity of Jesus on the basis of his parables may bring us any further when focusing on the method of interpretation.

4. Interpreting the Parables as the Synoptics Do Through Adolf Jülicher’s work, the interpretation method presented in the Synoptic Gospels got a bad reputation, which it never really recovered from. In the first volume of his epoch-making work on the parables, Adolf Jülicher goes to great length to convince his readers that the Synoptics’ way of interpreting the parables of Jesus was due to a misunderstanding.54 He was convinced that the Gospel writers mistook the parables for allegories. At the same time, he established a concept of allegory according to which allegory is decisively characterized by an element of secrecy, revealing its message only to those who were initiated in advance. By linking this element of secrecy to the method of interpretation presented in the Gospels, Jülicher marked the Gos52 An excellent presentation of the process of tradition concerning the Gospel material is presented in E.P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London 1993) 58–61. 53 John Drury remarks appropriately: "The critic who is after the authentic and original parables of Jesus is like a restorer trying to clean an allegedly over-painted canvas by Rubens without having access to a single indisputably authentic Rubens painting or even sketch." (Drury, The Parables [see n. 47], 3). 54 Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen (see n. 1), 25–118.

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pels’ parable interpretation as a way of turning the parables of Jesus into a means of secrecy and exclusion.55 Whereas the method of parable interpretation presented by Adolf Jülicher himself makes the parables of Jesus appear as illustrative and easily grasped texts, which are suited to make the message of the kingdom of God accessible to everybody.56 Jülicher’s work had a long lasting influence on the parable research of the twentieth century. 57 After his battle against the allegorizing interpretation of the parables of Jesus,58 it became difficult for New Testament scholars to consider the Synoptics’ interpretation of the parables as a guideline to the interpretation of the parables of Jesus.59 Nevertheless, more and more scholars defend the Gospels’ method of interpretation as an adequate way of understanding the parables of Jesus. Craig L. Blomberg is one who explicitly calls his own way of interpreting the parables "allegorizing". In his opinion, Jülicher’s rejection of the Gospels’ interpretation method throws doubt on the authenticity of the parables themselves.60 He therefore argues for a method of interpretation similar to that of the Gospels,61 and applies it in his own interpretation of the parables. Madeleine Boucher, who is approaching parable interpretation from a literary theoretical point of view, argues explicitly against Adolf Jülicher, and calls his definition of parable and allegory a "misleading error."62 With regard to the method of interpretation she states: […] despite wide opinion to the contrary, there is nothing at all incongruous about the interpretations of the parables found in the Synoptic Gospels. Again, they certainly do not transform a parable into an allegory. 63

55

In his thorough and convincing study on allegory and allegorese, Hans-Josef Klauck makes clear that it is not a feature of allegory to be mysterious and excluding. Cf. H.-J. Klauck, Allegorie und Allegorese in synoptischen Gleichnistexten (NTA.NF 13; Münster 1978) 43. 56 A critical analysis of Jülicher’s argumentation is to be found in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 9–40. 57 See n. 10. 58 Jülicher himself makes it clear that this battle is one of the main aims of his book: "[…] weil es der Kampf gegen die allegorisierende Auslegung von Jesu ‘Parabeln’ ist, an dem ich mich mit dieser Arbeit beteiligen möchte, […]" (Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen [see n. 1], 50 [Jülicher’s highlighting]). 59 Erlemann states, "Besonders in seinem Grundanliegen, der Vermeidung allegorisierender Auslegung, findet Jülicher bis heute breiteste Bestätigung." (K. Erlemann, "Adolf Jülicher" [see n. 10], 33.) 60 Blomberg, Interpreting (see n. 1), 20–21. 61 Ibid. 49–69. 62 M. Boucher, The Mysterious Parable: A Literary Study (CBQ.MS 6; Washington D.C. 1977) 7. 63 Ibid. 31.

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Craig.S. Keener, who discusses the interpretation method presented in the Gospels on the background of a comparison with rabbinic parables, reaches the same conclusion: "There is thus no historical reason to deny the authenticity of parable interpretations of Jesus based on allegorization or multiple extrinsic reference."64 I cannot but agree with Craig S. Keener and Madeleine Boucher. Adolf Jülicher attached the labels of secrecy and exclusion to the Gospels’ method of parable interpretation, and thus he practically stigmatized it for many decades. The explanation for the persistence of Adolf Jülicher’s rejection of the Synoptics’ interpretative method is to be found in the fact that Jülicher linked the Synoptics’ way of interpretation, which is explicitly demonstrated in Mark 4:14–20, (par. Matt 13:18–23; Luke 8:11–15), insolubly to Mark 4:11–12 (par. Matt 13:11–13; Luke 8:10).65 This combination, however, is far from a compelling one.66 If we remove the labels of secrecy and exclusion, there is no reason not to accept the Gospels’ interpretation of the parables as an adequate way of understanding the parables of Jesus. In my own study on parable interpretation, 27 interpretations of 11 different New Testament scholars were analyzed. 67 The analysis shows, that scholars who arrive at concrete messages about the Kingdom of God perform the same steps in their interpretation as we find in the Gospels.68 Central terms in the image-texts are substituted by other terms, terms which are used when talking about the Kingdom of God. The shepherd in the Parable of the Lost Sheep, for example, is often substituted by God or Jesus, whereas the lost sheep is substituted by a sinner or sinners.69 For example, my analysis of the 64

C. S. Keener, The Historical Jesus of the Gospels (Grand Rapids 2009) 193. A critical analysis of Adolf Jülicher’s argumentation is to be found in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 20–22. 66 E.g. D. Flusser, Das Wesen der Gleichnisse. Vol 1 of Die rabbinischen Gleichnisse und der Gleichniserzähler Jesus (JudChr 4; Bern 1981) 125–126. My own interpretation of Mark 4:11–12 within the context of Mark 4:1–34 is presented in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 238– 240. 67 Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 121–187. See also Eggen, "The Reception" (see n. 44), 63– 67. 68 Similarly Blomberg, "Interpreters from Jülicher to the present have been unable to avoid allegorical interpretations of the parables, however strenuously they deny the validity of the method." Craig Blomberg, however, calls that way of interpreting the parables as "allegorical." (Interpreting [see n. 1], 133). Unlike him I am of the opinion that this term should not be used anymore for the parable interpretation in the Gospels. It was Adolf Jülicher’s characterization of this interpretation as allegorical, that was based on his own definition of allegory. In connection with the parables the term "allegory" therefore easily evokes negative associations. Cf. Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 37–40. 69 Jülicher, Auslegung (see n. 4), 331–332; Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 135; E. Linnemann, Gleichnisse Jesu. Einführung und Auslegung (5th rev. ed.; Göttingen 1969) 75– 78; Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1), 173–174 and Blomberg, Interpreting (see n. 1), 180– 181. See also Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 180–183. 65

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interpretations of the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly,70 shows that in some interpretations the man sowing the seed is substituted by God,71 while in others by man in general.72 The soil, which produces grain all by itself, is often substituted by God,73 and in the interpretation of Mary Ann Tolbert, by "some people."74 The seed, the man who doesn’t contribute anything to the development of the grain, and the man putting in the sickle,75 are substituted by other terms as well. All the interpretations show the same method, and this is even the case for interpretations done by scholars who consider parables as language-events, such as, Ernst Fuchs, Eberhard Jüngel and Hans Weder. The explanation is simple. Understanding figurative texts is a natural part of our linguistic competence, and the Gospels show how it works. The interpretation in Mark 4:14– 20 (par. Matt 13:18–23; Luke 8:11–15) demonstrates a way of understanding figurative texts which is both natural and quite simple, as long as a figurative text is presented within a concrete context. It is not difficult for us to understand the Parable of the Lost Sheep, as long as we know that it is told within Jesus’ preaching of the Kingdom of God and apply the same interpretative method as the Synoptics. If we accept the method of interpretation which is demonstrated in the Synoptic Gospels as adequate to the way Jesus wanted his parables to be understood, then the parables of Jesus appear to be figurative texts that were meant to explain the unknown or disputed by presenting something wellknown and undisputed. To make use of the well-known in order to explain something new or disputed is a usual didactical method. How effectively this method works, however, depends on the proximity between the well-known and the unknown. And it depends on how well acquainted those who listen to or read the parables are with the topic. If we look at the image-texts of Jesus’ parables we find short stories that involve motives and emotions easy to identify with: the love of a father, the envy of a brother, arrogance or greed. And we find descriptions of processes 70 A summarizing presentation of the analyzed interpretations of this parable is to be found in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 144–149. 71 Dodd, The Parables (see n. 1), 134; Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 152; Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1), 117–118. 72 Jüngel, Paulus (see n. 3), 151; M.A. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-historical Perspective (Minneapolis 1989) 161–162. 73 Jeremias, The Parables (see n. 2), 152; Jüngel, Paulus (see n. 3), 151; Weder, Die Gleichnisse (see n. 1), 171–172. 74 Tolbert, Sowing (see n. 72), 161–162. 75 In several interpretations the message which is developed from the parable can only be explained by assuming that the man in the image-text is understood as three different persons. An explicit discussion of different interpretations of the Parable of the Seed Growing Secretly is to be found in Eggen, Gleichnis (see n. 3), 121–138. My own interpretation of the same parable is presented ibid. 222–242.

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well familiar to people from different groups of society. 76 What Jesus describes in his parables of growth for example, are processes well familiar to most people living in rural areas, processes that can be observed by anyone who lives in an area where grain is cultivated – even today. One does not have to be a farmer to notice the change in the grain fields, from bare soil to a carpet of green and finally a rolling sea of golden grain. Neither does one need to have specific knowledge to observe that seed sowed on different ground, develops differently depending on the quality of the soil. People living near grain fields were probably familiar with the process of grain harvesting, where weeds and grain were cut together and sorted afterwards. The image-texts of Jesus’ parables appear to be well chosen, and that makes his parables excellent didactical means to convey a message which may be new, unexpected and counteracted. Understanding the identity of Jesus on the basis of his parables therefore reveals Jesus as a person with didactical abilities and a will to make his message understandable for everybody. This insight, of course, is far from new. Already Adolf Jülicher characterized the way in which Jesus communicated his message as "liebevoll zur Fassungskraft der Geistesärmsten herabsteigende Kinderlehre."77 Jülicher’s position, however, is grounded on the method of parable interpretation which he himself developed as the correct counterpart to the Synoptics’ mistaken way of interpreting the parables, whereas the conclusion of this article is based on the Synoptics’ parable interpretation as the adequate way of understanding the parables of Jesus.

5. Conclusion Even though the parables are probably the most authentic sayings of Jesus, using them as sources in our quest for the historical Jesus turns out to be a complicated matter. Due to the parables’ figurative character their actual messages depend both on the contexts in which they are interpreted and on the method of interpretation that is applied. The original contexts of the parables of Jesus are truly lost forever, and therefore we are not able to retrieve their original messages. Consequently, trying to understand the identity of Jesus on the basis of the messages he intended to communicate in his parables is a futile undertaking. 76 Hedrick states, "It is a consensus among New Testament scholars that the stories of Jesus realistically imitate life in first-century Palestine." (C.W. Hedrick, Parables [see n. 3], 39). K. Berger (Manna, Mehl und Sauerteig: Korn und Brot im Alltag der frühen Christen [Stuttgart 1993]), explains the importance of bread, grain, harvesting and the processes connected to them, in everyday life of early Christians. In page 11 he refers to them as "[…] dieses alles, das man so hautnah erleben konnte." 77 Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Allgemeinen (see n. 1), 191.

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However, if we accept the Synoptics’ method of interpretation as the original one – and recent studies show that there is little reason not to – it seems obvious to regard the parables as didactic devices. Considering the parables of Jesus from this aspect, shows that the one who first told them, was able to make excellent use of this device. Consequently, trying to understand the identity of Jesus on the basis of the way in which he used parables, makes the historical Jesus appear as a great didactic who obviously both had the ability and the wish to communicate his message to everybody who was willing to listen.

Revelation, Interpretation, Tradition Jesus, Authority and Halakic Development Thomas Kazen

1. Introduction Jesus can no longer be construed apart from his historical environment. Most scholars today envisage him in a context that is thoroughly Jewish.1 One would think that such changes should make a great difference to the portraits of Jesus that are painted. Interestingly enough this is not necessarily the case. There is another important factor involved, namely the role or type or root model assumed for the figure of Jesus.2 This model works as a lens through which much other evidence is interpreted. It makes a great deal of difference whether Jesus is envisaged primarily as a teacher, a prophet or a charismatic. All three are possible within a thoroughly Jewish context during the Second Temple period. Jesus, the teacher, is easily seen in the light of subsequent rabbinic Judaism as a teacher of law, a maker of halakah, a responsible and reasonable discussion partner of Shammaites, Hillelites, Sadducees and Essenes.3 Jesus, the prophet, is often understood as a fierce and divinely commis1

This has been one of the characteristics of the so-called third quest, exemplified in the titles of some of the seminal works since the 1970s, such as G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew: A Historian’s Reading of the Gospels (London 1973), followed by several books; E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London 1985); J.D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (Edinburgh 1991); J.P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (4 vols.; New York 1991–2009); P. Fredriksen, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews: A Jewish Life and the Emergence of Christianity (New York 2000); S. Freyne, Jesus, a Jewish Galilean: A New Reading of the Jesus Story (London 2004). 2 See my discussion of role/type/root model in T. Kazen, "The Christology of Early Christian Practice," JBL 127 (2008) 591–614. 3 For studies emphasizing Jesus as teacher or rabbi, or else emphasizing his activity as legal interpreter, see among others P. Sigal, The Halakhah of Jesus of Nazareth according to the Gospel of Matthew (SBL Studies in Biblical Literature 18; Atlanta 2007); S. Byrskog, Jesus as the Only Teacher: Didactic Authority and Transmission in Ancient Israel, Ancient Judaism and the Matthean Community (ConBNT 24; Stockholm 1994); B. Chilton, Rabbi Jesus – An Intimate Biography: The Jewish Life and Teaching that Inspired Christianity (New York 2000).

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sioned critic of the establishment, including the religious authorities and the cult, representing an archaic, theocratic, or perhaps popular perspective on legal tradition and interpretation.4 Jesus, the charismatic, does not necessarily have to be that critical, but on the other hand moves about quite independently, allowing himself and others certain liberties by virtue of his personality and inherent authority. 5 What licence does a charismatic need to deviate from all sorts of norms if an overriding authority is located in his own person? Hence this role easily supports christological motives for Jesus’ conflicts on legal issues. Even without a pronounced view of Jesus as a charismatic, however, scholars have a peculiar tendency to resort to claims of inherent authority for explaining Jesus’ stance on various issues, including the conflicts suggested by the synoptic gospel tradition. An autonomous and authoritative Jesus is attractive and explanations from uniqueness easily take over, resulting in crypto-christological reconstructions.6 To some extent this applies to Jesus as teacher, too, although opinions differ regarding the grounds for his authority. Is it based on Scripture, which he defends against the paradosis of his adversaries?7 Does it depend on his skilful and rhetorically convincing interpretations? Or does he have a pipeline access to the divine will by special revelation?8 The Jesus who, in the Synoptic gospels, exercises his authority by arguing in favour of Scripture, by interpreting it differently, or by appealing to revelation, is the Jesus of Mark, Matthew and Luke, in the first place. Sometimes he is not even that, but rather the modern Markan, Matthean, or Lukan scholar’s 4 Many scholars regard Jesus as a prophetic figure, without developing the idea to any extent. Some emphasize his apocalyptic or eschatological prophetic role; see for example D.C. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth: Millenarian Prophet (Minneapolis: Fortress 1998); B.D. Ehrman, Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford 1999); T. Hägerland, Jesus and the Forgiveness of Sins (SNTSMS 150; Cambridge 2012). For studies taking various perspectives on a prophetic and critical Jesus, see for example W.R. Herzog II, Prophet and Teacher: An Introduction to the Historical Jesus (Louisville 2005); R.A. Horsley, Jesus and the Powers: Conflict, Covenant, and the Hope of the Poor (Minneapolis 2011); The Prophet Jesus and the Renewal of Israel (Grand Rapids, MI 2012); M. Casey, Jesus of Nazareth: An Independent Historian’s Account of His Life and Teaching (London 2010). 5 See for example Vermes, Jesus (see n. 1); P.F. Craffert, The Life of a Galilean Shaman: Jesus of Nazareth in Anthropological Historical Perspective (Matrix 3; Eugene, OR 2008). A combination of the prophet and the charismatic is found in M.J. Borg, Conflict, Holiness and Politics in the Teachings of Jesus (Lewiston/Queenston 1984). 6 J.P. Meier repeatedly warns against christianizing Jesus by allowing christological concerns to influence the way we do historical reconstruction; cf. Law and Love (n. 1), 5–8. In spite of this he, too, combines a prophetic and a charismatic model to explain Jesus’ behaviour by charismatic authority and a "direct pipeline to God’s will" (p. 415). 7 This view is fairly common; for one example, see F. Avemarie, "Jesus and Purity," in The New Testament and Rabbinic Literature (ed. R. Bieringer, F.G. Martínez, D. Pollefeyt and P.J. Tomson; SupJSJ 136; Leiden 2010) 255–279. 8 As in Meier (see n. 6), or somewhat similarly but much earlier in S. Westerholm, Jesus and Scribal Authority (ConBNT 10; Lund 1978).

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Jesus, since the theologies of the gospel authors can be pretty sublime and implicit, needing modern scholars to identify them. And even when their theologies seem clear enough, the synoptic authors are using prior traditions, whether written or oral, which may have had their own agendas that have partially spilled over into the texts as we now have them. We thus find a number of explicit or implicit motives9 associated with Jesus’ conflicts on legal issues, which may be variously assigned to the modern interpreter, the history of interpretation, the gospel author, early sources whether written or oral, or the historical Jesus. This is the problem of a forthcoming book,10 which aims at disentangling early motives that with some degree of probability may be assigned to the historical Jesus from those motives that are more likely to have originated with tradition, the Synoptic authors, or their respective communities, or even as later interpretations with little foothold in the texts themselves. In the present article I will only give a brief overview of the questions involved and offer a few suggestion for handling this problem, especially with regard to that part of the synoptic Jesus tradition which contains stories of conflicts on halakic issues between Jesus and some of his contemporaries.

2. Methodology and Conflict Narratives In a number of synoptic stories, Jesus is portrayed as having conflicts, mainly with Pharisees, about various halakic issues, of which the most prominent are Sabbath, purity and divorce. These conflict narratives are generally recognized to be shaped by later concerns in order to answer needs and questions current in early Christian communities.11 The traditional way to handle these stories have been through form and redaction criticism, and by applying the standard criteria of authenticity to the sayings that might survive a first scrutiny.12

9 With "motives" I mean underlying reasons for taking a particular stance or behaving in a particular way. Motives may seem close to arguments, but the concept is broader. I consider an argument to be an explicitly expressed reason for a standpoint or a behaviour. A motive can be expressed in an argument, but it can also be implicit in it, or concealed behind it. Arguments are rhetorical means. Motives are convictions, attitudes, and reasons for particular behaviour. 10 Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority: Motives and Arguments in Jesus’ Halakhic Conflicts (forthcoming). 11 This is one of the insights of form criticism. For a classical study of the synoptic conflict narratives, see A.J. Hultgren, Jesus and His Adversaries: The Form and Function of the Conflict Stories in the Synoptic Tradition (Minneapolis 1979). 12 For a description of this more or less standard procedure of historical Jesus research, see Meier, A Marginal Jew, Vol. 4: Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 43.

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Not only are the criteria problematic, as has been pointed out repeatedly in recent research,13 but an orderly application of the various steps rarely reflects how scholars actually come to their results. Without denying the usefulness of various criteria for evaluating details, I doubt that they by themselves can decide historical probability. I rather think that careful arguments and counterarguments, trying out various possibilities, evaluating their explanatory values – in other words, building and testing hypotheses – is the only way forward. The risk of christological construction, theological or ideological wishthinking, and bending evidence in favour of personal preference or commitment, is not overcome by employing any criteria, new or old, in a fixed order. My caveats have to do with the nature of the text, which usually cannot be peeled and freed from the redactional overlay until either a pure kernel or nothing emerges. Such a view actually implies that a thoroughly redacted text is unlikely to contain any historical reminiscences whatsoever. This does not correspond with the nature of the material and the nature of history. James Dunn has emphasized historical Jesus research as the quest for Jesus remembered,14 and in Anthony Le Donne’s words "[i]t is the effects of the past that are available for analysis and not the past itself."15 Robert Webb talks of "history" as "a narrative account … that we historians write to express an understanding of past events … based upon our interpretation of the traces … that have survived from those past events."16 If this is so, it means that there are hardly any words of Jesus to be retrieved at all. We only have Christian sermons. Sometimes, however, these are based on memories of the historical Jesus. If we are looking for the historical Jesus we should not primarily be looking for original sayings, but for hypotheses about possible traditions and memories behind extant sayings and narratives, which have a superior explanatory value for the shape, function and interpretation of the present form of the saying or narrative. In other words, we must look for reasonable suggestions that may satisfactorily explain the development and elaboration of the Jesus tradition, taking the socio-religious and historical context into account, including further development in early Christian literature and theology, i.e., 13 G. Theissen and D. Winter, Die Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung: Vom Differenzkriterium zum Plausibilitätskriterium (NTOA 34; Freiburg 1997); T. Holmén, "Doubts About Double Dissimilarity: Restructuring the Main Criterion of Jesus-of-history Research," in Authenticating the Words of Jesus (ed. B. Chilton and C.A. Evans; NTTS 28:1; Leiden 1999) 47–80; C. Keith and A. Le Donne, Jesus, Criteria, and the Demise of Authenticity (London 2012). 14 J.D.G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, Vol. 1 of Christianity in the Making (Grand Rapids 2003). 15 A. Le Donne, The Historiographical Jesus: Memory, Typology, and the Son of David (Waco 2009) 76. 16 R.L. Webb, "The Historical Enterprise and Historical Jesus Research," in Key Events in the Life of the Historical Jesus: A Collaborative Exploration of Context and Coherence (ed. D.L. Bock and R.L. Webb; WUNT 247; Tübingen 2009) 9–93, here 16.

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subsequent reception and refraction of the earliest material. When such suggestions are more plausible than their alternatives, and when they make more sense on the level of Jesus than on an intermediate, pre-gospel level, then we may with some confidence speak of the historical Jesus.17 2.1 Comparison and Principles of Halakic Development One possible method particularly suited for evaluating arguments and motives in the conflict stories is by way of comparison with contemporary legal interpretation in various strands of Second Temple Judaism. An older practice of indiscriminately comparing the Jesus tradition with all kinds of (later) rabbinic material is less common today, but the more frequent comparison with (earlier) Qumran texts is not without problems either. The risk for parallelomania has been pointed out18 and it is easy to read later developments into early texts. A comparative method can be refined, however, by paying close attention to the mechanisms behind halakic development during the Second Temple period. The development of legal interpretation is a growing field of study, but so far there has been little interaction between scholars in this area and traditional historical Jesus research. Such interaction would benefit the quest for the historical Jesus. At the basis for any discussion of halakic development lies a comparison between rabbinic and Qumran halakah. Many of the early comparisons concern the points in focus for my own investigation: Sabbath, purity and matrimonial law.19 Similarities and differences between rabbinic and Qumran halakah can be dealt with in various ways, and become more interesting when we get beyond a point-by-point comparison. Since the two "bodies of law" are neither contemporaneous, nor similar in structure or genre, questions of interrelationship are crucial. Aharon Shemesh has outlined two basic models for

17 Cf. the suggestions of Theissen and Winter, Kriterienfrage (see n. 13); Holmén’s "continuum perspective," in Jesus in Continuum (ed. T. Holmén; WUNT 289; Tübingen 2012) ix– xxi; T. Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? (Winona Lake, IN 2010 [first edn Stockholm 2002]) 25–41. For further discussion, see Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (forthcoming). 18 L. Doering, "Parallels without ‘Parallelomania’: Methodological Reflections on Comparative Analysis of Halakhah in the Dead Sea Scrolls," in Rabbinic Perspectives: Rabbinic Literature and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 7–9 January, 2003 (ed. S.D. Fraade, A. Shemesh, and R.A. Clements; STDJ 62; Leiden 2006) 13–42. 19 See for example J.M. Baumgarten, "The Pharisaic-Sadducean Controversies about Purity and the Qumran Texts," JJS 31 (1980) 157–170; L.H. Schiffman, "The Temple Scroll and the Systems of Jewish Law of the Second Temple Period," in Temple Scroll Studies (ed. G.J. Brooke; JSPSup 7; Sheffield 1989) 239–255.

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this: the developmental and the reflective.20 The developmental model, which goes back to Geiger and Gilat, understands the "priestly" system (Sadducean/Qumran) as the old halakah, which developed into the new rabbinic system. Within the rabbinic system, Shammaites and R. Eliezer sometimes represent older views.21 The reflective model, backed by scholars like Yadin and Schiffman, sees rabbinic halakah as reflective of the pre-70 Pharisees, and the tension between rabbinic and Qumran legal interpretation reflects tensions between Pharisaic and priestly (Sadducean/Qumran) halakah at the time of the Second Temple. Shemesh argues that these two models actually coexist and interact, and that each legal issue must be judged from its own merits. The reflective model is apt when there are explicit mentions of different opinions in Qumran literature, or when the polemic nature of these texts imply such contemporary tensions. The developmental model is relevant when the scrolls do not mention other opinions but just state halakic norms. Although rabbinic views may differ or oppose these norms, we can often assume that the scrolls in such cases represent general practice, especially in cases where traces of this "old halakah" can be found in later rabbinic texts. There are also cases of the opposite, when scrolls represent an innovative position. Differences in style and genre between Qumran and rabbinic texts are also best explained by the developmental model. In order to understand the ideas or principles behind Qumran and rabbinic halakic rulings respectively we need to consider a number of points. One concerns the role of scriptural interpretation for deciding halakic issues. Adiel Schremer discusses the shift from tradition-based to text-based religion, arguing that at an early stage it was not customary to appeal to the written text of the Torah for halakic guidance, and that Qumran’s bibliocentric approach with respect to halakah was an innovation.22 Schremer also points out that there are almost no references to Scripture in early halakic sayings of the Second Tem20

A. Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making: The Development of Jewish Law from Qumran to the Rabbis (The Taubman Lectures in Jewish Studies 6; Berkeley, Los Angeles and London 2009) 3–7. 21 Cf. Y.D. Gilat, R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus: A Scholar Outcast (Bar-Ilan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture; Ramat-Gan 1984); V. Noam, "Beit Shammai and the Sectarian Halakhah," in Jewish Studies (World Union of Jewish Studies) 41 (2002) 45–67 (Hebrew); eadem, "Traces of Sectarian Halakhah in the Rabbinic World," in Rabbinic Perspectives: Rabbinic Literature and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 7–9 January, 2003 (ed. S.D. Fraade, A. Shemesh, and R.A. Clements; STDJ 62; Leiden 2006) 67–85. 22 A. Schremer, "‘[T]he[y] Did Not Read in the Sealed Book’: Qumran Halakhic Revolution and the Emergence of Torah Study in Second Temple Judaism," 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. Goodblatt, A. Pinnick, and D.R. Schwartz; Leiden 2001) 105–126, here 113–117.

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ple era, and no proof-texting, at least not in decisions attributed to authorities before the schools.23 Even in sayings attributed to Hillel, references to Scripture and the use of Scripture for justification of halakic decisions are rare.24 It was only later that Scripture came to play a central role in rabbinic discourse and citations were added to halakic statements. In the early days, halakic decisions were not derived from Scripture, but their main source of legitimacy was institutional authority, tradition, and the simple sense of the matter. When Scripture was being used, it was mostly paraphrased, and its plain sense was understood to repeat the halakic ruling. This "indicates not only that Scripture was not used as a ground for halakic ruling but also that once it came to be used for this purpose (much later), it was used, at first, in a very simple and primitive manner."25 This can be seen in Qumran texts that use Scripture for justifying halakic points but mostly by concluding a plain meaning from the biblical text. The appeal to the written text of the Torah was at its infancy, and we rarely find anything like halakic midrash. Schremer suggests that traditionalists, adhering to inherited custom, needed to respond to this innovation, and that text-based halakic decision became increasingly difficult to ignore due to the status of the written Torah. This triggered exegetical efforts among other groups, in order to prove or support custom from Scripture, or at least accommodate it, and became a catalyst for Torah study among the Pharisees. "Thus, paradoxically, rabbinic Judaism may in large measure owe its prime value, and the existence of its institutional platform, to its ‘text-oriented’ opponents, of whom the most famous were the Dead Sea sect."26 Another useful tool is the conceptual pair of nominalism and realism that Daniel Schwartz introduced in 1988,27 in order to analyze the principles behind various views of law.28 Schwartz examines a number of priestly (Qum-

23

port.

Here Schremer ("Sealed Book," 116; see n. 22) refers to Urbach and Halivni for sup-

24 Cf. D.R. Schwartz, "Hillel and Scripture: From Authority to Exegesis," in Hillel and Jesus: Comparative Studies of Two Major Religious Leaders (ed. J.H. Charlesworth and L.L. Johns; Minneapolis 1997) 335–362. 25 Schremer, "Sealed Book" (see n. 22), 118. 26 Schremer, "Sealed Book" (see n. 22), 126. 27 The volume in which the paper was published appeared four years later: D.R. Schwartz, "Law and Truth: On Qumran-Sadducean and Rabbinic Views of Law," in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (ed. D. Dimant and U. Rappaport; STDJ 10; Leiden 1992) 229–240. 28 This distinction was borrowed from Silman, who suggested a tension between nominalist and realist tendencies in rabbinic law in Y. Silman, "Halakhic Determinations of a Nominalistic and Realistic Nature: Legal and Philosophical Considerations," Dine Yisrael 12 (1984–1985) 249–266 (Hebrew). See J.F. Rubenstein, "Nominalism and Realism in Qumranic and Rabbinic Law: A Reassessment," DSD 6 (1999) 157–183, here 158–161. The terms are borrowed from philosophical discourse on metaphysics and ontology, but are here used somewhat differently, although in an analogous manner, for characterizing legal reasoning.

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ran-Sadducean) laws29 and argues from these that the Qumran sectarians and the Sadducees shared the same general outlook on the nature of law, which was very different from that of rabbinic Judaism. According to the priestly outlook, law must conform to the realities of nature; it proceeds from the state of things, from creation. Things are forbidden because there is something intrinsically wrong with them, not the other way round. This makes it possible to draw conclusions from one law to another, by way of analogy. The rabbis, on the other hand, display a nominalist approach, in which laws are divine orders that do not need to correspond to any human understanding of reality. Things are wrong simply because God has forbidden them. Hence realist reasoning and argument, which could be used to expand on legal interpretation, is discarded, and questions about the purpose of a law need not be posed. Schwartz finds a realist approach displayed already in the text of the Torah. Schwartz finds the priestly position more logical to religious people. The drawback is that legal decisions can sometimes be found to be wrong, thus undermining the authority of the human administrators, something that priests could afford, since their authority was hereditary and taken for granted. Sages and rabbis, however, gained their authority through the law and had to insist on it. The fall of the Temple and the rise of Christianity made life unstable and if human interpreters were entrusted to expound the law, then their decisions were valid, whether or not they were true. Schwartz’s approach has been both criticized, adjusted and refined by other scholars.30 It seems reasonable to conclude that although certain nominalist tendencies could be fairly early, they are usually preceded by realist views, some of which survived into rabbinic times. Vered Noam discusses traces of sectarian halakah in rabbinic traditions, referring to similarities between Qumran and the School of Shammai,31 and pointing out that R. Eliezer and sectarian halakah are repeatedly found to share a similar attitude, adhering to a more literal sense of Scripture and tending towards stringency.32 Referring 29 Schwartz, "Law and Truth" (see n. 27), 230–233. These include the ban on taking two wives in a lifetime (CD 4:21), the slaughtering of grasshoppers (CD 12:14–15), uncle-niece marriages (CD 4), the impurity of animal bones (11QTa 51; for Sadducees, cf. m. Yad. 4:7), impurity of flowing streams (4QMMT B 55–58; for Sadducees, cf. m. Yad. 4:7), and a number of examples from penal law concerning witnesses and court rulings. 30 Rubenstein, "Nominalism and Realism" (see n. 28); Noam, "Sectarian Halakhah" (see n. 21). 31 Noam, "Beit Shammai" (see n. 21). 32 Noam, "Sectarian Halakhah" (see n. 21). Noam’s examples regard the ritual impurity of liquids, the sotah, the captive woman, matrimony laws, animals fallen into a pit on a Sabbath, offerings from Gentiles, and talion law. She finds R. Eliezer’s interpretations characterized by simplicity, stringency, and non-interpolation of Scripture in a manner reminiscent of sectarian halakah. She then asks whether these resemblances correspond to similarities in underlying world-view, and concludes that Schwartz’s distinction between realism and nominalism is helpful in this regard; it fits the conflict between R. Eliezer and the majority well.

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to Gilat’s study of Eliezer,33 Noam points to a number of realist traits, all of which centre on the idea that laws must conform to nature and halakah should reflect objective truths about reality rather than human consensus. There are thus two main issues involved: the source of authority and the role of the legal process. For R. Eliezer only divine revelation is authoritative. This is similar to the Qumran sectarians, who believed in ongoing inspiration and revelation, and thus could rewrite Scripture. The sages, however, found authority in the human activity of expounding the law; hence their distinction between written and oral Torah. For R. Eliezer, the legal process was a search for pre-existent truth in nature itself, while for the sages the legal process actually created halakic truth. Hence halakah could be an innovative product resulting from a majority vote. Shemesh agrees with Noam about similarities between some Pharisees, such as Shammaites and R. Eliezer on the one hand, and sectarian conceptions on the other, but he emphasizes that there is no genetic connection involved. Shammaites as well as Eliezer were Pharisaic, but similarities with priestly tradition existed on points that had actually been common tradition at an earlier stage. Thus it is not a matter of sectarian halakah in rabbinic literature, as Noam puts it, but rather of old common halakah, known from the scrolls, which survives in some rabbinic texts.34 2.2 Shemesh’s Comprehensive Approach We thus find the locus of authority a crucial issue, whether it is hereditary or functional, bestowed or acquired, whether based on revelation, Scripture, interpretation, tradition, or on the perceived nature of things. Shemesh brings the discussion together by suggesting differences or tensions between priestly (Qumran / Sadducee) and rabbinic views in three main areas that all have to do with authority, relating them to the developmental and the reflective models respectively. The first area concerns revelation versus exegesis, and is best explained by the developmental model. While authority in Qumran was based on divinely inspired reading and interpretation of the Torah, legal development for the rabbis all depended on human exegesis, since prophecy had ceased.35 This difference is reflected in distinct genres as well as in various types of contents. Here Shemesh comes close to Noam, and points to similar consequences for the rabbinic distinction between written and oral law.36

33

Gilat, R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus (see n. 21). Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making (see n. 20), 134–136. 35 For a recent discussion about the understanding of the cessation of prophecy, see S.L. Cook, On the Question of the "Cessation of Prophecy" in Ancient Judaism (TSAJ 145; Tübingen 2011). 36 Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making (see n. 20), 39–71. 34

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The second area of dissent is that between Scripture on the one hand and tradition in the sense of custom on the other. In this case, Shemesh claims that Sadducees and Qumran sectarians were the reformers in denying previous customs when they could not find justification for them in Scripture, while Pharisees and rabbis gave priority to ancient tradition. Here the developmental model fits less well, although Shemesh argues for the priority of tradition (custom) in early times, even within the priestly halakic system. The Qumran sectarians37 are thought to have made the first move towards preference of the plain meaning of Scripture over tradition, thus rejecting older norms. We thus see a shift from tradition-based to text-based halakah taking place and being subject to conflict and discussion during the Second Temple period. A prime example of this is said to be uncle-niece marriages, which Shemesh claims were part of ancient custom rather than a leniency introduced by the Pharisees, as often argued by others. The qumranites38 initiated halakic change by asking for biblical justification. A hermeneutical principle of analogy, first used to explain customary avoidance of certain unions, was then used to create a new prohibition against a common custom.39 This could in turn have spurned later rabbinic praise for uncle-niece marriages as a protest.40 Uncle-niece marriages also exemplify the third area of dissent: realism versus nominalism. Shemesh finds Schwartz to be basically right concerning Qumran, where realism is not just deduced from the text, but (foundation of) creation is explicitly referred to. Examples include the cases of remarriage, and the slaughter of locusts. Reality reflects law because God created the world according to the law. Marriage, then, is constituted by physical union rather than by contract; hence it neither requires the couple’s intent, nor is it possible to dissolve. Realism should be seen as a characteristic of priestly halakah, although not restricted to priestly tradition. Shemesh agrees with Rubenstein against Schwartz that many early rabbinic halakot are similarly realistic. With time, however, we see a rabbinic development towards more nominalism. Such a development is considered normal in any legal system. 41 Shemesh explains the Qumran religiosity as anxious;42 when tradition is not accorded much of a role, but religion becomes more text-based, there is an

37 Shemesh actually speaks of the Sadducees here, which he seems to use as a definition of priestly groups in general, including Qumran. I find Shemesh’s frequent equation, sometimes explicit, but often implicit, of Sadducees and Qumran sectarians problematic. 38 Again, Shemesh speaks of Sadducees. 39 Cf. Schremer, "Sealed Book" (see n. 22), 118–119, who points to the fact that the argument in CD 5:7–11 is no highly developed midrash, but "a simple straightforward argument derived from the general linguistic sense of the biblical law" (119). 40 Shemesh, Halakhah in the Making (see n. 20), 72–106. 41 Ibid., 107–128. 42 More precisely, the Sadducean / Qumran religiosity. I would suggest, however, that the anxious religiosity that Shemesh describes, leading to increasing definitions of legal re-

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increasing need to define and specify what is necessary in order to fulfil the demands of the law. This leads to extra prohibitions, specifications of measurements, extensions of the death penalty, and other detailed definitions. Such an attitude was different from that of the Pharisees and early rabbis, which was based on tradition. It did, however, influence rabbinic thought in the long run, thus transforming it, too, into a text-based religion, in need of continuous hermeneutical activity and exegetical justification for various norms.

3. Applying This Approach to the Jesus Tradition For the purpose of discussing and dating halakic development, Shemesh’s approach is useful although not simple. The reflective model is applicable to issues already debated during the Second Temple period, usually between Pharisees and priestly groups, while the developmental model can be employed in cases where Sadducees, Qumran sectarians and certain early rabbis seem to agree, at least in part, against later rabbis. The three areas of tension and dissent relate to the two basic models in various ways. My question is whether a similar approach can be used with regard to the arguments and motives found in, or suggested by an analysis of, the conflict stories in the synoptic Jesus tradition. As indicated above, I am convinced of the need for better tools for distinguishing motives and arguments that could possibly go back to the historical Jesus from theological interpretations of early Christian communities or gospel authors, and the bias of contemporary interpreters. Source and redaction critical analyses only take us that far; a criteria-based approach remains flawed, or at least limited. However, by mapping out contemporary halakah and halakic development, we may obtain points of reference that can be related to the Jesus tradition. When Shemesh’s approach is used for comparing possible motives and arguments involved in the synoptic conflict stories with motives and principles behind halakic discussion and development during the Second Temple period, we may find that some reasons that have been commonly supposed for Jesus’ authority should be assigned to later phases, while others are plausibly associated with the historical Jesus. There is reason, for example, to suspect that gospel references criticizing innovative exegesis are late and result from early Christian interpretation of the Jesus tradition in view of evolving halakic tendencies, while undefended statements out of a "prophetic" authority may be early and more likely to reflect the stance of the historical Jesus – although this is no warrant for understanding Jesus as claiming a unique status, but could just as well be associated with views of prophecy and prophetic priority. When we encounter concepts such as "traditions of men," we should thus ask ourselves whether the emphaquirements, extra prohibitions, and expansions justified by exegesis, is more fitting for the Qumran sectarians than for Sadducees in general.

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sis lies on human interpretation (exegesis) or on inherited custom? The tension between Scripture and tradition or custom was a live issue during the Second Temple period: what authority could a custom claim if it was not stated explicitly in Scripture? When this tension surfaces, or when custom versus Scripture is conspicuously appealed to in Jesus traditions, it is often possible to suggest an early origin for their contents. That is no guarantee, however, since this tension does not follow a simple developmental model, but can be found at a later stage as well. Motives associated with this tension are thus made possible on the level of the historical Jesus, but other arguments are needed, too. Gospel traditions relating to or interacting with nominalist approaches are suspect of reflecting early Christian (post-70) polemics, but some of them could possibly be earlier with roots in the late Second Temple period. As usual, each case has to be argued separately. When developed nominalist conceptions are reflected in the debate the material is likely to be of late origin. However, arguments from "the foundation of creation," from the natural order of things, or from reality and experience, would have gained a much better hearing in a Second Temple setting than in a later rabbinic one. Such references in the Jesus tradition may therefore indicate an early origin. 3.1 Sabbath There are two Markan conflict narratives relating to the Sabbath: the cornfield incident (2:23–28) and a healing story about a man with a withered hand (3:1–6). These are taken over and redacted by Matthew (12:1–14) and Luke (6:1–11); Matthew adapts both of them and turns them into halakic discussions, augmenting the cornfield incident with an extra analogy about temple priests (12:5–7), and the healing story with another analogy, a Q parable (12:11–12), that Luke uses elsewhere in two different Sabbath healing stories (13:10–17; 14:1–6). There is no room here for discussing redactional details; for this the reader is referred to the forthcoming study.43 Based on synoptic comparison and an analysis of the literary structure, however, I have suggested that of the two sayings following the cornfield incident in Mark, the first (2:25–26) belonged to the pre-Markan story,44 while the second (vv. 27–28) was originally an independent saying.45 The latter made sense as long as the "Son of Man" was understood generically, but as the expression came to be interpreted more exclusively as a christological title the saying no longer cohered and v. 27 was dropped, as we can see in Matthew and Luke. 46 43

Kazen, Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (forthcoming). Cf. A. Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis 2007) 203. 45 Contra Hultgren, Jesus and His Adversaries (see n. 11), 111–115. Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 272–280, regards vv. 23–26 as pre-Markan, although a Christian composition. 46 Contra Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 280–293. 44

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Luke’s use of the Q parable in different healing stories (13:15–16; 14:5) suggests that Sabbath healing was understood to be the natural context of such a saying. The structure and details of the two Lukan narratives in chs. 13 and 14 reveal such similarities to Mark’s story of the man with the withered hand as to suggest that they are all early variants of an underlying common tradition. I suggest that we basically have two underlying variants of a Sabbath healing story (for which I argue in detail elsewhere): one in which Jesus questions his suspicious observers, no-one else speaks, and he purposely heals a sick person on the Sabbath, behaving somewhat provocatively; another in which Jesus and his opponents enter into a dialogue, and in which Jesus makes use of an animal analogy to argue the propriety of his action. Both variants originally referred to a synagogue setting. The first variant is represented by two versions, found in Mark 3 and Luke 14. The second variant is represented by one version in Luke 13, but also by Matthew’s reworking of Mark, which has resulted in somewhat of a hybrid. Matthew is basically dependent on the Markan version for the contents, but for the form another variant has provided inspiration. Luke also reproduces the Markan version in Luke 6, with few changes. This is not the only case in which Luke records multiple versions as separate events, following Mark quite faithfully for one of them, while Matthew reworks Mark considerably in joining or harmonizing two versions.47 The animal analogy in Luke 13 (untie and water an animal) does not clearly relate to a legal discussion, but can be taken as an expression of rural common-sense practice. By contrast, the argument concerning an animal (or a person) fallen into a pit or a well, appended in Luke 14:5 and picked up by Matthew (12:11–12) from somewhere else, undeniably relates to contemporary halakic discussion, and may originally have existed as a separate saying.48 The association between such a saying and Sabbath healings must, however, have been done at an early stage. There is no evidence that the earliest followers of Jesus considered the humane treatment of animals an issue for its own sake. Rather, the saying was transmitted precisely because of its importance as an analogy to issues of emergencies and priorities on the Sabbath.49 Tracing the development of Sabbath halakah we find clear examples of defining and elaborating on various types of prohibited work, from the 2nd century BCE (Jubilees) and onwards (Damascus Document; Mishnah, etc.). While biblical prohibitions focus on preventing business and labour in the public as well as the private sphere, the strict and expansionist ideals ex47 Cf. the sending of the disciples in Matt 10 // Luke 9 and 10; also the healing of the "leper(s)" in Luke 5:12–14 and 17:11–19, although here Matthew seems to have had access only to the Markan version. 48 This is the view of many interpreters, e.g., Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 262–267. 49 Cf. Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 293–295, who regards the healing narratives as unhistorical, and only the common-sense view of rescuing animals as original.

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pressed in Jubilees and CD suggest spatial movement, including the moving of objects, being regarded problems as such. The Sabbath walking limit of 2000 cubits, presupposed in the Mishnah50 seems to have become an established practice during the 1st century CE;51 the alternative 1000 cubits with regard to walking without pasturing, mentioned in the Damascus Document (CD 10:21), does not really attest to a conflicting practice at the time of writing, as both distances are mentioned for various purposes (cf. CD 11:5–6). This may have resulted from a close reading of Num 35:4–5, but it is only with the Mishnah that we find a detailed interpretation of the text (m. Soṭah 5:3). An incipient concept of ‘erub may perhaps be traced in the Damascus Document, but the rabbinic concept of domains is not yet present.52 The issue of moving objects also seems to lie behind the prohibition against lifting up animals or humans, as well as against general sacrifices.53 No explicit exegesis, however, is needed for this; it is rather an example of a competing custom based on "plain meaning" through divinely inspired reading, thus fitting Shemesh’s observations regarding his first two categories. Clear examples of nominalism, as found in rabbinic texts, such as a developed concept of ‘erub, belong to a later stage (cf. Shemesh’s third category). We must beware of reading rabbinic development into Jubilees or the Qumran texts, although these texts do attest to an incipient shift from tradition-based to text-based halakah. The spread of stricter (also customary?) practices, advanced by scriptural arguments, could explain the need for those adhering to earlier (majority?) custom to develop legal fictions in due course, in order to defend their behaviour. While the particular issue of spatial movement is a minor issue in the Jesus tradition, it illustrates well the type of considerations and reasonings necessary in tracing halakic development. The list of forbidden works in m. Šabb. 7:2, often referred to in discussions of the Synoptic Sabbath conflicts, is definitely late; it is much more systematic (summarizing generative categories from various areas of life) and elaborate than earlier lists (m. Beṣah 5:2, and in particular 4Q264+421), and displays certain nominalist traits, not found in 50

E.g. m. Roš Haš. 2:5; m. ʿErub. 4:3, 7; 5:7, 9. L. Doering, Schabbat: Sabbathalacha und -praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum (TSAJ 78; Tübingen 1999) 145–154. 52 Cf. L. Doering, "New Aspects of Qumran Sabbath Law from Cave 4 Fragments," in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995 (ed. M. Bernstein, F. García Martínez, and J. Kampen; Leiden 1997) 251–274, here 256–264. 53 Cf. the common use of the verb ‫עלה‬, in hiphil "to bring/lift up, for pulling out of a pit and for sacrificing. See D. Instone-Brewer, Traditions of the Rabbis from the Era of the New Testament, vol. 2a: Feasts and Sabbath: Passover and Atonement (Grand Rapids 2011) 1; see also L. Doering, "Sabbath Laws in the New Testament Gospels," in The New Testament and Rabbinic Literature (ed. R. Bieringer, F.G. Martínez, D. Pollefeyt and P.J. Tomson; SupJSJ 136; Leiden 2010) 207–253, here 232–234. 51

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earlier material (the definition of labour as two consecutive, minute moves). Other sources, however, suggest that the plucking and eating of fruit or grains in the field was associated with agricultural activities and would have been considered inappropriate at the end of the Second Temple period.54 This, rather than walking distance, is the halakic issue at stake in the cornfield incident. Although widely questioned as to its historicity, the scene by itself is not incredible from a halakic point of view. Fields were often adjacent to villages and towns, and walking distance is nowhere indicated to be a problem. Questions of food and food preparation before festival days and sabbaths, are among the oldest in rabbinic law and are built on assumptions from the Second Temple period. The plucking – and eating – of grain on the Sabbath thus suggests negligence of necessary preparations, which expansionists at large would have objected at. As a Markan piece of literary narrative the cornfield incident is, of course, mere fiction, but the issue at stake is not. The Markan analogy with David’s behaviour as well as the Matthean temple priest analogy are both qal waḥomer arguments, appealing to scriptural precedents. They differ in character, however. The Markan analogy is no real midrash, but displays a more "aggadic" use of Scripture, suggesting an early date; it works assuming hunger as the common "emergency," implying that human need overrides the Sabbath. Although later rabbinic law allows serious hunger to override Sabbath law,55 this is not in question here; we rather have a simple defence of popular custom. The Matthean analogy in contrast balances two contradicting legal precepts. Although the idea of Temple service overruling the Sabbath was assumed during the first century CE, the type of scriptural argument and exegetical use of Hosea used by Matthew is more akin to rabbinic reasoning known after 70 CE. Similarly, the Markan version of the Son of Man saying can be read as an argument from creation, reflecting a realist understanding of the type that characterizes early halakic rulings. Although there are later rabbinic parallels,56 these refer to the law-giving at Sinai rather than to the creation narrative.57 An early association between the divine creation order and strict Sabbath halakah is, however, found in Jubilees (e.g. 2:17–33), and includes an emphasis on human authority over the animals (1:13–16). The (underlying) Son of Man saying in the Jesus tradition claims human authority over the Sabbath, too. There is little in the Markan cornfield narrative that suggests a late date; it fits with early halakic reasoning in its "aggadic" use of Scripture and realist 54

t. Šabb. 9 [10]:17; Philo, Mos. 2:22; CD 10:22. m. Yoma 8:6. 56 b. Yoma 85b and Mek. Shabbata (Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael; Transl. J.Z. Lauterbach; 3 vols.; Philadelphia 1976 [1935] 3:198, 199). 57 They speak of the Sabbath as "handed over," "delivered," or "transmitted" (‫ )מסורה‬to the people. 55

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argument from creation. Although Markan redaction has provided some christological impetus, this trait is much more obvious in Matthew, whose adaptations result in authority being more clearly located in the person of Jesus and exegetical arguments becoming more elaborate and more akin to rabbinic hermeneutics. What the cornfield incident represents – controversies concerning food preparation and eating with regard to the Sabbath – is not unlikely to have been an issue for the historical Jesus. The two sayings could in theory go back to him, although the question of how the narrative and the sayings were joined must remain open. It is contested whether healing would have been understood as labour or not during the late Second Temple period. We cannot expect healing to be mentioned among the 39 forbidden categories,58 since the rabbinic list contains generative categories of work and is ordered according to Jewish household structure. Although there is no mention of healing as going against Sabbath halakah in any texts before Mark, Tannaitic texts assume that healing or treatment of disease on the Sabbath would pose a problem, and thus discuss necessary circumstances to allow it, usually based on the principle that doubt as to danger of life overrides the Sabbath (pikuach nefesh), which is appealed to repeatedly in a formula-like fashion.59 The formulated principle is probably a rabbinic invention, but as an accommodation to general Israelite opinion (t. Šabb. 15[16]:14–15). Some of the arguments build on the case of circumcision overruling the Sabbath,60 an understanding attested by John 7:22–23. Conflict regarding the principle of life-saving is often assumed to lie behind the Qumran references to assisting an animal giving birth, or helping an animal or a human being out of a pit or a well on the Sabbath.61 This is less than obvious and never suggested by these texts. They discuss how to save lives without breaking the Sabbath, i.e., without using tools, which is possible with human beings but not with animals.62 Both Jubilees and the Damascus Document promote strict halakic interpretations based on a close reading of the biblical text, but not on innovative exegesis, and sometimes in conflict with previous customary behaviour. The practice of not allowing Sabbath 58 The absence of healing from m. Šabb. 7:2 has caused contradictory conclusions: the list being earlier than Jesus (Instone-Brewer, TRENT, Vol. 2a: Feasts and Sabbath [see n. 53], 34–36), or healing not becoming an issue until well after the time of Jesus (Meier, Law and Love [see n. 1 and n. 6], 249–251). 59 Cf. t. Šabb. 15 [16]:11–17; m. Yoma 8:6; The principle is clearly phrased, for example in t. Šabb. 9 [10]:22, or t. Šabb. 15 [16]:17. 60 t. Šabb. 15 [16]:16. 61 CD 11:13–14, 16–17; 4Q265 6 4–8. 62 A. Shemesh, "Shabbat, Circumcision and Circumcision on Shabbat in Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls" (Paper at the workshop "Narrative and Law in the Patriarchal traditions: Hebrew Bible and Dead Sea Scrolls," Georg-August-Universität, Göttingen, May 2–4, 2011; idem, "Shabbat and Other Commandments" (Paper at the SBL International Meeting, London, July 3–7, 2011).

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keeping to interfere with life-saving efforts and other emergencies would have represented the common behaviour of ordinary people long before it was enunciated as a general rule. The principle of pikuach nefesh would only need to be formulated at a stage when traditional custom was being seriously questioned. The Damascus Document stands at the beginning of such a development, but does not openly polemicize against contrary interpretations. In the Jesus tradition we find arguments based on life-saving and the priority of human needs, although they fall short of formulating a general principle. Only in rabbinic literature does this take place, but then the principle is taken for granted. Regardless of when the principle of life-saving was formulated, it represents early custom, which was also contested at an early stage.63 This is clear from the analogies made between the treatment of animals and healing, as well as the provocative questions about saving life, which we find in the Jesus tradition. These discussions presuppose both customary behaviour and dissent. The Qumran texts about animals and humans needing assistance also attest to this, especially when compared to some passages in the Tosefta, which employ these school examples similarly, but rule more leniently for human beings.64 Legal fiction and exegetical arguments reflecting nominalist solutions represent a later stage.65 Several rabbinic texts presuppose that healing medicine is normally not allowed on the Sabbath, except when life is in danger.66 Nominalist tendencies (healing achieved by intake of food or drink not specifically designed for healing) are sometimes visible but also resisted. A prohibition against intake of healing substances unless part of a normal diet is likely to have roots in the Second Temple period. Intake of medicine, however, is not necessarily to be equated with the work of a healer. Although some have suggested that healing by word would not have been regarded as labour,67 the gospel authors must have got the idea from somewhere. According to an ancient Tannaitic tradition, the house of Shammai did not allow praying for the sick on the Sabbath, 63

The principle must be related to the acceptance of self-defence on the Sabbath, which was formulated in Maccabean times, cf. L. Doering, "Jewish Law in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Some Issues for Consideration," in The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. Nórá David, Armin Lange, Kristin de Troyer, and Shani Tzoref; Göttingen 2012) 449–462. The issue of self-defence assumes an early origin for a strict understanding of Sabbath law. 64 The use of tools for pulling up a human being is allowed (t. Šabb. 15 [16]:11–17) while it is taken for granted that an animal should not be lifted up, although provided with food (t. Šabb. 14:3). 65 Cf. t. Betṣah 3. 66 Cf. m. Yoma 8:6; cf. m Šabb. 14:3-4 67 Sigal, Flusser, Maccoby, Vermes, Sanders, and Meier. For more and detailed references, see L. Doering, "Much Ado about Nothing?" in Judaistik und neutestamentliche Wissenschaft: Standorte – Grenzen – Beziehungen (ed. L. Doering, H.-G. Waubke, and F. Wilk; FRLANT 226; Göttingen 2008) 217–241, here 217–229, who has reviewed this argument thoroughly.

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while Hillelites allowed it (t. Šabb. 16:22a [17:14b]). The Shammaite view is likely to reflect early halakah, according to which any measures of promoting healing (prayer or medicine) would have been disallowed. Such a position presupposes that healing activities on the Sabbath were generally disapproved of within the context in which it evolved. The question of where to draw the line between acceptable and unacceptable activities on the Sabbath for the sake of healing would have been a live issue towards the end of the Second Temple period, and a matter of discussion and dissent between various groups. This is a plausible context for Jesus’ healing activities, and concurs with the fact that it is the healing itself that constitutes the halakic problem according to the conflict narratives. There is little to suggest that Sabbath healings per se were a pressing problem for early Christ-believers, trying to negotiate between their own behaviour and expansionist Sabbath halakah. Principled arguments for the priority of human need could have made use of a number of well-known issues, including the well-known animal analogy, without making a detour via Jesus’ Sabbath healings. In spite of this, the Jesus tradition always associates these analogies with Jesus’ healing activity on the Sabbath, because this association belonged to tradition by default. The Sabbath healing narratives suggest a number of motives. The issue of popular or local custom giving priority to human need, present in all variants and versions, is rooted in the early Second Temple period, even before expansionist strictures began to flourish, and reflects a realist understanding of halakah. The halakic argument in Matt 12, also appended to the narrative in Luke 14, builds on theoretical examples of animals and humans in need, and aims to show that Jesus’ Sabbath healings are legitimate. The use of school examples is in accord with an early dating, but the particular use of them for halakic argument, based on a qal waḥomer analogy, and intent on defending Sabbath healing, need not reflect an earlier period than that of Matthew. The halakic argument might not have belonged to any of the two basic variants of the Sabbath healing narrative initially, but the multiple use and variation of the animal analogy, always in association with Sabbath healings, suggest an origin in the earliest Jesus tradition. The motive of emergency or priority is associated with the recurring question about what is allowed. Although both that question and the expansion of the field of emergency can be read as resulting from Markan redaction, the stark exaggeration of Jesus’ provocative question (do good or evil, save or kill?) has prophetic precedents, and is similar in character to the dialectical negations ascribed to him elsewhere in the synoptic tradition.68 The issue of (weak) emergency is inherent in all of the 68

The expression "dialectical negation" has been common in referring to a Semitic idiom, affirming one statement by denying another. See H. Kruse, "Die ‘dialektische Negation’ als Semitisches Idiom," VT 4 (1954) 385–400. Examples include Mark 7:15; 9:37; 13:11. The question in Mark 3:4 is, of course, a different idiom, but has a similar function.

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animal analogies, both those that have Qumran and rabbinic parallels and the non- or less halakic variant in Luke 13. It is conspicuous that Scripture and exegesis play no role whatsoever in the Synoptic Sabbath healing narratives. Nor do they seem to have been shaped for christological purposes, except for the impression they give of Jesus’ as an authoritative teacher. Not even the animal-in-the-pit analogy, appended by Matthew and Luke, is being exploited for such purpose. This is different from the previous cornfield narrative. In the Sabbath healing stories there is less emphasis on Jesus’ divine authority. There is a general eschatological motive, if Jesus’ healings and exorcisms are understood within the framework of his kingdom vision and struggle against evil forces, although this becomes explicit only in Luke 13. Most of the motives suggested fit the time of Jesus, although the halakic argument comparing healing with assistance to animals may have appealed more to customary and commonsense behaviour in the earliest Jesus tradition, only to become more of a legal analogy with time. 3.2 Purity There is only one clear-cut conflict narrative about purity in the synoptic tradition, Mark 7:1–23, which is modified in Matthew 15:1–20 in ways that make a comparison with Gos. Thom. 14 relevant. In addition, Luke 11:37–54, which largely consists of Q material, is shaped into a conflict story, which has some slight affinities with P. Oxy. 840. There is, however, little room to discuss this material here,69 but we will have to focus on Mark and Matthew. Matthew omits Mark’s introductory digression, as he often abbreviates; in addition, the explanation of Jewish practices is not necessary for his Judaismoriented recipients. He has also swapped the Isaiah reply and the korban reply,70 so that the scriptural citation actually confirms the example provided by the indissoluble character of sacred vows. In this way, Matthew achieves a similar structure to what we saw in the Sabbath conflict stories. The net result is a much more coherent narrative, with smooth bridges and fewer cracks. He almost erases the seams and leaves out the Markan inference about the consequence of Jesus’ saying for the validity of food rules – a conclusion that Matthew is not likely to agree with anyway. He also introduces the central role of the "mouth" as the entrance through which things both enter and exit the human body. This may have caused him to add an extra "spoken sin" in the concluding vice list that follows. Matthew’s version is easily understood to fit a Jewish audience, and it is tempting to think of it as more original. This is a mistaken inference, however, since all of differences can be easily explained and fitted into a general picture 69

See Kazen, Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (forthcoming) for a wider discussion. I am here following the handy designations for the different section used by R.P. Booth, Jesus and the Laws of Purity: Tradition History and Legal History in Mark 7 (JSNTSup 13; Sheffield 1986). 70

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of Matthew’s styles, techniques and interests. Furthermore, Matthew’s emphasis on what enters and goes out of the mouth, which is shared with Thomas, but not found in Mark, must be understood as secondary interpretation, rather than as a sign of an alternative tradition.71 The Markan tradition is in itself compound, as decades of redaction-critical analyses have shown. The introduction reads surprisingly smoothly when the Markan explanation (v. 2b) and digression (vv. 3–4) are bracketed out, but both replies following (Isaiah reply, vv. 6–8; korban reply, vv. 10–13) could be appended separately. The new beginning in v. 14 does not necessarily indicate that the central saying (v. 15) did not originally belong with the narrative introduction, but could just as well be taken as Markan redaction necessitated by his insertion of the preceding replies, and effecting the impression of the central saying as public discourse. The "in-house" section that follows contains a "digestive explanation" (vv. 18–19) and a moral interpretation (vv. 20– 23). The separation of public discourse and private instruction of disciples is typical for Mark; the latter suggests itself as interpretation for his contemporary context.72 In the midst, we find the famous participial clause, "declaring all foods clean" (v. 19c), by which Mark explicates the digestive explanation, indicating that the core of the material preceding this Markan comment somehow originates in pre-Markan tradition, rather than with Mark, since it is not self-explanatory. The subsequent moral interpretation, however, is basically a vice list, for which there are many precedents, and can hardly claim an origin in the Jesus tradition.73 Regardless of later interpretation, the Markan conflict narrative concerns purification before eating. This is the case with the Lukan narrative, too, although it refers to immersion (Luke 11:37–54), while the Markan narrative is about hand washing. The development and spread of separate hand washing is a long-standing bone of contention. The practice assumes a secondary impurity from the main sources (corpses, genital discharges, and skin disease) being able to contaminate food and drink via the hands.74 Ideas of graded impurity and practices of graded purification developed continuously during the 71 For further arguments, see Kazen, Jesus and Purity (see n. 17), 66–67 (note that I have corrected my argument on this point in the 2010 edn as compared to the 2002 original); T. Kazen, Issues of Impurity in Early Judaism (CBNTSup 45; Winona Lake 2010) 126–127, 159. 72 See Mark’s use of εἰς οἶκον in 2:1; 3:20; 9:28, and the similar ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ in 9:33 and 10:10; cf. M.D. Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark (Black’s New Testament Commentaries; London 1991) 180, 225, 227, 236. 73 A. Yarbro Collins, Mark (see n. 44), 357–358. 74 Cf. Kazen, Issues of Impurity (see n. 71), 113–135; Y. Furstenberg, "Defilement Penetrating the Body: A New Understanding of Contamination in Mark 7.15," NTS 54 (2008) 176–200; J.G. Crossley, The Date of Mark’s Gospel: Insights from the Law in Earliest Christianity (JSNTSup 266; London 2004) 183–205; J.C. Poirier, "Purity Beyond the Temple in the Second Temple Era," JBL 122 (2003) 247–265.

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Second Temple period. They aided the integration of primary impurity bearers in Second Temple society at large, and played a role for eating in purity in Qumran.75 In non-priestly contexts that did not require immersion before meals, corresponding concepts and rites for mitigating secondary impurities evolved. The rabbinic concept of tevul yom and the practice of hand washing are both attested in Tannaitic texts with roots in the Second Temple period. These concerns, which did not have the temple as a primary focus but were often explicitly focused on food, would not have been necessary unless secondary impurities were by all means avoided.76 The practice of tevul yom assumes that a one-day impurity, contracted by contact with a primary impurity bearer and lasting until evening, can be mitigated by immediate immersion. This is functionally equivalent to a first-day ablution for a seven-day impurity, for which there is early evidence; both remove one layer of impurity immediately in advance of full purification.77 The Rabbis regarded a tevul yom fully pure, except for very minor matters. They considered the practice to be rooted in Second Temple times and ascribed it to the Pharisees. It was disputed, however, by priestly groups: the Mishnah says it was a source of conflict between Sadducees and Pharisees (m. Par. 3:7), and the authors of 4QMMT (B13–16) emphasize the role of sunset, perhaps against their opponents, although we must take care not to assume that the latter had developed a full rabbinic concept of tevul yom. Although a polemical context has been questioned,78 Qumran texts repeatedly attest that the role of sunset with regard to full purity, and eating in purity, was an issue in Second Temple times. A fully developed idea of tevul yom probably belongs to rabbinic times, but even the rabbis engage in little exegetical defence of the concept, in contrast to how they discuss the contamination of liquids and ves-

75

Cf. T. Kazen, "4Q274, Fragment 1 Revisited – or Who Touched Whom? Further Evidence for Ideas of Graded Impurity and Graded Purifications," DSD 17 (2010) 53–87; E. Regev, "Pure Individualism: The Idea of Non-Priestly Purity in Ancient Judaism," JSJ 31 (2000) 176–202; J.M. Baumgarten, "The Purification Rituals in DJD 7," in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (ed. D. Dimant and U. Rappaport; STDJ 10; Leiden 1992) 199–209; J. Milgrom, "First Day Ablutions in Qumran," in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Madrid 18–21 March 1991, Vol. 2. (ed. J. Trebolle Barrera and L. Vegas Montaner; Leiden 1992) 561–570. 76 Evidence for this comes both from Qumran and rabbinic texts: 4Q266 6 ii, 3–4; 1QS 5:12–14; 4QMMT B64–72; 4Q274 1 i; cf. 4Q514 1 i; m. Ber. 8:2. The practice of immersing before meals is taken so much for granted in Qumran texts that it is often assumed without being mentioned. 77 Kazen, Issues of Impurity (see n. 71), 113–135. 78 M. Himmelfarb, "The Polemic against the Ṭevul Yom: A Reexamination," in New Perspective on Old Texts: Proceedings or the Tenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 9–11 January, 2005 (ed. E.G. Chazon, B. Halpern-Amaru, and R.A. Clements; STDJ 88; Leiden 2010) 199–214.

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sels.79 The idea of immersion rather than sundown as the most important part of the purification process is quite natural from a realist and dynamic understanding of the role of water for removing concrete impurity, and is likely to be based on early customary behaviour.80 The practice of separate hand washing is not so clearly attested before 70 CE, although Mark’s assumptions are by themselves evidence for a prehistory of the idea and its underlying presuppositions. These include an understanding of hands being susceptible to separate impurity through contact with secondary impurities, and the idea of liquid being especially susceptible, always reverting to a first-level secondary impurity when defiled, thus becoming capable of (again) contaminating hands and food. The idea that hands could be separately impure and be separately washed in order to prevent further contamination takes its clue from Lev 15:11 (where it concerns a zav), and ideas about the susceptibility of liquids and their capacity to defile food, take their clue from Lev 11:29–38 (where the impurity of dead swarmers is discussed). The hand-washing of the zav shows that hands were considered possible to purify separately, and from there the step is short to considering hands capable of contracting impurity separately from external sources – obviously from secondary sources, since contact with a primary impurity bearer rendered the whole person (body) unclean. Again, this is a practice based on a realist understanding of impurity. Assuming a rabbinic systematized understanding of several levels or removes of secondary impurities, the point of hand washing would be to avoid contamination of food through contact and interposition of liquid, resulting in a (re)contamination of the eater. The capacity for unclean food to defile the eater is, however, denied by talmudic texts, which claim that hand washing only originated as a rabbinic rule, with no basis in Scripture, in order to safeguard the purity of terumah, food set aside as gifts to the priests, which was more susceptible to impurity than ordinary food. This goes hand in hand with an understanding of purity as only or mainly relevant for the cult.81 We must beware of anachronism, and not allow later rabbinic reflection and systematization to govern our understanding of earlier circumstances. A detailed system of removes cannot be evidenced for the Second Temple period and does not become fully fixed even in the Tannaitic period. Regrettably, the mechanisms of various rabbinic reasonings and their harmonization into a system of removes cannot be further explored here; this requires far too much elaboration 79 For rabbinic discussions of the contamination of liquids and vessels, displaying strained exegesis, see for example b. Pesaḥ. 14b, 17b–20b; Sifra Shemini, parashah 8, pereq 9:5 (Weiss edn 55a-b). 80 The biblical rules, in fact, do not explicitly require the major impurity bearers, dischargers and the skin diseased, to wait until sunset after their seven-day purification periods; cf. Himmelfarb, "The Polemic against the Ṭevul Yom" (see n. 78), 200–203. 81 Cf. b. Pesaḥ. 13b, 14b; b. Yoma 80b.

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and is dealt with in greater detail elsewhere.82 The rabbinic denial of food being able to defile the eater, and the dichotomy between purity for the sake of the cult and as a voluntary undertaking with regard to ordinary life, are based on advanced exegetical arguments, including nominalist reasoning, and not likely to be dated within the Second Temple period. Practices and presuppositions relating to hand-washing are based on fairly plain readings of biblical texts, with no appeal to strained exegesis, and must be allowed early roots. This means that I find no reason for interpreting the central saying (Mark 7:15) as either Mark or the historical Jesus defending biblical law against recent innovative interpretations, which is suggested by a number of recent interpreters, such as Crossley, Avemarie, and Furstenberg (although with notable variations).83 Such interpretations often go together with an absolute understanding of the saying, i.e., as a complete denial of impurity being able to defile through food. In a qualified sense, such a view would have represented the understanding of some of the talmudic rabbis, as already indicated, but Mark and, following him, Matthew, would rather have criticized hand washing from the perspective of Scripture against tradition (paradosis) in a more general sense; in their thought-world, those washing hands had a tendency to neglect more important scriptural concerns.84 From a literary point of view, the opposition between Scripture and tradition clearly belongs to the Markan level. It is the focus of both the reference to Isaiah and the example of korban, which Mark uses to drive home his point. At first sight, the opposition may seem confusingly similar to Shemesh’s second category, which rather goes with a reflective model, but Shemesh’s examples of Scripture versus popular tradition concern innovations based on a close reading of Scripture, which conflict with previous (popular) custom. Hand washing at meals was an evolved practice, based on scriptural assumptions, while early Christian appeal to Scripture to defend negligence of hand washing, or of Jewish practices in general, was not based on the type of innovative close reading that we find in Qumran. The Markan contrast between divine command and paradosis, taken over by Matthew, with its appeal to Isa 29, is a standard topos in early Christian polemics, and belongs to the level of Mark, not to the historical Jesus.85 Nor does the korban issue fit Shemesh’s

82

See Kazen, Issues of Impurity (see n. 71), 115–123; Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (WUNT 320; Tübingen 2013). 83 Crossley, The Date of Mark’s Gospel (see n. 74), 183–205; Avemarie, "Jesus and Purity" (see n. 7); Furstenberg, "Defilement Penetrating the Body" (see n. 74). 84 The differences between Mark and Matthew cannot be further explored here. 85 Mark’s use of Isa 29:13 amounts to a blanket accusation of all Ἰουδαῖοι for lip service, hardened hearts and following human precepts. This is how Isa 29 was generally used in early Christian polemics (e.g. Rom 9:20; 11:8; 1 Cor 1:19; Col 2:22); cf. Westerholm, Jesus and Scribal Authority (see n. 8), 76. Hultgren (Jesus and His Adversaries, 116–118; see n. 11) suggests that the Isaiah reply was part of a pre-Markan tradition with v. 8 as the conclud-

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second category well, although it does relate to a custom attested for the late Second Temple period,86 because it is not clear whether at the time of Jesus the korban vow was actually being used intentionally for depriving parents of support, to any extent, as is implied by the Markan text. Most early texts on the problem of rash vows focus on whether they are binding, and the conditions for annulling them, because biblical texts are somewhat contradictory on the issue.87 A strict application of laws concerning vows, based on the plain sense of Num 30, could easily result in an attitude reflected in Mark 7:11–12, without thereby aiming for inhumane consequences. A more pragmatic commonsense tradition would then need to defend itself also by scriptural means. Such developments are seen in later rabbinic texts, which aim at lessening the binding force of various types of oaths by increasingly nominalist interpretations. Most of this development must be deemed later than the Second Temple period, and the methods and arguments used become the more necessary in view of the fact that sacrifices for rash oaths could no longer be made. The korban reply objects to a strictness that does not give way to humanitarian concerns, but allows one law to overrule what is considered a more important one. The korban reply thus displays a realist stance, which regards as crucial the assumed purpose or intention of a law. It is this pragmatic view that is customary and early, against which a strict stance would be able to appeal to Scripture. Jesus’ position on this issue may rather be based on a hesitance to the use of vows at all.88 While the practice of korban must be deemed early enough for the time of Jesus, and his realism would support an early origin for objections against the consequences of a strict position, the exegetical argument and criticism against nominalism found in the framework of the korban reply is more in line with subsequent rabbinic development and fits Mark’s time better than that of Jesus, especially if the strict attitude to vows during Second Temple times originated from a plain reading and not as an evasive manoeuvre. According to the central saying, Jesus’ motives had to do with the relationship between inner and outer impurity. We have seen that neither at the level of Jesus, nor at the level of Mark, can this be understood as a simple defence of biblical purity law against recent innovation. This makes it unlikely that Jesus would have denied altogether the possibility to contract impurity via ing saying, which was composed in the Hellenistic church "as an apologetic text to defend the church against Jewish criticism" (118). 86 Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 376–384, referring to CD, Philo, Mark, Josephus, an ossuary inscription and m. Nedarim. See also Meier’s chapter on oaths (182– 234). 87 The reference in CD 16:14–15 is not unambiguous enough to draw any firm conclusions in this regard. 88 Cf. Matt 5:33–37; Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 198–206; see also M. Vahrenhorst, Ihr soll überhaupt nicht schwören: Matthäus im halachischen Diskurs (WMANT 95; Neukirchen-Vluyn 2002).

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food, although Mark may well have done so. An absolute interpretation of the central saying does not fit the historical Jesus well; a relative interpretation is more likely, taking the saying as a dialectical negation: impurity coming from the inside is more serious than impurity from the outside.89 Although Mark gives the saying a moral interpretation, this is not self-evident for Jesus; perhaps he found food impurity a small problem compared to discharges, corpse "ooze" and the impurity seeping out from the cracked body envelope of the skin diseased? While this could be possible, it does not explain the origin of the ethical interpretation of Mark. Although Mark’s vice list is too stereotype to need any foothold in early tradition,90 it builds on the contrast between the belly and the heart (7:19a), which in Mark has become a vulgar and nonhalakic argument, with the rhetorical function of emphasizing the relative importance of inner purity. The idea of a pure heart triggers Mark’s moral interpretation of the second part of the central saying, but in itself it is sufficiently rooted in Jewish tradition91 to be a possible candidate for Jesus’ own viewpoint. At least it represents an early pre-Markan explanation of the central saying. We may suggest that the historical Jesus contrasted the impurity contracted by eating impure food with internal impurity or impurity of the heart, regarding the latter more serious than the former. Such a stance would not be anachronistic; it would represent a prophetic heritage, but without denying the halakic issue. It may, however, quickly evolve into an early non-halakic and more vulgar digestive interpretation, which in turn could trigger Mark’s farreaching conclusions at a later stage. This suggestion has the best potential for explaining subsequent developments and the present form of the text. Purity of heart also fits the other texts that we cannot discuss in detail here: the Q reply to the Pharisee in Luke 11:39–41, and the comparison between washing in water and an evil inside in P. Oxy. 840. Both centre on the relative importance of the inside of a human being, or purity of heart, which is understood as the source of pro-social behaviour, justice and compassion. These characteristics are seen as crucial to an integral human being and just as important – or possibly even more important – than the purity of hands, vessels, food and body. Various principles of halakic development have been helpful in identifying a number of arguments and motives as less likely to reflect debates and conflicts during Jesus’ time than others. Some of the motives that have commonly been ascribed to Jesus must be doubted. The remaining motive expresses a general realist attitude, but is difficult to fix along a certain halakic trajectory, as it rather reflects a prophetic attitude bent on social criticism. 89 A relative reading is common, and advocated by many; see for example Westerholm, Jesus and Scribal Authority (see n. 8), 83; Booth, Jesus and the Laws of Purity (see n. 70), 69–71. For the expression "dialectical negation," see n. 68 above. 90 See above, n. 73. 91 Cf. Pss 24:4; 51:12; 73:13; Prov 20:9; 22:22; Jer 4:14.

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3.3 Divorce The third area of halakic conflict, which will be dealt with far too briefly, is divorce. In addition to the Markan conflict narrative (Mark 10:1–12), elaborated on by Matthew (Matt 19:1–9), there is a Q saying, which appears separately in Luke as well as in Matthew (Luke 16:18 // Matt 5:32),92 with the result that the issue of divorce comes up in two quite different contexts in Matthew, while Luke lacks a conflict story. The Markan conflict story consists of a narrative (vv. 2–9) and a separate saying (vv. 11–12), typically shaped as "in-house" teaching.93 The latter is at least in part parallel to the Q saying, but the variants of the second lemma seem to depend on differing circumstances, and it is probably this part (v. 12, reversing the prohibition of remarriage after divorce, making it a mutual obligation for women as well as for men) that represents Markan application of the Jesus tradition to his particular context.94 The conflict narrative itself may be a creation of the early church, but it contains two distinct sayings, which must be considered: one in vv. 5–8, quoting Genesis, and another in v. 9, concluding the narrative ("What God has thus joined, humans must not separate"). The latter has been suggested as a separate saying, but needs a context to make sense. It is closely bound up with the motivation from the creation story, which infers divine intention from the Genesis narrative. Since even traditional material must be expected to be thoroughly dyed in the stylistic and ideological colours of the gospel author, there is no contradiction in an "ideal scene" containing traditional material or historical reminiscences. The motif of Pharisaic opposition to Jesus and the use of scriptural quotations to argue the case, can be suspect of originating as a piece of early Christian apology for a strict stance on divorce. However, the

92

The existence of a separate Q saying is generally accepted, although not self-evident. It is plausible taking into account the introduction (πᾶς ὁ ἀπολύων) and the participle (ἀπολελυμένην), which are common to Matt 5:32 and Luke 16:18, but differ from the version in Mark 10 // Matt 19. 93 See above, n. 72. 94 Mark 10:12 assumes the right of women to initiate divorce, which reflects GrecoRoman conditions rather than those prevailing in Jewish society. A number of interpreters during past decades have challenged this, e.g. E. Bammel, "Markus 1011f. und das jüdische Eherecht," ZNW 61 (1970) 95–101; B. Brooten, "Konnten Frauen in alten Judentum die Scheidung betrueben?" EvT 42 (1982) 65–80; eadem, "Zur Debatte über das Scheidungsrecht der jüdischen Frau," EvT 43 (1983) 466–478; D. Instone-Brewer, Divorce and Remarriage in the Bible: The Social and Literary Context (Grand Rapids 2002) 72–110, 151–152. Arguments appeal to texts from Elephantine and Wadi Murabba‘at, Josephus and the Palestinian Talmud. Of these the second century CE Murabba‘at divorce letter is the best evidence, but too inconclusive to warrant any far-reaching conclusions. Cf. Meier, Law and Love (see n. 1 and n. 6), 83–84. With regard to the development of Jewish halakah there are no indications that women were granted the right to initiate divorce.

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motive of creation and divine intent has early precedence and fits a realist stance that could well go back to the historical Jesus.95 It is often pointed out that the divorce law, referred to in the conflict narrative (Deut 24:1–4), is really a law of "no return," i.e., it prohibits a divorcee to return to her former husband if she has been married to another man in the meantime. The original intent of this law has been explained from purity concerns (v. 4: she has been defiled)96 or out of economic considerations, taking notice of the fact that the first husband divorces her for valid reasons, finding "something objectionable" (‘erwat davar) about her, while the second husband divorces her for no reason (he hates her), or dies. This could mean that while she forfeited her divorce money after the first marriage, she would receive it (or even inherit) after the second, and by taking her back her first husband would profit twice.97 Both interpretations are possible. There is no explicit purity law applicable in this case, but we would need to assume a use of purity language for that which is deemed repulsive or inappropriate, for which there is other evidence, not least in Deuteronomy.98 There are no correspondences to this idea in other ANE laws,99 and there are even some early biblical narratives of such reunions that do not acknowledge any problem from a legal or moral point of view,100 so the economic background may well be original. Evidence from the Second Temple period, however, strongly suggest the idea of an intervening sexual contact defiling a woman in the sense of making her unlawful for her husband.101 This is not the issue, however, in the Jesus tradition, since the Deuteronomic law was understood as a general divorce law, stating the conditions under which a man could issue a divorce letter. It is a common view that Je95 The motive of creation and divine intent is evident in CD 4:21, which has often been understood as parallel to Jesus’ saying, although focused on polygyny rather than on divorce. 96 C. Pressler, The View of Women Found in the Deuteronomic Family Laws (BZAW 216; Berlin 1993) 57–61; E.S. Feinstein, Sexual Pollution in the Hebrew Bible (Diss. Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, Harvard University 2010) 147–150. 97 R. Westbrook, "The Prohibition on Restoration of Marriage in Deuteronomy 24:1–4," in Studies in the Bible (ed. S. Japhet; Scripta Hierosolymitana 31; Jerusalem 1986), reprinted in Law from the Tigris to the Tiber: The Writings of Raymond Westbrook, vol. 2: Cuneiform and Biblical Sources (ed. B. Wells and F.R. Magdalene; Winona Lake 2009) 387–404; D.L. Ellens, Women in the Sex Texts of Leviticus and Deuteronomy: A Comparative Conceptual Analysis (LHB/OTS 458; New York 2008) 235–248. 98 Cf. the use of disgust language (e.g. the term ‫ )תועבה‬in the Holiness Code as well as in Deuteronomy for repulsive behaviour quite beyond the limits of ritual purity. T. Kazen, Emotions in Biblical Law: A Cognitive Science Approach (HBM 36; Sheffield 2011) 71–94. Note, however, the reference to a similar case in Jer 3:1, which seems to assume pollution of the land as a result; Pressler, The View of Women (see n. 96) 58. 99 Westbrook, "The Prohibition" (see n. 97), 391–393. 100 E.g. Abraham, Sarah and the Pharaoh (Gen 12); David, Michal and Paltiel (1 Sam 18:20–27; 25:44; 2 Sam 3:12–16). 101 Jer 3:1; 2 Sam 20:3 (which seems to contradict the previous example of David and Michal); Lev 21:7, 13–15 (priestly rules).

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sus, like the people behind the texts from Qumran, took a strict no-divorce stance, with prophetic precedence in Malachi 2:16. The text of Malachi is, however, most likely corrupt and in any case difficult to interpret; it probably refers to Israelite unfaithfulness in worshipping the female consort of Yahweh, and has little or nothing to say on the issue of divorce.102 The texts from Qumran usually referred to (CD 4:20–5:6; 4Q271 3 10–15; 11QTa 56:16–19; 57:15–19) do prohibit polygyny but are not explicit about divorce; other texts assuming divorce taking place prove previous interpretations misleading (4QXII; CD 13:17; 11QTa 54:4; 66:11; 4Q159 2–4+8:10).103 What is clear from Qumran as well as from certain rabbinic texts is a tendency towards strictness, regarding any woman with previous sexual experience unsuitable to marry. This tendency is probably inspired by the Holiness Code’s rules for priests, who are not allowed to marry divorcees.104 The point in 4Q271 as well as in R. Eliezer’s stance according to the Sifra on Lev 21:7, is to warn against marriage with categories of women that would otherwise be allowed (like not yet married women and widows), if they had engaged in any sexual activities (in the case of a widow after the death of her husband). Such a view amounts to a realist understanding of the biblical text, but much of the rabbinic discussion in Sifra exemplifies a nominalist approach, including strained exegetical redefinitions of the biblical categories. It is not strange to think of the qumranites appropriating priestly rules. A strict view would mean that divorced women could not remarry. This goes against the whole point of the divorce letter, which allowed a divorcee to any man. We should not assume the appropriation of priestly rules for other Second Temple groups, such as the Pharisees, but a strict and negative view against divorcees would have the potential to spill over, to the extent that any good man was not supposed to marry a divorced woman. This is in fact what we find not only indicated in texts from Qumran, but in certain rabbinic texts and in Philo.105

102 F.F. Hvidberg, Weeping and Laughter in the Old Testament: A Study of CanaaniteIsraelite Religion (Leiden 1962) 120–123; A. Isaksson, Marriage and Ministry in the New Temple (ASNU 24; Lund 1965) 27–34; D.L. Petersen, Zechariah 9-14 and Malachi: A Commentary (OTL; London 1995) 193–206 103 G. Brin, "Divorce at Qumran," in Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995 (ed. M. Bernstein, F. García Martínez, and J. Kampen; Leiden 1997) 231–244; A. Schremer "Qumran Polemic on Marital Law: CD 4:20–5:11 and Its Social Background," in J. M. Baumgarten, E. G. Chazon and A. Pinnick (eds.), 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 (STDJ 34; Leiden 2000) 147–160. 104 According to Lev 21:7–9, priests were not allowed to marry prostitutes, raped women, or divorcees. In addition, widows were explicitly forbidden to the high priest, who was restricted to marry a virgin (Lev 21:13–15). 105 Cf. t. Soṭah 5:9; Spec. Laws 3:31.

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At the same time, conditions for divorcing a woman were debated. It is commonplace to interpret the Markan conflict story against the debate between the schools of Shammai and Hillel on divorce for any reason or because of "something objectionable." Here is another example where we have to beware of anachronism; the arguments, especially as they appear in the Babylonian Talmud, are too elaborate to be dated to the time of Jesus, including nominalist interpretations and strained exegesis.106 This applies to some degree to the much more simple scriptural references in m. Giṭ. 9:10, too. There is no reason, however, to doubt that the different opinions (a strict view limiting divorce to "indecency" versus more liberal custom) originate from Second Temple times, and thus are part of the background to the Markan conflict story. As we trace tendencies with early roots in rabbinic texts we find evidence for a lenient view, or a tendency towards easy divorce, based on rumour only.107 Although marriage with a divorcee is assumed in several texts and associated with the school of Hillel,108 arguments resting on scriptural interpretation must usually be assigned a late date, because of the type of reasoning and use of Scripture displayed.109 Reservations against marrying a divorcee are not only found in Qumran texts, but also attested by Philo, and seem to have been common.110 The evidence suggests that a negative view of the divorcee was more common than the acceptance of strict conditions for divorcing. We could perhaps think of this as a stringent minority view on one issue (conditions for divorce) influencing the majority view in an adjacent question (the divorcee as unsuitable to marry). In any case the logical result would be that men could divorce more easily than divorced women could remarry. This is where a no-divorce stance, such as that displayed in the Jesus tradition, could perhaps be understood as a defence of women against being lightly disowned and thereby stigmatized, with the likely and imminent risk of not being able to support themselves. There are, in fact, good arguments for seeing the harm inflicted on the woman as one of the underlying motives, which can be traced in most versions. In the Matthean version of Q, the use of the passive voice in the phrase "causes her to be adultered" (ποιεῖ αὐτὴν μοιχευθῆναι), can be read as focused on male responsibility for causing harm to a woman by sending her away. Such a reading partly explains the Matthean parenthetical exceptive clause, which suggests that a man would not be liable 106

E.g. y. Giṭ. 9:11; b. Giṭ. 90a; y. Soṭah 1:1; Sifre Deut. 269 (Sifre to Deut 24:1). m. Soṭah 6:1; t. Soṭah 1:2; 5:9. 108 Sifre Deut. 269 (Sifre to Deut. 24:1) portrays the School of Hillel not only claiming the right to divorce for lesser matters than unchastity, but also defending the woman’s possibility to remarry even after a divorce due to unchastity. Cf. m. Yebam. 4:12, which seems to give a negative comment; m. Yebam. 13, which discusses the rights of a minor to refuse an arranged marriage without a bill of divorce being issued, which makes it possible to "remarry" the man later; and m. Ned. 11:9, which assumes that a man can divorce and remarry the same woman. 109 E.g. Sifre Deut. 270 (Sifre to Deut 24:2); cf. m. Soṭah 2:6. 110 See above, n. 105. 107

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to such responsibility in cases where the woman had already, so to say, inflicted the harm on herself. I do not consider the exceptive clause as part of the earliest Jesus tradition;111 the motive of not inflicting harm on the woman is, however, likely to come with the Q version. Although Luke seems to put emphasis on remarriage, this probably comes via Mark, and is not the focus of the saying in Q. Matthew 5:32 does not have it, and in Mark the phrase about remarriage is the particular detail needed for adapting the saying into church instruction by reversing it. The tradition underlying Mark may, however, also have been focused on the harm inflicted on the woman, indicated by specifying the adultery constituted by divorce as something committed "against her" (ἐπ᾽ αὐτήν). Such a motive would also fit with the general picture of Jesus in the tradition, as giving more attention to, and room for, women than one might expect from the historical and social context. Although related to halakic development regarding grounds for divorce and marriage with a divorcee, this motive is not in itself based on halakic reasoning. The Markan conflict narrative, in fact, has less of a halakic flavour than traditionally assumed, when the evolved rabbinic debate based on the house discussion is assigned a date later than the time of Jesus. This observation also fits with what we could expect of Mark’s gentile recipients. Although the narrative is not void of halakic relevance, it displays a realist stance towards marriage, based on a plain-sense reading of Genesis texts, some of which were similarly used for arguments against polygyny in Qumran.112 The conflict story does not address remarriage, but is focused on separation, which is also the case in the separate Pauline logion (cf. the verb χωρίζειν in Mark 10:9 as well as in 1 Cor 7:10–11). An emphasis on creation and divine intent fits with an early origin for a conflict narrative of this type. One possible motive for a strict stance against divorce is a high concern for holiness, similar to that which we find not only in Qumran texts but among expansionist groups at large. Matthew displays such concerns in various disciple instructions, and in the antitheses, which are concluded by an allusion to the Holiness Code (Lev 19:2): "be perfect, as your heavenly father is perfect" 111

This issue is treated at length in Kazen, Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (forthcoming), but there is little room for entering the discussion here. It is not in Mark and is unlikely to have originated with Q. Matthew prepares for it by modifying the initial question (19:3) with κατὰ πᾶσαν αἰτίαν. The question is whether he thereby "unpacks" what is inherent already in the Markan tradition, as Instone-Brewer (Divorce and Remarriage [see n. 94], 133– 188) has suggested. The issue much depends on the meaning of πορνείᾳ – does it refer to illicit sexual unions or to adultery proper? Instone-Brewer’s argument assumes that the house debate as represented in m. Giṭ. 9:10, dates from the time of Jesus and was known to his audience, which I doubt. While it is possible that Shammaite innovative stringency was already motivated by the scriptural phrase ‫ערות דבר‬, based on a plain reading of the text, there is little evidence that those defending ancient lenient custom had by this time developed counterarguments based on a different reading of the same passage, as the Mishnah implies and the Sifre as well as the Babylonian Talmud spell out explicitly. 112 Cf. the references to Gen 1:27 and 7:9 in CD 4:21; 5:1.

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(Matt 5:48). Although a number of Q traditions focused on preventing hurt and harm are related to holiness laws, in particular from Lev 19,113 the "stringency" of some of these holiness ideals is different from a stringency that disqualifies a divorcee from further marriage by judging her intrinsically immoral. In developing instructions for a church under pressure and in tension with other Jewish groups, Matthew interprets the Jesus tradition from Q more in line with a stringent approach to holiness, as perfection rather than compassion (cf. Luke 6:36). The Jesus tradition on divorce is consequently interpreted in line with the trend that is current in his context, and results in a generalized demand not to marry a divorcee, in line with prevailing views about divorcees being immoral and unsuitable to marry. Whether this general view represents the historical Jesus is uncertain. The Q tradition characterizing marriage with a divorcee as adultery may have a much more specific historical background: the divorce and remarriage of Herod Antipas, which was criticized by John the Baptizer. The Jesus tradition suggests that Antipas was after Jesus, too,114 and that also Jesus was known for his criticism of the powerful. To hypothesize that Jesus criticized Antipas’ marriage with Herodias is speculative only to the extent that it would not provide a plausible overall explanation for the development of the traditions under discussion, which it, however, does.115 Although the Jesus tradition on divorce can be related to current halakic development, it also displays less halakic traits, in particular when viewed from the perspective of prophetic discourse. While the Baptizer’s criticism seems to have concerned the incestuous character of Antipas’ marriage, we need to assume that Jesus would have criticized him partly on other grounds. Points of criticism would have been that Antipas separated from his wife,116 and married someone else’s. If Jesus was known for this criticism, that would have given opportunity for some of his opponents to attempt to set up a trap, and a generalizing answer, referring to Scripture and creation, would have made him come out of it unharmed.117 From this matrix, a saying could have evolved that covertly criticized Antipas for divorcing his wife and for stealing 113 See T. Kazen, "Self-Preserving and Other-Oriented Concerns in the Jesus Tradition," in Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni (ed. S.-O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi; Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11; Åbo 2012), 124–148, here 137–146. 114 Cf. Luke 13:31–33, which combines a notice about Antipas searching for Jesus with a critical saying and an expectation of a prophet’s martyrdom. Some of the evidence used for arguing the "Messianic secret" may be read in this light, too. 115 This idea is found more than a century ago with F.C. Burkitt, The Gospel History and Its Transmission (2nd edn; Edinburgh 1907) 98–102. Others include W.F. Luck, Divorce and Remarriage: Recovering the Biblical View (San Francisco 1987) 111–158; R.F. Collins, Divorce in the New Testament (GNS 38; Collegeville 1992) 214–222. 116 Meier’s objection that it is uncertain whether the divorce was formal or not does not really affect the argument (Law and Love [see n. 1 and n.6], 170, n. 107). 117 Somewhat similar to the tax story (Mark 12:13–17).

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his brother’s. Separately, a conflict story could have evolved, in which the original background in Jesus’ criticism of Antipas was soon lost, but with a focus on divine intent, based on an argument from the order of creation. These assumptions can account for subsequent developments, when all implicit or explicit references to Antipas had been forgotten.118 There is no reason why the motive of creational intent, realist scriptural arguments included, should not go back to the historical Jesus. It is also likely that an underlying concern about the harm inflicted on the woman through a divorce would have been a motive, not particularly for criticizing Antipas, but for the general stance behind a realist understanding of divine intent. Such a view would be reasonable in a context of early stringency, in which divorced women were being increasingly blackmailed. In defending his stance on Antipas’ marital affairs, Jesus’ view of creation and intention surfaces. Implicit, barely below the surface, we also find the additional motive of concern for the harm inflicted by the husband on the wife, by divorcing her. This motive may be less evident, but fits the current legal situation, in which a divorcee was increasingly regarded as immoral and unsuitable by default.

4. Results The analyses above are, of course, far too brief and sketchy to present a complete case; I have been abbreviating arguments that are offered elsewhere in more detail. We have, however, seen that some of the general assumptions and common interpretations of the conflict stories discussed so far, based on traditional use of authenticity criteria and redaction criticism, can be challenged by an approach considering the history and development of halakic interpretation and use of Scripture and logic in Second Temple and early rabbinic Judaism. We also notice that the locus of authority is not necessarily that which is suggested by much traditional New Testament research. Analysing the Sabbath conflict stories in the light of the development of Sabbath halakah, we have seen that the widely-questioned cornfield scene relates to issues of food preparation that reflect expansionist ideals at the time of Jesus. In Mark, the "aggadic" use of Scripture is a simple defence of popular custom, and the Son of Man saying constitutes a realist argument from creation, all of which characterize early halakic rulings. While the narrative is Markan, the issue fits an earlier period. Only with Matthew do we find a balancing of two contradicting rules being solved by a use of Scripture and exegetical argument similar to later rabbinic reasoning. As for the healing narratives, the rabbinic idea that life-saving overrules the Sabbath might not be as contemporary with Jesus as commonly believed, as it is almost always de118 For a more detailed tradition-historical reconstruction, I have to refer the reader to Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority (forthcoming).

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fended by exegetical arguments, in rabbinic texts often strained and nominalist ones at that. The imagery of an animal (or human being) in a pit is, however, an ancient school example, used in early discussions about how to rescue without breaking the Sabbath, and in early Jesus tradition always associated with Sabbath healings. These traditions reflect a conflict between popular custom and a strict Scripture-based and probably innovative approach, belonging to an early stage. Although rabbinic discussions regarding the treatment of diseases and life-saving on the Sabbath usually display a type of exegetical argument and nominalist solutions that are more likely to belong to a later stage of development than the Second Temple period, it has been argued that certain conflicts regarding measures for promoting healing by deed or word reflect early halakic disputes. Motives of emergency or priority as well as a realist understanding of divine intent can claim an origin in the earliest Jesus tradition, while protests against strained exegesis rather belong to a later stage. Christological implications based on Jesus’ authority may be suggested on the redactional level in Mark’s version of the cornfield incident, and become apparent in Matthew, but there is little appeal to Jesus’ divine authority in the healing narratives, and claims regarding Jesus’ inherent authority or revelatory access to the divine will have little foothold in the earliest tradition. Results from the other two areas are fairly similar, even if not identical. In spite of claims to the contrary, the conflict narrative about hand washing is rooted in a Second Temple expansionist practice to purify hands before eating common food, and although innovative, such practice must be regarded as an evolving alternative custom, resulting from close reading of Scripture and realist reasoning, and based on presuppositions clearly attested in early Second Temple Judaism. Of the various arguments and motives suggested in Mark 7, most reflect early Christian polemics against incipient rabbinic nominalist exegesis, or moralizing interpretation in line with early Christian ethical discourse. The hand-washing narrative cannot be used to argue that Jesus defended biblical law against recent interpretation, as is often suggested, but historical motives for Jesus’ stance must be sought in the reference to inner purity, or the heart, as more important than food impurity – an idea rooted in Jewish tradition and with prophetic overtones. Where impurity is dealt with in the Q tradition, purity of heart or inside is associated with issues of social and economic justice. Again, notions of overruling purity concerns by an inherent authority are at best implied by the gospel authors, but with no warrant in the underlying tradition. Finally, the divorce conflict, its complicated tradition history notwithstanding, suggests underlying motives based on a realist interpretation of the Genesis creation narratives as reflecting the divine will, together with a concern for the vulnerable situation of divorcees. These come through in a narrative and a saying that both may have originated in a context of criticism against Antipas. The common view that associates Jesus’ strict stance with a purported prohibition against divorce in Qumran is based on faulty interpretation of the evi-

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dence; the issue in these texts is mainly polygyny, while divorce did take place. However, there is halakic evidence for a situation towards the end of the Second Temple period in which strict views on the conditions of divorce competed with long-standing liberal custom, and in which divorcees were increasingly regarded as immoral by definition. This was part of a tendency towards holiness, attested in Qumran, that discouraged marriage with a woman with previous sexual experience, displaying a realist reading of the Holiness Code. The influence of such a view is indicated by among other things the nominalist exegesis found in later rabbinic texts in order to lessen its force. The Hillelite-Shammaite debate over conditions for divorce attest to the fact that on this issue a liberal custom always remained strong. Here, too, exegetical arguments reflect contexts later than the time of Jesus, but the tension between contrary customs clearly belongs to the Second Temple period. The suggested motive of concern for the consequences of divorce for the woman would fit both the historical context and the picture of Jesus that we find elsewhere. The focus on remarriage, however, while possible to fit into the historical context, cannot be shown to originate with tradition earlier than the Markan level. The characterization of marriage with a divorcee as adultery in Q may originate with criticism against Antipas rather than as a generalizing statement. While a perfectionist ideal is historically possible, it is more likely to reflect Matthew’s context. Jesus’ special authority is only implied in the "in-house" section, which results from Markan contextualization. Here as elsewhere in the earliest Jesus tradition an appeal to the divine intent understands revelation as based on plain reading and a realist understanding of Scripture, not on charismatic authority. Based on such considerations Jesus seems to have been prepared to go against liberal custom in the divorce conflict, although the situation appears somewhat reversed in the Sabbath conflicts, and in the purity conflict one increasingly influential custom is relativized compared to just behaviour. Realism in the sense of divine or creational intent, and priority of human need or well-being, seem to be common denominators or underlying motives. These are sources from which the historical Jesus derived authority, whether via Scripture or custom. Advanced exegesis as well as (crypto-)christological claims for special revelation and inherent personal authority more likely belong to later levels.

The Role of Jerusalem in the Mission of Jesus1 Jostein Ådna Why did the itinerant Galilean preacher of the kingdom of God, Jesus of Nazareth, some time around AD 30 go up to Jerusalem where he would meet his fatal end by being put to death on a cross? This question has puzzled historical Jesus research. Albert Schweitzer answered it by claiming that Jesus went into Jerusalem in order to die and that he consciously provoked the religious and political authorities to secure such an outcome. Hence, according to Schweitzer Jesus can be said to have been successful in bringing about his own violent death, but unsuccessful with regard to the intended goal of ushering in the kingdom of God through his suffering and death.2 Another German scholar, Günther Bornkamm, saw the reason for Jesus’ journey in his commitment to confront all of Israel with his kingdom message.3 Hence, in the reasoning of these two scholars, Jesus had what we might characterise as pragmatic reasons for going up to Jerusalem: Israel gathered there during pilgrimage festivals, and, consequently, Jerusalem was the place to be if one wanted to reach the whole people at once with one’s message (Bornkamm4); or because Jerusalem was the centre of power, anybody who wanted to provoke the authorities to intervene violently against him, had to go to that very place (Schweitzer). However, are such explanations satisfactory? Was there nothing more than pragmatism to Jesus’ choice of travelling to Jerusalem? Or are we capable of identifying a motivation of Jesus in principle for daring the risky enterprise of going to Jerusalem on the occasion of the Passover season in that very year some time at the turn of the 20s to the 30s in the 1st century AD? 1

Thanks to John Goldie MA for helpful suggestions for linguistic corrections and improvements. 2 See K. H. Tan, The Zion Traditions and the Aims of Jesus (SNTSMS 91; Cambridge 1997) 13–15 with due references to A. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus (London 1910). 3 See Tan, Zion Traditions, 16–17 with references to G. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth (London 1960). 4 Admittedly, there is also an intrinsic link between the message of Jesus and Jerusalem because, according to Bornkamm, "in Jesus’ view, Jerusalem was connected with the destiny of the Jewish nation" (Tan, Zion Traditions [see n. 2], 17).

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1. Jesus’ Journeys from Galilee to Jerusalem Jesus was a Galilean who lived during the first decades of the 1st century AD. Scholarship has realised for a long time that the disparaging talk about the unlearned and non-observant Cr)h M( in some rabbinic sources and the designation of Galilee in Matthew 4:15 as "Galilee of the Gentiles" do not imply that the population in Galilee during this era had a weak Jewish orientation or was at an ideological distance to Jerusalem and the temple there. On the contrary, the vast majority of the population living in the region reigned by the tetrarch Herod Antipas (4 BC – AD 39) had a strong Jewish commitment in their identity and religious practice.5 Jesus of Nazareth and his family are no exception in this respect. In spite of legendary traits, the so-called childhood accounts collected in Luke 1–2 witness to the kind of piety which was characteristic for the family of Jesus and the environment in which he grew up, and according to Luke 2:41 the parents of Jesus annually went to Jerusalem for the Passover festival. It is a priori likely that Jesus as an adult still followed such a common practice for Galilean Jews by occasionally going to Jerusalem for pilgrimage festivals. Without claiming historical accuracy for the Gospel of John in this respect, in general terms I do consider the picture presented in the Fourth Gospel, according to which Jesus repeatedly went up to Jerusalem on the occasion of festivals, to be credible (cf. John 2:13; 5:1; 7:2, 10; 10:22f.; 12:12). Such a picture of more than one journey to Jerusalem during Jesus’ public ministry is corroborated by at least one further paradosis, Matt 23:37–39 par. Luke 13:34–35, which seems to presuppose that Jesus has addressed the residents of Jerusalem on more than only one occasion. However, the question whether there is a traceable intrinsic connection between his message, proclaimed in Galilee, and the city of Jerusalem is much more important than merely counting the number of times Jesus visited Jerusalem.

2. Jesus’ Eschatological Message about the Coming of the Kingdom of God There is agreement among scholars that the message about the kingdom of God (ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ) stood at the centre of Jesus’ proclamation (see Mark 1:15; Matt 4:17; 10:7; Luke 10:9, 11). However, the exact interpretation 5 See in this respect the research of the Danish scholar Morten Hørning Jensen, inter alia the monograph Herod Antipas in Galilee: The Literary and Archaeological Sources on the Reign of Herod Antipas and its Socio-Economic Impact on Galilee (WUNT II/215; Tübingen 2006 [2nd ed. 2010]) and "Socio-Economic and Socio-Religious Dynamics in Herod Antipas’ Galilee – a Holistic Approach," forthcoming in Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus.

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of this phrase and the question how the entity labelled βασιλεία (Greek), (Hebrew) or )twklm (Aramaic) by Jesus is to be situated within his theological worldview are disputed. Whereas βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ and its Semitic counterparts are clearly used as a nomen actionis in the Old Testament and early Judaism, expressing God’s kingship, his royal rule (e.g. Ps 103:19 [LXX 102:19]; Ps. Sol. 17:3), and the majority of scholars assume the same meaning of it as spoken by Jesus, some scholars have challenged this understanding. A prominent champion of the alternative interpretation of the βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ as a spatial expression in the teaching of Jesus is Hans Kvalbein. The kingdom of God is the area of salvation or, closely related, the gift of salvation, as for example seen in the saying, "Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it" (Mark 10:15 par. Luke 18:17).6 Another controversial issue is whether the βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ is a wisdom oriented concept to be located inside the realms of the existing world and history, or whether it transcends these limitations and is a future eschatological entity of some kind. Personally, I clearly favour an eschatological interpretation and consider in particular Luke 11:2 par. Matthew 6:10 and Mark 14:25 par. Matt 26:29; Luke 22:18 as solid evidence that the kingdom is a future reality. What are we then to make of those βασιλεία sayings which state that it is a present reality (see, in particular, Luke 11:20 par. Matt 12:28; Luke 17:21)? In my opinion, Jesus himself is the clue to the answer of this question. His role as God’s unique messenger in proclaiming that the kingdom had drawn near (see above: Mark 1:15 etc.) obviously implied a role for himself in accomplishing the βασιλεία. Where Jesus was unfolding his mission in gathering disciples around himself and liberating people from the hardships of illness and demon possession, the gifts of eschatological salvation were already made accessible in the present. Can a connection be traced between Jesus’ eschatological kingdom message, for the most part proclaimed in Galilee, and Jerusalem, to where he journeyed and, finally, was arrested and executed? In order to answer this question we must next look at the role of Jerusalem in Old Testament and early Jewish eschatological expectation.

twklm

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As something to be received the kingdom appears as a gift, and as somewhere to enter the kingdom appears as a place in this saying by Jesus. Unless otherwise noted or specified, biblical texts, including Old Testament apocrypha, are quoted from NRSV Anglicized Edition (Oxford 1995). For H. Kvalbein’s understanding, see his article in this volume, "Jesus as Preacher of the Kingdom of God" (pp. 97–110). A few years ago Kvalbein published a book in Norwegian on Jesus’ message according to the Synoptic Gospels, in which he delivered a detailed linguistic and theological analysis of the phrase βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ; see H. Kvalbein, Jesus – Hva ville han? Hvem var han? En innføring i de tre første evangelienes budskap (Oslo 2008) 75–181, esp. 88–103.

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3. Jerusalem/Zion in Apocalyptic-Eschatological Expectation7 3.1 The Zion Traditions in the Old Testament At the time of Jesus, certain specific traditions had already been intimately connected with the city of Jerusalem and in particular with the temple for many centuries. The origins of these so-called Zion traditions seem to reach back into the pre-Davidic era of Jerusalem. In the Old Testament the name "Zion" predominantly relates to the mountain ridge where Solomon built the first temple (see Ps 78:68–69). In the course of later development the meaning of the term was expanded to become the designation of the whole city of Jerusalem or even of the people of Israel (see Lam 2:6–8; Isa 51:16; Zech 2:11 [ET 2:7]; 8:2–3). However, the characteristic and constitutive content of the Zion traditions depends on YHWH’s unique relation to the temple. For this reason, it is legitimate to concentrate on the theology of the temple in describing the Zion traditions. As a consequence of the transfer of the ark to Mount Zion, YHWH elected this site to be his dwelling place (see Ps 132, esp. vv. 13–14; 1 Kgs 8:1–13, esp. vv. 12–13; Deut 12:5–7, 11).8 YHWH’s habitation resulted in Zion’s inviolability and a perfect protection against all kinds of threats from outside (see inter alia Pss 9; 20; 46 and 48). In situations of political and military danger the prophet Isaiah appealed to this aspect of the Zion traditions in order to prevent the residing king in Judah from concluding a treaty with foreign powers as a security measure (cf. Isa 7:1–17; 30:1–5; 31:1–3 with 14:32; 17:12– 14; 29:5–8; 31:4–5). However, the pre-exilic prophets in Judah and Jerusalem also exposed the misuse and perversion of the Zion traditions whenever people claimed refuge in the secure Jerusalem while at the same time not being willing to live in accordance with the will of YHWH. For disobedient Israel Zion was no guarantee of protection; on the contrary, in such circumstances God would destroy the temple, the city and the people (see Jer 7:1–15 as the most conspicuous example of a judgment prophecy based on the Zion traditions). Other effects of YHWH’s election of Zion as his abode are the elevation of Zion beyond all other mountains in the world (Ps 48:3 [ET 48:2]) and his kingly rule from Zion over the whole world (see the so-called ‘YHWH-KingPsalms’, Pss 47; 93; 96–99). These aspects of the Zion theology were already eschatologically elaborated among pre-exilic prophets. At the end of days the elevation of Zion, anticipated in the cult, will be realised (see esp. Isa 2:2a 7

I have submitted the material presented and discussed in this section to a detailed analysis in J. Ådna, Jesu Stellung zum Tempel: Die Tempelaktion und das Tempelwort als Ausdruck seiner messianischen Sendung (WUNT II/119; Tübingen 2000) 25–110, esp. 25– 27, 40–45, 91–110. See also Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 23–51. 8 In certain strands of Old Testament theology it is specified that Zion is the dwelling place of YHWH’s glory (Ps 26:8; 1 Kgs 8:11) or his name (1 Kgs 5:17, 19 [ET 5:3, 5]; 9:3).

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par. Mic 4:1a), and the universal reign of YHWH will become visible when all nations go up to Zion and he establishes peace for the whole world by his instruction and jurisdiction (see Isa 2:2b–4 par. Mic 4:1b–4; Jer 3:17; Zech 8:20–23). The destruction of Judah, Jerusalem and the temple by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in 587 BC and the forced deportation of parts of the population to Babylon caused a shattering theological crisis. Nevertheless, during the time of the exile the prophecies of the judgment prophets, most recently Jeremiah and Ezekiel, became a vehicle in surviving and overcoming the immense challenges. They had prophesied the devastating catastrophe without abandoning trust in the irrevocable and steadfast promises of God for Zion. In fact, the Zion traditions even assumed increasing importance through the crisis of the exile and in the post-exilic era. The sharp contrast between the difficult contemporary conditions and the exuberant hopes directed towards the city of God contributed to a more resolute eschatological profile of the Zion traditions. In the eschatological consummation God will glorify Zion and his temple, bring all the dispersed of his people back to the land and the city and with them also the Gentile nations, and assembled on Zion they will all recognise and praise YHWH as the only true God together (see inter alia Isa 60–62; 66:18ff.; Zech 2:10–17 [ET 2:6–13]; 8:2–8). 3.2 The Zion Traditions in Early Judaism The high eschatological expectations were upheld in early Judaism throughout the next centuries. Because the election of Zion and Jerusalem as the dwelling place of God is still valid (Sir 24:11; Bar 4:30; Tob 1:4; T.Levi 10:5; T.Dan 5:12f.), God will definitely glorify the temple on Mount Zion and bring the dispersed of Israel in the company of the nations back. A prominent witness to these expectations is Tobit 13: (5) He will afflict you for your iniquities, but he will again show mercy on all of you. He will gather you from all the nations among whom you have been scattered […] (10) Acknowledge the Lord, for he is good, and bless the King of the ages, so that his tent may be rebuilt in you in joy. May he cheer all those within you who are captives, and love all those within you who are distressed, to all generations for ever. (11) A bright light will shine to all the ends of the earth; many nations will come to you from far away, the inhabitants of the remotest parts of the earth to your holy name, bearing gifts in their hands for the King of heaven. Generation after generation will give joyful praise in you; the name of the chosen city will endure for ever. (Tob 13:5, 10–11; see also vv. 12–13, 17–18 [ NRSV 16–17])9

9 The manuscripts of the book of Tobit vary between a shorter and a longer text form. In this quotation NRSV mixes the two; vv. 5 and 11 follow the longer and v. 10 follows the shorter text form.

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A broad spectrum of early Jewish sources gives evidence to the wide circulation and popularity of the Zion traditions (see Bar 4:36–37; 5:5–6; 2 Macc 1:27–29; Sib. Or. 3.702–731, 772–776; T.Benj. 9:210; 1QM 12.12–15; 11QPsa [11Q5] 22; Sir 36:18–1911). Of particular note are a number of texts, from the 2nd century BC to the 1st century AD , which state that God himself, without human assistance, will establish the eschatological temple on Mount Zion. Obviously based on the dreary experience that the historical temples in Jerusalem built by humans, that is the temple of Solomon as well as the second temple, have fallen victim to sin and desecration, certain apocalyptic circles apparently inferred that the future, eschatological temple will be built by God himself. Only a divine construction will be a sufficient guarantee that this temple will avoid the kind of tragic fate which befell its predecessors in Jerusalem. 1 Enoch 90:29: I went on seeing until the Lord of the sheep brought about a new house, greater and loftier than the first one, and set it up in the first location which had been covered up—all its pillars were new, the columns new, and the ornaments new as well as greater than those of the first, (that is) the old (house) which was gone. All the sheep were within it. Jubilees 1:17: And I shall build my sanctuary in their midst, and I shall dwell with them. And I shall be their God and they will be my people truly and rightly. Tobit 14:5: [...] After this they all will return from their exile and will rebuild Jerusalem in splendour; and in it the temple of God will be rebuilt, just as the prophets of Israel have said concerning it. 11QTa [11Q19] 29.9–10: (9) [...] until the day of creation, when I shall create my temple, (10) establishing it for myself for all days, according to the covenant which I made with Jacob at Bethel.12

The notion of God as the sole establisher of the eschatological temple found a biblical basis in Exodus 15:17–18. These are the final verses of the song through which Moses and the Israelites praised and thanked God that he had rescued them from the Egyptian army. The song includes the entry into the

10

T.Benj. 9:2, "But in your allotted place will be the temple of God, and the latter temple will exceed the former in glory. The twelve tribes shall be gathered there and all the nations." (All quotations from Old Testament Pseudepigrapha follow OTP.) 11 Sir 36:18–19, "(18) Have pity on the city of your sanctuary, Jerusalem, the place of your dwelling. (19) Fill Zion with your majesty, and your temple with your glory." (In the Hebrew version these verses are counted as 36:13–14.) 12 All quotations from the Qumran texts, respectively, the Dead Sea Scrolls are taken from DSSE. In addition to the above quoted texts see also 1 En. 91:13; Jub. 1:29 and 4 Ezra 13:36.

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promised land of Canaan and emphasises Jerusalem as the centrepiece of the land. Addressing God, Moses and the people sing: (17) You brought them in and planted them on the mountain of your own possession, the place, O LORD, that you made your abode, the sanctuary, O LORD, that your hands have established. (18) The LORD will reign for ever and ever.

The reason why these verses could be taken out of their original context, where they related to the events of David’s capture of Jerusalem and Solomon’s building of the temple, is that they bring out the theological elective character of these events in stating that the true conqueror of Jerusalem and builder of the temple is YHWH himself. Not shy of anthropomorphisms, Exodus 15:17 boldly states that God established his sanctuary on Mount Zion with his own hands. From his throne in this temple YHWH reigns as king. According to the apocalyptic world view God’s royal reign will only be established in the future. God will soon intervene and put an end to the rule of his evil enemies. After the judgment of the Devil and his servants, the βασιλεία of God will be established. The centre of the eschatological kingdom will be the temple on Mount Zion in Jerusalem, where the Lord will abide as king and all who inherit and enter the kingdom will worship him eternally. Hence, the combination of the two elements of God’s reign and the sanctuary in Zion made with his own hands in Exodus 15:17–18, offered to these verses the potentiality of becoming key scriptural proof for those apocalyptically oriented circles in early Judaism that drew a sharp dividing line between the present evil world age and the future world of salvation for the pious and godly. The most conspicuous example of such an interpretation of Exodus 15:17– 18 is the fragmentary Dead Sea Scrolls text 4Q174 (frg. 1 col. I.1–5), in which a sharp distinction is made between the historical temples and the future, eschatological temple. The latter is described in the following way: (2) … This (refers to) the house which [he (sc. God) will establish] for [him (sc. the people of Israel)] in the last days, as is written in the book of (3) [Moses: ‘The temple of] YHWH your hands will est[a]blish. YHWH shall reign for ever and ever.’ This (refers to) the house into which shall not enter (4) [ … for] ever either an Ammonite, or a Moabite, or a bastard, or a foreigner, or a proselyte, never, because his holy ones are there. (5) ‘Y[HW]H [shall reign for] ever.’ He will appear over it for ever; foreigners shall not again lay it waste as they laid waste, in the past, (6) the tem[ple of I]srael on account of their sins.

The authors of this text operated with an eschatological interpretation of God’s kingly reign according to which the Exodus text must be applied to the coming age of fulfilled salvation, when there will be a new temple on Mount Zion established and put there by God himself. This corresponds with the phrase in the so-called Temple Scroll, quoted above, that God on the day of the new creation (see Isa 65:17–25) "shall create my temple, establishing it for myself for all days" (11QTa 29.9–10).

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In midrashic exposition as well, Exodus 15:17–18 is applied to the eschatological temple as established by God himself as the seat for his universal rule: The Sanctuary, O LORD, which Thy Hands Have Established. Precious is the Temple to Him by whose word the world came into being. For when the Holy One, blessed be He, created His world He created it with but one hand, as it is said: "Yea, My Hand hath laid the foundation of the earth" (Isa 48.13). But when He came to build the Temple, He did it, as it were, with both His hands, as it is said: "The Sanctuary, O LORD, which Thy Hands Have Established." The LORD Shall Reign. When? When Thou wilt again build it with both Thy hands. (Mek. Shirata X)13

4. Jesus’ Final Journey to Jerusalem as the Climax of His Eschatological Mission14 Among the fifty-four occurrences of the word ‘Jerusalem’ in the Synoptic Gospels, eleven instances are attributed to Jesus. Because one of them appears in the triple tradition (Mark 10:33 par. Matt 20:18; Luke 18:31) and one in the double tradition (Matt 23:37 par. Luke 13:34), the real number of mutually independent cases is eight. The six instances of single attestation are distributed among Matthew, with only one occurrence (5:35), and Luke (13:4; 13:33; 21:20; 23:28; 24:47). Among these there are three instances which, if authentic, stand out as particularly interesting and relevant for the discussion of the role of Jerusalem in the mission of Jesus. These are Matt 5:35, where Jesus designates Jerusalem as "the city of the great King", Luke 13:33, where Jesus refers to Jerusalem as the only place for a true prophet to be killed, and, finally, Luke 13:34 (with its parallel in Matt 23:37), where Jesus, addressing Jerusalem directly, repeats his accusation that the inhabitants of the city kill prophets and stone those sent to it.15 13 J. Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael (The JPS Library of Jewish Classics; Philadelphia repr. 1976 [orig. 1933]) 2:79. 14 P. Stuhlmacher, "Die Stellung Jesu und des Paulus zu Jerusalem," ZTK 86 (1989) 140– 156, esp. 142–46, has been encouraging and helpful for both K. H. Tan (see Zion Traditions [see n. 2], 15–16, 22) and me in our efforts at tracing the Zion traditions in the paradoseis in the Synoptic Gospels and assessing the role of Jerusalem in the mission of Jesus. 15 In this evaluation of the material I agree with Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), who treats these three cases in Part II of his monograph, dedicated to the sayings material (Tan, 53– 131). Mark 10:33 par. is part of the third prediction of Jesus’ passion and resurrection and expresses Jerusalem as the goal of his journey where the Son of Man will be exposed to suffering and death and as such might be regarded as a certain parallel to Luke 13:33. Jesus refers to the coming destruction of Jerusalem in Luke 21:20 (directly) and 23:28 (indirectly), following in the tradition of Jeremiah who had prophesied judgment on the city because the inhabitants had compromised the Zion traditions by severely transgressing the will of God. In identifying Jerusalem as the place from where Christian mission to the nations will begin, the risen Lord in Luke 24:47 reasserts the unique position of Jerusalem in salvation history in a

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4.1 Jerusalem as "the City of the Great King" (Matt 5:35) The fourth antithesis in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:33–37) contains a strict prohibition of oaths (v. 34a), followed by four explications about which objects are to be avoided in oath-taking (all four introduced by μήτε), each one supplemented by a reference to the reasons why these objects are forbidden in oath-taking (four ὅτι-clauses). The fourth explication, about the head as an illegitimate object (v. 36), varies with this anthropological referent from the first three with their theological orientation (vv. 34b–35): (v. 34a) But I say to you, Do not swear at all, (v. 34b) either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, (v. 35a) or by the earth, for it is his footstool, (v. 35b) or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. The prohibition of oaths is widely accepted among scholars as authentic,16 but the added explications – and even more so their justifications in the attached ὅτι -clauses – are commonly regarded as secondary expansions. In his monograph on the relation between the Zion traditions and the aims of Jesus, Kim Huat Tan has discussed the authenticity of verses 34b–35 rather extensively and concluded in the affirmative.17 I find his argument sufficiently convincing to justify the assumption that Jesus included these specifications of forbidden objects in oath-taking. Our interest of course focuses on the third object, Jerusalem, and the reason given why it is an illegitimate object in oath-taking. As long as a concern for Jerusalem and its designation as "the city of the great King" is corroborated by and coheres with other evidence regarding Jesus (see below, sections 4.2 – 4.4), a solid case can be made for the authenticity of Matthew 5:35b. Heaven, the earth and Jerusalem were probably common objects employed by pious Jews in oaths in order to avoid profaning the name of God. In order to clearly expound the implications of his radical stand on an absolute prohibition of swearing, Jesus referred explicitly to these common oath formulas. Further, in the ὅτι -clauses he offered his reasons for rejecting them by exposing that they are nothing other than invalid attempts at circumventing the holy name of God. Whereas the characterisation of heaven as God’s throne and the earth as his footstool alludes to Isaiah 66:1, the designation of Jerusalem as the city of the great King clearly relates to the famous Zion Psalm 48: "(2) Great is the LORD and greatly to be praised, in the city of our God. His holy way corresponding to the reception of the Zion traditions in the early Church, to be briefly commented upon in the last major section of this article. The last instance, Luke 13:4, only contains a reference to an historical event which had taken place in Jerusalem, without implying any positive or negative theological significance of the city itself. 16 With some variations this acceptance often includes the whole thesis-antithesis formulation in vv. 33 and 34a as well as the positive counterpart in v. 37a, "Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’." 17 Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 81–96.

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mountain, (3) beautiful in elevation, is the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, in the far north, the city of the great King" (ET: vv. 1–2). Matt 5:35b shows what consequence is to be drawn from Jesus’ radical prohibition of all oaths regarding Jerusalem for someone who adheres to the Zion traditions: because Jerusalem is sacred as the city of God, any swearing referring to it is sacrilegious. "Matthew 5.35 thus allows us to affirm that the Zion traditions probably had a great impact on Jesus and his own conception of his ministry."18 4.2 The Temple Saying(s) of Jesus With an impressively wide distribution in the New Testament Gospels, Acts and the Gospel of Thomas there are a number of sayings about the destruction and establishment of the temple which are attributed to Jesus (Mark 13:2 par. Matt 24:2 and Luke 21:6; Mark 14:58 par. Matt 26:61; Mark 15:29 par. Matt 27:40; John 2:19; Gos. Thom. 71; Acts 6:14). The most detailed study of this material at the time of writing has been undertaken by the German scholar Kurt Paesler in his monograph Das Tempelwort Jesu. The result of his source and tradition critical analysis is that the different attested versions originated in an authentic saying by Jesus still preserved in Mark 13:2b: "Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."19 Hence, according to Paesler, Jesus, employing the passivum divinum, confined himself to prophesying that God will destroy the second temple in Jerusalem, built in the years 520–515 BC by Zerubbabel, modestly expanded during Hasmonean rule, and – in terms of Jesus’ life – fairly recently vastly expanded by Herod the Great (20–10 BC) and subjected to some further construction work and embellishment ever since (see John 2:20). The earliest version of those sayings which consist of two parts, referring to both destruction and (re)establishment, is reconstructed by Paesler as "I will destroy this temple and build it". He regards it as a post-Easter reworking of Mark 13:2b, in which the divine act of destroying the temple was transferred to the exalted Christ and according to which the destruction would be succeeded by the reconstruction of the sanctuary, once again an act to be performed by the risen Lord.20 The most comprehensive version of the two-part saying is found in Mark 14:58: "I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands." It contains two additional elements compared to Paesler’s reconstructed original form of the two-part saying, first, the contrast between the present temple as "made with hands" (χειροποίητος) and the new one as "not made with hands" (ἀχειροποίητος), and, second, the fixation of the time of building "in three 18

See Tan, 97–99 (quotation taken from p. 99). Cf. K. Paesler, Das Tempelwort Jesu: Die Traditionen von Tempelzerstörung und Tempelerneuerung im Neuen Testament (FRLANT 184; Göttingen 1999) 76–92, 256, 259– 260. 20 See Paesler, Das Tempelwort (see n. 19), 189–193. 19

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days". Paesler holds that this phrase must refer to the resurrection of Jesus.21 He submits the epithets "made with hands" and "not made with hands" to a detailed examination. They are well-known topoi from Greek and Jewish philosophical temple criticism that, according to Paesler, Hellenistic Jewish Christians in Jerusalem took up after they had abandoned the atoning cult of the temple. Instead they sought salvation in invoking the name of Jesus, and in line with this Christological replacement of the temple they added the attributes χειροποίητος and ἀχειροποίητος to the earlier version of the temple saying.22 The Fourth Evangelist operates with a Christological interpretation of the temple (cf. John 2:19 with vv. 21–22), and, thus, in this case the temporal phrase "in three days" corresponds to the tradition of Jesus’ resurrection on the third day. Further, the term χειροποίητος is clearly used as a topos, cognate of Hellenistic philosophical temple criticism, in Acts 7:48 and 17:24.23 Nevertheless, neither the application of the three days to Jesus’ resurrection nor the drawing of the attributes "made with hands" and "not made with hands" out of enlightened philosophical temple criticism are compelling deductions as such. The temporal designation "three days" is a traditional expression of a very short time span (e.g., Josh 1:11; 2 Sam 20:4; 2 Kgs 20:8; Hos 6:2), and the distinction between χειροποίητος and ἀχειροποίητος, attributed to the temple, corresponds perfectly to the apocalyptic tradition in early Judaism which contrasts the man-made temples of the past and present with the future, eschatological temple to be established by God himself (see section 3.2). In my opinion, there are no compelling reasons why the most comprehensive version of the two-part temple saying in Mark 14:58 must be inauthentic. A condemnation of the present temple, combined with the proclamation that its destruction within a short time ("in three days") will be followed by the establishment of a new temple, is in complete agreement with the apocalypticeschatological expectations of certain circles in contemporary Judaism. The employment of the χειροποίητος and ἀχειροποίητος contrast in this ‘I-saying’ alludes to Exodus 15:17 and is, actually, an expression of Jesus’ bold claim to act on behalf of and in the role of the Lord as the sole builder of the eschatological temple on Mount Zion. The first part of the saying must not necessarily mean a violent destruction of the present temple. The emphasis lies on the contrast between the present and the future temples, and the substitution of the eschatological temple for the man-made temple can also be conceived of as a miraculous transformation. Hence, as the bringer of the imminent βασιλεία of 21

Paesler, 167–178. Paesler, 203–227, esp. 221–225. 23 The transference of the temple notion to the church (1 Cor 3:16f.; 2 Cor 6:16; Eph 2:20–22; 1 Pet 2:4–6) as well as, consequently, the designation of all Christians as priests (1 Pet 2:5, 9; Rev 5:10) and the spiritualisation of sacrifices (Rom 12:1; Heb 13:15f.; 1 Pet 2:5) are coherent with this detachment from physical sanctuaries as the divine abode. 22

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God, Jesus is also the one who will establish the sanctuary on Mount Zion, where God will reign as king and where the nations of the world will worship and praise him for ever and ever. The temple saying in Mark 14:58 confirms in a very obvious way the interrelation between Jesus’ eschatological kingdom message and the Zion traditions.24 I assume that Jesus spoke the words transmitted in Mark 14:58 shortly after his arrival in Jerusalem.25 It definitely bolstered his eschatological message about the turning of the eras through the imminent coming of the βασιλεία of God. Luke reports that the followers of Jesus "supposed that the kingdom of God was to appear immediately", as he approached Jerusalem (Luke 19:11). When they heard his ambitious words that he intended, within a very short time span, to build a new temple not made with hands, their expectations were definitely intensified and heightened. However, because of the negative outcome of Jesus’ symbolic act in the temple, performed immediately after his arrival in Jerusalem (see below, section 4.3), Jesus realised that the religious leaders of the Jewish people would not accept the message conveyed through the two-part temple saying and the temple act. As a reaction to their lack of willingness to repent, Jesus then uttered his unconditional prediction of destruction recorded in Mark 13:2. Hence, I also consider this saying as authentic and think that Mark has dated it correctly.26

24 I have argued in detail for the authenticity of the version of the temple saying in Mark 14:58 and for such an interpretation as presented above in Ådna, Jesu Stellung (see n. 7), 111–130, 142–153. A somewhat shorter treatment, combined with a presentation and discussion of Kurt Paesler’s views, is to be found in J. Ådna, "Jesus and the Temple," in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden 2011) 3:2635– 2675, here 2647–2654 and 2668. 25 The Evangelist’s charge against those witnesses who cite the alleged saying of Jesus during the nocturnal interrogation in the palace of the high priest of giving "false testimony against him" (Mark 14:57), does not mean that they simply made up a defamatory saying and wrongly accused Jesus of having said this. The reference to a saying of this kind among those who mocked Jesus on the cross in Mark 15:29 presupposes that Jesus had uttered the temple saying in public. The characterisation of the testimonies as false might be a reference to the fact that they did not comply with the judicial criteria to convict the accused (see Mark 14:59), and it definitely expresses the Evangelist’s opinion that at this point in the conspiracy against him Jesus’ adversaries consciously misconstrued his message to compromise and harm him as much as possible. 26 Secondarily, after Easter Mark 14:58 will have been reinterpreted and the attributes χειροποίητος and ἀχειροποίητος applied to the tradition critical of physical sanctuaries as abode of the divine: the risen Christ or, rather, the community of the believers, is a substitution as the temple "not made with hands" for the man-made Jerusalem temple.

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4.3 The Temple Act During recent years the historicity of Jesus’ temple act, recounted in all four Gospels (Mark 11:15–17; Matt 21:12–17; Luke 19:45–48; John 2:13–17), has found increasing acceptance among scholars. In my opinion, Mark offers a rather accurate account: (15) […] And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves; (16) and he did not allow anybody to carry any vessel through the temple. (17) He was teaching and saying, "Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers."27

With due consideration of the historical and architectural circumstances the event can be reconstructed as follows: the temple market was situated in the basilica-like hall along the southern wall of the Herodian temple complex, extensively described by the Jewish historian Josephus and labelled by him the Royal Stoa (Ant. 15.411–416). Inside this hall Jesus overturned some tables and seats belonging to the money-changers and the sellers of doves. Further, he did not allow vessels to be moved between the market area and the inner parts of the temple, and he began to drive some of those who were selling and buying sacrificial items out of the market hall. As a justification of his intervention he quoted the prophecy in Isaiah 56:7b and alluded to the accusation of the prophet Jeremiah against his contemporaries that they had made the temple a den of robbers (see Jer 7:11).28 There are numerous interpretations of Jesus’ temple act.29 Some ignore the Zion traditions completely; in other interpretations certain aspects of these traditions have a part. For example, when scholars characterise Jesus’ act as a prophetic protest or a cleansing of the temple, their focus differs. Some focus predominantly on the chief priests’ alleged social exploitation of the common priests and the general population as the reason for Jesus’ act, whereas some regard Jesus’ concern for the holiness of the temple, a weighty aspect of the Zion traditions, to be his motivation. If the purity of the temple in Jesus’ view was endangered or even undermined by certain circumstances which he en27 I have modified the NRSV translation of v. 16 in order to obtain a more precise rendering of the Greek. 28 I have investigated the archaeological and architectural history of the Herodian temple in detail in J. Ådna, Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt im 1. Jahrhundert n.Chr. (ADPV 25; Wiesbaden 1999) 3–90; and, further, I have subjected the gospel accounts about the temple act of Jesus to a source and tradition critical analysis in Jesu Stellung (see n. 7), 157–238, and discussed the historicity of the incident on pp. 300–333 therein. Shorter presentations in English can be found in J. Ådna, "Temple," in Encyclopedia of the Historical Jesus (ed. C. A. Evans; New York 2008) 630–634, and in "Jesus and the Temple" (see n. 24), 2638–2647, 2653–2654. 29 See Ådna, Jesu Stellung (see n. 7), 334–387, and idem, "Jesus and the Temple" (see n. 24), 2654–2665.

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countered there (e.g. the presence of coins with images of Gentile gods and rulers or the habit many people had of using the temple area as a shortcut, perhaps even carrying some impure objects with them), his act might be understood as a protest against the desecration of the sanctuary in Zion. If the assumed concern for holiness is given an openly eschatological orientation, scholars might come up with a messianic understanding. Just as the cleansing purifications of the temple recounted in the Old Testament had been undertaken by Davidic kings (see 2 Kgs 18–19 par. 2 Chr 29–31; 2 Kgs 22–23 par. 2 Chr 34–35; 2 Chr 14:1–4; 15), the eschatological cleansing would be performed by the Davidic Messiah.30 Without calling for any messianic component, Dieter Zeller has, interestingly, proposed an interpretation of the event in the temple which connects it intimately with Jesus’ kingdom proclamation: [W]e come to speak about the eschatological motivation that bears the act of Jesus […] According to Jewish expectation God will take up his rule on Zion […] Admittedly we do not find with Jesus any other such applications of the basileia to Zion and the temple; however, the reason for that might simply be that the connection between the basileia and Zion went without saying. Hence, it is likely that he – through the symbolic expansion of the holiness zone to include the complete temple area – intended to prepare the temple and the people of Israel that gathered there during the days of the Passover festival for the coming of God.31

Finally, some scholars see in Jesus’ quotation from Isaiah 56:7 a specific reference that the temple shall be called a house of prayer for all nations to the expectation of the nations’ pilgrimage to Zion as a central element of the eschatological Zion traditions (cf. section 3.1). In the temple saying, recorded in Mark 14:58, Jesus stated that he was about to establish the new temple on the occasion of the ushering in of the kingdom of God. This eschatological turn will necessarily have consequences for the old temple and the cult performed there, and in my opinion the temple act is Jesus’ symbolic demonstration of this fact.32 Let us begin with the accompanying saying in Mark 11:17. As already stated, the accusation that the temple has been turned into a den of robbers is 30 Such a messianic interpretation of Jesus’ temple act is further substantiated if the historicity of his entry into Jerusalem, as described by the Evangelists (see Mark 11:1–10 par.), is accepted and regarded as a kingly enthronement. Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 137–196 maintains both the triumphal entry and the incident in the temple to be historical and regards these two episodes as further strong evidence that Jesus was devoted to the Zion traditions. However, he is hesitant regarding an explicit messianic interpretation. 31 D. Zeller, "Die Beseitigung des Handels im Tempel (Mark 11,15–19): Ein Beispiel für die umstrittene Stellung Jesu zum Kult," in Variationen des Christseins – Wege durch die Kirchengeschichte: Festschrift Peter Fiedler (ed. R. Wunderlich and B. Feininger; Übergänge 7; Frankfurt a.M. 2006) 65–81, here 78 (my translation). 32 The following presentation is based on the detailed exegesis of Mark 11:15–17 and the interpretation of Jesus’ act in the temple in Ådna, Jesu Stellung (see n. 7), 239–287, 381– 387, and idem, "Jesus and the Temple" (see n. 24), 2669–2671.

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an allusion to Jeremiah 7:11. In the speech in Jeremiah 7:1–15 delivered by the prophet Jeremiah at the temple gate, the metaphor ‘den of robbers’ characterises the schizophrenic practice of the prophet’s contemporaries of seeking refuge and security in the temple while they at the same time worshipped idols and disregarded God’s commandments. The premise for drawing on Jeremiah 7:11 must be that Jesus has an analogous estimation of the situation in his time: clinging to the traditional temple cult instead of obediently answering Jesus’ call for repentance and discipleship at the threshold of the kingdom of God, the people deceive themselves by seeking their security in an apparatus and order which are no longer appropriate. Jeremiah had warned his audience that the temple of Solomon would suffer the same fate as the sanctuary in Shiloh unless they repented (see Jer 7:12–14). Some ten years later this fate befell the temple when Nebuchadnezzar destroyed it. Correspondingly, Jesus implicitly warns that the Herodian temple will also be destroyed unless the priests and the people react properly to his words and acts by finally obeying him and repenting. In the quotation from Isaiah 56:7, preceding the allusion to Jeremiah 7:11, Jesus points to the legitimate function of the future temple as the site for all nations to worship the one true God.33 Whereas the atonement cult, as the central purpose of the old temple, becomes obsolete when the eschatological renewal is fulfilled, the redeemed and saved of all nations will still perform a worship of prayer and adoration. The contrasting references to the Scripture bring the radical alternatives to the fore: a stubborn clinging to the old will ultimately bring destruction upon the temple, whereas an obedient response to Jesus’ call will prepare for the eschatological transformation of which a new or renewed temple on Mount Zion will be a part. Let us turn next to the actions of Jesus reported in Mark 11:15b–16. Actually, in overturning tables and seats and banning the carrying of vessels through the temple Jesus disturbed functions vital to the temple cult. Symbolically, he stopped the handing out of doves for individual burnt-offerings and sin-offerings (see Lev 5:7; 12:8; 14:21–23). Furthermore, and again symbolically, he stopped the collection of the temple tax that financed the collective atonement cult performed by the priests on behalf of all of Israel, securing the continuous state of purity and holiness of Israel, because these daily sacrifices "appease and effect atonement between Israel and their Father in heaven" (t. Sheqal. 1.6; cf. Jub. 6:14; 50:11).34 Finally, he stopped the conveyance of 33

Irrespective of its setting in Isa 56:3–8 and the original historical context of this the text unit, by the 1st century AD Isa 56:7 was generally interpreted as an oracle relating to the eschatological temple (see Ådna, Jesu Stellung [see n. 7], 276–287). 34 The money-changers present at the temple market did not only operate currency exchange, the regular bank service needed when travellers arrived from all of the widespread Diaspora inside and outside the Roman empire, they also collected the temple tax (see Ådna, Jerusalemer Tempel [see n. 28], 96–118). At the time of Jesus the daily tamid offering (cf. Exod 29:38–42; Num 28:3–8; m. Tamid) constituted the centre of the collective cult, and –

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money or sacrificial ingredients that were agricultural (flour, oil and wine) in vessels from the market in the Royal Stoa to the inner parts of the temple where the money was stored and the sacrifices performed. This was again symbolic. Hence, by his actions, Jesus hit crucial functions of the temple service, and his temple act appears as a symbolic gesture towards disrupting the sacrificial cult. The act and the accompanying saying correlate and completely cohere. The old atonement cult must be brought to an end because it is inappropriate in the eschatological era about to be ushered in, in which it will be replaced by eternal worship performed by the redeemed from all nations. 4.4 Jesus’ Violent Death and the Zion Traditions Jesus was, of course, aware that his act and words in the temple were very provocative. Being convinced that the decisive moment in his mission had arrived, Jesus pushed things to extremes. The outcome would either be that the religious leaders of Israel would finally react appropriately to his call, or that they would firmly reject him and his message and probably seek options for how to put an end to his activity. As we know, their reaction was soon to be seen negative (cf. Mark 11:18, 27–33 par.). In this situation Jesus drew the conclusion that the threat of destruction for the temple, implicit in his reference to Jeremiah 7:11 in Mark 11:17, would now be its inevitable destiny, and stated correspondingly: "Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down" (Mark 13:2, see section 4.2). If not voluntarily abandoned as a consequence of Israel accepting Jesus’ message, the obsolete atonement cult would be forcibly abandoned when the temple was destroyed. However, in the case of a disobedient reaction to the call to repentance there is still a positive message inherent in the symbolic temple act. The implication of Jesus’ attack on the atonement cult is that it will be replaced under all circumstances, if not by the immediate realisation of the eschatological renewal on Mount Zion, then in a different way. The alternative is that Jesus dies vicariously as a ransom (see Mark 10:45 par. Matt 20:28), and, as stated by him during the Passover meal with the Twelve, that his body is given and his blood poured out for many (see Mark 14:22, 24). Hence, with this historical outcome of the confrontation in the temple, Jesus was willing to offer himself and consequently take over and substitute for the sacrificial cult in the temple as the basis for atonement.35 together with the rites and offerings of the annual Day of Atonement (Lev 16) – the tamid was considered as the fundamental basis for Israel’s existence because of its atoning effect. Because the temple tax gave each Jew a share in the atoning effect, it was called a ransom (cf. Spec. 1.77; Her. 186; b. B.Bat. 9a). 35 As a ransom Jesus is a substitute for the temple tax (cf. n. 34). For a detailed exposition that Jesus’ death, not only in post-Easter interpretation, but already in his own understanding, is expiatory and conclusively replaces the atonement cult in the temple in Jerusalem, see

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Not surprisingly, Jesus must have foreseen the dangers that he would be confronted with in Jerusalem long before he went there with his disciples. Nevertheless, because the kingdom of God must take its incipience in Zion, he had to move there irrespective of any threat to his own life. In this respect too, Jesus was firmly grounded in the Zion traditions as reflected in Luke 13:33: "Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem."36 In Luke the saying about Jerusalem as the necessary place of Jesus’ death is immediately followed by a second Jerusalem tradition, Luke 13:34–35, which has a parallel in Matthew 23:37–39. I quote according to Matthew: (37) Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! (38) See, your house is left to you, desolate. (39) For I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord."

Jesus laments that the people of Jerusalem have refused his attempts at gathering them and declares that the consequence of their rejection of the sole messenger of God will be that "your house is left". I follow Kim Huat Tan in identifying ‘the house’ as the temple.37 If ἔρημος ("desolate") belongs to the original saying,38 the emphasis is put on the destruction and the desolation of the temple. If the logion was originally formulated without this word, the point made is that the glory of God, or his Shekhina, will leave the temple (see Ezek 10:18f.; 11:22f.), albeit, with the desolating destruction of the temple as its consequence (see Tg. Isa. 5:5; 32:14; 63:17). The people in Jerusalem will only see Jesus again when he returns for judgment as the Son of Man (cf. Mark 13:26; 14:62). There is good reason to accept the chronological placement of this saying in Matthew, some time between the temple act and the following interrogation of Jesus regarding his authority (Matt 21:12–17, 23–

Ådna, Jesu Stellung (see n. 7), 419–430. This is preceded by a description of the temple atonement cult as the proper theological background (387–412). 36 Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 57–80 argues in favour of the authenticity and historicity of the whole scene in Luke 13:31–33. Jesus’ statement about the necessity of his death in Jerusalem does not contradict his endorsement of the Zion traditions in Matt 5:35, but expresses the negative aspect in the duality connected with Zion. Zion as the centre of God’s eschatological kingdom is in no way rejected; if the realisation of the kingdom can only be achieved through the death of the exclusive messenger and bringer of the kingdom, this death can only take place in Jerusalem. Hence, Luke 13:33 coheres with the negative outcome of the temple act and Jesus’ interpretation of it (see section 4.3). 37 See Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 113–115. Tan treats Matt 23:37–39 par. on pp. 100–128 (regarding the authenticity of the unit, see 104–109). 38 The manuscripts vary in this respect; the editors of Neste-Aland28 have decided to include ἔρημος in Matt 23:38 and to leave it out in Luke 13:35.

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27) and his arrest (Matt 26:1–5, 47ff.).39 Jesus’ prediction that they will greet him with the words from Psalm 118:26, as his supporters had done on the occasion of his recent entry into Jerusalem (see Mark 11:9 par.), makes way for the possibility that the people of Jerusalem might be granted a new chance to receive Jesus in an appropriate way, repenting and recognising that he is God’s elect Messiah who ushers in the kingdom of God. Matthew 23:37–39 confirms a continued adherence to the role of Zion beyond Jesus’ death, in accordance with the eschatological Zion traditions. The same is true of the words spoken by Jesus during the Passover meal: "Truly, I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God" (Mark 14:25). Even in the hour when Jesus was confronted with his death he managed to maintain his mission and message about the coming of the kingdom, expressing the confidence that his death will not hinder him from participating in the festive meal. This was a frequent metaphor in Jesus’ kingdom proclamation (see Matt 8:11 par. Luke 13:29), clearly inspired by the prophetic expectation of the eschatological banquet on Mount Zion (Isa 25:6–8). Hence, the remaining validity of Zion as the centre of the eschatological consummation in the proclamation of the historical Jesus is confirmed once again.40 39

Luke, probably following his source (‘Q’), left this saying next to the thematically related tradition unit Luke 13:31–33. See Tan, Zion Traditions (see n. 2), 121–124, who concludes his discussion of the historical, traditio-historical and literary context of Jesus’ lament as follows: "[B]ecause of the finality of the tone of lament, it seems plausible that Q 13.34–5 came from the last phase of Jesus’ ministry, possible after the ‘temple-cleansing’" (124). 40 Kvalbein treats the issue of "the βασιλεία as a meal, banquet or a wedding in sayings and parables of Jesus" in particular detail in his article "Jesus as Preacher of the Kingdom of God" (see n. 6). In expounding the fact that the βασιλεία is a soteriological concept in the teaching of Jesus, expressing the place of salvation in the image of the joyous meal or festive banquet, he goes too far in denying a connection between God’s kingship, the thanksgiving meal of Isa 25:6–8 and Zion as the centre of the kingdom. See for this e.g., Stuhlmacher, "Die Stellung Jesu" (see n. 14), 146: There is no justification "for abandoning Jerusalem and Zion as the place of salvation chosen by God. On the contrary, Mark 14:25 par. confirms that Jesus was convinced that God’s promise of salvation for Jerusalem according to Isaiah 54:10 [‘for the mountains may depart from you, and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the LORD, who has compassion on you’] will be fulfilled" (my translation). See also in the concluding chapter of the part on Jesus in P. Stuhlmacher, Grundlegung, Von Jesus zu Paulus Vol. 1 of Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments (3rd ed.; Göttingen 2005) 158: "God will take up residence in Israel in his sanctuary on Mount Zion, and by his dwelling among them, the land promise will be fulfilled (cf. Ezek. 37:26–27; 43:7, 9; Zech. 2:14–15 [ET 2:10–11]; Sir. 24:7–12). The nations will make a pilgrimage to Mount Zion, from which instruction will go forth to the whole world (Isa. 2:2–4; Mic. 4:1–4). On this mountain God himself will host a feast for all nations and destroy ‘the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations’ (Isa. 25:6–8). Jesus’ compassion for Jerusalem (Luke 13:34/Matt. 23:37), his cleansing of the temple as ‘a house of prayer for all nations’ in accordance with Isaiah 56:7 (Mark 11:15–17), and his expectation of the meal of the thanksgiving sacrifice upon Mount Zion (Mark 14:25 par.) can be explained only in the

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5. The Lasting Impact and Effect of Jesus’ Jerusalem Orientation Admittedly, post-Easter realities prompted many transformations and changes in theological exposition as compared to the teaching of Jesus and the reception of his teaching among his disciples and the members of his movement prior to Easter. Among such changes were the convictions that Jesus in his vicarious death and resurrection had brought perfect salvation and that because of this people can now have an anticipated share in eschatological kingdom reality through faith, baptism and the Eucharist. Further, the notion of the temple as the dwelling place of God was subjected to a Christological and ecclesiological reorientation and transferred to Christ (John 2:21; Rev 21:22) or the church (2 Cor 6:16; 1 Pet 2:4–6), with the Pauline teaching of the church as ‘the body of Christ’ (1 Cor 12:12f., 27; Rom 12:5) as a combining link between the two applications of the notion. On this background, there is no longer any room within post-Easter Christian theology and eschatological expectation for a new physical temple on Mount Zion. However, such profound theological transformations did not lead to an outright rejection of the Zion traditions or a complete suppression of their significance for Jesus in the transmission of the traditions about him. As demonstrated above, the validity and importance of the Zion traditions for the historical Jesus are still recognisable in the material collected in the Synoptic Gospels. Further, the choice of Jerusalem as the site of the primitive community in spite of the facts that this city had let down their Lord and delivered him to a shameful death on the cross, and that it was the most dangerous place to stay because the powerful enemies of Jesus were still present, shows that Jerusalem obviously continued to be significant. Acts 3–12 confirms that the early community had to pay a high price for staying on in Jerusalem. However, it was not only Luke, with his interest in the salvation historical continuity between Israel prior to Jesus and the Christian community, who emphasised the role of Jerusalem. We have solid evidence that the church in Jerusalem was generally recognised as ‘the mother church’ with unprecedented authority among all Christian communities throughout the first three decades after Easter.41 Paul saw Jerusalem as the starting point and hub of his aposlight of this expectation, which Jesus both shared and strengthened" (translated by D. P. Bailey). 41 Three examples: 1. When new communities came into existence in Samaria and Antioch, representatives of the Jerusalem church were sent there for inspection, instruction and establishment of links (see Acts 8:14–17; 11:22–26). 2. When a major controversy about circumcision and obedience to the law for Gentile converts broke out in Antioch between Paul and Jewish-Christian critics, the issue was brought before the apostles and elders in Jerusalem (Acts 15:1–35). 3. Paul took upon him in his Gentile mission an obligation always to "remember the poor" in Jerusalem (Gal 2:10) and collected money in his communities for years (see 1 Cor 16:1–4; 2 Cor 8–9). He finally brought this to Jerusalem in the company of a delegation with representatives of the involved communities (cf. Rom 15:25–32 with Acts

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tolic ministry (Rom 15:19) and considered a break between his mission and Jerusalem as fatal (see Gal 2:2). Finally, in correspondence with Matthew 23:39, Paul expected Christ’s parousia to take place at Zion, from where he will appear as the deliverer of Israel (Rom 11:26–27).42 Jerusalem played a crucial role for Jesus’ identity, not only by chance, but also in principle, grounded in the character of his messianic-eschatological mission to proclaim and accomplish the kingdom of God.

20:3–21:17). Paul expresses the motivation of the Gentile believers in Rom 15:27: "They were pleased to do this, and indeed they owe it to [the saints in Jerusalem]; for if the Gentiles have come to share in their spiritual blessings, they ought also to be of service to them in material things." 42 I have recently submitted the reception of Isa 59:20 in Rom 11:26 to a detailed analysis in the Norwegian Festschrift to my Old Testament colleague at MHS School of Mission and Theology, Magnar Kartveit, see J. Ådna, "‘Fra Sion skal redningsmannen komme’: Resepsjonen av Jes 59,20 i Rom 11,26," in Jerusalem, Samaria og jordens ender (ed. K. Holter and J. Ådna; Trondheim 2011) 47–59.

Caught in the Act: Jesus Starts the New Temple – A Continuum Study of Jesus as the Founder of the Ecclesia Tom Holmén

1. Introduction The New Testament contains two sayings attributed to Jesus that, broadly speaking, regard the temple or its equivalent from the viewpoint of its stones: As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones (λίθοι) and what large buildings! (οἰκοδοµ αί)" Then Jesus asked him, "Do you see these great buildings (οἰκοδοµάς)? Not one stone will be left here upon another (λίθος …ἐπὶ λίθον); all will be thrown down."1 I tell you, you are Peter (Πέτρος), and on this rock (πέτρα) I will build (οἰκοδοµ ήσω) my church (ἐκκλησίαν), and the gates (πύλαι) of Hades will not prevail against it.2

In the present essay, I will mainly pursue these questions: How can the Old Testament and second temple Jewish background of this particular imagery, viz. stones of the temple, illuminate the quoted sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18? What are the chances that the sayings so illuminated could be regarded as useable when painting a picture of the so-called historical Jesus?3 However, my interest in the two quoted sayings and their background was kindled by the fact that elsewhere in the New Testament the imagery of tem1

Mark 13:1–2. Matt. 16:18. 3 The questions historical Jesus research unavoidably is confronted with, being always obliged to reply to them by means of scholarly arguments, are: 1. Why is this claim about Jesus included in a piece of writing labeled as a scholarly study of the historical Jesus? 2. Why is this claim about Jesus not included in a piece of writing labeled as a scholarly study of the historical Jesus? For my contributions to the examination of various aspects of the historical Jesus methodology, see for example T. Holmén, "Authenticity Criteria," in Encyclopedia of the Historical Jesus (ed. C. A. Evans; New York 2008), pp. 43–54; idem, "Seven Theses on the So-Called Criteria of Authenticity of Historical Jesus Research," RCT 33 (2008) 343–76; idem, "A Metalanguage for the Historical Jesus Methods: An Experiment," in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus. Volume One. How to Study the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden 2011) 589–616. In the present study, I will refrain from using the concepts "authenticity" and "criterion". 2

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ple and its stones actually figures rather prominently. I refer to the texts that, broadly speaking, address the Christians, the ecclesia, as a temple. It is good to let these texts also form part of the vantage point from which to study the sayings. For, so doing, we follow the principles of the continuum approach or perspective to the historical Jesus: The continuum approach thus seeks an understanding of the historical Jesus by means of studying him in relation to both his antecedents and consequences, i.e., his early Jewish context and early Christian "post context". Jesus is placed in that totality, conceived as one continuum, by depicting him so that those relations, involving both continuity and discontinuity, can be plausibly accounted for.4

I have elsewhere dealt with the theory of the continuum perspective.5 In this essay I specifically wish to devote space to a discussion of concrete questions, i.e., applying the perspective to the study of Jesus. Obviously, methodological notions still need to be occasionally raised. The vantage point of the early Christian ecclesia-temple stone texts thus serves in providing the "post context" required for sketching the continuum from early Judaism to early Christianity, or more exactly, the continuum "from the Judaism relevant to Jesus’ life and time to the Christianity that bears marks of Jesuanic influence and reception (Wirkungsgeschichte)".6 According to the working order implied by the continuum approach, I will now first review the Jewish background of the temple stone imagery, then progress to an examination of the ecclesia-temple stone texts in the New Testament. Lastly, I will consider where in the continuum the two sayings can be located and whether they can be regarded as applicable to understanding the historical figure of Jesus.7

4

T. Holmén, "A New Introduction to the Continuum Approach" in Jesus in Continuum (ed. T. Holmén; WUNT 1:289; Tübingen 2012) IX-XXI, esp. XI. 5 T. Holmén, "An Introduction to the Continuum Approach’, in Jesus from Judaism to Christianity. Continuum Perspectives to the Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén; London 2007) 1–16; idem, "A New Introduction"; idem, "Jesus in Continuum from Early Judaism to Early Christianity: Practical-Methodological Reflections on a Missed Perspective," in Jesus Research. New Methodologies and Perceptions – The Second Princeton-Prague Symposium on Jesus Research, Princeton 2007 (ed. J. H. Charlesworth and P. Pokorný; Grand Rapids forthcoming in 2013) 199–211. 6 Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) IX. I have repeatedly expressed the relatedness and indebtedness of the continuum perspective to the historical plausibility criterion of G. Theissen and D. Winter; see "An Introduction," 6–7, "A New Introduction," XX; "Practical-Methodological Reflections," 200, 209. Cf. even G. Theissen, "Universal and Radical Tendencies in the Message of Jesus: The Historical Jesus and the Continuum between Judaism and Christianity," in Jesus in Continuum (see n. 4), 43–59. 7 This working order is delineated in Holmén, "Practical-Methodological Reflections" (see n. 5), 203–06.

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2. Stones of the Jewish Temple: Theology and Practice 2.1. Interest in and Anxiety about the Foundation In early Judaism, the temple was a constant concern. Not infrequently in the long tradition of Jewish thinking did this concern materialize in anxiety about the temple foundation or foundation stone(s)8. We conveniently enter this discussion by looking at a passage that bears witness to the idea that a central building could be denied a refoundation. Jer. 51:26 reads: No stone shall be taken from you for a corner and no stone for a foundation (twdswml Nb)), but you shall be a perpetual waste.9

The prophecy concerns Babylon, most probably its ziggurat referred to as "mountain" in the context,10 and envisages that it will be destroyed and never rebuilt.11 The passage has two significant allusions. As stated by W. L. Holladay, "the word is the opposite of the word of Isaiah that speaks of the cornerstone or foundation stone by which Zion will be built (Isa. 28:16)":12 Behold, I am laying (dsy) in Zion for a foundation a stone (Nb)), a tested stone, a precious cornerstone (dswm trqy tnp), of a sure foundation (dswm).13

The verse may already in its Isaian context have been connected with the temple.14 Thus it would indicate a prophecy about an extraordinary temple foundation which would be utterly secure. The other important allusion linked with Jer. 51:26 is Zech. 4:7:

8

Various Hebrew expressions can come into question here. The relevant vocabulary will be reflected in the quoted passages. 9 See also Isa. 25.2. 10 W. L. Holladay, Jeremiah 2. A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 26–52 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis 1989) 426. Cf. the Tower of Babel in Gen. 11:1–9. 11 Holladay, Jeremiah 2 (see n. 10), 424, 426. 12 Holladay, Jeremiah 2 (see n. 10), 426. And he adds: "One wonders if Jrm had that passage in mind." 13 Isa. 28:16. 14 As can be fathomed, Isa. 28:16 could easily be understood to refer to the temple. K. R. Snodgrass, "I Peter II. 1–10: Its Formation and Literary Affinities," NTS 24 (1978) 97–106, esp. 99–100, argues that a connection between Isa. 28:16 and Isa. 8:14 which explicitly deals with the temple was made originally within the text of Isaiah itself. Similarly, L. Gaston, No Stone on Another. Studies in the Significance of the Fall of Jerusalem in the Synoptic Gospels (NovTSup 23; Leiden 1970) 218, argues that the idea of the temple is probably present in Isa. 28:16. See also J. D. W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33 (WBC 24; Waco 1985) 370–72. See the reception of Isa. 28:16 in the Qumran literature and in the New Testament as discussed below. The LXX Isa. 28:16, however, inserts a (probably messianic, or if a Christian interpolation, Christological) comment ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ.

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What are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain; and he shall bring forward the former stone (h#$)rh Nb)h) amid shouts of Grace, grace to it!

As explained by experts, at issue here is leveling of the remains of the first temple (cf. "mountain") and taking of a symbolic stone from its ruins.15 Here, too, destruction has become reality but the situation is not as unfortunate as with Babylon in the Jeremian prophecy: a stone can be taken from the remains of the temple to enable its refoundation. A similar idea probably lies behind several other passages.16 These different texts tell about a shared concern arising from the awareness that foundations may shake, even be destroyed for good.17 During restless times, maybe even during more stable ones, wars and conflicts could break out that threatened to bring destruction upon people and buildings. Anxiety about this resulted in two types of theology regarding the temple and its foundation. One underlined the need and means to retain continuity with a sanctuary that had met (/could meet) the feared catastrophe (cf. Zech 4:7). The other emphasized, in contrast, discontinuity with the existing (/destroyed) temple and hoped for a new kind of foundation that would endure forever (cf. Isa. 28:16) so also securing the building erected on it. The importance of the stones of the temple for both theologies resulted from the idea that they could mediate between the old and the new and so guarantee continuity. Here the foundation or the foundation stone(s) naturally took prime of place. The idea worked both ways in that a new and significantly different kind of foundation precisely would not mediate continuity with the past when this was found undesirable.18 I shall now look somewhat closer into each of these theologies. 2.2. Retaining Continuity How to retain continuity with a sacred edifice that had been destroyed? When building a new temple in the place of a ruined one, the start was the most critical moment. The new building could carry on with the former’s functions if it could at the outset be properly connected with the old one, especially its foundations. Zechariah, Zerubbabel and Haggai, for instance, were involved in 15 D. L. Petersen, "Zerubbabel and Jerusalem Temple Reconstruction," CBQ 36 (1974) 366–72, esp. 368–69; B. Halpern, "The Ritual Background of Zechariah’s Temple Song," CBQ 40 (1978) 167–90, esp. 187; Th. A. Busink, Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes. Eine archäologisch-historische Studie unter Berücksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus. Band 2. Von Ezechiel bis Middot (Leiden 1980) 805–06; C. L. Meyers and E. M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 25B; Garden City 1988) 246–48, 270. 16 Ps. 137:7; Isa. 25:2; 54:10–12; Lam. 4:11; Ezek. 13:14; Micah 1:6; and even Ps. 11:1– 3. 17 For the material as well as spiritual plight caused by such a situation, see Meyers and Meyers, Haggai (see n. 16), pp. 246–48. 18 This is precisely the case in Isa. 28:16.

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commencing the building of the second temple. The first temple had been a blessed place, separated for worship and sacrifice, a place of God’s presence. In order to secure the same functionality for the new temple, they sought to follow the set temple tradition as closely as they could. The new temple was to "be rebuilt on its site".19 Likewise, the vessels of the former temple that Nebuchadnezzar had carried away from Jerusalem were returned at the command of Cyrus and Darius I. "Each to its place; you shall put them in the house of God."20 Of crucial importance with respect to establishing continuity between the old and new edifices was, however, the ceremonial refoundation of the temple which was "designed to achieve ritual purification and cultic continuity".21 This took place by removing a symbolic stone from the ruins of the previous temple (cf. the "former" or "premier" stone in Zech. 4:7) and integrating it with the stones of the new building.22 The night visions of Zechariah (Zech. 1:7–6:15), and Zech. (3–)4, in particular, have given scholars material for reconstructing this event and its meaning, but it is described even in Ezra 3:10– 13: And when the builders laid the foundation (wdsyw) of the temple of the Lord, the priests in their vestments came forward with trumpets, and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with cymbals, to praise the Lord, according to the directions of David king of Israel; and they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord, "For he is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever toward Israel." And all the people responded with a great shout, when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid (dswh).23

As it is pictured, the ceremony sought to emulate that of Solomon at the dedication of the first temple.24 The same refoundation event creating continuity between the old and new temples in Jerusalem also forms the substance of the prophet book of Haggai.25 The laying of the foundation stone is referred to in Hag. 2:15, 19

Ezra 5:15. Ezra 6:5. See also Ezra 1:7; 5:14–15; 1 Esd. 4:43–44. "A guarantee of continuity with the previous Temple." (P. Ackroyd, "The Jewish Community in Palestine in the Persian Period," in The Cambridge History of Judaism. Volume One. Introduction. The Persian Period [ed. W. D. Davies and L. Finkelstein; Cambridge 2000) 130–61, esp. 141) See also H. G. M. Williamson, "The Temple in the Books of Chronicles," in Templum Amicitiae. Essays on the Second Temple presented to Ernst Bammel (ed. W. Horury; JSNTSup 48; Sheffield 1991) 15–31, esp. 29–30. 21 D. L. Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8. A Commentary (London 1985) 90. See also references in note 25 below. 22 Petersen, "Reconstruction" (see n. 15), 369; E. Lipinski, "Recherches sur le livre de Zacharie," VT 20 (1975) 25–55, esp. 30–33; Halpern, "Background" (see n. 15), 170–74; Meyers and Meyers, Haggai (see n. 15), 59. 23 Ezra 3:10–11: Cf. also, for example, Ezra 6:16–17; 8:35. 24 See 1 Kgs 8 and 2 Chron. 5. Naturally, reference is also made to Moses; see Ezra 6:18. 20

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Consider what will come to pass from this day onward, before a stone was placed upon a stone (Nb)-l) Nb)) in the temple of the Lord,

"stone upon stone" perhaps denoting the ritual manipulation of the "former stone"26, and in Hag. 2:18, Consider from this day onward, from the twenty-fourth day of the ninth month, since the day that the foundation of the Lord’s temple was laid (dsy)27.28

In a most concrete way, Haggai underlines the importance of the commencement of the building of the temple. Before there was want and the crop yielded less than was expected, but now God will bless the people.29 The laying of the foundation of the temple, in particular, makes a great difference. Hag. 2:15 and 2:18 together form the high point of this message.30 Further, while Zech. 4:9 declares, "the hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation (dsy) of this house", the book of Haggai ends in a momentous oracle about Zerubbabel with references to an eschatological rule of the Lord over the whole world (Hag. 2:20–23).31 The oracle is dated on the very day of the 25 Petersen, "Reconstruction" (see n. 15), 369, 372; Halpern, "Background" (see n. 15); R. L. Smith, Micah – Malachi (WBC 32; Waco 1984) 158; Petersen, Haggai (see n. 21), pp. 88– 90; Meyers, Meyers, Haggai, pp. 59, 63–64, 81–82. See also A. Petitjean, "La Mission de Zorobbabel et la Reconstruction du Temple," ETL 42 (1966) 40–71; Lipinski, "Sur le livre de Zacharie" (see n. 22), 25–55; Busink, Tempel von Jerusalem (see n. 15), 804–07. 26 Petersen, Haggai (see n. 21), 90. 27 Meyers and Meyers, Haggai (see n. 15), 64: "The use of ysd (‘to found’) surely indicates a symbolic founding." 28 See the references in note 25 above. 29 See also, for instance, Zech. 8:9–10. 30 "But now," a strong rhetorical marker that begins v. 15 (Petersen, Haggai [see n. 21], 87–88), points out the weight of the statement about to be made. This is further accentuated by "consider deeply from this day forward" in v. 15a (hzh Mwyh-Nm Mkbbl )n-wmy#& ), repeated verbatim in the beginning of v. 18 and shortened "consider deeply" at the end of that verse. The statement, then, so emphatically prepared for, is the significance of the day when a stone was placed upon another in the temple (v. 15b; hwhy lkyhb Nb)-l) Nb)-Mw#&), the 24th day of the ninth month (v. 18b) which is the day when the foundation of the temple of the Lord was laid (v. 18c; hwhy-lkyh dsy-r#$)). Indeed, it is this day and event that make the great difference. 31 This lends Zerubbabel a messianic aura. See P. D. Hanson, "Israelite Religion in the Early Postexilic Period," in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (ed. P. D. Miller Jr., P. D. Hanson and S. D. McBride; Philadelphia 1987), 485–508 (495); D. J. S. Clines, "Haggai’s Temple: Constructed, Deconstructed and Reconstructed," SJOT 7 (1993) 51–77, esp. 68. Cf. further 1 Esd. 6:27 where Zerubbabel is called "the servant of the Lord"; similarly in 1 Esd. 4.59. On Ezra 5.16, see C. G. Tuland, "Uššayy āʾ and ʾUššarnâ: A Clarification of Terms, Date, and Text," JNES 17 (1958) 269–75; Petersen, Haggai (see n. 21), 88–89. One should even observe the remark in Zech. 4:14 of "the two anointed ones," denoting Zerubbabel and Joshua. The passage forms the central Biblical source for the idea of two messiahs. For the appearances of the idea and the archetypes of

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foundation of the temple which thus gains cosmic dimensions.32 As stated by the commentators, this was the "pivotal event in the history of the postexilic period", "the real beginning of the Second Temple".33 As known, the success and, fundamentally, the validity of this temple refoundation became an object of some speculation in later Jewish literature. Already the refoundation accounts themselves, rather surprisingly, tell that at the very start expressions of jubilation were coupled with pessimistic feelings.34 Various misgivings also kept surfacing all the while till the final destruction of the temple in its Herodian grandeur year 70 CE.35 If thus even a careful manipulation of the former and new stones could not, at least in some people’s minds, guarantee continuity, putting no stone upon another would certainly preclude it, would it not? 2.3. Achieving Discontinuity Indeed, having no connection whatsoever with the old temple served as presupposition for the hopes for a completely different kind of temple.36 In that way, being detached in all its parts – especially the crucial ones, such as foundation – there would be a temple quite discontinuous with the old one. Thus it would not continue whatever was seen to have been wrong or lacking. All in all, visions involving a wholly different kind of temple suggest (a) that there is a temple in the heavens,37 (b) that the house of God can be a sanctuary of human beings,38 or (c) that another earthly temple, this time built by God himself, will be established on earth.39

Zerubbabel and Joshua in early Jewish literature see, for example, B. V. Malchov, "The Messenger of the Covenant in Mal 3:1," JBL 103 (1984) 252–55; S. Talmon, "The Concept of M¯a šîaḥ and Messianism in Early Judaism," in The Messiah. Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; Minneapolis 1992) 79–115, esp. 104–14. 32 Meyers, Meyers, Haggai (see n. 15), 81–82. 33 Meyers, Meyers, Haggai, p. 81, 82. 34 Ezra 3:12–13; Hag. 2:3, 14. 35 Further on this, see the following sections 2.3. and 2.4. Naturally, the temple was criticized – as well as commended – even after the destruction. 36 The basic idea of such a temple was cherished already in Ezek. 40–48; see D. L. Petersen, "The Temple in Persian Period Prophetic Texts," in P. R. Davies (ed.), Second Temple Studies I. Persian Period (ed. P. R. Davies; JSOTSup 117; Sheffield 1991) 124–44, esp. 133–34. See foundations described in Ezek. 41:8. 37 T. Levi 3; 5:1; 1 En. 14:8–25; 4QShirShabba–h. See Exod. 25:40. Cf. also Isa. 66:1–2; Philo Spec. Leg. 1:66. See even Heb. 8:5; 9:11, 24. 38 1QS 8:4–10; 4QFlor 1:6–7. See J. P. M. Sweet, "A House not made with Hands," in Templum Amicitiae. Essays on the Second Temple presented to Ernst Bammel (ed. W. Horbury; JSNTSup 48; Sheffield 1991) 368–90, esp. 369. Cf. also 1 Cor. 3:16–17; Eph. 2:20–22; 1 Pet. 2:4–8. 39 So 4QFlor 1:2–6 explaining Exod. 15:17–18; 11QT 29:8–10; Jub. 1:26–29; probably also 1 En. 90:28–29.

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The heavenly temple, (a), could be thought to exist simultaneously with the earthly one. Another question is would not the belief in the existence of a heavenly sanctuary easily lead to regarding it as the true temple and to belittling the earthly counterpart. At all events, the heavenly temple could naturally share no part with the earthly one. Just as heaven, the place where it existed, was different from earth, so also were its corresponding structures. Some intriguing references tell how the heavenly foundations greatly surpassed the earthly stone groundwork. In the Greek text of 1 En. 14:10, one of the temple-like two houses Enoch sees in the heavens has foundations of snow (ἐδάφη χιονικά). The Ethiopic version of the text speaks of marble or crystal.40 In the second, greater house, however, the foundation and even the entire building is made of flaming tongues of fire.41 Foundations of a heavenly temple are probably also marveled at in 4QShirShabbf frag. 6 and 11QShirShabb 3. Philo states that the highest and in the truest sense the holy temple (ἱερόν) of God is the whole universe, its sanctuary (ἁγιώτατον) being the heaven and its priests being the angels.42 Here he closely parallels T. Lev. 3 which describes the archangels performing propitiatory sacrifices in the rbd of the uppermost heaven, "superior to all holiness".43 Philo continues to remark: "There is also the temple made by hands (χειρόκµ ητον)."44 He then describes the Jerusalem temple at length and clearly with high respect. That is, the earthly temple is certainly not altogether insignificant to him. However, we observe the evaluative contrast "true vs. made by hands" which he makes. It is not a long step from here to a view according to which the earthly temple has become dispensable and is bound to disappear, if not immediately, at least in due course of time.45 We can consider, for example, how Isa. 66:1–2 already pictures the universe as God’s temple and labels human attempts to build a temple as futile.46 40

Cf. Isa. 54:11; Rev. 21:19–20. See even Ezek. 1. 1 En. 14:15–17. 42 Spec. Leg. 1:66. 43 T. Lev. 3:4–5. Intriguingly similar is also 1QSb 4:24–26. 44 Spec. Leg. 1:67. 45 As known, in the Letter to the Hebrews this contrast has turned the earthly temple into a mere shadow of the true one in the heavens; see Heb. 8:5; 9:11, 24. Further, Sib. Or. 4:4–11 can be seen to promote a similar contrast between material and non-earthly temple; see the discussion in A. Chester, "The Sibyl and the Temple," in Templum Amicitiae (see n. 38), 37– 69, esp. 62–68. 46 Isa. 66:1–3 (cf. Ezek. 43:7; see even 1 Kgs 8:27; 2 Chron. 2:6; 6:18; 2 Sam. 7:5–6; Acts 7:48–50) can even in its Isaian context be interpreted to abrogate the physical temple and its cult; see G. Fohrer, "Kritik an Tempel, Kultus und Kultusausübung in nachexilischer Zeit," in Studien zu alttestamentlichen Texten und Themen (1966–1972) (ed. G. Fohrer; Berlin 1981), 81–95, esp. 90–91, 95; A. Rofé, "Isaiah 66:1–4: Judean Sects in the Persian Period as Viewed by Trito-Isaiah," in Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry (ed. A. Kort and S. Morschauser; Winona Lake 1985), 205–17, esp. 207; M. Albani, "‘Wo sollte ein Haus 41

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Further, (b), the hope presented in Isa. 28:16 for a foundation that would surely endure continued to receive attention in post-Biblical writings and particularly so in Qumran where it served to argue for the community. The sanctuary of human beings, i.e., the community temple of the Qumranites, essentially gains its character by the defining of new kinds of foundations. A case in point is the 1QS 8 rendering of the Isaian passage: It [sc. the community temple] will be the tested rampart, the precious cornerstone; its foundations (whytwdwsy ) do not shake or tremble in their place.47

The Matt. 16.18 look-alike texts 1QH 6(14).25–27 and 1QH 7(15).8–9 pursue the same interpretative line with 1QS 8.48 Alluding to Isa. 28:16 they praise God for having placed the foundation upon rock: The deep thunders at my sigh, [my soul nears] the gates of death (twm yr(#$) . I am like someone entering a fortified city, and looking for shelter in the rampart until salvation. My God, I lean on your truth, for you place the foundation / circle (of people) upon rock 49 ((ls l( dws My#&t) and the beams to the correct size, and the plumb line [...] tested stones 50 (ynb)) for a string building which will not shake. You placed me like a sturdy tower, like a high wall, you founded my building upon rock (ytynbm (ls l( Nktw), and everlasting foundations as my base / for my circle (ydwsl Mlw( y#$w )w),51 all my walls are like a tested wall which will not shake.52

Interestingly, in the latter passage the hymnist – who, by the way, can also say "my [sc. the hymnist’s] covenant"53 – speaks expressly of his [sc. the hymsein, das ihr mir bauen könntet?’ (Jes 66:1): Schöpfung als Tempel JHWHs?," in Gemeinde ohne Tempel. Community without Temple. Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und führen Christentum (ed. B. Ego, A. Lange and P. Pilhofer; WUNT 1:118; Tübingen 1999), 37–56, esp. 44–48. 47 1QS 8:7–8. Translations are, if not otherwise indicated, from F. García Martínez, The Dead Sea Scrolls Translated. The Qumran Texts in English (Leiden 1996). 48 1QH 6 (= 1QH 14) is clearly connected with 1QS 8; G. W. E. Nickelsburg and M. Stone, Faith and Piety in Early Judaism. Texts and Documents (Philadephia 1983) 73. The same goes with 1QH 7 (= 1QH 15). 49 O. Betz, "Felsenmann und Felsengemeinde: Eine Parallele zu Mt 16 17–19 in den Qumranpsalmen," ZNW 47 (1956) 49–77, esp. 56, points out the latter translation as a well established alternative for dws. H. Stegemann, E. Schuller and C. Newsom, 1QHodayot a with Incorporation of 1QHodayotb and 4QHodayota-f (Oxford 2009) 197, translate "foundation". They comment, on p. 193, that dws "has the meaning ‘foundation’ here, as it clearly does in col. XV 12 (VII 9) and 1QS XI 8," and are probably right. However, I think B. Gärtner has caught the point best; see the quotation shortly in the text. 50 1QH 6:24–27. 51 For the latter translation alternative for ydwsl,, see Betz, "Felsenmann (see n. 49)," p. 66. Stegemann, Schuller and Newsom, 1Qhodayot (see n. 49), 214: "for my base". 52 1QH 7:8–9. 53 1QH 5(13):23.

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nist’s] building and his [sc. the hymnist’s] circle of people. This corresponds to pesher 4QPs 3:15–16 which interprets Psalm 37:23–24 as concerning the Teacher of Righteousness whom God "installed ... to build (twnbl)54 the congregation [of his chosen ones] for him". Further, pesher 4QIsad 1–2 on Isa. 54:11–12 interprets the Isaian picture of sapphire foundations (Myrypsb Kytdsyw ) by stating that "they will found the council of the community" (dxyh tc( t) wdsy ).55 The council as the foundation seems to be promoted in 1QS 8:4–856 and 1QS 11:8 as well.57 On the other hand, texts such as 1QS 5:5 and 9:3–4 give good cause to argue that the foundation is truth, the truth that has been endowed to the Qumran community, in particular to the Teacher of Righteousness. This probably is also the case with the first hymn passage 1QH 6:25–27 quoted above. Indeed, "[t]here is no doubt that many of the Qumran texts use the words dws, dsy, dwsy and dwsm in a double [sic] sense; thus the reader’s attention is drawn simultaneously to the foundation, the members of the community, and to the special revelation given to the community."58 However, while the rock in 1QH 6:25– 27 may ultimately denote the particular truth of the Qumranites (sc. their interpretation of the law), 1QH 7:8–9 does not directly reflect this. And later, in 1QH 11(19):15–16, the hymnist calls God "my rock".59 54 So J. M. Allegro, Qumrân Cave 4. I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD, V; Oxford 1968) 47. García Martínez, Scrolls Translated, p. 205, has it "to found". 55 Cf. 1QS 8:5. 56 "‘The council of the congregation’ in 1QS viii represents the entire community, as its nucleus and foundation." See B. Gärtner, The Temple and the Community in Qumran and the New Testament. A Comparative Study in the Temple Symbolism of the Qumran Texts and the New Testament (New York 2005) 30. 57 An interesting text is 4QElect of God (4Q534 [4QMess as]) 2:17: "they will establish his foundation upon him" (Nwdsy yhwl( hdwsy). Quite irrespective of the issue whether the text speaks of Noah (and his birth) or of the Messiah, "him" in the quoted sentence can be interpreted as denoting a single human being. The crucial questions regarding our subject are, then, Can this interpretation be corroborated?, Whose foundation is it?, and, What is it a foundation of? If the fragment is about Noah, the sentence probably deals with something connected with the rebuilding projects Noah is said to have undertaken after the flood. A community temple is then hardly in discussion. However, if the fragment is about a messiah, a connection with temple is at least possible. The case seems to be open; see F. García Martínez, Qumranica Minora II. Thematic Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. E. J. C. Tigchelaar; Leiden 2007) 41–42. A lot of work has been done on the fragment, yet the line mentioning the foundation seems not to have aroused any particular interest. For example, J. Penner in his recent thorough article, "Is 4Q534–536 Really about Noah?" in Noah and his Book(s) (ed. M. E. Stone, A. Amihay and V. Hillel; Atlanta 2010) 97–112, completely ignores this concept even though the article discusses a considerable number of other key words of the fragments. 58 Gärtner, Temple and the Community (see n. 56), 69. 59 "Rock" is a usual designation of God in the Old Testament. See, for example, Pss. 18:3; 31.4 ((ls); 31:3; 62:8; 94:22 ( rwc). See, further, Deut. 32:4; 2. Sam. 22:32; Isa. 44:8 (only rwc ). Cf. also Isa. 51:1–2.

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A systematized picture of the Qumran community temple foundation is hardly achievable. To be sure, the current Jerusalem building was for the Qumranites virtually dispensable. They considered it mistaken and in need of being substituted by the community. The community and the temple of human beings it formed (Md) #$dqm)60 thus played a very central part for the selfunderstanding of the Qumranites – indeed, for their whole existence. And yet, it was also regarded as temporary.61 Ultimately, as revealed for example by 4QFlor 1:2–6 and 11 QT 29:8–10, they expected God to build in Jerusalem a new temple with real physical structures.62 The temple of human beings did exist simultaneously with the current Jerusalem building, the old, deficient temple. But with the advent of the new physical edifice in Jerusalem, built by God, the old one would certainly disappear.63 This leads us to consider the (c) -type of visions of a new and different temple, namely a temple that would be built by God himself on earth. Besides the Qumran 4QFlor 1:2–6 and 11 QT 29:8–10, a key text with respect to our purposes is furnished by Jub. 1:26–29. Jub. 1:17 having related the erection of the second temple, Jub. 1:29 tells of the sanctuary of the Lord which at the eschaton will be "created in Jerusalem upon Mount Zion". And the angel of the presence ... took the tablets of the division of years from the time of the creation of the law ... from the day of creation until the day of the new creation ... until the sanctuary of the Lord is created in Jerusalem upon Mount Zion.64

60 In 4QFlor 1.6, to be understood as "sanctuary of man/men". See G. J. Brooke, Exegesis at Qumran. 4Q Florilegium in its Jewish Context (JSOTS 29; Sheffield 1985), 184–85. 61 D. Dimant, "4QFlorilegium and the Idea of the Community as Temple," in Hellenica et Judaica. Hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky (ed. A. Caquot, M. Hadas-Lebel and J. Riaud; Leuven: Peeters, 1986) 165–89, esp. 177. 62 See 4QFlor 1:2–6 and 11 QT 29:8–10 (inter alia) discussed in J. Ådna, Jesu Kritik am Tempel. Eine Untersuchung zum Verlauf und Sinn der sogenannten Tempelreinigung Jesu, Markus 11,15–17 und Parallelen (Tübingen 1993) 235–47; idem, Jesu Stellung zum Tempel. Die Tempelaktion und das Tempelwort als Ausdruck seiner messianischen Sendung (WUNT 2:119; Tübingen 2000) 99–106. So also already O. Betz, "Felsenmann," 61, referring to the New Jerusalem fragment 8. The fragment describes an unquestionably physical temple. Retrospective looking are lines 5–6: "And they shall make atonement with it for [him ...] and it will not be ended any more." 63 I can also almost acquiesce to the interpretation of 4QFlor 1:2–6 and 11 QT 29:8–10 given by P. Lee, The New Jerusalem in the Book of Revelation (WUNT 2:129; Tübingen 2001) 122: "The Community Temple, which is represented by Md) #$dqm, is not simply an interim stage nor a substitute for the polluted Temple [sc. the current temple of Jerusalem] before the coming of the eschatological Temple, but the community as Temple will be spontaneously transferred as the priestly (Temple) community to serve in the eschatological Temple at the end of the ages." My point is that two physical temples on Mount Zion could hardly be thought to coexist, one being the old polluted edifice built by Zerubbabel and the other the new glorious and exalted eschatological temple built by God himself. 64 Jub. 1:29.

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However one twists the viewpoint uttered in these passages, it is simply inconceivable to think that the earthly temple already located in Jerusalem would remain existent alongside the eschatologically "created" one. While the idea of two simultaneous temples is not impossible if one of them is pictured in the heavens and the other on earth, or if one of them is seen to consist of human beings and the other of normal physical structures, two physical temples on Mount Zion is, to put it mildly, a very unlikely interpretation here. It is therefore, in my view, quite clear that the coming of the physical eschatological temple presupposes the abolition of the former temple thus putting an end to its tradition. Further illuminating is also 1 En. 90:28–29 where the discontinuity between these edifices is expressed most tangibly: Then I stood still, looking at that ancient house being transformed: All the pillars and all the columns were pulled out; and the ornaments of that house were packed and taken out together with them and abandoned in a certain place in the South of the land. I went on seeing until the Lord of the sheep brought about a new house, greater and loftier than the first one, and set it up in the first location which had been covered up – all its pillars were new, the columns new; and the ornaments new as well as greater than those of the first, that is the old house which was gone.

The debated question is whether "house" here means Jerusalem as a whole or only its temple.65 In both cases, the abolition of the "ancient house" would mean even the abolition of the temple. Then, whatever the "new house" consists of – a new temple alone, a new Jerusalem with a new temple, or a new Jerusalem without a temple – it cannot be seen to continue the tradition of the temple of the "ancient house". Should the "new house" be understood to include or simply denote a new temple, this would be discontinuous with the former demolished one. If, again, a new Jerusalem without any temple were in prospect, the passage would foresee a permanent dead-end for all temple theology, discontinuity by discontinuance. The likely interpretation is, however, different. The "new house" lacks none of the structures the "ancient house" is said to contain and which the text painstakingly spells out. In other words, the new Jerusalem – if "house" is to be understood so – contains everything the ancient one did, only "new", "greater" and "loftier".66 More probably still, the text indeed pictures the replacing of the old earthly temple by a new one. And it places some particular importance on concretizing how all the structures of the old temple have counterparts in the new edifice, superior as the emergence of the new temple itself. 65 See discussion in, for example, Gaston, No Stone (see n. 14), 114; E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London 1985) 81–82; C. C. Rowland, "The Second Temple: Focus of Ideological Struggle?" in Templum Amicitiae (see n. 38), 175–98, esp. 185–86. 66 Unless one should think of a city temple in the guise of the Book of Revelation; see Rev. 21:2–3, 10, 16, 22; 22:1.

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The visions and views scrutinized in (a) through (c) are diverse, yet it is evident that they imply, each in their own way, a wholly other and different temple. This temple is pictured either as one that, for the time being, exists simultaneously with the current Jerusalem edifice or as one that will come and put an end to it for good. All in all, the visions presuppose a new temple tradition strictly discontinuous with that of the current Jerusalem temple. Together with the new tradition, then, even new kinds of structures have become requisite, centrally meaning a wholly other and different temple foundation. Hence, clearly, in certain parts of early Judaism some people deemed the tradition of the present temple in Jerusalem as bound to cease in that the aforementioned Jeremian prophecy about Babylon could be applied to it: "no stone shall be taken from you for a foundation."67 But why, for what reason, would someone have wished to abandon the current temple for good? Granted, some sort of criticism of the temple was in the air most of the time, yet most of it actually hoped for the continuance of the current sanctuary by way of rectification of whatever wrong was found there. It is good to contemplate for a moment the probable matrix of the exact opposite kind of hope. 2.4. Hands of the Builder The Jewish tradition regularly refers to God’s activity by way of mentioning his hand. Such a way of speaking should, however, be kept apart from the instances of the expression h#&(m / h#&( plus dy where dy , "hand", is not qualified with "God’s" or a comparable attribute.68 Although not always explicitly specified, these instances of the expression ascribe "work" to human hand. The expression can then denote a variety of things. It can point positively to what people have accomplished by their efforts, for instance the produce of agriculture and farming, and what then is blessed by God. However, the expression can also signify the wrongful and impious acts that people have made themselves guilty of and that are condemned by God. 69 Then, in particular, "work of (their/his/human) hands" is frequently connected with idolatry and idols, human made gods of wood, stone and metal.70 To my mind, behind the radical view that wished for the exhaustion of the current temple tradition lies a kind of "hand problem": wrong hands had been involved in building it.

67 68

See Jer. 51:26. Cf. 4 Ezra 10:50–54. Cf. Job 12:9; Isa. 41:20 and, above all, Exod. 15:17–18 and Isa. 66:1–2 mentioned be-

low.

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Deut. 31:29; Jer. 32:30. Of the plentiful material, cf. for instance, Deut. 4:28; 2 Kgs 19:18; 22:17; 2 Chron. 32:19; 34:25; Pss. 115:4; 135:15; Isa. 2:8; 17:8; 37:19; Jer. 1:16; 25:6–7; 44:8; Hos. 14:4; Mic. 5:12. 70

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Clearly, many felt that the temple Zerubbabel had built did not quite meet the hopes that were invested in it.71 I have already referred to some pessimism in the books of Ezra and Haggai. These remarks pointed out the poor beginnings of the temple, and they were met with promises of better days coming. Similar comments are discernible in other depictions, too, of the initial stage of the building. 72 However, prophecies of the better future of the temple continued after its completion at 515 BC thus indicating that some inadequacy was found even in the finished edifice.73 This prophetic tradition starts, among others, with Trito-Isaiah, Joel and Deutero-Zechariah74 and forms into a standard eschatological hope in the apocrypha and pseudepigrapha.75 Congruously with such a "critical but hopeful" attitude, then, one can find utterances that altogether downgrade the second temple as it was constructed by Zerubbabel.76 Some texts even put forward the idea that the second temple had been unsound from its foundation and that its functions were therefore futile.77 Particularly interesting are the descriptions of 1 En. 89. The mention of "three sheep returning, arriving, entering and beginning to build all the parts of that house which had fallen down" in 1 En. 89:72a has generally been seen as a reference to Zerubbabel, Joshua and Ezra.78 1 En. 89:72b, "the wild boars came and tried to hinder them but were unsuccessful", again, clearly speaks of the "people of the land" who by their interfering and complaining to the Persian king caused a break in the temple construction work.79 1 En. 89:73, then, follows up the narrated historical outline and proffers this statement concerning the recommenced building of the temple: 71 See here for instance Rowland, "Temple" (see n. 65); S. J. D. Cohen, "The Temple and the Synagogue," in The Cambridge History of Judaism. Volume Three. The Early Roman Period (ed. W. Horbury, W. D. Davies and J. Sturdy; Cambridge: 1999) 298–325, esp. 307– 11. 72 Zech. 4:10 (see here Halpern, "Background," (see n. 15) 181–82). 73 A common element included in the varying post-biblical lists of what the second temple missed in comparison with the first one, is the Holy Spirit, that is, God’s presence. See Petersen, "Persian Period," (see n. 36) 127–28; Cohen, "Temple," (see n. 71) 308. Cf. 1 Kgs 8:5– 12 and 2 Chron. 5:6–14 with Ezra 3:10–11: Note Hag. 1:8. See also Exod. 25:8 and Ezek. 43:7; 44:4. 74 Petersen, "Persian Period," (see n. 36) 137–42. 75 See E.P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief 63 BCE—66 CE (London) 290, 292–95. In general, the hope was either that the existing temple would be glorified or that a new glorious temple would appear. On the latter thought, see the discussion below. 76 Tob. 14:5; 1 En. 90:29; Sib. Or. 3:294. 77 1 En. 89:73; T. Mos. 4:8. According to Rowland, "Temple," (see n. 65) 181, 1 Enoch dates the problem with the second temple back to its very foundation; the T. Mos. passage, again, questions the post-exilic restoration. Similarly Cohen, "Temple," (see n. 71) 309 and, on the part of 1 En. 89:73, Nickelsburg and Stone, Faith (see n. 48), 67. Further on 1 En. 89:72–73, see the discussion below. 78 G. F. Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era. The Age of the Tannaim. Volume I (Cambridge 1950) 7. 79 See Ezra 4–6.

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They again began to build as before; and they raised up that tower which is called the high tower. But they started to place a table before the tower, with all food which is upon it being polluted and impure.

Rather than Mal. 1:7–12,80 alluded here is Hag. 2:14: Then said Haggai, "If one who is unclean by contact with a dead body touches any of these, does it become unclean?" The priests answered, "It does become unclean." Then Haggai said, "So is it with this people, and with this nation before me, says the Lord; and so with every work of their hands; and what they offer there is unclean."81

For the Haggaian passage expressly relates to the very historical period and situation that the verses 1 En. 89:72–73 seek to describe.82 Also, it comes in exceptionally handy: No other Scriptural passage comes so close to directly supporting the view that the current Jewish temple is in fact a mere work of human hands. As stated, idols and human artifacts are many times in the Old Testament characterized as "work of their/human hands". But nowhere else does this characterization appear so closely connected with the Jerusalem temple as in Hag. 2:14.83 D. J. S. Clines has shown that the passage easily invites a pessimistic interpretation of the temple’s state.84 Such a usage of the Haggaian passage would also be analogous to that of Isa. 66:1–2, for example, which, despite the context’s many approving statements of the earthly temple, 80

Nickelsburg and Stone, Faith (see n, 48), 67. Hag. 2:13–14. 82 Cf. the dates appearing frequently in Haggai but lacking in Malachi. The scope of the defilement is left open in 1 Enoch, but it is probable that the writer regarded the temple as a whole to be unclean (here correctly Nickelsburg and Stone, Faith (see n. 48), 67). 83 Cf. Mhydy h#&(m and τὰ ἔργα τῶν χειρῶν αὐτῶν (LXX Hag. 2:14). For exactly the same phrase, in both Hebrew and Greek, as referring to idols and human artifacts, see also for example, 2 Kgs 22:17 / LXX 4 Kgs 22:17; Ps. 115:4 / LXX Ps. 113:12; (LXX) 2 Chron. 34:25; (LXX) Hos. 14:4; (LXX) Isa. 17:8; (LXX) Jer. 1:16. Cf. even Isa. 31:7: "For in that day every one shall cast away his idols ( ylyl)) of silver and his idols (ylyl)) of gold, which your hands have sinfully made (...Mkydy ... w#&( for you." LXX Isa.31:7: ὅτι τῇ ἡµ έρᾳ ἐκείνῃ ἀπαρνήσονται οἱ ἄνθρωποι τὰ χειροποίητα αὐτῶν τὰ ἀργυρᾶ καὶ τὰ χρυσᾶ, ἃ ἐποίησαν αἱ χεῖρες αὐτῶν. 84 D. J. S. Clines, "Haggai’s Temple: Constructed, Deconstructed and Reconstructed," SJOT 7 (1993) 51–77, esp. 61–77. D. R. Hildebrand, "Temple Ritual: A Paradigm for Moral Holiness in Haggai II 10–19," VT 39 (1989) 154–68, esp. 163, also maintains that on the basis of the context, "all work of their hands" refers to both agricultural activities and to the work on the temple site. M#$, "there," can only refer to the place where they "offer" (brq, hi. "bring near," "to offer / present a gift," is almost a technical term for bringing forward sacrifices). In general, one could think of the land, the temple, and the altar. Only the last two can be characterized as the "work of their hands". Hildebrand, "Temple Ritual," p. 163, points out that the context refers to the temple locality. Cf. also the possibility of translating "... where they offer ..." explicitly singling out the temple. Irrespectively of whatever the original intention of the writer might have been, it is clear that Hag. 2:11–14 is quite open to a templecritical reinterpretation. 81

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could be employed against the temple.85 To be sure, charges of uncleanness of the temple were not infrequent, and it would be only natural if Hag. 2: (11–)14 came to be used for such purposes. With its evocative characterization "work of their hands", however, the Haggaian passage would have given opportunity to put together even a more fierce judgment: This is not a true house of God at all but a mere human edifice (and as such it is even suspect of idolatry).86 Basically the same type of criticism can in a less straightforward form be seen to be contained in many of the passages that we have come across. 4QFlor 1:2–6 appeals to Exod. 15:17–18 in order to underline the fact that the eschatological temple will be built by God himself. As a result of being of such a composition, this temple will also be indestructible. Similarly, 11QT 29:8–9 accentuates the exclusive role of God in the coming of the eschatological temple by characterizing the eschatological temple as God’s creation ()rb) he will establish for himself. Even this temple would endure for ever. The eschatological temple as a sole creation of God is featured in the Jub. 1:27–29 visions, too, and again it provides the guarantee for God’s presence forever and ever. By stressing the exclusive role of God in the emergence of the eschatological temple, indeed even speaking about the creation of the temple, these passages brand the existing temple of Jerusalem as an inadequate human work.87 Clearly, the new temple would amend many and varying inadequacies that the writers of these texts have detected in the current Jerusalem temple. These were, for example, impurity, idolatry as well as erroneous calendar or priestly lineage. However, as the solution to all these problems, the writers pose the fact that this time the temple would be built by God himself, not by human

85

Scholars have recognized in the relationship between Isa. 66:1–2 and passages like Isa. 56:7; 60:13; 64:10; 66:6 and again between Isa. 66:3 and the passages Isa. 60:7, 13; 66:20–23 a problem similar to the one that lies between Hag. 2:(11–)14 and the rest of the book. Isa. 66:1–3 would seem to abrogate the physical temple and its cult while the other mentioned Isaian passages appear to approve of them. As known, despite the general approving viewpoint in Isaiah, Isa. 66:1–2 could be utilized to denounce the temple. See discussion in A. Rofé, "Isaiah 66:1–4," (see n. 46) 207–13; Albani, "Haus," (see n. 46) 38–42. Similarly it is interesting to observe how Exod. 15:17–18 which speaks of the temple and the work of God’s hand(s) was interpreted in a way that labeled the existing physical temple as a human enterprise: 4QFlor 1:3–5. See shortly below in the text. Cf. especially Acts 7:48 employing χειροποίητος See further the discussion in section 3.1. below. 86 Closest to this may come Zech. 4:9 praising the hands of Zerubbabel that had laid the foundation of the temple and that would yet complete the building. Needless to say, in the following generations there were a number of people who would not have recited this passage as praise. We recollect the negative attitude towards the temple of Zerubbabel displayed by some later intertestamental texts. On "whatever happened to Zerubbabel," see W. H. Rose, Zemah and Zerubbabel. Messianic Expectations in the Early Postexilic Period (JSOTSup 304; Sheffield 2000) 33–36. 87 See here Ådna, Stellung (see n. 62), 44–45, 106.

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beings.88 The everlasting character of this temple, again, correlates clearly with the defining of a foundation that would be miraculous and unshakable.89 To quickly sum up: Where criticism of the temple was commonplace, hopes for discontinuity in the form of an altogether different temple tradition constituted its radical wing, how marginal is difficult to say quite exactly. Such radical hopes were fueled by the hopelessness experienced vis-à-vis the current temple, at the bottom of which, again, were views of that temple as a mere product of human hands. Any temple out of the current tradition would mean carrying on unsure and troubled by recurring flaws. Only turning to the God-made could make a difference: He will lay a sure foundation.90 A few words to balance the arguments are needed at this phase. The pessimistic stances towards the temple and its builders, especially Zerubbabel, that I have brought to the fore in this section form but a part of the picture. Mainly, Zerubbabel and the work of his generation were viewed positively and with gratitude. In the Jewish tradition, both Zerubbabel and Joshua could be cherished as the builders of the temple.91 Josephus can also say that Haggai had built the temple.92 Most usually, however, Josephus as well as other strands of early Judaism commend Zerubbabel.93 In the unique chapters 3–4 of 1 Esdras, precisely serving to introduce the figure of Zerubbabel, he is presented as the winner of a debate and obtains as a reward the permission to rebuild the Jewish sanctuary.94 The emergence of the second temple means Judaism is thus

88 The label of the present temple as a wanting human work may also be involved in the idea of a heavenly temple. Rowland, "Temple," (see n. 65) 194. Philo, for example, contrasts human building activity with the work of God’s hand. 89 Cf. Isa. 28:16; 54:11–12; 1QS 8:7–8; 4QpIsad; 1QH 6:25–27; 1 En. 14:10 discussed above. 90 Isa. 28:16. 91 See Sir. 49:11–12 (with a reference to Hag. 2.23); 1 Esd. 5:47–6:34; Ant. 11:13–118 passim; Liv. Proph. 15:2–3. 92 War 6.270. This must be due to Haggai’s close cooperation in supporting the building of the temple. The idea is close in 1 Esd. 6:1–2 and 7:3–4, too. 93 See L. Dequerker, "Nehemiah and the Restoration of the Temple after the Exile," in Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic Literature (ed. M. Vervenne and J. Lust; FS C.H.W. Brekelmans; BETL 133; Leuven 1997) 547–67, esp. 551; J.M. Trotter, "Was the Second Jerusalem Temple a Primarily Persian Project?," SJOT 15 (2001) 276–94, esp. 285. See especially Hag. 2:20–23. 94 See J.M. Myers, I and II Esdras. Introduction, Translation and Commentary (AB 42; Garden City 1985) 53–57. The story has no counterpart in 2 Chron. or in Ezra-Nehemiah. It is, however, recounted in Ant. 11:33–67.

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indebted to Zerubbabel’s wisdom, a point that was underlined by Josephus.95 The temple could also be extolled as an exclusive work of Zerubbabel:96 The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this house; his hands shall also complete it.97

Understandably, contrary to its purpose, an emphasis like this would particularly jar on the ears of those who could not see any future in a building made with human hands.98 Included in them was also the visionary of the Fourth Book of Ezra: Therefore I told you to remain in the field where no house had been built, for I knew that the Most High would reveal these things to you. Therefore I told you to go into the field where there was not foundation of any building, for no work of man’s building (opus aedificii hominis) could endure in a place where the city of the Most High was to be revealed.99

2.5. Zerubbabel and Herod What can we say about the topicality of this theology, these thoughts at the time of Jesus? Three words: Herod’s temple renovation. The renovation proper took 9½ years being thus finished ca. 10 BC. The many additional repairs that continued till the first half of the 60’s guaranteed that all kinds of concerns related to the temple remained on the surface.100 Whatever agendas Herod’s building projects may have served in general, as with the temple he really tried to please the people by doing it properly. So how did he do it? Herod’s undertaking carried clear overtones of the crucial acts of founding the temple which according to the Jewish tradition had been performed even 95 Josephus’s rewording of Zerubbabel’s thanksgiving prayer is suggestive: "For, he said, he would not have been granted these things, ‘if I had not, O Lord, found favour with Thee’." (Ant. 11:64.) That is, Zerubbabel is due much of the credit for the Jew’s opportunity to build the second temple. 96 "All sources agree that the temple ... was actually rebuilt by Zerubbabel." (Dequerker, "Restoration," 550.) See also Ådna, Stellung (see n. 62), 61. Cf. even Rev. 5.6 which is an allusion to Zech. 3:9 and 4:10 comes with connections to Zerubbabel and the temple foundation. There are also casual mentions of Zerubbabel within Jesus’ genealogy in Matt. 1:12–13 and Luke 3:27. 97 Zech. 4:9. See also Zech. 4:6; 6:12. 98 Cf. also note 86 above. 99 4. Ezra 10:51–54. See also Sib. Or. 4:11: 100 Cf. Ant. 20.219–223; W. Horbury, "Herod’s Temple and ‘Herod’s Days’," in Templum Amicitiae (see n. 20), 103–49, esp. 147. Levine notes how the various religious circles of the period sought to define themselves in relationship to the temple. And he stresses, accordingly, the fact that the architectural developments and layout of the temple prior to 70 "were reflective of far-reaching social and religious changes". See L. I. Levine, "Josephus’ Description of the Jerusalem Temple: War, Antiquities, and other Sources," in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period (ed. F. Parente and J. Sievers Studia Post-Biblica 41; Leiden 1994) 233–46, esp. 243–46.

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in the connection with the construction work of both the first and second temples. King Solomon in his time as well as later Zerubbabel the governor and Joshua (Jeshua) the high priest carefully prepared for building the temple and selected special stones for its foundation.101 Both times the foundation of the temple is dated and given importance besides the accounts of the dedication of the finished temple.102 Similarly, King Herod, preparing for building the temple, had all the materials brought to the construction site and all the workers trained and equipped before "pulling down the temple".103 He also selected large stones to be used in the foundation.104 The commencement of the restoration was a special occasion culminating in Herod’s speech to the people.105 At the celebrations arranged on occasion of the completion of the building of the temple proper, Herod performed sacrifices emulating the offerings of Solomon and the returnees from Babylon at the corresponding event.106 Most explicitly, Herod connected to the work of Zerubbabel and other important builder figures of the second temple, such as Joshua and even Haggai the prophet. These are the "fathers" that Herod referred to in his speech. The existing temple was a constant reason to remember their work, but the Haggaian prophecy regarding it was also alive: The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts.107 The house of God will be rebuilt there with a glorious building for all generations for ever, just as the prophets said of it. 108 The latter temple will exceed the former in glory.109 And once again he will deliver them from their dispersion, and again they will build a house of God, and the latest house of God shall be exalted more highly than before.110 101

1 Kgs 5 (esp. v. 17); Ezra 2:68–69; Zech. 3:9; 4:7, 10. 1 Kgs 6:37–38; Ezra 3:10–11; 6:16–17; Zech. 4:9. 1 Esd. 5–6 recount these events concerning the temple of Zerubbabel. See even Ezek. 41:8. 103 Ant. 15.389–390. 104 War 5.189. 105 Ant. 15.382–387. See Horbury, "Herod’s Temple," (see n. 100) 108–11: On the basis of the temple-related material of Josephus, Levine affirms Josephus’ basic integrity as a historian of first-century Jerusalem; see Levine, "Description," p. 246. 106 See Ant. 15.421–422 and Ezra 6:16–17. Cf. also 1 Kgs 8:5; 2 Chron. 5:6 and compare especially the account of the innumerable the sacrifices in them. 107 Hag. 2:9. 108 Tob. 14:5. Thus Tobit, having stated that the temple of Zerubbabel could not rival the Solomonic one, foresees the future glory of the house of God. 109 T. Benj. 9:2. 110 LAE 29 :8. The section 29:4–15 is missing in the best Latin manuscripts (see M. D. Johnson, "Life of Adam and Eve," in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: Volume II [ed. J. H. Charlesworth; New York 1983] 249–95, esp. 252, 268, 270). What is remarkable here is that there is no hint to the destruction of this temple. The text looks as if it could stem from before 70 CE (having been written by a Jewish hand; only v. 9 and v. 14 are probably Chris102

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It was not until the renovation by Herod the Great that one could think of the temple being restored to the promised "greater splendor".111 Indeed, considering the overwhelming grandeur of the temple Herod managed to generate, in particular the porticoes, walls and other marvels of its large outer court, it is easy to imagine that many saw the renovation as fulfilling Haggai’s old prophecy. Although Herod was disliked by most of the people and many kinds of criticism against him and his family can be observed, the temple received praise.112 There was even a slightly different but correlating eschatological hope alive in some circles: And then the God of heaven shall send a king, and shall judge each man with blood and flame of fire. There is a royal tribe, whose family shall never stumble: and this in the circuit of times shall have dominion and shall begin to raise up a new shrine of God. ... For God Himself shall give a holy dream by night. And then the Temple shall be again as it was before.113

As a matter of fact, this is exactly what Herod was aspiring to do according to what he said in his speech. He planned to add to the temple tower the lacking sixty cubits (sc. lacking from the first temple built by Solomon) thus following through what the "fathers" after returning from Babylon were prevented from doing by the prescriptions of Cyrus and Darius I.114 Herod’s outspoken tian interpolations). See, further, Heb. 12:26 quoting Hag. 2 :6 (LXX) which in Haggai leads to the promise of the latter glory, and the discussion in C. Stuhlmueller, Rebuilding with Hope. A Commentary on the Books of Haggai and Zechariah (ITC; Grand Rapids 1988) 30– 32. 111 R. E. Clements, God and Temple. The Presence of God in Israel’s Worship (Philadelphia 1965) 126; M. Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel (Oxford 1978) 44– 45; C. A. Moore, Tobit. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 40A; New York 1996) 291; Cohen, "Temple," (see n. 71) 311: 112 Horbury, "Herod’s Temple," (see n. 100) 122, 148; J. Ådna, Kritik (see n. 62) 43–45. See, for example, Ant. 15.396, 421; cf. even b.BBat 4a. Even God was claimed to have sided with Herod, for during the time the temple was being built it rained only at nights so that the work could be carried out without delay; Ant. 15.425. 113 Sib. Or. 3:286–290, 293–294. The text is according to R. H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English. Volume II. Pseudepigrapha (Oxford 1964). Sib. Or. 3:282–290 is dated second century BC by J. J. Collins, "Sibylline Oracles," in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Volume I (ed. J. H. Charlesworth; New York 1983) 317–472, esp. 355. So also in Chester, "The Sibyl and the Temple," (see n. 45) 37 (with literature references). According to Nolland, 3.256–294 forms an early Maccabean Messianic oracle. See J. Nolland, "Sib. Or. III. 256–94, an Early Maccabean Messianic Oracle," JTS 30 (1979) 158–66. The quoted verses can even be seen as making refoundation of the temple into a pattern to be followed in the eschatological temple restoration. 114 Ant. 15.385–387. Note that Cyrus is here not a temple builder but one for the sake of whom Zerubbabel’s and Haggai’s temple remained undersized. The total height of 120 cubits (see Ant. 15.391), however, most likely derives from Josephus’ confusion with 1 Kgs 6:3 and 2 Chron. 3:4. See Ant. 6.64.

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intention was thus merely to "remedy the oversight" of the fathers, so restoring the temple again as it was before. Despite the speech, however, it certainly escaped nobody’s attention, once the splendor was there, that, actually, Herod outdid as a temple builder both the returnee fathers and Solomon himself. The book of Haggai ends in an eschatological portrayal of Zerubbabel the temple builder, lending him a messianic aura.115 It is noteworthy that the ideas expressed in Herod’s speech in Ant. 15.387 can be seen as a kind of paraphrase of those Haggaian verses: shaking of the heavens and the earth then giving peace "in this place" (Hag. 2:6, 9b) – peace established as Herod reigns shaking of nations and treasures coming in; silver and gold (Hag. 2:7–8) – Roman’s complying with Herod’s deeds; abundance of wealth during Herod the future glory of the latter house (Hag. 2:9a) – Herod remedying the inadequacy of those who initiated the second temple a rise of a messianic character (Hag. 2:21–23; cf. v.21b = v.6) – Herod himself? Be this as it may, Herod was never widely accepted as the king of the Jews. "Herod’s temple", however, was widely accepted as the consummation of that of Zerubbabel. Questions of temple refoundation were thus guaranteed to be on the surface. Similarly, that the restored building would continue the tradition was a clear concern though not to be seen particularly acute in this case. For, of course, the old building was there; it was not in ruins. Remaining in continuity with it should have posed no greater difficulty. Still, the renovation was quite extensive and profound. Herod even maneuvered the concrete foundation of the temple: After removing the old foundations (θεµελίους), he laid down others, and upon these he erected the temple (ναός).116

115

See section 2.2. above. Ant. 15.391. Because of this passage Busink, Tempel (see n. 15), p. 1108, claims that we in fact should speak of the third temple. However, the extant tradition concerning the temple did not see it that way. We should think that Herod’s speech that labeled the whole enterprise as "remedying" (Ant. 15.387: διορθόω; see even Bel. 1.401: τὸν ναὸν ἐπεσκεύασεν) the work of the fathers as well as all the attempts made to preserve continuity with that work would have favored understanding "Herod’s temple" as the consummation of Zerubbabel’s temple, not really as the beginning of a new one. Therefore, precisely, "Herod’s temple" could attest to the later glory of that building. 116

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Consequently, Herod approached the task with appropriate carefulness. By having everything needed, both materials and labor force, prepared before commencing the renovation, he managed to complete the temple proper in only 17 or 18 months.117 This was of course important from the viewpoint of the continuation of the cult. However, a well prepared and intensive working period also gave better guarantees of the continuation of the existence of the temple building itself. For people were very much afraid that Herod would only tear down the edifice but would not have sufficient means to complete the project.118 At this point in "remedying" the wanting result of the work of the Babylonian returnees, Herod seems to have eluded a problem Haggai could not. Haggai’s workers had to consist of all able people he could find119 and, consequently, the temple was a "work of their hands"120. Herod, instead, trained a large number of priests as masons and carpenters.121 This must be considered a substantial investment in the ritual continuity of the holy place. They clearly were mindful of whose hands would touch the stones of the temple.

3. Stones of the Christian Ecclesia-Temple The Herodian temple project thus guaranteed a certain upthrust of many kinds of concerns for the temple. In particular, it reactualized from the past recollections of renovation and refoundation. The mainstream opinions about the temple, going along with the renovation project, would have sought to maintain continuity with the existing temple and its tradition. Yet visions of nothing less than an altogether different temple certainly also gathered support, albeit minor and less prominent. Qumranites, for example, continued to "atone for the land"122 and "offer precepts of Torah"123 in their community temple throughout the Herodian renovation. Another group viewing the temple differently from the mainline opinions – viz. discontinuity instead of continuity – were the early Christians.

117

Ant. 15.421: Ant. 15.388. Cf. Jesus’ comment in Luke 14:28–30 on building a "tower" and counting the costs in order to also be able to finish the building after having laid its foundation (θεµ έλιον). 119 "All the remnant of the people"; Hag. 1:12, 14. 120 Hag. 2:14. 121 Ant. 15.390. 122 1QS 8:6. 123 4QFlor 1:6–7. 118

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3.1. Not Made with Hands Early Christian theology manifests clear discontinuity with the Jerusalem temple. A good concept – actually, a concept pair – to start analyzing this with is χειροποίητος, "made with hands", and the contrasting ἀχειροποίητος , "not made with hands".124 χειροποίητος is Septuagintal 125 and has no exact Hebrew or Aramaic equivalent.126 However, it goes back to the denunciation of idol worship in the Old Testament where it often stands alone for Mylyl), "idols", labeling them as human artifacts.127 In Isa. 16:12, the term is even used to render #$dqm (a heathen) "sanctuary".128 ἀχειροποίητος again, means divine instead of human. Outside the New Testament it sometimes refers to work of nature, thus in effect God. The notion of "hands" as embedded in these concepts thus denotes exclusively human hands, while the Jewish tradition can also indicate God’s work by referring to his hand (or finger). With respect to the temple, the central passages speaking about the work of God’s hand(s) are Exod. 15:17–18 and Isa. 66:1–2.129 As we have seen, in later interpretations these passages were employed to promote the eschatological temple as exclusively made by God as well as to denounce the physical temple as a mere human edifice. In the New Testament, then, the passages often contribute to discussions utilizing χειροποίητος.130 Hence, the concept pair χειροποίητος – ἀχειροποίητος comes from the sphere of thinking that seeks to mark off discontinuity with the present temple of Jerusalem. χειροποίητος explains why the temple should not be granted any continuity with the future: the tradition of a mere human edifice should naturally die out. Through ἀχειροποίητος we see what the new temple should be like: something God has manufactured without a human agent. So there must be discontinuity. The true house of the Lord, the building he himself has made or will make, is to be kept apart from profane (human) and unholy (idol worship), from the temple "made with hands". Six different instances of the concept (ἀ)χειροποίητος can be encountered in the New Testament. Four of them discuss ideas directly related with temple

124

See here E. Lohse, "χειροποίητος, ἀχειροποίητος ," TWNT 9 (1973) 425–26. See Lev. 26:1; 26:30; Isa. 2:18; 10:11; 16:12; 19:1; 21:9; 31:7; 46:6; Dan. 5:4; 5:23; 6:28; Jdt. 8:18; Wis. 14:8; Bel(Th) 1.5. 126 "Work of ... hands" characterizing idols as mere human artifacts is usually rendered in Greek with the appropriate combination of ἔργον and χείρ. For instance, md) ydy h#&(m, "work of human hands" is given as ἔργα χειρῶν ἀνθρώπων (e.g. Ps. 115 :4 / LXX Ps. 113 :12). See, further, note 83 above. 127 See, for instance, LXX Lev. 26:1; LXX Isa 2:18; 10:11; 19:1; 31:7. 128 In Jdt 8:18 and Bel(Th) 1.5 χειροποίητος works attributively, combining with "god" and "idol" respectively. 129 Cf. even 2 Sam. 7. 130 See below. 125

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theology: 131 Mark (14:58), Acts (7:48; 17:24); Hebrews (9:11, 24); and 2 Corinthians (5:1). The particular situation in Mark 14:58 (cf. remark about the "false witnesses" in Mark 14:57) makes it difficult to ascertain whose viewpoints the casting of the existing temple as χειροποίητος and the new one as ἀχειροποίητος represents. Does the evangelist mean that it should be regarded as forming part of the false accusation? Or could the false accusation instead consist of Jesus’ alleged threat to destroy the temple and/or the promise to build another in its lieu (in three days)? These questions persist in scholarship. Luke, however, who leaves out Mark 14:58 and the hearing of the witnesses in its entirety, would obviously acknowledge as correct the view that the Jerusalem temple (or any temple with physical structures for that matter) is indeed a mere work of human hands and that God does not live in it. This we can state simply on the basis of the speeches in Acts 7 (vv. 48–50: ἐν χειροποιήτοις ) and Acts 17 (vv. 24–25: ἐν χειροποιήτοις ναοῖς) where Luke puts this view into the mouths of Stephen and Paul respectively. Yet, there is perhaps no obvious indication in Luke–Acts that a new temple "not made with hands" should replace the physical, human edifice.132 Famously, for both speeches,133 Isa. 66:1–2 serves as providing the argument.134 In the view of the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews, the earthly, physical temple is a mere "copy and shadow" of the heavenly tabernacle "tent".135 The former is χειροποίητος, the latter is not.136 Therefore, it is "not of this creation".137 In short, "Christ has entered, not into a sanctuary made with hands, a copy of the true one (ἀληθινός), but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf."138 Hence, the true sanctuary which is not "made with hands" is a heavenly one. There also dwells the presence of God, not in the earthly copy. As for the Hebrews, too, the denial of continuity of the physical temple of Jerusalem can well be posited, although this is not abso131

Eph. 2:11 as well as Col. 2:11 speak about a circumcision made by hands or without hands. Yet, Eph. 2 soon begins to discuss about the temple. Further, Col. 2 deals with the "body of Christ" which elsewhere is labeled as God’s (or Spirit’s) temple. 132 It is interesting that Paul is in fact made to claim that God cannot be served with human hands (Acts 17:25a). Even though the verb here is not λατρεύω, the context binds the claim to the issue of temple and its activities. Probably the service of human hands in view here is building temples for God. 133 Paul’s speech also refers to the common Greek and Jewish conception of God’s selfsufficiency; see J. Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte. Übersetzt und erklärt (NTD 5; Göttingen 1988) 261. 134 Thus interestingly, when Isa. 66:2 states "my hands have made all these things," the speeches conclude that God does not live in places made with hands. Clearly, the concept (ἀ)χειροποίητος exclusively denotes human hands. 135 Heb. 8:5. 136 Heb. does not employ ἀχειροποίητος but οὐ χειροποίητος (9:11). 137 Heb. 9:11. 138 Heb. 9:24.

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lutely necessary. Further, while the true temple in heaven is not actually a future temple, it certainly represents a tradition different from the physical "shadow" temple. Indeed, it is the temple of Exod. 15:17, made by God’s hands.139 In this way, the succession indicated in Exod. 25:40 is reverted! This is very important. For so Exod. 15:17 no more argues for the earthly temple but against it. A short remark may at this point be made about the Book of Revelation, although the concept ἀχειροποίητος does not appear there. In resemblance with Hebrews, Revelation presents a heavenly temple where there is both service and presence of God.140 Naturally, this heavenly shrine is also discontinuous with the earthly temple.141 In addition, Revelation pictures the new Jerusalem descending from heaven down to earth,142 and then there is no separate temple at all but the whole descending Jerusalem forms the temple.143 In 2 Cor. 5:1–10 Paul describes the physical body of the Christians much in the same way he has done in 1 Cor. 15. In the earthly abode they groan longing to be clothed with the heavenly dwelling. However, the accumulation of temple language in 2 Cor. 5:1 gives the impression that the aim now is somewhat different from that in the earlier letter. Paul depicts as if two temples, one on earth, a "tent" which will be destroyed144, and the other in heavens, God’s building which is "not made with hands" ἀχειροποίητος. Indeed, one should probably reckon that Paul is using this language for the reason that, in addition to presenting ideas similar to those in 1 Cor. 15, he also wishes to evoke the thought of Christians – both collectively and individually – as the temple of God.145 He has dealt with this thought in 1 Cor. 3:16–17 and 1 Cor. 6:19 and will touch upon it again in 2 Cor. 6:16. As much as such an evocation lies behind 2 Cor. 5:1, it suggests that Paul was knowledgeable about the Christian usage of ἀχειροποίητος in regard to the temple.146 As the writer of Hebrews, Paul also seems to have connected the concept with the idea of a heavenly temple.147 We thus can discern a clear seam of theology that brands the current temple of Jerusalem as expendable. At times, a heavenly sanctuary that is pictured underlines the earthly temple’s discontinuity. As for Paul, then, we see that on the side of the heavenly temple comes even the ecclesia of Christians as a cen139

See Heb. 8:2(, 5); cf. also 9:11, 24. See, for instance, Rev. 7:15; 11:19; 14:17; 15:5. 141 Referred to in Rev. 11:1–2? 142 Cf. Heb. 12:22. 143 Rev. 21:2–3, 10, 16, 22; 22:1; see 1 Kgs 6:20; Ezek. 47; Zech. 8:3. Cf. Rev. 3:12. 144 "καταλυθῇ"; cf. Mk 13:2c. 145 See Sweet, "A House not made with Hands," (see n. 38) 382–84. 146 See ἀχειροποίητος in Eph. 2:11 and Col. 2:11 dealing with circumcision. Sweet, "A House not made with Hands," (see n. 38) 371–72, 382–84, argues that 2 Cor. 4:18–5:1 echoes Jesus’ Temple saying in Mark 14:58 about the χειροποίητος and ἀχειροποίητος temple. 147 See also Revelation discussed above. Cf. even Gal. 4:25–26; Phil. 3:20. 140

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ter of temple theology. Here precisely is where the imagery of stones joins in to combine ecclesiology with temple theology. 3.2. The Ecclesia-Temple Stones The ecclesia-temple stone texts include, by definition, even Matt. 16:18. The verse will, however, not be dealt with here (yet),148 since in the present study it is assessed as possibly directly relating to the historical Jesus. In the concrete, it is also the only ecclesia-temple stone text that is ascribed to Jesus. Instead, the focus now will be on texts not ascribed to him (referred to as the other ecclesia-temple stone texts). On the other hand, some texts not explicitly mentioning the ecclesia, the human temple, will be paid attention to. This is because they are at times referred or alluded to in passages that can properly be called ecclesia-temple stone texts.149 First, a short aggregate of the texts might be in order to introduce them. According to the ecclesia-temple stone texts, all Christians together but also every Christian individually form the temple.150 Despite thus being a temple of human beings, thus the ecclesia, it is the dwelling place of the spirit of God, it is God’s building (οἰκοδοµή).151 It is erected on the foundation (θεµέλιος) of the apostles, prophets and Christ, and all Christians form its building material like living stones (λίθος) and pillars (στῦλος).152 Crucial, however, is the role of Christ Jesus in this structure. In him the whole building "grows into a holy temple".153 He is, after all, the only foundation (θεµέλιος) of the building.154 He is the cornerstone (λίθος ἀκρογωνιαῖος)155 and the rejected stone (λίθος) which has become the head of the corner (κεφαλὴ γωνίας),156 the living stone (λίθος ζῶν).157 The last epithets here come from 1 Pet. 2:4–8, and it is worthwhile quoting the whole section: 148 Its relation to the other ecclesia-temple stone texts will be scrutinized in section 4.2. below. 149 No further discussion is required to define what is an ecclesia-temple stone text. Basically, it is a text passage that speaks of the early Christians as temple and reflects the idea by using the imagery of various stones. 150 1 Cor. 3:16–17; 6:19; 2 Cor. 6:16. For 1 Cor. 6:19 as presenting the individual as a temple of the Holy Spirit, see for instance C. Böttrich, "‘Ihr seid der Tempel Gottes’: Tempelmetaphorik und Gemeinde bei Paulus," in Gemeinde ohne Tempel, Community without Temple. Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und führen Christentum (ed. B. Ego, A. Lange and P. Pilhofer; WUNT 1:118: Mohr 1999) 411–25, esp. 419–20. 151 1 Cor 3:9 (οἰκοδοµ ή), 16 (τὸ πνεῦµ α τοῦ θεοῦ οἰκεῖ ἐν ὑμῖν); Eph 2:21–22 (κατοικητήριον τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν πνεύµ ατι ); 1 Tim 3:15 (οἰκός θεοῦ). 152 Eph. 2:20; 1 Pet. 2:5; Rev. 3:12. 153 Eph. 2:21: Cf. even John 2:21: 154 1 Cor. 3:11: 155 Eph. 2:20. 156 1 Pet. 2:7. 157 1 Pet. 2:4.

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Come to him, to that living stone (λίθον ζῶντα), rejected by men but in God’s sight chosen and precious; and like living stones (λίθοι ζῶντες) be yourselves built (οἰκοδοµεῖσθε) into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in scripture: "Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone (τίθηµι ἐν Σιὼν λίθον ἀκρογωνιαῖον) chosen and precious, and he who believes in him will not be put to shame." To you therefore who believe, he is precious, but for those who do not believe, "The very stone (λίθος) which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner (κεφαλὴ γωνίας)," and "A stone (λίθος) that will make men stumble, a rock (πέτρα) that will make them fall"; for they stumble because they disobey the word, as they were destined to do.158

This section conflates three different Old Testament stone texts: Isa. 28:16 (see also Rom. 9:33; Eph. 2:20; see even Rom. 10:11), Ps. 118:22 (see also Mark 12:10 parr. Matt. 21:42/Luke 20:17; Acts 4:11; cf. even GTh 66), and Isa. 8:14–15 (see also Luke 20:18; Rom. 9:32–33; cf. even Luke 2:34; Matt. 21:44). As can be seen, each Old Testament passage has landed in several New Testament writings. It is perhaps appropriate that Peter, the "rock" and one of the three "pillars",159 is given as presenting them all.160 However, he probably draws from a larger number of stone sayings that circulated in the early Christian communities.161 This tradition has turned up in the New Testament with a plethora of expressions that basically count as "stones": λίθος, πέτρα, ἀκρογωνιαῖος, κεφαλὴ γωνίας, θεµέλιος and even στῦλος.162 Although central to the usage of the stone sayings was their Christological interpretation, at some stage – clearly – they have also been employed to express the early Christians’ understanding of themselves as forming the temple of God. Let us now have a closer look at the main stone concepts in their ecclesiatemple contexts. Most central with respect to the early Jewish background that we have reviewed is the "foundation (stone)", θεµ έλιος.163 In 1 Cor. 3 the concept ap158

1 Pet. 2:4–8. Matt. 16:18; Gal. 2:9. For the pillars as structures in the temple of God formed by the Christians, see Rev. 3:12; 1 Tim. 3:15. 160 In 1 Pet. 2:9–10, following the stone references, there is a collage of other type of Old Testament texts, for example Exod. 19:5–6; Isa. 43:20–21 and Hos. 1:6, 9; 2:1, 23. These reflect the early Christians’ community as God’s own people. J. B. Green, "Living as Exiles: The Church in the Diaspora in 1 Peter," in Holiness and Ecclesiology in the New Testament (ed. K. E. Brower and A. Johnson 2007) 311–25, esp. 319, states correctly that the Christians have become the dwelling place of God’s presence. Cf. the remark on disciples and temple in Jesus’ message made in section 5. below. 161 See K. R. Snodgrass, "I Peter II. 1–10" (see n. 14); J. R. Michaels, 1 Peter (WBC 49; Waco 1988), p. 94; D. Horrell, 1 Peter (London 2008) 33–34. 162 Cf. also οἰκοδοµ ή. 163 θεµ έλιος, "basic stone" or "foundation," is used both literally and metaphorically in the New Testament. See K. L. Schmidt, "θεµέλιος, θεµ έλιον, θεµελιόω," TWNT 3 (1973) 62– 63. 159

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pears when Paul attempts to describe the roles of Apollos and himself as teachers of the Corinthian Christians, and how everything still decisively depends on God. The picture of the Corinthians as God’s building is preceded by the picture of a tillage.164 While the metaphor of tilled land could lend itself to delegate the work so: "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth" (1 Cor. 3:6), the picture of building allows the introduction of two further, theologically very significant concepts: Christ as the foundation of the building (3:9), and temple as the identity of the building (3:16). Since Paul had "planted" the tillage, he now is the one who lays the foundation of the building.165 Similarly, as Apollos watered what Paul had planted, it is now somebody else who will build on the foundation laid by Paul. The God-given "growth", however, cannot find an equivalent in the building metaphor. Instead, there is the Christ foundation, which in fact is not so much suited to explaining how the building work is distributed among different workers than describing the premise of the work and what is expected of the workers with a view to the premise. Thus, after the delegation of the work comes the evaluation of the work. Crucial in this respect is the only foundation anyone could put (namely, for the building of God), which is Christ (3:11). An interesting detail here is παρὰ τὸν κείµ ενον, "than which is laid/given/appointed". This means that Christ’s being the foundation is not contingent on the initial preaching of someone like Paul or Apollos in establishing new congregations. Christ is already the foundation, and any community of Christians willing to constitute God’s building should be based on him. Another central ecclesia-stone concept features importantly above all in Eph. 2:20–22: the "cornerstone", ἀκρογωνιαῖος, the stone by which a building is begun.166ἀκρογωνιαῖος appears only once in the LXX, viz. in the significant passage Isa. 28:16. There it is identified with the foundation with the foundation stone (θεµέλιος). This is then reflected in 1 Pet. 2 where "τιθέναι λίθον in the context of ἀκρογωνιαῖος [v. 6] would point to the foundations apart

164

The traditional Jewish practice was to mix figures of speech and metaphors so that they could complement each other. See further R. J. Banks, Paul’s Idea of Community. The Early House Churches in Their Cultural Setting (ebook; Grand Rapids 2012) ch. 5. 165 See S. C. Barton, "Paul as Missionary and Pastor," in The Cambridge Companion to St Paul (ed. J. D. G. Dunn; Cambridge 2004) 34–48, esp. 39. Even though Paul describes himself as a skilled master builder, his building activity is, due to the requirements of the argument but somewhat contradictory to the metaphor, restricted to the laying of the foundation: someone else will take over and then continue by building on that foundation. 166 See for example, R. J. McKelvey, "Christ the Cornerstone," NTS 8 (1962) 352–59; K. T. Schäfer, "Zur Deutung von ἀκρογωνιαῖος Eph 2.20," in Neutestamentliche Aufsätze (ed. J. Blinzler, O. Kuss & F. Mussner; Regensburg 1963) 218–24; see also S. Terrien, "The Metaphor of the Rock in Biblical Theology," in God in the Fray. A Tribute to Walter Brueggemann (ed. T. Linafelt and T. K. Beal; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 157–71, esp. 166. Cf. J. Jeremias, "γωνία, ἀκρογωνιαῖος, κεφαλὴ γωνίας ," TWNT 1 (1973) 791–93, esp. 792.

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from the use of θεµέλια".167 Compared to 1 Cor. 3, Eph. 2:20–22 is more aware of and/or interested in the structures of God’s building.168 The passage for instance depicts individual Christians as contributing to the erection of the temple of God. Also, the foundation (θεµέλιος) of the building is given a description richer in details. According to Eph. 2:20, the foundation of God’s temple does not consist of Christ alone but there are other elements involved, namely "apostles and prophets". Still, in the foundation, precisely, Christ takes prime of place: he is ἀκρογωνιαῖος.169 There is thus a certain hierarchy among the elements of the foundation, Christ forming the crucial part of the structure.170 Here there must be linkage with the Christological stone tradition that similarly labels Jesus as the crucial "head of corner" (= RSV; NRSV: "cornerstone"), κεφαλὴ γωνίας, of the building, whether precious (alluding to Isa. 28:16), rejected by the builders (alluding to Ps. 118:22), or causing men to stumble (alluding to Isa. 8.14). The relevant texts include Mark 12:10 parr. Matt. 21:42/Luke 20:17; Luke 20:18; Acts 4:11 and Rom. 9:32–33.171 All the alluded to Old Testament passages can be seen to refer to the temple, and this is certainly a reference in their New Testament reflections too. It is difficult to say exactly which concrete part of the temple building the Greek expression

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K. Snodgrass, "1 Peter II.1–10," (see n. 14) 98. Cf. also LXX Hag 30 2:15: "καὶ νῦν θέσθε δὴ εἰς τὰς καρδίας ὑµῶν ἀπὸ τῆς ἡµέρας ταύτης καὶ ὑπεράνω πρὸ τοῦ θεῖναι λίθον ἐπὶ λίθον ἐν τῷ ναῷ κυρίου." 168 One naturally thinks of this as resulting from a later, deutero-Pauline provenance of the Letter to the Ephesians. However, development (sc. later development) of the structures of the early Christian communities need not lie behind the enhanced architectural awareness displayed in Eph. Keen interest in the various structures of the temple is something that is attested all over the Jewish tradition. In the Old Testament, God is pictured as giving very specific guidelines for the different parts of the temple that is to be built; cf. Exod. 25–40; 1 Kgs 6–7; 2 Chron. 3–4. The eschatological temple is depicted with exact measures of its components; Ezek. 40–43. The refounding of the temple by the Babylon returnees paid careful attention to the correspondence of the new temple with the old one (not succeeding, however, as we have seen). See further, for example, 1 En. 90:28–29 and the Qumran passages quoted in section 2.3. above. 169 Schmidt, "θεµ έλιος," (see n. 163) 63, refers to ὄντος ἀκρογωνιαίου αὐτοῦ Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ as appositive genetive. Thus, ἀκρογωνιαῖος forms integrally part of the mentioned foundation. 170 R. H. Gundry, Commentary on Ephesians (ebook; Grand Rapids 2011), ad. loc.; G. Lyons, "Church and Holiness in Ephesians," in Holiness and Ecclesiology in the New Testament (ed. K. E. Brower and A. Johnson; Grand Rapids 2007) 238–56, esp. 244. Lyons, ibid., p. 244, also refers to Jerome’s idea of a deliberate ambiguity between "cornerstone" and "capstone" as possible renderings of ἀκρογωνιαῖος: Christ both founds and finishes the church (cf. Eph. 4:13–16). Similarly D. R. Walls and M. Anders, 1, 2 Peter, 1, 2, 3 John, Jude (Nashville 1999) 30. 171 See further shortly below in the text. K. H. Jobes, 1 Peter (Grand Rapids 2005) 146, thinks this tradition must be traced back to Jesus.

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κεφαλὴ γωνίας, would denote as such.172 Nevertheless, as used in the New Testament, it stands for the most important structural element. Usually this would be the foundation or its crucial part. The epithets of the precious stone and the rejected stone also in themselves point to the foundation stone.173 Quite coherently, then, Eph. 2:20 presents Christ as the crucial part of the temple foundation. Hence, in all these texts, there is no temple foundation exclusive of Christ.174 Further, important for the ecclesia-temple contexts is the Christology of the "stone" and the "rock", λίθος and πέτρα. The epithets employed in the Christological stone language – the "stone" (λίθος / πέτρα) that is precious, rejected or causing stumble – are all fitting attributes of Christ. This makes the temple foundation metaphor suited to Christological usage, and vice versa. Naturally, the Christological and ecclesiological languages can be seen to belong together on other grounds, too, for the son of David was to (re)build the temple. In this respect, the Hebrew wordplay Nb – Nb ("son" – "stone") had gathered some keen interest.175 A Targumic tradition combines two of the Old Testament texts mentioned above and a third one around a messianic theme. In the Targums, the stone of Isa. 28:16 has turned into a "king, a strong, mighty and terrible king". The stone of Ps. 118:22, again, has become "the boy ... among the sons of Jesse". Interestingly, a third Old Testament stone saying that the Targumic tradition interprets messianically is Zechariah 4:7, the passage which as we saw speaks about the laying of the ceremonial foundation stone of the Temple by Zerubbabel: What are you reckoned, O foolish kingdom? Are you not like a plain before Zerubbabel? And he shall reveal his anointed One whose name is told from of old, and he shall rule over all kingdoms.176

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A. Lincoln and A. Paddison, Christology and Scripture. Interdisciplinary Perspectives (London 2008) 36, are certainly right when pointing out the easy manner in which both ἀκρογωνιαῖος and κεφαλὴ γωνίας are in 1 Pet. 2 "read Christologically and incorporated into an image of the church as God’s building". They conclude that very little is at stake theologically in choosing between them. 173 The reference of Isa. 28:16 to the temple foundation is almost given; see note 14 above. As for Ps. 118:22, the picture of builders seeking and testing stones, accepting some and rejecting others, belongs to the process of construction work, in particular to the phase when the elements of foundation are selected. 174 The statement of S. Terrien, "Jesus as the foundation stone of the new community is a capital theme in the entire New Testament" (Terrien, "Metaphor," [see n. 166] 165), holds true except for Matt. 16:18. 175 M. Black, "The Christological Use of the Old Testament in the New Testament," NTS 18 (1971–1972) 1–14, esp. 11–13: An Aramaic equivalent )ynb) – )ynb possibly lies behind Matt. 3:9; J. Jeremias, "λίθος, λίθινος," TWNT 4 (1973) 268–79, esp. 268, 270. 176 Translation from K. J. Cathcart and R. P. Gordon, The Targum of the Minor Prophets. Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes (Edinburgh 1989).

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Well compatible with this, the early Christian theology of Christ the stone involves, in comparison, a closer link to temple theology or – more properly in its own context – to ecclesiology. 177 1 Pet. 2:4, 6–8 is the only more extensive appearance of the Christological stone tradition integrally made to serve ecclesiological purposes as well. In Eph. 2 ecclesiology is the main theme, while the Christological tradition is referred to through the concept of the cornerstone alone. Nonetheless, all Christological stone texts do connect with temple ecclesiology.178 Lastly, there is the Petrine notion of the "living stone", λίθος ζῶν. Even this concept may be dependent on some early Christian collection of stone sayings. However, 1 Pet. 1:3 knows the "living hope" of the reborn, and 1 Pet. 1:23 speaks of the "living word of God". Even though the epithet "living" is of course not exclusively Petrine (cf., for instance, John 4:10: "living water"; John 6:51: "living bread"), to combine "living" with the stone tradition may well be his innovation.179 New at least is what he accomplishes with the image of Christ as the living stone: a more nuanced translation of temple theology into ecclesiology.180 Formerly, in an earthly temple, there was a foundation stone upon which other stones were placed one on another so to erect a building. Now there are also stones, not however concrete but spiritual ones, constituting together a spiritual building. 181 Moreover, formerly the foundation was of great importance in granting sacred status to the building erected upon it. Now there is the foundation of the living stone to which other stones, those that "are built" (οἰκοδοµεῖσθε) on it, owe their spiritual, living character. So they grow "into a holy Temple".182 The architectural correspondence between the concrete physical temple and the spiritual one is thus matched with correspondence in the crucial ritual or religious significance of the two types of foundations. This almost in a tangible way reveals the great significance which lies in the fact that it is Christ himself that is the stone on which God will build (cf. the passive οἰκοδοµεῖσθε) his ecclesia.183 Thus, the living stones have a theology comparable to the stones 177

"In the foreground is the thought of the temple of the age of salvation, whose corner stone and foundation stone is Christ." Jeremias, "λίθος, λίθινος," (see n. 175) 273. 178 A. M. Mbuvi, Temple, Exile and Identity in 1 Peter (London 2007) 98. 179 Cf. R. Feldmeier, First Letter of Peter. A Commentary on the Greek Text (Waco 2008) 134. 180 Simultaneously, as stated, Christology partakes in ecclesiology. Interesting is also 1. Tim 3:15: "you may know how one ought to behave in the household of God, which is the ecclesia of the living God." 181 In Qumran, too, trustworthy members of the community are pictured as the "tested stones" of the building. See, e.g., 1QH 6:26–27; see also, for example, E. Lohse, Die Texte aus Qumran. Hebräisch und Deutsch (München 1986) 293, n. 28. 182 Eph. 2.21: I agree with Feldmeier, First Letter, p. 135, that Elliott’s (J. H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless. A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy [London 1981) 165–266) attempt to differentiate between temple and the spiritual house motif in 1 Pet. is not to be followed. 183 Cf. 1. Tim. 3:15.

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stones have a theology comparable to the stones of the physical temple in that they, too, mediate continuity. And even here the foundation stone takes on a crucial role. We can perhaps go yet one step further. According to A. M. Mbuvi, "the classification of Christians as ‘living’ stones points to a contrast with the ‘unliving’ stones of the literal temple, referred to elsewhere as χειροποίητος."184 Despite the messianic and Christological interpretations of the certain stone sayings advanced by both early Judaism and early Christianity, "a stone" was also often perceived as an image of something dead and unpleasant.185 Elsewhere in the New Testament, for instance, it is the contrast to flesh (2 Cor. 3:3), bread (Matt. 4:3; 7:9) and God (Acts 17:29). The emphasis "living stones" could then possibly evoke as a counterpart the thought of the ordinary, dead stones. This could apply to people that had not yet come to Christ (cf. 1 Pet. 2:4) but very likely also to the temple that was not the spiritual one into which the living stones "are built" but, instead, the earthly, physical building built by human hands out of dead, dull stones. That temple was both χειροποίητος and built on a dead foundation stone, not on the living one, thus not the temple of the living God.186 Hence, instead of erecting a physical building by the laying of one stone on another, they would now grow into a spiritual temple. How? By the laying of hands on each other?187 Maybe this is the way the living stones are to be manipulated to make them continue the new temple tradition. So much for the ecclesia-temple stone texts in the New Testament Christianity. On the side of the heavenly temple, thus, there was even the ecclesia of Christians or the spiritual temple that became the center of their temple theology, distinguished and apart from the earthly building. Here it was precisely the imagery of stones that combined ecclesiology with temple theology. In actuality, however, the ecclesia-temple made of human beings could not be connected with the stones of the physical temple. Like the heavenly temple "not made with hands", the ecclesia-temple (or the spiritual one) was thus clearly of another tradition. It could not be built on a stone taken from the concrete temple but only on Christ the living stone. The ecclesia-temple, then, means essentially a breakaway from the physical temple of Jerusalem.188 Un-

184

Mbuvi, Temple (see n. 178), 102. Mbuvi concurs with D. McCartney’s research not available to me; D. McCartney, The Use of the Old Testament in the First Epistle of Peter (Ph.D. diss.; Westminster Theological Seminary 1989). 185 Jeremias, "λίθος , λίθινος" p. 269. 186 2. Cor. 6:16. 187 Acts 6:2–6; 8:14–17; 9:17 (?); 13:2–3 (?); 19:1–6; 1. Tim. 4:14; 5:22; 2. Tim. 1:6; Heb. 6:2. 188 J. C. Coppens, "The Spiritual Temple in the Pauline Letters and its Background," Studia Evangelica 6 (1973) 53–66 (59): "Nowhere indeed is the new temple introduced as a spiritual development and restatement of the old one."

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derstandably, too, in comparison the latter could easily be labeled as a temple made with hands. These remarks also evidence the centrality of the issue of the temple foundation in the New Testament.189 When trying to depict an ecclesia-temple, contemplations concerning its foundation were unavoidable. It is telling that there indeed arose different views about what exactly formed the foundation. For some, Christ was the only foundation that could be laid. For others, the foundation consisted of the apostles and prophets as well (in addition to Christ). And, naturally, we need to mention the Matthean tradition that promotes the foundation Jesus himself is said to have chosen: Peter. 3.3. A Diverging Outlook? All in all, various New Testament views about the temple manifest a belief in a temple of quite a different nature and character than the physical temple in Jerusalem. In short, the temple, whether a heavenly one or a spiritual one, is of a different temple tradition. It is depicted with new and different structures and, in particular, the spiritual ecclesia-temple with a new and different foundation.190 It could therefore appear as surprising that the early Christians, at least according to the story in Acts, still used to attend the Jerusalem temple. Indeed, it is said that they were constantly, every day in the temple (ἱερόν).191 They taught there (being commanded to do so by an angel of the Lord),192 they prayed there,193 and they participate in the cult of the temple (in order to show that they did live in the observance of the law).194 How can this be so if the Christians actually perceived their "commonwealth" to be in heaven?195 If their true temple was their own body and the body of Christ, the ecclesia, and also that heavenly temple? Is the Acts perhaps appealing to the old view being quite off track? Or are we witnessing a diverging outlook on the matter here? Clearly, it is a fact that there were different views or emphases regarding the temple in the early Jesus movement. But did those who upheld the idea of the ecclesia-temple,196 on the one hand, and those who continued to visit the earthly temple of Jerusalem, on the other, constitute different and maybe even separate groups? In other words, do we need to postulate another, more or less rejecting stance towards the spiritual ecclesia-temple idea on the part of those 189 C. Böttrich, "‘Ihr seid der Tempel Gottes’," (see n. 150) 416, observes that the accentuated importance of the foundation displays a specifically Jewish concern. 190 Of course, neither does the heavenly temple share a part with the earthly edifice. The most explicit description of its structures is perhaps found in the Book of Revelation. See the short description with references in section 3.1. above. 191 Acts 2:46. 192 Acts 5:20–21, 42; see also Acts 3:11–12. 193 Acts 3:1; 22:17. 194 Acts 21:23–26. 195 Phil. 3:20. Cf. Heb. 11:10, 16; 13:14. 196 And the heavenly temple as well as the temple formed by each individual Christian.

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who kept attending the physical temple? Not necessarily. Nothing clearly implicates such a state of affairs. Acts tells all attended the temple in Jerusalem and also presents Paul, whose views about the spiritual ecclesia-temple can be read in 1 Cor., as participating. Of course, the reality behind the scenario in the Acts is probably more complex. Nonetheless, J. P. M. Sweet is right in saying that all those views about another and different temple still did not have to cancel all respect for the Jerusalem temple that was currently existing and in function, not even while awaiting its destruction.197 A similar "lingering" situation can be attested in a Sibylline writing.198 And the existence of a heavenly temple was sustained rather widely in Judaism without leading to or presupposing a break with the Jerusalem sanctuary. In my view, precisely because the ecclesia-temple represents a new and different lineage or tradition could it be cherished simultaneously as keeping contact with the physical temple. A competing physical temple, say, on Mount Gerizim, would have been quite another thing. The spiritual ecclesia-temple, however, could co-exist with the physical one but would not continue its tradition. "The old could still be honoured, but it must not be rebuilt."199 The fact that the ecclesia-temple stone texts do not at all reflect the temple of Jerusalem, still existing at the time of their writing, is at least congruous with this conclusion, maybe even corroborates it.

4. A Place in the Continuum As we have seen, both the refoundation of the temple and the old prophecy regarding its anticipated glory were notions rendered topical during and due to Herod’s restoration project. Interestingly, the foundations of the Herodian temple in particular remained the center of attention throughout the decades of the restoration. Namely because, for some reason, they kept subsiding.200 Attempts were made to underpin them and to raise the temple to the height of Herod’s original work, but still in the midst of the war when Jerusalem was under siege these repairs remained unaccomplished.201 197 Sweet, "House not made with Hands," (see n. 38) 388–89. Similarly argues also, for instance, C. Böttrich, "‘Ihr seid der Tempel Gottes’," (see n. 150) 422. 198 See Chester, "The Sibyl and the Temple," (see n. 45) 45–46. 199 Sweet, "A House not made with Hands," (see n. 38) 390. 200 Ant. 15.391. Cf. Luke 6:47–49 (Matt. 7:24–27) for Jesus’ parable about a man who in order to build an unshakable house dugs deep and lays the foundation (θεµ έλιον) upon rock (πέτρα). Cf. Ant. 8.63 about Solomon’s temple foundation being "laid very deep in the ground". 201 Ant. 15.391; War 5.36. In Ant. 8.63 Josephus substantially amplifies the Biblical description of the foundation stones Solomon lays for his temple and makes a special point of their great endurance. The possibility of this being a swipe at Herod’s poorer foundation work increases when we observe that in Ant. 8.111 Josephus has Solomon counter Herod’s

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4.1. The One Accord of Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 Perhaps some time in late 20’s or early 30’s CE in Jerusalem: One of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!" Then Jesus asked him, "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."

In substance, Mark 13:1–2 forms a pre-Markan pronouncement story, 202 a correction story.203 Although clear as to its language204 and obvious as to its basic purpose of describing the utter destruction of the temple,205 the statement "there will not be left here one stone upon another" has been characterized as peculiar and somewhat enigmatic.206 The choice of the evocative expression "stone upon stone" from Hag. 2:15207 seems to suggest that there is more at issue here than the mere announcement of a pending demolition. Indeed, seen statement in Ant. 15.387: men cannot return God his favor. Cf. the similar idea in Acts 17.24–25; see Roloff, Apostelgeschichte (see n. 133), 261. 202 "Stone upon stone" in Luke 19:44 is most likely traditional and derives from Luke’s special source; see T. Holmén, Jesus and Jewish Covenant Thinking (BIS 55; Leiden 2001) 292–94 (Luke 21:5–6 represents Luke’s rendering of Mark 13:1–2). This alone indicates that the almost identical phrase in Mark 13:2 has not been fabricated by the evangelist. Scholars have also usually considered that in Mark 13 there is a seam between vv. 1–2 and vv. 3–4, the first two verses presenting an anonymous person, "one of the disciples," asking, the second pair of verses again explicitly naming Peter, Jacob, John and Andrew; see J. Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus. 2. Teilband Mk 8,27–16,20 (EKK 2; Neukirchen 1999) 181 (cf. Matt. 24:1–3 and Luke 21:5–7 where the mentioned seam is smoothed out). Thus, the entire v. 1 hardly derives from Mark either. J. Schlosser, "La parole de Jésus sur la fin du Temple," NTS 36 (1990) 398–414, esp. 405, notes the scholarly agreement about Mark 13:1–2 as a traditional apophthegm. The self-contained character of the verses 1–2 further highlights them as detached from vv. 3–4. 203 R. C. Tannehill, "Types and Functions of Apophthegms in the Synoptic Gospels," ANRW 2.25.2 (1984) 1792–829, esp. 1797–798. See also idem, "Introduction. The Pronouncement Story and its Types," Semeia 10 (1981) 1–13, esp. 7: "By action, by outright statement, or by implication from something said, someone has taken a position as to what is right or expedient, and the responder corrects that position." 204 Of course, there are some clumsy expressions in Mark 13:2, such as the repeated emphatic οὐ µὴ ἀφεθῇ – οὐ µ ὴ καταλυθῇ. Schlosser, "Parole," p. 407, points out that ἐπί would have properly demanded dative instead of the accusative λίθον here. "Stone upon stone" is in Luke 19:44 given with the same slightly deficient Greek expression as in Mark 13:2. However, in Luke 21:5–6, which is Luke’s version of Mark 13:1–2, Luke does correct the language. 205 In Mark 13:1–2, the target is the Jerusalem temple, ἱερόν, which is to be understood as including ναός, the temple proper and its precinct, buildings, courts etc. I use "temple" even for ἱερόν. 206 C.A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34B; Nashville 2000) 294, 299. 207 Schlosser, "La parole," (see n. 202) 406–07. See also studies referred to in note 208 below. The expression is unique to Haggai in the Old Testament.

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against the background that has been reviewed208 – the theology of the stones, Haggai 2, misgivings about the beginnings of the second temple etc. – a more particular discussion can be discerned behind the common exposition of the tradition in Mark 13:1–2. The initiating remark of the anonymous disciple is revealed to be more than a casual, enthusiastic outburst when overwhelmed by something astonishing. In fact, it adheres and gives recognition to a prophecy uttered in the Scriptures. Jesus’ reply, again, does not merely address the mistake of putting one’s trust in such a superficial thing as grandiose appearance.209 It challenges the prophecy and dismisses all who, on account of the prophecy or otherwise, still had hopes for the Jerusalem edifice: this temple will never see the time and events the prophecy spoke of.210 Moreover, almost chillingly, Jesus’ challenge is clothed in the very words used in the prophecy to accentuate the significance of the temple. Before there was a stone upon another in the Lord’s temple, said Haggai the prophet, things went badly, but now blessings will flow. Shockingly, in the saying of Jesus, the words "stone upon stone" turn into a verdict. They become the terror itself that will befall the temple.211 208 See section 2. above. Naturally, commentators have even earlier tried to illuminate Mark 13:1–2 by suggesting a number of Old Testament texts to which the statement of no stone being left upon another could be seen to allude. Such are, for instance, 2 Sam. 17:13, Micah 1:6 and Zech. 5:4. Common to these and many other proposed passages is, however, the fact that their connection with the stone phrase in Mark 13:1–2 is on rather general a level, that is, they speak in various ways about tearing down stones: 2 Sam. 17:13: a city; Micah 1:6: Samaria; Zech. 5:4: a home; Jer. 26:18 and Micah 3:12: Jerusalem (while "the mountain of the house," i.e. the temple, will become "a wooded height"). Being such general statements of destruction, these allusions do not bring anything new to viewing the phrase "stone upon stone". Different in many respects is Hag. 2:15 which, indeed, most of the commentators refer to and which, as we have seen, is a theologically pregnant passage, a central significance resting with "stone upon stone". See, for instance, Schlosser, "La parole," pp. 406–07; R. H. Gundry, Mark. A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids 1993) 736; R. Pesch, Das Markusevangelium. II Teil. Kommentar zu Kap. 8,27–16,20 (HTKNT 2; Freiburg 1991), 932; D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14–28 (WBC 33b; Dallas 1995) 688; W. D. Davies, D. C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. Volume III. Commentary on Matthew XIX–XXVIII (ICC; Edinburgh 1997) 335; Evans, Mark (see n. 206), 299. So also J. Duncan M. Derrett, "No Stone upon Another: Leprosy and the Temple," JSNT 30 (1987) 3–20, esp. 11, who otherwise wishes to connect Mark 11:15 and 13:2 with Lev. 14:34–45. 209 For this common exposition see, for example, Evans, Mark (see n. 206), 299. Similarly Davies and Allison, Matthew (see n. 208), 334 and n. 41, who despite the slightly differing Matthean version call it a correction story. For the Markan rendering as a clearer example of a correction story, see Tannehill, "Apophthegms," p. 1798. 210 Haggai’s prophecy also included shaking the heavens, the earth, the sea and the dry land, destroying the strength of the kingdoms of the nations, treasures coming in, and a rise of a messianic character. See Ant. 15.387 discussed in section 2.5. above. 211 This fits well the form of a correction story as described by Tannehill. According to Tannehill, in a correction story the responder corrects assumptions on which the request or question is based. The correction causes tension which opens up a distance between the view

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Hence, the sentence culminating in those words harks back and refers to the refoundation of the temple and to the establishing of continuity with a previous sanctuary. Hereby, it seems to me, the ultimate doom the words point to, their initial purpose turned upside down, is not merely the destruction of the temple but, in particular, denying it a refoundation. The sentence voices a "no" to the refoundation of the temple, to using its stones and elements for founding a new edifice,212 a "no" also to establishing continuity between this sanctuary and whatever comes after it. The coming desolation of the temple will be an utter one, severing its contact with the future time in a crucial way. As for what the future holds, Mark 13:1–2 leaves open two alternatives: either a new temple will not come at all or, otherwise, the new temple will be characterized by a clear discontinuity with the currently existing one. In both cases, the sentence with the words "no stone upon another" denotes in effect the end of this kind of temple, this temple tradition.213 This is Jesus’ prophecy. Therefore, should a new temple come, being different from and discontinuous with the present one, i.e., an inauguration of a new temple tradition, it would require a new and different foundation. Perhaps somewhere in Caesarea Philippi: I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.214 of the questioner and the correcting position of the responder. See Tannehill, "Pronouncement," (see n. 203) 6–7; idem, "Apophthegms," (see n. 203) 1797. 212 The verdict has a ring of poetic justice, well known in the Jewish tradition. See, for example, J. Barton, "Natural Law and Poetic Justice in the Old Testament," JTS 30 (1979) 1– 14. 213 Cf. Gos. Thom. 71: "Jesus said, ‘I shall destroy this house, and no one will be able to build it [...]’." 214 The slight variable Πέτρος – πέτρα reflects the aramaic )pyk, "rock". For )pyk as a name, see J. A. Fitzmyer, "Aramaic Kepha’ and Peter’s Name in the New Testament," in To Advance the Gospel. New Testament Studies (ed. J. A. Fitzmyer; New York 1981) 112–24. Even protestants acknowledge nowadays: the rock is Peter, Peter is the rock; see, for example, Hagner, Matthew (see n. 208), 469–71; C. S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids 1999) 426–27; R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids 2007) 621–23. Further, as Sweet, "A House not made with Hands," (see n. 38) 370, states, building an ἐκκλησία on Peter the rock need no longer be thought anachronistic; see also Gaston, No Stone (see n. 14), 223–27. In the LXX, ἐκκλησία stands for lhq, the gathered people of Israel, which was also used in Qumran alongside hd( (usually συναγωγή in the LXX, never ἐκκλησία); see B. L. Merkle, "The Meaning of ’Εκκλησία in Matthew 16:18 and 18:17," BibSac 167 (2010) 281–91. The Aramaic )t#$ynk probably covers both συναγωγή and ἐκκλησία. The reference of πύλαι ᾅδου, again, is above all to the power of death (J. P. Meier. A Marginal Jew. Volume III. Companions and Competitors [New York 2001] 274). Sin and evil may contribute to the picture as destructive powers but cannot exclude other meanings, let alone the basic one. This works both ways, so correctly Hagner, Matthew (see n. 208), 472: "since the ultimate survival of the church is in view, certainly the ultimate defeat of all evil is at least implied." For the emphatic οἰκοδομήσω μου τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, "I will build my church," see ytynbm, "my building," in 1QH 7:8; cf. even ytyrb, "my covenant," in 1QH

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Seen against the background that has been reviewed, Matt. 16:18 intriguingly sides with Mark 13:1–2. It operates within the same context of Old Testament and early Jewish theology about the temple and its foundation. Mark 13:1–2 addresses the means of retaining continuity, ultimately the means of refounding the temple, and with considerable rhetorical wit denies the most basic of them. Relevant to Matt. 16:18, on the other hand, are not views about the refounding of the temple or the theology of maintaining continuity but, in contrast, the means of achieving discontinuity, that is, the theology of defining a new temple tradition. According to Matt. 16:18, this new temple, clearly discontinuous with the former one, takes shape as a community of human beings which, as we have seen, featured as one of the alternatives for an other and altogether different temple envisioned in early Judaism.215 Hence, the two sayings ascribed to Jesus that regard the temple from the viewpoint of its stones thus both participate in the Jewish discussion about the temple foundation. They take diametrically opposite stances to this discussion, yet precisely by so doing they perfectly complement each other. While Mark 5(13):23, denoting the Qumran community. And, finally, the reference of αὐτῆς is most probably to ἐκκλησία, not to πέτρα which is Peter. We can then concur with E. Schweizer who already noted that Matthew is void of any formal early Christian structures (E. Schweizer, "Matthew’s Church," in Interpretation of Matthew [ed. G. N. Stanton; Edinburgh 1995] 149–77). See also, for example, Merkle, Meaning, 289–90. 215 R. Gundry observes how the pericope Matt. 16:17–19 abounds in expressions and motifs typical of Matthew; R. H. Gundry, Matthew. A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church under Persecution (Grand Rapids 1994) 330–36. (But cf. note 214 above.) Consequently, he considers the pericope to be a Matthean composition in Greek; Gundry, Matthew, 333, 335. The very argument is also, for instance, D. Senior’s reason to suspect that the pericope is redactional; see D. Senior, "The Special Material in Matthew’s Gospel," in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus. Volume 3. The Historical Jesus (ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; Leiden 2011) 1875–899, esp. 1882–883. Senior, however, refrains from definitively closing the case (p. 1885). Against Gundry’s reasoning and all similar arguments (see, for example, Meier. A Marginal Jew III, 231–35, 274–76) we must ask the following: How could the pericope’s fittingness to Matthew tell us it cannot fit to Jesus? In a most natural way, Matthew could have seized and passed on the tradition in the pericope precisely because he found it presenting so many ideas important to himself. The key question, then, is not whether Matthew likes the claims he here makes about Jesus, but whether he needed to invent the claims. As is stated shortly below in the text and as was explicated in section 2.3. above, the ideas embodied by the Matthean text emerge as completely plausible when viewed in Jesus’ context, time and place. There is no reason why Jesus could not have endorsed these ideas before Matthew did so. But did Jesus endorse them? This exactly we need to find out. What is important is to recognize that Matthew’s endorsement cannot answer that question. That is, the fact that Matthew has endorsed the ideas can in no way mean that Jesus could not have endorsed them before him. And, of course, we cannot think conversely either, viz. that the endorsement of the ideas by Jesus would have excluded their endorsement by Matthew – as if Matthew only had wanted to pass on such claims about Jesus he did not like. (The issue here is, at bottom, the negative application of the so-called criterion of dissimilarity to Christianity. The negative application is always rejected in theory but seldom in practice. See further Holmén, "Seven Theses," (see n. 3) 362–67.)

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13:1–2 rejects the theology of continuity, Matt. 16:18 makes good use of the means of the theology of discontinuity. Mark 13:1–2 proclaims the ceasing of the tradition of the present temple and labels its foundations as unusable in the future. Matt. 16:18 then furnishes an account of laying a novel foundation for a new kind of temple. It is truly impressive how these two sayings contour together so elegantly in the backlight of the Jewish hopes and the theology of the stones. 4.2. Understanding the Continuum How and where in the continuum from Judaism to Christianity are the sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 to be located? To answer this question, we need to seek out the continuities and discontinuities involved in the continuum and then try to explain them. Jesus is placed in the continuum by means of presenting him with understandable and plausible relations to both his antecedents and consequences, his early Jewish context and early Christian "post context".216 That is, Jesus should be depicted so that both of those relations, involving continuity and discontinuity alike, can be accounted for in a plausible way. For this reason, precisely, it is requisite to find out about the continuities and discontinuities, to detect them and then explain them. Accordingly, now that the relevance of the two sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 with respect to Jesus is at issue, our aim is to solve how they fare when seeking to understand the continuum "early Judaism−Jesus−early Christianity". Can they be depicted in such plausible relation to both early Judaism and early Christianity that lends itself to the historical figure of Jesus? To study this in an orderly way, I divide the continuum into two dimensions: first is the early Judaism–Jesus dimension, second is the Jesus–early Christianity dimension. The dimensions can be taken and examined one at the time. Yet, "[t]he study of one dimension must ... always be coupled with that of the other so that the full continuum early Judaism–Jesus–early Christianity emerges."217 Let us now first consider the early Judaism–Jesus dimension of the continuum. And let us first just detect the continuities and discontinuities discernible in that dimension.218 216 More exactly: Judaism relevant to Jesus’ life and time and Christianity that bears marks of Jesuanic influence and reception, Wirkungsgeschichte. See Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) IX. 217 Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) X. 218 The reader is advised not to mix up two types of continuities and discontinuities in discussion. The continuity and discontinuity of the two sayings with, on the one hand, early Judaism and, on the other, early Christianity pertain to the continuum perspective as a method. It is thus a methodological distinction we are dealing with here. Above, especially in section 2., two theological traditions in early Judaism have been under inspection: one which seeks to ensure continuity with the current temple, and another which foresees discontinuity with it. This distinction is, of course, not a methodological one but belongs to the subject matter that is the topic of the present study, viz. Jesus and the temple.

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In general, the two sayings stand well their ground as representing the Judaism of Jesus’ time. Thus, we can establish a clear continuity here, viz. with the Old Testament and early Jewish discussion about the temple, in particular with the theology of the stones. Nonetheless, more specifically, the sayings are to be aligned with some of the most critical thoughts known from the time. This is the criticism presenting the temple as depraved beyond means of restoration and depicting a completely new start as the sole option for the future.219 Such an angle on the temple pushes the sayings towards the marginal even in the wide field of early Jewish thinking.220 In this respect, Mark 13:1–2 may be deemed particularly radical. For besides foreseeing a calamity of a most extreme kind it also goes directly against a Scriptural prophecy. As a matter of fact, it countermands the words of the )ybn.221 Otherwise a particular weight rests with Matt. 16:18 which has several significant analogies in the Qumran literature. At least the following continuous features can be noticed: First, there is the view of the community of the Qumranites as a human temple. Second, there is the Qumran discussion about the new temple foundation. Third, there is the variety of that discussion matching up to the one pursued in early Christianity. Fourth, there is the Teacher of Righteousness who is presented as the builder of the temple.222 Fifth, there is the sturdy rock-foundation or foundation placed on rock. Sixth, there is the successful resistance to the powers of death. Naturally, some discontinuities can also be detected. Most obvious is the Matt. 16:18 identification of the rock with a person and the disclosure of his name. Indeed, this is exactly how we, keeping strictly to what is said in Matt. 16:18, get to know that the building Jesus starts to build consists of human beings and relates intimately to his disciples. In the Old Testament, Abraham is compared to a rock. A people being "hewn" from him,223 then, he comes somewhat near to the idea of a person as the foundation stone of a human building. Additionally, there is God’s promise to build for David a tyb, meaning both "house" and "household", "family".224 These varied traits notwithstanding, however, the idea of a human foundation stone of a building remains 219 The criticism is thus present in both of the sayings. Mark 13:1–2 negatively declares the current temple tradition failed. Matt. 16:18 positively shows that a new solution is needed. 220 As stressed in section 2. above, an ultimate destruction leaving no chances of refoundation was a fate dreaded in early Judaism, usually feared to befall the temple. Some of the sharpest criticisms against the existing temple would perceive such a fate as inevitable. Nevertheless, we should not overlook the fact that the temple of Jerusalem was still approved of by most of the Jews, many of them probably seeing it as having now finally experienced the fulfillment of the glorious prophecies, such as Haggai’s. 221 Cf. the antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount. 222 See the comments on the role of the Teacher of Righteousness shortly below in the text. 223 Isa. 51.1. Cf. Matt. 3:9; Luke 3:8. 224 2. Sam. 7:1–11:

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unique.225 Consider, lastly, this: the name "Peter" would have carried more than generic meaning only for the small group of followers gathered around a Galilean preacher. Further, there is the everlasting character of the ecclesia foreseen in Matt. 16:18. This diverges from the Qumran view of the human temple as temporaneous,226 a view which even 1QH 7:8–9 can be squared with if the view can be seen to allow that the foundation on which God has placed the hymnist’s building will last even beyond the arrival of God’s building.227 Finally, according to 1QH 7:8–9 the building belongs to the hymnist while its foundation has been laid by God. On the other hand, 4QpPs 3:15–16 can describe it as the God-given task of the Teacher of Righteousness to build the congregation. The hymnist/Teacher of Righteousness clearly has a personal relationship with the congregation temple and the foundation of the building, but the picture is somewhat mixed. Not so in Matt. 16:18 where Jesus lays the foundation of the building, claims that he will build the building, and calls it his own.228 Here Jesus actually comes closer to Zerubbabel as this is pictured in some texts (by others).229 His building is not like Zerubbabel’s but he is anyhow, like Zerubbabel, the layer of the foundation and the builder of the building. Thus, the permanence of the human temple, its human foundation identified by name, and Jesus himself as the layer of the foundation – these may all be features that, alongside the clearly more numerous continuous traits, can be labeled as discontinuous when Matt. 16:18 is compared with its Qumran analogies. When brought to a wider Jewish context, they slightly level out, but the parallels in question then are still rather remote and consist of rather discrete motifs with no particular connection with the ideas embodied in Matt. 16:18 as a whole. The Qumran continuities and discontinuities are certainly more important with respect to understanding the continuum. As for both of the two sayings, then, detecting continuities and discontinuities, the case at hand ushers in some further articulation of our methodology. 225

Cf., however, note 57 above. G. J. Brooke, "The Dead Sea Scrolls and New Testament Ecclesiology," in Holiness and Ecclesiology in the New Testament (ed. K. E. Brower and A. Johnson; Grand Rapids 2007) 1–18, esp. 9. 227 See the interpretation by Lee presented in note 63 above. In comparison, there is no support in the Jesus tradition, not even in the New Testament as a whole, for a similar interpretation of the Matthean saying. The ecclesia-temple is never presented as an intermittent solution. 228 Certainly, even the picture of Jesus would gain mixed elements should we observe all other New Testament references to him and to the stones of the ecclesia-temple. However, what we are seeking to do here is to reach views that possibly belonged to Jesus, not New Testament views in general, and compare those with Jewish or Qumran views (we are not comparing Jesus with the Teacher of Righteousness, either). 229 See Zech. 4:9 and the discussion at the end of section 2.4. above. See even Zech. 4:6, 7; 6:12. 226

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Matt. 16:18 does hold two or three features that can properly be termed discontinuous. Otherwise, however, we actually cannot speak about there being discontinuity between the two sayings and early Jewish thinking. Rather, what we have here are best labeled as distinctive ideas, features that are distinguishable as discernible in the early Jewish landscape. I refer to the radical temple criticism and the unusual solution for the future in the form of a human temple. It is important that we can observe and pay attention even to these features although they fall somewhere between continuity and discontinuity.230 What about the dimension Jesus–early Christianity, then? Indeed, as has become fully clear, the two sayings are wholly intelligible on the basis of the pre-70 CE Jewish situation and ideas alone. They do not presuppose the early Christian ecclesiology or ecclesia-temple theology. This estimate also holds true with particular regard given to the stone texts that the sayings most conveniently compare to. Certainly, it is easy to name points of contact – continuities – between Matt. 16:18 and the other ecclesia-temple stone texts:231 Like Matt. 16:18, even they speak about a human temple, a temple consisting of human beings, i.e., a community temple, an ecclesia-temple. Even they put weight on the foundation of that temple. Even they image a human foundation, casting one particular individual in a pivotal role. Even they presuppose that the ecclesia-temple relates integrally to the followers of Jesus. Even they give the stone imagery a central place, (despite) seeing no connection with the physical temple of Jerusalem or any physical temple at that. However, despite these important points of connection, Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18, taken together or separately, do not, as stated, presuppose the other stone traditions as their antecedent development of thought. In fact, the discontinuities that can be observed point to the contrary. Comparing Matt. 16:18 and the other ecclesia-temple stone texts, we at first notice in the Matthean saying the absence of a Christological interpretation of "stone" in both of its forms – the rock is not Christ (see Luke 20:18; Rom. 9:33; cf. Isa. 8:14–15), and Christ is not the rock, i.e., the foundation (see 1 Cor. 3:11; Eph. 2:20) – while in the other texts it is always present in some form, sometimes in both forms. In Matt. 16:18, Jesus is not the foundation; he lays the foundation, which is something that does not correspond to the Christian setting but that both Jesus’ Judaism and his own life situation can accommodate.232 Additionally, Matt. 16:18 deals rather modestly with the communal atmosphere which, in contrast, the other ecclesia-temple stone texts almost exude. The stones of these other texts explain and interpret the existence of the congregations, the movement of the Christians, also consistently 230

This category is in my view methodologically important considering the view of Jesus as an integrally Jewish figure. 231 For Mark 13:1–2 and the stone texts, see shortly below in the text. 232 Cf. remarks on Jesus and his disciples in section 5. below.

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accompanying everything with paraenesis. In Matt. 16:18, naturally, the idea of community is also included, in nuce. Because of its community character, precisely, the new temple will be discontinuous with the previous temple tradition. But the Matthean saying is remarkably void of any formal early Christian ecclesiastic structures. On the other hand, the theme of the endurance of the new "building", familiar from contemporary Jewish thinking, is prominent in Matt. 16:18 but does not resurface elsewhere in the New Testament. Comparing, further, Mark 13:1–2 and the ecclesia-temple stone texts (other than Matt. 16:18), it is obvious that the Markan saying is similarly void of the above-mentioned features of those texts. However, we would probably see no particular reason to juxtapose Mark 13:1–2 with the ecclesia-temple stone texts had it not the special kind of linkage with Matt. 16:18. In principle, Mark 13:1–2 relates to the other ecclesia-temple stone texts in quite the same way as it relates to Matt. 16:18: it speaks about the destruction of the old while the others speak about the characteristics of the new. But actually, in itself, Mark 13:1–2 is rather irrelevant to those other texts. In them the ecclesia-temple already exists, and it functions as it does quite irrespective of the goings-on of the physical sanctuary in Jerusalem. Taken together with Matt. 16:18, however, the Markan saying can be related to the other ecclesiatemple stone texts in a more meaningful way. There is no prophetic future whatsoever present in the other ecclesia-temple stone texts, while the two sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 do involve such an aspect and, on top of this, work in tandem forming one coherent prophetic view regarding the temple. We can also put the particular role of Mark 13:1–2 in its relation to the ecclesia-temple stone texts into words so: While the other texts lack the prospect of the destruction of the temple, Mark 13:1–2 is all about that. Then, while those texts would avail nothing of such a prospect, Matt. 16:18 needs precisely that: Mark 13:1–2 prophesies destruction of the physical temple of Jerusalem and denies its refoundation; Matt. 16:18 then lays a new foundation and prophesies (cf. οἰκοδοµ ήσω) the building of an everlasting human temple on its basis. Mark 13:1–2 thus singles out Matt. 16:18 among the ecclesiatemple stone texts by being highly relevant to it but having virtually no relevance to the others. There are, thus, clear elements of discontinuity between, on the one hand, the two sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 and, on the other, the other ecclesia-temple stone texts, and while the latter presuppose the existence of the Christian congregation, the sayings do not. On this basis, I would suggest for the sayings a place further away from the final end of the continuum towards the center and, in particular, before the other ecclesia-temple stone texts. Can this orientation of the continuum be substantiated? It is central to the continuum approach to try to account for the continuities and discontinuities observed in the relations between the phenomena that are

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viewed in continuum.233 Usually, as now, this comes down to comparing various traditions that address an overall common topic. Perhaps needless to say, the idea is not to try to trace down the exact development of traditions. After all, only on rare occasions would this at all be possible due to the fragmentary nature of our sources.234 (In other words, this is not a reinstatement of the Bultmannian tradition criticism). And even so, we commonly do not get to have all the answers.235 Considering the last discussed dimension of the continuum first, i.e., the second dimension, what is crucial is that reversing the continuum obviously requires significantly more intricate explanations for the discontinuities than when having it as suggested above. That is, the discrepancies between the two sayings and the ecclesia-temple stone texts not ascribed to Jesus are much easier to explain by assuming that the sayings come first in the continuum than by placing the sayings after the stone texts. Accordingly, the many discontinuities that we have perceived in the Jesus–early Christianity dimension are explicable by the assumption that the two sayings represent an integrally Jewish idea while, again, the other texts represent later reflections from the viewpoint of the needs and beliefs of congregational Christianity. The common features of this viewpoint are obvious. All mentioned: heavy communal atmosphere, formal ecclesiastic structures, high Christology, lack of prophetic future, and application of paraenesis. The other way round we would need to start from an early Christian innovation that then for some curious reason grows less suited to articulate the form and nature of the early Christian movement while at the same time digging deeply into a purely Jewish discussion of the second temple.236 What about the connecting points, then? Can they also be understood under the premise of such orientation of the continuum? Understandably, Matt. 16:18 and the other ecclesia-temple texts overlap in a considerable number of things listed above. Can we explain the overlap (better) by placing the saying first in the continuum? The discontinuities may have solved even this case, for their good explanation presupposes that the sayings come first. Continuities, again, may not hold any clear answer to the question. Still, one cannot escape from the observation that the linkage between Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 makes extremely good sense historically: the message about the ceasing of the current temple tradition serves excellently as the reason why Jesus goes out and lays a new and 233

See Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) X. And because there are no (discoverable) rules of how traditions developed. 235 In other words, the choice is often to be made for the explanation leaving least open questions. 236 And if one asks how Peter can have been rolled away from the position of the foundation once it had been given to him (i.e., in the case the sayings come first), one also needs to ask how then Christ, once he had been given that position, could have been substituted later by Peter (i.e., in the case the other ecclesia-temple texts are put first). 234

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different temple foundation.237 Instead, the idea of a human temple and foundation as present in the other ecclesia-temple stone texts makes and has no use of suppositions about the end (or any other state) of the physical temple. For these texts, everything is given and needs no reason, no background – indeed, no history.238 Therefore, it is difficult to see them as having given reason for any projection back in history, how many points in common they would have with the retrojected scenery, let alone that the scenery so emerged would make such good history itself. On the other hand, factual events of history often have consequences (Wirkungsgeschichte), and the things continuous with Matt. 16:18 one finds in the idea of the human ecclesia-temple with its human foundation as presented in the other ecclesia-temple stone texts are explicable as such.239 Hence, even the points of contact would seem to suggest the same orientation of the continuum as the discontinuities do. The attempt to understand the continuum (its second dimension) and the continuities and discontinuities involved, indeed favors placing the two sayings early in it. Finally, it is turn to seek an understanding of the early Judaism–Jesus dimension. The features of Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 that appear as both discontinuous and distinctive in comparison with the Judaism of Jesus’ time naturally make the sayings distinguishable in their context. Nonetheless, even considering these features, the sayings clearly represent Judaism, not any Christianized or mixed version of it. Methodically, this can be understood as a movement further on in the continuum, away from its first end, yet not entering the early Christianity "zone". For we do set out from an initial picture where Jesus is located somewhere in the center of the continuum more or less functioning as a middle figure between the two ends of the continuum (cf. "early Judaism−Jesus−early Christianity"). Yet this image, aiming to aid perception of the continuum idea, should of course not be taken as informative of actual history. What the discontinuities and distinctive features most naturally point to is a Jewish individuality,240 acting within the parameters of the Jewish 237

Historically thinking, Jesus probably would not have seen any reason to lay a completely new temple foundation, had he not thought that there was some fundamental flaw in the existing temple. Naturally, in integral postmodern historiography, the presumption of there being sense in the course of events (of history) is methodically dissolved. For a short estimate of this, see Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) XIII–XVII. 238 Cf. especially παρὰ τὸν κείµ ενον in 1 Cor. 3:11, which gives the issue a ring of a fait accompli where only the result matters. 239 The issue cannot be pursued further without resorting to observing the discontinuities as well. While the involvement of discontinuities is of course natural, the last couple of paragraphs has sought to focus on the continuities. For an analysis of the discontinuities, please just see further above. 240 The historical plausibility of Jesus possessing individual, distinctive streaks of character is emphasized by G. Theissen and D. Winter, Quest for the Plausible Jesus. The Question of Criteria (London 2002) 188–91. See also their chapter "Contextual Distinctiveness as the Second Aspect of Contextual Plausibility," 184–88. I have analyzed the importance of dis-

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discussion about the temple and the theology of the stones. This is also suggested by the intriguing way the two sayings, dealing with a common topic, complement each other, i.e., it makes the attribution of them both to one and the same persona sound very reasonable. An important parallel here is the Qumran hymnist’s personal temple experience and visions. Even the ways these are found varied in the sayings pair Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 can be seen to support the suggested provenance. For the variations are particularly well explicable as results of different circumstances – and – of a different personal experience. In other words, this amalgam of features – not representing a mainstream view of the temple, not even representing a mainstream criticism of the temple, and, on the other hand, the unique albeit not altogether non-derivative solution for a future temple, yet all in all keeping firmly to Jewish soil – can conveniently be accounted for by a hypothesis of an individual, Jewish deviser behind what is put forward by the sayings. Even on the point of this dimension, then, understanding the continuum and explaining the discontinuities (and distinctive features) push the sayings towards the center of the continuum, thus now away from its first end. 4.3. Conclusion Hence, seen against the background that has been reviewed (sc. section 2.), the sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 come with a message that shifts them from both ends of the early Judaism–early Christianity continuum, as if leaving them a place somewhere in the middle. All in all, a Jesus pictured as professing that message locates plausibly in the continuum. In other words, what is conveyed by the proposed interpretation of these sayings can be related plausibly both to the early Jewish context and to the early Christian "post context" of Jesus. This means that we have achieved the central objective of the continuum approach: The one and the same Jesus which we deem understandable and plausible in relation to early Judaism should also be found understandable and plausible in relation to early Christianity. 241

This is the closest to the historical Jesus the continuum approach can come.242 cerning even distinctive features for any realistic and cogent contextual interpretation of Jesus in T. Holmén, "‘Jesus of Context’: Putting Perspective in Perspective," in Jesus – Gestalt und Gestaltungen. Rezeptionen des Galiläers in Wissenschaft, Kirche und Gesellschaft (ed. P. von Gemünden, D. G. Horrell and M. Küchler; FS G. Theissen; NTOA 100; Göttingen 2013) 515–35. 241 Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) X. 242 A word probably needs to be said about the prophecy of the destruction of the temple in Mark 13:1–2. A pre-Markan tradition must be earlier than the Gospel of Mark, thus most likely deriving from the time the temple still existed. The typification of Mark 13:2 as a vaticinium ex eventu is thus to be rejected. It may, then, be soothing to realize that predicting the destruction of the temple was not an uncommon phenomenon even prior to 70 CE; see

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5. Identity: Layer of the Ecclesia Foundation This study has made a case for the one accord of Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 and for their enlightenment by the Jewish temple discussion and theology of stones. On the basis of the study, the sayings can be seen to carry a tandem message about the ceasing of the current temple tradition and about the inauguration of a new one, viz. a temple of human beings, an ecclesia-temple. With an eye to the historical Jesus, this message is one that can be located plausibly in the continuum from early Judaism to early Christianity. Therefore, the message can be regarded as useable when painting a scholarly picture of Jesus.243 Here, then, is Jesus; caught in the act of starting the new temple; laying the foundation of the ecclesia. How is this result applicable to understanding Jesus? I suggest the following aspects or areas of Jesus’ life, deeds, teaching and mission that I believe the current study’s exposition of the two sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 integrally touch upon. I will, however, not at present develop the suggestions further from these short remarks. Obviously, the results of the present study integrally relate to the question of how Jesus saw the temple and its cult. In Jesus’ view, not only the current temple but even the entire tradition it represents will come to an end. To be sure, Jesus’ conviction was also that they should come to an end.244 Therefore, alongside the more common reasons for a critical attitude towards the Jerusalem temple – actually seldom entailing a complete rejection of the Jerusalem edifice – we can probably add the view that that temple was made with hands, i.e., it was a mere human enterprise.245 Being of such an origin, no restoration or renovation would bring real improvement. Instead, Jesus now begins a new tradition, inaugurates a new temple – and of what kind! To our eyes, perhaps, it does not look like a temple at all. PerHolmén, Covenant (see n. 202), 300–02. It has also been recognized by several scholars that the particular situation described in Mark 13:1 has nothing historically implausible in it (not even when one considers that this happens after a longer stay within the temple precinct); see, for example, J. A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–XXIV (New York 1985) 1330; Pesch, Markusevangelium (see n. 208), 270; Hagner, Matthew (see n. 208), 687; Evans, Mark (see n. 206), 298. As Gundry, Mark (see n. 208), 757, correctly sates, "the argument that a disciple would not have remarked the magnificence of the temple after spending several days around it ... is untrue to human nature". Similarly, I. H. Marshall, The Gospel of Luke. A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids 1978) 760. Many aspects of the historical context illuminated by the present study have further confirmed this conception. 243 See delineations in the opening paragraphs of section 1. and note 3 above. 244 Compare here also Mark 11:15–17 which probably needs to be read as an argumented verdict of destruction. See Holmén, Covenant (see n. 202), 365–96. 245 Cf. Mark 14:58. Could the textual variants’ (e.g., D and W) addition to Mark 13:2, "and after three days another will be raised without hands," reflect this understanding? The addition renders "without hands" with ἄνευ χειρῶν, not with ἀχειροποίητον as in Mark 14:58.

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haps that is why it may be easier for us to think of such an inauguration etiologically: only situations changed enough so as to demand that kind of move can explain it. In other words, we prefer to presume the de facto existence of the Christian communities that then had to be explained and justified theologically. Such speculation, however, would mean refusal to perceive the Judaism of Jesus’ time the way it was. It would also mean refusal to learn about Jesus.246 As Jesus’ temple, then, we must proffer this short description: It was a meant-to-last community of people he started to build on one of his closest disciples designated as the rock foundation. Jesus was bold enough to identify the designated disciple by name. We may reflect that this left no chance for plan b, no loophole for example in case he would prove to be a disappointment. A more serious question is raised by the lasting character of the ecclesia-temple. How is this compatible with such a transient being as one particular individual? In Qumran, "everlasting" was the rock foundation while the human temple was regarded as temporary. Nonetheless, even the community temple lived through the several generations of the Qumran settlement.247 Their idea of a human building was thus not tied to the human lifespan but its existence was considered continuous despite the fact that the people it was made of changed. As for Jesus, some significance may lie in the fact that it is specifically the ecclesia that is described as defying the "powers of death"248. Even though generations passed, this would be the human building Jesus founded. This new temple tradition also discharged the form of worship bound with the ordinary temple. Think again of the Qumranites, their atoning for the land and offering works of law in the desert that currently substituted normal temple worship. What would worship in the ecclesia shaped according to Matt. 16:18 look like? Atoning there, offering there, keeping pure there, praying there? Now in the present group that followed Jesus when he was alive? Then forever? On the basis of the study at hand, I find it improbable that Jesus would not have pondered questions like these. So, we must also consider them (that is, in any investigation proceeding from the present one).249 The present study naturally corroborates the main results of those who have emphasized both the historicity and significance of Jesus’ choosing of twelve disciples. The number twelve signifies the tribes of Israel, loaded with meaning to the fellow Jews of Jesus, and points to their reemergence through Jesus’ activity. An interesting observation regarding the disciples is that Jesus did 246 Add the fact that Matt. 16:18 fits etiological aims poorly. See the discussion in section 4.2. above. 247 J. Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids 2003) 63–69, argues that the settlement did not begin until the first decades of the first century BCE. Even so, we can count several generations. 248 For πύλαι ᾅδου and the reference of ἀυτῆς, see note 214 above. 249 Cf. especially Matt. 16:19:

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not include himself in the number twelve.250 The slight oddity of this may escape us because we easily think it could not have been otherwise. Of course it could. He could have promoted himself as representing one of the tribes of Israel now emerging, maybe serving as the leader of the others but in any case being involved in the number. Instead, he places himself outside them. He is their gatherer but is not being gathered himself (viz. by someone else). In this way, he is their sole gatherer. As disclosed by Matt. 16:18, the ecclesia-temple Jesus aims to build will consist of his disciples. And, intriguingly enough, Jesus also seems to place himself outside the ecclesia! He is the founder and builder of the ecclesia but will not himself be built in it (viz. by someone else). Thus, he is also the sole builder of the ecclesia-temple. This observation further enhances the correspondence between the disciples and the human (/disciple) temple of Jesus and opens up prospects for future research. The new temple thus seems to be, in Jesus’ interpretation, an exclusive work of his hands. How did he view himself as a temple builder? Then how did he view himself being the temple builder? These questions dealing with Jesus’ self-understanding must also be left for future research to respond to. However, one can readily fathom that the corollaries of the present study are quite noteworthy in this respect too, in particular if the "hand problem" was topical as I have ventured to picture it and, as I suggest above, if it was also an issue for Jesus. All that has been said so far seems to point to a future and to expectations too far-reaching and elaborate to be explained as a result of random, ad hoc or "quick fix" theological thinking from the part of Jesus. The future must have been a topic for his cogitation out of some greater interest than mere transient or situational urges such as the threat of an early, violent death. Therefore, we must seriously engage in reconsidering the question how Jesus saw the future and seriously contemplate even perspectives extending far beyond Jesus’ own life. As a matter of fact, the leading question should be: How did Jesus see the time after the foreseeable future? Nothing less can make sense of the founding of an ecclesia characterized by endurance and forming an entity he himself was not included in – i.e., the human temple was clearly meant to be able to carry on without him.251

250

See D. C. Allison, "Jesus and the Covenant," JSNT 29 (1987) 57–78, esp. 67. Cf. the interesting hypothesis of C. Brown that πύλαι ᾅδου is a veiled prediction of Jesus’ own death; C. Brown, "The Gates of Hell and the Church," in Church, Word and Spirit (ed. J. Bradley and R. Muller; Grand Rapids 1987) 15–43. Still, the general understanding "powers of death" is to be preferred. Of course, not even Jesus’, the Messiah’s, death is hereby excluded. To shortly comment even a view coming from a different sphere of thought: J. Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit (London 1977) 70–71, rejects the understanding of Jesus as the "founder" of Christianity in the fear that then Church would go on without bothering about and remembering Jesus. Such ideas are, of course, quite ir251

230

Tom Holmén

In the end, however, they could not quite so maintain it. Jesus was housed in the building, and not just as any block or layer but as its foundation. Eventually, the sole builder of the ecclesia-temple became its sole foundation. I believe a key factor in this development was the Christological stone tradition, i.e., the tradition where the stone imagery is used to promote Christology. With roots in Jewish messianic interpretations and manifesting itself even independently in texts like Mark 12:10, Luke 20:18 and Rom. 9:32–33, the tradition, as we have seen, has also landed in New Testament passages where the stone imagery mainly serves to articulate ecclesiology. I consider it probable that this is exactly how the Christological viewpoint was introduced to ecclesiological usage. Working even in a temple context,252 the Christological stone tradition easily paired with material where the stones spoke of the ecclesiatemple. Once brought to this connection, the Christological notion was not dropped but, instead, was also made to illuminate ecclesiology. After all, Christ as the foundation makes good sense theologically. Hence, just as Jesus the proclaimer of the kingdom became the proclaimed, Jesus the founder of the ecclesia became the founded, viz. its foundation. He became a layer in the foundation but our study suggests that he considered himself the layer of the foundation. There are several directions in which the discussion about Jesus and the temple could continue, some of which I have already pointed out. In addition, most naturally – and necessarily – the discussion should address what the results of the present study regarding the two sayings Mark 13:1–2 and Matt. 16:18 would require of other important temple passages, such as Mark 11:15–17, Mark 14:58, John 2:14–21, and above all Matt. 16:19. Can they be brought to support and/or accord with the ideas suggested here? The present essay has also been an experiment on the continuum approach. Still, I have refrained from discussing the method in length here and have mainly referred to my earlier work on the subject. As indicated at the beginning of this essay, I have dealt with the more theoretical questions of the continuum perspective in detail elsewhere. Now I will also refrain from drawing conclusions regarding them here. I do this in the hope that I can return to the subject later on, perhaps seeing things better then, after a while, perhaps even having amassed some reactions and comments from other people. Just these few things do I feel that I should mention at this moment: I have intentionally focused on theology.253 As far as the continuum approach is concerned, the relevant to a remote event in history. Also, quite clearly, the church did not act this way but preserved abundant remembrances of Jesus, including Matt. 16:18. 252 See section 3.2 above. 253 I have painstakingly (I think) tried to reconstruct the theological context of the relevant issues, both in early Judaism and early Christianity, for I consider this indispensable to being able to understand Jesus’ theology and, along with that, his aims, intentions, thinking, message, impact etc. Yet, this does not mean ignoring perspectives such as sociology, archaeology or – say – architecture. On the contrary (I think).

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focus could quite as well have been elsewhere. In other words, a theological focus when studying the context and "post context" of Jesus as well as Jesus himself is by no means a necessity entailed by the continuum approach. The approach does not presuppose any particular stance on questions such as what makes a context or what is made of the context.254 Further, I have altogether refrained from using the concepts "authenticity" and "criterion" here.255 The point regarding the continuum approach is similar: the approach does not presuppose anything as regards how one thinks the question about the historicity of the historical Jesus should be solved. I conclude this essay by quoting an earlier, more methodological treatment of mine: "In fact, the continuum approach leaves open many such specific questions. There is no particular stance or set of stances that should be considered necessary for application of the approach but, instead, discussion about them is encouraged."256

254 255 256

See here Holmén, "‘Jesus of Context’" (see n. 240). See note 3 above. Holmén, "A New Introduction," (see n. 4) XXI.

Ancient Authors Old Testament Genesis 1:27 7:9 12 18:1–15 Exodus 15:17 15:17–18 29:38–42

156 156 153 83 168, 174 168, 169 178

Leviticus 5:7 11:29–38 12:8 14:21–23 15:11 16 19 19:2 21:7 21:7–9 21:13–15

175 148 175 175 148 175 157 156 153, 154 154 154

Numbers 24:15–19 28:3–8 30 35:4–5

29 175 150 140

Deuteronomy 12:5–7 12:11 18:14–19 24:1–4 24:1 24:2

164 164 32 153 155 155

Joshua 1:11

171

1 Samuel 18:20–27 25:44

153 153

2 Samuel 20:3 20:4

153 171

3:12–16

153

1 Kings 5 5:17 5:19 6:3 a 6:20 6:37–38 6–7 8 8:1–13 8:5 8:5– 12 8:11 8:27 9:3 17–24 17: 8–10 17:8–16 19 19:15 19:19–21 19:3 19:8 19:20

199 164 164 200 205 199 209 185 164 199 194 164 188 164 76 74 76 78 74 79 74 74 103

2 Kings 1:12 2:4 2:8 18–19 par.

76 74 76 174

234

Ancient Authors

19:18 20:8 22:17 22–23 par.

193 171 193 174

2 Chronicles 3:4 3–4 5 5:6 5:6–14 6:18 14:1–4 14:15 29–31 32:19 34:25 34–35

200 209 185 199 194 188 174 174 174 193 193, 195 174

Proverbs 20:9 22:22

151 151

Lamentations 2:6–8 164 Psalms 9 20 24:4 26:8 47 46 48 48:3 51:12 73:13 78:68–69 93 96–99 103:19 107:3 122:4–5 132 118:26 Isaiah 1 1:21 1:26 85

164 164 151 164 164 164 164, 169 164 151 151 164 164 164 163 92 84 164 178 85 85

1:26–27 2:1–4 2:2a 2:2–4 2:2b–4 5:1–6 6:9–10 7:1–17 11 11:1–2 11:1–10 14:12 14:13 14:32 16 16:5 16:5 16:5 17:12–14 24:21–23 25:6 25:6–8 25:6–8 26:19 28:5–6 28:5–6 29 29:5–8 29:13 29:18 30:1–5 31:1–3 31:4–5 33: 23–4 35:5–6 42:1 42:7 42:18 45:7 48:13 49:5–6 49:6 49:12 50:4 51:16 52:7 52:7 53 53:4 53:5 54:10

85 93 164 178 165 83 82 164 108 93, 83 81 82 83 164 84 84 85 85 164 93 92 93 178 82 85 85 149 164 149 82 164 164 164 83 82 83 82 82 90 168 81 86 92 108 164 83 83 35 107 108 179

235

Ancient Authors 55:1–2 56:3–8 56:7 56:7 56:7 56:7b 59:18–20 59:20 60–62 60:1–22 61 61 61:1 61:1–2 65:13 65:17–25 66:1 66:18ff. Jeremiah 3:1 3:14–18 3:17 4:14 7:1–15 7:11 7:12–14 Ezekiel 10:18f. 11:22f. 37:26–27 43:7

93 175 175 174 178 173 92 180 165 93 78 82 82 83 93 167 169 165 153 93 165 151 164, 175 173, 175, 176 175 177 177 178 178

43:9

178

Daniel 2:36–45 7 7:22 7:9 7:9–27 9:25–27

29 84 84 84 29 32

Hosea 6:2

171

Micah 4:1–4 4:1a 4:1b–4 4:1–4

93 165 165 178

Zechariah 2:14–15 2:10–17 2:11 8:2–3 8:2–8 8:20–23

178 165 164 164 165 165

Malachi 2:16 3:24 4:5–6 4:5–6

154 80, 81 32 78

New Testament Matthew 1–2 1:16 4:15 4:17 4:24–25 5 5:3–10 5:32 5:33–37 5:34a 5:34b 5:34b–35

43 44 162 87, 162 104 90 91 152, 156 150, 169 169 169 169

5:35a 5:35b 5:35 5:36 5:48 6:10 6:10 par. 6:33 7:24 7:26 7:28 7.28–29 8:8

169 169, 170 168, 169, 170, 169 157 163 90 90 104 104 104 104 104

236 8:11 8:11 8:11f 8:11–12 8:16 8:16–17 8:18–22 8:19 8:19–22 8–9 9:11 9:13 9:14 10 10:6 10:7 10:24–25 par. 10:28 10:40 11:2–6 11:19 par. 11:29 12 12:5–7 12:1–14 12:11–12 12:18 12:18–21 12:21 12:25–28 par. 12:28 par. 12:28 13:11–13 13:18–23 13:42 13:44–46 13:50 13:52 13:54–58 15:1–20 15:24 16:19 17:24 18:12–14 19 19:1–9 19:3 19:23–25 par. 19:28 19:28b 20:18

Ancient Authors 178 95 92 93 104 107 103 104 79 104 101, 104 101 101 139 36 87, 162 101 91 104 108 97 101 108, 144 138 138 138, 139 108 104 108 89 90 163 123 113, 123, 124 95 90 95 101 104 145 36 89, 104 101 96 152 152 157 93 36 84 168

20:28 21:12–17 21:23 21:23–27 21:25 22:1–13 22:13 22:16 23:8 23:7 23.8–10 23:37 23:37–39 23:38 23:39 24:2 25:1–13 25:14–30 25:21 25:23 25:30 25:31–46 25:34 25:41 25:46 26:1–5 26:5 26:29 26:47ff. 26:49 26:61 26:69–75 27:3–10 27:40 27:57 28:16–20 28:19

176 173, 177 107 170 87 94 95 101 101 103 103 168, 178 162, 177, 178 177 180 170 95 95 95 95 95 91, 95 90, 91 91 91 178 102 163 178 102 170 104 49 170 101 108 101

Mark 1:15 1:4–5 1:7–8 1:22 1:22f. par. 1:27 1:27–33 pars. 2:1 2:15–17 pars. 2:23–26 2:23–28 2:25–26

83, 87, 162, 163 75 73 100 107 100, 106 107 146 97 138 138 138

237

Ancient Authors 2:27–28 2:5 3 3:1–6 3:20 3:4 4:11–12 4:1–34 4:14–20 4:26–29 6:1–6 6:4 parr. 6:5–6a 6:15 7 7:2b 7:3–4 7:6–8 7:10–13 7:11–12 7:18–19 7:20–23 7:1–23 7:14 7:15 7:18–19 7:19 7:19a 7:20–23 7:6–8 7:9–13 8:28 9:1 9:28 9:33 9:33–37 9:37 9:42–48 10 10:1–12 10:5–8 10:9 10:10 10:12 10:15 par. 10:17–31 pars. 10:19 pars 10:33 10:45 10:45 par. 11:1–10 par. 11:15–17

138 83 139 57, 138 146 144 82, 123 123 113, 123, 124, 116, 117 54 75 78 77 159 146 146 146 146 150 146 146 145 146 144, 149 146 146 151 146 146 44 77 90 146 146, 147 43 144 91 152 152 152 156 147 152 90, 98, 163 91 44 168 83 176 174 173, 174, 178

11:15–19 11:15b–16 11:17 11:18 11:27 11:27–33 pars. 11:28 pars. 11:33 pars. 11:9 par. 12:1–9 12:13–17 13:2 13:2 par. 13:2b 13:11. 13:12 13:26 14:14 pars. 14:22 14:24 14:25 14:25 par. 14:57 14:58 14:59 14:62 15:29

174 175 174, 176 176 107 107 107 107 178 83 157 172, 176 170 170 144 82 177 101 176 176 163, 178 178, 202 172 170, 171, 172, 174 172 177 172

Luke 1–2 2:41 2:41–40 3:23 4:22 4:16ff. 5:12–14 6 6:1–11 6:17 6:20–26 6:36 7:35–50 8:10 8:11–15 9 9:57–62 9:61–62 10 10:11 10:9 10:18 11:2 11:20

43, 53, 54 162 51 43 43 55 139 139 138 101 91 139 97 123 113, 123, 124 139 79 79 139 87, 184 87, 184 82 163 163

238 11:37–54 11:39–41 12:5 12:11–12 13 13:4 13:10–17 13:15–16 13:22–30 13:24–30 13:28 13:28f. 13:29 13:31–33 13:33 13:34 13:34–35 13:35 14 14:1–6 14:5 14:15–24 15 15:1–2 15:1–7 15:4–6 15:4–7 15:4–10 15:7 15:17–19 15:20 15:21 15:23 15:32 16:1–9 16:18 17:11–19 17:21 18:17 18:31 19:7 19:11 19:11–27 19:21 19:24 19:45–48 21:6 21:20 22:18 23:28 22:30b 24:47

Ancient Authors 145 151 91 138 139, 145 169 138 139 93 89 95 92 178 157, 177 178 168, 177 168, 178 162, 177 177 139, 144, 138 139 94 96 96, 97 112 112, 116 96, 111 96 113 96 97 96 97 97 118 152 139 163 163 168 97 33, 91, 172 96 33 33 173 170 168 163 168 84 168

John 1:45 2:13 2:13–17 2:19 2:20 2:21 3:23 4:1–42 4:44 5:1 6:42 7:2 7:10 7:22–23 10:22f. 11:49–50 12:12

43 162 173 170, 171 170 179 75 65 75 162 43, 51 162 162 142 162 73 162

Acts 1:6–8 3–12 5:37 6:14 7:48 8:14–17 11:22–26 15:1–35 15–28 17:24 20:3–21:17 21:38

33 179 75 170 171 179 179 179 53 171 180 75

Romans 9:20 11:8 11:26 11:26–27 12:1 12:5 15:19 15:25–32 15:27

149 149 180 180 171 179 180 179 180

1 Corinthians 1:19 3 3:6 3:9 3:11 3:16 3:16f. 3:16–17

149 208 208 206, 208 206, 208, 222, 225 208 171 187, 205, 206

239

Ancient Authors 6:19 7:10–11 9:5 12:12f. 12:27 15 15:3–8 15:33 16:1–4

205, 206 156 52 179 179 205 52 97 179

2 Corinthinas 5:16 6:16 8–9 Galatians 1:18–20 2:2 2:9–12 2:10

52 180 52 179

Colossians 2:22

149

Ephesians 2:20–22

171

Hebrews 13:15f.

171

1 Timothy 3:15 4:14 5:22

206, 207, 211, 212 212

10 171, 179 179

1 Peter 1:23 1:3 2 2:4 2:4–6 2:4–8 2:5 2: 6–8 2:7 2:9 2:9–10

211 211 208, 210 206, 211, 212 171, 179 159, 187, 206 207 171, 206 211 206 171 207

James 5:7

118

Revelation 5:10 21:22

171 179

Q 3:7–9 6:20 7:22 7:24–26 9:57–58 9:59–60 10:13–15 11:29–30 11:32 12:51–53 14:26 22:30

73 83 77, 82 75 79 79 83 75 75 82 82 84, 85, 86

Apocrypha Tobit 1:4 13 13:5 13:10–11 13:12–13 13:17–18 14:5

165 165 165 165 165 165 166

Sirach 24:7–12 24:11 36:13–14 36:18–19

178 165 166 166

48:10 51:23 51:29

81 103 103

Baruch 4:30 4:36–37 4:37 5:1–9 5:5–6

165 166 92 92 166

2 Maccabees 1:27–29 7

166 35

240

Ancient Authors

Other Jewish Literature 2 Baruch 29

93

4 Ezra 13:36

166

1 Enoch 1 Enoch 14:8–25 14:10 14:15–17 62:14 89 89:72a 89:72b 89:72–73 89:73 90:28–29 90:29 91:13

195 187 197, 188 188 93 194 194 194 194, 195 194 187, 192, 209 166, 194 166

1:17 1:29 2:17–33 6:14 50:11

166 166 141 175 175

Psalms of Solomon 17 82, 108, 93, 94 17:3 184 17:26 82, 84 17:28 82 17:29 84 17.43 84 17:44 82 18 108 Sibylline Oracles 3.702–731 166 3.772–776 166 Testament of Benjamin 9:2 166

1 Esd. 4:43–44 4.59 5:47–6:34 5–6 6:27

185 186 197 199 186

Jubilees 1:13–16

141

Testament of Dan 5:12f. 165 Testament of Levi 10:5 165

Dead Sea Scrolls CD 4 4:20–5:6 4:21 5:1 5:7 –11 10:21 10:22 11:13–14 11:16–17 11:5–6 12:14–15

134 154 134, 153, 157 157 136 140 141 142 142 140 134

13:17 16:14–15

154 150

11QPsa 22

166

1QM 12:12–15

166

1QpHab 7:1–14

32

241

Ancient Authors 1QS 5:12–14

147

4Q266 6 ii, 3–4

11QTemple 29:9–10 51 54:4 56:16–19 57:15–19 66:11

166. 167 134 154 154 154 154

1QM 12:12–15

166

4Q514 1 i.

4Q159 2–4 8:10

154 154

4Q521 2ii 1 2ii 2

4Q174. frg. 1 col. I.1–5

167

4Q264

140

4Q265 6:4–8

142

4Q271 3 10–15 4Q274 1 i. 4Q421

148 154 147 158 147 78 78

4QMMT B 55–58 B 13–16 B 64–72

134 147 147

4QXII

154

Philo Her. 186

176

The Special Laws 1:77 176 3:31 154

On the Life of Moses 2:22 141

Josephus Ant. XV.411–416 IX.182 IX.58 IX.60 VII.327 VIII.354 XI. 328 XIII.283 XIV.172–174 XV.4 XV.373–378

173 76 76 76 76 79 73 73 73 73 73

XVIII.23 XX.97 XX.97–98 XX.167–68 XX.169 XX.170 XX.188 XVIII.118

75 85 75 75 75 76 75 82

Bell. I.347 II. 113

73 73

242 II.118 II.259 II.261–62 II.262 III. 400–402

Ancient Authors 75 75 75 76 73

VI. 286 VI. 300–309 VI. 312–313 VI.285

73 73 29 73

Mishna, Talmud and Related Literature Avot Rabbi Nathan A3 104

m. Yad. 4:7

134

m Šabb. 14:3–4

143

m. Yebam. 4:12 13

155 155

m. Ber. 8:2

147

m. Yoma 8:6

141, 142, 144

t. Betṣah 3.

143

t. Šabb. 9:17 9:22 14:3 15:11–17 15:11–17 15:14–15 15:16 15:17 16:22a

141 142 143 143 142 142 142 142 144

t. Sheqal. 1.6

175 155 154, 155

m. Besah 5:2,

140

m. ʿErub. 4:3 4:7 5:7 5:9

140 140 140 140

m. Giṭ. 9:10

155, 157

m. Ned. 11:9

155

m. Par. 3:7

147

m. Roš Haš. 2:5

140

t. Soṭah 1:2 5:9

m. Šabb. 7:2

140

b. B.Bat. 9a

176

m. Sanh. 10

b.Ber. 63b

104

90 b. Giṭ. 90a

156

b. Pesaḥ. 13b 14b 17b–20b

148 148 148

m. Soṭah 2:6 5:3

155 140

6:1

155

m. Tamid

175

243

Ancient Authors b. Sanh. 43a

106

b. Yoma 80b 85b

148 141

Sifre Deut. 269 270

155 155

106

y. Soṭah 1:1

155

Mek. Shabbata 141

Sifra Shemini 148 y. Giṭ. 9:11

y. Sanh. 19a

Tg. Isaiah 5:5 32:14 63:17

177 177 177

155

Nag Hammadi Gospel of Thomas 14 145 31:1 75 71 170, 217 16 82

55 101 107 64

82 82 96 94

Gospel of Truth 31–32 96

Early Christian Writings Justin Martyr

Origen

Dialogue with Trypho LXVII 54

Contr. Celsum 1.28 106 1.68 106

Modern Authors Aalen, S.89 Ackroyd, P.185 Adeleke, F.62 Ådna, J. 164, 172, 173, 174, 175, 177, 180, 191, 196, 198, 200 Afen-Akpaida, J. 62 Afnan, C.F. 30 Albani, M. 188, 196 Alexander, I. 39 Alexander, P.S. 20 Allegro, J.M. 190 Allison, D.A. 3, 19, 20, 22, 27, 28, 32, 83, 85, 92, 128, 216, 229 Altemeyer, R. 55 Aluede, O. 62 Amore, R.C. 30 Anders, M. 77 Arai, M. 61 Armengol-Carrera, J.M. 68 Arnal, W. 14, 15 Aune, D.E. 73 Aus, R.D. 52 Avaren, I. 65 Avemarie, F. 128, 149 Back, S.-O. 16, 39, 82 Bailey, K.E. 61 Bammel, E. 152, 185 Bandura, A. 59 Banks, R.J. 19, 20, 208 Banschbach Eggen, R. 110, 114, 115, 120, 122, 123, 124 Barenbaum, N.B. 39 Barnett, P. 21 Barr, J. 89 Barrett, C.K. 19 Barrick, M.R. 41 Barton, J. 208, 217 Barton, S.C. Bauckham, R. 8, 12, 13, 19, 24, 27, 60 Bauer, W.88, 89, Baumgarten, J.M. 131, 147, 154 Baur, F.C. 30

Beasley-Murray, G.R. 84 Becker, C. 1 Becker, J. 19 Beentjes, P.C. 81 Bejlby, J.K. 28 Bell, H. 28, 29 Berger, K. 19, 25, 125 Bernard, J.-L. 30 Betz, O. 189, 191 Bilde, P. 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35 Bird, M.F. 21, 28 Black, M. 210 Blenkinsopp, J. 81 Blomberg, C.L. 20, 110, 111, 112, 122, 123 Bock, D.L. 19 Bond, H.K. 19 Booth, R.P. 145, 151 Borchert, G.L. 19 Borg, M.J. 6, 28, 47, 128 Bornkamm, G. 161 Bornstein, M.H. 63 Botha, P.J.J. 74 Böttrich, C. 206, 213, 214 Boucher, M. 122, 123 Braaten, C.E. 25 Braden, C.S. 20, 30 Bramel, D. 61 Branje, S.J.T. 41 Bremberg, S. 63 Brin, G. 154 Brooke, G.J. 131, 191, 221 Brooten, B. 152 Brown, C. 8, 229 Brown, D. 46 Brown, R.E. 7, 51, 53 Bruce, F.F. 49 Burge, G.M. 65 Burkitt, F.C. 157 Burton, R.V. 52, 58, 59 Busink, Th.A. 184, 186, 201 Byrskog, S. 49, 100, 102, 103, 105, 127

Modern Authors Cadbury, H.J. 20 Campbell, A. 66 Capps, D. 42, 44 Carey, G. 55 Carver, S.S. 20 Case, S.J. 19 Casey, M. 19, 27, 28, 32, 128 Catchpole, D. 22 Cathcart, K.J. 210 Charles, R.H. 200 Charlesworth, J.H. 5, 9, 20, 27, 28, 30, 47, 48 Chester, A. 188, 200, 214 Chilton, B. 28, 44, 53, 5, 83, 85, 90, 127 Clines, D.J.S. 186, 195 Cohen, S.J.D. 194, 200 Coie, J.D. 64, 65 Collins, J.J. 78, 200 Collins, R.F. 157 Collins, W.A. 63 Cook, S.L. 135 Coppens, J.C. 212 Corley, K. 65 Cotterell, P. 89 Cowdell, S. 20, 24 Craffert, P.F. 74, 128 Cribbs, L.F. 57 Crossan, J.D. 5, 6, 13, 19, 48, 49, 74, 111, 127 Dalman, G. 87, 88, 89 Daube, D. 106 Davies, W.D. 216 Dequerker, L. 197, 198 Derrett, J.D.M. 216 Dimant, D. 191 Dodd, C.H. 19, 110, 111, 115, 117, 118, 119, 124 Doering, L.131, 140, 143 Donahue, J.R. 10, 113, 120 Drury, J. 120, 121 Duhm, B. 108 Dungan, D.L. 39 Dunn, J.D.G. 9, 12, 24, 27, 28, 47, 82, 83, 87, 89, 90, 99, 100, 105, 130, 208 Ebner, M. 19 Eddy, P.R. 28 Egger, W. 89 Ehrman, B.D. 21, 22, 27, 28, 32, 33, 128 Ellens, D.L. 153

245

Elliott, J.H. 211 Engberg-Pedersen, T. 24 Erikson, E.H. 39 Erlemann, K. 113, 122 Evans, C.A. 28, 29, 47, 49, 51, 66, 74, 84, 215, 216, 227 Eve, E. 76, 78 Fagan, J. 64, Feinstein, E.S. 153 Feldmeier, R. 211 Fiebig, P. 113, 115 Fiensy, D.A. 55 Fitzmyer, J.A. 84, 217, 227 Flores d’Arcais, P. 21 Floyd, K. 68 Flusser, D. 20, 21, 123, 143 Fohrer, G. 188 Foster, P.A. 63, 74 Frederiksen, P. 27 Freedman, D.N. 30 Freeman, T. 68 Freyne, S. 27, 28, 75, 127 Friend, R. 61 Fuchs, E. 111, 115, 124 Funk, R.W. 7, 8, 20 Gabriel, M.A. 30 García Martínez, F. 140, 189, 190 Gärtner, B. 189, 190 Gerhardsson, B. 27, 120 Gerris, J.R.M. 41 Gilat, Y.D. 132, 135 Gnilka, J. 30, 215 Goldstein, L.J. 1, 2, 3, 9 Gooch, P.W. 30 Goodsell, T.L. 63 Gordon, R.P. 210 Goschen-Gottstein, A. 19 Gray, R. 76 Green, J.B. 49, 50, 65, 207 Green, T.T. 68 Gundry, R.H. 209, 216, 218, 227 Hägerland, T. 66, 73, 83, 128 Hagner, D.A. 216, 217, 227 Hahn, H. 23 Halpern, B. 147, 184, 185, 186, 194 Hampel, V. 22 Hanson, P.D. 186 Haran, M. 200

246

Modern Authors

Harnack, A. 20 Harnisch, W. 111, 113, 115 Harper, C.C. 64 Harrington, D.J. 19 Harris, J.R. 61, 62 Harvey, A.E. 27, 77 Hedrick, C.W. 111, 114, 115, 116, 125 Helkama, K. 66 Hengel, M. 19, 27, 47, 79, 81 Herzog, II W.R 114, 118, 119, 128 Hetherington, E.M. 63 Hildebrand, D.R. 195 Hill, D. 20, 22, 23, 30 Himmelfarb, M. 147, 148 Ho, C. 64 Hobart, M. 2 Holladay, W.L. 183 Holmén, T. 19, 22, 26, 28, 130, 131, 181, 182, 215, 218, 220, 224, 225, 226, 227, 231 Holtzmann, H.J. 20 Hooker, M.D. 146 Hoover, R.W. 20 Horbury, W. 187, 198, 199, 200 Horrell, D. 207, 226 Horsley, R.A. 47, 73, 75, 128 Horton, W.M. 9 Howell, S.H. 40 Hruby, K. 106 Hubbard, J.A. 64 Hultgren, A.J. 92 Hurtado, L.C. 21 Hvidberg, F.F. 154 Iglesias, A. 64 Ilan, T. 54 Instone-Brewer, D. 140, 142, 152, 156 Isaksson, A. 154 Jacobi, F. 30 Jeremias, J. 93, 98, 110, 111, 114, 117, 118, 119, 123, 124, 208, 210, 212 Jewkes, R. 64 Jobes, K.H. 209 Johnson, L.T. 10, 11 Johnson, M.D. 199 Jones, K. 63, 64 Jülicher, A. 20, 110 24, 25, 26, 27 Kallio, S. 60 Kankaanniemi, M. 16, 49, 50, 53

Kaplan, A. 66 Käsemann, E. 22, 23 Kazen, T. 22, 127, 131, 138, 145, 146, 147, 149, 153, 156, 157 Kearney, M. 21, 31 Keener, C.S. 24, 123, 217 Keith, C. 74, 130 Kille, A. 40 Klauck, H.-J. 122 Knitter, P.F. 20, 21, 24 Knohl, I. 30, 35 Kristiansson, R. 63 Kruse, H. 144 Kuhn, T. 50 Kvalbein, H. 19, 24, 163, 178 Laato, A. 85 Lang, B. 29 Le Donne, A. 8, 130 Lee, P. 191 Lessing, G.E. 26 Levine, L.I. 198, 200 Lichtenberger, H. 77 Liebenberg, J. 89 Lincoln, A. 210 Linnemann, E. 123 Lipinski, E. 185, 186 Lohse, E.106, 203, 211 Louw, J.P. 88 Luck, W.F. 157 Luz, U. 30 Lyons, G. 209 Maccoby, E.E. 63 Maccoby, H. 143 Magness, J. 228 Malchov, B.V. 187 Mandara, J. 64 Marshall, I.H. 227 Martin, R.A. 19 Matthiae, K. 26 Mbuvi, A.M. 211, 212 McAdams, D.P. 41, 42 McArthur, H. 54 McCartney, D. 212 McClymond, M. 30 McGrath, J.F. 54 McKinnes Runyan, W. 56 McKnight, S. 28, 44, 81 McLanahan, S.S. 64 Meier, J.P. 7, 9, 10, 11, 20, 27, 28, 32, 43,

Modern Authors 47, 48, 70, 71, 72, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 84, 86, 87, 127, 128, 129, 138, 139, 142, 143, 152, 157, 217, 219 Meldrum, J.T. 63 Merz, A. 5, 6, 14, 19, 28, 83, 87, 110 Meyer, B.F. 9, 27, 28, 32, 47 Meyers, C.L. 184, 185, 186, 187 Meyers, E.M. 184, 185, 186, 187 Michaels, A. 30 Michaels, J.R. 47, 75, 207 Milburn, N.G. 63 Milgrom, J. 147 Miller, J. 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50, 52, 54, 57, 58, 59, 61, 62, 65, 67, 68, 69 Mojzes, P. 20, 21, 25 Moltmann, J. 229 Moore, C.A. 200 Moore, G.F. 194 Mori, K. 61 Morman, M.T. 68 Morten Hørning Jensen, M. 162 Mount, M.K. 41 Moxnes, H. 15 Moyise, S. 82, 83 Müller, M. 21, 22, 102 Murray, C.B. 64 Myers, J.M. 197 Nduna, M. 64 Newman, J. 106 Newsom, C. 189 Neyrey, J. 66 Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 189, 194, 195 Nida, E.A. 88 Niemand, C. 23 Noack, B. 30 Nolland, J. 200 Nützel, J. 80 Oberklaid, F. 63 Öhler, M. 72, 79, 82 Ollilainen, V. 67 Omoike, D. 62 Paddison, A. 210 Paesler, K. 170 Parish, T.S. 63, 64 Penner, J. 190 Pennington, J.T. 87, 88 Perrin, N. 10, 19 Pesch, R. 216, 227

247

Petersen, D.L. Petitjean, A. 186 Pilch, J.J. 60, 61 Pitre, B. 28 Poirier, J.C. 56, 146 Porter, S.E. 19 Pressler, C. 153 Priestley, J. 30 Puig i Tàrrech, A. 19, 53 Rafferty, Y. 61 Räisänen, H. 67 Rasmussen, E. 30 Ratzinger, J. 27 Rau, E.111 Reese-Weber, M. 63 Regev, E. 147 Reimarus, H.S. 5, 8, 26, 27, 28 Revonsuo, A. 60 Ricoeur, P. 7, 12, 115 Riesner, R. 100, 101 Ristow, H. 26 Robbins, V.K. 79 Rofé, A. 188, 196 Rose, W.H. 196 Ross, D. 59 Ross, S.A. 59 Rotheram-Borus, M.J. 63 Rowe, D.C. 61, 63 Rowland, C.C. 192, 194, 197 Rubenstein, J.F. 133, 134, 136 Ryme, T.J. 30 Sanders, E.P. 15, 20, 21, 23, 26, 27, 28, 32, 41, 47, 77, 78, 84, 87, 121, 127, 143, 192, 194 Sanford, J.A. 40 Sarkadi, A. 63 Scelza, B.A. 64 Schaberg, J. 44 Schiffman, L.H. 131, 132 Schillebeeckx, E. 19, 27 Schlosser, J. 215, 216 Schmidt, K.L. 207, 209 Scholl, N. 19 Schremer, A. 132, 133, 136, 154 Schuller, E. 189 Schultz, W.T. 40, 54, 56, 57, 62 Schwartz, D.R. 132, 133, 134, 136 Schweitzer, A. 1, 4, 6, 7, 10, 14, 16, 24, 26, 27, 28, 38, 39, 41, 42, 46, 69, 120,

248

Modern Authors

161 Schweizer, E.218 Schwemer, A.M. 19, 27, 81 Scott, B.B. 110 Senior, D. 218 Shanks, H. 102 Shemesh, A. 131, 132, 135, 136, 137, 140, 142, 149 Sider, J.W. 110 Sigal, P. 127, 143 Sikka, P. 60 Silfver, M. 66 Silman, Y. 133 Smith, R.L. 186 Snodgrass, K.R. 92, 119, 183, 207, 209 Stannard, D. 45, 58, 59 Stanton, G.N. 48 Stegemann, H. 30 Stegemann, W. 22, 23, 28, 189 Stein, J.A. 63 Stein, R.H. 20 Steinberg, L. 63 Stone, M. 189 Streeter, B.H. 104 Stuhlmacher, P. 26, 27, 168, 178 Sung, Ch.-H. 20 Sweet, J.P.M. 187, 205, 214, 217 Swidler, L. 20, 21, 25, Syreeni, K. 13 Tafarodi, W. 64 Tajfel, H. 48 Talmon, S. 78, 187 Tan, K.H. 161, 168 Tannehill, R.C. 215, 216, 217 Taylor, J.C. 63, 64 Theissen, G. 5, 6, 13, 14, 19, 22, 23, 27, 28, 32, 44, 47, 75, 76, 83, 87, 110, 130, 131, 182, 225, 226 Thiering, B. 19 Thomas, S. 4 Tolbert, M.A. 118, 124 Toussaint, L.T. 66 Trotter, J.M. 197 Tuland, C.G. 186 Turner, M. 89

Ullmann-Margalit, E. 3, 4 van Aarde, A. 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 65, 66, 67, 69 van Lieshout, C.F.M. 41 van Os, B. 46, 50, 52, 61, 65 Veliyannoor, P.V. 40 Verheyden, J. 86 Vermes, G. 23, 27, 47, 127, 128, 143 Voorwinde, S. 56 Walls, D.R. 209 Wampold, B.F. 58 Watts, J.D.W. 183 Weaver, W.P. 28 Webb, J.R. 66 Webb, R.L. 73, 81, 130 Wedderburn, A.J.M. 23 Weder, H. 110, 111, 113, 115, 123, 124 Westbrook, R. 153 Westerholm, S. 128, 149 White, L.M. 19 Whiting, J.W.M. 45, 59 Wilckens, U. 22 Wild, N. 64 Williamson, H.G.M. 185 Wink, W. 39, 40 Winter, D. 13, 22, 23, 130, 131, 182, 225 Wise, M.O. 30 Witherington, B. 19, 28, 48 Wolter, M. 9 Wright, N.T. 6, 7, 8, 28, 48, 50, 87 Yarbro Collins, A. 138, 146, Yoshimura, H. 82 Young, B.H. 19 Yueh-Han Yieh, J. 102 Zahl, P.F.M. 20, 21, 22, 25 Zane, J.I. 63, Zeitlin, I.M. 20, 102 Zeitz, J. 21, 31 Zeller, D. 174 Zimmermann, R. 92, 110, 120

Subject Index Abba, 43, 58 Anti-Semitism 14 Apollos 208 Atonement 15, 33, 175, 176, 177 Authority 24, 67, 72, 91, 99–109, 127– 160, 177, 179 Banquet 88, 91, 92–98 Baptism 32, 39, 43, 44, 87, 179 Caesarea 217 Continuum approach 182, 214, 219–230 Criteria of authenticity 6, 8, 13, 22, 23, 53, 70, 101, 129, 130, 137, 158, 181 Cyrus 185, 200 Darius 185, 200 Disciples 44, 52, 56, 65, 72, 76, 79, 80, 86, 90, 91, 93, 100, 101, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 117, 139, 146, 163, 177, 179, 220, 228, 229 – Judas Iscariot 49, 102 – Peter 103, 104, 107, 181, 207, 213, 215, 217, 218, 221, 224 Ecclesia 182, 202, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210–214, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 227– 230 Enlightenment 6, 7, 8, 18, 227 Form criticism 49, 129 Galilee 26, 33, 46, 51, 65, 66, 72, 74, 162, 163 Halakah 127, 131, 132, 134, 135, 136, 137, 139, 140, 141, 142, 144, 152, 158 – Circumcision 142, 204 – Divorce 36, 129, 152–158, 159, 160 – Golden Rule 37 – Hand washing 148, 149, 151, 159 – Idolatry 150, 193, 196 – Impurity 52, 134, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 159, 196 – Paradosis 128, 149, 162 – Purity 54, 129, 131, 145, 147–151, 153, 159, 160, 173, 175 – Sabbath 129, 131, 134, 138–145, 158, 159, 160 Herod – Antipas 157, 162

– Herod the Great 73, 170, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 214 Jerusalem 33, 73, 73, 75, 84, 85, 91, 93, 103, 107, 118, 161–180, 185, 191, 192, 193, 199, 205, 214, 215, 216, 223 Jesus – Death (of Jesus) 7, 22, 33, 34, 35, 98, 104, 107, 120 – Didactical abilities (of Jesus) 124, 125, 126 – Didactic authority 99–109 – Jesus as Jew, Jewishness of Jesus 3, 6, 9, 11, 13, 14, 15, 23, 27, 28, 30, 31, 33, 34, 36, 70, 126, 219, 222, 225, 226 – Quests of the historical Jesus 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 15, 39, 50, 109, 112, 125, 126, 130, 131 – Real Jesus 9, 10, 11, 26, 27 – Remembered Jesus 11, 12, 27, 98, 105, 130 – Resurrection (of Jesus) 9, 13, 159, 171, 179 – Self-understanding of Jesus 39, 98, 98, 229 – Son of Man 9, 79, 105, 138, 141, 158, 168, 177 Jesus Barabbas 31, 34 Jesus Son of Ananiah 29, 31, 37 John the Baptist 26, 20, 31, 32, 34, 35, 36, 70, 73, 75, 77, 82, 108 Joshua 186, 187, 194, 197, 199 Judas the Galilean 32, 34, 36, 75, 76 Kingdom of God 15, 32, 35, 37, 55, 75, 79, 83, 86, 87–98, 105, 111, 115, 116, 117, 118, 122, 123, 124, 160, 162, 163, 172, 174, 175, 177, 178, 180 Korban 44, 145, 146, 149, 150 Lord’s Supper 98 Mamzer 44, 62, 67 Memory 12, 14, 44, 77, 79, 104, 105, 107, 108, 109 Messiah 33, 35, 36, 78, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 105, 108, 174, 178, 186, 190, 229

250

Subject Index

Miracles 35, 37, 60, 69, 71, 72, 76, 77, 78, 82, 86, 105, 106, 107, 109 – Exorcism 32, 90, 100, 145 – Healing 32, 42, 55, 77,78, 83, 93, 105, 107, 138, 139, 142, 143, 144, 145, 158, 159 Mosaic Law 35, 36, 37 Nebuchadnezzar 165, 175, 185 New hermeneutic 115, 116, 136, 137 Passover 33, 160, 162, 174, 176, 178 Paul 204 10, 11, 12, 15, 32, 53, 101, 156, 179, 180, 204, 205, 208, 214 Presuppositions 18, 25, 26, 49, 88, 89, 148, 149, 159, 162, 172, 187, 192, 193, 214, 222 Prophets 15, 27, 28, 29, 32, 34, 36, 37, 49, 64, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 83, 86, 90, 105, 128, 164, 165, 166, 168, 175, 177, 199, 206, 209, 213, 216 – Elijah 32, 70–86 – Eschatological prophet 27, 28, 32, 34, 36, 71, 78, 80, 83, 128 Qumran 189 4, 36, 49, 78, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 140, 142, 143, 145, 147, 149, 154, 155, 156, 159, 160, 161, 183, 189, 190, 191, 202, 209, 212, 217, 218, 220, 221, 226, 228 – Dead Sea Scrolls 1, 29, 34, 166, 167 – Teacher of Righteousness 26, 29, 31, 32, 34, 35, 36, 190, 220, 221 Rabbis – Hillel 31, 133, 155 – Jochanan ben Zakkai 31, 106 – Rabbi Akiba 31, 32 – Shammai 134, 143, 155 Redaction criticism 8, 27, 47, 96, 129, 137, 138, 142, 145, 146, 158, 159, 218 Restoration of Israel 28, 32, 72, 80, 81, 83, 84–86, 194, 199, 200 Second Temple Judaism 127, 131, 132, 136, 137, 138, 141, 142, 143, 144, 147, 148, 149, 150, 154, 155, 158, 159, 160, 166, 170, 181, 185, 187, 191, 194, 197 Sermon on the Mount 106, 169, 220 Servant song 107 Simon bar Kochba 29, 31, 34, 35, 36 Sinners 49, 55, 66, 96, 97, 98, 111, 112, 113, 117, 123 Social sciences 40, 45, 58, 60, 62 – Altered State of Consciousness 60

– Mediterranean 54, 60, 61 – Psychobiography 40, 42 – Psychological study of Jesus 38–42 Solomon 164, 199, 201 Son of David 210 Son of God 105 Spirit of God 55, 206 Stephen 53, 204 Swearing 169, 170 – Oath 36, 150, 169, 170 – Vow 145, 150 Synagogue 44, 106, 108, 139 Temple 15, 73, 84, 107, 141, 147, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 173–176, 177, 181–231 – Cornerstone 183, 189, 206, 207, 208, 209, 211 – Temple incident 7, 66, 172, 173–176, 177, 178, 179, 227 Testimony 12, 13, 35 Theudas 29, 31, 32, 35, 75, 76 Twelve – Twelve disciples 72, 80, 81, 84, 85, 101, 176, 228, 229 – Twelve tribes 36, 84, 85, 86, 166 Zacchaeus 56, 97 Zerubbabel 170, 184, 186, 187, 191, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 201, 210, 221 Zion tradition 164–168, 169, 170, 172, 173, 174, 176–178