So, another quirk in Revelation occurs in 16:7, when the seven angels are pouring out bowls of divine wrath upon the earth and sea. In the middle of it, the "angel of the waters" speaks of the Holy One as judge, who is righteous and offers proportional punishments: those who shed the blood of the saints get blood to drink (the waters turn to blood as in the Egyptian plague).
In response, the heavenly altar itself speaks (NRSV): "yes, O Lord God, the Almighty, your judgments are true and just."
Interestingly, it seems the throne also speaks: "And from the throne came a voice saying, 'Praise our God, all you his servants, and all who fear him, small and great'" (Rev 19:5).
This could just be a disembodied divine voice coming from the throne - or the throne is alive, animate. It is something that occurs intermittently throughout Revelation, too, usually before breaking out in a hymn.
I know that in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice the heavenly sanctuary and its various elements are animate and the divine throne in the much later Hekhalot Rabbati also gets up and bows before God. But has anyone heard of the speaking altar before?
Showing posts with label Revelation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Revelation. Show all posts
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Revelation 14:10 and Heavenly Torture
I have been working on one of the SBL presentations on spatiotemporality in Hebrews, Revelation, and 4 Ezra. I ran into a passage, which probably won't make the talk, but which I found odd.
Revelation 14:10 reads (NRSV): "and they will be tormented with fire and sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb."
I found the torture of sinners in the Lamb's and angels' presence a bit strange, even disturbing. Of course, the Lamb dispenses divine justice in Revelation; nonetheless, punishment itself is usually "off-stage," in the Pit. My quick glances at commentaries (so far) discuss the motifs of fire and sulfur, but largely skirt the issue of presence.
It did remind me of the Rich Man and Lazarus in Luke, however, where, while there is a gulf between a good and bad afterlife, they seem to be visible to one another.
Is there a bit of Schadenfreude in these accounts: getting to watch your enemies suffer for eternity? (Something which, by the way, Tertullian indicates at the end of "On Spectacles.")
Revelation 14:10 reads (NRSV): "and they will be tormented with fire and sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb."
I found the torture of sinners in the Lamb's and angels' presence a bit strange, even disturbing. Of course, the Lamb dispenses divine justice in Revelation; nonetheless, punishment itself is usually "off-stage," in the Pit. My quick glances at commentaries (so far) discuss the motifs of fire and sulfur, but largely skirt the issue of presence.
It did remind me of the Rich Man and Lazarus in Luke, however, where, while there is a gulf between a good and bad afterlife, they seem to be visible to one another.
Is there a bit of Schadenfreude in these accounts: getting to watch your enemies suffer for eternity? (Something which, by the way, Tertullian indicates at the end of "On Spectacles.")
Thursday, May 31, 2012
The Political Contexts of Vision
I just finished reading Elaine Pagels's new book, Revelations: Visions, Prophecy, & Politics in the Book of Revelation, and thought I would collect some of my thoughts. There have been many initial reviews that will, most likely, show greater verve and greater detail than what I am going to discuss here; this is more of a series of notes rather than a review, per se. See Adam Gopnik's review in the New Yorker here. Moreover, three chapters of the book previously appeared as more technical articles, whereas the book is for a more general, non-specialist audience.
What struck me is that the book is really about shifting contexts of visions, particularly John of Patmos's Revelation. The different chapters of the book provide different political contexts from an imperial telescope to intra-Christian microscopes in overlapping contexts that slowly spiral outward in space and time until one finds oneself far away from the late first century setting (Pagels agrees with the majority of scholars who date the text to Domitian's reign).
The first context is the political context of the Roman Empire; it focuses on the enemies without. It is the political context in which John mobilizes archaic symbols, particularly the chaoskampf of the (usually male) god conquering the (usually female) chaotic waters (often symbolized as a sea creature, the Leviathan, Rahab, or, in Babylon, Tiamat) and transforms them into a staunchly anti-Roman message. Pagels admirably interweaves prophetic traditions, the emergence of the Roman Empire at large, the major political events of the first centuries BCE and CE, the specific effects of these events in Asia Minor, and the emergence of the Jesus movement. While the scholarship in this chapter is nothing new--most NT scholars recognize Revelation as perhaps the most anti-Roman document in the New Testament--Pagels succinctly and vividly paints a picture that is engaging and informative.
Her second context shifts from telescope to microscope: competitive prophetic figures and visions among the earliest "Christians" (placed in scare quotes since, as Pagels emphasizes, John of Patmos never calls himself such). This is the context of enemies within. Here Pagels sets up John against the rival prophets he mentions by code in the seven letters to the churches of Asia. Her most interesting reading is how the message John proclaims would strongly conflict with Paul's or, perhaps more specifically, Paul's successors (since Paul would be long dead by now). She specifically singles out Ignatius of Antioch. John of Patmos rails against those followers of Jesus who have given in and assimilated in various ways: sexual impurity (she reads this as a possible reference to intermarriage), food laws, and handling Roman money (idolatry since it has the image or "mark"(?) of the emperor-as-god on it). Most interestingly, she reads "those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan" (Rev. 2:9) as Gentile Christians. That is, those Pauline Gentile Christians who, following Paul's advice, do not follow the traditional food laws and would eat foods sacrificed to idols, likely are married to non-Jews, and, what is more, are not circumcised, yet consider themselves part of "Israel." By the time of Ignatius, however, there would be a shift in the tides, as institutional authority sought to undermine or co-opt charismatic authority (at one point, going into an ecstatic state to say prophetically to obey the bishop; Philadelphians 7.1-2).
The third context turns to placing Revelation in a series of many revelations occurring throughout the ancient world in the second to fourth centuries CE, including Jewish, emergent Christian, Egyptian, Greco-Roman, etc. Having visions was the way of the day. She spends a great deal of time, however, on 4 Ezra and the Apocryphon of John, along with the other documents of Nag Hammadi in order to show the range of possibilities of revelatory documents at this time. This is more of a programmatic chapter that largely introduces readers to the documents for which she famously introduced to the general reading public about 35 years ago now(!), and sets up the stage for what comes next: deciding what is genuine and what is not--and who gets to decide?
The fourth context takes the first two and melds them together with the increased information from the fourth: how do intra-Christian squabbles fit within Christian-Roman tensions, especially as one moves to the second to fourth centuries? She sets this up in terms of who accepts and promotes Revelation and who rejects it all within terms of the sporadic persecution of Christians by Roman authorities as well as more written aspersions of Christians in books such as Apuleius' Golden Ass and Celsus' True Doctrine. Revelation would be claimed (in spirit) by the New Prophecy movement (formerly called Montanism), and, oftentimes, those administrative folks (bishops) who preferred administrative authority rather than charismatic authority would condemn this movement and the books they most admired (Revelation and the Gospel of John) as false and heretical. On the other hand, Justin (later Justin Martyr) and others such as Irenaeus would champion Revelation because they saw in its violent and anti-Roman imagery a reflection of what they saw in their own day: "beastly" Romans killing Christians. The apologists on the one hand sought to show that Christians were good imperial subjects; but on the other hand threatened that the events in Revelation would take place (being held back only by the good Christian subjects praying for its delay). Irenaeus and Apuleius, from different perspectives, however, set up the critical discussion of discernment between true and false visions. Revelation would be claimed alternately as true and false by different Christians. Apuleius, however, promoted Isis as the true revealer of divine mysteries, and all Christian claims of vision as false.
The fifth context, as we spiral away from Revelation for the most part, is how the document came into the canon by the skin of its teeth. Much of this material is well-rehearsed from any scholarly account one might read on the books found at Nag Hammadi, except with a special focus on John's vision. Few canon lists circulating in the early fourth century include it...except Athanasius's. Set against the backdrop of Constantine's "conversion," Athanasius builds upon an interpretation of Irenaeus to turn the "Anti-Christ" (which is never, as such, mentioned in Revelation) from the Roman emperor to other Christians, downplaying the anti-imperial aspects of the document since he was trying to court Constantine's favor (except when the emperors are Arian or except when they would exile Athanasius). Drawing again on the third context, we see how Revelation begins to beat out other revelations (such as those found at Nag Hammadi), how it gets into the canon, and how those others are suppressed. We also begin to see another power-conflict: the (more charismatic) monastic authorities (particularly Pachomius and Anthony) clashing with the episcopal authority in Egypt. Pagels looks at the letters of the "fiercely independent" Anthony, looking at the recommendations of the monastic leaders who seek to inculcate experiences and not dogmatic adherence, finding in their letters and other writings sentiments that match much of what was found at Nag Hammadi. She seeks, in this way, to demonstrate how the spirituality in the eclectic documents found at the site near a Pachomian monastery is, in fact, completely in line with monastic practices at the time. Indeed, I should note that one thing I did appreciate about her discussions of the Nag Hammadi texts was an emphasis on the practices they prescribe, describe, or assume, and the attempt to put them into a particular social setting of spiritual reading practices. As Ignatius co-opted charismatic authority for episcopal ends, however, so does Athanasius with his Life of Anthony, transforming the sophisticated, independent, learned seeker into an illiterate, obedient follower of none other than Athanasius himself.
In its ancient, medieval, and modern contexts Revelation would be redeployed by opposing parties to denigrate one another--each side claiming to be the dispensers of divine justice and claiming their opponents to be on the side of the beast, or anti-Christ. But, Pagels seeks to end with the message of hope, as Revelation ends in a new Jerusalem after a long nightmare (something Ron Charles at the Washington Post wishes she would have spent more time on), and especially recovery of those more universally oriented "revelations" as the Gospel of Truth, the Secret Revelation of John (Apocryphon of John), and the Thunder: Perfect Mind. Works that are open to dialogue between divine revealer and human questioner, open to revision rather than the strict "no addition; no subtraction" legacy of the closed canon.
Others have offered various critiques--many wish, for example, that she would have a more substantial discussion of medieval and modern usages of the book, something which she does in passing in the conclusion and partly in the introduction. I understand that critique; but I also understand why she might avoid it. I would, however, direct people to a scholarly (and readable!) account of how Revelation has been used in more modern imperial contexts as Spanish and Portuguese colonized the Americas, how its imagery was used differently by colonized and colonizers, and then re-deployed in street art in Los Angeles in the twentieth century in David Sanchez's From Patmos to the Barrio. Gopnik also critiques, for example, that sometimes gory, violent imagery is just...entertainment and not always political.
I offer a different question. Mostly Pagels emphasizes the political contexts and implications of visions, but at times suggests that through the apologetic mission to show that Christians could be good subjects while not following Roman religious practices, they, and Philo before them, began to disentangle religion from politics. I found this quite a striking statement. Is this a de-politicization of religion tout court? It is a disestablishment of politics to a particular religious form, but to all religion? Her example is Philo's Embassy to Gaius, but that work does not really show a divorcing (however slight) of religion and politics so much as a form of religio-political diplomacy. This is a minor point, however, concerning a passing comment she made.
I also wonder: while texts like Thunder: Perfect Mind, and others, are quite eclectic and were placed in a very eclectic collection, are they necessarily as "universal" as she suggests in her conclusion? I include non-canonical and canonical side-by-side, because that is the most accurate way to reconstruct the dynamic and fluid world of emergent Christianity. But, when shifting perspective to modern inspiration, is there such a stark difference of "open" versus "closed," "universal" versus "particular" that aligns with non-canonical and canonical? Can the canonical be creative, open? Is the non-canonical always so? I am thinking of J.Z. Smith's essay on canonization, where he compares the process of canonization to viticulture (or oenology). We choose one fruit of many to make wine (though others do make wine out of other fruits), but then make a staggering variety of wines out of it through processing, cultivation, aging, etc. We may choose a few books to be in canon, but we interpret them in so many different ways, ways that liberate and ways that oppress, ways that create and ways that destroy, ways that lead to and ways that block critical reflection. Through the process of commentary and hermeneutics, creativity can still flow and transform--as well as stunt.
A final point--and a point that I am fundamentally in agreement with Pagels--is that the claiming of a vision, the affirming of someone else's vision, or the denial of a vision is a political act; it is an act where one is claiming a direct line to divine authority or the ability to speak on behalf of the divine. While William James in his masterwork, Varieties of Religious Experience, sought to disentangle religious experience (particularly mysticism) from any form of authority over another (see the end of his chapter on mysticism) reflecting a broader tendency to privatize religion in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the truth of that matter is that, historically, such claims of experience and direct contact with the divine have had a social and political effects over others; those who claim such revelations so often claim that such visions demand that they claim authority over others (Paul is a quintessential example of this). People use visionary experiences to claim authority over others, and shape their lives. One of the major contributions of this book is that Pagels offers a fairly thick description of the macro and micro power struggles over the claims of vision of a single book. We see the power struggle between rival visions within the same geographical region in the same group (Asia Minor); we see rival visions at the same time between different groups (Christians, Jews, and Romans); we see rival claims of authority by visionaries and those who deny them or co-opt them in institutional forms of authority. (note: For a full discussion of the intersections of authority and visions, I would direct people to Grace Jantzen's Power, Gender, and Christian Mysticism, where she argues these points alongside the gendered implications of such claims of authority of divine vision in male-dominated institutions.) This is just as true of one's contemporaries as of one's predecessors. Centuries after John of Patmos wrote Revelation, people affirmed or denied his vision--usually an eye on whether their opponents were doing with it, using it to delineate who was "in" and who was "out" in community formation. This was also true with major, even universally accepted, figures of tradition, such as Moses; how much more so with contested figures.
What struck me is that the book is really about shifting contexts of visions, particularly John of Patmos's Revelation. The different chapters of the book provide different political contexts from an imperial telescope to intra-Christian microscopes in overlapping contexts that slowly spiral outward in space and time until one finds oneself far away from the late first century setting (Pagels agrees with the majority of scholars who date the text to Domitian's reign).
The first context is the political context of the Roman Empire; it focuses on the enemies without. It is the political context in which John mobilizes archaic symbols, particularly the chaoskampf of the (usually male) god conquering the (usually female) chaotic waters (often symbolized as a sea creature, the Leviathan, Rahab, or, in Babylon, Tiamat) and transforms them into a staunchly anti-Roman message. Pagels admirably interweaves prophetic traditions, the emergence of the Roman Empire at large, the major political events of the first centuries BCE and CE, the specific effects of these events in Asia Minor, and the emergence of the Jesus movement. While the scholarship in this chapter is nothing new--most NT scholars recognize Revelation as perhaps the most anti-Roman document in the New Testament--Pagels succinctly and vividly paints a picture that is engaging and informative.
Her second context shifts from telescope to microscope: competitive prophetic figures and visions among the earliest "Christians" (placed in scare quotes since, as Pagels emphasizes, John of Patmos never calls himself such). This is the context of enemies within. Here Pagels sets up John against the rival prophets he mentions by code in the seven letters to the churches of Asia. Her most interesting reading is how the message John proclaims would strongly conflict with Paul's or, perhaps more specifically, Paul's successors (since Paul would be long dead by now). She specifically singles out Ignatius of Antioch. John of Patmos rails against those followers of Jesus who have given in and assimilated in various ways: sexual impurity (she reads this as a possible reference to intermarriage), food laws, and handling Roman money (idolatry since it has the image or "mark"(?) of the emperor-as-god on it). Most interestingly, she reads "those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan" (Rev. 2:9) as Gentile Christians. That is, those Pauline Gentile Christians who, following Paul's advice, do not follow the traditional food laws and would eat foods sacrificed to idols, likely are married to non-Jews, and, what is more, are not circumcised, yet consider themselves part of "Israel." By the time of Ignatius, however, there would be a shift in the tides, as institutional authority sought to undermine or co-opt charismatic authority (at one point, going into an ecstatic state to say prophetically to obey the bishop; Philadelphians 7.1-2).
The third context turns to placing Revelation in a series of many revelations occurring throughout the ancient world in the second to fourth centuries CE, including Jewish, emergent Christian, Egyptian, Greco-Roman, etc. Having visions was the way of the day. She spends a great deal of time, however, on 4 Ezra and the Apocryphon of John, along with the other documents of Nag Hammadi in order to show the range of possibilities of revelatory documents at this time. This is more of a programmatic chapter that largely introduces readers to the documents for which she famously introduced to the general reading public about 35 years ago now(!), and sets up the stage for what comes next: deciding what is genuine and what is not--and who gets to decide?
The fourth context takes the first two and melds them together with the increased information from the fourth: how do intra-Christian squabbles fit within Christian-Roman tensions, especially as one moves to the second to fourth centuries? She sets this up in terms of who accepts and promotes Revelation and who rejects it all within terms of the sporadic persecution of Christians by Roman authorities as well as more written aspersions of Christians in books such as Apuleius' Golden Ass and Celsus' True Doctrine. Revelation would be claimed (in spirit) by the New Prophecy movement (formerly called Montanism), and, oftentimes, those administrative folks (bishops) who preferred administrative authority rather than charismatic authority would condemn this movement and the books they most admired (Revelation and the Gospel of John) as false and heretical. On the other hand, Justin (later Justin Martyr) and others such as Irenaeus would champion Revelation because they saw in its violent and anti-Roman imagery a reflection of what they saw in their own day: "beastly" Romans killing Christians. The apologists on the one hand sought to show that Christians were good imperial subjects; but on the other hand threatened that the events in Revelation would take place (being held back only by the good Christian subjects praying for its delay). Irenaeus and Apuleius, from different perspectives, however, set up the critical discussion of discernment between true and false visions. Revelation would be claimed alternately as true and false by different Christians. Apuleius, however, promoted Isis as the true revealer of divine mysteries, and all Christian claims of vision as false.
The fifth context, as we spiral away from Revelation for the most part, is how the document came into the canon by the skin of its teeth. Much of this material is well-rehearsed from any scholarly account one might read on the books found at Nag Hammadi, except with a special focus on John's vision. Few canon lists circulating in the early fourth century include it...except Athanasius's. Set against the backdrop of Constantine's "conversion," Athanasius builds upon an interpretation of Irenaeus to turn the "Anti-Christ" (which is never, as such, mentioned in Revelation) from the Roman emperor to other Christians, downplaying the anti-imperial aspects of the document since he was trying to court Constantine's favor (except when the emperors are Arian or except when they would exile Athanasius). Drawing again on the third context, we see how Revelation begins to beat out other revelations (such as those found at Nag Hammadi), how it gets into the canon, and how those others are suppressed. We also begin to see another power-conflict: the (more charismatic) monastic authorities (particularly Pachomius and Anthony) clashing with the episcopal authority in Egypt. Pagels looks at the letters of the "fiercely independent" Anthony, looking at the recommendations of the monastic leaders who seek to inculcate experiences and not dogmatic adherence, finding in their letters and other writings sentiments that match much of what was found at Nag Hammadi. She seeks, in this way, to demonstrate how the spirituality in the eclectic documents found at the site near a Pachomian monastery is, in fact, completely in line with monastic practices at the time. Indeed, I should note that one thing I did appreciate about her discussions of the Nag Hammadi texts was an emphasis on the practices they prescribe, describe, or assume, and the attempt to put them into a particular social setting of spiritual reading practices. As Ignatius co-opted charismatic authority for episcopal ends, however, so does Athanasius with his Life of Anthony, transforming the sophisticated, independent, learned seeker into an illiterate, obedient follower of none other than Athanasius himself.
In its ancient, medieval, and modern contexts Revelation would be redeployed by opposing parties to denigrate one another--each side claiming to be the dispensers of divine justice and claiming their opponents to be on the side of the beast, or anti-Christ. But, Pagels seeks to end with the message of hope, as Revelation ends in a new Jerusalem after a long nightmare (something Ron Charles at the Washington Post wishes she would have spent more time on), and especially recovery of those more universally oriented "revelations" as the Gospel of Truth, the Secret Revelation of John (Apocryphon of John), and the Thunder: Perfect Mind. Works that are open to dialogue between divine revealer and human questioner, open to revision rather than the strict "no addition; no subtraction" legacy of the closed canon.
Others have offered various critiques--many wish, for example, that she would have a more substantial discussion of medieval and modern usages of the book, something which she does in passing in the conclusion and partly in the introduction. I understand that critique; but I also understand why she might avoid it. I would, however, direct people to a scholarly (and readable!) account of how Revelation has been used in more modern imperial contexts as Spanish and Portuguese colonized the Americas, how its imagery was used differently by colonized and colonizers, and then re-deployed in street art in Los Angeles in the twentieth century in David Sanchez's From Patmos to the Barrio. Gopnik also critiques, for example, that sometimes gory, violent imagery is just...entertainment and not always political.
I offer a different question. Mostly Pagels emphasizes the political contexts and implications of visions, but at times suggests that through the apologetic mission to show that Christians could be good subjects while not following Roman religious practices, they, and Philo before them, began to disentangle religion from politics. I found this quite a striking statement. Is this a de-politicization of religion tout court? It is a disestablishment of politics to a particular religious form, but to all religion? Her example is Philo's Embassy to Gaius, but that work does not really show a divorcing (however slight) of religion and politics so much as a form of religio-political diplomacy. This is a minor point, however, concerning a passing comment she made.
I also wonder: while texts like Thunder: Perfect Mind, and others, are quite eclectic and were placed in a very eclectic collection, are they necessarily as "universal" as she suggests in her conclusion? I include non-canonical and canonical side-by-side, because that is the most accurate way to reconstruct the dynamic and fluid world of emergent Christianity. But, when shifting perspective to modern inspiration, is there such a stark difference of "open" versus "closed," "universal" versus "particular" that aligns with non-canonical and canonical? Can the canonical be creative, open? Is the non-canonical always so? I am thinking of J.Z. Smith's essay on canonization, where he compares the process of canonization to viticulture (or oenology). We choose one fruit of many to make wine (though others do make wine out of other fruits), but then make a staggering variety of wines out of it through processing, cultivation, aging, etc. We may choose a few books to be in canon, but we interpret them in so many different ways, ways that liberate and ways that oppress, ways that create and ways that destroy, ways that lead to and ways that block critical reflection. Through the process of commentary and hermeneutics, creativity can still flow and transform--as well as stunt.
A final point--and a point that I am fundamentally in agreement with Pagels--is that the claiming of a vision, the affirming of someone else's vision, or the denial of a vision is a political act; it is an act where one is claiming a direct line to divine authority or the ability to speak on behalf of the divine. While William James in his masterwork, Varieties of Religious Experience, sought to disentangle religious experience (particularly mysticism) from any form of authority over another (see the end of his chapter on mysticism) reflecting a broader tendency to privatize religion in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the truth of that matter is that, historically, such claims of experience and direct contact with the divine have had a social and political effects over others; those who claim such revelations so often claim that such visions demand that they claim authority over others (Paul is a quintessential example of this). People use visionary experiences to claim authority over others, and shape their lives. One of the major contributions of this book is that Pagels offers a fairly thick description of the macro and micro power struggles over the claims of vision of a single book. We see the power struggle between rival visions within the same geographical region in the same group (Asia Minor); we see rival visions at the same time between different groups (Christians, Jews, and Romans); we see rival claims of authority by visionaries and those who deny them or co-opt them in institutional forms of authority. (note: For a full discussion of the intersections of authority and visions, I would direct people to Grace Jantzen's Power, Gender, and Christian Mysticism, where she argues these points alongside the gendered implications of such claims of authority of divine vision in male-dominated institutions.) This is just as true of one's contemporaries as of one's predecessors. Centuries after John of Patmos wrote Revelation, people affirmed or denied his vision--usually an eye on whether their opponents were doing with it, using it to delineate who was "in" and who was "out" in community formation. This was also true with major, even universally accepted, figures of tradition, such as Moses; how much more so with contested figures.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Elaine Pagels "Revelations" Review
As April DeConick has noted at Forbidden Gospels, Adam Gopnik has rather whimsically reviewed Elain Pagels's new book, Revelations on the book of Revelation and other ancient revelations in the New Yorker. It is quite an entertaining read.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Sword-in-Mouth Disease: 1 Enoch, Wisdom of Solomon, Revelation, and Hebrews
Last month, I posted on the similar imagery used in 1 Enoch 62:2 and Heb. 4:12-13: that of the word with a sharp sword for the purpose of judgment. In the comments, Ken Schenck noted the similar imagery in Wisdom of Solomon 18:15-16, while Brian Small noted some very important differences between the function of 1 Enoch and Hebrews in this regard. In his Carnival of Hebrews posts this month, he reiterates these differences, and, in the comments of that post, Tony Siew pointed out another striking usage of the sword-in-mouth in Rev. 19:15, coming from the word of God (19:13).
Here they all are:
And the Lord of Spirits upon the throne of his glory,
and the spirit of righteousness was poured upon him.
And the word of his mouth will slay all sinners,
and all the unrighteous will perish from his presence.
(1 Enoch 62:2)
The all-powerful word leaped from
heaven, from the royal throne,
into the midst of the land that was doomed
a stern warrior carrying the sharp
sword of they authentic command,
and stood and filled all things with death,
and touched heaven while standing on the earth.
(Wisdom of Solomon 18:15-16; RSV)
From his [the Word of God] issues a sharp sword with which to smite the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. (Rev. 19:15; RSV)
For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with whom we have to do. (Heb. 4:12-13; RSV)
Tony Siew and Brian Small are right that 1 Enoch and Revelation have the strongest resemblance with one another--they along with Wisdom of Solomon are militaristic scenes of judgment and destruction. Wisdom of Solomon does not actually depict destruction, but it is an intimidating image nonetheless--it seems more like ongoing policing vigilance from on high. Likewise, in the first three, the word has a sword, and in Hebrews, the word is as a sword. The first and the third clearly signal physical destruction; whereas Hebrews uses the same imagery for internal divisions between soul and spirit, thought and intention--a much sharper sword indeed--although still to judge, but to judge not just actions but the inner perturbations of the conscience (destructive judgment is mentioned elsewhere). The similar imagery of these four documents is quite striking, especially as word with/as sword is quite a strange image, while the differences are just as telling of the varying perspectives (with Hebrews having the most sophisticated usage of the image, matching the author's overall heightened literary skill) of what now appears to be a stock image. Indeed, this is now at least four sources in which depict the word as sword, the word with sword, or the sword in a mouth. Does anyone know any others? Does Philo perhaps use it in an allegory somewhere? Since we have two apocalypses here, perhaps in apocalyptic literature?
The larger question is why combine the word and sword? Where does this imagery come from? And, if anyone knows, where does it go from here? Has the "word" been identified with the conquering figure of the divine combat myth by now? Is the "word" God as warrior in the well-known double aspect of God as merciful old man and God as warrior young man? I have a feeling I'll have to get my advisor's doctoral dissertation out.
Here they all are:
And the Lord of Spirits upon the throne of his glory,
and the spirit of righteousness was poured upon him.
And the word of his mouth will slay all sinners,
and all the unrighteous will perish from his presence.
(1 Enoch 62:2)
The all-powerful word leaped from
heaven, from the royal throne,
into the midst of the land that was doomed
a stern warrior carrying the sharp
sword of they authentic command,
and stood and filled all things with death,
and touched heaven while standing on the earth.
(Wisdom of Solomon 18:15-16; RSV)
From his [the Word of God] issues a sharp sword with which to smite the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. (Rev. 19:15; RSV)
For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with whom we have to do. (Heb. 4:12-13; RSV)
Tony Siew and Brian Small are right that 1 Enoch and Revelation have the strongest resemblance with one another--they along with Wisdom of Solomon are militaristic scenes of judgment and destruction. Wisdom of Solomon does not actually depict destruction, but it is an intimidating image nonetheless--it seems more like ongoing policing vigilance from on high. Likewise, in the first three, the word has a sword, and in Hebrews, the word is as a sword. The first and the third clearly signal physical destruction; whereas Hebrews uses the same imagery for internal divisions between soul and spirit, thought and intention--a much sharper sword indeed--although still to judge, but to judge not just actions but the inner perturbations of the conscience (destructive judgment is mentioned elsewhere). The similar imagery of these four documents is quite striking, especially as word with/as sword is quite a strange image, while the differences are just as telling of the varying perspectives (with Hebrews having the most sophisticated usage of the image, matching the author's overall heightened literary skill) of what now appears to be a stock image. Indeed, this is now at least four sources in which depict the word as sword, the word with sword, or the sword in a mouth. Does anyone know any others? Does Philo perhaps use it in an allegory somewhere? Since we have two apocalypses here, perhaps in apocalyptic literature?
The larger question is why combine the word and sword? Where does this imagery come from? And, if anyone knows, where does it go from here? Has the "word" been identified with the conquering figure of the divine combat myth by now? Is the "word" God as warrior in the well-known double aspect of God as merciful old man and God as warrior young man? I have a feeling I'll have to get my advisor's doctoral dissertation out.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Bauckham's "Jesus and the God of Israel," Chapter 1C (God Crucified)
This is the third part of my reading of Bauckham's first chapter of Jesus and the God of Israel. I have one more part on Bauckham's assessment of continuities and novelties between the NT and Second Temple literature.
You can see my earlier posts as following:
Introduction
Chapter 1A (monotheism)
Chapter 1B (christological monotheism)
For this week, however, we will discuss the theme of “God Crucified and Divine Identity Revealed in Jesus"
I must say at the outset that this has been the most interesting part of Bauckham's analysis thus far--perhaps because this is where he finally gets into the textual nitty gritty and generally avoids the over-generalizing that is so prevalent throughout the rest of the chapter.
The next move in Bauckham’s argument is the shift from thinking of a preexistent Christ to the earthly Jesus and the repercussions of a suffering Jesus who shares in the unique divine identity. In this section he asserts that all NT Christology is high Christology and the NT lays out this Christology “carefully, deliberately, consistently, and comprehensively” (32). But, I would note from my previous objections that it was not consistently comprehensive, that he skates over or ignores a great deal of texts that do not presuppose preexistence, for example.
Bauckham claims the NT turns divine identity on its head:
“For the early Christians, the inclusion of the exalted Jesus in the divine identity meant that Jesus who lived a truly and fully human life from conception to death, also belonged to the unique divine identity” (33).
Indeed this is a radical move for early Christians and transforms our conception of the divine. Bauckham calls this, “Jesus as revelation of God”: not what the relationship of Jesus to God says about Jesus, but what it says about God.
A major portion of his argument is given to early Christians’ readings of Second Isaiah, which was used to incorporate earthly life and death of Jesus into God’s identity. He calls this process “theologically creative exegesis,” a phrase I am beginning to like, to eschew exegesis vs. eisegesis discussions (33). He argues that behind many NT texts lies an integrated early Christian reading of Second Isaiah as a whole; so, when one portion of the text is invoked, such as Isaiah 53, the whole of 40-55 is implied as a prophecy of a new Exodus leading to the salvation of the nations. Second Isaiah is also particularly important because it includes the classic statement of monotheism (“I am God, and there is no other,” etc.) and adds an eschatological (or at least future-oriented) touch. It is in the context of God’s uniqueness and his eschatological acts of salvation in Second Isaiah that the early Christians read the enigmatic Servant of the LORD who suffers humiliation and death and subsequently is exalted (Isaiah 52-3). The witness, humiliation, and exaltation of the servant becomes the way God recasts his glory and his deity to the world in an eschatological salvation event.
Key in this theologically creative reading is Is. 52:13 (no surprises here) combined with the intertexts of Is. 6:1 and 57:15. The combination of רום and נשא found in these passages are rather rare in the Hebrew Bible as a whole, so its triple occurrence here is noteworthy. He writes that these three passages were brought together, invoking gezera shawa throughout NT texts. For example, John 12:38-41 brings Is. 52:13 and Isaiah 6 together in an image of the servant and the throne. Once these are connected, it is a short step to that other passage so often cited in the NT: Ps. 110:1. So, Is. 52:13 and Ps. 110:1 are brought together in Acts 2:33 and 5:31. Similarly, Is. 57:15 and Ps. 110:1 are brought together in Heb. 1:3. So, we have three texts so far with overlapping exegetical combinations.
This is all leading to a discussion of Philippians, Revelation, and John, which will be the key texts for the remaining discussion. He notes that his points about each text has been promoted before by different scholars, but it is the convergence that matters.
Phil. 2:6-11 bring the issue of sovereignty and the divine name (Lord) together. He aligns Phil. 2:10-11 with Is. 45:22-23: the “I am God and there is no other” passage. His conclusion of these correspondences is that “precisely Duetero-Isaianic monotheism is fulfilled in the revelation of Jesus’ participation in the divine entity.”
The Revelation discussion is a bit more dispersed throughout the text. He notes that both God (1:8; 21:6) and Christ (1:17; 22:13) are the beginning and end (cf. 2:8), mentioned, interestingly enough, at the beginning and end of the text itself. This, he claims, is modeled off of Is. 44:6 and 48:12 (again, monotheism passages), with the implication that the allusion includes Christ protologically and eschatologically in the divine identity of Deutero-Isaianic monotheism.
I think Deutero-Isaiah is stricter in its “monotheism” than most of ancient Jewish texts from the exile to the destruction of the temple in 70 CE (which is counter Bauckham, who sees greater consistency in strictness throughout this period). I tend to think it is important, but unrepresentative. Having said that, it is significant that the earliest Christian authors (though not all of them) selected the strictest theological statements in the Hebrew Bible and were able to include Jesus in the theological framework of these texts.
For John, Bauckham unites the “I am” statements to the אני הוא expressions, which are translated as “I am” in the LXX. In this case, this expression occurs seven times: once in Deuteronomy and six times in Second Isaiah. It is passé to invoke Exod. 3:14 among Johannine scholars these days? Nonetheless, אני הוא becomes a succinct way to invoke divine identity. The Deut. 32:39 passage in fact reads, “There is no God besides me.”
In short, Bauckham has brought out the importance of Deutero-Isaiah for three NT texts, but in quite different ways (that do not necessarily converge—does this really constitute an integrated reading?).
Next Bauckham turns to the task of humiliation and exaltation, again using Philippians, Revelation, and John.
Here Bauckham lays out a fuller exposition of Philippians, drawing out information that probably should have been introduced when he first discussed the text. Firstly, he assumes that Paul composed it—it is not a pre-Pauline hymn. Although his position at this point does not ultimately matter for his final observations. Secondly, he thinks the passage speaks of a preexistent Christ and then incarnation against the view that it is a human and subsequently exalted Christ (which, I think, is clearly the case in the synoptics, for example). Thirdly, he thinks it has absolutely nothing to do with Adam speculation, and that this is a red herring in scholarship. Fourthly, he translates verse 6b as “he did not think equality with God something to be used for his own advantage.” So, it is not a matter of attaining or retaining equality; the point is Jesus’ attitude towards his position of equality. Finally, “form of God” and “form of a servant” refer to appearance: splendor of divine glory in heaven versus human form on earth. He gives a helpful summation of his positions on p. 42 (but it is really too lengthy to quote).
He presents, for several pages, how the passage closely exegetes Is. 53:12 + 45:22-3 + 52:13-14: “Paul is reading Deutero-Isaiah to mean that the career of the Servant of the Lord, his suffering, humiliation, death and exaltation, is the way in which the sovereignty of the one true God comes to be acknowledged by all the nations” (43). It is because he is humiliated and suffers that he becomes exalted. Indeed, he is exalted to the highest place (v. 9); that is, the divine throne. In his exegesis of Deutero-Isaiah, Paul in Philippians is not concerned with ontology, about how the infinite makes itself finite, but with status: the glory of heaven of the divine court to human servitude to the point of death on a cross, the ultimate humiliation. In Bauckham’s formulation of Paul, “only the Servant can also be the Lord” (45).
Turning again to Revelation, he discusses chapters 4 (on the throne) and 5 (worship). Chapter 5 presents the worship of the slaughtered lamb. He suggests that the latent Passover imagery also invokes Is. 53:7. When this occurs, sacrificial death becomes as much a part of the divine identity as much as enthronement does—the bloody lamb on the throne vividly depicts this!
Finally, John once again. He argues that John reads Is. 52:13 as a summary statement of everything that follows in Isaiah: servant is exalted and glorified through humiliation and suffering. Terminology of “lift up” and “glorify” both simultaneously to the cross and exaltation. So, while Paul, for example, sees exaltation as subsequent to humiliation, John sees them as simultaneous: humiliation of cross is exaltation.
The language of lifting up occurs in 3:14-15, 8:28, and 12:32-4. It is doubled imagery: literally as crucifixion and figuratively as Jesus’ divine status as sovereign over the cosmos. The cross is already an exaltation, a lifting up. I, for one, particularly enjoyed reading this section of Bauckham’s analysis.
The combination of lifting up and “I am he” statements in 8:28 brings the two sets of sayings together into a subtle theological relationship:
“When Jesus is lifted up, exalted in his humiliation on the cross, then the unique divine identity (‘I am he’) will be revealed for all who can see” (47).
“…the cross reveals the divine identity of Jesus (8:28), such that all people are drawn to him (12:32) for salvation (3:14-5)” (47).
The language of glorification occurs in 12:23 and 15:31-2. Just as humiliation of the cross is an exaltation, so is the shame of it an “honor” or “glorification.” He also notes that the glory is the visible representation of God in Is. 40:3. This Isaianic passage gives an eschatological and universalizing association with the glory. One should note, however, that “glory” as the visible representation of God is quite common in the Bible, particularly in the Pentateuch (Moses asks to see God’s Glory, the Glory fills the Tabernacle, etc.) and in Ezekiel (particularly Ezekiel 1, but also in the Temple Tour in 40-48). Glory, therefore, is an important aspect of divinity, but it does not specifically recall Isaiah, and, in fact, is more prevalent in these other sources.
Between the language of lifting up and glorifying, there is an intensification of the Philippians perspective: Philippians is successive (glorification because of humiliation) and John is simultaneous (humiliation is glorification).
Jesus’ humiliation and exaltation are not a mere illustration of divine identity, but, in NT exegesis, become intrinsic to divine identity.
You can see my earlier posts as following:
Introduction
Chapter 1A (monotheism)
Chapter 1B (christological monotheism)
For this week, however, we will discuss the theme of “God Crucified and Divine Identity Revealed in Jesus"
I must say at the outset that this has been the most interesting part of Bauckham's analysis thus far--perhaps because this is where he finally gets into the textual nitty gritty and generally avoids the over-generalizing that is so prevalent throughout the rest of the chapter.
The next move in Bauckham’s argument is the shift from thinking of a preexistent Christ to the earthly Jesus and the repercussions of a suffering Jesus who shares in the unique divine identity. In this section he asserts that all NT Christology is high Christology and the NT lays out this Christology “carefully, deliberately, consistently, and comprehensively” (32). But, I would note from my previous objections that it was not consistently comprehensive, that he skates over or ignores a great deal of texts that do not presuppose preexistence, for example.
Bauckham claims the NT turns divine identity on its head:
“For the early Christians, the inclusion of the exalted Jesus in the divine identity meant that Jesus who lived a truly and fully human life from conception to death, also belonged to the unique divine identity” (33).
Indeed this is a radical move for early Christians and transforms our conception of the divine. Bauckham calls this, “Jesus as revelation of God”: not what the relationship of Jesus to God says about Jesus, but what it says about God.
A major portion of his argument is given to early Christians’ readings of Second Isaiah, which was used to incorporate earthly life and death of Jesus into God’s identity. He calls this process “theologically creative exegesis,” a phrase I am beginning to like, to eschew exegesis vs. eisegesis discussions (33). He argues that behind many NT texts lies an integrated early Christian reading of Second Isaiah as a whole; so, when one portion of the text is invoked, such as Isaiah 53, the whole of 40-55 is implied as a prophecy of a new Exodus leading to the salvation of the nations. Second Isaiah is also particularly important because it includes the classic statement of monotheism (“I am God, and there is no other,” etc.) and adds an eschatological (or at least future-oriented) touch. It is in the context of God’s uniqueness and his eschatological acts of salvation in Second Isaiah that the early Christians read the enigmatic Servant of the LORD who suffers humiliation and death and subsequently is exalted (Isaiah 52-3). The witness, humiliation, and exaltation of the servant becomes the way God recasts his glory and his deity to the world in an eschatological salvation event.
Key in this theologically creative reading is Is. 52:13 (no surprises here) combined with the intertexts of Is. 6:1 and 57:15. The combination of רום and נשא found in these passages are rather rare in the Hebrew Bible as a whole, so its triple occurrence here is noteworthy. He writes that these three passages were brought together, invoking gezera shawa throughout NT texts. For example, John 12:38-41 brings Is. 52:13 and Isaiah 6 together in an image of the servant and the throne. Once these are connected, it is a short step to that other passage so often cited in the NT: Ps. 110:1. So, Is. 52:13 and Ps. 110:1 are brought together in Acts 2:33 and 5:31. Similarly, Is. 57:15 and Ps. 110:1 are brought together in Heb. 1:3. So, we have three texts so far with overlapping exegetical combinations.
This is all leading to a discussion of Philippians, Revelation, and John, which will be the key texts for the remaining discussion. He notes that his points about each text has been promoted before by different scholars, but it is the convergence that matters.
Phil. 2:6-11 bring the issue of sovereignty and the divine name (Lord) together. He aligns Phil. 2:10-11 with Is. 45:22-23: the “I am God and there is no other” passage. His conclusion of these correspondences is that “precisely Duetero-Isaianic monotheism is fulfilled in the revelation of Jesus’ participation in the divine entity.”
The Revelation discussion is a bit more dispersed throughout the text. He notes that both God (1:8; 21:6) and Christ (1:17; 22:13) are the beginning and end (cf. 2:8), mentioned, interestingly enough, at the beginning and end of the text itself. This, he claims, is modeled off of Is. 44:6 and 48:12 (again, monotheism passages), with the implication that the allusion includes Christ protologically and eschatologically in the divine identity of Deutero-Isaianic monotheism.
I think Deutero-Isaiah is stricter in its “monotheism” than most of ancient Jewish texts from the exile to the destruction of the temple in 70 CE (which is counter Bauckham, who sees greater consistency in strictness throughout this period). I tend to think it is important, but unrepresentative. Having said that, it is significant that the earliest Christian authors (though not all of them) selected the strictest theological statements in the Hebrew Bible and were able to include Jesus in the theological framework of these texts.
For John, Bauckham unites the “I am” statements to the אני הוא expressions, which are translated as “I am” in the LXX. In this case, this expression occurs seven times: once in Deuteronomy and six times in Second Isaiah. It is passé to invoke Exod. 3:14 among Johannine scholars these days? Nonetheless, אני הוא becomes a succinct way to invoke divine identity. The Deut. 32:39 passage in fact reads, “There is no God besides me.”
In short, Bauckham has brought out the importance of Deutero-Isaiah for three NT texts, but in quite different ways (that do not necessarily converge—does this really constitute an integrated reading?).
Next Bauckham turns to the task of humiliation and exaltation, again using Philippians, Revelation, and John.
Here Bauckham lays out a fuller exposition of Philippians, drawing out information that probably should have been introduced when he first discussed the text. Firstly, he assumes that Paul composed it—it is not a pre-Pauline hymn. Although his position at this point does not ultimately matter for his final observations. Secondly, he thinks the passage speaks of a preexistent Christ and then incarnation against the view that it is a human and subsequently exalted Christ (which, I think, is clearly the case in the synoptics, for example). Thirdly, he thinks it has absolutely nothing to do with Adam speculation, and that this is a red herring in scholarship. Fourthly, he translates verse 6b as “he did not think equality with God something to be used for his own advantage.” So, it is not a matter of attaining or retaining equality; the point is Jesus’ attitude towards his position of equality. Finally, “form of God” and “form of a servant” refer to appearance: splendor of divine glory in heaven versus human form on earth. He gives a helpful summation of his positions on p. 42 (but it is really too lengthy to quote).
He presents, for several pages, how the passage closely exegetes Is. 53:12 + 45:22-3 + 52:13-14: “Paul is reading Deutero-Isaiah to mean that the career of the Servant of the Lord, his suffering, humiliation, death and exaltation, is the way in which the sovereignty of the one true God comes to be acknowledged by all the nations” (43). It is because he is humiliated and suffers that he becomes exalted. Indeed, he is exalted to the highest place (v. 9); that is, the divine throne. In his exegesis of Deutero-Isaiah, Paul in Philippians is not concerned with ontology, about how the infinite makes itself finite, but with status: the glory of heaven of the divine court to human servitude to the point of death on a cross, the ultimate humiliation. In Bauckham’s formulation of Paul, “only the Servant can also be the Lord” (45).
Turning again to Revelation, he discusses chapters 4 (on the throne) and 5 (worship). Chapter 5 presents the worship of the slaughtered lamb. He suggests that the latent Passover imagery also invokes Is. 53:7. When this occurs, sacrificial death becomes as much a part of the divine identity as much as enthronement does—the bloody lamb on the throne vividly depicts this!
Finally, John once again. He argues that John reads Is. 52:13 as a summary statement of everything that follows in Isaiah: servant is exalted and glorified through humiliation and suffering. Terminology of “lift up” and “glorify” both simultaneously to the cross and exaltation. So, while Paul, for example, sees exaltation as subsequent to humiliation, John sees them as simultaneous: humiliation of cross is exaltation.
The language of lifting up occurs in 3:14-15, 8:28, and 12:32-4. It is doubled imagery: literally as crucifixion and figuratively as Jesus’ divine status as sovereign over the cosmos. The cross is already an exaltation, a lifting up. I, for one, particularly enjoyed reading this section of Bauckham’s analysis.
The combination of lifting up and “I am he” statements in 8:28 brings the two sets of sayings together into a subtle theological relationship:
“When Jesus is lifted up, exalted in his humiliation on the cross, then the unique divine identity (‘I am he’) will be revealed for all who can see” (47).
“…the cross reveals the divine identity of Jesus (8:28), such that all people are drawn to him (12:32) for salvation (3:14-5)” (47).
The language of glorification occurs in 12:23 and 15:31-2. Just as humiliation of the cross is an exaltation, so is the shame of it an “honor” or “glorification.” He also notes that the glory is the visible representation of God in Is. 40:3. This Isaianic passage gives an eschatological and universalizing association with the glory. One should note, however, that “glory” as the visible representation of God is quite common in the Bible, particularly in the Pentateuch (Moses asks to see God’s Glory, the Glory fills the Tabernacle, etc.) and in Ezekiel (particularly Ezekiel 1, but also in the Temple Tour in 40-48). Glory, therefore, is an important aspect of divinity, but it does not specifically recall Isaiah, and, in fact, is more prevalent in these other sources.
Between the language of lifting up and glorifying, there is an intensification of the Philippians perspective: Philippians is successive (glorification because of humiliation) and John is simultaneous (humiliation is glorification).
Jesus’ humiliation and exaltation are not a mere illustration of divine identity, but, in NT exegesis, become intrinsic to divine identity.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Bauckham's "Jesus and the God of Israel," Chapter 1B (Monotheistic Christology)
I am still in chapter 1 of Bauckham's Jesus and the God of Israel. See my previous remarks on the Introduction and Chapter 1A (monotheism).
The second third of chapter 1 is about Christological Monotheism in the NT or Monotheistic Christology.
In this section, Bauckham reiterates his (problematic) position that worship (monolatry) is the recognition of unique divine identity, and that there is no blurring of the boundaries with exalted angels or patriarchs, who do not participate in terms of creation or sovereignty—except for the exceptions which prove the rule (Enoch, and all the figures I listed last time like Melchizedek, Adam, Moses (although Bauckham directly denies this) and the anonymous self-enthroned figure from 4Q491c). There is no blurring with wisdom and word because they are already intrinsic in God’s own identity.
From here, he moves into the Christology of the New Testament. He forewarns that it is not an exhaustive investigation of NT texts regarding Christology, but illustrates a “way to read” the texts with monotheism as the hermeneutical key (Why do people always insist on such keys? Do hermeneutical keys exist?). We will find, in fact, that this key does not unlock every door in the NT.
Back to his use of adverbs, he claims that NT texts place Jesus within the unique divine identity “deliberately and comprehensively” (19). The marks of Jesus’ inclusion in the unique divine identity are his roles as sovereign (his enthronement), creator (we’ll discuss this a bit), taking on the divine name (“Lord”), and receiving worship. I admit up front that all these things are present in various texts in the NT, but I would disagree that just because they are found in certain texts that they present the perspective of all texts. Meaning, while all these things are in the NT, not all texts in the NT contain all of these elements. This will become an issue mostly with the role of “creator.”
With these criteria, he states this thesis: “the highest possible Christology—the inclusion of Jesus in the unique divine identity—was central to the faith of the early church even before any of the New Testament writings were written, since it occurs in all of them” (19). He is probably right that all of the writings has a conception of one or a few of these terms (excepting perhaps Mark), but that does not mean that all or any of these terms occurs or is even implied in all of the writings: so which writings exactly invoke “Lord,” which sovereign, which creator, and which suggest worship? Are they separate? Is there convergence? He writes on that this highest of the high Christologies would be later fleshed out and developed in various ways, but it was high from the beginning. To be high from the beginning, moreover, it had to be possible in Judaism. Semi-divine figures have no place, since there were really no such things, and the most exalted angels were not enthroned, did not participate in creation, and were not worshipped (you might notice something missing—the divine name—but we’ll talk about that in a bit).
First, Jesus participates in God’s sovereignty, because he was exalted after death to the throne of God. Bauckham claims this is completely unprecedented (20-21). He has already forgotten about Enoch! Even if we exclude Moses (which is debatable whether we should or not), what about Melchizedek (11Q13) and potentially the dude in 4Q491c? I wonder, does this mean Jesus, like Enoch, is merely another insignificant exception that proves the rule? Exaltation and enthronement is quite common in the NT. It is all over Luke-Acts; a primary theme in Hebrews; and of course Revelation. Part of the evidence is the extensive quotation and allusion to Ps. 110:1 (20, maybe 21 times in the NT) maybe not in every book of the NT, but every author, except, interestingly enough, the Johannine corpus (which already generally are known to hold a pretty high Christology; 21-3). And, I fully agree that the “creative exegesis” of Ps. 110:1 allowed such a Christological moment, giving Jesus the designation “Lord” (see n. 39). The further occasional conflation with Ps. 8:6 emphasizes sovereignty “over all.” This actually points to a discontinuity with Second Temple Judaism, since Ps. 110:1 is very rarely cited (except in T.Job 33:3, and there for different purposes): “the difference simply reflects the fact that early Christians used the text to say something about Jesus which Second Temple Jewish literature is not interested in saying about anyone: that he participates in the unique divine sovereignty over all things” (22). Only God rules over all things before hand, and now Jesus joins ranks. It is clear, moreover, that this exaltation is greater than the angels spatially and qualitatively (see Eph. 1:21-26; cf. Heb. 1).
Again, this overlooks all the other enthroned figures. Even so, however, why did not ancient Jews want to say this about anyone? While the NT writers presumably used the unique divine identity to discuss Jesus and presumably understood this as remaining within bounds of “monotheism,” would those Second Temple writers have agreed? Perhaps the reason that you find such ideas so rarely is that they did think it could threaten the “unique divine identity.” As such, regardless of the NT writers intentions, by including Jesus in the “unique divine identity,” do they blur the distinctions between human and divine, distinctions that had been so well-guarded according to Bauckham? He is still a human exalted and appointed to a divine position, and only has half the divine qualities so far—sovereignty—still not a creator. Would this designate a “semi-divine” category? While from one perspective this is inclusion into the divine identity, from another perspective, it is muddying the waters of divinity.
There is something unsaid here as well. There remains a distinction between the Father and the Son, so to speak, since Jesus must be exalted by the Father and must be appointed, given the throne. God must give it to him. So, while there is identification, there is still some differentiation within that identification. I would note that, for most of these texts (not all though), Jesus is still a creature exalted to godhood; he is not yet a creator. In that sense, there is no real difference or incompatibility (excepting in John, Hebrews, and maybe Revelation) of an adoptionist Christology.
Jesus also attains the divine name—Lord—as seen from the extensive application of Ps. 110:1. It is the name “exclusive” to God in a way that the “ambiguous word ‘god’ is not” (25). “God/s” is a famously ambiguous term. The singular is also the plural form, and it is applied to a vast variety of beings from God to those often falsely called “angels”—they too are called “gods.” PBut there is usually a distinction for the highest God, YHWH, as the “God of Gods” in those cases. erhaps, since "god" is ambiguous, we should do away with "monotheism"? Perhaps we should be speaking of "monokurism" or something of the sort. I further agree that title of “Lord” is the divine name and not just “Mr. Jesus,” but I must disagree that Jesus is the only exalted figure to receive it. There is the “angel of YHWH” throughout the Hebrew Bible, especially in Genesis, and YHWH seems to be very closely associated with this angel, to the point that “YHWH” and “angel of YHWH” is used interchangeably at points (see Gen. 22, for example). There is also the angel Iaoel in the Hellenistic period, being the transliteration into Greek of Yahweh + El. Many highly exalted angels are theophoric in this way: they “carry” the divine name. So, Jesus holds a mark of divinity, but this particular one is not without precedent.
Next, worship is the recognition of divine sovereignty (25), using Phil. 2:9-11 and Rev. 5 as the primary examples. I would note, however, that Adam receives worship in the Testament of Adam, and is exalted above the angels, because he is the image of God. One angel refuses, however, and is cast down, making Satan the only true monotheist (ha!). We should recall all of those "negligible" cases of angel veneration (just because something is "negligible" does not mean the early Christians do not pick up on it--the use of Ps. 110:1 is a perfect example!).
Finally, Jesus is creator. Bauckham relates this to his sovereignty, which he calls “eschatological monotheism”: “Jesus is seen as the one who exercises God’s eschatological sovereignty over all things, with a view to the coming of God’s kingdom and the universal acknowledgement of God’s unique deity” (26). Christians are primarily concerned, in this regard, with Jesus’ future participation in divine sovereignty—does this suggest Jesus does not participate in it in the writers’ present? Mirroring this is the “protological” aspect because being sovereign and creator are indivisible: “The participation of Christ in the creative work of God’s is necessary, in Jewish monotheistic terms, to complete the otherwise incomplete inclusion of him in the divine identity” (26). Oh, but they are divisible, and, if not, then the divine identity Christology must remain incomplete, half-baked, for many early Christians! Firstly, as we saw in the last post, the texts that discuss God’s sovereignty and those that discuss God as creator rarely converge. Moreover, very few early Christian texts portray Jesus as creator. Bauckham may claim that it is implied, but I hardly think this is the case in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, for example, when Jesus’ origins are so clearly human and earthly and as a creature, being possessed by the Spirit of God at baptism, abandoned at the cross, and then, for a job well-done, exalted and enthroned. Perhaps Bauckham has caught some logic at hand for some authors—they saw the parallelism of protology and eschatology and emended their views accordingly—but it seems that at least the synoptics, for example, can only present half of the divine qualities excluding the possibility of preexistence and creator. This is a shift away from merely being appointed sovereign.
The evidence here is John 1:1-5 (fairly expected); 1 Cor. 8:6 (really?); Col 1:15-16 (perhaps); Heb 1:2-3, 10-12 (definitely true here); and Rev.3:14 (fairly obscure, but we’ll check it out). John and Hebrews are, I think, clearly supportive of Jesus as creator: God creates the world through the word or the son respectively. No problems here. The surprise, I think, is 1 Cor. 8:6, and this is the only text at this point that Bauckham looks at in any detail (perhaps because it is sort of a surprise?). The text, in fact, relies upon the Shema (that’s why Bauckham emphasized it disproportionately before!). It speaks of:
This is a fairly well-balanced verse, with two basic parts broken into three phrases each, with each phrase mirroring the other. It rings of a creedal statement in my ears. So, one God (the father) mirrors one Lord (Jesus Christ), and so on. As Bauckham notes, it identifies Jesus as the Lord from the Shema. Paul does so, it seems, with great skill. The parallelism does what parallelism does: it draws two things into a relationship, perhaps an identity, but it also draws attention to variation. God is the one “from whom” and Jesus is the one “through whom.” Other texts also present Jesus “through whom” (Col. 1:15), but that “unambiguously” gives Jesus the role of creator. Bauckham likewise notes that this text gives Jesus a creative role. Is this passage so clear? And what is that creative role exactly? In general, Bauckham notes that God is the one from, for, to, and by creation exists; and now Jesus gets the instrumental case, the “by,” and perhaps is identified with the Wisdom and/or Word in that way? If that is the case, it does differ, since the Wisdom and Word were never human figures exalted to the status of creator. It seems to me that the parallelism draws a distinction between the father and the son in that all things come from the father and all things exist through the son. In other words, the father is the creator, the son is the sustainer. I would suggest that the Pauline phrase, in which Jesus, at best, is the restorer and sustainer of creation, and, in that way, belatedly relates to creation, has later become in Colossians, John, and Hebrews reinterpreted to mean the original creator. But I agree with Bauckham that it marks Jesus as somehow divine, because the gist of the larger context is to distinguish true from false gods. It uses the patterns of monotheism of the Shema, brings in the creative function as divine, and gives Jesus one aspect of the creative function (the by), but does not necessarily mean that Jesus is the originator; he is the sustainer of creation—and that is in itself significant. Bauckham is clear that this is not just adding or tacking on Jesus, but “including” Jesus.
Rev. 3:14 refers to Jesus as the “origin of God’s creation” (ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς κτήσεως τοῦ θεοῦ). What does that mean? It too is ambiguous. If it does mean “origin” or “beginning” as its use in John suggests, for example, then it can mean two possible things: it could mean something like Bauckham’s idea of Jesus as creator, or it could mean that Jesus is the first created being—preexistence, yes; creator, it is not so clear.
Bauckham explains away the paucity of evidence for Jesus as creator as merely being not a concern of most NT writers. But, I think it is because for most he is sovereign without being creator: he shares in half the divine attributes. In fact, the perspective of the synoptics precludes such a possibility of preexistence and creator, since Jesus is sort of “adopted.” Bauckham seems to think that this can’t be so because this would be incomplete in terms of including Jesus in the divine identity, but such a case is only true within Bauckham's rhetoric and not in the sources themselves. My response is that some NT writers must have included Jesus incompletely. Just because the earliest writer may have some inkling of Jesus as a restorer of the cosmic order (Paul), does not mean all the other writers shared his perspective. Thus, we must just accept that many NT writers had not fully developed this Christology (and this does not imply their Christology is in any way "incomplete" but was not so concerned with divinity)—even if they did post-date those who did. Only a few authors, therefore, included Jesus fully in terms of being Creator (Colossians, Hebrews, and John; maybe Revelation; possibly, but not really likely, Paul).
Bauckham makes a dangerous move next: he claims that the high Christology of Paul in 1 Cor. 8:6 summarizes the NT position as a whole (30). The NT, though, does not have a single position. Each author has his own conceptualization, and even if the highest Christology already appears in Paul, it does not mean that Mark, Matthew, and Luke fully agreed with it; in fact, they clearly differ in protology. This is the same methodological problem I raised last time: he normalizes texts that don't fit into his view by reading them through texts that do and does not read them on their own terms.
Despite my numerous objections, I do think Bauckham’s divine identity Christology effectively moves things beyond “ontic” and “functional” categories. I think the evidence is just a whole lot messier, more ambiguous, and less comprehensive than he does, but what evidence that exists is still significant. Bauckham has shown that there is widespread attestation to Jesus as the enthroned sovereign and has the name of God, there is good evidence of worship, and then there are a handful of texts that speak of Jesus as creator. This is high Christology, indeed, but the application of the various divine aspects to Jesus was neither always complete, comprehensive, nor, at times, without precedent (particularly with enthronement and the investiture with the divine name). There is a great deal of variety and, even with similar concepts, shades of meaning as one moves from text to text. NO TEXT IS REPRESENTATIVE.
The second third of chapter 1 is about Christological Monotheism in the NT or Monotheistic Christology.
In this section, Bauckham reiterates his (problematic) position that worship (monolatry) is the recognition of unique divine identity, and that there is no blurring of the boundaries with exalted angels or patriarchs, who do not participate in terms of creation or sovereignty—except for the exceptions which prove the rule (Enoch, and all the figures I listed last time like Melchizedek, Adam, Moses (although Bauckham directly denies this) and the anonymous self-enthroned figure from 4Q491c). There is no blurring with wisdom and word because they are already intrinsic in God’s own identity.
From here, he moves into the Christology of the New Testament. He forewarns that it is not an exhaustive investigation of NT texts regarding Christology, but illustrates a “way to read” the texts with monotheism as the hermeneutical key (Why do people always insist on such keys? Do hermeneutical keys exist?). We will find, in fact, that this key does not unlock every door in the NT.
Back to his use of adverbs, he claims that NT texts place Jesus within the unique divine identity “deliberately and comprehensively” (19). The marks of Jesus’ inclusion in the unique divine identity are his roles as sovereign (his enthronement), creator (we’ll discuss this a bit), taking on the divine name (“Lord”), and receiving worship. I admit up front that all these things are present in various texts in the NT, but I would disagree that just because they are found in certain texts that they present the perspective of all texts. Meaning, while all these things are in the NT, not all texts in the NT contain all of these elements. This will become an issue mostly with the role of “creator.”
With these criteria, he states this thesis: “the highest possible Christology—the inclusion of Jesus in the unique divine identity—was central to the faith of the early church even before any of the New Testament writings were written, since it occurs in all of them” (19). He is probably right that all of the writings has a conception of one or a few of these terms (excepting perhaps Mark), but that does not mean that all or any of these terms occurs or is even implied in all of the writings: so which writings exactly invoke “Lord,” which sovereign, which creator, and which suggest worship? Are they separate? Is there convergence? He writes on that this highest of the high Christologies would be later fleshed out and developed in various ways, but it was high from the beginning. To be high from the beginning, moreover, it had to be possible in Judaism. Semi-divine figures have no place, since there were really no such things, and the most exalted angels were not enthroned, did not participate in creation, and were not worshipped (you might notice something missing—the divine name—but we’ll talk about that in a bit).
First, Jesus participates in God’s sovereignty, because he was exalted after death to the throne of God. Bauckham claims this is completely unprecedented (20-21). He has already forgotten about Enoch! Even if we exclude Moses (which is debatable whether we should or not), what about Melchizedek (11Q13) and potentially the dude in 4Q491c? I wonder, does this mean Jesus, like Enoch, is merely another insignificant exception that proves the rule? Exaltation and enthronement is quite common in the NT. It is all over Luke-Acts; a primary theme in Hebrews; and of course Revelation. Part of the evidence is the extensive quotation and allusion to Ps. 110:1 (20, maybe 21 times in the NT) maybe not in every book of the NT, but every author, except, interestingly enough, the Johannine corpus (which already generally are known to hold a pretty high Christology; 21-3). And, I fully agree that the “creative exegesis” of Ps. 110:1 allowed such a Christological moment, giving Jesus the designation “Lord” (see n. 39). The further occasional conflation with Ps. 8:6 emphasizes sovereignty “over all.” This actually points to a discontinuity with Second Temple Judaism, since Ps. 110:1 is very rarely cited (except in T.Job 33:3, and there for different purposes): “the difference simply reflects the fact that early Christians used the text to say something about Jesus which Second Temple Jewish literature is not interested in saying about anyone: that he participates in the unique divine sovereignty over all things” (22). Only God rules over all things before hand, and now Jesus joins ranks. It is clear, moreover, that this exaltation is greater than the angels spatially and qualitatively (see Eph. 1:21-26; cf. Heb. 1).
Again, this overlooks all the other enthroned figures. Even so, however, why did not ancient Jews want to say this about anyone? While the NT writers presumably used the unique divine identity to discuss Jesus and presumably understood this as remaining within bounds of “monotheism,” would those Second Temple writers have agreed? Perhaps the reason that you find such ideas so rarely is that they did think it could threaten the “unique divine identity.” As such, regardless of the NT writers intentions, by including Jesus in the “unique divine identity,” do they blur the distinctions between human and divine, distinctions that had been so well-guarded according to Bauckham? He is still a human exalted and appointed to a divine position, and only has half the divine qualities so far—sovereignty—still not a creator. Would this designate a “semi-divine” category? While from one perspective this is inclusion into the divine identity, from another perspective, it is muddying the waters of divinity.
There is something unsaid here as well. There remains a distinction between the Father and the Son, so to speak, since Jesus must be exalted by the Father and must be appointed, given the throne. God must give it to him. So, while there is identification, there is still some differentiation within that identification. I would note that, for most of these texts (not all though), Jesus is still a creature exalted to godhood; he is not yet a creator. In that sense, there is no real difference or incompatibility (excepting in John, Hebrews, and maybe Revelation) of an adoptionist Christology.
Jesus also attains the divine name—Lord—as seen from the extensive application of Ps. 110:1. It is the name “exclusive” to God in a way that the “ambiguous word ‘god’ is not” (25). “God/s” is a famously ambiguous term. The singular is also the plural form, and it is applied to a vast variety of beings from God to those often falsely called “angels”—they too are called “gods.” PBut there is usually a distinction for the highest God, YHWH, as the “God of Gods” in those cases. erhaps, since "god" is ambiguous, we should do away with "monotheism"? Perhaps we should be speaking of "monokurism" or something of the sort. I further agree that title of “Lord” is the divine name and not just “Mr. Jesus,” but I must disagree that Jesus is the only exalted figure to receive it. There is the “angel of YHWH” throughout the Hebrew Bible, especially in Genesis, and YHWH seems to be very closely associated with this angel, to the point that “YHWH” and “angel of YHWH” is used interchangeably at points (see Gen. 22, for example). There is also the angel Iaoel in the Hellenistic period, being the transliteration into Greek of Yahweh + El. Many highly exalted angels are theophoric in this way: they “carry” the divine name. So, Jesus holds a mark of divinity, but this particular one is not without precedent.
Next, worship is the recognition of divine sovereignty (25), using Phil. 2:9-11 and Rev. 5 as the primary examples. I would note, however, that Adam receives worship in the Testament of Adam, and is exalted above the angels, because he is the image of God. One angel refuses, however, and is cast down, making Satan the only true monotheist (ha!). We should recall all of those "negligible" cases of angel veneration (just because something is "negligible" does not mean the early Christians do not pick up on it--the use of Ps. 110:1 is a perfect example!).
Finally, Jesus is creator. Bauckham relates this to his sovereignty, which he calls “eschatological monotheism”: “Jesus is seen as the one who exercises God’s eschatological sovereignty over all things, with a view to the coming of God’s kingdom and the universal acknowledgement of God’s unique deity” (26). Christians are primarily concerned, in this regard, with Jesus’ future participation in divine sovereignty—does this suggest Jesus does not participate in it in the writers’ present? Mirroring this is the “protological” aspect because being sovereign and creator are indivisible: “The participation of Christ in the creative work of God’s is necessary, in Jewish monotheistic terms, to complete the otherwise incomplete inclusion of him in the divine identity” (26). Oh, but they are divisible, and, if not, then the divine identity Christology must remain incomplete, half-baked, for many early Christians! Firstly, as we saw in the last post, the texts that discuss God’s sovereignty and those that discuss God as creator rarely converge. Moreover, very few early Christian texts portray Jesus as creator. Bauckham may claim that it is implied, but I hardly think this is the case in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, for example, when Jesus’ origins are so clearly human and earthly and as a creature, being possessed by the Spirit of God at baptism, abandoned at the cross, and then, for a job well-done, exalted and enthroned. Perhaps Bauckham has caught some logic at hand for some authors—they saw the parallelism of protology and eschatology and emended their views accordingly—but it seems that at least the synoptics, for example, can only present half of the divine qualities excluding the possibility of preexistence and creator. This is a shift away from merely being appointed sovereign.
The evidence here is John 1:1-5 (fairly expected); 1 Cor. 8:6 (really?); Col 1:15-16 (perhaps); Heb 1:2-3, 10-12 (definitely true here); and Rev.3:14 (fairly obscure, but we’ll check it out). John and Hebrews are, I think, clearly supportive of Jesus as creator: God creates the world through the word or the son respectively. No problems here. The surprise, I think, is 1 Cor. 8:6, and this is the only text at this point that Bauckham looks at in any detail (perhaps because it is sort of a surprise?). The text, in fact, relies upon the Shema (that’s why Bauckham emphasized it disproportionately before!). It speaks of:
“One God, the Father,
From whom are all things
And for whom we exist,
And one Lord, Jesus Christ,
Through whom are all things
And through whom we exist.
(1 Cor. 8:4-6)
This is a fairly well-balanced verse, with two basic parts broken into three phrases each, with each phrase mirroring the other. It rings of a creedal statement in my ears. So, one God (the father) mirrors one Lord (Jesus Christ), and so on. As Bauckham notes, it identifies Jesus as the Lord from the Shema. Paul does so, it seems, with great skill. The parallelism does what parallelism does: it draws two things into a relationship, perhaps an identity, but it also draws attention to variation. God is the one “from whom” and Jesus is the one “through whom.” Other texts also present Jesus “through whom” (Col. 1:15), but that “unambiguously” gives Jesus the role of creator. Bauckham likewise notes that this text gives Jesus a creative role. Is this passage so clear? And what is that creative role exactly? In general, Bauckham notes that God is the one from, for, to, and by creation exists; and now Jesus gets the instrumental case, the “by,” and perhaps is identified with the Wisdom and/or Word in that way? If that is the case, it does differ, since the Wisdom and Word were never human figures exalted to the status of creator. It seems to me that the parallelism draws a distinction between the father and the son in that all things come from the father and all things exist through the son. In other words, the father is the creator, the son is the sustainer. I would suggest that the Pauline phrase, in which Jesus, at best, is the restorer and sustainer of creation, and, in that way, belatedly relates to creation, has later become in Colossians, John, and Hebrews reinterpreted to mean the original creator. But I agree with Bauckham that it marks Jesus as somehow divine, because the gist of the larger context is to distinguish true from false gods. It uses the patterns of monotheism of the Shema, brings in the creative function as divine, and gives Jesus one aspect of the creative function (the by), but does not necessarily mean that Jesus is the originator; he is the sustainer of creation—and that is in itself significant. Bauckham is clear that this is not just adding or tacking on Jesus, but “including” Jesus.
Rev. 3:14 refers to Jesus as the “origin of God’s creation” (ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς κτήσεως τοῦ θεοῦ). What does that mean? It too is ambiguous. If it does mean “origin” or “beginning” as its use in John suggests, for example, then it can mean two possible things: it could mean something like Bauckham’s idea of Jesus as creator, or it could mean that Jesus is the first created being—preexistence, yes; creator, it is not so clear.
Bauckham explains away the paucity of evidence for Jesus as creator as merely being not a concern of most NT writers. But, I think it is because for most he is sovereign without being creator: he shares in half the divine attributes. In fact, the perspective of the synoptics precludes such a possibility of preexistence and creator, since Jesus is sort of “adopted.” Bauckham seems to think that this can’t be so because this would be incomplete in terms of including Jesus in the divine identity, but such a case is only true within Bauckham's rhetoric and not in the sources themselves. My response is that some NT writers must have included Jesus incompletely. Just because the earliest writer may have some inkling of Jesus as a restorer of the cosmic order (Paul), does not mean all the other writers shared his perspective. Thus, we must just accept that many NT writers had not fully developed this Christology (and this does not imply their Christology is in any way "incomplete" but was not so concerned with divinity)—even if they did post-date those who did. Only a few authors, therefore, included Jesus fully in terms of being Creator (Colossians, Hebrews, and John; maybe Revelation; possibly, but not really likely, Paul).
Bauckham makes a dangerous move next: he claims that the high Christology of Paul in 1 Cor. 8:6 summarizes the NT position as a whole (30). The NT, though, does not have a single position. Each author has his own conceptualization, and even if the highest Christology already appears in Paul, it does not mean that Mark, Matthew, and Luke fully agreed with it; in fact, they clearly differ in protology. This is the same methodological problem I raised last time: he normalizes texts that don't fit into his view by reading them through texts that do and does not read them on their own terms.
Despite my numerous objections, I do think Bauckham’s divine identity Christology effectively moves things beyond “ontic” and “functional” categories. I think the evidence is just a whole lot messier, more ambiguous, and less comprehensive than he does, but what evidence that exists is still significant. Bauckham has shown that there is widespread attestation to Jesus as the enthroned sovereign and has the name of God, there is good evidence of worship, and then there are a handful of texts that speak of Jesus as creator. This is high Christology, indeed, but the application of the various divine aspects to Jesus was neither always complete, comprehensive, nor, at times, without precedent (particularly with enthronement and the investiture with the divine name). There is a great deal of variety and, even with similar concepts, shades of meaning as one moves from text to text. NO TEXT IS REPRESENTATIVE.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Heavenly Liturgies: Apocalpyse of Abraham
For my chapter on the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, I am revisiting other texts that discuss, depict, or allude to heavenly hymns. Most apocalyptic texts refer to heavenly liturgies sung by heavenly, divine beings (most people call them "angels"), but very rarely tell us what these heavenly beings actually say. When they do report the content of such hymns, they tend to be highly indebted to, or in fact are verbatim quotations of Isaiah 6:1-4:
2 Enoch 21:1 (J) repeats this verbatim, but it is being sung by cherubim, seraphim, with six-winged and many-eyed creatures; these creatures’ features can also be found in the adaptation of the holy praises in Rev. 4:8: “And the four living creatures, each of them with six wings, are full of eyes all round and within, and day and night they never cease to sing, ‘Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.’” This passage takes the basic angelic liturgy of the Isaiah excerpt, and combines some terminology from Ezekiel 1 (the “living creatures”) and perhaps gives a referent to the revelation of God’s name in Exodus 3:14: the was, is, and coming one perhaps referring to the LXX translation of “he who is.”
By contrast, the Similitudes of Enoch provide a more unique, but just as brief, window into heavenly speech:
The text continues in the same manner. This, in fact, sounds much like the compilation of praises found in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, except that it is set as an eschatological future event. The temporal dimension is extraordinarily important, as is the mentioning of an enthroned elect one, which sounds much like a Christian intervention—although, in fact, in the Songs themselves, there is a highly exalted divine being, seemingly second to God, who occupies his own tabernacle; this figure may be Melchizedek (a suggestion tentatively put forward by Jim Davila), although the text is too fragmentary for any sure conclusions, the same figure who in 11Q13 is the eschatological judge. For the Songs, the temporal dimension is also extraordinarily important, but it is not eschatological; it is the Sabbath: the sabbath is the most holy time, and it is when one can evoke the most holy, heavenly sanctuary. In fact, perhaps they also resonate with the Berakhot from Qumran.
All of this, however, is to lead up to a hymn that I actually cannot do much with in terms of my dissertation, but I find interesting nonetheless, from the Apocalypse of Abraham 17:8-21:
I include this in the discussion of heavenly liturgies because Abraham (being guided around the various firmaments) recites this along with his angelic guide, "And the angel knelt down with me and worshiped" (17:2). The conjoining of human and heavenly worship is not unique to this text: it is suggested already in Jubilees in which Sabbath observance is the response of the angels to God's creation; in turn, they teach this practice to humans. Jubilees 2:17-33 highly emphasizes that humans worshiping God on the Sabbath are doing so in conjunction, together with the angels in heaven. It is as if Jubilees provides an etiology for the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice themselves.
Nonetheless, this hymned prayer stands out from so many others because of its length--it is far longer than the praises found in the other apocalyptic texts, which just tend to riff on the trishagion or qedushah or "three holies" from Isaiah 6. This text looks like it stands somewhere between the later Nag Hammadi texts, particularly at the beginning with all the self-originate language (something that sounds like a lot of the "Sethian" texts, such as the Three Steles of Seth), slowly merging with a good old fashioned Psalm. Is this an Egyptian text? Does it stand somewhere between older Jewish (mixed with Christian) interests and emergent Sethian liturgies? I wonder. This is part of the reason I find this hymn so interesting, although it ended up having little bearing on my current research (it will get a footnote, so don't worry). Just some proof that those studying good Nag Hammadi texts cannot operate in a vacuum, but must consider a wide range of ancient literature, even the admitted messy "pseudepigrapha" with their tortuous transmission histories.
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the hose filled with smoke.
2 Enoch 21:1 (J) repeats this verbatim, but it is being sung by cherubim, seraphim, with six-winged and many-eyed creatures; these creatures’ features can also be found in the adaptation of the holy praises in Rev. 4:8: “And the four living creatures, each of them with six wings, are full of eyes all round and within, and day and night they never cease to sing, ‘Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.’” This passage takes the basic angelic liturgy of the Isaiah excerpt, and combines some terminology from Ezekiel 1 (the “living creatures”) and perhaps gives a referent to the revelation of God’s name in Exodus 3:14: the was, is, and coming one perhaps referring to the LXX translation of “he who is.”
By contrast, the Similitudes of Enoch provide a more unique, but just as brief, window into heavenly speech:
And him, the First Word, they shall bless extol, and glorify with wisdom. They shall be wise in utterance in the spirit of life and in the Lord of the Spirits. He placed the Elect One on the throne of glory; and he shall judge all the works of the holy ones in heaven above, weighing in the balance their deeds. And when he shall lift up his countenance in order to judge the secret ways of theirs, by the word of the name of the Lord of the Spirits, then they shall all speak with one voice, blessing, glorifying, extolling, sanctifying the name of the Lord of the Spirits. And he will summon all the forces of the heavens, and all the holy ones above, and the forces of the Lord—the cherubim, seraphim, ophanim, all the angels of governance, the Elect One, and the other forces on the earth (and) over the water. On that day, they shall lift up in one voice, blessing, glorifying, and extolling in the spirit of faith, in the spirit of wisdom and patience, in the spirit of mercy, in the spirit of justice and peace, and in the spirit of generosity. They shall all say in one voice, “Blessed (is he) and may the name of the Lord of the Spirits be blessed forever and evermore.” All the vigilant ones in heaven shall bless him; all the holy ones who are in heaven shall bless him…. (1 Enoch 61:7-12; trans. F.I. Andersen; OTP)
The text continues in the same manner. This, in fact, sounds much like the compilation of praises found in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, except that it is set as an eschatological future event. The temporal dimension is extraordinarily important, as is the mentioning of an enthroned elect one, which sounds much like a Christian intervention—although, in fact, in the Songs themselves, there is a highly exalted divine being, seemingly second to God, who occupies his own tabernacle; this figure may be Melchizedek (a suggestion tentatively put forward by Jim Davila), although the text is too fragmentary for any sure conclusions, the same figure who in 11Q13 is the eschatological judge. For the Songs, the temporal dimension is also extraordinarily important, but it is not eschatological; it is the Sabbath: the sabbath is the most holy time, and it is when one can evoke the most holy, heavenly sanctuary. In fact, perhaps they also resonate with the Berakhot from Qumran.
All of this, however, is to lead up to a hymn that I actually cannot do much with in terms of my dissertation, but I find interesting nonetheless, from the Apocalypse of Abraham 17:8-21:
Eternal One, Mighty One, Holy El, God autocrat
self-originate, incorruptible, immaculate,
unbegotten, spotless, immortal,
self-protected, self-devised,
without mother, without father, ungenerated,
exalted, fiery,
just, lover of men, benevolent, compassionate, bountiful,
jealous over me, patient one, most merciful.
Eli, eternal, mighty one, holy, Sabaoth,
most glorious El, El, El, El, Iaoel,
you are he my soul has loved, my protector.
Eternal, fiery, shining,
light-giving, thunder-voiced, lightning-visioned, many-eyed,
receiving the petitions of those who honor you
and turning away from the petitions of those who restrain you
by the restraint of their provocations,
redeemer of those who dwell in the midst of the wicked ones,
of those who are dispersed among the just of the world,
in the corruptible age.
Showing forth the age of the just,
you make the light shine
before the morning light upon your creation
from your face
to spend the day on the earth,
and in your heavenly dwelling place
(there is) an inexhaustible light of the invincible dawning
from the light of your face.
Accept my prayer and delight in it,
and (accept) also teh sacrifice which you yourself made
to yourself through me as I searched for you.
Receive me favorably,
teach me, show me, and make known to your servant what you have promised me.
(trans. R. Rubinkiewicz; OTP)
I include this in the discussion of heavenly liturgies because Abraham (being guided around the various firmaments) recites this along with his angelic guide, "And the angel knelt down with me and worshiped" (17:2). The conjoining of human and heavenly worship is not unique to this text: it is suggested already in Jubilees in which Sabbath observance is the response of the angels to God's creation; in turn, they teach this practice to humans. Jubilees 2:17-33 highly emphasizes that humans worshiping God on the Sabbath are doing so in conjunction, together with the angels in heaven. It is as if Jubilees provides an etiology for the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice themselves.
Nonetheless, this hymned prayer stands out from so many others because of its length--it is far longer than the praises found in the other apocalyptic texts, which just tend to riff on the trishagion or qedushah or "three holies" from Isaiah 6. This text looks like it stands somewhere between the later Nag Hammadi texts, particularly at the beginning with all the self-originate language (something that sounds like a lot of the "Sethian" texts, such as the Three Steles of Seth), slowly merging with a good old fashioned Psalm. Is this an Egyptian text? Does it stand somewhere between older Jewish (mixed with Christian) interests and emergent Sethian liturgies? I wonder. This is part of the reason I find this hymn so interesting, although it ended up having little bearing on my current research (it will get a footnote, so don't worry). Just some proof that those studying good Nag Hammadi texts cannot operate in a vacuum, but must consider a wide range of ancient literature, even the admitted messy "pseudepigrapha" with their tortuous transmission histories.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Covered with Eyes: Revelation and the Aeneid
Here are two passages: one from Revelation; the other, the Aeneid. Each depicts a supernal monstrous divine-like being with lots of feathers and eyes all over:
This depiction is, as is often noted, an adaptation of Ezek. 1:5-14. The difference being that each being in Ezekiel has four faces, one of each animal. Another major difference are the eyes. There is absolutely no real discussion of eyes in Ezekiel's vision as there are for John of Patmos. In fact, the vision in Revelation strongly draws attention to this innovation, mentioning that the beasts around the throne have eyes all over, front and back, inside and outside, twice--at the beginning and end of their description. There is, however, a text that precedes Revelation by a century that does have such a characterization of a supernal beast: Virgil's Aeneid. In the Aeneid, Virgil introduces us to the character of Rumor, a monstrous birdlike goddess, described as...
For Revelation, the multi-eyed, multi-winged beast is near to God, attending God at the throne and singing praises to God constantly. The ever-vigilant Rumor is also always seeing and always speaking, but not praises (or not only praises). She repeats whatever she hears, amplifies it, whether it is true or false or a bit of both. She spreads unsubstantiated information. She is slander, praise, liar, and truth-teller--and you never know which! So, in these two relatively contemporaneous texts (merely a century between them), we have two depictions of an all-seeing beast with multiple eyes and feathers/wings (giving a nice birdlike quality), but evaluated completely differently. While both are (semi-)divine, Virgil's depiction is entirely negative, while Revelation's perhaps inspires awe. Perhaps many eyes and many wings are just to be used of any creature to represent its all-seeing vigilance and speed / mobility. Or is there something particularly Roman about this creature? If anyone has any other examples of multi-eyed divine beasts from antiquity (Mediterranean, Ancient Near Eastern, etc.), please send them on and perhaps we can compile and see how these characterizations develop in different contexts.
And round the throne, on each side of the throne, are four living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind: the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with the face of a man, and the fourth living creature like a flying eagle. And the four living creatures, each of them with six wings, are full of eyes all around and within.... (Rev. 4:6b-8a; RSV)
This depiction is, as is often noted, an adaptation of Ezek. 1:5-14. The difference being that each being in Ezekiel has four faces, one of each animal. Another major difference are the eyes. There is absolutely no real discussion of eyes in Ezekiel's vision as there are for John of Patmos. In fact, the vision in Revelation strongly draws attention to this innovation, mentioning that the beasts around the throne have eyes all over, front and back, inside and outside, twice--at the beginning and end of their description. There is, however, a text that precedes Revelation by a century that does have such a characterization of a supernal beast: Virgil's Aeneid. In the Aeneid, Virgil introduces us to the character of Rumor, a monstrous birdlike goddess, described as...
fast-footed
and lithe of wing, she is a terrifying
enormous monster with as many feathers
as she has sleepless eyes beneath each feather
(amazingly), as many sounding tongues
and mouth, and raises up as many ears.
(Aeneid 4.238-42; trans. Mandelbaum)
For Revelation, the multi-eyed, multi-winged beast is near to God, attending God at the throne and singing praises to God constantly. The ever-vigilant Rumor is also always seeing and always speaking, but not praises (or not only praises). She repeats whatever she hears, amplifies it, whether it is true or false or a bit of both. She spreads unsubstantiated information. She is slander, praise, liar, and truth-teller--and you never know which! So, in these two relatively contemporaneous texts (merely a century between them), we have two depictions of an all-seeing beast with multiple eyes and feathers/wings (giving a nice birdlike quality), but evaluated completely differently. While both are (semi-)divine, Virgil's depiction is entirely negative, while Revelation's perhaps inspires awe. Perhaps many eyes and many wings are just to be used of any creature to represent its all-seeing vigilance and speed / mobility. Or is there something particularly Roman about this creature? If anyone has any other examples of multi-eyed divine beasts from antiquity (Mediterranean, Ancient Near Eastern, etc.), please send them on and perhaps we can compile and see how these characterizations develop in different contexts.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Quote of the Day: The Death of Death in the "Baal Cycle"
First things first, this is my 100th posting ever! It only took me about 13 months of blogging to get here, but today is that great milestone!
For that milestone, I would like to give a quote of the day from the Baal Cycle:
The Baal Cycle, sometimes called the Baal Epic, is basically about the Kingship of the Canaanite God Baal. It consists of six tablets that were inscribed around 1400-1350 BCE in the ancient city of Ugarit. The six tablets depict Baal's struggles to establish his kingship over the universe. The first two tablets depict his defeat of the Sea (Yamm), providing the counterpart to the Enuma Elish, in which Marduk establishes his authority by defeating the Sea (Tiamat). The differences are that Baal has help from the warrior-goddess Anat, whereas Marduk acted alone. Moreover, in the Ugaritic version, the sea is male and in the Enuma Elish Tiamat is female. Although, one should note that at the beginning of the Enuma Elish, Ea (Marduk's father) defeats the male waters (Apsu). The next two tablets depict Baal's acquisition of a "house" (his palace/temple) and a throne as his resting-place (again, this is similar to Enuma Elish). Again, Anat is instrumental in getting Baal his palace/temple and throne, the marks of his kingship. The final two tablets depict Baal's confrontation with Mot (Death). Mot actually defeats Baal--in fact, eats him. Anat, again, comes to the rescue--in the lines quoted above, she saves Baal by defeating death--the death of death, using the language of winnowing, sowing, and grinding grain. The return of rain, the yearly agricultural phenomenon of the rising grain, is the death of death.
Interestingly enough, Revelation 21 has this same pattern: Death of the Sea, the descent of the heavenly city (like Baal's palace), and the death of Death.
Moreover, the use of agricultural metaphors for the defeat of death, or resurrection, shows up in 1 Cor. 15. Paul writes:
Such patterns of mythical thinking found as early as the Baal Cycle, which coincides with annual agricultural patterns, reemerges in ever-new contexts among Jews and Christians. I always find it fun to see where such patterns of thought from the furthest reaches of antiquity find new articulations through the ages. In fact, my dissertation works with some of these extremely ancient patterns that manage to survive in new formulations....
For that milestone, I would like to give a quote of the day from the Baal Cycle:
She [Anat] seizes Divine Mot (Death),Baal Cycle, 6.2.30-37.
With a sword she splits him
With a sieve she winnows him.
With a fire shes burns him.
With millstones she grinds him,
In a field she sows him.
The birds eat his flesh,
Fowl devour his parts,
Flesh to flesh cries out.
The Baal Cycle, sometimes called the Baal Epic, is basically about the Kingship of the Canaanite God Baal. It consists of six tablets that were inscribed around 1400-1350 BCE in the ancient city of Ugarit. The six tablets depict Baal's struggles to establish his kingship over the universe. The first two tablets depict his defeat of the Sea (Yamm), providing the counterpart to the Enuma Elish, in which Marduk establishes his authority by defeating the Sea (Tiamat). The differences are that Baal has help from the warrior-goddess Anat, whereas Marduk acted alone. Moreover, in the Ugaritic version, the sea is male and in the Enuma Elish Tiamat is female. Although, one should note that at the beginning of the Enuma Elish, Ea (Marduk's father) defeats the male waters (Apsu). The next two tablets depict Baal's acquisition of a "house" (his palace/temple) and a throne as his resting-place (again, this is similar to Enuma Elish). Again, Anat is instrumental in getting Baal his palace/temple and throne, the marks of his kingship. The final two tablets depict Baal's confrontation with Mot (Death). Mot actually defeats Baal--in fact, eats him. Anat, again, comes to the rescue--in the lines quoted above, she saves Baal by defeating death--the death of death, using the language of winnowing, sowing, and grinding grain. The return of rain, the yearly agricultural phenomenon of the rising grain, is the death of death.
Interestingly enough, Revelation 21 has this same pattern: Death of the Sea, the descent of the heavenly city (like Baal's palace), and the death of Death.
Moreover, the use of agricultural metaphors for the defeat of death, or resurrection, shows up in 1 Cor. 15. Paul writes:
So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body." (1 Cor. 15:42-44).The passage culminates in exclamation:
Death is swallowed up in victory.Much of Paul's argument about the redeeming aspect of Jesus' resurrection is that through resurrection, he has conquered death. Death has died. Christians then participate in Jesus' victory over death, which coincides with his victory over sin (since sin is death).
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
Such patterns of mythical thinking found as early as the Baal Cycle, which coincides with annual agricultural patterns, reemerges in ever-new contexts among Jews and Christians. I always find it fun to see where such patterns of thought from the furthest reaches of antiquity find new articulations through the ages. In fact, my dissertation works with some of these extremely ancient patterns that manage to survive in new formulations....
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