think hard, think well

The following is an excerpt from my thesis on Lamentations.  My current chapter is about intertextuality between Lamentations and Babylonian- and Persian-era texts.  The text that appears to have most in common with Lamentations is Isaiah 40-55.

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Gottwald, self-consciously applying a Marxist rubric, considers DeuIsa (Isa 40-55) to reflect the concerns of the golah former elites of Judah, with relatively little concern for the she’erit (Judahites in the land) working classes.[1]  In his view, DeuIsa provides encouragement, reminding the golah community that they are the rightful elites of Judah, and justifying their claim to leadership with “the notion that the exile had ‘purified’ and uniquely qualified the deportees to lead a reconstituted Judahite polis.”[2]  By contrast, the she’erit are merely “a ‘faceless’ chorus welcoming the returnees.”[3]  Gottwald suggests that TrIsa’s (Isa 56-66) critique of the returning golah leadership reveals a naiveté in DeuIsa’s idealistic return:

…We may perhaps conjecture that the “innocence” of Isaiah 40-55 about the Judahites in Judah was the reflexive “blind spot” of an aristocratic ex-official who simply assumed that his confreres, having “learned their lesson” in exile, would be a noble and just body of leaders who would behave differently than had their forefathers who governed in Jerusalem.[4]

Lamentations, Gottwald argues, contains a she’erit critique of the returning golah leadership:

We read there of their disillusion with the Davidic dynasty and with the corrupt leadership of officials, priests and prophets….It is hardly likely that these folk would gladly receive back the descendants of that discredited leadership “sight unseen” merely because they asserted a claim and had Persian authorization to back them.[5]

Gottwald’s assessment of DeuIsa, though offering some creative observations, unfortunately glosses over several important aspects of these two texts, creating an unwarranted distance between the positions reflected by DeuIsa and Lamentations.  It is certainly true that there were competing claims to political and religious leadership during the return/restoration efforts.  However, a simplistic claim that Lamentations reflects she’erit suspicion of golah leadership and that DeuIsa exhibits concern only for pro-Persian, exile-purified elites does not do justice to the complex concerns of these two texts.  Chapter four  of my thesis has demonstrated that Lamentations, though written primarily from a she’erit perspective, exhibits concern for the golah and refugee communities as well.  Chapter two showed DeuIsa’s concern for the desolate state of the she’erit as more than simply a “faceless chorus” welcoming back their aristocracy.

The unnecessary wedge Gottwald drives between Lamentations and DeuIsa taints some of his conclusions regarding the rhetoric and imagery of the two texts.  He argues that “the imaginative figures of Jacob/Israel, Lady Zion and the Oppressed Servant of Isaiah 40-55 are supremely, even exclusively, those Judahites who were detained in Babylon.”[6]  Yet Lamentations uses Lady Zion to protest on behalf of she’erit concerns (as well as golah concerns), and the Oppressed Servant bears some resemblance to the geber figure of Lamentations 3.  Furthermore, Gottwald argues that DeuIsa’s replacement of a Davidic figure with Cyrus was a way justifying golah leadership of Judah:

The author of Isaiah 40-55 takes a step [sic] farther [than the DtrH] in discountenancing any Davidic rule, conferring instead a “Davidic” legitimacy on Persian overlordship and on supervision of Yahwism as the established religion of the empire by a cadre of purified exiles.  In one stroke, the Davidic covenant, with its close intermesh of politics and religion, is preserved in principle—but without David’s dynastic successors having a part to play.[7]

This assertion allows Gottwald to dismiss the “Davidic democratization” tendencies of DeuIsa, particularly surrounding 55:3-4.[8]  He also questions the “liberative platform” often seen in DeuIsa.[9]

Newsom addresses one of these difficulties in a response to Gottwald.[10]  She argues that the she’erit community is dialogically present in DeuIsa through the appropriation of the rhetoric of Lamentations:

I don’t agree…that there is in Second Isaiah either a naïve or a complacently “hard ball” assumption that the exiles will be welcomed back home.  Rather, the use of the Judahite [she’erit] speech of Lamentations is an oblique acknowledgement that there are some social and ideological problems attached to going home again.  What Second Isaiah does is to set out to find an imaginative framework within which these social and ideological problems can be finessed.  Strategically, for the exilic community to locate itself within the speech of the Judahite community provides the exilic community with a symbolic narrative within which they can imagine themselves being welcomed home….The use of Lamentations thus betrays a need (perhaps not consciously registered) for a common language, a common set of symbols with which the two communities can regard and make sense of one another.[11]

Newsom admits that this “common language” is certainly “populated with the intentions and interests of the exilic community.”[12]  But rather than shouting down or ignoring the she’erit community, in DeuIsa the golah community engages the other in dialogue through the use of Lamentations.

Gottwald dismisses an “inclusive” reading of DeuIsa and considers the invocation of the Davidic covenant in Isaiah 55:3-4 to be a golah co-opting of the Davidic role to bolster claims to nobility and hegemony in Judah.  But his reading does not do justice to Isaiah 55 on his own terms.  In verses 1-2 and 12-13, Isaiah 55’s utopia is a world without scarcity, labor or trade—one in which staples and luxury foods are available free to anyone, and the land easily yields its produce.  DeuIsa does not appear to be concerned with reestablishing golah control of the means of production, but rather with a restoration scenario in which means of production are not a concern at all.

DeuIsa does appear to “democratize” the Davidic covenant, inasmuch as it applies the principle of royal representation—the king as the mediator between god and people—to the current situation in which Judah lacks a king.  55:3 extends the Davidic covenant offer to anyone who “listens” and “inclines the ear” to the prophet’s message, particularly those who are poor and thirsty (55:1-2).  This universalizing vision considers YHWH to be the God of all nations and includes the conversion of Gentiles who will worship YHWH (42:6; 49:6; 55:5).

One of the humbling things about blogging is sifting through one’s archives.  Reading one’s own public personal and intellectual diary is dangerous, as is calling attention to thoughts that made it onto the web in their infancy rather than in maturity.  But that’s part of the beauty of blogging: seeing good ideas develop and bad ones die (or get recycled and published on HuffPo).

In December 2009 I posted a piece entitled, “Hengel and Gese on the LXX.”  I thought I might interact with portions of this piece in order to see if and how my thinking on the issue has changed in nearly two years.

I’ve been wrestling recently with the Protestant problem of the Septuagint.  My tradition has considered the Masoretic Text and its 24 canonical books to be the Old Testament.  The perception is that the LXX is a helpful translation of the Hebrew, but the Hebrew is the real thing.  Yet the MT is medieval, and we know that it deviates in many places from the Vorlage of the old LXX.  The text of Jeremiah is a prime example of this; we have found at Qumran both the proto-MT and the Hebrew basis for the LXX of Jeremiah, and it appears fairly certain that the LXX was the earlier version.  The Qumran community evidently revered both versions to some degree. (THTW, 12/1/09)

I still agree substantially with this paragraph.  I’m still not sure what to do about two versions of Jeremiah.  J. Daniel Hays has written an excellent introduction to this issue from an evangelical perspective, though I disagree with some of his conclusions.  It appears that one version of Jeremiah’s prophecies was “published” and circulated in Egypt, and then a second version (a proto-MT) was circulated in Palestine and Babylon during or soon after the prophet’s lifetime.  Which is the “inspired” version?

The Jeremiah issue indicates two things.  First, our doctrine of inerrancy needs to be flexible enough to include all stages of textual development, including oral performance by a prophet, transcription by a disciple, and subsequent scribal edition.  “Authorship” simply worked differently in the ancient world.  I don’t think it bothers most conservative Christians that we have no actual writings from Jesus, only four Gospel accounts–Jesus’ disciples preserved the tradition faithfully, and so the process of inspiration continued from the time Jesus spoke until the disciples wrote them down.  Similarly, we shouldn’t “freak out” just because Jeremiah used a scribe, Baruch, who “published” two versions of his oracles.

Second, evangelicals need to be careful not to impose notions from NT studies about textual criticism and original autographs on the OT texts.  There simply isn’t a bright, solid line dividing “original autographs” from later scribal additions.

This preference of the MT over the LXX is a relatively recent phenomenon, stemming from a Reformation desire to move away from the Vulgate.  Jerome himself learned Biblical Hebrew and demonstrated that it was preferable in many instances over the LXX.  (If you want a fascinating read, check out Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis, which is a running commentary and explanation of Jerome’s work comparing the Hebrew text of his day, the (proto-)Targumic material to which he had access, and the LXXs.  It’s a shame that he was only able to do Genesis.  This window into the Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic versions of the Bible in the 5th century is small but immensely helpful.)  (THTW, 12/1/09)

This week on Ancient Hebrew Poetry blog, John Hobbins translated for us several excerpts from Jerome, and this one blew my mind.  Jerome makes the point that the Hebrew canon includes 22 books: Law (5), Prophets (8: Josh-Jdg-Sam-Kgs-Isa-Jer-Eze-Twelve), and Writings (9: Job-Pss-Prv-SoS-Eccl-Est-Dan-Ezr/Neh-Chr), with Ruth appended to Judges and Lamentations appended to Jeremiah.  He then argues that these two books should be counted separately, thus making 24, which corresponds to the number of elders around the throne in Revelation 4!  Very creative.  I’m not sure I take his interpretation of Rev 4 seriously, but the fact that he affirms what we think of as the Hebrew canon, even at the turn of the 5th century, is fascinating.

I was recently re-reading Martin Hengel’s excellent book, The Septuagint As Christian Scripture: Its Prehistory and the Problem of Its Canon.  He closes the book (pp. 126-27) with this quote from Harmut Gese:

“A Christian theologian may never approve of the masoretic [sic] canon.  The continuity with the New Testament is in significant measure broken here.  It seems to me that, among the effects of humanism on the Reformation, the most fateful was that the reduced pharisaic [sic] canon and the masoretic textual tradition which was appealed to as a ‘humanistic’ source were confused with one another and the apocrypha [sic] were set aside.  With the thesis of the essential unity of the Old and New Testaments, of the one biblical tradition, the precarious question of the Christian interpretation of the Old Testament was settled….The New Testament brought the formation of Old Testament tradition to an end, a final conclusion.  The formation of biblical tradition is thus, as a whole, concluded and thus, for the first time, in a deeper sense, canonical.” (“Erwägungen zur Einheit der biblischen Theologie,” in Vom Sinai zum Zion, Munich, 1990; pp. 16-17.)  (THTW, 12/1/09)

Here is a qotation from Jerome (John Hobbins’ translation):

“This prologue to the scriptures may serve as a helmeted introduction to all the books which we turn from Hebrew into Latin, that we may be assured of knowing that whatever is outside them is to be set aside among the apocrypha [a Greek loanword and technical term for writings without dogmatic authority]. Thus Sapientia, which is commonly ascribed to Salomon, and the book of Jesus son of Sirach, and Iudith and Tobias, and Pastor [The Shepherd of Hermes] are not in the canon. The first book of Macchabei I find is Hebrew, the second is Greek, which can be proven from their φρασις [phraseology].

Jerome, contra Gese, affirms the (proto-)Masoretic canon in the ancient church.  The irony is that the Catholic Church, by adopting Jerome’s Vulgate including the Apocrypha, did not adopt Jerome’s notion of the Hebrew canon.  Gese’s argument that Protestants threw out the Apocrypha after the humanists discovered Hebrew in the Renaissance is incomplete: Jerome knew the Hebrew canon long before the Reformers did.

I suppose my struggle is this: my tradition has taught me to try to be as faithful to the “original text” as possible, but it seems like such a thing is nearly impossible to pin down in the OT.  (The texts of the NT are a different matter.)  The textual and canonical history of the OT is quite fluid and choppy.  In theory I would like to accept the LXX as Scripture.  The main advantage, as Gese has noted, is continuity with the NT and the Church Fathers.  But there are several theological and practical obstacles to my acceptance of the LXX.

1. The Septuagint has its own complicated textual history, as Hengel and others have outlined.  The term “The Septuagint” implies that there is one, but there are really several Septuagints and many different witnesses to each.  The unity and consistency of the MT, even if it came later, is at least emotionally appealing.

2. So, how do I teach the Apocrypha if I accept the LXX as Scripture?  Is it fully authoritative in the church, or deutero-canonical?  What does that even mean?  I’m not a strict “inerrantist” when it comes to historical details in the Bible, but what of books like Judith and Tobit that appear to be complete fabrication?  Reading the Apocrypha as Scripture would be a new hermeneutical challenge.

3. My church will not accept the Apocrypha.  Could I be ordained in a tradition that does not esteem the Apocrypha as Scripture and yet teach it as Scripture?

4. I think there is much insight to be gained from a Hebrew canonical reading of the OT, particularly in the Writings.  I also like the nuance and subtlety of MT Esther more than the theologized, pietized LXX version.

5. What does a Christian who accepts the LXX do with the Hebrew Bible?  I love Hebrew and Aramaic, and I would hate to see Christians abandon the study of the Bible in these languages.  Anyone who has read the Bible in Hebrew appreciates the beauty and complexity of these texts in their original languages.  Even those who use the LXX acknowledge that it is Hebraicized Greek that is largely lacking in literary style.

So, what do I as an evangelical Protestant, broadly in the Reformed tradition, who likes the LXX?  (THTW, 12/1/09)

My objections to the LXX still stand today, and are even stronger now in light of my understanding of the Apocrypha’s early non-canonical status.  Even if the MT has some textual problems, the LXX’s problems are even greater.  I still have hermeneutical concerns regarding books like Esther and Daniel, but perhaps they are not as great when fabrications like Judith and Tobit are definitively excluded from the canon.

I now minister in a confessional church, in which all officers must subscribe to the system of doctrine contained in the Westminster Standards.  WCF 1:2-3 makes very clear that the books of Scripture include the traditional Hebrew canon (albeit in the LXX order), and the 27 books of the NT.  The Apocrypha “are of no authority in the Church of God, nor to be any otherwise approved, or made use of, than other human writings.”  The prooftexts include Lk 24:44, in which Jesus demonstrates himself in “the Law, the Prophets and the Psalms,” the Psalms being synecdochic of the Ketuvim.

The WCF confirms Scripture’s authority as “given by inspiration of God to be the rule of faith and life.”  Furthermore, 1:8 gives warrant for the pursuit of historical meaning in the original languages:

“The Old Testament in Hebrew (which was the native language of the people of God of old), and the New Testament in Greek (which, at the time of the writing of it, was most generally known to the nations), being immediately inspired by God, and, by His singular care and providence, kept pure in all ages, are therefore authentical; so as, in all controversies of religion, the Church is finally to appeal unto them.  But, because these original tongues are not known to all the people of God, who have right unto, and interest in the Scriptures, and are commanded, in the fear of God, to read and search them, therefore they are to be translated in to the vulgar language of every nation unto which they come, that, the Word of God dwelling plentifully in all, they may worship Him in an acceptable manner; and, through patience and comfort of the Scriptures, may have hope.”

The more I study church history and the ancient background of the Hebrew Bible and New Testament, the more I am impressed with the Westminster Standards for their breadth of theological understanding and enduring relevance even after the rise of historical criticism.  The WCF must be understood in its 17th-century Anglo-European context.  But as a representation of Scriptural doctrine, it is still a masterpiece that remains relevant in an anti-confessional age.

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My views on Scripture have changed quite a bit in two years–if they hadn’t, I would wonder whether I’ve been wasting my time.  But my studies have only confirmed for me the inspiration of Holy Scripture, and the sovereignty and goodness of the God who revealed and reveals Himself by them.

יָבֵשׁ חָצִיר, נָבֵל צִיץ; וּדְבַר-אֱלֹהֵינוּ, יָקוּם לְעוֹלָם

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt (εσκηνωσεν) among us, and we beheld his glory as the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (Jn 1:14)

I’ve been listening through the Pentateuch at work lately. After working my way through Genesis and Exodus, I’ve skipped to Numbers–not because Leviticus is less important, but because listening to law code doesn’t make the hours pass by any faster!

One thing I noticed is the location of the tabernacle (משׁכן) or “tent of meeting” (אהל מועד) through the wilderness wanderings relative to the camp of Israel. Exodus 25-31 give the initial instructions for the construction of the tabernacle, the making of the priestly vestments, and the regular offerings. Exodus 35-39 continues these instructions, with Exodus 40 describing the completion and dedication of the tabernacle and the indwelling of YHWH’s presence.

Exodus 32-34 begins with the tragic story of the golden calf. While Moses is up on Sinai receiving Torah, the people are building an idol down below (“This is your God, O Israel, who brought you up from the land of Egypt!”). The “Fall of Israel” (so-called by the Rabbis) results in Moses pitching the tent of meeting outside the camp in 33:7 (even though its building instructions haven’t yet been completed or even implemented!). YHWH’s presence has not yet dwelt in the midst of the people, and his relationship with Israel appears to be in jeopardy. But he renews the covenant (Exodus 34) and proves his favor by showing himself to Moses (apparently).

Leviticus, as far as I can tell, nowhere prescribes the location of the tabernacle relative to the camp of Israel. But Numbers 2 sets forth in detail the location of the tabernacle with the Levites at the center of the camp, with three tribes on each of the four sides surrounding it. As YHWH gives his Torah to his people, he moves from outside the camp to the center. Whereas Israel began its relationship with YHWH unworthy of his presence in their midst, his Torah permits him to dwell with them. Numbers 12-18 is all about the concentric “layers” of holiness, the hedges around YHWH and his tabernacle to protect the general population from his glorious presence: the Levites, the Kohathites, Aaron’s family, and Aaron himself.

Protestants (going back to Calvin, as far as I know–I am not a Reformation scholar, nor am I the son of a Reformation scholar) have traditionally affirmed three purposes of the Law. The Law is pedagogical in that it acts as a mirror to show us our sin and point us to our need for salvation in Christ. The Law also has a civil component that restrains evil in society. Finally, the Law also normative for Christians in some sense, in that it reveals the will of God for the life of his redeemed people.

When I teach Numbers and Deuteronomy, or the Pentateuch in general, I also speak of a fourth purpose of the Law–though I suppose you could think of it as an extension of the civil purpose (or perhaps the pedagogical purpose as well).

It’s important to think of the Mosaic Law as providing a way for a holy God to live with an unholy people. The Law provides the context for God’s redemptive plan to continue through his old-covenant people. In this sense, it functions somewhat like common grace, which allows redemptive grace to exist. The Law allowed YHWH to remain with his people throughout their sojournings, as well as during the conquest, the judges, the monarchy and the divided kingdom. YHWH’s startling absence is the reason for the exile, and his return to his people through the renewal of the covenant is the dream of the prophets, especially 2 Isaiah, Jeremiah, Zechariah and Malachi.

Who among the prophets would have guessed, though, that YHWH’s presence would return to his people not in a cloud or a pillar of fire, but as a person, Yeshua` bar Yosef, who came and “tented” (εσκηνωσεν) among us?