On Using Sources in Graeco-Roman, Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 327) 9789042949447, 9789042949454, 9042949449

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PART ONE
SOURCE-CITATIONS IN THE CLASSICAL HISTORIANS

Citation preview

ON USING SOURCES IN GRAECO-ROMAN, JEWISH AND EARLY CHRISTIAN LITERATURE JOSEPH VERHEYDEN – JOHN S. KLOPPENBORG GEERT ROSKAM – STEFAN SCHORN

ON USING SOURCES IN GRAECO-ROMAN, JEWISH AND EARLY CHRISTIAN LITERATURE

BIBLIOTHECA EPHEMERIDUM THEOLOGICARUM LOVANIENSIUM

EDITED BY THE BOARD OF EPHEMERIDES THEOLOGICAE LOVANIENSES

Louis-Léon Christians – Henri Derroitte – Wim François – Éric Gaziaux Joris Geldhof – Arnaud Join-Lambert – Johan Leemans Olivier Riaudel (secretary) – Matthieu Richelle Joseph Verheyden (general editor)

EDITORIAL STAFF

Rita Corstjens – Claire Timmermans

UNIVERSITÉ CATHOLIQUE DE LOUVAIN LOUVAIN-LA-NEUVE

KU LEUVEN LEUVEN

BIBLIOTHECA EPHEMERIDUM THEOLOGICARUM LOVANIENSIUM CCCXXVII

ON USING SOURCES IN GRAECO-ROMAN, JEWISH AND EARLY CHRISTIAN LITERATURE

EDITED BY

JOSEPH VERHEYDEN – JOHN S. KLOPPENBORG GEERT ROSKAM – STEFAN SCHORN

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2022

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-90-429-4944-7 eISBN 978-90-429-4945-4 D/2022/0602/75 All rights reserved. Except in those cases expressly determined by law, no part of this publication may be multiplied, saved in an automated data file or made public in any way whatsoever without the express prior written consent of the publishers. © 2022 – Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven (Belgium)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction (Joseph VERHEYDEN – John S. KLOPPENBORG – Geert ROSKAM – Stefan SCHORN) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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PART ONE

John MARINCOLA (Tallahassee, FL) Source-Citations in the Classical Historians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3

Geert ROSKAM (Leuven) Mixing the Available Material into One Form: Plutarch’s Use of His Sources and the Composition Process of the Parallel Lives .

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Tiziano DORANDI (Paris) Les Epicurea dans les Vies des philosophes de Diogène Laërce entre texte et scholies: Réflexions d’un éditeur . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Stefan SCHORN (Leuven) Porphyry and His Sources in On Abstinence: Limits and Possibilities of Reconstructing Theophrastus’ On Piety . . . . . . . . . . .

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Bruno BLECKMANN (Düsseldorf) Die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte: Zu einem rekonstruierten Geschichtswerk des vierten nachchristlichen Jahrhunderts . . . . 125 PART TWO

Cana WERMAN (Beer-Sheva) Jubilees 23: A Test Case for Jubilees’s Use of Sources . . . . . . 145 Eshbal RATZON (Tel Aviv) A Sectarian Background for 1 Enoch 22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 Steve MASON (Groningen) Was Josephus a Source for Luke-Acts? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 PART THREE

Alan KIRK (Harrisonburg, VA) The Myth of Schleiermacher and the Logia: The Early Origins of the Q Hypothesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Paul FOSTER (Edinburgh) Matthew’s Use of Mark: Insights into Attitudes to Traditions, Sources and Theology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271 Sarah E. ROLLENS (Memphis, TN) Other People’s Speech in Q . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321 John S. KLOPPENBORG (Toronto, ON) Early Christian Textual Communities, and Luke’s Treatment of His Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351 Daniel A. SMITH (London, ON) Critical Source Problems: Canonical Luke and Marcion’s Gospel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399 INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS

AND

WRITINGS . . . . . . 407

INTRODUCTION

The present volume contains a selection from papers read at the ninth international conference of the Leuven Centre for the Study of the Gospels which was held at Leuven 9-11 December 2019 and dealt with the study of sources in Graeco-Roman, Second Temple, and early Christian literature. The purpose of the conference was to bring together specialists of source-critical studies in these areas to look for parallels, patterns, and of course also differences in the way written sources are identified, used to explain the compositional history of a work, reconstructed, and generally evaluated as basic material for authors to compose and redact new texts. The interdisciplinary approach cannot only be traced and detected in the individual papers, but was above all visible in the common discussions. The dialogue never became a dispute, but more than once it showed interesting differences in the way scholars in the various fields agreed with each other or parted ways. Source criticism is an approach to the literary study of ancient documents that has been used in various fields and for various genres of texts since the beginning of the historical-critical study of antiquity. Many today consider it as something of a distant past, because the pendulum of research seems to have swung to synchronic approaches, including the so-called New Philology that rides the tide these days. However, source criticism has never completely disappeared from sight and scholars in various disciplines have continued to use this method. Actually, it is a method that offers many interesting opportunities for interdisciplinary research and that can bring together scholars from different fields in a way that few other methods are able to do. Of course, the world has moved on and the way source criticism is looked at these days is quite different from the old-school approach, but basic aspects of that approach remain valid while others have been re-evaluated and some even have been re-invented in a new format. Two examples may illustrate this. Few, if any, today still believe that by unearthing an ancient source that is assumed to be closer to the events that are being told one is by definition closer to the truth of the story (see the debate on the Q hypothesis). Yet, a considerable number of biblical scholars still subscribe to the view that knowledge of the sources may help evaluate the compositional history of a work, its style and purpose, and the tendencies it displays, even when they are not actively involved in source-critical research. On a different

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matter, authors that have long been mined for the sources they were thought to have preserved are now (also) being studied in their own right from a compositional and historical-critical perspective on the hypothesis that the sources they cite are an integral part of their work (Diodorus Siculus is a good example). It is fair to say that source criticism deserves it to maintain its place in any scholarly approach of ancient documents, because it opens broader perspectives, beyond the document that is being studied, and because it can give us important information on the composition history of a document and indirectly also about its purpose and context. Unfortunately, today the method is on the defensive, but it has not yet lost all of its old glory, quite the contrary. The essays in this volume address three general fields of interest: a. “Forschungsgeschichtliche” and methodological principles: all speakers had been asked also to reflect on the history of their discipline and see how it has developed over the years. b. Concrete ways of using sources: this is of course a vast field that obviously can only be explored selectively, but we have tried to focus on representative cases that open up for wider questions and may be relevant for research in the other fields as well. All authors pay attention to this aspect, some of them focusing on the principles behind an author’s use of sources, and others combining reflections on authorial intervention with more content-linked observations. c. Hypothetical or fragmented sources: this is perhaps the most debated aspect and has led some scholars to abandon the approach as such. The discussion is not just about ways to discover and partially reconstruct a source from the text in which it was (or thought to be) incorporated, but above all on the principle of how much can be made from heavily fragmented texts or whether one is allowed to introduce purely hypothetical sources in the debate without ending up in pure fantasy. If in the old days fruitful contacts between classical philologists and ancient historians, on the one hand, and “theologians” (that is, in this case, biblical scholars or scholars of early Christianity), on the other, were rather exceptional – one might cite the famous case of C. Lachmann, and maybe also that of E. Schwartz, to name just two, or the way Th. Mommsen initially looked upon his new Berlin colleague A. von Harnack as proof of the contrary –, today such contacts have not really significantly increased. In part, this is of course to be explained by the ongoing specialisation in the disciplines. The colloquium was conceived as an attempt at stimulating such contacts in the hope that these will prove to be fruitful for all parties. As said above, today source criticism seems to be out of

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favour with a good deal of scholars. Some sorry abuses of the method in the past may explain this, but these should not be used to invalidate the method as such or to conclude that nothing can come anymore from applying it within a new context. The present volume offers examples of the lasting potential of a source-critical approach for studying ancient texts and documents. Nothing is gained by simply ignoring a particular method. Apart from all sensitivity about certain mistakes made in the past, it is always good to reflect on one’s methodology for the sake of preserving, refining, and maybe renewing it. Finally, it is just good to go against the tide every now and then, provided one brings the right arguments on the table, which is precisely what the organisers wanted participants to do. The first part, which deals with Graeco-Roman literature, consists of five essays. John Marincola studies the use of source-citations in the works of classical historians, focusing on certain contrasts between Herodotus and Thucydides in this respect, and then also on how later historians dealing with contemporary and older history cited and integrated sources as part of their accounts against the background of the delicate question how one looks upon predecessors and positions oneself in a tradition of historiography to which one wants to belong, or less frequently, which one wants to change or renew. Geert Roskam addresses Plutarch’s composition strategies in his Parallel Lives from the perspective that the latter were based on a thorough familiarity with the available sources. Plutarch put great value in this as it enhanced his status as an intellectual and an erudite author. Roskam retraces the various stages in the three-stage composition process from the preparatory work, which includes choosing the right topic (the hero) and the interesting sources and making oneself familiar with the latter, to the preliminary one, which involves assessing the character that will be presented, deciding on the main source to follow, and the first draft (hypomnema), to the actual composition, which consists of polishing the draft, organising the material, and in the specific case of the Parallel Lives taking into account the parallel to which the hero will be compared. Tiziano Dorandi analyses the last book of Diogenes Laertius’ Lives and Doctrines of Illustrious Philosophers that deals with Epicurus and his disciples. He first dwells on the peculiar structure of this last book with its long excerpts, or even complete citations, of various texts and its numerous problems in handling the sad state of the material. In the second part of his essay, Dorandi turns to the scholia on the Epicurean material in the manuscript tradition and the historical problems they pose

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in terms of authorship and origin in view of a critical edition of this kind of material in which early, authentic, and late, inauthentic passages are interwoven in a way that makes it often difficult to distinguish between the two. Stefan Schorn contributes a lengthy and very richly documented essay on the sources of Porphyry’s On Abstinence, more in particular, on how to use this work for recuperating and perhaps even reconstructing parts of Theophrastus’ treatise On Piety. Schorn addresses two problems – the structure of the treatise and Porphyry’s use of it in the form of “citations”. He does so on the basis of a most detailed analysis of various sections that deal with the history of sacrifice, more specifically, the development from vegetable to blood sacrifices. Schorn also discusses in great detail the disputed section §§ 9.1–11.2 and the rite of the Athenian Bouphonia. The double result of the essay is a partial reconstruction of passages from Theophrastus and careful evaluation of Porphyry’s critical handling of his source. The last essay in the part on Graeco-Roman literature brings us to late fourth-century Rome. Bruno Bleckmann revisits a topic he has dealt with before and recently again in a critical edition of the relevant material. Bleckmann’s topic is the so-called Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte, a hypothetical work devised by the librarian Alexander Enmann in 1884 in arguing that Aurelius Victor, Eutropius in his Breviarium, and the Historia Augusta all three depended on a now lost Chronicle named after the author who first proposed the hypothesis. Bleckmann first critically answers various objections against working with hypothetical sources and illustrates his argument with examples that cannot merely be explained from mutual dependence. He then looks behind the two basic sources, Eutropius and Aurelius Victor, for other sources that might betray traces of the same source, which brings him to the Historia Augusta (and the work of a few other historians). Again, he shows from examples how the similarities and differences can plausibly be explained on the hypothesis of a common source, even if the Eutropius – Aurelius Victor combination remains the first indicator for postulating such a source. The second part deals with Second Temple Judaism and consists of three essays. Cana Werman studies Jubilees 23 as a test case for evaluating the author’s use of sources starting from the hypothesis that Jubilees is not a multi-layered work but is to be attributed to a single author. Jubilees 23, so Werman, is composed from elements of Hesiod’s Works and Days, a reworking of the same work in Hellenistic times (Pseudo-Hesiod) and the author’s own interpolated comments. This complex composition

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process is not the result of successive stages, but of a complex interaction between the author and his sources. Werman illustrates her point with several examples that show a keen and sometimes quite subtle distinction between the two sources and the author’s handling of them. The interpolations are part and parcel of the composition process, not the fruit of a later revision. This too is amply illustrated and strengthens the conclusion of the author’s independent mind in handling his sources. Eshbal Ratzon studies another core text of that period – 1 Enoch – and also focuses on one particular chapter. She first dwells on the structure of the Book of Watchers and then concentrates on chapter 22 that offers a description of the underworld. Ratzon advances an innovative and for some perhaps rather daring hypothesis when arguing that the chapter reflects the views of a Jewish minority group that is (felt to be) persecuted by fellow Jews in the Hasmonean period. The group held rather strict views on the application of the lex talionis in the afterlife, the negative and perhaps even dualistic approach to those not belonging to the own group, and resurrection. Some of this may have its origins in the third century BC and was then linked to the Macedonian time, but Ratzon argues that this material has received a new value for the group when chapter 22 was composed expanding on material from the Book of Watchers. The third essay in this part is by Steve Mason and deals with the in se not unattractive but highly disputed question of whether Josephus may have been a (subsidiary) source for the author of Luke-Acts. The first part of Mason’s essay offers a survey of previous research on the matter that leads the author to some broader methodological reflections on source criticism. In the short second part Mason draws an analogy with how Tacitus and Sulpicius Severus have used Josephus as a source without actually quoting from it, though staying close to it (see Hist. 5.1 and War 6.312-315). The substantial third part offers five case studies of passages that could plausibly be explained by also taking into account the possibility of Luke’s access to Josephus for information on certain secondary characters from the Roman and Jewish tradition, but also for the notion of αἵρεσις, which is also used by Josephus in presenting diversity among “Jewish schools/sects”. The third part of the book deals with early Christian literature, above all, the gospels and their sources. Alan Kirk studies the earliest origins of the Q hypothesis reviewing late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century hypotheses on the origins of the gospels from Herder to Schleiermacher’s famous 1832 essay on the Matthean Logia as interpreted from Papias that had been prepared in his 1817 hypothesis of “proto-Synoptic ‘collections’

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theory”, as Kirk calls it. The gist of the essay is that these pioneers of Synoptic studies had far less doubts or reservations about postulating oral or more often written sources, including a full-blown (oral) Ur-Gospel, behind gospel material and the gospels themselves. The survey also amply illustrates how research was done and furthered in critical dialogue with predecessors and also how the Griesbach Hypothesis gradually won the day among prominent scholars (de Wette). Paul Foster addresses a fundamental question in Matthean studies that recently has received quite some attention again – Matthew’s relation to his major source, Mark. Foster begins by pointing out some “false statistics” in defining Matthew’s use of Mark in dialogue with Streeter and Morgenthaler. He then questions the widely accepted notion of Mark’s Gospel being the framework of Matthew which opens the way for considering the latter “merely” as an expanded form of Mark. Foster surveys the whole of Matthew’s Gospel from the perspective of what he borrows from Mark and adds to it, thereby especially focusing on the latter material as a “complicating” factor that gives the Gospel of Matthew a profile of its own, not only in terms of structuring the material but also in communicating a distinct theological message. Sarah Rollens deals with what is probably the most famous gospel source – the Sayings Source (Gospel?) Q. She focuses on the way Matthew and Luke have reproduced the words of various characters in Double Tradition material. Rollens then illustrates from two cases how Matthew and Luke at times can strongly agree with each other (Q 13,34-35) while differing quite considerably in other instances (Q 12,58-59) in rendering Jesus’ words. Special attention is paid to the phenomenon of embedded speech in Q, passages in which another character’s wording is integrated into a context on the hypothesis that the two evangelists try as a rule to stick to the wording of the source. With some good reason the Temptation Narrative is handled as “a special case” because of its mythic character and the fact that in this instance the protagonist cites Scripture. Cases in which Matthew and Luke differ more significantly from each other (Q 10,5; 12,29.54-55; 17,6) are considered to be mere exceptions in view of the more dominant tendency of the evangelists to stay with the original. In a concluding reflection Rollens ponders on the possibility to use Q to theorise the way the evangelists engaged with speech material in their sources. John Kloppenborg analyses Luke’s use of his sources against the broader background of what happened in this respect in ancient “textual communities” in which books were circulated. Kloppenborg surveys a number of phenomena, including Luke’s decision to open his gospel with

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a formal prologue, his interest in transcending Mark’s style and vocabulary by adapting a more cultivated style, his imitation of the style of the Septuagint. Related to this interest in literary style are such passages in which Luke depicts Jesus as a reader and commentator of Scripture (4,16-30) or presents Jesus’ disciples as orators in their own right (in Acts). A more subtle way of representing the (own?) Christian community as a textual community can be found in such passages as Lk 24,27 through which Luke “constructs a textual history of Israel in which Jesus and the Christ group have a place” (p. 364). Dan Smith contributes an essay that moves beyond the gospels and into the second century when discussing the relation between Marcion’s Gospel and Canonical Luke. Smith makes a useful distinction between (ancient) “representations” of Marcion and reconstructions of his text in modern scholarship. The former are as a rule dominated by apologetical and polemical intentions. He then surveys recent attempts at reconstructing Marcion’s text which has been kind of a hot topic in recent years after a long period of almost complete silence, reviewing several proposals and the way in which Marcion’s text is linked to Luke’s – from arguing that the former knew the canonical form of the latter (S. Moll) to more complicated forms that suggest Luke is secondary to Marcion (M. Vinzent, M. Klinghardt) or that Marcion edited (J. Tyson) or worked from an earlier version of canonical Luke (J. BeDuhn). In his conclusion Smith briefly presents the consequences of these various models and points out “persistent difficulties” in this in se very complicated exercise. The heyday of source criticism seems long gone, at least in biblical studies, but like other methods and approaches, this one too has never completely disappeared from the radar. The hypothetical character of Synoptic and other source-critical theories and the finesses of reconstructing an author’s sources remain fascinating issues in which historical, literary, and social aspects combine to shed light on ancient compositional strategies and practices. It is to these issues this volume hopes to contribute. Joseph VERHEYDEN John S. KLOPPENBORG Geert ROSKAM Stefan SCHORN

PART ONE

SOURCE-CITATIONS IN THE CLASSICAL HISTORIANS* I. INTRODUCTION It is only a slight exaggeration to say that Greek literature opens with a source-citation: “Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles”. The Iliad invokes an unnamed ϑεά at its outset, as the Odyssey invokes a singular Μοῦσα, a practice which, in the commencement of a poetic enterprise, is a common enough feature in early Greek poetry, visible not only in epic but also in didactic, lyric, and elegy1. It is as if the poet needed at the very outset to display the source of what was to follow. The invocation can be made briefly, as it is at the outset of the Iliad and Odyssey, or at somewhat greater length, as when, for example, Hesiod in the beginning of the Theogony portrays his own encounter with the Muses and the dramatic moment when they bestow on him his poetic voice2. Not that Homer is averse to longer invocations: when he comes to the catalogue of forces in Iliad 2, he also expounds at some length on the importance of the goddesses and their relationship to his own poetry: it is they who remember, they who allow the poet to narrate what follows, and the poet here presents the goddesses as allowing him to bridge the gulf between divine knowledge of the entire world, * I am grateful to Joseph Verheyden, John Kloppenborg, Geert Roskam, and Stefan Schorn for the kind invitation to participate in the colloquium from which this paper derives. I am grateful as well for their kind hospitality and for the discussion with the other participants that followed this paper. I thank especially Steve Mason for his comments and insights. None of these participants necessarily agrees with what is written here, and I remain responsible for all errors of omission and commission. All translations are my own. 1. Homer, Iliad 1.1: μῆνιν ἄειδε ϑεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος; Odyssey 1.1: ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλά; Hesiod, Theogony 1: μουσάων Ἑλικωνιάδων ἀρχώμεϑ᾽ ἀείδειν. Cf. Hesiod, Catalogue of Women, F 1 MERKELBACH – WEST: ἀείσατε, ἡδυέπειαι | Μοῦσαι Ὀλυμπιάδες; Stesichorus FF 90, 100.6, 172 DAVIES – FINGLASS with further examples at FINGLASS’ commentary on F 100 in M. DAVIES – P.J. FINGLASS (eds.), Stesichorus: The Poems, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2014, pp. 416-417; the four invocations at the outset of the Theognidean corpus: IEG2 F 1-18; Solon, IEG2 F 13.1-2. 2. Hesiod, Theogony 22, 24ff.: αἵ νύ ποϑ᾽ Ἡσίοδον καλὴν ἐδίδαξαν ἀοιδήν, […] | τόνδε δέ με πρώτιστα ϑεαὶ πρὸς μῦϑον ἔειπον, | Μοῦσαι Ὀλυμπιάδες, κοῦραι Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο· | «ποιμένες ἄγραυλοι, κάκ᾽ ἐλέγχεα, γαστέρες οἶον, | ἴδμεν ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγειν ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα, | ἴδμεν δ᾽, εὖτ᾽ ἐϑέλωμεν, ἀληϑέα γηρύσασϑαι» | […] καί μοι σκῆπτρον ἔδον δάφνης ἐριϑηλέος ὄζον | δρέψασαι, ϑηητόν· ἐνέπνευσαν δέ μοι αὐδὴν | ϑέσπιν, κτλ.

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and the inferior and partial understanding that is the lot of mankind. Without them he is nothing3. The reliance on the Muses or a divinity of some sort plays a role as well in some of the early philosophers, as can be seen, for example, in Parmenides and Empedocles. The former speaks of being set down “on the divinity’s many worded road”, with the maidens, κοῦραι4, “leading the way”. He is welcomed by the goddess who tells him that he will learn both “the unshakeable heart of well-convincing truth” and “the opinions of mortals in which there is no true belief”5. Empedocles likewise mentions the gods and invokes the Muse to help guide him in discerning between true and false6. Gods and muses are a ubiquitous “source” for poetic inspiration, but even in poetry they are not the sole sources presented. For example, Theognis tells his addressee Cyrnus that he should absorb the wisdom about to be offered, “which I learnt, while still a young man, from good men”7. Mimnermus of Colophon, active in the mid- to late-seventh century wrote a poem entitled Smyrneis, a quasi-epic in which was included a battle of the Smyrneans with Gyges and the Lydians. In the preface to this work he distinguished between two groups of Muses, the older (daughters of Ouranos) and the younger (daughters of Zeus)8. One would assume that they were mentioned as part of his poetic invocation. But at the same time, the poem contained both a first-person account of the settlement of Colophon9, and an appeal, perhaps by a speaker in the poem, 3. Homer, Iliad 2.484-492: ἔσπετε νῦν μοι Μοῦσαι Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾽ ἔχουσαι· | ὑμεῖς γὰρ ϑεαί ἐστε πάρεστέ τε ἴστέ τε πάντα, | ἡμεῖς δὲ κλέος οἶον ἀκούομεν οὐδέ τι ἴδμεν· | οἵ τινες ἡγεμόνες Δαναῶν καὶ κοίρανοι ἦσαν· | πληϑὺν δ᾽ οὐκ ἂν ἐγὼ μυϑήσομαι οὐδ᾽ ὀνομήνω, | οὐδ᾽ εἴ μοι δέκα μὲν γλῶσσαι, δέκα δὲ στόματ᾽ εἶεν, | φωνὴ δ᾽ ἄρρηκτος, χάλκεον δέ μοι ἦτορ ἐνείη, | εἰ μὴ Ὀλυμπιάδες Μοῦσαι Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο | ϑυγατέρες μνησαίαϑ᾽ ὅσοι ὑπὸ Ἴλιον ἦλϑον. 4. Perhaps a reference to the Muses: cf. Hesiod’s κοῦραι in Theogony 25 (quoted above, n. 2). 5. Parmenides B 1 D-K (= D 4 LAKS – MOST) 1-5: ἵπποι ταί με φέρουσιν, ὅσον τ’ ἐπὶ ϑυμὸς ἱκάνοι, | πέμπον ἐπεί μ’ ἐς ὁδὸν βῆσαν πολύφημον ἄγουσαι | δαίμονος, ἣ κατὰ πάντ’ ἄστη φέρει εἰδότα φῶτα· | τῇ φερόμην· τῇ γάρ με πολύφραστοι φέρον ἵπποι | ἅρμα τιταίνουσαι, κοῦραι δ’ ὁδὸν ἡγεμόνευον. 6. Empedocles, B 3 D-K (= D 44 LAKS – MOST) 1-5: ἀλλὰ ϑεοὶ τῶν μὲν μανίην ἀποτρέψατε γλώσσης, | ἐκ δ’ ὁσίων στομάτων καϑαρὴν ὀχετεύσατε πηγήν. | καὶ σέ, πολυμνήστη λευκώλενε παρϑένε Μοῦσα, | ἄντομαι, ὧν ϑέμις ἐστὶν ἐφημερίοισιν ἀκούειν, | πέμπε παρ’ Εὐσεβίης ἐλάουσ’ εὐήνιον ἅρμα. 7. Theognis 27–28: σοὶ δ᾿ ἐγὼ εὖ φρονέων ὑποϑήσομαι, οἷάπερ αὐτός, | Κύρν᾿, ἀπὸ τῶν ἀγαϑῶν παῖς ἔτ᾿ ἐὼν ἔμαϑον. 8. IEG2 F 13 = Pausanias 9.29.4: Μίμνερμος δὲ ἐλεγεῖα ἐς τὴν μάχην ποιήσας τὴν Σμυρναίων πρὸς Γύγην τε καὶ Λυδούς, φησὶν ἐν τῷ προοιμίῳ ϑυγατέρας Οὐρανοῦ τὰς ἀρχαιοτέρας Μούσας, τούτων δὲ ἄλλας νεωτέρας εἶναι Διὸς παῖδας. 9. IEG2 F 9.2-6: †αἰπύτε† Πύλον Νηλήϊον ἄστυ λιπόντες | ἱμερτὴν Ἀσίην νηυσὶν ἀφικόμεϑα, | ἐς δ᾿ ἐρατὴν Κολοφῶνα βίην ὑπέροπλον ἔχοντες | ἑζόμεϑ᾿, ἀργαλέης ὕβριος ἡγεμόνες.

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to his elders as witnesses to the prowess of an earlier (unnamed) fighter10. So in this one poem, we find the Muses, the appeal to an elder, and one’s own participation cited as sources for the contents of the poem. In early prose accounts we find a new source brought forward by the writer: the writer himself. This at least seems to be the message that Hecataeus conveys in his famous opening proem: “Hecataeus of Miletus speaks thus: ‘I write what follows as it seems to me to be true; for the stories of the Greeks, as they appear to me, are numerous and ridiculous’”11. The phrase “as it seems to me to be true” can, of course, be interpreted in different ways. Yet it is essential to recognise that however we conceive of it, the standard of reference is the historian himself. Lacking, as we do, the text of Hecataeus, we cannot be certain how he proceeded, but perhaps we get some sense of his method – and his sources – from a fragment which seems to be in Hecataeus’ own words: “Aigyptos himself did not go to Argos, but his children did: they were, as Hesiod says, fifty, but as I say, not even twenty”12. It is clear here that he is citing Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women, and that he is doing so in order to assert a more “rationalised” version. In citing a source only to refute it, Hecataeus anticipates a common practice among historians. When we come to the historians, we need to make a couple of distinctions at the outset. The first is that between unnamed and named sources. By the former I mean the ubiquitous employment by both Greek and Roman historians of generalised source citations, which indicate some kind of source but not a specific individual or group. Such citations are often introduced with phrases such as λέγεται, φασί, dicitur, constat, or the like. The examination of these must, of course, be taken into consideration in any full-scale study of how a classical historian employs source-citations. But as they are too disparate and too nebulous a group to treat within the compass of this paper, I shall focus on the historians’ use of named sources. The second distinction that needs to be made is that between contemporary and non-contemporary history. A survey of the Greek and Roman historians reveals fairly consistent procedures in each group, even to the 10. IEG2 F 14.1-2: οὐ μὲν δὴ κείνου γε μένος καὶ ἀγήνορα ϑυμὸν | τοῖον ἐμέο προτέρων πεύϑομαι, οἵ μιν ἴδον, κτλ. On this fragment see J. GRETHLEIN, Diomedes Redivivus: A New Reading of Mimnermus fr. 14W, in Mnemosyne 60 (2007) 102-111. 11. FGrHist 1 F 1a = EGM F 1: ῾Εκαταῖος Μιλήσιος ὧδε μυϑεῖται· τάδε γράφω, ὥς μοι δοκεῖ ἀληϑέα εἶναι· οἱ γὰρ ῾Ελλήνων λόγοι πολλοί τε καὶ γελοῖοι, ὡς ἐμοὶ φαίνονται, εἰσίν. 12. Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 19 = EGM F 19 = Hesiod F 127 MERKELBACH – WEST: ὁ δὲ Αἴγυπτος αὐτὸς μὲν οὐκ ἦλϑεν εἰς ῎Αργος, παῖδες δέ, , ὡς μὲν ῾Ησίοδος ἐποίησε, πεντήκοντα, ὡς ἐγὼ δέ, οὐδὲ εἴκοσι.

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extent that when an author (Polybius, for example) treats both noncontemporary and contemporary history, he will follow the conventions (if that is not too strong a term) of each for each part of the history. In what follows I shall treat Herodotus and Thucydides first, as those who established many of the conventions followed by later historians, and I will then look at contemporary and non-contemporary historians as a group. II. HERODOTUS AND THUCYDIDES Although we can perhaps glimpse Hecataeus’ relationship to his sources, it is only with Herodotus that we can see clearly how sources are cited, manipulated, and appropriated. It is important to remember, however, that unlike Thucydides and most of the historians who followed, Herodotus covers a variety of topics only tangentially related to what came to be considered mainstream narrative history. His geographical and ethnographical studies in the earlier books, for example, had an important influence on these topics in later writers, but they are different in kind from the historical narrative which makes up the bulk of books 5–9. The most obvious example, book 2, covers the flora, fauna, and history of Egypt, and blends together geographical issues (the sources and behaviour of the Nile), ethnographic matters (the customs of the Egyptians), and historical events (the deeds of the various pharaohs of Egypt). Herodotus employs certain tools when he is examining the physical countryside of Egypt, where autopsy and inquiry of the natives supplies certain types of information. But autopsy could be of only limited use when compiling an account of the deeds of Egypt’s kings of long ago, and here Herodotus gives an explicit source, the priests, from which his account of Egyptian history clearly descends (2.99.2ff.). This is obvious, of course, and I mention it here only to remind us that when, for instance, Herodotus says in a famous passage about Egypt, “Up to this point it is my observation, my reasoning, and my inquiry that recounts these things”13, it cannot be assumed that this is necessarily the same methodology used for all matters in the history. 13. Herodotus 2.99: μέχρι μὲν τούτου ὄψις τε ἐμὴ καὶ γνώμη καὶ ἱστορίη ταῦτα λέγουσα ἐστί, κτλ. On Herodotean inquiry see (i.a.) G. SCHEPENS, L’‘autopsie’ dans la méthode des historiens grecs du Ve siècle avant J.-C. (Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten, 42/93), Brussels, Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten, 1980, pp. 33-93; D. LATEINER, The Historical Method of Herodotus, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1989; E. BAKKER – I.J.F. DE JONG – H. VAN WEES (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, Leiden – Boston, MA – Köln, Brill, 2002, pp. 321-412.

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As Herodotus himself notes at the outset, his narrative is the “display” of his inquiry, and that is clearly to be seen as the foundation for what follows14. Immediately thereafter, Herodotus offers his very first source citation, an account dependent on the logioi of the Persians15, followed by a different account ascribed to “the Greeks”. Although both accounts are eventually dismissed, this citation of epichoric sources remains a fundamental feature of Herodotus’ work, since Herodotus presents his work as consistently reproducing the different accounts of various native peoples, whether Greek or foreign and whether or not he believes them16. The use of epichoric sources is part of the larger realm of ἀκοή, oral tradition, or, more generally, what one has heard about the past. Citations such as “the Egyptians say”, “the Scythians say”, “the Athenians say”, and so forth are used throughout the Histories and can be found both for general (i.e., longer) accounts as well as specific details. In certain cases, as for example in the story in book 2 of the clever thief under the pharaoh Rhampsinitus, Herodotus gives an “Egyptian” account that goes on for four OCT pages, marked out by the accusative-and-infinitive construction for its entire length (2.121α.1-ζ2). In other cases, only a particular part of a story is ascribed to an epichoric source: a famous example is the story of Cyrus’ intended immolation of Croesus, where only the detail of Croesus’ appeal to Apollo when the fire cannot be put out is ascribed to “the Lydians”17. There has, of course, been much controversy about the genuineness of the source-citations in Herodotus18, but again I must leave that aside here (important as it is), and note simply that the citation of epichoric citations plays a fundamental role in Herodotus’ Histories, and this is something that becomes a feature of most Greek historical accounts. (It is present, but much less pronounced, among the Romans.) In addition to these epichoric citations, Herodotus sometimes (like Hecataeus) uses poetic sources, perhaps most famously again in book 2, where he proposes an “alternative” history of the Trojan War, according to which Helen herself never went to Troy but rather remained in Egypt 14. Herodotus praef.: Ἡροδότου Ἁλικαρνησσέος ἱστορίης ἀπόδεξις ἥδε. 15. There is much controversy about what the term logios means; persuasive interpretation in N. LURAGHI, The Importance of Being Logios, in The Classical World 102 (2009) 439-456. 16. Herodotus’ epichoric sources: A. VON GUTSCHMID, Index fontium Herodoti, in ID., Kleine Schriften, vol. 4, Leipzig, Teubner, 1893, 145-181. 17. Herodotus 1.87.1-2: ἐνταῦϑα λέγεται ὑπὸ Λυδῶν Κροῖσον […] ἐπιβώσασϑαι τὸν Ἀπόλλωνα ἐπικαλεόμενον […] ἐκ δὲ αἰϑρίης τε καὶ νηνεμίης συνδραμεῖν ἐξαπίνης νέφεα καὶ χείμωνα τε καταρραγῆναι καὶ ὗσαι ὕδατι λαβροτάτῳ, κατασβεσϑῆναι τε τὴν πυρήν. 18. Perhaps best known is that by D. FEHLING, Herodotus and His ‘Sources’: Citation, Invention and Narrative Art, trans. J.G. HOWIE, Leeds, Francis Cairns Publications, 1989.

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(2.112-120). Herodotus uses bits of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey to bolster his arguments, and goes so far as to claim that Homer himself knew this alternate tradition, but rejected it for his epics because he saw it was less suitable for a poetic account. Then, by combining other bits of Homer with his own rationalisations, Herodotus constructs what he sees as a more plausible story. But not just Homer: Herodotus claims to be supported in his revisionary account by the Egyptian priests, for it was they who claimed that Helen was with them during the war. This entire passage is noteworthy both for what it says and what it leaves out. Herodotus seems to be transparent in his delineation of sources – the Egyptians on the one hand and some parts of Homer on the other – but he has left out the post-homeric Greek poetic tradition where the poet Stesichorus had already argued that Helen never went to Troy and it was only her image (eidolon) that was there19. So this is a further important point, namely that historians in “revealing” their sources very often do not reveal all of them – in some cases, the most important ones. This needs to be kept in mind. While in Egypt Herodotus presents himself as present throughout his narrative, and portrays himself in the role of enquirer. As such, he becomes his own source, and this is particularly prominent in those passages where the historian’s autopsy comes to the fore, in discussions of geography, for example, or of the customs of a people, which can be observed20. So far, then, we have epichoric sources, poetic sources, and the historian himself; there is more, of course. Herodotus throughout his work, and especially in book 1, relies on oracles as “sources” for the events he narrates. Oracles, however, are not straightforward witnesses, for the god speaks in veiled language which often requires the “proper” interpretation. Nonetheless, Herodotus relies on these oracles often to support a narrative structure, and to give a different kind of authority to his account: the fact that the language of oracles is often metaphorical and can only be understood in hindsight makes it in some sense a stronger witness, for it shows that the divine knew all along what was going to happen; and unlike many of his successors Herodotus was not shy about giving the divine a role, even if a carefully circumscribed one, in history21. 19. See especially Stesichorus FF 90–91 DAVIES – FINGLASS, with their commentary in Stesichorus: The Poems (n. 1), pp. 330-343. 20. For the unique nature of the narrator in book 2 see J. MARINCOLA, Herodotean Narrative and the Narrator’s Presence, in D. BOEDEKER (ed.), Herodotus and the Invention of History, special issue of Arethusa (1987) 121-138. 21. On Herodotus and oracles see T. HARRISON, Divinity and History: The Religion of Herodotus, Oxford, Clarendon, 2000, pp. 122-157.

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Monuments form another “source” for Herodotus’ history, though here again they play an ancillary role. They cannot themselves tell a story but they can “witness” to one already in existence, and the ways in which Herodotus and later historians use them shows that they recognised the importance of monuments in confirming a story even as they also realised that some stories associated with monuments were unreliable and possibly false. Related to monuments, and in some cases a part of them, were inscriptions, and these form an important if problematic source for historians from Herodotus onwards22. They are certainly used by later historians but they cannot be said to be a major source for classical historians. Named individuals form a last group of sources for Herodotus, although there are but four instances of this in the entire history. I shall come back to these. Suffice it for now to say that the use of named individuals, like inscriptions, never becomes a very common practice among ancient historians whether they write contemporary or non-contemporary history. Herodotus’ sources, then, like his work, present an amalgamation of different approaches. It may well be that the protean nature of his work demanded that he be something of a scavenger and use anything and everything that he could to construct his narrative. By contrast Thucydides, in deciding to treat the Peloponnesian War, embarked on a task that was to be followed by many in antiquity, namely, the history of his own times. This, however, is only one aspect of Thucydides’ innovation; the other is that unlike Herodotus, Thucydides had a very narrow conception of the subject matter of his work – the war between the Athenians and the Peloponnesians – and although he occasionally strays from the political and military events of his topic, what is more remarkable is how firmly fixed he stays on the subject he has assigned himself. Digressions are few, ethnographic and geographic information sparse and carefully calibrated to the subject at hand23. 22. On inscriptions in Herodotus, the classic study is S.R. WEST, Herodotus’ Epigraphical Interests, in Classical Quarterly 35 (1985) 278-305. The obvious appeal of inscriptions remains to this day, in that they are – or purport to be – contemporary witnesses, and in some cases, recorders of events that have transpired. They often provide antecedent circumstances to great events, and can even offer the reasons why historical actors did what they did. In recent years scholars have emphasised that modern scholars ought not to see inscriptions as transparent and unproblematic witnesses, for like all accounts, they have a particular interest and “slant”, and this was of course true for ancient historians as well: see J. MA, Antiochus III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford, Clarendon, 1999, pp. 17-22. 23. On Thucydidean digressions, see J. MARINCOLA, Greek Historians (Greece & Rome New Surveys in the Classics, 31), Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 68.

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At the end of the Archaeology (1.2-19), the extended discussion and analysis of early Greece that opens his history and is meant to demonstrate the claim that the war between Athens and Sparta was the greatest in Greek history, Thucydides succinctly states his methodology for compiling events: But as for that part of the war’s actions that had to do with deeds, I did not deem it worthy to write those having learned of them from some chance informant, nor as I thought, but instead I went through each matter in detail, both those at which I was present and those that were reported to me by others, with the greatest accuracy possible. This kept revealing itself to be a difficult matter since those present at each of the events did not give uniform accounts, but gave them as each was held by partiality for one or the other side, or by their memory24.

Thucydides’ succinct formulation – reliance on one’s own autopsy or on others who were present – becomes thereafter the main model for those who wrote contemporary history. Six centuries later Lucian’s formulation of the same topic bears a striking resemblance: The events themselves must be gathered together not at random but with the historian making repeated enquiries about the same matters, with industriousness and painstakingly; best of all he should be present and be an eyewitness of events, but if not, he should give his attention to those who tell of the events more impartially, and those whom one would reckon least likely either from favouritism or from enmity to add to or detract from events. And at that point let him be skilful at perceiving and putting together the more probable account25.

With the rise of the contemporary historian’s reliance on his own autopsy or inquiry of eyewitnesses comes a concomitant decline in the source-citations so ubiquitous in Herodotus. In place of these Thucydides offers for the most part a narrative manner that betrays little or no uncertainty26. Nor do 24. Thucydides 1.22.2-3: τὰ δ᾽ ἔργα τῶν πραχϑέντων ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ οὐκ ἐκ τοῦ παρατυχόντος πυνϑανόμενος ἠξίωσα γράφειν, οὐδ᾽ ὡς ἐμοὶ ἐδόκει, ἀλλ᾽ οἷς τε αὐτὸς παρῆν καὶ παρὰ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσον δυνατὸν ἀκριβείᾳ περὶ ἑκάστου ἐπεξελϑών. ἐπιπόνως δὲ ηὑρίσκετο, διότι οἱ παρόντες τοῖς ἔργοις ἑκάστοις οὐ ταὐτὰ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἔλεγον, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἑκατέρων τις εὐνοίας ἢ μνήμης ἔχοι. 25. Lucian, Quomodo historia conscribenda sit 47: τὰ δὲ πράγματα αὐτὰ οὐχ ὡς ἔτυχε συνακτέον, ἀλλὰ φιλοπόνως καὶ ταλαιπώρως πολλάκις περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἀνακρίναντα, καὶ μάλιστα μὲν παρόντα καὶ ἐφορῶντα, εἰ δὲ μή, τοῖς ἀδεκαστότερον ἐξηγουμένοις προσέχοντα καὶ οὓς εἰκάσειεν ἄν τις ἥκιστα πρὸς χάριν ἢ ἀπέχϑειαν ἀφαιρήσειν ἢ προσϑήσειν τοῖς γεγονόσι. κἀνταῦϑα ἤδη καὶ στοχαστικός τις καὶ συνϑετικὸς τοῦ πιϑανωτέρου ἔστω. Lucian here and throughout his essay on the writing of history, has a much greater concern with bias, which he contrasts with truth, a consistent feature of classical historiography: see A.J. WOODMAN, Rhetoric in Classical Historiography: Four Studies, London – Sydney, Croom Helm, 1988, passim. 26. On Thucydides’ narrative manner see T. ROOD, Thucydides, in I. DE JONG – R. NÜNLIST – A. BOWIE (eds.), Narrators, Narratees, and Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature (Mnemosyne. Supplements, 257), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2004, 115-128.

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we find sources cited only to be questioned or dismissed. It is as if Herodotus wishes his audience to understand consistently what lies behind the account that he offers, whereas Thucydides, having explained his method in the preface, invites the reader to evaluate the account itself. Herodotus, we may say, foregrounds the historiographical process, Thucydides the historical results won from that process27. III. CONTEMPORARY HISTORY What of the historians after Thucydides? Put simply, writers of contemporary history as a rule satisfy themselves with a general statement concerning their sources, usually at the outset of their history, stating that they were contemporaries of the events, that they were present at some and heard about others from those who were, and that they have investigated different accounts either to harmonise them or to choose one over the other. This we know from surviving and lost historians: after Thucydides we find it in Ctesias, Polybius, Josephus (in the Jewish War), Herodian, Dio, and Ammianus28. The theoretical underpinnings of this approach were rarely questioned or challenged. Occasionally, a historian will argue that autopsy and inquiry are not straightforward and 27. Although Xenophon formed part of the trio of great historians in antiquity, he has little influence on the issue of source citations. In the Hellenica, the only source cited is the infamous Themistogenes of Syracuse (Hellenica 3.1.2, ὡς μὲν οὖν Κῦρος στράτευμά τε συνέλεξε καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχων ἀνέβη ἐπὶ τὸν ἀδελφόν, καὶ ὡς ἡ μάχη ἐγένετο, καὶ ὡς ἀπέϑανε, καὶ ὡς ἐκ τούτου ἀπεσώϑησαν οἱ Ἕλληνες ἐπὶ ϑάλατταν, Θεμιστογένει τῷ Συρακοσίῳ γέγραπται), and he is cited for an account of events not covered in the Hellenica. Nor is there in the Anabasis any indication of historical method. Whether Xenophon’s own name or that of Themistogenes of Syracuse appeared on the title page, the narrator gives no information to the reader about how he knows what he does. Obviously, if Xenophon’s own name had appeared at the outset of the Anabasis, then the reader could infer that the author’s own eyewitness and presence at events was at least a main source for his account. But it is noteworthy that Xenophon nowhere cites himself in the first-person as a source. On Themistogenes, see M. MACLAREN, JR., Xenophon and Themistogenes, in Transactions of the American Philological Association 65 (1934) 240-247; recent discussion in M.A. FLOWER, Xenophon’s Anabasis or the Expedition of Cyrus, New York – Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 53-55; L. PITCHER, Themistogenes, in Brill’s New Jacoby, 108. 28. Statements of presence: Thucydides 1.22.2-3; Ctesias, FGrHist 688 T 8, cf. F 45 (§ 51); Josephus, War 1.1.3; Herodian 1.2.5; Dio 72.18.4; Ammianus Marcellinus 15.1.1; further references in J. MARINCOLA, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 80, n. 83. The earliest Roman historian, Fabius Pictor, is said by Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. rom. 1.6.2) to have given a full account of the events at which he was present, but it is not clear whether Dionysius took this from something that Pictor himself had said or whether he made the inference from what he read in the work.

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unproblematic. Polybius, for example, thinks that an inexperienced historian cannot be an effective enquirer (12.28a.8-10), but such qualification of these basic tools is rare29. The contemporary historian thus relied on his autopsy and reports from others who were present – or at least he presents it that way. His efforts in inquiry, however, were given a greater challenge under certain types of government. One-man rule, whether Macedonian king or Roman emperor, meant that a knowledge of events was directly connected to access to rulers and/or their courts. How this was dealt with by Theopompus writing about Philip or the Alexander historians writing about Alexander we in many cases do not know. Presumably the latter at least gave some indication in their work of access to Alexander and their presence at events as the sources for their knowledge. That would suggest that only those who participated or had access to power could write contemporary history under one-man rule. The problem is still there in the time of Cassius Dio, who, in a famous discussion, compares the writing of history under the Republic and the Empire (53.19.1-6). The fact that decisions were no longer made in public and that the motivations of historical actors were now hidden mandates that the historian must have a different way of approaching the history of the emperors: one must report official tidings, even if one cannot trust them; and a reliance on hearsay must now play a greater role. The only consolation is that Dio, being well placed in the government, will presumably be able to hear what is said at high levels. Report has, therefore, in many cases, displaced autopsy and inquiry; it is almost as if the contemporary historian under the Empire finds himself again in the position of Herodotus. In sum, then, the writer of contemporary history provides general assurances at the beginning of his work, and thereafter says little about his sources. He will, however, on occasion invoke his own autopsy or inquiry as the source for some particular detail, or at times even some unusual or marvellous occurrence. Perhaps most famously, Thucydides, before his description of the plague at Athens, notes that he both suffered from the disease himself and saw others who did. Polybius says he was present at a conversation in 184/3 between Philopoemen and Archon, a general of the Achaean League. The Alexander-historian Aristobulus says that he saw two brahmins in Taxilla and he details their unusual 29. For more discussion of the issues surrounding eyewitness testimony, such as the unreliability of autopsy, the biases of witnesses, the difficulty of remembering events – all of which are acknowledged in passing, but are given little prominence, either by Thucydides or his successors, see my forthcoming paper, The Anxieties of the Contemporary Historian.

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behaviour in the company of Alexander. The Roman Republican historian C. Fannius said that he had seen Tiberius Gracchus be the first to scale the wall at Numantia and had shared the exploit with him. Posidonius noted his presence with Marius in his latter’s final illness, from which he could describe Marius’ anxieties and fears. He also recounted the “marvel” of the Ligurian woman who was working in the fields, gave birth, and then immediately returned to work30. One sees this reliance on one’s own autopsy also in the narratives of soldiers who are part of a campaign31. One thinks here particularly of Velleius Paterculus, detailing his adventures under the command of Tiberius. Velleius sometimes invokes autopsy, as for the spectaculum of the peace conference c. AD 1 between the king of the Parthians and Gaius Caesar on an island in the Euphrates. Elsewhere, of course, he is in mediis rebus as Tiberius campaigns in Germany, Pannonia, and Dalmatia32. Finally, one should note the many passages in the later books of Cassius Dio where Dio is a participant among Senators in their dealings with the Emperors: here Dio notes that even when the subject matter is perhaps beneath the dignity of history, he will, nevertheless, record the events because they concerned the emperor and because he himself was present33. The contemporary historian will sometimes cite a source who is not himself, either an individual or a collective entity. Thucydides, who, as we noted above, maintains a largely omniscient manner throughout his narrative, only once offers source-citations à la Herodotus, at the very outset of his narrative of the actions of the Peloponnesian War, and presumably because of the critically important nature of the events. This is in the matter of the night-time attack on Plataea by Theban supporters, the event that marks for Thucydides the actual beginning of the war. The Plataeans managed to capture some Thebans and in the confused aftermath of the assault, the Plataeans discovered that the Thebans had designs on those Plataeans outside the city, and ordered them to cease their activity

30. Thucydides 2.48.3; Pol. 22.19.1-2; Aristobulus, FGrHist 139 F 41; C. Fannius, FRHist 12 F 4; Posidonius, FF 255, 269 E-K. 31. It may have been the influence of this convention in historiography that led the Roman poet Naevius, who fought in the First Punic War and wrote an epic poem about it, to note that he had been a participant in the war; and he may have used that statement as a guarantee of the reliability of his account: Naevius, FLP4 fr. 2 = II Flores = Gellius 17.21.44: M. Varro in libro de poetis primo stipendia fecisse ait [Naeuium] bello Poenico primo, idque ipsum Naeuium dicere in eo carmine quod de eodem bello scripsit. 32. The spectaculum between the Parthian King and C. Caesar: Velleius 2.101.2-3; the historian on campaign with Tiberius: 2.104ff. 33. Dio as senator: 72.18.1–21.3; 73.1.4-5, 3.2, 8.1-5, 12.1–13.3, etc.; “excuse” for narrating such trivial matters: 72.18.3-4.

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and withdraw from their territory, saying that if they did not, they would kill the men in their custody, but if the Thebans retired, they would give them back. Thucydides continues: This is what the Thebans say, and they claim that the Plataeans swore an oath; the Plataeans, however, say that they did not promise to give them back the men immediately, but after discussion they reached some agreement, and they deny that they swore an oath34.

This is the sole employment of an epichoric source, so beloved of Herodotus, in all of Thucydides. The Plataeans’ actions here were to prove crucial in the war that followed, which may be the reason Thucydides employs it here; but the citation of epichoric sources is rare in contemporary historiography. What we usually see instead is the citation of an individual source for an individual piece of information: for example, Aristobulus, mentioned earlier, claimed that he learnt from Peithagoras himself the prophecy that he uttered about the deaths of Hephaestion, Alexander, Perdiccas and Antigonus. Polybius says that he learnt details of a secret meeting between Perseus and Eumenes afterwards from Perseus’ friends (though these are not named), and he elsewhere says that he learnt the extraordinary character of Chiomara – a daughter of the Spanish leader Ortiagos whom the Romans captured in battle – in his meeting and interview with her. The Roman historian L. Cincius Alimentus says he learnt from Hannibal himself the number of troops the Carthaginian lost after crossing the Rhone. Coelius Antipater avers that he had heard from Gaius Gracchus himself that Gaius’ brother, Tiberius, had appeared to him in a dream and told him that they would share a similar fate. Sallust in the Catiline says that he heard from Crassus himself the belief that he had been maligned by Cicero, while Fenestella, writing in the late Republic or early Empire, claimed that he had spoken with an old woman who, when she was young, had been a companion to Crassus in his exile as a young man, and this elderly woman often and eagerly told stories of her time with Crassus35. So much for contemporary historians36. 34. Thucydides 2.5.6: Θηβαῖοι μὲν ταῦτα λέγουσι καὶ ἐπομόσαι φασὶν αὐτούς· Πλαταιῆς δ᾽ οὐχ ὁμολογοῦσι τοὺς ἄνδρας εὐϑὺς ὑποσχέσϑαι ἀποδώσειν, ἀλλὰ λόγων πρῶτον γενομένων ἤν τι ξυμβαίνωσι, καὶ ἐπομόσαι οὔ φασιν. 35. Aristobulus, FGrHist 139 F 54 (= Arrian, Anab. 7.18.1-5); Pol. 29.5.1–9.13, 21.38.1-7 (Chiomara); Cincius Alimentus, FRHist 2 F 5; Coelius Antipater, FRHist 15 F 49; Sallust, Bell. cat. 48.9; Fenestella, FRHist 70 F 16. 36. One might add here the evidence of our earliest surviving work of Latin historiography, Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum, even though there is some discussion about whether the genre of commentarii can be held to the same standards as history itself (see most

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IV. NON-CONTEMPORARY HISTORY The writer of non-contemporary history is, of course, in a different situation, either by necessity or by tradition – or, most likely, from a combination of both. Here, as we saw beginning with Herodotus, the question of sources is important and ubiquitous. No one in antiquity would have doubted that a non-contemporary history was based exclusively on previous authors: this was, after all, the way one went about writing a non-contemporary history, and there is absolutely no evidence that later historians ever went back and investigated a topic de novo; this simply was not the way37. That is why Polybius can dismiss non-contemporary history by saying that it was to “write hearsay from hearsay”38. Let us look a bit more closely at the way sources are cited and deployed in non-contemporary history. We mentioned above that Herodotus employs source-citations throughout his work, but none of his successors proceed in a similar way39. That is not to say, of course, that they do not use such epichoric source-citations such as “the Egyptians say” or “the Persians say”. But as they were often proceeding from an already established tradition – in a way that Herodotus may not have been – what replaced these so-to-say timeless and disembodied epichoric source-citations was a greater reliance on written sources either in general or from specific predecessors. One of the most common types of source-citation was an appeal to “native” records, and this could be done either for a Greek or non-Greek recently D.L. NOUSEK, Genres and Generic Contaminations: The Commentarii, in L. GRILLO – C.B. KREBS (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Writings of Julius Caesar, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018, 97-109. Caesar is very much aware that his audience may want to know how the narrator himself knows certain things, especially for those matters concerning the enemy or at which the narrator could not have been present. That is the reason, I believe, that Caesar throughout his work will make remarks such as “as was learnt afterwards” or “as was learnt from deserters”, or the like: see, e.g., BG 1.50.4, 2.16.1, 2.17.2, 4.18.4, etc. 37. “Methodology” of non-contemporary history: MARINCOLA, Authority and Tradition (n. 28), pp. 95-117; A.B. BOSWORTH, Plus ça change…: Ancient Historians and Their Sources, in Classical Antiquity 22 (2003) 167-198; for the role of compilation in noncontemporary history see A. MEEUS, Compilation or Tradition: Some Thoughts on the Methods of Historians and Other Scholars in Antiquity, in Sacris Erudiri 56 (2017) 395414. See Pliny’s epigrammatic formulation of the challenge in writing non-contemporary history, Ep. 5.8.12: parata inquisitio sed onerosa collatio. 38. Pol. 4.2.3: ὡς ἀκοὴν ἐξ ἀκοῆς γράφειν; cf. 9.2.1-2. 39. Even Dionysius, Herodotus’ most devoted imitator, although employing remarks about his inquiry clearly meant to recall Herodotus, does not offer a steady stream of source-citations in the manner of the father of history. On Dionysius’ imitation of Herodotus, see S. EK, Herodotismen in der Archäologie des Dionys von Halikarnass, Lund, Håkan Ohlssons Boktryckeri, 1942.

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community. The earliest one seems to be that of Antiochus of Syracuse, the first historian of Sicily, writing probably after Herodotus and before Thucydides. Dionysius purports to give the opening words of his history40: “Antiochus of Syracuse wrote up what follows as the most persuasive and clearest from accounts of old”. What these “accounts” actually comprised remains uncertain. They need not, of course, have been written sources; they might just as well have been oral traditions or indeed poetic accounts which were sifted and analysed as Hecataeus had done41. Somewhat in keeping with Antiochus is the procedure outlined by Ctesias of Cnidus who similarly invoked written accounts as the source for his work on the early history of Persia (for the contemporary portion he cited his own autopsy and inquiry): he claims that he took the Persians’ own ancient accounts which he found in “the royal parchments”42. As with Herodotus, I must leave aside here the question of whether or not Ctesias actually did this; his reputation in antiquity as a prodigious liar is well known43. Here I wish only to point out that the author portrays himself as one who actually examined early records and used them as the basis for his own account. This procedure can be seen to be operative also in the works of Berossus of Babylon and Manetho of Egypt44, and (perhaps

40. FGrHist 555 F 2: ᾽Αντίοχος Ξενοφάνεος τάδε συνέγραψε περὶ ᾽Ιταλίης ἐκ τῶν ἀρχαίων λόγων τὰ πιστότατα καὶ σαφέστατα· On Antiochus see now the entry in Brill’s New Jacoby (no. 555) by N. LURAGHI. 41. It is interesting that Dionysius saw the origins of Greek historiography in precisely this kind of “writing-up” by the earliest chroniclers: see Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Thucydides 5.2-3: “Now then there were many historians of old in many places before the Peloponnesian War […] These men employed a similar choice in their selection of materials, and their talents did not differ much from one another. Some composed Greek histories, some the histories of non-Greeks, and they did not connect these with each other but divided them according to people or city and produced them separately from one another, observing one and the same aim: to publish, just as they had found them, and neither adding anything to them nor taking anything away, whatever oral traditions were preserved amongst the local inhabitants (whether peoples or cities) and whatever writings had been stowed away in places sacred or profane, so that they would be known to all. In these were some fables which had been believed from far in the past and certain theatrical reversals of fortune which seem to people today to contain much foolishness”. Whether such a scenario provides an authentic narrative of the origins of Greek historiography must be left aside here. I mention it only to point out that Dionysius thought that early writers behaved in such a way. 42. Ctesias, FGrHist 688 T 3 + F 5: οὗτος οὖν φησιν ἐκ τῶν βασιλικῶν διφϑέρων, ἐν αἷς οἱ Πέρσαι τὰς παλαιὰς πράξεις κατά τινα νόμον εἶχον συντεταγμένος, πολυπραγμονῆσαι τὰ καϑ’ ἕκαστον καὶ συνταξάμενος τὴν ἱστορίαν εἰς τοὺς Ἕλληνας ἐξενεγκεῖν. 43. See FGrHist 688 TT 11a-j with D. LENFANT (ed.), Ctésias de Cnide: La Perse, L’Inde, autres fragments, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2004, pp. CXXVII–CXXX, CLXIII–CLXVI. 44. Berossus, FGrHist 680 F 1b (1); Manetho, FGrHist 609 F 1.

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most famously) Josephus in the Antiquities45. On the Roman side, we find Licinius Macer claiming that he had found linen books (libri lintei) in the temple of Juno Moneta, and it seems that he used this as legitimation for his particular account of Roman history46. Now in some cases an author simply refers to general sources, i.e., royal records or the like. In other cases, particular individuals are named. An elaborate example can be found in Dionysius’ history of early Rome (Ant. rom. 1.6.1-2, 1.7.3). Dionysius begins by outlining the earliest Greek writers to treat Rome, namely Hieronymus of Cardia, Timaeus, Antigonus, Polybius, Silenus, “and countless others”. He mentions in addition two Roman historians who wrote in Greek and differed in no way from their Greek predecessors, namely Fabius Pictor and L. Cincius Alimentus. Not content with this, however, Dionysius also states that he has read the histories of the Romans’ most highly regarded historians, and he names a number of them: Cato, Fabius Maximus, Valerius Antias, Licinius Macer, the Aelii, the Gellii, the Calpurnii, and many other “not undistinguished” men in addition. The profusion of names, of course, is meant to show Dionysius’ devotion to the task, and his extensive citation of reliable sources both epichoric and otherwise, is meant to convey the basis on which his long and detailed history of early Rome is based. Dionysius combines this traditional reading of predecessors with a Herodotean touch, saying that he also in some matters was instructed by the Romans’ “most learned” men (1.7.3 παρὰ τῶν λογιωτάτων ἀνδρῶν). A similar kind of approach, though with nowhere near as many names cited, is employed by Arrian at the start of his Anabasis, where he begins by identifying Ptolemy and Aristobulus as the most reliable sources on Alexander, and the sources on which he will base his own work in the main: Where Ptolemy, son of Lagus, and Aristobulus, son of Aristobulus, have both agreed in their accounts of Alexander, son of Philip, I have written the same here as being entirely true; where they disagree, I have selected what seems more reliable to me and at the same time more worthy of telling47.

Here Arrian allies himself closely with these predecessors, because his intention is to re-write the history of Alexander, passing over the many 45. Josephus, Ant. praef. 5: ἐκ τῶν Ἑβραϊκῶν μεϑηρμηνευμένην γραμμάτων. 46. FRHist 27 F 18: consulum horum Licinius Macer auctor est et in foedere Ardeatino et in libris linteis ad Monetae inuenta. 47. Arrian, Anab. Praef. 1: Πτολεμαῖος ὁ Λάγου καὶ Ἀριστόβουλος ὁ Ἀριστοβούλου ὅσα μὲν ταὐτὰ ἄμφω περὶ Ἀλεξάνδρου τοῦ Φιλίππου συνέγραψαν, ταῦτα ἐγὼ ὡς πάντῃ ἀληϑῆ ἀναγράφω, ὅσα δὲ οὐ ταὐτά, τούτων τὰ πιστότερα ἐμοὶ φαινόμενα καὶ ἅμα ἀξιαφηγητότερα ἐπιλεξάμενος.

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people in between those first historians and himself. Arrian suggests that basing oneself on their histories rather than on those who came later is the best way to get at the truth about Alexander48. So this is what we find at the most “accepting” end of the spectrum. More complicated is the stance displayed by Polybius at the outset of his work where he is in fact re-writing non-contemporary history (despite his dismissal of it elsewhere). At the outset of his account of the First Punic War, he mentions the two historians who are thought to be most competent in narrating that conflict, Fabius Pictor and Philinus, but suggests that their accounts are not quite so reliable as people think they are. He identifies their significant failing: their excessive partiality for and loyalty towards their own side, Fabius for the Romans, Philinus for the Carthaginians. Polybius goes out of his way to note the standing of both men, and does not claim that they falsified deliberately (1.14.2-3); this is to distinguish them from any run-of-the-mill writer. Now it must be noted that Polybius does not say explicitly (as does Arrian) that he will base his own account on these two, but the way in which they are discussed suggests that they form an important part of his knowledge of the war49. But there is a definite suggestion that what Polybius will offer in what follows will be superior because it will evaluate the actions and events more justly than the previously well regarded Fabius and Philinus. These, we might say, are “universalising” individual sources, i.e., sources that lie behind an extended set of events or indeed (as in the case of Dionysius and Arrian) the entire work. Those types of citation, not surprisingly, are brought forward at the outset of the work, and only rarely referred to thereafter50. The other type of “individual” citation is that of a particular person, or persons who vouch only for an individual event or incident. Again, this is sparingly, not systematically, done, just as we saw for contemporary historians. The earliest examples of these are found in Herodotus. In each of the four cases, an individual or individuals are cited in order to verify a particular practice or event. There is

48. For Arrian’s use of sources, see A.B. BOSWORTH, From Arrian to Alexander: Studies in Historical Interpretation, Oxford, Clarendon, 1988, pp. 38-60. 49. Fabius is named at 1.58.5, where he is contradicted. 50. It would be worthwhile to know whether the first Roman historian, Fabius Pictor, explicitly said that he was following Diocles of Peparethos in his account of the origins of Rome. Plutarch, who reports this (Rom. 3.1) does not say that Fabius cited Diocles by name. That Diocles is otherwise wholly unknown, however, might make it likelier that Pictor mentioned him as his source in his account rather than that Plutarch inferred this on his own.

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nothing in particular that unites these four instances, except that Herodotus uses them to establish individual details in a particular narrative51. More importantly, this citation of individuals is far more common among contemporary historians rather than non-contemporary ones. This is not surprising since non-contemporary historians cite previous writers, and do not usually have access to, or the need to invoke, individuals from the past. Perhaps Herodotus’ position – as a writer who most likely had no written sources but who was close enough in time to talk with people who had participated in the events – makes him unique. Yet individual sources are sometimes cited in non-contemporary history. Polybius, for example, in the non-contemporary portion of his history, claims that he can offer a superior account of the numbers of men Hannibal had with him, because he had seen for himself a stele set up by Hannibal in Lacinium52. And Tacitus in the Annals when speaking of the trial of Cn. Piso, writes as follows: I remember hearing from my elders that a document was often seen in Piso’s hands, which he himself did not publicize […] I had no right to conceal what was told by those whose lives lasted into my own youth53.

The appeal to one’s elders as sources of information is fairly common in ancient literature, though usually in dialogues or philosophical works54: its use here in Tacitus’ narrative is designed to give credence to the account 51. At 2.55 Herodotus tells a story which he ascribes to the priestesses at Dodona – he names the three of them – that the oracles of Zeus founded at Dodona and Libya came into existence because a dove in each place, speaking with a human voice, commanded that they be built. Herodotus does not himself seem to believe this story – he thinks they were referred to as doves because the women who actually founded the oracles were foreigners and their speech sounded like the twittering of birds – but the priestesses are here invoked as proof that the Dodonaeans do in fact have this fantastic tradition. Herodotus also mentions a certain Archias (3.55.3), whom he says he met at his native village of Pitana in the Peloponnese, and who told Herodotus of the honours bestowed on his grandfather in the war between Lacedaemon and Samos. Herodotus cites a certain Tymnes, agent of Ariapithes, for details of the Scythian Anacharsis’ genealogy (4.76.6). Finally, Herodotus cites Thersander of Orchomenos for the story of a conversation between a Persian and Greek on the eve of the Persian defeat at Plataea (9.15.4). 52. Pol. 3.33.17-18: οὐ χρὴ δὲ ϑαυμάζειν τὴν ἀκρίβειαν τῆς ἀναγραφῆς, εἰ τοιαύτῃ κεχρήμεϑα περὶ τῶν ὑπ᾽ Ἀννίβου κατ᾽ Ἰβηρίαν πεπραγμένων οἵᾳ μόλις ἂν χρήσαιτό τις αὐτὸς κεχειρικὼς τὰς κατὰ μέρος πράξεις, οὐδὲ προκαταγινώσκειν, εἰ πεποιήκαμεν παραπλήσιον τοῖς ἀξιοπίστως ψευδομένοις τῶν συγγραφέων. ἡμεῖς γὰρ εὑρόντες ἐπὶ Λακινίῳ τὴν γραφὴν ταύτην ἐν χαλκώματι κατατεταγμένην ὑπ᾽ Ἀννίβου, καϑ᾽ οὓς καιροὺς ἐν τοῖς κατὰ τὴν Ἰταλίαν τόποις ἀνεστρέφετο, πάντως ἐνομίσαμεν αὐτὴν περί γε τῶν τοιούτων ἀξιόπιστον εἶναι· διὸ καὶ κατακολουϑεῖν εἱλόμεϑα τῇ γραφῇ ταύτῃ. 53. Tacitus, Ann. 3.16.1: audire me memini ex senioribus uisum saepius inter manus Pisonis libellum quem ipse non uulgauerit […] neque tamen occulere debui narratum ab iis qui nostram ad iuuentam durauerunt. 54. See Theognis, cited above, n. 7.

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which follows in which such a document plays an important role. As with Herodotus, this is a kind of “contemporary” witness, made to buttress Tacitus’ own narrative of the Pisonian conspiracy. But this type of citation also is rare (an interesting example is Plutarch, Ant. 68.7-8). The citation of previous writers for individual points can be seen especially well in Livy. With Livy, of course, we have the luxury of an extended text, such that we can see how, where, and why source-citations are employed. Yet the result is somewhat dizzying. Livy, of course, like other historians, cites those “unidentified” sources mentioned at the outset, with terms such as dicitur, ferunt, certum est, constat, and memoriae traditur or proditur. Occasionally Livy notes that a fabula has been “added” or “inserted”, and one must assume that this comes from an alternate tradition from the one he is following, though the source is not made clear. Livy also cites unnamed auctores, often in disagreement with one another, and this may be a shorthand for the vast tradition that has come down to Livy in both Greek and Latin and which he now presents himself as ordering and interpreting. It is noteworthy perhaps that unlike many a non-contemporary historian, Livy does not in his preface (or in later prefaces) give the sources on which his account is based. His “universalising” vision suggests (whatever the reality) that he has mastered it all. And of course Livy cites sources by name55, and he does so throughout his work, although such citations tend to gather at particular points, usually after the main story has been narrated, and as something of a coda to the account he has just given. In these passages variants are adduced, although Livy rarely chooses one over the other. Livy has a respect for older sources, such as Fabius Pictor, because they were contemporaries of the events, and are thus more reliable than later writers. Even contemporaries, though, could be subject to correction, as when Livy notes that Cincius Alimentus, although a contemporary and indeed even prisoner of Hannibal, offers unreliable troop numbers because he includes the allies Hannibal received only after he crossed into Italy. Contemporaries might also be subject to the limitations often ascribed to them, namely bias and favouritism. So it is for Livy with Cato the Elder, who is “by no means a detractor of his own praises”. Of particular interest are Livy’s citations of Coelius Antipater’s monograph on the Second Punic War: in most 55. Citation of named sources in Livy (a small sample): Fabius Pictor: 1.44.2, 1.55.8, 2.40.10, etc.; Cincius Alimentus: 21.38.2; Cato: 34.15.9, 38.54.11, etc.; Coelius Antipater: 21.38.6, 21.46.10, 22.31.8, etc.; Valerius Antias: 3.5.13, 26.49.3, 30.19.11, 33.10.8, etc. For Livy’s variety of citations both named and unnamed, see the overview in R.B. STEELE, The Historical Attitude of Livy, in American Journal of Philology 25 (1904) 15-44.

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cases Coelius is cited merely to be corrected or rejected: he offers the wrong route for Hannibal across the Alps; he makes a slave the saviour of Scipio’s life at the Ticinus, rather than Scipio’s son as most have recorded; Coelius is wrong about the appointment of a dictator in 217 BC; he is faulted implicitly for inflating troop numbers taken by Scipio to Africa; and Coelius is the only one to have Scipio’s crossing to Africa beset by storms. Coelius, however, gets off lightly compared to Valerius Antias, who is most often mentioned by name in the surviving text (some twenty times) and most often criticised, usually for irresponsible inflation of numbers. The scale, but perhaps not the approach, is different in Tacitus. He does not cite many sources by name in the surviving portions of the Annals, but when he does it is for unusual details. The Elder Pliny is cited for the story that Agrippina stood at the head of the bridge over the Rhine praising and thanking the returning legions. Elsewhere he notes a detail from Fabius Rusticus concerning the loyalty of Burrus, the prefect of the praetorian guard under Nero, but says that no such doubts are found in Pliny and Cluvius. Somewhat later Tacitus balances Cluvius’ claim that Agrippina often offered herself to Nero with Fabius Rusticus’ claim that it was Nero who attempted to seduce Agrippina. Tacitus also cites Agrippina’s memoirs for the detail of a meeting with Tiberius, a detail which he mentions is not found in other historians. Even the acta Senatus, a source thought to be much used by Tacitus, is cited only once in the surviving portions, for the detail that a magistrate put forward a proposal to erect a temple to the divine Nero, while Nero was still alive56. V. CONCLUSIONS So where does this leave us? On the one hand, it seems a relatively straightforward matter to observe the habits of classical historians in their practices of citing sources for their works. We can point out where such citations generally occur and generally under what circumstances. Were it, then, merely a matter of describing such habits, our work would be done. Yet as is well known, the task is far more complicated than that for several reasons.

56. Tacitus’ citations of predecessors: e.g., Ann. 1.69.2 (the Elder Pliny); 13.20.2 (Fabius Rusticus, the Elder Pliny, and Cluvius Rufus); 15.61.3 (Fabius Rusticus). Tacitus’ citation of the memoirs of Agrippina: Ann. 4.53.2; the acta Senatus: Ann. 15.74.3: reperio in commentariis senatus.

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First, as classical historiography developed from Herodotus and (especially) Thucydides, the genre offered readers a predominantly thirdperson mimetic narrative of events featuring deeds, speeches, causes, and so forth – an approach modelled ultimately on Homer. The narrator’s role was to write as if the events unfolded themselves, without needing explicit comment from the narrator. Works of classical historiography, as we saw, announce their sources either at the outset in a general way, or at individual points for particular details. But the ancients do not employ footnotes, nor do they – with the prominent exception of Polybius – engage in continual analyses and discussions of those events. To the extent that analysis occurs in works of classical historiography, it is usually taken up by the speeches. That is where events are interpreted and examined, and (not coincidentally) speeches are a place where the narrative of action is paused57. What this means, of course, is that the literary demands of the genre itself militate against the reader’s exact knowledge of where this or that detail came from. One has to, as it were, take the narrative in its entirety or leave it. This is perhaps why ancient readers had a very keen eye for bias, since individual facts might be difficult to support or contest, whereas bias could be more easily detected whenever one came across what seemed excessive praise or criticism of individuals, or when the deeds ascribed to a historical actor seemed either too lofty or too low. In any case, no ancient historian would write in the expectation that his audience would be constantly asking how he knew this or that. The second reason has to do with the nature of much of classical historiography. In an important recent article58, Alexander Meeus has pointed out that the notion of compilation, which is often seen as characteristic of late antiquity or the Middle Ages, will also serve to explain a good deal of the classical historiographical tradition, since much of the non-contemporary history that has come down to us is based on an author’s compilation of the works of his predecessors. He notes that we can sometimes see authors citing sources as they were given in the work which they themselves are using, such that the citing author sometimes offers no independent examination of a source he claims to follow. Thus an author’s “sources” are often not really his, but those of his own source. Now of course there has been recognition of this for centuries, and one 57. On speeches in historiography see C. SCARDINO, Gestaltung und Funktion der Reden bei Herodot und Thukydides, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2007, pp. 46-59; J. MARINCOLA, Speeches in Classical Historiography, in ID. (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, Malden, MA – Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2011, 118-132. 58. MEEUS, Compilation or Tradition (n. 37).

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is quite familiar with scholarly quarrels over whether Plutarch, for example, knows this or that author at first- or second- or third-hand. But the important consequence is that the citation of a source does not necessarily tell us something about where the historian got his information. Third, the use of earlier writers was always in tension with the current historian’s belief in, or profession of, the inferiority of his predecessors. In other words, to re-write the history of a previous period implied already that something in those previous works was lacking, and what they lacked generally centred around three topics: (i) either those earlier authors were partial and failed to offer praise and blame appropriately; or (ii) they had omitted or invented material, either deliberately or by accident; or (iii) they had written “unworthily” of their subjects, which generally meant that their style was inferior to what some later writer thought appropriate. Thus, any new account implies revisionism, and this meant that one was already in some sort of antagonistic relationship with one’s predecessors, who had to be shown as deficient in one or more ways, for the simple reason that if they were not, then there was no need for a new history59. Now this “antagonism” did not necessarily reveal itself in the same way in every historian. Some historians portray themselves as being in fairly close alliance (if I can use that term) with the predecessors whom they cite. Dionysius and Arrian would fit this mould, though even these writers wish to create a space for their own work and need to do so vis-àvis their predecessors: Dionysius says his predecessors missed out on a large portion of Roman history, and Arrian suggests that Alexander still had not found his Homer. At an extreme end of the spectrum we find those historians who criticised, corrected, and castigated their predecessors by name, suggesting that nothing or not very much of what they had written was worthwhile. I am thinking here primarily of someone such as Timaeus, who famously engaged in withering polemic with his predecessors, and who was in turn witheringly attacked by Polybius60. Now I do not think that this is exactly source-citation of the sort that I have been discussing previously, although part of the purpose must be that the historian wishes his audience to know that he is familiar with these predecessors. Yet the fact that they are cited only to be criticised puts them in a different category from what we saw 59. On competition with predecessors and “improved” accounts see MARINCOLA, Authority and Tradition (n. 28), pp. 12-19, 95-117, 217-257. 60. Timaeus’ attacks on his predecessors: FGrHist 566 T 18, FF 113, 115, 154, 155, etc.; Polybius’ replies: book 12 passim.

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with Dionysius or Arrian; and it would be unusual for these “critical” historians to suggest that they were using such predecessors after they had “exposed” them as unreliable – even if, in fact, they were. But much more common, probably, was the way in which Livy used Polybius. As is well known, Livy mentions him but six times in the whole of his surviving text, and it is always in the matter of details. To be sure, he adds remarks complimentary of Polybius: he is “an author hardly to be rejected” and “no unreliable authority on Roman history in general and particularly on events in Greece”. But from these modest citations, always on individual points, we would never guess that more than half of books 31–45 owe their origin to Polybius, and even if this number is not exact, there are numerous passages where Livy’s text is clearly dependent on Polybius, with nary a citation of his Greek predecessor61. As we have seen with other historians, Livy cites sources usually for individual items, and sometimes to show by contrast the superiority of his own approach. Many of the difficulties, then, are embedded in the practices of classical historiography itself. Anyone who examines the source-citations of classical historians, whether individually or as a group, is bound to be disappointed if he or she is importing modern expectations. Ancient historians were not professionals; footnotes, as noted earlier, were not available (and would have been discouraged, if they had been); and it was accepted practice to use one’s predecessors without acknowledgement. Given this situation, it is almost certainly the case that source-citations are not to be explained primarily with regard to the factual or “scientific” side of histories, that is, with regard to the events themselves. Where they are deployed, they serve a different kind of purpose, one that is much more closely bound up with the historian’s goal of persuading the audience of the validity of the history before them. They are not meant, that is, as “transparent” notices of the raw material from which the historian fashioned his narrative, the way a bibliography might work in modern histories. I conclude, therefore, with two points, one positive, one negative. The citation and appropriation of sources by classical historians is made primarily with an eye towards the persuasion of the audience, rather than 61. Livy on Polybius: 30.45.5: haudquaquam spernendus auctor; 33.10.10: non incertum auctorem cum omnium Romanarum rerum tum praecipue in Graecia gestarum; cf. 34.50.6; 36.19.11; 45.44.19. Polybian origins of Livy’s account: T.J. LUCE, Livy: The Composition of His History, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1977, p. 181 estimates that approximately 411 of the 740 (56%) chapters that comprise books 31–45 have a Polybian origin.

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as a conscientious attempt to show where particular information was gained. The second conclusion, more negative but perhaps more important, is that not very much of substance about classical historians can be gained from the citations they offer in their work, and much of what is distinctive and significant about their work – whether it be their efforts, their inquiry, or their understanding of the events themselves – will be found elsewhere than in the sources and authorities they claim to follow. Florida State University [email protected]

John MARINCOLA

MIXING THE AVAILABLE MATERIAL INTO ONE FORM PLUTARCH’S USE OF HIS SOURCES AND THE COMPOSITION PROCESS OF THE PARALLEL LIVES

In the famous proem to his Life of Demosthenes, Plutarch recalls the many practical problems which the heuristics of his Parallel Lives entail: When one has undertaken to compose a history based upon readings which are not readily accessible or even found at home, but in foreign countries, for the most part, and scattered about among different owners, for him it is really necessary, first and above all things, that he should live in a city which is famous, friendly to the liberal arts, and populous, in order that he may have all sorts of books in plenty, and may by hearsay and enquiry come into possession of all those details which elude writers and are preserved with more conspicuous fidelity in the memories of men. He will thus be prevented from publishing a work which is deficient in many, and even in essential things1.

The Parallel Lives are here explicitly characterised as a historical project (ἱστορίαν)2 based on many sources. At home in Chaeronea, Plutarch presumably had his personal copies of the most important authors. While these were always at his disposal (πρόχειρα), many other works were far less easy to find and it was probably a constant concern for Plutarch to track copies of relevant sources. The libraries of great cities like Athens were no doubt quite helpful for this3, as was his broad circle of friends4. His Roman friends, for instance, could help him in acquiring and assessing 1. Dem. 2.1; the translation, here as elsewhere, is borrowed (unless otherwise indicated) from the Loeb Classical Library (sometimes with modifications). Plutarch, Lives, 11 vols., trans. B. PERRIN (Loeb Classical Library, 46-47, 65, 80, 87, 98-103), Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1914-1926. 2. Cf. also Aem. 5.10; TG/CG 1.1; Fab. 1.1. For the meaning of the term ἱστορία in Plutarch, see, e.g., P. GÓMEZ – F. MESTRE, Historia en Plutarco: Los Griegos y los Romanos, in C. SCHRADER – V. RAMÓN – J. VELA (eds.), Plutarco y la historia: Actas del V Simposio Español sobre Plutarco. Zaragoza, 20-22 de junio de 1996, Zaragoza, Universidad de Zaragoza, 1997, 209-222 and J.P. HERSHBELL, Plutarch’s Concept of History: Philosophy from Examples, in Ancient Society 28 (1997) 225-243. 3. Cf. also De E 384E; H. OBSIEGER, Plutarch: De E apud Delphos: Über das Epsilon am Apollotempel in Delphi. Einführung, Ausgabe und Kommentar, Stuttgart, Steiner, 2013, pp. 99-100. 4. Most of Plutarch’s friends were indeed πεπαιδευμένοι who in all likelihood possessed many books and were willing to lend them, or send copies of them, to him. On Plutarch’s circle of friends, see most recently B. PUECH, Prosopographie des amis de Plutarque, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 4831-4893 and

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Latin sources. But next to books of all kind (βιβλίων παντοδαπῶν), Plutarch also underlines the importance of hearsay and enquiry (ἀκοῇ καὶ διαπυνϑανόμενος), since the memory of informants can provide useful additions to the information provided by written sources. All this suggests that Plutarch’s Parallel Lives are based on a thorough and complete investigation of many sources. This, of course, is part of a subtle and rhetorical self-presentation as an erudite author5, yet this rhetoric is not entirely unfounded. Even a casual reader of Plutarch immediately notices that most of his works overflow with quotations from, and references to earlier literature6. All these references, of course, trigger painstaking source criticism, and this has actually been done for more than a century by now. During that period, however, the scholarly methodology has been radically changed. From the second half of the nineteenth century to the beginning of the twentieth century, scholarly research on Plutarch was to a great extent dominated by the so-called Quellenforschung. Its basic hypothesis was that Plutarch used, in a fairly mechanical and uncritical way, one main source for each of his works and thus chiefly transcribed the ideas of more original thinkers. Occasional problems, fallacies and obscurities in his works were explained as the result of Plutarch’s own misunderstanding, whereas the more interesting passages could, by hypothesis, be traced back to earlier authors. Parallels from other later authors – who, according to the same hypothesis, were equally uncritical – were used as additional support for this reconstruction. The end of the sad story was that Plutarch’s own thinking was considered to be uninteresting if not irrelevant but that he at least allowed us to regain interesting insights from lost writers. J. SIRINELLI, Plutarque de Chéronée: un philosophe dans le siècle, Paris, Fayard, 2000, pp. 167-198. 5. See esp. J. MOSSMAN, Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword? The Failure of Rhetoric in Plutarch’s Demosthenes, in Histos 3 (1999) 77-101 and A.V. ZADOROJNYI, Plutarch and the Forbidden City: Demosthenes 1-2, in A. PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – F.B. TITCHENER (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works: Studies Devoted to Professor Philip A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society, Málaga, Universidad de Málaga; Logan, Utah State University, 2005, 493-512. 6. The classic list of Plutarch’s quotations is W.C. HELMBOLD – E.N. O’NEIL, Plutarch’s Quotations, Baltimore, MD, American Philological Association, 1959. For Plutarch’s use of literature and the intertextual dimension of his oeuvre, see, e.g., I. GALLO (ed.), La biblioteca di Plutarco: Atti del IX Convegno plutarcheo. Pavia, 13-15 giugno 2002, Napoli, D’Auria, 2004; M. SANZ MORALES et al. (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco, Cáceres – Coimbra, Universidad de Extremadura, 2017; T.S. SCHMIDT – M. VAMVOURI – R. HIRSCH-LUIPOLD (eds.), The Dynamics of Intertextuality in Plutarch (Brill’s Plutarch Studies, 5), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2020.

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The heydays of Quellenforschung are now long gone. It has long been recognised that Plutarch is a sophisticated and independent thinker who deals with his sources in a personal and critical way. His works are no mere ἀπόγραφα7, but products of his own creative thinking in dialogue with the tradition. This insight has brought about a kind of paradigm shift in scholarly research on Plutarch, with several important implications. On the one hand, the world of lost authors now lies again much farther away than before and scholars are much more cautious in reconstructing works that are no longer extant on the basis of traces they may have left in later writers. On the other hand, more attention has been given to Plutarch’s own genius and creativity and to his method of working. This does not imply, however, that the study of Plutarch’s sources can henceforth be neglected. It remains a major issue that can reveal much about his thinking and about his reception of earlier authors. We should, then, not throw away the beaming baby of source criticism with the muddy bathwater of Quellenforschung. Furthermore, even part of this muddy bathwater can be recycled, for the Quellenforscher indeed often made pertinent observations, based on meticulous analysis. Their problematic point of departure often led to wrong conclusions, but provided we duly appreciate Plutarch’s own voluntas auctoris, some of their observations remain highly relevant. The study of Plutarch’s sources, however, may be the topic of more than one big volume. The sources he used for a technical-philosophical work like the Quaestiones Platonicae differed from those he used while writing a collection of antiquarian questions like the Quaestiones Graecae, a specialised dialogue about natural philosophy like De facie quae in orbe lunae apparet, or a historical-biographical work like the Lives of the Caesars. Moreover, even this statement, obvious as it seems, is not entirely accurate. For Plutarch did not forget everything he had read for one work when starting with the next one. Sources for earlier works are indeed quoted again in later works, even when they are not directly relevant at first sight. Plutarch always made use of his ready knowledge in the most diverse contexts, so that many works show traces of entirely different sources and traditions. Thus, to confine myself to the works 7. Cf. Cicero’s notorious characterisation of his own philosophical works in Att. 12.52.3 (although scholars have correctly underlined that Cicero’s statement should be taken cum grano salis; as a matter of fact, Cicero, just like Plutarch, was an independent thinker who relied on his own judgement; cf. fin. 1.6). See K. BRINGMANN, Cicero über seine Philosophica: Zu Überlieferung und Interpretation einer umstrittenen Selbstaussage in Att. 12, 52, 3, in Hermes 140 (2012) 25-36 for a recent interpretation of Cicero’s claim ἀπόγραφα sunt in Att. 12.52.3.

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mentioned above, Plutarch refers in his Quaestiones Platonicae to the theories of Aristarchus and Seleucus that the earth rotates about its own axis (1006C; cf. De facie 923A) and quotes several passages from Demosthenes (1010E-1011A). In Quaestiones Graecae, he mentions both Plato (295D) and Aristotle (292B; 294D; 295EF). In De facie, he abundantly quotes from the poets8. The Lives of Galba and Otho – the only two biographies from the series of Lives of the Caesars that have come down to us – are deeply influenced by Plato’s view that a good ruler and general is dependent on the loyalty of his army9. If the above picture shows us one thing, then that a study of Plutarch’s (use of) sources is never a simple undertaking. In this article, I focus on the Parallel Lives. There, we find the same wealth of source material. Moreover, every single Life raises its own particular problems and generalisations often risk being oversimplifications. For some Lives, the main sources have been preserved. In such cases, a close comparison between Plutarch’s account and that of his source(s) can lay bare general recurrent patterns in his method of working10. 8. Homer (923B; 931F; 934B; 934F; 940F; 941A; 942F; 944F; cf. also 938B and 938D); Aeschylus (923C); Pindar (923C; 927B; 931E); Sophocles (923F; 935F); Mimnermus, Cydias, Archilochus, and Stesichorus (931E); Alcman (940A); and Hesiod (940C). 9. Galba 1.3; cf. P.A. STADTER, Plutarch and His Roman Readers, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2015, pp. 59-61. 10. Plutarch’s use of extant (and lost) historians has often been studied. An overview can be found in C. THEANDER, Plutarch und die Geschichte, Lund, Gleerup, 1951; cf. K. ZIEGLER, Plutarchos von Chaironeia, in Real Enzyklopädie XXI.1 (1951) 636-962, pp. 911-914 and F. MUCCIOLI, La storia attraverso gli esempi: Protagonisti e interpretazioni del mondo greco in Plutarco, Milano – Udine, Mimesis, 2012, pp. 61-73. Much information is also to be found in the detailed commentaries to the single Lives. See further, on Thucydides: J. DE ROMILLY, Plutarch and Thucydides, or the Free Use of Quotations, in Phoenix 42 (1988) 22-34; C.B.R. PELLING, Plutarch and History: Eighteen Studies, London, Duckworth, 2002, pp. 117-141; R. TOSI, Tucidide in Plutarco, in GALLO (ed.), La biblioteca di Plutarco (n. 6), 147-158; on Polybius: E. GABBA, Plutarco e Polibio, ibid., 311-316 and G. ZECCHINI, Polibio in Plutarco, in PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – TITCHENER (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values (n. 5), 513-522. For Plutarch’s attitude to Herodotus, his polemical treatise De Herodoti malignitate should also be taken into account, although the relation of this work and the Parallel Lives is not always unequivocal; cf., e.g., THEANDER, Plutarch und die Geschichte (n. 10), pp. 32-37; A.E. WARDMAN, Plutarch’s Lives, London, Elek, 1974, p. 192; S.-T. TEODORSSON, Ethical Historiography: Plutarch’s Attitude to Historical Criticism, in SCHRADER – RAMÓN – VELA (eds.), Plutarco y la historia (n. 2), 439-447, pp. 443-445; PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 150-152 and ID., De malignitate Plutarchi: Plutarch, Herodotus, and the Persian Wars, in E. BRIDGES – E. HALL – P.J. RHODES (eds.), Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars: Antiquity to the Third Millennium, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2007, 145-164, pp. 157-164; H.G. INGENKAMP, De Plutarchi malignitate, in J. OPSOMER – G. ROSKAM – F.B. TITCHENER (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman: Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing, Leuven, Leuven University Press, 2016, 229-242.

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A classic example is the Life of Coriolanus, which is largely based on Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Antiquitates Romanae (books 6–8)11. By systematically confronting Plutarch’s story with that of Dionysius, we can indeed lay bare where, how and why Plutarch deviates from Dionysius, and thus throw light on his compositional techniques. Yet this is an exceptional case12. Usually, Plutarch indeed uses more than one source and many of these sources are no longer extant. An analysis of Plutarch’s method of working in the Life of Coriolanus yields interesting conclusions, no doubt, but these cannot simply be extrapolated to other Lives or to his biographical project in general. In a seminal article about Plutarch’s method of working, Christopher Pelling distinguishes between three phases in the writing process of the different Lives: the preliminary reading, the production of a first draft, and the writing of the final version13. In each of these three phases, the sources play a different role. Pelling’s hypothesis, which has gathered broad acceptance and was further elaborated by himself and other scholars14, is a valid one. Conceptually speaking, the three stages can easily be defined and further subdivided in several steps, as will indeed be done below, and it is also likely that this is not merely a conceptual distinction but that Plutarch really went through these three phases while writing his Parallel Lives. Yet, as we shall see, it is not always easy to determine what was done at which stage15. Moreover, each phase starts 11. See esp. D.A. RUSSELL, Plutarch’s Life of Coriolanus, in Journal of Roman Studies 53 (1963) 21-28; B. AHLRICHS, “Prufstein der Gemüter”: Untersuchungen zu den ethischen Vorstellungen in den Parallelbiographien Plutarchs am Beispiel des “Coriolan”, Hildesheim – Zürich – New York, Olms, 2005; G. ROSKAM – S. VERDEGEM, “This Topic Belongs to Another Kind of Writing”: The Digressions in Plutarch’s Life of Coriolanus, in OPSOMER – ROSKAM – TITCHENER (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman (n. 10), 161-195; cf. H. PETER, Die Quellen Plutarchs in den Biographieen der Römer, Halle, 1865 [Reprinted Amsterdam, Hakkert, 1965], pp. 7-17; B. SCARDIGLI, Die Römerbiographien Plutarchs, München, Beck, 1979, p. 30. 12. The Life of Nicias may be a similar case, being to a large extent based on Thucydides; cf. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 118-122; ID. Plutarch. Caesar. Translated with an Introduction and Commentary, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011, p. 40, n. 90. 13. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), p. 24; cf. pp. 49 and 66. 14. See, e.g., C.B.R. PELLING, Plutarch. Life of Antony, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1988, pp. 31-33 and Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 36-42; P.A. STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles, Chapel Hill, NC – London, University of North Carolina Press, 1989, pp. xliv-li; H. HEFTNER, Plutarch und der Aufstieg des Pompeius: Ein historischer Kommentar zu Plutarchs Pompeiusvita. Teil 1: Kap. 1–45, Frankfurt a.M., Lang, 1995, pp. 12-13; S. VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades: Story, Text and Moralism, Leuven, Leuven University Press, 2010, pp. 76-77. 15. PELLING realises this very well: “Doubtless this model is too schematic. An author with Plutarch’s stylistic sense could hardly avoid some ‘beautification’ every time he put

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with important decisions that have far-reaching consequences for the rest of the composition process. These decisions were based on thorough reflection which to a significant extent merged the three phases into one harmonious whole.

I. THE PHASE OF PRELIMINARY READING 1. First Decision: The Choice of the Hero The starting point of the whole process of composition is of course the choice of the hero16. This choice results from a process of reflection that precedes the reading of the sources but that also presupposes at least some familiarity with the life and accomplishments of the statesmen or generals. Not every politician indeed qualifies as a potential subject of a Life: his career should contain enough food for moral thought or raise intriguing moral questions, his character should be worthy of imitation (or, alternatively, clearly illustrate bad behaviour as a stimulus to the opposite, good conduct17), and he himself should be a figure that may instil feelings of affection in the reader18. The selection of the heroes probably rests on Plutarch’s general παιδεία and acquaintance with Greek and Roman history, which broadened over the years. In a later stage, he no doubt benefited from his reading pen to paper, or dictated a word; and, given the speed with which he must have produced, it would be odd if some of his organizational or thematic ideas were not last-minute, involving him in larger-scale rethinking even in his final draft. But, as a simplified model, it is still one which I find attractive” (Plutarch and History [n. 10], p. 66). Cf. ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), p. 41. 16. This issue has especially been discussed by J. GEIGER in several articles: Plutarch’s Parallel Lives: The Choice of Heroes, in Hermes 109 (1981) 85-104; ID., Felicitas temporum and Plutarch’s Choice of Heroes, in P.A. STADTER – L. VAN DER STOCKT (eds.), Sage and Emperor: Plutarch, Greek Intellectuals, and Roman Power in the Time of Trajan (98-117 A.D.), Leuven, Leuven University Press, 2002, 93-102 and ID., Plutarch’s Choice of Roman Heroes: Further Considerations, in PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – TITCHENER (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values (n. 5), 231-242. 17. Demetr. 1.5-6; the prologue is analysed in T. DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice, Oxford, Clarendon, 1999, pp. 45-49. 18. Cf. Ca. Mi. 9.10, with H.G. INGENKAMP, How to Present a Statesman?, in L. DE BLOIS et al. (eds.), The Statesman in Plutarch’s Works: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference of the International Plutarch Society: Nijmegen/Castle Hernen, May 1-5, 2002. Vol. 1: Plutarch’s Statesman and His Aftermath: Political, Philosophical, and Literary Aspects (Mnemosyne. Supplements, 250/1), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2004, 67-86, pp. 81-82. Cf. also G.B. LAVERY, Plutarch’s Lucullus and the Living Bond of Biography, in The Classical Journal 89 (1993) 261-273 on the problem of the biographical bonding between Plutarch and Lucullus.

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for earlier Lives. Whereas he knew the essentials of Greek history and its great protagonists from his childhood, he probably had to do more research about later developments and certainly about the details of Roman history. During this research, he came across new figures that provided inspiration for new biographies. In this way, the whole series of Parallel Lives was developed in a quite natural way19. Plutarch, however, did not write single biographies but Parallel Lives. This implies, of course, that he did not just opt for one hero but for a pair20. Here, we encounter a first complication. We may reasonably presume that the choice of the pair was done in an early stage of the writing process, given the fundamental importance of the comparative approach for the whole project of the Parallel Lives. Yet this conclusion is by no means evident. Several indications indeed suggest that different Lives were prepared simultaneously. Pelling, for instance, has argued that six Lives dealing with great statesmen from the late Roman Republic were prepared together: in the Lives of Pompey, Cato the Younger, Crassus, Caesar, Brutus and Antony, Plutarch had clearly acquired a more detailed knowledge of the events, whereas the Lives of Cicero and Lucullus, which show a much more rudimentary knowledge, were probably written earlier21. In such cases, simultaneous preparation was indeed a more economical approach than always again returning to the same sources. The same hypothesis can be proposed for several other Lives: Alcibiades and Nicias22, for instance, or Dion and Timoleon23, or the Lives of the early Roman heroes24. Only in one exceptional case, simultaneous preparation

19. Hypothetical attempts to reconstruct the chronology of the Parallel Lives on the basis of such natural process can be found in G. DELVAUX, Plutarque: chronologie relative des Vies Parallèles, in Les Études Classiques 63 (1995) 97-113 and A.G. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods: His Cross-References and the Sequence of the Parallel Lives, in PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – TITCHENER (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values (n. 5), 283-323. Yet the relative chronology of the Lives is a particularly difficult problem, and so far no scholarly consensus has been reached. See on this also the classic study of C.P. JONES, Towards a Chronology of Plutarch’s Works, in Journal of Roman Studies 56 (1966) 61-74; cf. ZIEGLER, Plutarchos von Chaironeia (n. 10), pp. 899-903. 20. On Plutarch’s choice of the different pairs, see F. FRAZIER, À propos de la composition des couples dans les ‘Vies Parallèles’ de Plutarque, in Revue de Philologie, de Littérature, et d’Histoire Anciennes 61 (1987) 65-75 and P. DESIDERI, La formazione delle coppie nelle ‘Vite’ plutarchee, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 4470-4486. 21. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 2-11. 22. Cf. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods (n. 19), pp. 288-289; VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 93 and 402. 23. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods (n. 19), pp. 294-295 and 309. 24. Romulus, Numa, Publicola, Coriolanus and Camillus; cf. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods (n. 19), p. 290.

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results in one pair, that is, the Lives of Philopoemen and Flamininus, which deal with two protagonists of the same political events. In all the other cases, the hypothesis of simultaneous preparation implies that the different Lives were written separately and that every one of them was only paired with its counterpart at a later stage. In some cases, there may even have been quite a long period between the writing of a Life and the final publication as a pair25. If this hypothesis holds true, it has important consequences for our understanding of the third phase of the composition process, and we will have to come back to it in due course (see infra, III.3). 2. Second Decision: The Choice of the Sources Once the choice for the hero was made, Plutarch could begin to look for adequate sources. The proem to the Life of Demosthenes with which we began suggests that this was not always evident and that more than one serious obstacle interfered with the study of the relevant literature. Yet it also suggests that Plutarch had the ambition to document himself in the best possible way, and this is in fact corroborated by what we find in the Parallel Lives. Much indeed shows that Plutarch did not like half work and that his heuristics was usually very thorough. As a rule, he consulted a lot of different sources – the βιβλίων παντοδαπῶν ἀφϑονία to which he refers at the outset of the Life of Demosthenes (2.1). Since Plutarch’s sources have often been studied before26, I can here confine myself to a short overview of the most important ones, without claiming exhaustiveness. The reference works of the great Greek historians constituted important sources of many Lives. Apart from Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and Polybius, Plutarch also derived much benefit from Ephorus, the author of a lost Universal History, and Theopompus, especially his History of Philip II. Moreover, he frequently quotes from and refers to many other historians, both influential ones and second-rate writers, so much so that he is now one of the principal sources for Jacoby’s Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. 25. On the final publication of an ancient work and its consequences, see B.A. VAN GRONINGEN, ΕΚΔΟΣΙΣ, in Mnemosyne 16 (1963) 1-17 and T. DORANDI, Le stylet et la tablette: dans le secret des auteurs antiques, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2000, pp. 103-154. 26. See, e.g., PETER, Die Quellen Plutarchs (n. 11); THEANDER, Plutarch und die Geschichte (n. 10); SCARDIGLI, Die Römerbiographien Plutarchs (n. 11); P. DESIDERI, I documenti di Plutarco, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 4536-4567; M.T. SCHETTINO, The Use of Historical Sources, in M. BECK (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch, Malden, MA, Wiley Blackwell, 2014, 417-436.

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Whenever possible, Plutarch gives due attention to contemporary sources. He frequently makes use of the protagonist’s own writings: Cicero’s Greek account of his consulship (Περὶ ὑπατείας)27, for instance, or the Memoirs of Sulla (Sull. 6.8 and 37.1; Mar. 35.4)28 and of Aratus (Arat. 3.3; 32.5; 33.3; 38.6; Agis/Cleom. 15.4; 37.4-5; 38.4; 40.4). Solon’s verses are often quoted in his Life, and the Life of Alexander contains many references to the Letters of the king29. Plutarch does not limit himself to positive sources but also takes into account critical attacks. He quotes both Cicero’s Cato and Caesar’s Anti-Cato (Cic. 39.5; Caes. 3.2 and 54.2-3; cf. Ca. Mi. 11.4 and 36.3) and screens the comic poets for information about his hero’s character (Nic. 4.4-8; Per. 13.8-10 and 16.2; Alc. 1.7-8). Finally, he derives additional information from contemporary epigraphical sources30. Autopsy also plays a significant part in Plutarch’s evaluation of historical material. In an important study, John Buckler has systematically investigated all relevant evidence31. He concludes – quite surprisingly – that “autopsy was neither of particular nor central interest to him” (p. 4829), yet this conclusion is undermined at least to a certain degree by the wealth of information which Buckler has himself collected. Plutarch could have done even more, no doubt, yet he did a great deal already and often seems to have made the most of his opportunities to introduce comments that were based on personal observation. Plutarch also frequently relies on the oral tradition. Again, the above quoted proem to the Life of Demosthenes helps in clarifying his position. He considers the oral tradition as an interesting addition to written sources. It enables to fill the gaps in historical accounts, especially regarding the “petite histoire”, regarding all these salient anecdotes that are so crucial for the assessment of the hero’s character but have been 27. Cicero’s Περὶ ὑπατείας was probably the principal source of Cic. 10–23; see O. LENDLE, Ciceros ὑπόμνημα περὶ τῆς ὑπατείας, in Hermes 95 (1967) 90-109 and PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 45-49. The work is also mentioned at Crass. 13.4 and Caes. 8.4. 28. F. RUSSO, I Commentarii sillani come fonte della Vita plutarchea di Silla, in Studi Classici e Orientali 48 (2002) 281-305. 29. See J.R. HAMILTON, Plutarch, Alexander: A Commentary, Oxford, Clarendon, 1969, pp. lix-lx, with further literature. 30. See on this P. LIDDEL, Scholarship and Morality: Plutarch’s Use of Inscriptions, in A.G. NIKOLAIDIS (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work: ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2008, 125-137. 31. J. BUCKLER, Plutarch and Autopsy, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 4788-4830; see also F.J. FROST, Plutarch’s Themistocles: A Historical Commentary, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1980, pp. 50-52 and MUCCIOLI, La storia attraverso gli esempi (n. 10), pp. 78-89.

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lost in the folds of history. This rich oral tradition, often introduced by a vague λέγεται or φασί, has left its mark on many Lives32. Finally a brief word on Plutarch’s Latin sources. Plutarch’s knowledge of Latin has often been analysed and discussed33. He says that he has only begun to study Latin literature in a later stage of his life and that he is therefore not really qualified to appreciate the beauty of the Latin style. Nevertheless, he claims to be able to read and understand Latin sources: My experience was an astonishing thing, but true. For it was not so much that by the means of words I came to a complete understanding of things, as that from things I somehow had an experience which enabled me to follow the meaning of words (Dem. 2.3).

Scholarly research has shown that Plutarch’s claim is largely justified. Small mistakes can be found here and there, but in general, his knowledge of Latin was solid, and he most likely read Cicero (his speeches and Letters), Livy, Sallustius and Asinius Pollio34. In any case, his willingness to have a look at Latin sources too again reveals his ἀκρίβεια in heuristic matters. He realised that he could not simply ignore the Latin tradition if he wanted to come up with a well-informed and reliable picture of his Roman heroes, and did not shrink from the obvious consequence. 3. Getting to Work: Reading the Sources In all likelihood, Plutarch read all the sources in this first phase. He, by the way, does not say anything about this himself; the hypothesis is primarily based on our knowledge of the material characteristics of the 32. B.L. COOK, Plutarch’s Use of λέγεται: Narrative Design and Source in Alexander, in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 42 (2001) 329-360. 33. See, e.g., H.J. ROSE, The Roman Questions of Plutarch: A New Translation with Introductory Essays and a Running Commentary, Oxford, Clarendon, 1924, pp. 11-19; C.P. JONES, Plutarch and Rome, Oxford, Clarendon, 1971, pp. 81-87; A. DE ROSALIA, Il latino di Plutarco, in G. D’IPPOLITO – I. GALLO (eds.), Strutture formali dei “Moralia” di Plutarco: Atti del III Convegno plutarcheo. Palermo, 3-5 maggio 1989, Napoli, D’Auria, 1991, 445-459; F. MOYA DEL BAÑO – L. CARRASCO REIJA, Plutarco, traductor del Latín al Griego, in J. GARCÍA LÓPEZ – E.A. CALDERÓN DORDA (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Paisaje y Naturaleza. Actas del II Simposio Español sobre Plutarco. Murcia 1990, Madrid, Ed. clásicas, 1991, 287-296; A. STROBACH, Plutarch und die Sprachen: Ein Beitrag zur Fremdsprachenproblematik in der Antike, Stuttgart, Steiner, 1997, pp. 33-39; A. SETAIOLI, Plutarch’s Assessment of Latin as a Means of Expression, in Prometheus 33 (2007) 156166; STADTER, Plutarch and His Roman Readers (n. 9), pp. 133-137. 34. He may, though, have read Asinius Pollio and Sallustius in Greek; cf. JONES, Plutarch and Rome (n. 33), p. 86 and PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 13 and 36, n. 78.

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sources35. They were written on papyrus scrolls, which were not easily manageable. As a result, it was far from evident to use more than one scroll at the same time in order to compare different accounts of the same event while writing. Moreover, the scrolls contained little if any information about chapter divisions and lacked indices which would have facilitated their use. Finally, not every source was readily available at home. Several of them were “scattered about among different owners” (Dem. 2.1). Plutarch could borrow some of them from his friends and read others while staying in Athens, but it is very unlikely that he had all of them still on his desk when he began writing a Life. How did Plutarch read his sources? What kind of reader was he? First, he was a critical reader with a keen eye for the bias of his sources. He warns his readers, for instance, that Oppius’ information about Caesar’s enemies and friends is unreliable (Pomp. 10.9) and criticises Phylarchus for presenting a partisan account, excessively supporting Cleomenes and attacking Aratus (Arat. 38.11-12). Second, Plutarch was an active and attentive reader who paid much attention to small details. In the proem to De genio Socratis, Archedamus states: duller minds are content with history if they learn the mere general drift and upshot of the matter (τὸ κεφάλαιον αὐτὸ καὶ τὸ πέρας τοῦ πράγματος), whereas the spectator fired with emulation and the love of noble conduct, when he views the works which virtue, like a great art, has executed, is more delighted with the particulars (τὰ καϑ᾿ ἕκαστα), feeling that in the outcome much is due to chance, whereas in the actions themselves and in their causes he observes the details of the struggles of virtue pitted against fortune, and the sober acts of daring in peril that come of reason blended with the stress and passion of the moment. Take us to be spectators of this sort (575CD).

This passage does not only contain a picture of Plutarch’s ideal reader36 but also of the kind of reader that Plutarch was himself37. It can give us an idea of the things in which Plutarch was particularly interested and which he penned in his notes. For we may presume indeed that Plutarch was taking notes during his reading. These notes were probably not an abridged chronological survey, they did not list the essentials (τὸ κεφάλαιον) and the outcome (τὸ πέρας) of the events. These Plutarch 35. Cf. PELLING, Plutarch. Life of Antony (n. 14), p. 31; ID., Plutarch and History (n. 10), p. 21; ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 39-40; STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), pp. xlv-xlvi. 36. See DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives (n. 17), p. 43. 37. Thus J. BENEKER, The Passionate Statesman: Eros and Politics in Plutarch’s Lives, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, p. 81.

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probably stored in his excellent memory38. It is more plausible that they contained striking details (τὰ καϑ᾿ ἕκαστα), the minutiae of the struggles of virtue, all these conspicuous little particulars that were only mentioned in one source and therefore immediately caught the eye. A short mention of them probably sufficed as a reminder. These notes were presumably taken in sequential order, following the reading process. Some of them perhaps also found their way into other collections, for instance in the provisional version of the Apophthegmata collections (cf. infra, III.2) or in the drafts of “open” collections like the Quaestiones Graecae and Quaestiones Romanae. II. THE PHASE OF THE HYPOMNĒMA 1. First Decision: Assessment of the Hero’s Character During the first phase of reading, Plutarch gradually formed an idea of the character of the protagonist of his biography. At the end of the reading process, he had gained a general insight into the latter’s basic attitude and manners: Themistocles and Flamininus were ambitious, Philopoemen was contentious, Aristides just and Nicias superstitious. Alcibiades was a versatile chameleon, Pericles a gentle and just leader, Cato the Younger a virtuous uncompromising aristocrat, and so on. To a certain extent, it is misleading to call such assessments a decision, as if Plutarch took, at the beginning of this phase, a formal decision about his overall interpretation of the character traits of his hero. This interpretation was rather the result of a gradual process of increasing insight during the first phase. Nevertheless, the Gesamtbild could only come at the end, as the fruit of a moment of retrospective reflection about everything he had read39. Moreover, such a general assessment of the hero’s character is only one moment – though a very important one – in the writing process of the Parallel Lives. The Life of Themistocles, for instance, is not only a story of ambition, nor does the Life of Nicias only deal with superstition. 38. For the role of memory in the composition process, see, e.g., PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 21-22; ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 40-41; STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), p. xlvi; cf. also VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 77 and 402. 39. The hypothesis, indeed, is that Plutarch took at least a brief moment to look back and reflect from a distance on everything he had read. On the importance of such moments of ἀποϑεώρησις in Plutarch, see G. ROSKAM, ἀποϑεωρεῖν / ἀποϑεώρησις: A Semasiological Study, in Glotta 90 (2014) 180-191, esp. pp. 186-188.

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The heroes also have other character traits, both positive and negative40, and apart from that, the course of events cannot simply be reduced to the effects of one dominant trait of the hero. The battle of Salamis, after all, was not planned by Themistocles only to satisfy his thirst for personal glory. Nevertheless, there is no need to labour the point that Plutarch’s view of the hero’s character is of paramount importance: it is the lens through which he read and interpreted his sources and wrote his own version of what happened. This is not simply moral varnish, nor are the Parallel Lives a mere retelling of a historical source with the addition of a moral touch here and there. Plutarch’s view of his hero’s attitude and character entailed a substantial transformation of his material41. Whereas the Coriolanus of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, for instance, exemplified the character of the ἀκριβοδίκαιος, Plutarch’s story of Coriolanus is a story of anger, passion, and lack of education42. The historical framework remains basically the same, but we still get a very different story. 2. Second Decision: The Choice of the Principal Source We have seen that Plutarch first read all important sources. This systematic reading then enabled him to select a main source which would provide him with the basic outlines of his hero’s career. His assessment of the latter’s character may have influenced this choice, next to his overall judgement of the different sources43. At the outset of the Life of Lycurgus, Plutarch states that he has followed those authors “who are least contradicted or who have the most notable witnesses for what they have written” (1.7). This criterion derives its relevance primarily from the specific heuristic problems which Plutarch faced while writing this Life, viz. the many conflicting pieces of information about Lycurgus44, but it also reflects Plutarch’s more general concern to use the most respected and reliable source. In most cases, the 40. On Plutarch’s characterisation of his heroes, see esp. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 283-300 and A.G. NIKOLAIDIS, Morality, Characterization, and Individuality, in BECK (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (n. 26), 350-372. 41. See esp. BENEKER, The Passionate Statesman (n. 37), pp. 59-64. 42. See esp. RUSSELL, Plutarch’s Life of Coriolanus (n. 11), p. 27; cf. also DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives (n. 17), pp. 206-215. 43. On Plutarch’s criteria for judging his sources, see A.G. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Criteria for Judging His Historical Sources, in SCHRADER – RAMÓN – VELA (eds.), Plutarco y la historia (n. 2), 329-341. 44. Cf. the opening sentence of the Life: “Concerning Lycurgus the lawgiver, in general, nothing can be said which is not disputed, since indeed there are different accounts of his birth, his travels, his death, and above all, of his work as law-maker and statesman; and there is least agreement among historians as to the times in which the man lived”.

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choice for the principal source was rather evident. To confine myself to only a few obvious examples: the Life of Cicero was to an important extent based on Cicero’s own Περὶ ὑπατείας45, the Life of Coriolanus on Dionysius of Halicarnassus46, and the Life of Nicias on Thucydides47. For several Lives dealing with the late Roman Republic, the history of Asinius Pollio may have been the main source48. This principal source is seldom introduced as such, although it can often be detected with reasonable plausibility. Yet most Lives are not simply based on just one main source. Far more often, several sources are combined with one another. In the Life of Pericles, for instance, material from Plutarch’s most influential sources Thucydides and Plato is combined with evidence from many other authors49. The Life of Agesilaus is to a large extent based on Xenophon, yet Plutarch deals with his source in an independent and critical way and again brings in a lot of additional material from other writers50. Similar conclusions hold true for most Lives. Yet these different sources are usually not blended with each other in a kind of κρᾶσις δι᾿ ὅλων. As a rule, the Lives contain several sections that alternately build on different main sources. Such method of working can again be explained by the material characteristics of the sources: rather than working with different papyrus scrolls at the same time, Plutarch selected one principal source as his starting point for each section of the Life. Yet even this hypothesis fails to do justice to the complex picture that can be found in some Lives. A case in point is the Life of Alexander, where Plutarch used, among others, Callisthenes, Aristobulus, Chares, Onesicritus and Cleitarchus, next to the alleged Letters of Alexander and the philosophical and rhetorical tradition51. Here it is not possible to demarcate subsequent sections that can be traced back to one principal source. If we do not yet find a perfect κρᾶσις δι᾿ ὅλων here, then certainly a mingling or μίξις of different sources rather than a mere juxtaposition or παράϑεσις. Of course the Life of Alexander may constitute a 45. See supra, n. 27. 46. See supra, n. 11. 47. See supra, n. 12. 48. As argued by PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 12-13; cf. ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 44-47. 49. A full discussion of the sources for the Life of Pericles is to be found in STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), pp. lviii-lxxxv. 50. D.R. SHIPLEY, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Life of Agesilaos: Response to Sources in the Presentation of Character, Oxford, Clarendon, 1997, pp. 46-55. 51. See HAMILTON, Plutarch, Alexander (n. 29), pp. xlix-lxii for a detailed overview of the sources of the Life of Alexander.

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quite exceptional case, given the wealth of relevant sources, and its constant alternation between different sources can perhaps be explained at least partly by the working of Plutarch’s excellent memory (and his notes). But this Life also shows what Plutarch was capable of, and many other Lives show traces of similar sophistication. The selection of the principal source was an important step in the composition process of the different Lives, no doubt, but it could at every point be completed and/ or corrected on the basis of other evidence. 3. Getting to Work: The Composition of the Hypomnēma When Plutarch had collected all the relevant material, he first made a provisional draft or hypomnēma. That this was a working method adopted by many ancient authors is suggested by two interesting testimonies that come from entirely different literary traditions. The locus classicus is a passage from Lucian’s Quomodo historia conscribenda sit: When he has collected all or most of the facts let him first make them into a preliminary draft (ὑπόμνημα τι), a body of material as yet with no beauty or continuity (ἀκαλλὲς ἔτι καὶ ἀδιάρϑρωτον). Then, after arranging them into order (ἐπιϑεὶς τὴν τάξιν), let him give it beauty (τὸ κάλλος) and enhance it with the charms of expression, figure, and rhythm (χρωννύτω τῇ λέξει καὶ σχηματιζέτω καὶ ῥυϑμιζέτω) (48)52.

Basically the same method of working can also be found in a passage near the beginning of Ammonius’ Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories: Note that in ancient times, those who proposed to write would compile in summary fashion (κεφαλαιωδῶς) their own particular discoveries into an exposition of the subject; and (δέ) they would take many thought from even older books, in order to confirm the ones that were correct and refute those that were not. Last of all (ὕστερον), of course, they composed their writings, by adding some order to them (τάξιν τέ τινα αὐτοῖς ἐπιπροσϑέντες) and making them beam with the beauty of their words and the ornamentation of their narrative (κάλλει λόγων καὶ ἀπαγγελίας ἀσκήσει φαιδρύναντες). In this way the notebooks differed from the systematic in ordering and beauty of expression (τάξει τε καὶ ἑρμηνείας κάλλει) (4.6-13 Busse; trans. Cohen – Matthews, modified)53.

52. See esp. G. AVENARIUS, Lukians Schrift zur Geschichtsschreibung, Meisenheim am Glan, Hain, 1956, pp. 85-104; cf. also T. DORANDI, Den Autoren über die Schulter geschaut: Arbeitsweise und Autographie bei den antiken Schriftstellern, in Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 87 (1991) 11-33, p. 13; ID., Le stylet et la tablette (n. 25), p. 111. 53. Cf. Philoponus, In Arist. Cat. 3.29–4.10 BUSSE (mentioning like Ammonius both dispositio and elocutio) and Olympiodorus, In Arist. Cat. 6.25-35 BUSSE (focusing only on elocutio).

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Lucian and Ammonius thus agree that ancient authors did not immediately turn their reading notes into the final, published version of their work but first composed a preliminary draft. Moreover, they also provide some interesting information about how we should conceive of such a hypomnēma. It already contained the basic ideas, the κεφάλαια. This suggests that the hypomnēmata for Plutarch’s Lives did not merely contain a historical blueprint, a rough sketch of the main events based on the reading of his sources, but also moral interpretations and comments on the hero’s character. What the hypomnēma still lacks is order (τάξις) and literary embellishment. In other words, the step from the hypomnēma to the final version (only) has to do with dispositio and elocutio. Plutarch refers to his own hypomnēmata at the beginning of his treatise De tranquillitate animi. The passage gives us an idea of the concrete circumstances and coincidences that could influence the generation of a work. Paccius, one of Plutarch’s Roman friends54, apparently had sent a letter to Plutarch with the request to write something about tranquillity of mind. Now it happened that another friend of Plutarch, a certain Eros, was about to leave to Rome. That was an excellent opportunity to send the work with him to Paccius. The problem was that Eros had little time to wait, so Plutarch was in a hurry: Since I neither had the time I might have desired to meet your wishes nor could I bring myself to let the friend who came from me be seen arriving at your home with hands quite empty, I gathered together from my notebooks (ἐκ τῶν ὑπομνημάτων) those observations on tranquillity of mind which I happened to have made for my own use, believing that you on your part requested this discourse, not for the sake of hearing a work which would aim at elegance of style, but for the practical use in living it might afford (464F-465A).

Plutarch, then, fell back on some of his hypomnēmata for quickly composing a work on tranquillity of mind. This implies that we may well find in this treatise tangible evidence that can be traced back to these hypomnēmata, or, the other way round, that it may be possible to reconstruct to a certain extent the outlines of such hypomnēmata on the basis of the final, published treatise De tranquillitate animi. In several articles, Luc Van der Stockt has developed a method that allows us to recover traces of such hypomnēmata on the basis of clusters of recurrent material55. In his view, a Plutarchan hypomnēma should be conceived as 54. JONES, Plutarch and Rome (n. 33), pp. 59-60; PUECH, Prosopographie (n. 4), p. 4865. 55. See, e.g., L. VAN DER STOCKT, A Plutarchan Hypomnema on Self-Love, in American Journal of Philology 120 (1999) 575-599; ID., Three Aristotle’s Equal but One Plato: On a Cluster of Quotations in Plutarch, in A. PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – J. GARCÍA LÓPEZ – R.M. AGUILAR

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a more or less elaborate train of thought, involving material previously gathered and certainly written in full syntactical sentences: we are beyond the stage of heuristics. On the other hand, the hypomnema does not yet display literary finish […]. In short, it probably took the form of a rough draft […], not of an “Endfassung, die Reinschrift”56.

Mutatis mutandis, such a conception of Plutarch’s hypomnēmata can be applied to the Parallel Lives as well57. In all likelihood, Plutarch composed a preliminary draft or hypomnēma for each of his biographies, on the basis of one or a few principal sources which he adapted in light of his own view of the hero’s character. In this writing process, he made use of different strategies that have often been studied in scholarly research58. All of these strategies are rooted in previous reflection about the ἦϑος and τρόπος of the protagonist of the Life. (eds.), Plutarco, Platón y Aristóteles: Actas del V Congreso Internacional de la I.P.S. (Madrid-Cuenca, 4-7 de Mayo de 1999), Madrid, Ed. clásicas, 127-140; ID., Καρπὸς ἐκ φιλίας ἡγεμονικῆς (Mor. 814C): Plutarch’s Observations on the “Old-Boy Network”, in STADTER – VAN DER STOCKT (eds.), Sage and Emperor (n. 16), 115-140; ID., Plutarch in Plutarch: The Problem of the Hypomnemata, in GALLO (ed.), La biblioteca di Plutarco (n. 6), 331-340. See also B. VAN MEIRVENNE, Puzzling over Plutarch: Traces of a Plutarchean Plato-Study concerning Lg. 729 A-C in Adul. 32 (Mor. 71 B), Coniug. Praec. 46-47 (Mor. 144 F) and Aet. Rom. 33 (Mor. 272 C), in J.G. MONTES CALA – M. SÁNCHEZ ORTIZ DE LANDALUCE – R.J. GALLÉ CEJUDO (eds.), Plutarco, Dioniso y el vino: Actas del VI simposio español sobre Plutarco. Cádiz, 14-16 de Mayo de 1998, Madrid, Ed. clásicas, 1999, 527-540; EAD. “Earth and Ambrosia” (De facie §§ 24–25): Plutarch on the Habitability of the Moon, in A. PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ – F. CASADESÚS BORDOY (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Misticismo y religiones mistéricas en la obra de Plutarco. Actas del VII Simposio Español sobre Plutarco (Palma de Mallorca, 2-4 de Noviembre de 2000), Madrid – Málaga, Ed. clásicas, 2001, 283-296; VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 141-149, 185187, 272-278 and 404-405; S.A. XENOPHONTOS, Plutarch’s Compositional Technique in the An seni respublica gerenda sit: Clusters vs. Patterns, in American Journal of Philology 133 (2012) 61-91; G. ROSKAM, A ζήτημα on Eros and Poetry in Plutarch (Quaest. conv. 1,5), in G. SANTANA HENRÍQUEZ (ed.), Plutarco y las artes: XI Simposio internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas, Madrid, Ed. clásicas, 2013, 95-108. 56. VAN DER STOCKT, A Plutarchan Hypomnema on Self-Love (n. 55), p. 595. 57. Cf. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 23-24 and esp. pp. 65-90; ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 41-42; L. VAN DER STOCKT, Compositional Methods in the Lives, in BECK (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (n. 26), 321-332, pp. 329-330. 58. See, e.g., RUSSELL, Plutarch’s Life of Coriolanus (n. 11); PELLING, Plutarch. Life of Antony (n. 14), pp. 33-36; ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), pp. 56-58; J.L. MOLES, Plutarch. The Life of Cicero. With an Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Warminster, Aris and Phillips, 1988, pp. 36-38; STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), pp. xlviii-li; D.H.J. LARMOUR, Making Parallels: Synkrisis and Plutarch’s Themistocles and Camillus, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 41544200, pp. 4165-4174; C.F. KONRAD, Plutarch’s Sertorius: A Historical Commentary, Chapel Hill, NC, University of North Carolina Press, 1994, pp. xxxix-xli; HEFTNER, Plutarch und der Aufstieg des Pompeius (n. 14), pp. 14-19; AHLRICHS, “Prufstein der Gemüter” (n. 11), pp. 41-42 and passim; VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 62-63 and 405-409.

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In this phase, the abridgement of the main source was probably the most important technique. More than once, lengthy periods from a hero’s life are left undiscussed. In Alex. 50.1 the phrase οὐ πολλῷ ὕστερον actually means “two years later”59, in Cic. 35.1, μετὰ ταῦτα masks a time lapse of approximately 3,5 years60, and in Per. 24.1, ἐκ τούτου even denotes an interval of 5 years61. Such chronological leaps sometimes reflect gaps in Plutarch’s sources, but they also result from Plutarch’s selection of what he deems important. Typically enough, historical accounts of battles are very often strongly abridged. The battle of Issus between Alexander and Darius, for instance, is told in one brief paragraph (Alex. 20.8), just like Eumenes’ battle against Antigonus (Eum. 14.3)62, and the three phases of the battle of Saguntum are reduced to one single confrontation between Sertorius and Metellus (Sert. 21.1-3)63. Even the military events during the glorious battle of Salamis receive only little attention in Them. 14–15 and Arist. 9. In such cases, Plutarch is of little help for historians who try to reconstruct what happened during such battles, simply because his interest lies elsewhere. As he argues in the celebrated proem to his Life of Alexander: in the most illustrious deeds there is not always a manifestation of virtue or vice, nay, a slight thing like a phrase or a jest often makes a greater revelation of character (ἔμφασιν ἤϑους) than battles where thousands fall, or the greatest armaments, or sieges of cities (1.2).

Of course this argument, programmatic though it is, should primarily be understood in the context of the pair that follows64 and cannot simply be taken as a general rule. In Pomp. 8.7, for instance, Plutarch even states that the great accomplishments best reveal (μάλιστα δηλούντων) the character of the hero (cf. also Nic. 1.5). Anyhow, both vague summaries and detailed accounts of these brilliant achievements have the same basic moral interest. The precise movement of troops, tactical manoeuvres and stratagems, or the number of casualties are all of secondary importance at best. The significance of the interpretation of the hero’s character also appears when two accounts of the same event are compared with one another. In Agis/Cleom. 45.8, for instance, Cleomenes’ proposal to give Messene back to its citizens on condition that they renounce the Achaean cause 59. HAMILTON, Plutarch, Alexander (n. 29), p. 139. 60. MOLES, Plutarch. The Life of Cicero (n. 58), p. 183. 61. STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), pp. 232-233. 62. Cf. A.B. BOSWORTH, History and Artifice in Plutarch’s Eumenes, in P.A. STADTER (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition, London – New York, Routledge, 1992, 56-89, p. 58. 63. KONRAD, Plutarch’s Sertorius (n. 58), pp. 173-175. 64. Cf. A.E. WARDMAN, Plutarch’s Methods in the Lives, in Classical Quarterly 21 (1971) 254-261 and DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives (n. 17), pp. 14-22.

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and come over to his side is called benevolent and humane (εὐγνώμονα καὶ φιλάνϑρωπα), whereas it is unmasked as a clever trick to gain the city in Phil. 5.3-4. Again, Plutarch argues that Cimon’s lavish donations to the people had nothing to do with demagogy, as his basic political course was aristocratic and Laconian. This, at least, is his view in Cim. 10.8, whereas he says in Per. 9.2 that Pericles was outdone by Cimon’s demagogy (καταδημαγωγούμενος). Apart from abridgements and moral reinterpretations, we also find many instances of expansion of source material. This technique often occurs in early sections of the biographies, where Plutarch usually deals with the childhood of his heroes. In many cases, his sources hardly contained relevant information at all: how should we imagine Aristides as a tiny tot? Was Sulla already cruel as a schoolboy? Was Marcellus the same reckless fighter in his childhood? We may imagine how it might have been – and that is precisely what Plutarch did as well. On the basis of his general view of the hero and a few illustrative anecdotes, he tried to evoke a picture of how it must have been. This is creative and imaginative reconstruction, without deviating all too flagrantly from historical truth65. This technique of expansion, however, is by no means limited to the subject of the heroes’ early years. It can be found throughout the Lives, particularly in the many “grand scenes”66, but the question is whether such expansions already play a prominent role in the writing process of the hypomnēma. I presume abridgement was more frequent than expansion in this phase, but it is impossible to tell with certainty which changes Plutarch already made in his provisional draft and which were added in the final version. III. THE PHASE

OF THE

FINAL VERSION

1. Polishing the Hypomnēma In the last phase of the composition process, the provisional draft was thoroughly revised into the final published version. According to Lucian and Ammonius (quoted above, see II.3), the text of the hypomnēma now had to be polished. We may presume that this requires little or no input 65. This point has convincingly been made by PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 143-156; cf. ID., Plutarch. Life of Antony (n. 14), pp. 35-36 and ID., Plutarch. Caesar (n. 12), p. 57. 66. F. FRAZIER, Contribution à l’étude de la composition des “Vies” de Plutarque: l’élaboration des grandes scènes, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.33.6 (1992) 4487-4535.

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from the principal sources. Plutarch now works with his draft. Yet this does not imply that source material does not play any role at all during this phase. On the contrary, Plutarch here too makes use of many sources, which he often has not read for the composition of the Parallel Lives but which he can deploy in various ways. Many quotations from the poets are probably introduced at this phase, and metaphors, which sometimes colour entire biographies – like that of tragedy67 – are elaborated. Rhetorical clauses that underline key ideas are added68 and literary ideals like vividness (ἐνάργεια)69 probably entailed new modifications and expansion of the information derived from the sources. 2. Yet Another Important Decision: Organising the Material The composition of the final version also involves a decision regarding the definitive organisation of the material. Lucian and Ammonius indeed agree that choices concerning τάξις come after the phase of the hypomnēma, thus during the writing of the final version. This causes no great problems for the hypomnēmata of philosophical treatises, which may indeed have contained a fairly disordered series of relevant but still unrelated ideas, images, comparisons and so on. These obviously need further structure. But should we presume that the provisional drafts for the Lives likewise contained a disorganised collection of facts, perhaps still reflecting the 67. See, e.g., P. DE LACY, Biography and Tragedy in Plutarch, in American Journal of Philology 73 (1952) 159-171; J.M. MOSSMAN, Tragedy and Epic in Plutarch’s Alexander, in Journal of Hellenic Studies 108 (1988) 83-93; EAD., Tragedy and the Hero, in BECK (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (n. 26), 437-448; D. BRAUND, Dionysiac Tragedy in Plutarch, Crassus, in Classical Quarterly 43 (1993) 468-474; A.V. ZADOROJNYI, Tragedy and Epic in Plutarch’s “Crassus”, in Hermes 125 (1997) 169-182; D. PAPADI, Moralia in the Lives: Tragedy and Theatrical Imagery in Plutarch’s Pompey, in NIKOLAIDIS (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work (n. 30), 111-123; C.B.R. PELLING, Tragic Colouring in Plutarch, in OPSOMER – ROSKAM – TITCHENER (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman (n. 10), 113133. 68. See now the seminal study of G.O. HUTCHINSON, Plutarch’s Rhythmical Prose, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018. 69. H.-F. MUELLER, Images of Excellence: Visual Rhetoric and Political Behaviour, in I. GALLO – B. SCARDIGLI (eds.), Teoria e prassi politica nelle opere di Plutarco: Atti del V Convegno plutarcheo (Certosa di Pontignano, 7-9 giugno 1993), Napoli, D’Auria, 1995, 287-300; cf. C. SOARES, Rules for a Good Description: Theory and Practice in the Life of Artaxerxes (§§ 1–19), in Hermathena 182 (2007) 85-100 on the Life of Artaxerxes, or M. SALCEDO PARRONDO, Retórica visual y carácter político, Alc. 10: un modelo negativo de enargeia, in L. DE BLOIS et al. (eds.), The Statesman in Plutarch’s Works: Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference of the International Plutarch Society. Nijmegen/ Castle Hernen, May 1-5, 2002. Vol. 2: The Statesman in Plutarch’s Greek and Roman Lives (Mnemosyne. Supplements, 250/2), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2005, 179-186 on the Life of Alcibiades.

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random structure of the reading notes70? Probably not: we have seen indeed that Plutarch followed one or a few principal sources when producing the hypomnēma. This suggests that the draft most likely contained a rough chronological account. But if that is true, we may wonder to what extent the statements of Lucian and Ammonius can still be applied to the composition method of the Lives. What does it mean that the structure of the hypomnēma differs from that of the Lives, if indeed both are structured chronologically? We may think of small transpositions, meant to combine similar material. Such transpositions indeed frequently occur in the Lives71, yet the question remains whether these justify the emphasis on τάξις in the passages from Lucian and Ammonius. These seem to suggest more drastic changes. Maybe a quick look at the general structure of one book of Parallel Lives may help in dealing with this problem. In an important article, Tim Duff has shown that such a book as a rule consists of four parts: the proem, Life 1, Life 2, and the Synkrisis72. Every Life again consists of two major sections: first a general part in which Plutarch draws, on the basis of a series of anecdotes, sayings, and other relevant material, a picture of the hero’s character, followed by a second part that contains a roughly chronological account of the hero’s major accomplishments. Lucian’s and Ammonius’ remarks about τάξις suggest that the selection and organisation of the material in the first section of a Life was done at this advanced stage of the composition process. After Plutarch had come to a first survey of the events in the hypomnēma and had thus acquired a good grip on his material, he could look back on it in yet another moment of reflection or ἀποϑεώρησις and decide to move some elements to the beginning in order to introduce the hero, his fundamental choice (προαίρεσις)73 and 70. A somewhat similar hypothesis has been put forward by M. BECK, Plutarch’s Hypomnemata, in M. HORSTER – C. REITZ (eds.), Condensing Texts – Condensed Texts, Stuttgart, Steiner, 2010, 349-367, who regards the Apophthegmata Laconica as a hypomnēma for the Spartan Lives. 71. See, e.g., RUSSELL, Plutarch’s Life of Coriolanus (n. 11), pp. 23-24; STADTER, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (n. 14), pp. xlviii-xlix (with note 47); PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 92-93; LARMOUR, Making Parallels (n. 58), p. 4172; VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 407-408. 72. T. DUFF, The Structure of the Plutarchan Book, in Classical Antiquity 30 (2011) 213278. Not every book has all four parts; some of them indeed lack a proem or a Synkrisis. 73. On the importance of the concept of προαίρεσις, see WARDMAN, Plutarch’s Lives (n. 10), pp. 107-115; A. PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ, Proairesis: Las formas de acceso a la vida pública y el pensamiento politico de Plutarco, in GALLO – SCARDIGLI (eds.), Teoria e prassi politica (n. 69), 363-381; G. ROSKAM, On the Path to Virtue: The Stoic Doctrine of Moral Progress and Its Reception in (Middle-)Platonism, Leuven, Leuven University Press, 2005, pp. 350-351.

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his character, to his readers74. More than once, such section indeed contains striking anecdotes that bring up overarching themes of a whole Life75. After having selected and arranged this material, Plutarch could elaborate and polish the chronological part. Here too, he probably made significant changes to the underlying hypomnēma. He inserted, for instance, learned digressions, relying on his ready knowledge and on sources of a different kind. Alexander’s presence in Babylonia entails a lengthy discussion of naphtha (Alex. 35)76, the bold undertaking of Coriolanus’ mother triggers philosophical reflections on free will, divine inspiration and the probability of miracles (Cor. 32.5-8 and 38.2-7)77, and Flamininus’ famous proclamation of freedom leads to some remarks on the influence of the human voice on the air (Flam. 10.8-10). In such cases, Plutarch clearly wrote “as every topic came to his mind” (Quaest. conv. 629E; cf. Per. 24.12; Non posse 1095BC). All this suggests that in this phase of the composition process, the technique of expansion was much more important than that of abridgement and that such expansion often rested on different sources. Among the sources that may have played an important role for the first section of a Life were the collections of sayings of famous statesmen and politicians. Two such collections have come down to us: the Apophthegmata Laconica and the Regum et imperatorum apophthegmata78. However, the relation between these collections and the Parallel Lives is by no means evident. We have seen that winged sayings play an important role in the first part of a Life – although they also frequently occur in the second, 74. See, e.g., D.A. RUSSELL, Plutarch, ‘Alcibiades’ 1-16, in Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 12 (1966) 37-47 and VERDEGEM, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades (n. 14), pp. 119-166 on the opening chapters of the Life of Alcibiades. 75. On Plutarch’s gift to thematise central leitmotifs through anecdotes, see esp. P.A. STADTER, Anecdotes and the Thematic Structure of Plutarchean Biography, in J.A. FERNÁNDEZ DELGADO – F. PORDOMINGO PARDO (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Aspectos formales. Actas del IV Simposio español sobre Plutarco. Salamanca, 26 a 28 de Mayo de 1994, Salamanca, Ed. clásicas, 1996, 291-303. 76. Discussed by D. SANSONE, Plutarch, Alexander, and the Discovery of Naphtha, in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 21 (1980) 63-74; cf. also STADTER, Anecdotes and the Thematic Structure (n. 75), pp. 295-296. 77. ROSKAM – VERDEGEM, “This Topic Belongs to Another Kind of Writing” (n. 11), pp. 175-180. 78. The authenticity of the latter collection, and notably of its introductory letter to the emperor Trajan, has often been questioned, but has been defended with strong arguments in more recent research; see esp. R. FLACELIÈRE, Trajan, Delphes et Plutarque, in Recueil Plassart: Études sur l’antiquité grecque offertes à André Plassart par ses collègues de la Sorbonne, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1976, 97-103 and M. BECK, Plutarch to Trajan: The Dedicatory Letter and the Apophthegmata Collection, in STADTER – VAN DER STOCKT (eds.), Sage and Emperor (n. 16), 163-173; cf. ROSKAM, ἀποϑεωρεῖν / ἀποϑεώρησις (n. 39), pp. 190191 for an additional argument.

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chronological part – but it is not clear as to what extent the Apophthegmata collections have exerted a direct influence on these sections and have thus partly determined the τάξις of Plutarch’s material. Two alternative views have been proposed so far. According to Philip Stadter, Plutarch compiled a great collection of anecdotes of which the extant Apophthegmata Laconica formed one part. This large collection was used by Plutarch as a source for several Lives. The Regum et imperatorum apophthegmata, on the other hand, were a later edited selection of this collection79. Christopher Pelling rather considers the latter collection as resulting from the hypomnēmata of the Parallel Lives80. Both scholars, however, develop their view on the basis of case studies of different collections, so it is very well possible that both are right81. Only a comprehensive analysis of both collections may provide a more definite answer, but this is far beyond the scope of this article. I here confine myself to the observations that (1) the above picture makes it difficult to regard the Apophthegmata Laconica as a hypomnēma of the Lives but that (2) they were probably used as a source of interesting information for the Lives. 3. Yet Another Important Decision (bis): The Parallelism The reworking of the hypomnēma into the final version was, however, not merely a matter of dispositio and elocutio. Even with regard to content, important changes were made. We here again come across the difficult problem of the comparative aspect of the Parallel Lives. As we saw above (supra, I.1), it is likely that the two Lives of a pair were usually written apart, while Lives of the same period were often prepared simultaneously. The obvious implication is that the comparative approach only comes in at the end of the third stage of the writing process. According to Anastasios Nikolaidis, the element of comparison between the two heroes comes especially to the fore in the proems and in the concluding Synkriseis: The actual matching of the heroes was another procedure that took place at a later stage, just before the publication of each book (juxtaposing the 79. See P.A. STADTER, Plutarch’s Compositional Technique: The Anecdote Collections and the Parallel Lives, in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 54 (2014) 665-686; cf. also ID., Notes and Anecdotes: Observations on Cross-Genre Apophthegmata, in NIKOLAIDIS (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work (n. 30), 53-66 and BECK, Plutarch’s Hypomnemata (n. 70). 80. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 65-90. 81. Thus also PELLING, ibid., p. 85: “It is logically possible that both of us are right, for our respective collections – or indeed that both of us are wrong. If either of us is right on the collection we have taken, it makes it more likely that the same reconstruction would work for the other collection as well, but that is not a logical necessity”.

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biographies of one Greek and one Roman), even in cases where Plutarch may have coupled two heroes in his mind right from the start: Alexander with Caesar, for instance, or the subjects of our double pair. […] So it was during the aforesaid later stage that Plutarch, on the one hand, reviewed, completed (if required), and put the final touches on his individual biographies, and, on the other, added the proems and the Comparisons. As a matter of fact, it is mainly through these two attachments that the two Lives are linked together and thus give unity to the Plutarchean book82.

The similarities and differences between the two heroes are indeed mainly discussed in, respectively, the proems and Synkriseis. In Nikolaidis’ view, then, this comparative focus, which also thematises the more fundamental σκοπός of the pair, is only added in this last phase. This indeed seems the direct implication of Plutarch’s working method of simultaneous preparation. Yet Nikolaidis’ conclusion also raises a serious problem. Many scholars have convincingly demonstrated how important the comparative approach is for the whole project of Parallel Lives83. Plutarch’s interpretation and evaluation of (the career and character of) a Greek hero can never be separated from his view of his Roman counterpart, and vice versa. It has been shown time and again that many themes, motifs, and philosophical questions recur as connecting threads through different pairs. If, however, the study of Plutarch’s method of working implies that the comparative approach has only been added at a very late stage in the composition process, as a kind of top dressing, limited to the very beginning and very end of the pairs, all the results of careful scholarly research on the importance of parallelism appear to be the fruit of oversophisticated εὑρησιλογία – quite an uncomfortable conclusion, to say the least. There may be an easy way out, though. Plutarch himself repeatedly invites his reader to judge the matter for himself/herself84. In that sense, the reader can look for himself/herself after interesting parallels, stimulated 82. NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods (n. 19), pp. 316-317. 83. Seminal articles were H. ERBSE, Die Bedeutung der Synkrisis in den Parallelbiographien Plutarchs, in Hermes 89 (1956) 257-287 and P.A. STADTER, Plutarch’s Comparison of Pericles and Fabius Maximus, in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 16 (1975) 77-85. Much further literature is to be found in PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 349363 and DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives (n. 17), p. 250, n. 25. A recent collection of studies that again underlines the paramount importance of comparison and parallelism for Plutarch’s Parallel Lives is N. HUMBLE (ed.), Plutarch’s Lives: Parallelism and Purpose, Swansea, Classical Press of Wales, 2010. 84. See esp. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 274-275; cf. T. DUFF, Plutarch’s Lives and the Critical Reader, in G. ROSKAM – L. VAN DER STOCKT (eds.), Virtues for the People: Aspects of Plutarchan Ethics, Leuven, Leuven University Press, 2011, 59-82, pp. 75 and 77.

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and supported by the programmatic indications of the proems and the retrospective considerations of the Synkriseis. Even the mere juxtaposition of two Lives that were written apart suffices to encourage comparative reading. In that sense, all the scholarly ingenuity is perfectly in line with what Plutarch actually expects from his readers. Yet this way out is perhaps too easy. It is rash to regard the importance of parallelism in the Parallel Lives as a largely artificial construction by an intelligent critical reader. The comparative approach is the soul of the whole project and Plutarch realised its philosophical potential very well, as appears from the proem to the Mulierum virtutes: And actually it is not possible to learn better the similarity and the difference between the virtues of men and of women from any other source than by putting live beside lives and actions beside actions, like great works of art (243BC).

Plutarch is keen to stimulate comparison between the two heroes of a pair, or between a hero and his opponent, or even between a hero and minor figures, as such confrontations always help in revealing character. To that purpose, Plutarch also refashions the available information in his sources. If that is true, this indeed implies that such modifications of the source material in light of comparative purposes even occur at the last stage of the writing process. Our hypothesis is indeed that the hypomnēma is only reworked into the definitive version after the decision about the pairing has been taken and that this revision directly takes the paired biography into account. Several elements will now come to the fore, others disappear into the background, as a direct consequence of the comparative approach. The techniques of abridgement, expansion, creative reconstruction, and transposition discussed above (supra, II.3) thus reappear at this stage, now applied to the hypomnēma. Sertorius’ clever use of his deer in order to play on the superstitious feelings of his soldiers (Sert. 11.3-8 and 20.1-5) can now receive extra attention in view of Eumenes’ shrewd use of a dream about Alexander’s royal tent (Eum. 13.4-8). Coriolanus’ lack of education (Cor. 1.2-5; 15.4) gains relevance in light of Alcibiades’ excellent education as a pupil of Socrates (Alc. 4.1-4; 6.1-5). Even Plutarch’s judgement of a hero’s character can still be influenced by that of the parallel hero. Tiberius Gracchus, for instance, is presented as mild and reasonable (TG/CG 2.2; 2.5) and thus forms a perfect counterpart of Agis (Agis/Cleom. 20.5; 21.5; 22.4), whereas Appian puts much more emphasis on his violence (Civil Wars 1.15 and 1.17). All this shows that the step from phase 2 to phase 3 is quite a great one. We should think of

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it as a thorough and radical revision, both stylistically and with regard to content85. Yet we should not overstate the case. While there can be little doubt that phase 3 involved considerable revision of the provisional draft, it probably did not entail an in-depth and comprehensive reorientation and reinterpretation of the source material. Plutarch’s general view of the hero had been developed during his reading of the sources and was deepened while writing the hypomnēma. We have seen that these phases already involved much reflection and the fruits of it were not forgotten in the final stage of course. Moreover, Plutarch’s respect of historical facts86 also prevented him from simply fashioning his heroes after one another as much as possible while disregarding the many particularities of their careers87. In this final stage, he no doubt added details, laid different accents, introduced new motifs and downplayed others, but he probably did not fundamentally change his view of the hero of the Life. IV. CONCLUSION Plutarch’s method of working in composing the Parallel Lives and his use of sources remains a complicated story with many particularities that interfere with general conclusions. Greek Lives differ from Roman ones, the Lives of heroes of an early period differ from those dealing with later figures, Lives which are based on many sources differ from those for which Plutarch had less information, and so on. The above attempt to reconstruct at least a few main aspects of the composition process starts from a three phases model about which there is a large consensus among specialists of Plutarch. The initial phase, which starts with the choice of the hero, is that of heuristics and reading of the sources. In the second phase, Plutarch produced a preliminary draft or hypomnēma on the basis of his assessment of the hero’s character and relying on a (few) principal source(s). Finally, a thorough revision of the hypomnēma, both stylistically and with regard to content, resulted in the definitive version. 85. This conclusion is corroborated by a few contradictory self-references. In Tim. 13.10, for instance, he refers to the Life of Dion for a further discussion of a certain episode, but such a discussion is nowhere to be found there. Probably, the episode was still treated in the hypomnēma of the Life of Dion but was removed from the final version. See on this NIKOLAIDIS, Plutarch’s Methods (n. 19), pp. 294-295. 86. See on this esp. PELLING, Plutarch and History (n. 10), pp. 143-170. 87. Cf. HEFTNER, Plutarch und der Aufstieg des Pompeius (n. 14), p. 22: “Nirgends jedoch haben wir Grund zu der Annahme, daß sich Plutarch um der Parallelität willen einen gröberen Eingriff in das Überlieferungsmaterial gestattet hätte”.

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In all of these phases, Plutarch had to face different challenges and difficulties. His working method was influenced by material factors, such as the characteristics of the papyrus scroll or the availability of the sources. But it was also deeply conditioned by continuous reflection which fused the different phases together into one gradual process of increasing insight characterised by uninterrupted polishing and refining. In many senses, then, the Parallel Lives are the product of assiduous limae labor. In this process, all source material is deeply transformed and refashioned after a well-considered conception of the hero. Plutarch thus creates his own conceptual unity in the plurality of his sources. He makes order out of the chaos of his sources. This, we may add, is fundamentally a demiurgic activity. In the Timaeus, a dialogue which was of prime importance for Plutarch’s philosophical thinking, Plato states that the demiurge blended the different components of the world soul together into one form (Timaeus 35a7: συνεκεράσατο εἰς μίαν πάντα ἰδέαν; quoted in De an. procr. 1012C). This is precisely what Plutarch did in handling his sources: he blended all the available material into a rationally considered conception of his hero. Plutarch, then, was the demiurge of the Parallel Lives. That, no doubt, is a conclusion which he must have enjoyed very much. KU Leuven Greek Studies Blijde-Inkomststraat 21, bus 3309 BE-3000 Leuven Belgium [email protected]

Geert ROSKAM

LES EPICUREA DANS LES VIES DES PHILOSOPHES DE DIOGÈNE LAËRCE ENTRE TEXTE ET SCHOLIES RÉFLEXIONS D’UN ÉDITEUR

Daß Diogenes selbst die drei Briefe Epikurs […] sowie die Κύριαι δόξαι […] zum Abschreiben hergegeben hat, folgt schon daraus, daß die Rollen, ich möchte sagen, mit Haut und Haar, mit Scholien, Marginalien usw. copiert sind. E. Schwartz

I Diogène Laërce (IIIe s. apr. J.-Chr.) est universellement connu pour son œuvre en dix livres intitulée Vies et doctrines des philosophes illustres, la plus complète et détaillée parmi les histoires de la philosophie grecque de l’Antiquité1. Diogène y passe en revue les écoles de pensée les plus importantes, y relate les biographies des fondateurs de ces écoles et y présente des synthèses souvent amples de leurs doctrines: les Sept Sages (livre 1); les Présocratiques, Socrate et les petits Socratiques (livre 2); Platon (livre 3); les Académiciens (livre 4); Aristote et les Péripatéticiens (livre 5); Antisthène, Diogène de Sinope et les Cyniques (livre 6); Zénon de Citium et les Stoïciens (livre 7); Pythagore et les Pythagoriciens, Empédocle (livre 8); Héraclite, les Éléates, Démocrite et les Atomistes, Pyrrhon et les Sceptiques (livre 9); Épicure (livre 10). Tel qu’un barrage, les Vies retiennent une quantité impressionnante de données de la tradition bio-doxographique perdue de l’époque hellénistique, au point que, sans Diogène Laërce, notre connaissance des vies et des doctrines de plusieurs philosophes grecs serait encore plus incomplète et lacunaire. Un double caveat est néanmoins nécessaire dès maintenant. 1. Pour une brève présentation de la vie de Diogène Laërce et de son œuvre, voir T. DORANDI, Philosophiegeschichtsschreibung, Doxographie und Anthologie: § 42. Diogenes Laertios, dans C. RIEDWEG – C. HORN – D. WYRWA (éds), Grundiss der Geschichte der Philosophie. Begründet von F. UEBERWEG. Völlig neubearbeitete Ausgabe. Die Philosophie der Antike, Band 5/1-3: Philosophie der Kaiserzeit und der Spätantike, Basel, Schwabe, 2018, 461-471, 479-483.

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Premièrement, il ne faut pas lire les Vies de Diogène à la recherche de citations et témoignages perdus de ces auteurs; deuxièmement, il faut toujours avoir à l’esprit que les renseignements qu’on lit dans son œuvre ne sont pas toujours fiables et qu’il ne manque pas de cas où on aurait eu une vision faussée ou incomplète des doctrines de l’un ou l’autre penseur si l’on ne conservait pas ses écrits originaux ou d’ultérieurs renseignements par l’intermédiaire d’une tradition parallèle. II Ce n’est pourtant pas sur Diogène Laërce historien de la philosophie que j’ai l’intention de m’arrêter, mais sur un tout autre aspect qui correspond mieux aux thèmes de cette rencontre On Using Sources: le traitement que Diogène fait d’une longue et importante citation parmi les innombrables extraits qui forment la structure complexe des Vies. Cela dit, je tiens également à souligner qu’il n’est pas mon intention de reprendre la discussion, à mon avis stérile pour d’innombrables raisons, des sources de Diogène en parallèle ou au-delà de la tristement célèbre Quellenforschung qui domina les recherches laërtiennes entre la fin du XIXe et le début du XXe siècles et dont on repère des traces jusque dans certaines études récentes. N’importe comment on aborde cette question, j’en suis convaincu, on n’arrivera jamais à trancher entre l’hypothèse d’une source principale ou originale (Haupt- ou Urquelle), accompagnée et enrichie par Diogène d’autres sources complémentaires (Ergänzungen), et l’hypothèse d’un Diogène qui aurait lui-même lu l’ensemble (ou la plus grande partie) des sources des extraits récoltés au fil des années et qu’il aurait enfin réorganisés à partir d’un plan bien défini dans la solide charpente des dix livres de ses Vies2. L’exemple de citation que j’ai choisi est tiré du livre 10 des Vies dans lequel Diogène reproduit plusieurs textes d’Épicure en les recopiant d’un modèle perdu: les trois Lettres adressées respectivement à Hérodote (§§ 35–83), à Pythoclès (§§ 84–116) et à Ménécée (§§ 122–135) ainsi qu’un petit recueil de 40 Maximes capitales ou Κύριαι δόξαι (§§ 139– 154). À partir de l’étude de cette longue citation qui occupe environ trois 2. S. SCHORN, Jørgen Mejers Diogenes Laertius and His Hellenistic Background nach 30 Jahren – einigen Überlegungen, dans ID., Studien zur hellenistischen Biographie und Historiographie (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 345), Berlin – Boston, MA, De Gruyter, 2018, 339-364 présente une utile mise à jour de tous ces problèmes à partir d’une relecture raisonnée du livre de J. MEJER, Diogenes Laertius and His Hellenistic Background (Hermes Einzelschriften, 40), Stuttgart, Steiner 1978.

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quart du livre, j’essaierai de présenter quelques-unes des caractéristiques de la méthode de travail de l’ancien biographe dans le traitement des sources. Le tout en tenant notamment compte de la réalité que les Vies avaient été publiées après la mort de Diogène sans une révision finale étendue et soignée tel un torso dont il ne faut pas amender les nombreuses inconséquences et difficultés apparentes dans le respect de l’état du texte au moment de sa mise en circulation3. Les raisons qui m’ont porté à choisir ces extraits sont multiples: il s’agit de la plus longue citation littérale dans les Vies et, en plus, d’une citation que Diogène fait sans aucun doute de première main; cette citation en contient d’autres plus brèves qui étaient vraisemblablement déjà dans le même modèle; elle est enfin importante, car ces quatre ouvrages d’Épicure n’ont pas eu, dans leur ensemble, une tradition directe parallèle. En outre – et c’est l’aspect qui m’intrigue le plus – ces citations sont sous plusieurs points de vue représentatives pour insister, encore une fois, sur les différents critères ecdotiques qu’il faut suivre, d’une part, au moment de l’établissement de leur texte à l’intérieur des Vies de Diogène et, de l’autre, au moment de reconstruire, grâce surtout à cet apport et bien au-delà, les ipsissima verba Epicuri4. III Le dixième livre des Vies de Diogène a une structure singulière par rapport à celle des neuf premiers. Diogène présente tout d’abord quelques éléments de la biographie d’Épicure (§§ 1–16); il en cite le testament (§§ 16–21) et la lettre qu’il avait adressée à Idoménée le jour de sa mort (§ 22); il évoque ensuite les disciples illustres d’Épicure – Métrodore et Hermarque – ainsi que ses homonymes (§§ 22–26). Une liste des meilleures de ses œuvres suit (§§ 27–28). Le reste du livre est occupé (§§ 29–154) par trois esquisses doxographiques (la première sur les parties de la philosophie, la canonique et le critère de la vérité, §§ 29–34; la deuxième concernant la figure du sage épicurien et ses spécificités, §§ 117–121, 135; la troisième enfin portant sur la conception du plaisir 3. Voir T. DORANDI (éd.), Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers (Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries, 50), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. 46 et n. 88. 4. T. DORANDI, Diogene Laerzio, Epicuro e gli editori di Epicuro e di Diogene Laerzio, dans Eikasmós 21 (2010) 273-301; ID., Diogenes Laertius (n. 3), pp. 49-52 et W. LAPINI, L’Epistola a Erodoto e il Bios di Epicuro in Diogene Laerzio: Note testuali, esegetiche e metodologiche (Pleiadi, 20), Roma, Edizioni di Letteratura, 2015.

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des Épicuriens et, en parallèle, des Cyrénaïques, §§ 136–138) ainsi que par la citation dans leur formulation originale des quatre textes Épicuriens déjà énumérés. Au moment où Diogène prit la décision d’enrichir la biographie d’Épicure en citant dans leur intégralité ces textes, il les recopia lui-même ou, plus probablement, les fit copier par (ou les dicta à) son secrétaire tels qu’il les avait repérés dans un manuscrit conservé dans une bibliothèque d’une ville inconnue du bassin méditerranéen auquel il avait eu accès à un moment indéterminé. Cet exemplaire, dont on ne peut qu’établir une chronologie relative qui précède le IIIe siècle de notre ère, avait la forme d’un rouleau de papyrus et non d’un codex5. Si la présence de scholies érudites et bien informées (sur lesquelles je reviendrai sans tarder) laisse supposer que ce rouleau transmettait une édition savante d’Epicurea, il faut également prêter beaucoup d’attention au fait que celle-ci n’était qu’un maillon de la transmission déjà pluriséculaire de ces textes entre le IVe/IIIe s. av. J.-Chr. (date de leur composition) et Diogène Laërce, au IIIe s. après. Par conséquent, son texte était certainement dénaturé par de nombreuses erreurs plus ou moins graves, par des corruptions, des interpolations et des remaniements. Le témoignage inquiétant de l’épicurien du IIe/Ier s. av. J.-Chr. Démétrius Lacon dans son livre anépigraphe transmis par le PHerc. 1012 à propos du mauvais état dans lequel les œuvres d’Épicure circulaient déjà à son époque – donc plusieurs siècles avant Diogène Laërce – donne un exemple concret de la situation que je viens de présupposer6. 1. Une fois ce manuscrit récupéré, Diogène en reversa le contenu, sous forme de longue citation, dans la Vie d’Épicure qu’il était en train de rédiger7: Quant aux opinions contenues dans ces écrits (d’Épicure énumérés aux §§ 27–28) – écrit-il – je vais m’efforcer de les exposer en produisant trois lettres de lui, dans lesquelles toute sa philosophie est présentée sous forme 5. T. DORANDI, Laertiana: Capitoli sulla tradizione manoscritta e sulla storia del testo delle Vite dei filosofi di Diogene Laerzio (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 264), Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2009, p. 197. 6. Voir E. PUGLIA, Demetrio Lacone. Aporie testuali ed esegetiche in Epicuro (PHerc. 1012) (La scuola di Epicuro, 8), Napoli, Bibliopolis, 1988 et les remarques complémentaires de A. ROSELLI, Appunti per una storia dell’uso apologetico della filologia: La nuova edizione di Demetrio Lacone (PHerc. 1012), dans Studi Classici e Orientali 40 (1990) 117-138. 7. Diog. Laert. 10.28–29. Je cite la traduction de P.M. MOREL, Épicure. Lettres, maximes et autres textes, Paris, Flammarion, 2011, p. 57 modifiée à la fin à partir du texte grec établi par W. LAPINI, Diogenes Laertius On Epicurus (Diog. Laert. 10, 29), dans Philosophia 45 (2015) 277-283, p. 279.

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abrégée. Nous ferons également figurer les Maximes capitales et ceux de ses propos qui nous ont paru dignes d’être retenus de sorte que tu puisses comprendre cet homme sous toutes ses facettes et que tu ne le juges pas avant de le connaître (ὥστε σὲ πανταχόϑεν καταμαϑεῖν τὸν ἄνδρα καὶ μὴ πρὶν εἰδέναι κρίνειν).

La personne à laquelle Diogène s’adresse ici («tu») est la dame φιλοπλάτων («amie de Platon») déjà invoquée en 3.47 et probablement celle à laquelle les dix livres des Vies étaient dédicacés8. Eduard Schwartz décrit ainsi l’opération de citation des Epicurea de la part du biographe: Daß Diogenes selbst die drei Briefe Epikurs […] sowie die Κύριαι δόξαι […] zum Abschreiben hergegeben hat, folgt schon daraus, daß die Rollen, ich möchte sagen, mit Haut und Haar, mit Scholien, Marginalien usw. copiert sind9.

Le jugement de Schwartz peut paraître un peu trop sévère à l’égard de Diogène et de ses capacités intellectuelles. En réalité, si l’on tient compte des difficultés que nous rencontrons encore aujourd’hui à séparer scholies et texte, il ne faut pas voir dans l’opération de Diogène une preuve supplémentaire de la présumée asinité de son auteur, mais plutôt de son impuissance face à l’état textuel catastrophique du modèle de la source10. Il ne faut pas non plus exclure a priori qu’à un moment ou l’autre Diogène ne manqua pas d’intervenir ici et là sur le texte déjà abîmé de sa source, et cela aussi bien au niveau de la langue, de la grammaire ou de la syntaxe que du point du contenu doctrinaire. Dans le premier cas, il aurait tenté d’en corriger des passages corrompus; dans le deuxième, possible mais moins vraisemblable, si l’on considère la méthode de travail de Diogène, il lui serait arrivé d’intervenir aussi sur des points dont le contenu lui apparaissait étrange ou erroné du point de vue de la pensée épicurienne. Dans ce dernier cas, il faudrait évidement supposer que Diogène avait une bonne connaissance de la philosophie du Jardin, sans pour autant en faire un adepte de l’Épicurisme11. 8. Voir T. DORANDI, The School and Texts of Epicurus in the Early Centuries of the Roman Empire, dans A. LONGO – D.P. TAORMINA (éds), Plotinus and Epicurus: Matter, Perception, Pleasure, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2016, 29-48, p. 29. 9. E. SCHWARTZ, Diogenes Laertios, dans Real-Enzyklopädie V (1903) 738-763, c. 745 = Griechische Geschichtschreiber, Leipzig, Koehler & Amelang, 1957, 453-491, p. 464. 10. LAPINI, L’Epistola a Erodoto (n. 4), p. 219. 11. Comme le croit U. VON WILAMOWITZ-MOELLENDORFF, Epistula ad Maassium, dans E. MAASS, De biographis Graecis quaestiones selectae (Philologische Untersuchungen, 3), Berlin, Weidmann, 1880, 142-164, p. 162 et U. VON WILAMOWITZ-MOELLENDORFF, Antigonos von Karystos (Philologische Untersuchungen, 4), Berlin, Weidmann, 1881, p. 321.

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N’importe comment on reconstruise le travail de Diogène à partir de sa source épicurienne, il reste acquis que le manuscrit d’Epicurea qu’il avait utilisé pour en extraire ces longues citations représentait un état du texte tel qu’il s’était figé à un moment indéterminé de la tradition et, qu’en dépit des éventuelles interventions du biographe, transmettait de nombreux passages réfractaires à toute correction. Cet état du texte se reflète et s’empire dans les étapes de la transmission des Vies à travers les siècles qui vont de leur publication posthume au IIIe s. de notre ère et jusqu’à la copie des plus anciens manuscrits conservés (B P F et Φ), qui datent du XIe/XIIe siècles12. 2. Les stratégies d’édition varient selon qu’on aborde ces textes ex parte Laertii ou ex parte Epicuri. L’éditeur des Vies, s’il ne veut pas, pour ainsi dire, dissimuler les preuves, se doit de reconstruire à travers les témoignages des manuscrits les plus fiables et, si nécessaire, aussi ope ingenii l’état du texte de ces œuvres tel qu’il avait été lu et copié par Diogène (ou son secrétaire) en tenant compte aussi, le cas échéant, de ses plus ou moins probables interventions. Si l’éditeur agit différemment et s’il essaie de restaurer déjà à ce niveau les ipsissima verba Epicuri, il commet (ce qui est déjà arrivé dans un passé même récent) une très grave erreur de méthode dont les conséquences s’avèrent dramatiques pour la reconstruction et la compréhension de la personnalité historique et littéraire de Diogène13. Il s’agit, j’en suis conscient, d’une opération ecdotique difficile et hasardeuse. Il est en effet souvent assez difficile, et parfois impossible, d’établir si et jusqu’où Diogène est intervenu sur son modèle ou s’il n’est pas arrivé à soigner un passage manifestement corrompu qu’il avait devant lui. Et cela, encore une fois, non par une forme d’asinité, mais d’impuissance. Dès qu’il avait jugé bon de copier dans son livre ces textes d’Épicure dans leur intégralité, Diogène ne pouvait pas négliger ou omettre tout court l’une ou l’autre phrase dont le sens, la langue, la grammaire ou la syntaxe sinon la doctrine lui apparaissaient obscures ou même fautifs. Il est donc nécessaire de prendre ce risque ecdotique et c’est ce que j’ai fait dans mon édition des Vies en m’efforçant de restaurer l’état du texte du rouleau des Epicurea utilisé par Diogène. La tâche de restaurer les ipsissima verba Epicuri, c’est-à-dire l’état du texte tel qu’il avait été rédigé par le philosophe, revient à l’éditeur des œuvres d’Épicure. Pour atteindre son but, il prendra comme point de départ le texte transmis par les manuscrits de Diogène Laërce qui reflète, à ce 12. Voir DORANDI, Diogenes Laertius (n. 3), pp. 2-3. 13. DORANDI, Diogene Laerzio, Epicuro (n. 4) et ID., Diogenes Laertius (n. 3), pp. 49-52.

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qu’on peut supposer, celui de l’édition de ces écrits que le biographe avait récupéré dans son modèle et qu’il avait ensuite copié sous forme de citation dans le livre 10 des Vies. C’est aussi à lui de faire une distinction entre les erreurs de deuxième niveau, ou erreurs de transmission, et les erreurs de premier niveau, c’est-à-dire celles qui étaient déjà dans le modèle/source de Diogène. Le même éditeur trouvera enfin une aide précieuse pour son travail dans les témoignages de la tradition indirecte (extraits, imitations ou paraphrases, possibles ou probables, de certaines portions de ces mêmes œuvres) ainsi que dans d’autres produits parallèles de la littérature épicurienne et qui contribueront à mieux comprendre ici et là ce qui se cache derrière plusieurs erreurs du texte transmis par Diogène. Je pense évidemment au De rerum natura de Lucrèce, à l’inscription de Diogène d’Œnoanda, au recueil des Sentences Vaticanes ou à quelques passages de Cicéron, de Sénèque ou de Plutarque. IV C’est à partir de ces prémisses que je voudrais maintenant porter mon attention sur les scholies qui accompagnaient les textes d’Épicure dans le manuscrit des Epicurea source de Diogène. Ce cas singulier est significatif et fort intéressant car les trois lettres et les maximes se présentent comme une citation qui contient à son intérieur d’autres citations (les scholies) qui, à leur tour font référence à des sources complémentaires ultérieures qu’elles mentionnent. La présence de ces scholies avait été signalée pour la première fois par Nürnberger et Schneider14. À leur suite, Usener et Von der Mühll avaient repris la recherche de manière systématique et ils avaient souvent trop élargi le nombre des scholies, en particulier dans les Lettres à Pythoclès et Ménécée ainsi que dans les Maximes capitales15. Je crois que les passages dans lesquels on peut supposer avec bonne confiance des traces de scholies sont les suivants: Hdt. 39, 40, 43, 44, 66, 73, 741-3; Pyth. 90, 91, 96-97 et MC I, 13916. 14. C. NÜRNBERGER, Diogenis Laertii de vitis dogmatibus et apophthegmatibus liber decimus graece et latine, Nürnberg, A. Steiner, 1791 et J.G. SCHNEIDER, Epicuri Physica et Meteorologica, Leipzig, F.C.G. Vogel, 1813. 15. H. USENER, Epicurea, Leipzig, Teubner, 1887 et P. VON DER MÜHLL (éd.), Epicurus. Epistulae tres et Ratae sententiae, Leipzig, Teubner, 1922. Voir les critiques de E. BIGNONE, compte rendu de VON DER MÜHLL, Epicurus, dans Bollettino di Filologia Classica 30 (1923-1924) 179-183, p. 181. 16. J’utilise les sigles suivants: Hdt. = Epistula ad Herodotum; Pyth. = Epistula ad Pythoclem; MC = Maximes capitales. Les §§ correspondent à ceux du livre 10 de Diogène.

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Le fait que le plus grand nombre de scholies se concentre dans la Lettre à Hérodote ne surprend pas en considération des difficultés infinies et souvent insurmontables que ce texte présente encore aujourd’hui en dépit des soins intensifs qui depuis plusieurs générations lui ont été prodigués17. Usener avait classé ce matériel hétérogène en scholies (scholion), glossèmes (glossema) et ajouts (additamentum); je préfère utiliser le mot générique de scholies, étant bien conscient de la variété des contenus et des fonctions de ces micro-textes. Certaines scholies transmettent des références à différentes œuvres d’Épicure désormais perdues dans leur intégralité (les livres Sur la nature, le Grand abrégé, les Douze éléments) ou d’Épicuriens (les Opinions choisies de Diogène de Tarse)18; d’autres ont plutôt un caractère exégétique; dans d’autres encore on retrouve un mélange de données érudites et exégétiques. Certaines enfin semblent regrouper dans une unité fictive de type doxographique plusieurs notes apparemment séparées à l’origine. Voici, pour commencer, quelques exemples des trois premiers types de scholies19: Hdt. 39 (à propos de la distinction du tout en corps et vide): Cela il (Épicure) le dit aussi dans le Grand abrégé, au début, et dans le premier livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature.

Hdt. 40–41 (à propos de la phrase «parmi les corps, il y a les composés et ceux dont les composés sont faits»): Je cite les éditions des Vies seulement par le nom de l’éditeur (on en trouvera une liste complète et détaillée dans DORANDI, Diogenes Laertius [n. 3], pp. 11-17). Par ailleurs, j’ai consciemment renoncé à présenter une doxographie élargie de toute la bibliographie sur chaque texte examiné. 17. En dernier, par LAPINI, L’Epistola a Erodoto (n. 4). Je ne tiens pas compte des critiques à Lapini de F.G. MASI, «A Mutual Horizon of Events»: Epicurus’ Letter to Herodotus between Philology and Philosophy, dans Eirene 52 (2016) 485-500, ni de la proposition de F. VERDE, Once Again on Epicurus’ Letter to Herodotus §§ 39–40, dans Classical Quarterly 68 (2018) 736-739, malheureusement fondée sur une erreur dans l’édition de DORANDI, Diogenes Laertius (n. 3) signalée et corrigée par T. DORANDI, Problemi ecdotici in Epicuro, Ep. Hdt. 39–40, dans M. TULLI (éd.), Graziano Arrighetti e la produzione letteraria dei Greci, Pisa – Roma, Fabrizio Serra Editore, 2020, 155-166, p. 161, n. 1. 18. Le Περὶ φύσεως et la Μεγάλη ἐπιτομή aux §§ 39, 40, 91, 73, 742, 96; les Δώδεκα στοιχεῖα au § 44; Diogène de Tarse ἐν τῇ αʹ Ἐπιλέκτων au § 97. 19. La traduction, s’il n’est pas indiqué autrement, est toujours celle de M. CONCHE, Épicure. Lettres et Maximes (Épiméthée), Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, 31992, parfois avec de petits changements en tenant compte du texte grec de l’édition de DORANDI, Diogenes Laertius (n. 3).

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Cela il (Épicure) le dit aussi dans le premier livre de son ouvrage Sur la nature et dans les livres XIV et XV, et dans le Grand abrégé.

Hdt. à la suite du § 44 (sur les propriétés des atomes): Il (Épicure) dit aussi plus bas (§ 54) qu’il n’y a pas de qualité dans les atomes, en dehors de la forme, de la grandeur et du poids. Quant à la couleur, elle change selon la position des atomes, dit-il dans les Douze éléments. Toute grandeur ne se trouve pas en eux (§ 55): de fait, jamais un atome n’a été perçu par les sens20.

Pyth. 91 (à propos de la discussion que la grandeur du soleil et des autres astres est, relativement à nous, telle qu’elle paraît)21: Cela le dit (Épicure) aussi dans le onzième livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature: «Si, dit-il, les astres avaient perdu de leur grandeur à cause de la distance, cela serait encore plus vrai de leur éclat».

Pyth. 96–97 (à propos des éclipses): II (Épicure) dit ces choses dans le douzième livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature et, en outre, que le soleil s’éclipse, la lune faisant de l’ombre, et la lune par suite de l’ombre de la terre mais aussi par retrait. Cela, Diogène l’épicurien le dit aussi dans le premier livre de ses Opinions choisies.

En dernier, le cas extrêmement controversé de la scholie à MC I, 139 concernant le dieu, qualifié de «être bienheureux et incorruptible»22: Ailleurs, il (Épicure) dit que les dieux sont vus par la raison – les uns donnés comme individuellement différenciés (κατ᾽ ἀριϑμόν), les autres comme présentant entre eux une ressemblance parfaite – grâce au flux de simulacres semblables qui ont trouvés leur accomplissement dans la formation de la même image; ils ont la forme humaine.

Voici enfin un exemple d’une scholie qui regroupe plusieurs notes probablement séparées à l’origine donnant ainsi vie à une unité fictive sous forme de brève doxographie23: 20. Traduction de CONCHE légèrement modifiée. Ce n’est pas le seul exemple dans les scholies d’un renvoi interne (ἐνδοτέρω) au texte de la Lettre. Voir déjà à la fin du § 43 et au début du § 44. ἐνδοτέρω se reporte respectivement aux §§ 56–57 et au § 61. 21. Il est intéressant de remarquer ici l’unique cas de citation littérale d’un passage du onzième livre du Περὶ φύσεως. Je reviendrais plus bas (pp. 67-69) sur cette scholie et sur le problème de son extension. 22. La difficulté principale réside dans l’interprétation de la distinction qui y est proposée des dieux en κατ᾽ ἀριϑμόν et κατὰ ὁμοείδειαν. Voir la mise au point de E. PIERGIACOMI, Storia delle antiche teologie atomistiche (Collana studi e ricerche, 64), Roma, Sapienza Università Editrice, 2017, pp. 122-128. 23. Un autre exemple dans la scholie à Hdt. 74 que je discute plus bas (pp. 69-71).

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Hdt. 66 (à propos de l’âme)24: 1a. Ailleurs il (Épicure) dit qu’elle (l’âme) est composée des atomes les plus lisses et les plus ronds, l’emportant de beaucoup sur ceux du feu. 1b. Et qu’elle a une partie irrationnelle qui est disséminée dans le reste du corps; mais la partie rationnelle au contraire est logée dans la poitrine, comme on le voit clairement par les craintes et la joie. 2. Le sommeil se produit quand les parties de l’âme disséminées dans le composé tout entier se ramassent en un point, ou perdent leur cohésion ou sont expulsées par les chocs. 3. Le sperme provient des corps tout entiers.

V L’étude de l’ensemble des scholies pose plusieurs questions d’ordre historique et ecdotique: Qui est l’auteur des scholies, ou, du moins d’une partie d’entre elles? D’où proviennent-elles? Étaient-elles déjà dans le manuscrit utilisé par Diogène comme source des citations des Epicurea dans le livre 10 des Vies? Ou encore: Étaient-elles déjà dans la rédaction originale de l’œuvre de Diogène? Avaient-elles été rajoutées en aval de celle-ci, c’est-à-dire dans l’archétype des manuscrits byzantins, ou dans un des exemplaires qu’on peut présupposer entre l’original de Diogène et l’archétype? Quels critères doit-on suivre au moment de l’édition des scholies? Je chercherai, par la suite, de donner une réponse, sinon définitive au moins plausible, à ces questions. 1. Du point de vue historique, le contenu typiquement érudit de plusieurs scholies caractérisées par des références à des œuvres perdues d’Épicure et de Diogène de Tarse et accompagnées parfois de citations mot pour mot tirées de ces textes25, porte à exclure l’hypothèse que leur rédaction remonte à Diogène Laërce lui-même et encore moins à un érudit de l’Antiquité tardive ou de l’époque byzantine. Une origine ancienne, antérieure à Diogène, apparaît comme la plus vraisemblable26. Le problème ecdotique est beaucoup plus complexe. Si l’on admet, ce qui me semble plausible, que les scholies se trouvaient dans le rouleau d’Epicurea utilisé par Diogène, on peut supposer qu’elles étaient placées – sans qu’une possibilité n’exclue l’autre – dans les marges supérieures 24. J’ai moi-même séparé ici et numéroté virtuellement les unités dont la scholie est, dans ma lecture, composée. 25. Voir la scholie à Pyth. 91. 26. Voir LAPINI, L’Epistola a Erodoto (n. 4), p. 218.

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ou inférieures du papyrus ou entre les colonnes du texte d’Épicure à côté des passages auxquels elles se rapportaient27. On ne peut cependant pas écarter non plus l’hypothèse que déjà à ce niveau de la transmission elles étaient glissées subrepticement entre les ipsa verba Epicuri comme c’est le cas dans les manuscrits médiévaux de Diogène. Dans la première éventualité, on se trouverait encore une fois à un carrefour: il se pourrait que Diogène (ou son secrétaire), en transcrivant le rouleau des Epicurea, ait gardé les scholies là où elles se trouvaient, mais il se pourrait également que lui-même ou celui qui publia les Vies après sa mort les ait déplacées directement dans le corps des textes d’Épicure. La seule certitude est que déjà dans les plus anciens manuscrits byzantins des Vies, les scholies occupent cette position et que telle était donc apparemment la mise en page de l’archétype de l’antiquité tardive, qui remonte au VIe s. de notre ère, c’est-à-dire environ trois siècles après la publication des Vies28. Mais il y a plus. Il me semble incontestable que, au moins dans l’archétype des Vies de Diogène, certaines scholies se trouvaient déjà dans une mauvaise position à l’intérieur de la phrase, sans pour autant pouvoir déterminer qui est à l’origine de ces défauts et à quel moment ils s’étaient produits. En voici deux exemples qui me semblent éloquents. Je transcris le texte grec (suivi d’une traduction) de manière que la position déplacée que la scholie occupe actuellement soit tout de suite évidente. La scholie est insérée ici, pour la rendre plus visible, entre parenthèses et imprimée en italiques: Hdt. 39 ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ (τοῦτο καὶ ἐν τῇ Μεγάλῃ ἐπιτομῇ φησι κατ᾿ ἀρχὴν καὶ ἐν τῇ αʹ Περὶ φύσεως) τὸ πᾶν ἐστι (add. Von der Mühll duce Gassendi: Usener)29 27. On trouve une scholie placée entre deux colonnes de texte (XXXVIII-XXXIX LEONE) dans le PHerc. 1148 (IIe s. av. J.-Chr.), qui transmet une copie du quatorzième livre du Περὶ φύσεως d’Épicure. Voir G. LEONE, Epicuro, Della natura, libro XIV, dans Cronache Ercolanesi 14 (1984) 17-107, p. 62. Une reproduction photographique dans G. CAVALLO, Libri scritture scribi a Ercolano (I Supplemento a Cronache Ercolanesi), Napoli, Macchiaroli, 1983, planche XII. On peut avoir une idée de la mise en colonne texte/scholies grâce au Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 2258 daté au VI ou VII siècles (?) apr. J.-Chr. (Callimaque, Hymnes, Aitia et miscellanea) reproduit par E.G. TURNER, Greek Manuscripts of the Ancient World. Second Edition Revised and Enlarged by P. PARSONS (Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies Supplement, 46), London, Institute of Classical Studies, 1987, planche 47 et commenté, p. 67. Sur le sujet, voir la recherche indispensable de K. MCNAMEE, Annotations in Greek and Latin Texts from Egypt (American Studies in Papyrology, 45), New Haven, CT, American Society of Papyrologists, 2007. 28. DORANDI, Diogenes Laertius (n. 3), pp. 42-43. 29. DORANDI, Problemi ecdotici in Epicuro (n. 17).

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De plus (cela il [Épicure] le dit aussi dans le Grand abrégé, au début, et dans le premier livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature): le tout est Hdt. 40 καὶ μὴν καὶ τῶν (τοῦτο καὶ ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ Περὶ φύσεως καὶ τῇ ιδʹ καὶ ιεʹ καὶ τῇ Μεγάλῃ ἐπιτομῇ) σωμάτων τὰ μέν ἐστι συγκρίσεις, τὰ δ᾿ ἐξ ὧν αἱ συγκρίσεις πεποίηνται Et de plus (et cela il [Épicure] le dit aussi dans le premier livre de son ouvrage Sur la nature et dans les livres XIV et XV, et dans le Grand abrégé): parmi les corps il y a les composés, et ceux dont les composés sont faits.

La structure grammaticale et syntaxique prouve dans les deux cas, sans l’ombre du doute, que leur position est invraisemblable. 2. Il y a d’autres exemples dans lesquels il est parfois incertain si l’on a à faire à une vraie scholie ou à une phrase du même Épicure, peut-être corrompue. L’analyse de deux autres cas, tirés cette fois-ci de la Lettre à Pythoclès, donne une idée assez claire du problème. Commençons avec: Pyth. 90 ἥλιός τε καὶ σελήνη καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ ἄστρα καϑ᾿ ἑαυτὰ γενόμενα ὕστερον ἐμπεριελαμβάνετο ὑπὸ τοῦ κόσμου καὶ ὅσα γε δὴ σῴζει, ἀλλ᾿ εὐϑὺς διεπλάττετο καὶ αὔξησιν ἐλάμβανεν, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ γῆ καὶ ϑάλαττα, κατὰ προσκρίσεις καὶ δινήσεις λεπτομερῶν τινων φύσεων, ἤτοι πνευματικῶν ἢ πυροειδῶν ἢ τὸ συναμφότερον· καὶ γὰρ ταῦτα οὕτως ἡ αἴσϑησις ὑποβάλλει. Le soleil et la lune, ainsi que les autres astres, ne se sont pas trouvés formés séparément pour être ensuite englobés dans le monde avec tout ce qu’il conserve en lui, mais ils ont été formés en même temps et ont reçu leur croissance, de même que la terre et la mer, à la faveur d’apports et de tourbillons de certaines substances aux parties menues, de la nature du souffle, ou du feu, ou des deux à la fois: car c’est là ce que suggère la sensation.

Ce que je viens de transcrire (accompagné d’une traduction) est le texte qu’on lit dans les éditions les plus récentes de la Lettre à Pythoclès30 et qui correspond, à part le ajouté par Aldobrandini (1594) et omis, comme d’habitude, seulement par Bollack – Laks, à la paradosis des manuscrits médiévaux de Diogène Laërce. Parmi les éditeurs anciens, Usener avait décelé dans ce passage deux gloses maladroitement infiltrées dans le texte: καὶ ὅσα γε δὴ σῴζει 30. E. BOER (éd.), Epikur, Brief an Pythokles (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für hellenistisch-römische Philosophie, 3), Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1954; G. ARRIGHETTI, Epicuro. Opere (Biblioteca di cultura filosofica, 41), Torino, Einaudi, 19732 et J. BOLLACK – A. LAKS (éds), Épicure à Pythoclès: sur la cosmologie et les phénomènes météorologiques (Cahiers de philologie, 3), Lille, Publications de l’Université de Lille III, 1978.

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«avec tout ce qu’il conserve en lui» et ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ γῆ καὶ ϑάλαττα «de même que la terre et la mer», cette dernière née en tant qu’explication de la phrase initiale ἥλιός τε καὶ σελήνη καὶ τὰ λοιπὰ ἄστρα. Le premier cas est le plus intrigant et avait alerté déjà Gassendi qui avait proposé de transposer καὶ ὅσα γε δὴ σῴζει après ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ γῆ καὶ ϑάλαττα. Rien est cependant à toucher à la suite de Von der Mühll, qui garde καὶ ὅσα γε δὴ σῴζει à sa place, et Bignone31, qui traduit «Il sole e la luna ed i rimanenti astri si formarono separatamente e poi furono compresi nel suo ambito dal mondo e da quelle parti di esso che servono a sua difesa» et qui renvoie pour le sens de la phrase καὶ ὅσα γε δὴ σῴζει («e da quelle parti di esso che servono a sua difesa») à moenia mundi | expugnata de Lucrèce 2.1145-114632. Quant à ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ γῆ καὶ ϑάλαττα, au contraire, je suis convaincu qu’on peut raisonnablement douter qu’il ait été écrit par Épicure. L’autre exemple porte sur un paragraphe dans lequel on a décelé la présence de deux scholies; la deuxième très brève, mais néanmoins complexe et importante du point de vue de la doctrine épicurienne: Pyth. 91 τὸ δὲ μέγεϑος ἡλίου τε καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν ἄστρων κατὰ μὲν τὸ πρὸς ἡμᾶς τηλικοῦτόν ἐστιν ἡλίκον φαίνεται· τοῦτο καὶ ἐν τῇ ιαʹ Περὶ φύσεως· εἰ γάρ, φησί, τὸ μέγεϑος διὰ τὸ διάστημα ἀποβεβλήκει, πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἂν τὴν χρόαν. ἄλλο γὰρ τούτῳ συμμετρότερον διάστημα οὐϑέν ἐστι. κατὰ δὲ τὸ καϑ᾿ αὑτὸ ἤτοι μεῖζον τοῦ ὁρωμένου ἢ μικρῷ ἔλαττον ἢ τηλικοῦτον οὐχ ἅμα. οὕτω γὰρ καὶ τὰ παρ᾿ ἡμῖν πυρὰ ἐξ ἀποστήματος ϑεωρούμενα κατὰ τὴν αἴσϑησιν ϑεωρεῖται.

Je reproduis, encore une fois, le texte transmis par les manuscrits33. Dans la première partie du chapitre, la phrase qui commence par τοῦτο καὶ ἐν τῇ ιαʹ Περὶ φύσεως· εἰ γάρ, φησί, τὸ μέγεϑος διὰ τὸ διάστημα ἀποβεβλήκει κτλ. est sans aucun doute une scholie qu’il faut séparer des ipsissima verba Epicuri. La difficulté principale consiste dans la délimitation de l’étendue de la scholie. Dans mon édition, à la suite de Cobet et de Von der Mühll, je me suis arrêté à τὴν χρόαν et j’ai donc exclu de la scholie les mots ἄλλο γὰρ τούτῳ συμμετρότερον διάστημα οὐϑέν 31. E. BIGNONE, Epicuro. Opere, frammenti, testimonianze sulla sua vita (Filosofi antichi e medievali), Bari, Laterza, 1920, p. 122, n. 2. 32. Parmi les éditeurs des Vies le choix d’USENER, Epicurea (n. 15) est partagé par Marcovich. 33. Dans une édition des Vies on peut se passer de ajouté par USENER, Epicurea (n. 15) après ἡλίου τε. Cette proposition est acceptée, parmi les éditeurs d’Épicure, par VON DER MÜHLL, Epicurus (n. 15), C. BAILEY, Epicurus. The Extant Remains, Oxford, Clarendon, 1926 et BOER (éd.), Epikur, Brief an Pythokles (n. 30), mais non par ARRIGHETTI, Epicuro. Opere (n. 30) ni par BOLLACK – LAKS (éds), Épicure à Pythoclès (n. 30).

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ἐστι en les reportant au texte de la lettre34. Si je suis encore convaincu que ce choix peut convenir à l’éditeur des Vies de Diogène35, dans une édition de Pyth. j’opérerais différemment en reportant à la scholie la phrase ἄλλο γὰρ τούτῳ συμμετρότερον διάστημα οὐϑέν ἐστι comme l’avait, le premier, proposé Gassendi, suivi par la plupart des éditeurs d’Épicure depuis Usener et aussi de Diogène. Je renoncerai cependant à la proposition d’Usener de corriger ἄλλο (PF: ἄλλω B) en ἀλλ᾽ οὐ36. Plus complexe est le point suivant concernant οὐχ ἅμα. Kochalsky suggéra que les deux mots οὐχ ἅμα étaient une glose et les supprima, tandis que Lachmann et Usener avaient auparavant proposé de les corriger en τυχόν (Lachmann) et τυγχάνει (Usener)37. Récemment Verde38, à la suite de Barigazzi39, mais avec des arguments philosophiques plus convaincants, a défendu l’authenticité de l’expression οὐχ ἅμα, dans laquelle il décèle: una spia del fatto che, sulla base della sensazione, non è possibile stabilire con certezza se il sole sia uguale, più grande o di poco più piccolo di come si vede. Si può solamente asserire che il sole, fermo restando che πρὸς ἡμᾶς è grande tanto quanto appare (τηλικοῦτόν ἐστιν […] φαίνεται), καϑ’ αὑτό sarà maggiore o un po’ più piccolo o identico rispetto a come si mostra. Queste tre grandezze, tuttavia, non possono essere considerate corrette nel medesimo tempo (οὐχ ἅμα) come, invece, accade nel caso delle molteplici spiegazioni che possono essere vere nello stesso tempo, dato che la causa della generazione dei fenomeni celesti è altrettanto molteplice.

Si l’on accepte cette interprétation, il faut ainsi restaurer le passage dans son ensemble: τὸ δὲ μέγεϑος ἡλίου τε καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν ἄστρων κατὰ μὲν τὸ πρὸς ἡμᾶς τηλικοῦτόν ἐστιν ἡλίκον φαίνεται· (τοῦτο καὶ ἐν τῇ ιαʹ Περὶ φύσεως· ‘εἰ 34. Voir déjà SCHNEIDER, Epicuri Physica et Meteorologica (n. 14), pp. 30-31 et K. LACHMANN, In T. Lucretii Cari De rerum natura libros commentarius, Berlin, G. Reimer, 1850, p. 301 (ad V 589). De même BOLLACK – LAKS (éds), Épicure à Pythoclès (n. 30), pp. 83, 149-152. 35. Voir D. SEDLEY, Epicurus and the Mathematicians of Cyzicus, dans Cronache Ercolanesi 6 (1976) 23-54, pp. 48-53. 36. P. GASSENDI, Animadversiones in decimum librum Diogenis Laertii, qui est de vita, moribus placitisque Epicuri, Lyon, Barbier, 1649, p. 63; USENER, Epicurea (n. 15), p. 39. Voir déjà BIGNONE, Epicuro (n. 31), p. 123, n. 1. 37. A. KOCHALSKY, Das Leben und die Lehre Epikurs: Diogenes Laertius Buch X, Leipzig – Berlin, Teubner, 1914, p. 72; LACHMANN, In T. Lucretii Cari De rerum natura libros commentarius (n. 34) et USENER, Epicurea (n. 15). 38. F. VERDE, Epicuro e la grandezza del sole: sul testo di Pyth. 91, dans Méthexis 28 (2016) 104-110, d’où la citation qui suit (p. 108). 39. A. BARIGAZZI, Note critiche alla lettera a Pitocle, dans Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica n.s. 23 (1949) 179-213, pp. 184-185.

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γάρ’, φησί ‘τὸ μέγεϑος διὰ τὸ διάστημα ἀποβεβλήκει, πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἂν τὴν χρόαν’.) ἄλλο γὰρ τούτῳ συμμετρότερον διάστημα οὐϑέν ἐστι. κατὰ δὲ τὸ καϑ᾿ αὑτὸ ἤτοι μεῖζον τοῦ ὁρωμένου ἢ μικρῷ ἔλαττον ἢ τηλικοῦτον, οὐχ ἅμα. οὕτω γὰρ καὶ τὰ παρ᾿ ἡμῖν πυρὰ ἐξ ἀποστήματος ϑεωρούμενα κατὰ τὴν αἴσϑησιν ϑεωρεῖται. La grandeur du soleil et des autres astres est relativement à nous, telle qu’elle paraît (cela le dit [Épicure] aussi dans le onzième livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature: «si, dit-il, les astres avaient perdu de leur grandeur à cause de la distance, cela serait encore plus vrai de leur éclat»): car aucune autre distance n’est plus propre à cela. En elle-même, elle est ou plus grande que ce que l’on voit ou un peu plus petite ou égale, non en même temps. Car c’est ainsi aussi que nos feux terrestres aperçus à distance sont vus d’après la sensation.

On ne peut pourtant exclure – et Verde en est bien conscient – que οὐχ ἅμα soit une glose rédigée à n’importe quel moment par un savant intelligent et très bon connaisseur de la doctrine d’Épicure afin de rendre par ce moyen plus explicite sa pensée40. C’est l’option que je continue à préférer surtout pour des raisons de grammaire et de style41. 3. Il reste enfin à considérer une dernière scholie qui rentre dans cette même catégorie, mais qui présente en plus des sérieux problèmes concernant l’établissement du texte. Le § 74 de Hdt. est infiltré de trois scholies, dont la première se rapporte au § 73 où Épicure discute des mondes et de «tout composé limité du même genre que les choses que nous voyons tous les jours», tous nés de l’infini et de leurs caractéristiques42: δῆλον οὖν ὡς καὶ φϑαρτούς φησι τοὺς κόσμους, μεταβαλλόντων τῶν μερῶν. καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις τὴν γῆν τῷ ἀέρι ἐποχεῖσϑαι 1. Il est clair, donc, que les mondes, dit-il (Épicure), sont périssables, leurs parties étant sujettes à déplacement. 2. Et ailleurs, il (Épicure) dit que la terre est soutenue par l’air.

Dans la suite du § 74, Épicure entame une discussion sur la forme (σχηματισμός) des mondes interrompue par une lacune à l’intérieur de laquelle se trouve actuellement une deuxième scholie dont l’extension et le texte me laissent sérieusement perplexe. 40. Cette possibilité n’a pas échappé à BARIGAZZI, Note critiche alla lettera a Pitocle (n. 39), p. 185, n. 1. Il avait cherché de justifier son point de vue avec des arguments qui ne m’ont pas vraiment convaincu: «οὐχ ἅμα dev’essere isolato con una virgola prima e si deve badare alla connessione logica più che a quella grammaticale». 41. VERDE, Epicuro e la grandezza del sole (n. 38), p. 109. 42. On a à faire, encore une fois, à une glose composée de deux unités séparées à l’origine.

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Dans mon édition des Vies, j’ai publié le texte suivant à partir du présupposé que le manuscrit d’Epicurea utilisé par Diogène était déjà fortement corrompu (d’où le choix des cruces desperationis) et que le biographe l’avait copié tel quel dans l’impossibilité d’y trouver un remède: ἔτι δὲ τοὺς κόσμους οὔτε ἐξ ἀνάγκης δεῖ νομίζειν ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἔχοντας (†ἀλλὰ καὶ διαφόρους αὐτοὺς ἐν τῇ ιβʹ περὶ αὐτοῦ φησιν· οὓς μὲν γὰρ σφαιροειδεῖς, καὶ ᾠοειδεῖς ἄλλους, καὶ ἀλλοιοσχήμονας ἑτέρους· οὐ μέντοι πᾶν σχῆμα ἔχειν. οὐδὲ ζῷα εἶναι ἀποκριϑέντα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀπείρου†) οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἀποδείξειεν οὐδεὶς κτλ.

Les éditeurs d’Épicure ont fait des choix différents. Von der Mühll proposait: ἔτι δὲ τοὺς κόσμους οὔτε ἐξ ἀνάγκης δεῖ νομίζειν ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἔχοντας, ἀλλὰ ** (καὶ διαφόρους αὐτοὺς ἐν τῇ ιβʹ Περὶ φύσεως [C.Fr. Hermann: περὶ αὐτοῦ BP1: περὶ τούτου FP4] φησιν· οὓς μὲν γὰρ σφαιροειδεῖς, καὶ ᾠοειδεῖς ἄλλους, καὶ ἀλλοιοσχήμονας ἑτέρους· οὐ μέντοι πᾶν σχῆμα ἔχειν. οὐδὲ ζῷα εἶναι ἀποκριϑέντα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀπείρου) ** οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἀποδείξειεν οὐδεὶς κτλ. En outre il ne faut pas croire que les mondes aient nécessairement une seule forme; mais ** (il [Épicure] les dit différents dans le douzième livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature; les uns sont sphériques, les autres de forme ovale et d’autres ont d’autres formes – non pas cependant toute forme. Il ne faut pas non plus croire qu’il y a des vivants qui se sont détachés de l’infini) ** Car on ne saurait démontrer etc.

Arrighetti43 réduit considérablement la scholie tout en renonçant aux deux lacunes envisagées par Von der Mühll: ἔτι δὲ τοὺς κόσμους οὔτε ἐξ ἀνάγκης δεῖ νομίζειν ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἔχοντας, ἀλλὰ (καὶ διαφόρους αὐτοὺς ἐν τῇ ιβʹ Περὶ φύσεως φησιν) οὓς μὲν γὰρ σφαιροειδεῖς, καὶ ᾠοειδεῖς ἄλλους, καὶ ἀλλοιοσχήμονας ἑτέρους· οὐ μέντοι πᾶν σχῆμα ἔχειν· οὐδὲ ζῷα εἶναι ἀποκριϑέντα ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀπείρου. οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἀποδείξειεν οὐδεὶς κτλ. En outre il ne faut pas croire que les mondes aient nécessairement une seule forme; mais (il [Épicure] les dit différents dans le douzième livre de l’ouvrage Sur la nature) les uns sont sphériques, les autres de forme ovale et d’autres ont d’autres formes – non pas cependant toute forme. Il ne faut pas non plus croire qu’il y a des vivants qui se sont détachés de l’infini. Car on ne saurait démontrer etc.

Une nouvelle tentative fort intéressante de restaurer les ipsissima verba Epicuri ainsi que la scholie, a enfin été proposée par Lapini44:

43. ARRIGHETTI, Epicuro. Opere (n. 30), pp. 66-67, 518. 44. LAPINI, L’Epistola a Erodoto (n. 4), pp. 100-108.

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ἔτι δὲ τοὺς κόσμους οὔτε ἐξ ἀνάγκης δεῖ νομίζειν ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἔχοντας , ἀλλὰ καὶ διαφόρους αὐτοὺς (ἐν τῇ ιβʹ περὶ τούτου φησίν· ‘οὓς μὲν γὰρ σφαιροειδεῖς, καὶ ᾠοειδεῖς ἄλλους, καὶ ἀλλοιοσχήμονας ἑτέρους· οὐ μέντοι πᾶν σχῆμα ἔχει’)· οὐδὲ ζῷα εἶναι κτλ. En outre il ne faut pas croire que les mondes aient nécessairement une seule forme , mais ils sont aussi différents (dans le douzième livre il [Épicure] dit: «Les uns sont en effet sphériques, les autres de forme ovale et d’autres ont d’autres formes – non pas cependant toute forme»). Il ne faut pas non plus croire qu’il y a des vivants etc.

Il y a, on s’en rend bien compte, matière à réflexions ultérieures quant à l’établissement non seulement du texte d’Épicure, mais aussi de la scholie. Ce qui prouve, s’il y en avait encore besoin, que les innombrables difficultés de la Lettre à Hérodote sont réelles et assez loin d’être toutes résolues. VI Il ne reste, pour conclure, qu’à dire quelques mots sur les critères qu’il faut suivre lors de la publication des scholies, qui changent selon qu’ils soient présentés en vue d’une édition des Vies de Diogène ou d’une des textes d’Épicure. L’éditeur des Vies doit laisser les scholies là où elles sont transmises par les manuscrits médiévaux, à savoir à l’intérieur des Lettres ou des Maximes d’Épicure en respectant ainsi ce que l’on suppose était l’état textuel au moins de l’archétype de la tradition de Diogène sinon celui du rouleau d’Epicurea utilisé par l’ancien biographe. Il sera néanmoins son devoir de distinguer les scholies des ipsissima verba Epicuri grâce à des astuces typographiques. Dans mon édition, en m’inspirant notamment de Cobet, j’ai placé les scholies entre parenthèses et je les ai imprimées en italique tout en gardant la même police et la même taille que pour le texte d’Épicure45. Par ce trucage, le lecteur n’a aucune difficulté à repérer immédiatement les scholies ajoutées. En éditant Épicure, il faut séparer formellement d’une manière nette les scholies du texte auquel elles se réfèrent. Les choix des éditeurs varient dans la forme, mais non dans la substance. Nürnberger avait carrément supprimé toutes les scholies qu’il avait repérées; Schneider les avait 45. COBET imprime le texte grec entre parenthèses et en caractère romain tandis qu’il change de style dans la traduction latine en face où les scholies sont toujours placées entre parenthèses mais en caractère romain par rapport au texte d’Épicure cette fois-ci en italique.

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gardées là où elles étaient, mais il avait signalé qu’elles étaient étrangères au texte d’Épicure en les plaçant entre crochets droits. Von der Mühll fait aussi un choix semblable et il place les scholies entre parenthèses imprimées dans un corps plus petit par rapport à celui du texte principal. De même agit Arrighetti, mais il maintient une unique taille de police partout. Usener avait déplacé les scholies directement en bas de page et en avait indiqué la position dans le texte d’Épicure en reprenant le ou les mots au(x)-quel(s) elles se réfèrent. La même méthode est suivie par Bailey. Bollack et son école, enfin, ont imprimé les scholies en corps plus petit à l’intérieur des textes d’Épicure, mais en les mettant en évidence par le biais d’un alinéa rentrant. L’application de méthodes semblables, lorsqu’elles sont également utilisées par les éditeurs des Vies (de Hübner à Marcovich, à l’exception de Cobet et Long), est au contraire assez regrettable et à éviter car il est insensé, voire absurde, d’expurger les scholies du texte des Epicurea que Diogène Laërce avait lu et copié directement dans son exemplaire du dixième livre. Nous ne sommes pas là pour réécrire les Vies de Diogène, mais pour respecter l’état du texte tel qu’il l’avait laissé et tel qu’il avait été édité après sa mort, respectueux de sa volonté et de ses stratégies dans la citation de ses sources, parfois peut-être, «mit Haut und Haar». Centre Jean Pépin UMR 8230 CNRS/ENS/PSL 7, rue G. Môquet FR-94801 Villejuif cedex France [email protected]

Tiziano DORANDI

PORPHYRY AND HIS SOURCES IN ON ABSTINENCE LIMITS AND POSSIBILITIES OF RECONSTRUCTING THEOPHRASTUS’ ON PIETY

I. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS: HOW TO IDENTIFY THEOPHRASTEAN MATERIAL IN ON ABSTINENCE? In his On Abstinence from Animal Food (Περὶ τῆς ἀποχῆς τῶν ἐμψύχων), written sometime after 263 AD, the Neoplatonic philosopher Porphyry tries to convince his fellow philosopher and friend Castricius to return to the vegetarian diet Castricius had abandoned some time ago1. Although this work is not only meant to be read by his friend, it is not Porphyry’s intention to convince everybody to become a vegetarian and he explicitly states that he addresses himself only to (Neoplatonist) philosophers. He does not care about the common people and even claims that those who do physically demanding work have to eat meat. Nor does he intend to revolutionize everyday cult practice with its frequent use of animal sacrifice and the collective consumption of meat. The common people should in fact continue making those sacrifices demanded by the state as well as those they regard as their personal duty, animal sacrifices included. Only the true philosophers are above animal and any other kind of material sacrifice because they honor the highest god by their pure thoughts. Within this discussion he refers to a wide range of views from philosophical and other literature for arguments in favor of and against the consumption of meat. Many of these works are lost to us today. It is in book 2 §§ 5–32 that Porphyry makes ample use of Theophrastus’ lost work On Piety for his discussion of piety and its relation to animal sacrifice and the consumption of meat2. Before starting the discussion, he 1. I would like to thank William W. Fortenbaugh (Rutgers University) for commenting on this paper and checking my English prose. 2. He does not mention the title of the work he is quoting, but we learn from Phot. Lex. κ 1234 THEODORIDIS, s.v. κύρβεις and the Lexicon Patmense p. 150,16-20 SAKKELION where a passage of our excerpt is referred to (§ 21.1) that it is from On Piety. In Schol. Aristoph. Av. 1354a = F 580,3 FHS&G, referring to the same passage, the name is corrupted to Theopompus. Cf. the apparatus to F 584A,177 FHS&G. The work originally consisted of one book (Diog. Laert. 5.16 = F 1,277 FHS&G). Here and in the following FHS&G refers to W.W. FORTENBAUGH – P.M. HUBY – R.W. SHARPLES – D. GUTAS (eds.), Theophrastus of Eresus: Sources for His Life, Writings, Thought and Influence (Philosophia Antiqua, 54), 2 vols., Leiden – New York – Köln, Brill, 1992.

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delineates its structure: “Now I shall elucidate the question of sacrifices, expounding their origins, what the first sacrifices were and what they were like, how and when they changed, whether the philosopher should offer everything in sacrifice and to whom animal sacrifices are made” (§ 4.4; trans. Clark)3. It is for the first items in this list, namely the origins, forms, and changes of sacrifice, that Porphyry uses Theophrastus. There is now a general consensus among specialists about the scope of the Theophrastean material within this passage4. The four text blocks identified by Jacob Bernays (1866)5 are accepted as stemming from Theophrastus by Jean Bouffartigue (1979)6 with some small additions and exclusions. Also, William Fortenbaugh accepts Bernays’ delineations with one exception in his collection of Theophrastus’ ethical fragments (1984)7 and in FHS&G (F 584A)8. Eugen Forster, in an almost forgotten dissertation on Theophrastus’ On Piety of 1952, however, excluded one longer passage from this section accepted by all other editors and includes another instead9. Only Walter Pötscher, in his edition of On Piety, claimed much more material for Theophrastus from §§ 5–32 adding supplementary texts from elsewhere in On Abstinence where Theophrastus’ name does not appear. His method and conclusions have met with little approval10. Despite such a general consensus there are various sections in which the decision how to delineate the Theophrastean material remains difficult, 3. G. CLARK, Porphyry: On Abstinence from Killing Animals, London, Duckworth, 2000. 4. A more extensive review of scholarship on the scope of these fragments of Theophrastus in W.W. FORTENBAUGH, Quellen zur Ethik Theophrasts (Studien zur antiken Philosophie, 12), Amsterdam, Grüner, 1984, pp. 263-267. 5. J. BERNAYS, Theophrastos’ Schrift über Frömmigkeit: Ein Beitrag zur Religionsgeschichte, Berlin, Hertz, 1866. 6. J. BOUFFARTIGUE – M. PATILLON, Porphyre. De l’abstinence. Tome II. Livres II et III. Texte établi et traduit par J.B. et M.P., Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1979 (book 2 is by J. Bouffartigue). 7. FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 54-65 (= L 91). 8. See n. 2. 9. E. FORSTER, Die antiken Ansichten über das Opferwesen, Diss. Innsbruck 1952 (unpublished). 10. W. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos Peri Eusebeias. Griechischer Text herausgegeben, übersetzt und eingeleitet (Philosophia Antiqua, 11), Leiden, Brill, 1964. See the reviews by F. WEHRLI, in Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft 18 (1965) 222-223 and H.B. GOTTSCHALK, in Journal of Hellenic Studies (JHS) 88 (1968) 168-169 and Gnomon 46 (1969) 338-344 as well as the later editors that do not follow him. Besides the four passages of this main section, Bernays assigns to On Piety a fifth section from book 3 (§ 25.1-3) in which Theophrastus is quoted without the work title. Fortenbaugh did not assign this text to On Piety first and opted for Περὶ ζῴων φρονήσεως καὶ ἤϑους but is now in favor of such a provenance. See FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), p. 264 and Theophrastus of Eresus. Commentary. Vol. 6.1: Sources on Ethics (Philosophia Antiqua, 123), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2011, pp. 553-570 (on F 531 FHS&G). Also PÖTSCHER, ibid., pp. 60; 121 prefers Περὶ ζῴων φρονήσεως καὶ ἤϑους.

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and it is often unclear where, within the four text blocks from Theophrastus, Porphyry has added shorter or longer elements. So far Pötscher’s reconstruction has been the only attempt to recreate the original structure of Theophrastus’ work. However, it presupposes his much-criticized identification of the fragments11. My aim in this paper is the following: I shall try to show which texts can be assigned to Theophrastus and why, and what that means for reconstructing his work. For reasons of space, I shall limit myself to the parts of the work on the history of sacrifice, leaving aside the more theoretical philosophical discussions. At the same time, I shall try to show what Porphyry wants us to believe Theophrastus wrote and how he uses his source for his own purposes. This is meant to provide a more general assessment of Porphyry’s value as a source author which seems to me all the more important because he is our main or only source for so many lost works. I would like to start my attempt by looking briefly at the basis of the reconstruction of Theophrastus’ work and the problems it poses12. Porphyry marks the beginning and the end of the section in which he uses Theophrastus. In the text that immediately follows the one quoted above he writes (§ 4.4) “I shall write about the topic as a whole, using material I have myself researched and material I have taken from the ancients, aiming, so far as possible, at proportion and appropriateness to my subject. This is how it is” (trans. FHS&G)13. He then starts the discussion with an explicit reference to Theophrastus (§ 5.1). The last part of the introductory sentence is important because it provides some evidence for Porphyry’s procedure14. The material from Theophrastus integrated into his text must not be out of proportion; therefore, he will have selected some parts and summarized others, his choice being led by his intention to defend abstinence from animal food. Other aspects not related to or contradicting his argument he is likely to have left aside if they were present in the original. In § 32.3, at the end of the section based on On Piety, we find another programmatic statement: “These are the main points of Theophrastus on why one must not sacrifice animals, apart from interspersed myths and a few things that have been added or shortened by us”. Here we observe one 11. Other contributions to the discussion can be found, e.g., in O. REGENBOGEN, art. Theophrastos (3), in Realencyclopädie Suppl. 3 (1940) 1354-1562, coll. 1511-1516; GOTTSCHALK, JHS (n. 10); Gnomon (n. 10); W. PÖTSCHER, Strukturprobleme der aristotelischen und theophrastischen Gottesvorstellung (Philosophia Antiqua, 19), Leiden, Brill, 1970, esp. 143-147 (a response to Gottschalk’s critique). 12. Cf. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 35-38. 13. Unless otherwise stated, all translations are taken from this edition, sometimes with slight modifications. Also paraphrases of the texts are often based on it. 14. Cf. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphryre (n. 6), p. 196, n. 1 (on p. 74).

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of the reasons for the problems posed by any reconstruction of Theophrastus’ work. Porphyry claims to have left aside the mythical stories, yet we find several of them, even rather long ones, in our passage. The question is which ones come from Theophrastus. What does Porphyry mean with the “few things” (ὄλιγα) he has added? How much does that mean? In addition to the references at the beginning and the end, Porphyry names Theophrastus four times within this section15. These references are usually interpreted as the beginnings of new excerpts from Theophrastus16. However, it has also been held that the text is, for the most part, a more or less continuous excerpt from Theophrastus in which the references to the Peripatetic are only meant to remind the reader that it is Theophrastus and not Porphyry who is speaking17. If with a reference to Theophrastus a new excerpt begins, we have to ask whether the text that immediately precedes is to be regarded as Porphyry’s own addition or whether it is Theophrastus’ text, but less literal than the one that follows, perhaps a passage summing up a longer text. Alternatively, the beginning of the new excerpt may be less literal. It is a general characteristic in literature that a quotation is often less literal in the beginning as the quoting author has to make it fit the context in which it is quoted, and we may assume that if Porphyry excerpted certain parts from Theophrastus’ work, he must have combined them in a way that results in a more or less coherent text. This required authorial intervention especially at the breaking points. We also must ask whether Porphyry has added material within a literal excerpt or a summary because he never states what his own contributions are. There is only one longer passage, §§ 16.1–19.2, where he quotes Theopompus, Menander and other writers of prose and poetry, which does not stem from Theophrastus, but here again it is a matter of discussion whether his summary of Theophrastus has already begun before or only exactly at the point where he refers to him by name in § 20.1. There are some criteria that help us identify the Theophrastean material: A few references in other authors confirm the Theophrastean provenance of some passages. Unfortunately, they concern such passages where this is rather evident18. Simplicius confirms Theophrastus’ authorship of the account of the atheistic Thoes (§ 8.1-2), calling the people Akrothoes19. Assuming there is no error in one of the texts, we might 15. §§ 7.3; 11.3; 20.2; 26.1. 16. See, e.g., BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5); BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), pp. 17-29; FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 262-267. 17. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 120-122. 18. On the parallels, see BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 36-38; 55 with n.; 74 with n. 176. 19. Simplicius, in Epict. ench. 38.177-180.

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conclude that Porphyry abbreviated the original account by leaving aside the identification with the people of his own time. The Cretan origin of the Athenian kyrbeis (§ 21.1) is also attested as Theophrastean by Photius’ Lexicon and other texts20. In addition, information of three other passages was used by Theophrastus in other works: the eating of unground barley-grains in earliest times (§ 6.1) in On Inventions, as attested by a scholium on the Iliad (p. 199 DE MARCO = F 730 FHS&G), the predilection of the gods for frequent, yet inexpensive offerings (§§ 13.4– 15.3) in an unknown work quoted by Stobaeus (3.3.42 = F 523 FHS&G)21, and the anecdote about the Thessalian man (§ 15.1-3) in one of his letters according to Ptolemy Chennos (in Phot. Bibl. cod. 190 p. 148b18-21 = F 588 FHS&G = Ptol. Chenn. Nova Historia 3,21 CHATZÍS)22. References in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica and in Cyril’s Against Julian to Theophrastus’ work, on the other hand, do not help us in this regard because both authors only knew On Piety through Porphyry. Whenever Eusebius attributes information from On Abstinence to Theophrastus without him being named as an authority by Porphyry this is to be regarded as an inaccuracy23. An important linguistic argument for Theophrastean authorship has been discovered by Bouffartigue: Theophrastus consistently uses the Attic forms οὐϑείς/μηϑείς while Porphyry has οὐδείς/μηδείς. In the passages that are certainly taken from Theophrastus or from Porphyry, there is no exception from this rule24. This is also important because it 20. Phot. Lex. κ 1234 THEODORIDIS, s.v. κύρβεις; see the apparatus similium in C. THEODORIDIS, Photii Patriarchae Lexicon. III: E-M, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 1998, p. 462 for the parallel tradition and above, n. 2. 21. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 48-50 included the sentence on sacrificing as a fragment of On Piety (F 10). It is part of a longer parenetic passage; see GOTTSCHALK, in JHS (n. 10), p. 169 and in Gnomon (n. 10), p. 342 for a critique. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 74 even claimed the whole passage for On Piety but the continuation of the text does not fit the topic of piety. PÖTSCHER, Strukturprobleme (n. 11), p. 146 defends his choice by referring to PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 49, n. 1 where he writes: “Stobaios lag offenbar ein nach anderen Gesichtspunkten geordneter Auszug vor”. Against such a view the same objection as against Bernays is to be made. Against both Bernays and Pötscher, see FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 254-257; 265 and 520-532 (on F 523 FHS&G). 22. Cf. on this passage BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 203, n. 4 (on p. 83). 23. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos used the references in Eusebius to claim more material from On Abstinence for Theophrastus. This has rightly been criticized by GOTTSCHALK, in JHS (n. 10) and in Gnomon (n. 10), FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), p. 265 and BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), pp. 26-28. Eusebius is, however, important for the constitution of the text because he seems to have used a manuscript that was free of some errors already contained in our archetype of On Abstinence. As for Cyril, also PÖTSCHER, ibid., pp. 18-19 admits that his quotations are taken from On Abstinence and do not contribute to establishing Porphyry’s source. 24. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 18. On p. 26 with n. 5 he claims that there is one exception, § 22.1 where the mss. read οὐδεὶς οὐϑέν. This is indeed the reading of the

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shows that in some passages Porphyry uses material from Theophrastus without adapting it to his own style. In general, however, style and language are only of limited help for assigning passages to one or the other. Where the text seems to be copied without changes, Theophrastus’ prose is clear and well-structured whereas Porphyry’s sentences are often heavy or even clumsy and overloaded. But this can also be the case with material from Theophrastus that is summarized by Porphyry who of course is able to write in a clear style as well. Content does help to some extent to determine authorship. Already Bernays has adduced material from early Peripatetic sources to corroborate Theophrastean provenance, and typically Neoplatonic concepts to exclude it. It is especially the latter that can lead to some definite decisions. Furthermore, passages contradicting Porphyry’s intention which is to polemicize against the consumption of meat, may rather stem from his source than be his own additions. To get a general idea of Porphyry’s use of his sources, Bernays and Pötscher have compared some named quotations in On Abstinence with preserved originals. Bernays25 has studied Josephus’ Jewish War 2.119-133 and 137-157 quoted in 4.11.3–13.9, and Pötscher26 Plutarch’s De Sollertia Animalium 2-5 p. 959e-963f quoted in 4.20.7–24.5. The Budé editors always make this kind of comparisons if the source is preserved and even where it is not, they try to identify modifications and additions27. Both Bernays28 and Pötscher attest to Porphyry’s high degree of reliability. Bernays only detects “two or three more than stylistic changes” in the four pages excerpted from Josephus29. Pötscher lists the results of his comparison in the following table30: 1) Porphyrios übernimmt größere Abschnitte völlig wörtlich. 2) Er baut Zitate in seinen Text so ein, daß die andere literarische Form, nämlich die des Dialogs, durch die seinige, die seinem Interesse besser entspricht, ersetzt wird. mss. in Nauck’s edition (A. NAUCK, Porphyrii philosophi Platonici opuscula selecta, iterum recognovit, Leipzig, Teubner, 21886), but Bouffartigue gives οὐϑεὶς οὐϑέν as their reading in his own edition. I have been unable to check the correctness of either. 25. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 24-28; cf. FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 35-42. 26. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 5-12. 27. J. BOUFFARTIGUE – M. PATILLON, Porphyre. De l’abstinence. Tome I. Introduction par J.B. et M.P. Livre I. Texte établi et traduit par J.B., Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1977; BOUFFARTIGUE – PATILLON, Porphyre (n. 6), M. PATILLON – A.P. SEGONDS – L. BRISSON, Porphyre. De l’abstinence. Tome III. Livre IV. Texte établi, traduit et annoté, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1995. 28. REGENBOGEN, Theophrastos (n. 11), col. 1511 agrees with Bernays on this. Cf. also P. RIBEIRO MARTINS, Der Vegetarismus in der Antike im Streitgespräch (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 360), Berlin – Boston, MA, De Gruyter, 2018, pp. 29-38. 29. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 28. 30. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 12.

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3) Zu diesem Zweck sind auch Auslassungen nötig. 4) Diese werden unter Verwendung von sprachlichen Elementen des Plutarch überbrückt. 5) Besonders in der Nähe solcher Auslassungen sind auch andere Veränderungen im sonst wörtlichen Text zu verzeichnen. 6) In zwei Fällen sind Sätze ohne Ersatz weggeblieben. 7) Porphyrios fügt auch kurze Bemerkungen bzw. Ergänzungen ein. 8) Die Angabe des Zitates geschieht unter Verwendung von Elementen des zitierten Autors.

The editors of the Budé edition have, however, made additions and changes very probable in several cases in which the original is lost. Patillon rightly reminds us that the quote from Plutarch is from a work on the same topic and with the same tendency as Porphyry’s, and that more substantial changes may be expected in cases where this is not so31. Clark’s assessment goes in the same direction32: it is evident that he makes short or long omissions, or adds phrases, which sometimes alter the effect of the passage. […] He also likes to restate and summarise, or elaborate, the arguments of his sources; and his efforts in book 3 to make Aristotle a supporter of animal reason shows great skill in selective quotation. Unless the text copied is available for comparison, it would be most unwise ever to suppose that he has reproduced exactly and in full what his source said.

The following study of the use of Theophrastus will show that this evaluation is legitimate. As Theophrastus’ work is lost, there is, of course, some danger of lapsing into circular reasoning. Therefore, it is all the more necessary to explain the various degrees of certainty and probability of Theophrastean authorship where it is uncertain. Where there is a general consensus and Theophrastean provenance seems certain, I will not discuss this again. In other cases some traditional Quellenforschung and detailed textual analysis will be necessary. II. THEOPHRASTUS’ HISTORY OF SACRIFICE IN DE ABSTINENTIA 1. The Development of Vegetable Sacrifice At the beginning of the passage based on Theophrastus, Porphyry delineates the early history of sacrifice (§§ 5.1–7.2). Here the original has been abridged but no additions are identifiable33. How does Theophrastus imagine 31. PATILLON, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 147, n. 1. 32. CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 20. 33. There is general agreement on this among editors and commentators; see BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 66; 42-56; FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 65-76; PÖTSCHER,

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this early development? In principle, men sacrificed to the gods out of gratitude everything they ate as first-fruit (ἀπαρχή) by burning it. Initially, only grass existed and was thus consumed and sacrificed, but in the course of time also acorns, legumes, and all kinds of cultivated fruits (καρποί). It is fundamental to Theophrastus’ understanding of the history of sacrifice, that men continue sacrificing things they once ate after they had stopped eating them and that such offerings have thus been preserved in some cults of his own time34. That enables him to deduce the steps of the development from elements of contemporary cult practice interpreted as remains of earlier times, and from linguistic evidence such as proverbs interpreted in the same way. At the end of this first phase of sacrifices, when men had learned to grind grain and to bake cakes, sacrificial cakes (πέλανα) were also burnt for the gods. Theophrastus then adds that men also sacrificed other things they enjoyed like flowers of which they bound wreaths and odorous things which they burned35. Then he states that with liquids a similar development took place as in the case of food, but this is not developed in detail. He only mentions (in this order) wine, honey and oil (§ 6.3). The description of the offerings carried in the procession in honor of the Sun and the Hours in Athens closes this discussion, symbolizing, as it were, the whole history of early food and food sacrifice (§ 6.4)36. 2. The Introduction of Bloody Sacrifice (1) The problems start with the transition from vegetable to bloody sacrifice (§ 7.2): Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 2; 100-102; BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 20; FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 54-55. D. OBBINK, The Origin of Greek Sacrifice: Theophrastus on Religion and Cultural History, in W.W. FORTENBAUGH – R.W. SHARPLES (eds.), Theophrastean Studies: On Natural Science, Physics and Metaphysics, Ethics, Religion, and Rhetoric (Rutgers University Studies in Classical Humanities, 3), New Brunswick – Oxford, Transaction Books, 1988, 272-295, p. 273 with n. 11 on p. 287 even speaks of a verbal reproduction, but the abbreviations are evident. Theophrastean provenance of this section is denied without sufficient reasons by G. BODEI GIGLIONI, Come gli uomini divennero malvagi: Sviluppo della civiltà, alimentazione e sacrificio in Teofrasto, in Rivista Storica Italiana 103 (1991) 5-32. 34. On the principles of Theophrastus’ reconstruction and his fundamental assumptions, see BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), passim, esp. pp. 42-56; OBBINK, Origin (n. 33); RIBEIRO MARTINS, Vegetarismus (n. 28), pp. 109-113; cf. S. SCHORN, On Eating Meat and Human Sacrifice: Greek Anthropology in Asclepiades of Cyprus and Theophrastus of Eresus, in P. VAN NUFFELEN (ed.), Faces of Hellenism: Studies in the History of the Eastern Mediterranean (4th Century B.C. – 5th Century A.D.) (Studia Hellenistica, 48), Leuven, Peeters, 2009, 11-47, pp. 23-24. 35. Within his description of the development of human food and sacrifice, Theophrastus mentions incense offerings in different places: §§ 5.1; 5.4; 5.5; 6.4 (the passage mentioned above). 36. On these first stages, see, e.g., OBBINK, Origin (n. 33), pp. 274-277.

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πόρρω δὲ τῶν περὶ τὰς ϑυσίας ἀπαρχῶν τοῖς ἀνϑρώποις προϊουσῶν παρανομίας, ἡ τῶν δεινοτάτων ϑυμάτων παράληψις ἐπεισήχϑη, ὠμότητος πλήρης, ὡς δοκεῖν τὰς πρόσϑεν λεχϑείσας καϑ’ ἡμῶν ἀρὰς νῦν τέλος εἰληφέναι, σφαξάντων τῶν ἀνϑρώπων καὶ τοὺς βωμοὺς αἱμαξάντων, ἀφ’ οὗ λιμῶν τε καὶ πολέμων πειραϑέντες αἱμάτων ἥψαντο. As the sacrificial offering of first-fruits by men proceeded further in illegality, the use of most terrible sacrifices, full of cruelty, was introduced, so that the curses previously uttered against us seem to have been fulfilled at this time, since men engaged in slaughter and bloodied their altars after they had touched blood as a result of experiencing famine and wars.

Porphyry is remarkably vague about the exact form of sacrifice he has in mind because he does not say what is slaughtered and sacrificed37. “The most horrible sacrifice” might make us think of human sacrifice. Yet, so far in book 2 he had only spoken of animal sacrifice and the same is true for the chapters which follow so the reader must refer these words to this kind of sacrifice. The allusion to the curses that “seem to have been fulfilled at this time” allude to the etymology in § 5.4 where Theophrastus had explained the meaning of the word ἀρώματα, aromatic spices and frankincense, burnt for the gods. He derives it from ἀράομαι, “to curse”. The ancients, he argues, considered these offerings as a transgression of custom because they were no longer simple, and therefore cursed them. Nevertheless, when Porphyry says that sacrifice “proceeded further in illegality”, one wonders whether this only alludes to this one negative form of sacrifice or whether other such developments have been left out. The historical situation he has in mind for the transition is also unclear. Famine and war seem to have preceded and caused sacrifice. But does he mean that in times of war men starved, ate animals, and then sacrificed them, or that men got accustomed to killing each other and then, in a period of famine, slaughtered and sacrificed animals38? Before these problems can be addressed, we have to look at the continuation of the text. At the beginning of the following § 7.3, Theophrastus is again mentioned by name. Most interpreters regard this as an indication that a new excerpt begins and that something has been left out before39. That seems to be confirmed by the first sentence (§ 7.3): τοιγαροῦν τὸ δαιμόνιον, ὥς φησὶν ὁ Θεόφραστος, τούτων ἑκατέρων νεμεσῆσαν ἐπιϑεῖναι τὴν πρέπουσαν ἔοικε τιμωρίαν. 37. On this passage, see the good remarks in BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 55-56. 38. Cf. FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 82-83 with a different explanation of the passage than proposed below. 39. See BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 55-58; FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 87-91; BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 21, n. 1; p. 77, n. 3; FHS&G (n. 2), vol. 2, p. 409, n. 2.

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For this reason, Theophrastus says, it seems that the divinity became indignant at each of these and inflicted the appropriate punishment.

“Each of these” is generally regarded as referring to something in the preceding text which Porphyry did not include in his excerpt. The text then continues (§ 7.3): καϑὸ οἳ μὲν ἄϑεοι γεγόνασι τῶν ἀνϑρώπων, οἳ δὲ κακόφρονες μᾶλλον ἢ κακόϑεοι λεχϑέντες ἂν ἐν δίκῃ, διὰ τὸ φαύλους καὶ μηϑὲν ἡμῶν βελτίους ἡγεῖσϑαι τὴν φύσιν εἶναι τοὺς ϑεούς· οὕτως οἳ μὲν ἄϑυτοι φαίνονται γενέσϑαι τινές, οὐδεμίαν ἀπαρχὴν τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ποιούμενοι τοῖς ϑεοῖς· οἳ δὲ κακόϑυτοι καὶ παρανόμων ἁψάμενοι ϑυμάτων. As a result, some men became atheists, and others might rightly be said to have evil-minds rather than to have evil-gods, because they think the gods worthless and in nature no better than us. In this way some appear to have become persons who offer no sacrifices, in as much as they do not offer the gods first-fruits from what they have. Others (appear to have become persons) who offer evil sacrifices, since they have put their hands to illegal offerings.

The logic of this passage is not entirely clear. The gods are angry and punish two groups or two ways of behavior. As a consequence (καϑό), some have become ἄϑεοι, others κακόφρονες, and the following sentence (οὕτως) explains what both groups do: the first stop sacrificing, the second bring bad offerings. Subsequently, two mythical examples are given for both groups: the Thracian Thoes stopped bringing aparchai and were therefore wiped out, the Bassarians imitated the Taurians, who sacrificed men, but even went one step further than their models by eating them. Therefore, they were punished by madness and destruction of those guilty of this practice. Note that ἄϑεοι γεγόνασι (§ 7.3) is a perfect tense which shows that Theophrastus is speaking here in general terms about the genesis of atheism and sacrificial meals of humans. Yet we must ask ourselves what ἄϑεος means: “not believing in the existence of gods” or “not honoring the gods”40. A related question is whether the reason “because they think the gods worthless and in nature no better than us” 40. The first meaning, e.g., in BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 77 (“athées”); FHS&G (n. 2), vol. 2, p. 409 (“atheists”); A.R. SODANO, Porfirio, Astinenza dagli animali: Testo greco a fronte. Prefazione, introduzione e apparati di G. Girgenti. Traduzione e note di A.R.S., Milano, Bompiani, 2005, p. 145 (“atei”); G. DITADI, Teofrasto. Della Pietà. A cura di G.D., Este, Isonomia, 2005, p. 190, with n. 31 (“atei”); the latter is preferred by CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 147, n. 226. H.G. ZEKL, Porphyrios aus Tyros. Darüber, dass man kein Fleisch essen soll, und drei kleine Schriften: Lebensbeschreibung des Pythagoras, Über die Nymphenhöhle bei Homer, An Markella. Übersetzt, mit Einleitungen und Anmerkungen versehen von H.G.Z. Durchgesehen und herausgegeben von E. Zekl, Würzburg, Königshausen & Neumann, 2020, p. 82 translates “gottlos” which is ambiguous.

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only explains the genesis of κακόφρονες or also that of ἄϑεοι. If both are implied, ἄϑεοι cannot mean that they doubted the existence of the gods. But this does not seem to be the case. Simplicius attests that according to Theophrastus the Akrothoes were the only people in the world who did not believe in the existence of the gods41. Unless we want to assume that he has misunderstood Theophrastus, ἄϑεοι has this meaning here. How did the gods punish men (in one way or in two different ways) so that some of them, as a consequence, stopped believing in their existence and others regarded them as just as bad as humans? It is difficult to imagine such a thing. Bernays assumes that in the missing part Theophrastus stated that after a period of correct sacrifice, men offered either too little or too much, and that the Thoes and the Bassarians are examples of such peoples who were punished for such actions42. The problem is that according to our text their behavior was a reaction to divine punishment. Bernays wants to resolve this problem by a different reading of § 7.3. He lets καϑό and οὕτως, “as […] so”, belong together and understands the passage this way: “As there are atheists and evil-minded persons, so there were also those who did not sacrifice and brought illegal sacrifices”43. I do not think such a reading is convincing. Although the construction as such is possible, the most natural meaning of καϑό here is “therefore”. The main problem, however, is the meaning of Bernays’ reading: as the ἄϑεοι are the ἄϑυτοι and the κακόφρονες are those whose offerings are illegal, it is pointless to compare them in such a way. Neither does it seem to me convincing to refer τούτων ἑκατέρων, “each of these”, to the killing and offering of living beings as do Pötscher and Clark, who regard the fact that the peoples became ἄϑεοι and κακόφρονες (and were as a further consequence annihilated) as the punishment44. If the gods punish evil deeds and sacrifices, the consequence cannot have been atheism and a 41. Simplicius, in Epict. ench. 38.177-180; cf. the similia to F 584A,65-68 FHS&G. The differences between his version and Porphyry’s make it possible that he is not dependent on the latter. As the author of a lost epitome of Theophrastus’ Physics, he may still have had access to the original of On Piety. See also the long list of Theophrastean fragments preserved by him in FHS&G (n. 2), vol. 2, pp. 695-697. 42. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 58. 43. Ibid., p. 56: “Denn wie es unter den Menschen Götterlose giebt und wiederum Schlimmgläubige, die man füglicher Schlimmgöttrige nennen könnte, weil sie sich die Götter als niedrige, über uns Menschen nicht erhabene Wesen denken, so gab es offenbar auch Opferlose, welche von ihrer Habe den Göttern keinerlei Weihgabe widmeten, und wiederum Andere Schlimmopfernde, die widergesetzliche Opfer aufbrachten”. Cf. also OBBINK, Origin (n. 33), p. 292, n. 57. 44. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 101; 111-112 accepting also Bernays’ correlation of καϑό […] οὕτως; CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 147, n. 225.

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conception of the divine that regards it as no less evil than men. But it is likely that Porphyry wants us to read the text in this way and to see in the killing and sacrificing of animals the reasons for the divine punishments. I will come back to this paragraph later. In § 9 things do not become much clearer (§ 9.1): ὑστέρα μὲν τοίνυν καὶ νεωτάτη ἡ διὰ τῶν ζῴων ϑυσία, τὴν δὲ αἰτίαν λαβοῦσα οὐκ εὐχάριστον ὡς ἡ ἐκ τῶν καρπῶν, ἀλλὰ λιμοῦ ἤ τινος ἄλλης δυστυχίας περίστασιν. Therefore, sacrifice through animals is later and most recent. Its cause was not agreeable, as was that of sacrifice with fruits, but famine or some other unfortunate circumstance.

FHS&G understand τοίνυν as referring back to § 8, and consequently translate it with “therefore”, just as Bouffartigue does (“donc”) who considers the whole account of the two preceding punishments as the end of Theophrastus’ chapter on the first animal sacrifices45. τοίνυν is used in On Abstinence 33 times. In most cases it refers back and makes a logical connection with what has been stated just before. But in a few cases it introduces a new topic or aspect. Thus, one might think that with § 8 having dealt with something else, e.g., human sacrifice, now the discussion of a new subject, animal sacrifice, starts46. Porphyry clearly wants to suggest the first alternative because with “famine” (λιμοῦ) he refers back to “famine and wars” (λιμῶν τε καὶ πολέμων) in § 7.2 while the “unfortunate circumstances” are treated in the following paragraphs (§§ 9.1–10.3): “For example, in the particular case of the Athenians the causes of the slayings have their beginnings in ignorance or anger or fright. For they attribute the slaughter of swine to an involuntary mistake of Clymene etc.”. There follow other accidents leading to the killing of sheep, goat, and ox, and he concludes this topic by stating (§ 10.3-4): “Most people blame famine and the injustice which results from it. That is why, having eaten animal creatures, they made offerings of them too, being accustomed to make offerings of their food” (trans. Clark). Here again, the mention of famine refers back to § 7.2, the chapter on the introduction of bloody sacrifice. The author then adds some reflections why men are not obliged to eat animal meat and why killing and eating animals is unjust (on this, see below). Then Porphyry mentions Theophrastus again (§ 11.3): “These things being so, Theophrastus reasonably orders those who wish to be truly pious not to sacrifice living creatures; 45. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 21. 46. The statistics on the basis of a TLG search. The instances in which τοίνυν is used in the latter way are: 1.38.2; 3.1.1; 3.25.1 (from Theophrastus!); 4.17.6.

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he also offers other similar reasons. First, (he argues) that these practices have their beginning in a greater necessity, as we say, which took hold of us. For the causes are famine and war, which also brought the necessity of eating (them)”. With this additional mention of “famine and war” the circle seems to close as it again refers to § 7.247. Therefore, it seems that Theophrastus had argued the following: As a consequence of war and famine, animal meat was eaten and thus animals were sacrificed as aparchai. This led to punishments by the gods (what precisely happened is no longer clear) and these punishments led to atheism and human sacrifice with cannibalism, which were also punished. The latter is exemplified by the fates of the Thoes and the Bassarians. In Athens various accidents led to the killing and sacrificing of several animal species, but in most other places the reason was famine. We are not obliged to eat animals, and eating and sacrificing them is unjust. – We will see in the following that this reconstruction is to a large extent incorrect. 3. Theoretical Discussion (I), History of Libations and Introduction of Bloody Sacrifice (II) At this point a theoretical discussion follows meant to prove that animal sacrifice is unjust and not welcome to the gods. There is a general agreement that everything here goes back to Theophrastus48. He argues that one cannot thank the gods by killing animals. This is unjust as it deprives them of their lives. Sacrificing καρποί is, on the contrary, just, and thus to be preferred (§§ 12.2–13.3). In addition, the gods want offerings which are cheap, easy to provide and can be brought often. This is the case with καρποί, but not with animals. The gods look at the character (ἦϑος) of those who sacrifice, not at the quantity (πλῆϑος) of the offerings, and want them to have a pure mind when they sacrifice. This thesis is first argued for theoretically and then with the help of an example (§ 15.1-3). Porphyry then adds more examples from history and poetry with reference to his sources (Theopompus; Antiphanes; Menander; Hesiodus; Sophocles; §§ 13.4–20.1). At the end of the section a few examples follow for which no authority is quoted (§§ 19.4–20.1). It is a 47. Differently BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 81, n. 1 who refers it to § 9.1. 48. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 62-65; 73-76; FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 62-63; 95-103; PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 102-103; BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 22; FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 57-58; F 584A,96-153 FHS&G. A good interpretation of the theoretical passage in W.W. FORTENBAUGH, Theophrastus: Piety, Justice and Animals, in Theophrastean Studies (Philosophie der Antike, 17), Stuttgart, Steiner, 2003, 173-192, pp. 179-183.

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matter of discussion whether or not they stem from Theophrastus who is quoted again immediately after this passage (§ 20.2). But that need not detain us in this place49. After this long insertion, Porphyry again falls back on Theophrastus and summarizes his ideas on the history of libations. It is not clear whether this is meant as a new topic or still as part of the argument that offerings have to be simple which all the libations that he mentions are. Here we read (§ 20.2): After having shown through many ancestral traditions of different peoples that the ancient form of sacrifices was through fruits, and further having said that grass was employed earlier, Theophrastus also expounds what pertains to libations in the following manner.

There follows a short history of the development of libations from water, honey, oil to wine. As usual, Theophrastus names the evidence on which this reconstruction is based, the Athenian kyrbeis and verses by Empedocles. The latter are quoted in full (§ 21.3-4): “Neither Ares nor Tumult was for them a god, nor king Zeus nor Cronus nor Poseidon, but (only) queen Cypris”, who is Friendship, “whom they propitiated with pious statues and painted pictures and fine smelling perfumes and sacrifices of pure myrrh and aromatic frankincense while casting libations of yellow honey on the ground”, and these (rites) are even now preserved among some peoples, being as it were certain vestiges of the truth, “and the altar was not drenched with unrestrained murder of bulls”.

Theophrastus adds a short interpretation of theses verses (§ 22.1) stressing that in these early times the relation between all living beings was characterized by mutual friendship (φιλία) and the awareness of being kindred (ἡ περὶ τὸ συγγενὲς αἴσϑησις) which prevented them from killing each other. The latter changed when wars emerged. It is striking that the structure of this chapter and its narrative elements are almost identical to those of the first passage describing the history of vegetable sacrifice and the transition to bloody sacrifice. The first three lines of § 20.2 (ll. 169-171a FHS&G) are a very short summary of the early history of food sacrifice, limiting it to grass (cf. § 5.2) and cultivated fruits (cf. § 6.1ss.). It is extremely important to learn here that in Theophrastus’ account the history of libations originally followed that of 49. It cannot be excluded either that other examples without source reference or even quotations from poets in the passage §§ 16.1–19.3 were taken from Theophrastus but there is no positive evidence to show this. Theophrastus refers to poetry in On Piety as evidence for his case (see the quotations from Empedocles discussed below, pp. 86-87, 89) or just to make the reading of his text more pleasant (§§ 8.2; 14.1).

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vegetable sacrifice. And indeed, we had detected a remainder of it at the end of § 6.4 where Theophrastus alluded to it by mentioning wine, honey, and oil. The procession in honor of the Sun and the Hours of which the description follows in § 7.1 is one of the “ancestral traditions” that Porphyry refers to now in § 20.2. There seem to have been more examples, but Porphyry left most of them out in his excerpt. In § 21 we can also see better than in the first passage how Theophrastus constructed the transition to the consumption and sacrifice of living beings: The verses of Empedocles listing offerings of early times include honey which is the main reason why they are quoted as evidence within the history of libations. But they also attest to the use of myrrh and frankincense, offerings which stand for the degeneration of simple offerings, as explained in § 5.3-4, and end with the mention of bloody sacrifice. The period of peace among humans and animals ended – as we learn now from Theophrastus’ interpretation of the verses – when fighting and war had become part of human life. It thus seems that humans first killed each other in war which made them loose their inhibition to kill living beings. Eating living beings followed later during famine. It seems clear from the identical structure and narrative elements that this and the earlier passage belong together and complement each other. They are summaries of the same passage of Theophrastus’ original account with different foci and thus reproduce its single elements in a more respectively less extensive way. Combining both passages, we might be inclined to infer that in the next step, when people were starving, they did not shy away from killing and eating animals because they were now accustomed to killing living beings. But we will see that the story is more complicated. 4. Theoretical Discussion (II) and Introduction of Bloody Sacrifice (III) The mention of bloody sacrifice in Empedocles’ verses and their interpretation by Theophrastus (§ 22.1) which assign them a place within his reconstruction of the history of sacrifice and within his own philosophical conception by explaining them in terms of kinship (συγγένεια) form the link to a new theoretical discussion which first addresses an issue that might contradict the concept of kinship: men kill animals which are harmful and humans which are bad by nature. Thus, the historical and the theoretical chapters are linked together well. Yet this link need not reflect Theophrastus’ original account. If the discussion of kinship between men and animals in book 3, §§ 25.1-4 (F 531 FHS&G) for which Porphyry refers to Theophrastus stems from On Piety, as is very

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likely50, the discussion starting in § 22.2 may have belonged to this context and not have followed the history of libations. The first point of this theoretical discussion is that we may kill unjust and evil-doing animals, but that they do not qualify as sacrificial victims because they are “worthless by nature” (§§ 22.2–23.2)51. Next, Theophrastus sets out in a dialectical discussion that there are three reasons for sacrificing to the gods, viz. to honor them, to thank them, and to ask them for goods. He then argues that in none of these cases animals are suitable offerings (§ 24.1-5). The discussion finally comes down to the conclusion that the only reason for animal sacrifice is that we want to eat meat, and that the criterion for sacrificing a species or not is its edibility (§§ 25.1– 26.5). In order to emphasize this point Theophrastus refers to Jewish sacrifice which consists of animal holocausts only (§ 26.1-4). With this example Porphyry has again switched to a historical demonstration, and after a short remark about the Egyptians (on which see below) he starts all over again and explains, still on the basis of Theophrastus, how it came about that mankind started sacrificing animals (§ 27.1). The transition is remarkably abrupt and Porphyry does not make it clear why, now again, he sketches the history of sacrifice and what the relation of this passage is to the other two earlier in book 2. Again, he starts, still on the basis of Theophrastus, with the transition from vegetable to bloody sacrifice (§ 27.1): ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς μὲν γὰρ διὰ τῶν καρπῶν ἐγίγνοντο τοῖς ϑεοῖς ϑυσίαι· χρόνῳ δὲ τῆς ὁσιότητος ἡμῶν ἐξαμελησάντων, ἐπεὶ καὶ τῶν καρπῶν ἐσπάνισαν καὶ διὰ τὴν τῆς νομίμου τροφῆς ἔνδειαν εἰς τὸ σαρκοφαγεῖν ἀλλήλων ὥρμησαν, τότε μετὰ πολλῶν λιτῶν ἱκετεύοντες τὸ δαιμόνιον σφῶν αὐτῶν ἀπήρξαντο τοῖς ϑεοῖς πρῶτον, οὐ μόνον ὅτι κάλλιστον ἐνῆν αὐτοῖς καὶ τοῦτο τοῖς ϑεοῖς καϑοσιοῦντες, ἀλλὰ καὶ πέρα τῶν καλλίστων προσεπιλαμβάνοντες τοῦ γένους· From the beginning sacrifices to the gods by means of fruits took place. But in time we became utterly careless of holiness, since men were lacking even fruits and through want of customary food they started to eat each other’s flesh. Then, entreating the divinity with many prayers, they first offered first-fruits of themselves to the gods, not only (taking) whatever was most beautiful among them and consecrating this to the gods, but also (going) beyond the most beautiful things (and) laying hold besides on their own kind.

We can see again the same structural elements as in the first and second passages above: Men first sacrifice cultivated fruits, then humans 50. See n. 10. 51. On this theoretical discussion, see FORTENBAUGH, Piety (n. 43), pp. 183-192.

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become “utterly careless of holiness” which corresponds to the claim in § 7.2 that first-fruit offerings “proceeded further in illegality”, and, just as there, in a situation of famine, they start eating meat. But now the first living beings they eat and sacrifice are humans. As usual, Theophrastus adds the evidence on which he bases this step of the development of sacrifice, and it consists again of remnants in contemporary sacrifice. He mentions human sacrifice during the Arcadian Lykaia 52 and in Carthage and alludes to a rite in Greece which consisted of regularly sprinkling the altars of the gods with human blood. He then sets out to explain the further development of the consumption of meat and bloody sacrifice53. When famine was over and men were no longer forced to practice cannibalism, they still sacrificed humans because, as mentioned above, they continue sacrificing things that had once served them as food. At a certain point they replaced, in most cases, human with animal sacrifice. Up to this point bloody sacrifice had always consisted of whole-burnt sacrifice. But as everything they sacrificed so far was sacrificed because it served men as food, they thought they were obliged to eat animals as well, and so they started doing so. In this way the typical Greek form of sacrifice came into being in which the bigger part of the animal is consumed. Theophrastus also mentions greed as a motive for practicing such sacrifice (§ 27.4). The argument was probably that men first tasted animal meat symbolically because they felt obliged to do so, but then realized they liked the taste and thus wanted to eat as much as possible of the animal54. At the end of the description of this development, Theophrastus repeats again that in early times only καρποί were eaten and sacrificed and he quotes three verses of Empedocles that attest, for early times, the meatless diet and bloodless sacrifice of mankind. The first of these verses was already quoted at the end of our second passage, the one on the history of libations and provided there the transition to the institution of bloody sacrifice (§ 21.4). Theophrastus ends with the mention of two contemporary sacrifices which attest to the bloodless sacrifices of early times (§ 28.1: the Altar of the Pious on Delos) and the early cannibalism in times of famine (§ 28.2: Pythagorean

52. Theophrastus alludes here to the festival of Zeus Lykaios. The human sacrifice that was thought to have been part of it, is often attested in the sources which provide additional evidence for the ritual. See, e.g., D.D. HUGHES, Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece, London – New York, Routledge, 1991, pp. 96-107; 115-116; P. BONNECHERE, Le sacrifice humain en Grèce ancienne (Kernos Supplément, 3), Athens – Liège, Presses Universitaires de Liège, 1994, pp. 85-96. 53. Cf. SCHORN, On Eating Meat (n. 43), pp. 25-26. 54. For this step, see the sacrifice of the Pythagoreans in § 28.2.

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animal sacrifice)55. The long description of the Athenian Bouphonia which follows will be discussed below. It has become clear that in the three passages (1) §§ 5.1–7.2, (2) §§ 20.2–22.1 and (3) §§ 27.1–28.2 one and the same passage of Theophrastus’ original account has been summarized in different ways and with different foci56. This becomes even more obvious if we put their elements next to each other in a table: (1) §§ 5.1–8.3

(2) §§ 20.2–22.1

(3) §§ 27.1–28.2

vegetable sacrifice (and sacrifice of odorous things) (in detail)

vegetable sacrifice vegetable sacrifice (mention only, with two (mention only, with one example from 1) examples from 1)

libations (mention only, with “many customs of old” three examples from 2) (mention only) Procession in honor of the Sun and the Hours

libations (in detail)

sacrifices “proceed in illegality”

men “become utterly careless of holiness” quote from Empedocles: 8 verses (VS 31 B 128.1-8)

war and famine

war accustoms men to killing living beings

famine cannibalism in times of famine  human sacrifice (= whole-burnt sacrifice)

“the most terrible sacrifices” animal sacrifice (= animal sacrifice)

animal sacrifice (= whole-burnt sacrifice)

55. That this example is Theophrastean has been shown by OBBINK, Origin (n. 33), pp. 281-282 against previous editors; it is accepted by FHS&G: F 584A,312-316. On Pythagorean sacrifice in this passage, see S. SCHORN, Theophrastus’ Over Vroomheid en de discussie over het Pythagoreïsche offer in de vroege Peripatos, in Kleio (forthcoming). 56. That §§ 7.2 and 27–28 belong together was seen be E. GRAF, Ad aureae aetatis fabulam symbola (Leipziger Studien zur classischen Philologie, 8/1), Leipzig, Hirzel, 1885, pp. 22-24 but he did not discuss §§ 20.2–22.1 and is somewhat superficial. Also A. SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione, Diss. Greifswald, Typis Iulii Abel, 1885, pp. 34-36 realized that §§ 7.2, 22.1 and 27.1 belong together and complement each other, but he did not draw the conclusions from this for the reconstruction of Theophrastus’ work and he proposes a history of killing and sacrificing which is very different from the one argued for above. That § 27.1-7 belongs to § 7.3 was seen by OBBINK, Origin (n. 33) p. 290, n. 43, but he limits himself to a short remark: “For the full chronological sequence, De Abst. 2.7.3 must be filled out by 2.27.1-7”. Differently on § 27 FORTENBAUGH, Piety (n. 48), p. 176.

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atheism + cannibalism Thoes + Bassarians sacrificial meal quote from Empedocles: 3 verses, the first one also in 2 (VS 31 B 128.8-10)

The conclusion from this is that we have to insert passages (2) and (3) above after § 7.1. What is now § 7.2 is nothing but a very short and rather misleading resumé of what we read in §§ 21.1–22.1 and § 27.1. The (preliminary) order of events in Theophrastus was therefore: 1. History of vegetable food sacrifice (and of incense offerings) including many “customs of old” among which is the procession in honor of the Sun and the Hours. 2. History of libations (NB that in § 20.2 it is said explicitly that it followed that of vegetable sacrifice; thus the remainder of this discussion in § 6.4 belongs after the description of the procession in § 7.1). 3. Conclusion of the history of libations by verses of Empedocles (vv. 1-10) which attest, for early times, to libations of honey, the absence of war and the reign of Aphrodite among all living beings and thus the absence of bloody sacrifice. They form the transition to the following57. 4. People and offerings become less pious (with reference back to the decline in form of aromata). 5. War accustoms people to kill each other. 6. Men suffer of famine through lack of vegetable food. 7. They practice cannibalism as a consequence. 8. They introduce the “most horrible sacrifice”, i.e., human sacrifice, in the form of whole-burnt sacrifice. 9. They replace it with animal sacrifice but still in the form of whole-burnt sacrifice. 10. They feel obliged to eat of the meat and like the taste, so they introduce sacrificial meals. 57. In § 31.5 two other verses by Empedocles are quoted (VS 31 B 139). It is a matter of discussion whether they stem from Theophrastus or have been added by Porphyry. § 31 seems to be a mixture of Theophrastean and Porphyrian elements: in § 31.3 we come across μηϑέν while in § 31.4 we read οὐδείς. On the modern discussion, see A. MARTIN – O. PRIMAVESI, L’Empédocle de Strasbourg (P. Strasb. gr. Inv. 1665-1666). Introduction, édition et commentaire, Strasbourg, B.N.U.S, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 1999, p. 292 who argue for Theophrastean provenance. Be this as it may, these two verses are not continuous with our passage as the Strasbourg papyrus has shown; see the reconstruction by MARTIN – PRIMAVESI on p. 145 where these verses are vv. d5-6 and are preceded and followed by different verses.

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If we insert (3) into § 7.2, also the logic of the following becomes clearer. We now understand better the meaning of “the most horrible sacrifice” in § 7.2: in Theophrastus’ original account it had belonged to the introduction of human sacrifice for which it is indeed an appropriate designation. Porphyry has kept the expression although he has cut out human sacrifice in this place and has reused the words to introduce animal sacrifice58. Also the story of the Thoes and Bassarians becomes clearer if it is read against this background. What caused them to become ἄϑεοι and κακόφρονες? The answer is: the gods seemed to accept bloody sacrifice, or in other words, the gods did not punish men for eating men in times of famine and for sacrificing them as aparchai. That this assumption is correct is shown by Jewish sacrifice: according to Theophrastus the Jews were the first to eat men and thus to sacrifice them. It seems a principle in Theophrastus’ theology in On Piety, that the gods only punish a misdeed when it occurs first59, and the Jews obviously were not punished. Neither have the Carthaginians or the Arcadians been punished who still sacrifice humans in Theophrastus’ time or the Pythagoreans who did so in the past and now only eat, on occasion, small portions of animal meat in remembrance of the cannibalism of early times. The conclusion the Thoes drew from this silence of the gods was that they do not exist. But what was the fault of the Bassarians? Eating human meat in times of famine was obviously not punished by extinction as the above examples prove. Here it is important that Theophrastus claims them to have imitated the Taurians who sacrificed humans. In his evolutional account of sacrifice, the Taurians represent the stage of men that had eaten human meat in the past but no longer do so, yet continue this form of sacrifice, just as the Carthaginians and Arcadians do. The misdeed of the Bassarians was in all likelihood that they ate humans when this was not a necessity. This interpretation is also favored by Theophrastus’, or Porphyry’s, comparison of the Bassarians with men of his own times in § 8.3: they (the 58. That this originally referred to human sacrifice was seen by GRAF, Ad aureae aetatis fabulam (n. 56), p. 24. Also, FORTENBAUGH, Piety (n. 48), p. 175 refers the words to human sacrifice without going into details. Differently FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 78; 82-87; 126 who assumes that Theophrastus changed his mind between chapters 7 and 27: Theophrastus would first have regarded animal sacrifice and later human sacrifice as earlier. This does not seem convincing to me unless we assume that On Piety was a dialogue. But even in this case, we would have to conclude that Porphyry did not realize, or did not care, what Theophrastus’ definite view was or that different speakers expressed different opinions which were incompatible with each other. 59. Besides the Thoes and Bassarians, see the Diomos-Sopatros story in §§ 29.1–30.5, esp. § 29.3. On the source of this story, see below.

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Bassarians) ate men “just as we now do in the case of animals, for after offering first-fruits we make the rest a feast”. One problem remains, the two things “the divinity became indignant at” (§ 7.3) and punished, a punishment that caused the specific behaviors of the Thoes and the Bassarians. I still cannot think of anything the gods may have done which would result in a coherent story. For someone to become ἄϑεος, the gods must have done nothing60. So I think that in general Bernays was right in referring the “both things” that were punished to the two punishments described immediately afterwards. We are here at the beginning of a new excerpt and it would not be surprising if something went wrong when Porphyry manipulated the text by deleting human sacrifice from the account. Logically the first sentence belongs before § 8.1. Thus, we have to modify slightly the above reconstruction: 8. Men practice the “most horrible sacrifice”, i.e., human sacrifice, in the form of whole-burnt sacrifice. 9. Men replace human sacrifice with animal sacrifice but still in the form of whole-burnt sacrifice. 10. They feel obliged to eat of the meat and like the taste, so they introduce sacrificial meals. 11. There is no reaction of the gods. 12. The Thoes become atheists and are punished. 13. The Bassarians practice cannibalism without necessity and are punished.

Looking at this evolution we can also suspect that the description of Jewish sacrifice is not in its original place. Porphyry may have moved it because he needed it as an argument against the consumption of meat: if sacrifice does not include this, it becomes unattractive. In Theophrastus’ history of the development of sacrifice, Jewish sacrifice is likely to have been evidence for one particular step in the development of sacrifice. I cannot go into details here because a discussion of this passage would require an article of its own61. The existence of early human sacrifice is deduced, as said above, from the human sacrifices still practiced by the Carthaginians and the Arcadians, its replacement with animal sacrifice with only symbolic tasting of meat by that of the Pythagoreans. What is missing is evidence for the stage when men had replaced humans with animals without eating the latter. The only example to attest to this in our text is Jewish sacrifice. In addition, Theophrastus says that the Jews were 60. Similarly OBBINK, Origin (n. 33), p. 280 who, however, thinks that the Thoes and the Bassarians believed the gods were enjoying animal sacrifice. 61. See SCHORN, On Eating Meat (n. 34), pp. 26-28; Theophrastus on Jewish Sacrifice (forthcoming).

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the first to eat and sacrifice men. It is thus very likely that he discussed their example when he set out this stage of the development. 5. The Disputed Passage §§ 9.1–11.2 and the Bouphonia aition The next question to be addressed in our reconstruction of Theophrastus’ history of sacrifice is whether the text which follows the story of the Bassarians and extends until § 11.2 stems from Theophrastus. It consists of four parts. (1) It starts with the statement, already quoted above in part: “Therefore sacrifice through animals is later and most recent. Its cause was not agreeable, as was that of sacrifice with fruits, but famine or some other unfortunate circumstance. For example, in the particular case of the Athenians the causes of the slayings have their beginnings in ignorance or anger or fright”. Four Athenian aitia follow explaining why swine, sheep, goat, and ox are sacrificed. Closely related to this text is the long passage containing the aition and the description of the rite of the Athenian Bouphonia in §§ 29.1–31.1, which, for that reason, needs to be discussed here as well. (2) After the four aitia, the text alludes briefly to different stories told in other cities. (3) There follows a difficult sentence which seems to conclude from the history of animal sacrifice that men are not obliged to eat meat. (4) The passage is closed by an argument why it is unjust to sacrifice animals, viz. the fact that different peoples allow or forbid sacrificing different animals based on purely utilitarian considerations. Then (§ 11.3) Theophrastus is named again and it is stated that he provides “also” other arguments against sacrificing animals which are expounded from § 12 onwards (see above). a) A Short Doxography of Modern Research Bernays denied Theophrastean authorship of the whole passage and only considered the possibility that Porphyry might have remembered the swine and the goat aitia from his reading of Theophrastus without insisting on this62. Regenbogen admits the possibility of Theophrastean material in §§ 9–11 without going into details: Auf den Abschnitt II 9ff., den Bernays bis cap. 11 gegen Ende für nicht theophrastisch erklärt, greift Porphyrios cap. 20 mit einem T(heophrast)Zitat zurück, woraus sich zu ergeben scheint, daß Dinge, wie sie cap. 9 und 10 vorkommen, auch bei T(heophrast) standen. Vielleicht kann eine vorsichtige Analyse hier noch weiterkommen63. 62. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 59-61. 63. REGENBOGEN, Theophrastos (n. 11), col. 1512.

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He probably thinks of the claim in § 20.2 according to which Theophrastus showed by various ancestral customs (πάτρια) that sacrifice consisted originally of fruits. He may have referred this to the four aitia in §§ 9–10 and to the statement that elsewhere other aitia are told. Forster then takes this remark as his starting point and claims §§ 9.1–10.3 (until τὴν ἐκ τούτου ἀδικίαν) for Theophrastus, i.e., the introductory remark, the four Athenian aitia and the reference to different traditions elsewhere. As a consequence, he regards the long Bouphonia aition in §§ 29.1–31.1 as a non-Theophrastean addition by Porphyry64. According to Pötscher, with the exception of the sheep and the ox aitia, §§ 9–11 stem from Theophrastus. As for the goat aition, he hesitates whether it is a quotation or a paraphrase, and he also claims the long Bouphonia aition for Theophrastus65. Bouffartigue, in the introduction to his edition of On Abstinence, generally follows Bernays’ view, but admits as Theophrastean the beginning of § 9, including the first aition (sheep)66. Yet, in a note to the text he seems to doubt Theophrastean provenance of even this aition67. The Bouphonia aition is for him “sûrement de Théophraste”68. Fortenbaugh and FHS&G follow Bouffartigue’s evaluation in the latter’s introduction and print as Theophrastus the text until the end of the first aition69. Gottschalk generally agrees with Bernays’ minimalist approach and also believes the swine and goat aitia may stem from Theophrastus. Additionally, he regards it as possible that the mention of “other reasons elsewhere” (§ 10.3) may refer to stories in Theophrastus which Porphyry has left aside70. Confronted with such a wide range of competing opinions, there is no other way to come to a well-founded decision about authorship than to have a close look at that text and to evaluate the arguments brought into the discussion on the basis of what we have learnt so far about Porphyry’s way of using Theophrastus. b) The Athenian aitia As we have seen above, there is no hard break between §§ 8 and 9. Porphyry continues to argue that there were no good reasons to start 64. FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 48-49; 52-62 (his excerpt no. II). 65. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 15-37 (he does not print 11.3, Porphyry’s introductory remark, in his edition of the fragment); pp. 83-86; Strukturprobleme (n. 11), p. 145. 66. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), pp. 21-22. 67. Ibid., p. 202, n. 9. 68. Ibid., p. 22. 69. FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 56; 266; F 584A FHS&G (vol. 2, p. 410). 70. GOTTSCHALK, in JHS (n. 10), p. 169; ID., in Gnomon (n. 10), p. 342.

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sacrificing animals. The mention of “hunger” (§ 9.1) takes up what is said in § 7.2 and then adds a new reason, “accidents” (ἄλλης δυστυχίας περίστασιν), which he regards as no better reasons than the previous one (as is explicitly stated in § 10.3). The accidents are exemplified by four Athenian aitia. However, we have seen above that what precedes in § 8 originally belonged to the description of human sacrifice. At the end of the passage (§ 10.3), when he introduces a new excerpt from Theophrastus with the claim that “Theophrastus also offers other similar reasons” not to sacrifice ἔμψυχα, Porphyry clearly wants to suggest that the chapters before stem from Theophrastus as well. His words may be meant to refer to the ethnographic argument in § 11.2-3 (no. 4 above) or even to the whole passage §§ 9–11. The question is, of course, whether Porphyry is to be trusted71. Things are made more complicated by a special feature of this passage: Compared to the preceding and following sections, §§ 9–11 seem to be of a much more epitomized character. Some pieces of information have been reduced so much that their meaning is hardly comprehensible without knowledge of parallel traditions, and the text skips from one topic to another without a clear line of argument. It is evident that we have to see here the compiler Porphyry at work. So the real question is whether he is working with textual elements from Theophrastus or from elsewhere or is combining both, not whether this passage is Theophrastus or not. Language is of little help in determining authorship. The linguistic arguments adduced by Pötscher are for the most part indecisive as they are too general, and also when he refers to Theophrastean “parallels” for ideas in this passage, these are often vague while he neglects differences72. Regenbogen’s above mentioned assumption that the reference in § 20.2 means our passage is unlikely as well. Although the four aitia about the introduction of animal sacrifice imply a period in which καρποί were sacrificed, it is §§ 5.1–7.1 where Theophrastus argues for such a view explicitly on the basis of πάτρια (see esp. the procession in § 7.1) and I hope to have shown above that § 20.2 is rather a very short summary of this passage. So let us first have a look at the four Athenian aitia. Two, or probably three tell of “crimes” committed by single animals which were punished 71. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 27-28, tries to make too much of this claim of Porphyry to support his maximalist interpretation because he regards Porphyry as a trustworthy reporter of his sources. See above, pp. 78-79. 72. This is true for his commentary in general. The consequence is that the cases in which he has seen important things are easily looked over. I agree with GOTTSCHALK’s (in Gnomon [n. 10], p. 341) harsh verdict on Pötscher’s method.

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by killing them. In two stories the killing of the animal seems to be approved by the Delphic god. In all cases it is assumed that the guilt of one animal or the approval of one killing by the god legitimizes killing, i.e., sacrificing, the whole species in the future. (1) The version of the swine aition in our text is unique (§ 9.2). There is a widespread Athenian tradition that a swine dug up the young shoots of the grain from a field and was therefore punished by being sacrificed to Demeter73. In our text a certain Klymene kills a swine unintentionally (ἀκουσίῳ ἁμαρτίᾳ) by throwing something. When her husband thinks this was a crime and consults the Delphic oracle, “the god approves of/ accepts what had happened” (τοῦ δὲ ϑεοῦ τῷ συμβάντι ἐπιτρέψαντνος). Therefore, he “deemed it to be a matter of indifference” in the future. This story may perfectly be combined with the traditional one if we assume that Klymene saw the swine destroy the shoots and for that reason killed it by throwing something at it74. As this was a well-known element of the story, Porphyry could skip the crime and emphasize the less common elements. What is important here is that we can read the aition in such a way that Klymene’s husband only thought the god approved of killing these animals in general while he only approved of, or pardoned, the slaying in this specific case. (2) In the following sheep aition, Episkopos, a descendent of the Theopropoi, Porphyry says, wanted to bring an aparche of a sheep and this was consented (ἐπιτρέψαι, again) by the oracle which is quoted: οὔ σε ϑέμις κτείνειν ὀίων γένος ἐστὶ βέβαιον, ἔγγονε Θειοπρόπων· ὃ δ’ ἑκούσιον ἂν κατανεύσῃ χέρνιβ’ ἔπι, ϑύειν τὸ δ’, Ἐπίσκοπε, φημὶ δικαίως. It is not right for you to kill the sturdy race of sheep, descendant of the Theiopropoi. But the animal that of its own will nods assent χέρνιβ’ ἔπι, that one, Episkopos, I say you may justly sacrifice (trans. Clark, slightly modified).

Bernays denied this story can stem from Theophrastus and is Athenian at all75: the name Episkopos is late and no genos named Theopropoi is 73. For this tradition, see the references in J.G. FRAZER, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. V: Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild, part 2, London, 31913, pp. 16-22; Publii Ovidii Nasonis Fastorum Libri Sex. The Fasti of Ovid. Edited with a Translation and Commentary, 5 vols., London, Macmillan, 1929, vol. 2, pp. 151-152 (on 1.349); F. BÖMER, P. Ovidius Naso. Die Fasten. Herausgegeben, übersetzt und kommentiert, 2 vols., Heidelberg, Carl Winter, 1957-1958, vol. 2, p. 43 (on 1.349). 74. Scholars usually stress the differences: BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 61; 172173; FRAZER, Fasti (n. 73), vol. 2, p. 151 (on 1.349); FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), p. 92; CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 58, n. 230 (on p. 147). 75. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 59-60.

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known there76. But it has rightly been emphasized that ϑειοπρόπων and ἐπίσκοπε in the oracle need not be seen as proper names but may originally have meant functions: “public messenger” and “overseer”. On this reading the oracle addresses an unnamed man who is in charge (of an embassy, most probably) and belongs to a family of public messengers77. In other words, the historical setting of the oracle in our text is based only on an incorrect reading of the oracle. Thus, the mistake was Porphyry’s and this should not surprise us. An excellent parallel for such a misreading of his source is found in the long Bouphonia aition (§ 30.5) where in his rendering of the story two of the three Athenian gene – again! – do not seem to have existed. There as well, his source was obviously speaking of titles or functions of officials involved in the ritual78. That an oracle as that of the sheep aition is perfectly possible before the time of Porphyry, despite of Bernays’ denial, is shown by another Delphic oracle referred to by Plutarch. When the number of animals increased too much, he tells, men started to sacrifice animals after the god had ordered them to save the fruits (καρποῖς) from being destroyed79. As noted above, the response of the god in the sheep aition need not be interpreted as a general permission to sacrifice sheep. In the sentence ὃ δ’ ἑκούσιον ἂν κατανεύσῃ / χέρνιβ’ ἔπι, ϑύειν τόδ’, ἐπίσκοπε, φημὶ δικαίως, the reading ἔπι, ϑύειν is an emendation by Wolff for the transmitted ἐπιϑύειν, accepted by most later scholars80. It may very well hit the mark but we should keep in mind it is an emendation. Assuming it is correct, χέρνιψ may mean the lustral water used for the sacrifice or the 76. U. VON WILAMOWITZ-MOELLENDORFF, Coniectanea, Index lectionum Göttingen, 1880, p. 15 then identified these Theiopropoi with the Theopropidai attested in Eretria by Diog. Laert. 2.125; this interpretation was accepted by LSJ s.v. ϑεοπρόπος II, but see against it BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 76, n. 4 (on p. 201). It is not the same word. 77. See FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), pp. 56-58; BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 79, n. 4 (on p. 201). That Episkopos as a proper name would need an apposition, a demonstrative pronoun or an indefinite pronoun, as FORSTER (ibid., p. 57) claims, is too much thought from the perspective of school grammar; Klymene in the first aition does not have it either. Also the claim that the difference ἔγγονος-ἔκγονος reflects an earlier resp. later use of language, is not compelling. Forster was working in pre-TLG times. 78. See, e.g., L. DEUBNER, Attische Feste, Berlin, Heinrich Keller, 1932, p. 169; R. PARKER, Athenian Religion: A History, Oxford, Clarendon, 1996, pp. 300; 321-322. 79. Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 8.8.3 p. 729e-f = H.W. PARKE – D.E.W. WORMELL, The Delphic Oracle. II: The Oracular Responses, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1956, p. 214, no. 535 = J. FONTENROSE, The Delphic Oracle. Its Responses and Operations with a Catalogue of Responses, Berkeley, CA – Los Angeles, CA – London, University of California Press, 1978, p. 399, no. L 131. 80. NAUCK, Porphyrii opuscula (n. 24), p. 140 keeps the transmitted text and suggests an emendation of his own in the apparatus which is too invasive to convince: χερνίπτειν ϑύειν τέ σ’.

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vase in which it is contained81. Thus, ἐπὶ χέρνιβι may be understood as “(standing) at the vase with the lustral water” or “when being sprinkled with lustral water”. The latter is what the Greeks did: they made the animal nod by sprinkling its head with lustral water82. Interpreting the oracle in the first sense, one may argue that this is cheating and the animal does not nod voluntarily (ἑκούσιον). The point would thus be that sheep do not nod by themselves nor do they express consent by nodding and that the god by his advice wanted to prohibit their being sacrificed. Bouffartigue doubted the Attic origin of these first two aitia and regarded them as Delphic, which is then seen as evidence that they were added by Porphyry83. This reasoning is not convincing because the four stories are labelled as Athenian twice, at the beginning and at the end. Moreover, “Delphic character” does not exclude Athenian origin. The Delphic god was the authority par excellence for purification and approving cult reforms, so it is not surprising to find him in Athenian stories. Also in the long Athenian Bouphonia aition of §§ 29–30, the Athenians consult the Delphic god when afflicted by drought and receive from him instructions for an expiation rite (see below). (3) The following aition is an extremely reduced version of the wellknown story that a goat gnawed off the vines in the Attic deme of Ikarion and was, as a punishment, sacrificed to Dionysus84. As with the swine aition, Porphyry left aside all details of the story which was generally known anyway. (4) The fourth aition is related to the rite of the Bouphonia during the festival of Zeus Polieus, the Dipolieia. Here again, an animal is punished 81. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 79, n. 6 (on p. 201) with reference to J. RUDNotions fondamentales de la pensée religieuse et actes constitutifs du culte dans la Grèce classique, Genève, Droz, 1958, pp. 173-174; 259-260. 82. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 60; 172, n. 29; the ancient sources in W. BURKERT, Homo necans: Interpretationen altgriechischer Opferriten und Mythen, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 1972 (repr. with addenda 1997), p. 11 with n. 13; cf. Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 22011, p. 94. F.S. NAIDEN, The Fallacy of the Willing Victim, in Journal of Hellenic Studies 127 (2007) 61-73 tries to minimalize the ancient evidence and doubts that people interpreted the nodding as consent. I still think that the traditional interpretation is valid. If the passage is indeed from Theophrastus, as is argued below, this would be the oldest evidence for such an interpretation and lend support to the communis opinio argued for by Burkert. But be that as it may, for our question it is less important what the general public thought. What counts is that in intellectual circles the nodding was interpreted in such a way and that is was used as an argument in the discussion of the legitimacy of animal sacrifice. 83. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 79, n. 9 (on p. 202). 84. Attestations of this story are listed in BÖMER, Fasti (n. 73), vol. 2, p. 44 (on 1.354) and R.A.B. MYNORS, Virgil. Georgics. Edited with a Commentary, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1990, pp. 148-149 (on 2.380ff.). HARDT,

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for a crime, an ox that had eaten a sacrificial cake. The type of story is thus that of the goat and (probably) of the swine aitia but it needs some more attention. It reads as follows (§ 10.2): βοῦν δὲ Δίομος ἔσφαξε πρῶτος, ἱερεὺς ὢν τοῦ Πολιέως Διός, ὅτι τῶν Διιπολείων ἀγομένων καὶ παρεσκευασμένων κατὰ τὸ πάλαι ἔϑος τῶν καρπῶν ὁ βοῦς προσελϑὼν ἀπεγεύσατο τοῦ ἱεροῦ πελάνου· συνεργοὺς γὰρ λαβὼν τοὺς ἄλλους ὅσοι παρῆσαν, ἀπέκτεινε τοῦτον. Diomos, a priest of Zeus Polieus, was the first to kill an ox, because when the Diipolia were being celebrated and the fruits were laying out according to old custom, the ox came in and ate from the sacred cake. Taking all the others who were present as his helpers, he killed it (my translation).

Bernays noted that this version of the Bouphonia aition contradicts the one told in §§ 29–31.1 in several respects85. Since he accepts the latter as coming from Theophrastus, he sees in the former Porphyry’s addition from a different source. My thesis is that the short account in § 10.2 is nothing but a sloppy resumé of the long description in §§ 29–30. In § 10 the protagonist is Diomos, in § 29.1 he is named “Diomos or Sopatros”, Δίομον ἢ Σώπατρον, when he is first introduced, while in the following he is always referred to as Sopatros. Bernays deletes Δίομον ἤ as an addition by Porphyry: When Porphyry added the nonTheophrastean passage §§ 9–10, Bernays argues, he did not know that Theophrastus’ work would contain a version of the Bouphonia legend. When he was later copying the Bouphonia story from Theophrastus, he added these two words to cover the contradiction with § 10 and hoped the reader would not realize the differences86. This is hardly convincing. 85. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 60; 122. 86. Ibid., p. 122: “Als Porphyrios oben […] aus nichttheophrastischer Quelle unter anderen attischen Opferlegenden auch die auf dieses hochheilige Fest des Zeus bezügliche mit seinen theophrastischen Exzerpten verwebte, muss er noch nicht gewusst haben, dass die weitere Ausbeutung der theophrastischen Schrift ihn zur Mittheilung einer mannigfach abweichenden Sage veranlassen werde. Bei der auch unachtsamen Lesern nothwendig auffallenden Verschiedenheit, dass der Träger der Hauptrolle in dem ritualen Drama oben […] Diomos hiess, von Theophrastos aber Sopatros genannt wird, hilft sich nun Porphyrios so schlau oder so plump wie es in der Eile ging; da wo Theophrastos zum ersten Mal seinen Sopatros auftreten lässt, schreibt Porphyrios den früheren Namen als Variante hinzu: Δίομον ἢ Σώπατρόν τινα […], ohne zu bedenken, wie arg ein solches Schwanken, wenn es von Theophrastos herrührte, gegen die oberste Regel guten Erzählens, gegen die zuversichtliche Bestimmtheit verstossen würde, mit welcher denn auch Theophrastos, eben weil er ein guter Erzähler ist, alle anderen noch so geringfügigen Nebenumstände der Sage vorträgt. Bei den übrigen Abweichungen ausser dieser onomatologischen scheint Porphyrios auf die Schutzgottheit der Compilatoren, das kurze Gedächtnis des gewöhnlichen Lesers, vertraut zu haben”. See also BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 53: “À propos du nom de Diomos, on ne saurait affirmer que Théophraste en ait eu connaissance, bien que son récit dise ‘Diomos ou Sopatros’ (29,1). Il y a trop de chance en effet pour que Porphyre,

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Adding the name of Diomos, Porphyry would have pointed the reader to the earlier version of the myth more than passing over the contradiction silently87. Bernays’ theory also presupposes that Porphyry excerpted Theophrastus and, at the same time, inserted the excerpts into his own text, without having read Theophrastus’ whole account before. Otherwise, it would be inconceivable that he did not remember this most impressive story which he himself introduces into his text as “a precept for our entire life” (§ 28.3). This is not the way in which ancient compilers worked88. Furthermore, it would have been easy to modify the version in § 10 to make it agree with that in Theophrastus by changing only a few words, if he realized his main source reports a different story and he regarded this of some importance. Pötscher’s explanation is even less convincing89. Assuming that two of the aitia (swine and goat) stem from Theophrastus, he postulates that Theophrastus’ text originally contained, as part of its list of Athenian aitia, also a short reference to the Sopatros story. When Theophrastus narrated the Sopatros story in full somewhere else, he also mentioned the Diomos story without narrating it. This is why we read Δίομον ἢ Σώπατρον in § 29.1, the account which is based on this full version. Porphyry then replaced Theophrastus’ allusion to the Sopatros story in § 10 by the Diomos story which he happened to know as well, but independently from Theophrastus’ On Piety. Too much is unclear and improbable here: Why should Porphyry replace an aition by another? And if he did, would he insert an aition which he knew would contradict the one he was going to narrate only a few pages later if he wanted to present the whole text as stemming from Theophrastus? Is it likely that he knew a tradition, the Diomos aition, only alluded to by Theophrastus, which has left no other trace in extant literature? On all these questions the answer must be negative.

ou quelque glossateur, ait tenté, en introduisant le nom de Diomos dans le récit de Théophraste, de rendre la seconde version compatible avec la première”. He is followed by SODANO, Porfirio (n. 40), p. 408, n. 57: “se in II 29,1 […] si legge l’alternativa ‘Diomo o Sopatro’, essa è verisimile sia dovuta all’intervento di Porfirio o di un glossatore, allo scopo di conciliare la prima con la seconda versione” with reference to Bernays and Bouffartigue. DITADI, Teofrasto (n. 40), p. 238 does not translate Δίομον ἤ and does not even mention that this is the manuscript reading. 87. See PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 85. 88. See especially T. DORANDI, Nell’officina dei classici: Come lavoravano gli autori antichi, Roma, Carocci Editore, 2007; cf. also S. SCHORN, Studien zur hellenistischen Biographie und Historiographie (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde, 345), Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2018, pp. 341-354. 89. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 84-86.

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To conclude on this point: there is no reason to delete Δίομον ἤ from § 29.1. It is possible that Porphyry’s source author of §§ 29–30 stated that two different protagonists are transmitted for the story but then limited himself to using one name only in the following90. What remains is to explain the presence of two contradicting versions in Porphyry’s text. Let us look at the long version in §§ 29–30 to see where it differs from the short one. It has a somewhat elaborate structure and consists of three parts. The first describes the murder of the ox and its consequences, the second the sacrifice which was established in the mythical past to expiate the crime, and the third adds elements from contemporary cult. But elements from parts two and three have been mixed up and it is to be assumed that the cult had not, or not significantly, changed according to this text since it had been introduced91. Here again, the hand of the epitomizer is visible and once more we see him make mistakes by sloppily summarizing his source. The protagonist of this story is a metic living in the Attic countryside. When he sees a plough ox eat the sacred cake and other offerings he had placed on a table to be sacrificed, he grabs an ax, which was being sharpened nearby, and slays it. Later he realizes what he has done, buries the ox and goes into voluntary exile in Crete. Drought comes over the land and the Athenians consult the Delphic oracle which gives instructions how to expiate the crime and stop the drought: The Pythian (priestess) responded that the exile in Crete would expiate these things, and that when they had taken revenge on the murderer and had put the dead on its feet in the very sacrificial rite in which it had died, it would be better for those who had tasted of the dead and not held back (§ 29.3).

The Athenians finally find Sopatros in Crete and he “thought he would be freed from the hostility that surrounded him, in as much as he was 90. The transmitted text is kept by FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), p. 64 (L 91.323-324) and in F 584A,323-324 FHS&G. 91. This description of the most peculiar rite has generated a high number of interpretations and reconstructions of the ritual. A long doxography and discussion will be found in S. SCHORN, Einleitung zu Buphonia und Weiterführung der Diskussion: Geschichte des Festes nach den literarischen und epigraphischen Zeugnissen, in ID. (ed.), Felix Jacoby: Buphonia und andere Studien, aus dem Nachlass herausgegeben. A competing aition and cult description is preserved by Pausanias (1.24.4 and 1.28.10) and referred to in other texts (e.g., Schol. Aristoph. Nub. 985c HOLWERDA; Agallis of Cercyra at Schol. Hom. Iliad Σ 483-606, IV p. 530,6-8 ERBSE). The most thorough analysis of the tradition can be found in an unpublished paper by Felix Jacoby that I will edit in the volume mentioned above. Although I disagree with some of his fundamental assumptions, it is a great step forward in the reconstruction of the tradition on this rite. I do not agree with BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), pp. 51-58 who distinguishes, in Porphyry’s description, elements of the original and the later sacrifice.

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accursed, if all were to engage publicly in the act, (and so) he said to those who had come after him that it was necessary for an ox to be cut down by the city” (§ 29.4). As the Athenians are perplexed and do not know who would do such a thing, Sopatros offers himself if they grant him citizenship. He institutes a yearly public sacrifice in Athens in which several persons participate, together with him and later with his descendants, himself being the person who strikes the ox with an ax and someone else cutting its throat with a knife. The hide of the ox is stuffed out with straw, it is put up again as if living and everybody eats of its meat. The sacrifice is followed by a mock lawsuit against all those involved in the murder. Everyone accuses someone else of being more guilty and in the end the knife, which is mute and cannot defend itself, is condemned. Speaking of contemporary cult, Porphyry’s source adds among other things, in the third part of the account, that a sacrificial cake and ground meal are placed on a table and oxen are driven around it. The one that eats of it is slayed. It is clear from these and other elements of the cult as instituted in the mythical past and still practiced at the time of the source author, that it is meant to reenact, with some modifications, Sopatros’ original murder and the lawsuit that should have followed it. Returning to § 10 we can now see what went wrong when Porphyry summarized the story and tried to cut it as short as possible: He only speaks of Diomos although in the extended version two names appear. This is a legitimate abbreviation and it is understandable that he chose the better-known name, that of the eponym of the Attic deme of Diomeia, not Sopatros who is nowhere else attested as a mythical figure. What he then describes as the first killing of the ox is not the murder of the aition but rather the description of what happened during the sacrifice, i.e. the story as it is narrated by the ritual act, with a few small inaccuracies92: The role of Diomos-Sopatros is that of the man who strikes the ox with the ax while here the use of σφάζω, “to slash”, seems to make him the man who cuts the throat of the animal with the knife. But this is perhaps not even a real mistake, seeing that σφάζω can be used for any killing (LSJ s.v. II 2 and 5). Perhaps we should rather call it a somewhat imprecise expression. In addition, Diomos is called “priest of Zeus Polieus”, which may or may not suggest the author saw in him the priest of Zeus Polieus which at least his decedents were not. They were only officials among others involved in the ritual, yet very important ones. So Porphyry may have considered him a priest of Zeus Polieus, not the priest of this 92. This agreement was also seen by Jacoby in his unpublished paper (see n. 91), but he draws very different conclusions from those above.

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god. The expression ἱερεὺς ὤν is open to both interpretations. That § 10 does not call him a metic is, in contrast, correct because Diomos-Sopatros had become a citizen in reward of his willingness to take part in the sacrifice93. Finally, the festival is here called Diipolia (Διιπολίων) but Diospolia (Διοσπολίοις) in § 30.4. The latter form is otherwise unattested and probably nothing more than a scribal error while the one in § 10 is closer to the correct form94. Therefore, considering the very condensed character of the aitia in §§ 9–10 and the mistakes in the historical setting of the sheep aition, we may easily read the Diomos version as a hasty and somewhat flawed epitome of the Diomos-Sopatros aition. To come back to the question above, we can now ask whether the interpretation of the oracle of the Bouphonia legend may also be read as a misinterpretation of the will of the god. According to the “logic” of the story, this does not seem so at first sight: although not saying so explicitly, it is presupposed in the myth that the drought came to an end on account of the ritual instituted by Sopatros. But there also seems to be a hint that Porphyry’s source evaluated the story otherwise. Sopatros introduces this complicated ritual for egoistic reasons: he wants to make the whole polis complicit in the deed, because he does not want to be the only murderer, and therefore invents a ritual in which representatives of the polis take part in the killing. So one wonders whether this corresponds to the will of the god. The same is true for the almost funny outcome of the murder trial and the fake revival of the ox. To be sure, the rite of the sacrifice contains the actions demanded by the oracle: the murderer is punished, the dead is “resurrected” and everybody eats of the body. But a critic might argue that the god did not speak of a future drama re-enacting the first ox-murder, but of Sopatros and the dead ox itself: he should be punished and his ox should be put up again and be eaten of during the ϑυσία itself when he was killed. This would mean on the day of the public festival (κοινῆς ϑυσίας, § 29.1) during which Sopatros wanted to offer his fruits and killed the animal. As this day was long ago and the animal must have been rotten by the time the Athenian ambassadors found Sopatros in Crete, this would come down to 93. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 123 assumes that the legislation of Classical Athens has to be reflected in the aition so a naturalized citizen cannot be the priest of Zeus Polieus. This is asking too much of an etiological myth. 94. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 97 emends the form in the text to Διιπολίοις. The correct name of the festival is Dipolieia. It is only preserved (in part) by fifth-century inscriptions and has been restored in Aristophanes, Pax 420. On the problem, see J. WACKERNAGEL, Dipolia, in Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 45 (1890) 480-482. In literary texts, we find Διπόλεια, Διιπόλεια, Διπόλια, Διιπόλια and once Διιπολίεια.

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an adynaton: the crime cannot be expiated. But the source author may have found yet another interpretation of the oracle to show that the yearly killing of an ox is the wrong reading. Unfortunately, we do not have the original text of Porphyry’s source and it is to be feared that important information has been lost in the epitome. In any case, the strange trick played by Sopatros may not be an incidental detail. Rather it may point to the problematic character of the ritual. Porphyry, however, wants the reader to understand this story differently, because he calls this Athenian rite “a precept for our entire life” (§ 28.4). These words cannot go back to Theophrastus. The two sentences preceding the aition (§ 28.3-4) are almost certainly additions by Porphyry because they contain a polemic against eating meat typical of his additions. To him the Bouphonia aition and the corresponding rite may indeed appear as a positive example. He is not in principle an opponent of animal sacrifice. Only real, i.e., Neoplatonic, philosophers need not offer animals as they venerate the gods by their pure thoughts and he does not want to abolish public cult and the sacrifices of the common people. The message of the aition as we read it here is that the value of an animal life equates that of a human and that its murder is to be punished in the same way. In the context of commemorating the primordial crime, and only there, it is allowed to kill an animal and to taste of its meat but even then the murderer has to be punished, at least symbolically. The general use of meat for food is impious. The way in which the aition is presented by Porphyry, the god really ordered the sacrifice of an ox once a year at the festival of Zeus Polieus. Porphyry makes this very clear in his short interpretation of the aition (§ 31.2) where he admits that such an expiatory sacrifice may be necessary, but people have to avoid polluting themselves by consuming meat in their personal lives. Such a view is incompatible with Theophrastus’ concept of sacrifice95. As set out above, he only admits three reasons for sacrificing to the gods, to ask them for something, to thank them for benefactions, or to purely venerate them. None of this, he argues, is possible by killing animals. For him, an expiatory animal sacrifice demanded by the god cannot exist96. Contrary to that, the oracle of the Bouphonia aition, as it is interpreted by the Athenians and Porphyry, contains an order of the Delphic god to kill an animal and to eat of its flesh. Furthermore, an ox is the most expensive animal while for Theophrastus offerings have to be 95. Also MARTIN – PRIMAVESI, Empédocle (n. 57), p. 292 see in this claim an addition by Porphyry. 96. Here SCHORN, On Eating Meat (n. 34), pp. 22 and 28 is wrong. FORTENBAUGH, Piety (n. 48), pp. 186-188 emphasizes that “the list is exhaustive” (p. 186). I disagree with OBBINK’s (Origin [n. 33], p. 284) interpretation of the Bouphonia within On Piety.

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inexpensive (§§ 13.4–15.3). Thus, the conclusion seems unavoidable that the Bouphonia aition can only be claimed for Theophrastus if he interpreted Sopatros’ ritual as a misreading of the oracle. But there are more problems. As is explicitly stated in § 29.1, the killing of the ox happened at a time when only fruits, but not ζῷα were sacrificed. If ζῷα here means “animals”, as is likely, this is incompatible with Theophrastus’ developmental theory, but also if it is used more generally for “living beings”, thus also including men: for Theophrastus, animal sacrifice was a substitute for human sacrifice, with animals first being burnt completely and the sacrificial meal as the following step in the development. As it is presented by Porphyry, Theophrastus’ substitution theory is not only meant to explain why (almost) all human sacrifices had disappeared at Theophrastus’ time but is intended as a general rule. He regards all animal sacrifices as substitutions of originally human sacrifices and believes that animals were first burnt completely. In the Bouphonia aition the sacrifice of the ox is the consequence of an oracle, not the replacement of an existing human sacrifice, and, in addition, it is not a holocaust but immediately a sacrificial meal. The same problem we encounter with the other aitia in §§ 9–10 even if someone should not regard the Diomos aition there as an epitome of the Diomos-Sopatros aition (which will be assumed for a moment). It is surprising that it is almost never stated clearly in literature that they do not fit Theophrastus’ reconstruction of the history of sacrifice97. The only place where one might try to insert them in Theophrastus’ developmental history is the stage when, after the cannibalism of early times, only human sacrifice existed. One might argue that the four incidents took place then and that they explain why holocausts of humans were replaced by holocausts of animals and one may point to the fact that in the aitia 1, 3 and 4 it is not said explicitly that animals were eaten when they started to be sacrificed. In aition 2, ἀπάρξασϑαι in § 9.3 is part of the historical setting created by Porphyry himself. It implies that somebody wanted to eat mutton and bring a first-fruit offering of this new type of food. The use of this word might then be regarded an erroneous interpretation by Porphyry just as that of the proper names in the oracle. The oracle itself only shows that no sheep sacrifice existed and may be read as referring to holocausts. However, reading the four aitia in such a way would mean 97. But it was noted by SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), p. 39, n. 25 who criticizes Bernays for considering the possibility that the swine and the goat aitia might stem from Theophrastus: “tum etiam pugnat contra eius [= Theophrasti] doctrinam, quia animalia necata esse docet sine crimine hominum loco atque consulto, cum hic sus inconsulto necetur et caper puniatur pro vite arrosa”.

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to press the text too much. The reasons listed in § 9.1 for the introduction of the four types of sacrifice are ignorance/mistake (ἀγνοίας), anger (ὀργάς) and fear (φόβους). Nothing suggests that at that time human sacrifice existed. Reading the aitia of §§ 9–10 without prejudice, they imply that the animals were also eaten, because they serve to explain the standard Greek form of sacrifice, which is the sacrificial meal. The whole context in which Porphyry narrates them suggests this too. They are thus alternative explanations for the introduction of sacrificial meals of animals to the one offered by Theophrastus. This interpretation is confirmed by § 25 where Theophrastus sets forth that men sacrifice animals which help them with their work and provide food for them – he is thinking here of milk and eggs – and that they do so for the sole reason that they want to eat their meat98. Although not said explicitly, it is beyond doubt that this is meant as a reproach: although these animals help men, they are killed. The animals mentioned are ox, sheep, stags, birds (i.e., probably chicken), swine, thus three of the four animals of the Athenian aitia appear again. What is in any case evident from this passage is that Theophrastus cannot have accepted the four Athenian aitia as a general legitimation of sacrificing the four species. If we now look at the arguments usually adduced for Theophrastean origin of the long version of the Bouphonia aition, we see that not all of them are relevant. Bernays speaks of a “Theophrastean environment” in which it is located99. This is somewhat misleading because it is found in a passage which comes after the end of Theophrastus’ description of the development of sacrifice, and as Bernays notes himself, the passages standing immediately before and after it contain insertions by Porphyry in which he, as usual, polemizes against the consumption of meat100. He further assumes that Theophrastus also knew the Diomos story but chose the Sopatros version because it shows better than the former that the people of old detested killing useful animals101, and Bouffartigue holds

98. The provenance from Theophrastus of at least § 25.(1)2-5 is proven by the forms of μηϑείς in the text and the fact that it is an integral part of the argument in § 24. It is accepted by all editors of On Piety as Theophrastean. 99. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 60 “in theophrastischer Umgebung”. 100. I.e., §§ 28.3-4 and 31.2: see BERNAYS’ (Theophrastos [n. 5]) small print of these passages on pp. 88 and 91. In addition, I have shown above that (at least) the end of the sentence in § 28.4 contains Porphyry’s words when the Bouphonia aition is introduced as “a precept for our entire life”. 101. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 123: “Und für diese Sopatros-Version entschied sich Theophrastos, weil sie ihm Gelegenheit bot, den Abscheu früherer Zeitalter vor der Tötung nützlicher Thiere eindringlicher zu schildern, als es die Diomos-Version gestattet hätte”.

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that the long Bouphonia aition “shows best the impious character of the first killing of an ox”102. But we should keep in mind that we do not know whether there was a different Diomos aition or the same aition was told with two different protagonists (as I think), and if it existed, its full version is unknown to us and we thus cannot tell whether Theophrastus’ intended “message” was contained in it to a lesser degree. However, neither Bernays nor Bouffartigue seems to have realized that the traditional reading of the Bouphonia aition, which they both accept, would make it impossible to claim it for Theophrastus’ developmental theory. Although the evidence seems overwhelming against Theophrastean authorship of the four aitia, including the long Bouphonia aition, there may be a way to save them for Theophrastus, especially if we read them as misinterpretations of the divine will. Pötscher has rightly emphasized that Porphyry explicitly states in § 32 that he has deleted mythical stories from his resumé of Theophrastus. If he added all these aitia, this claim would be blatantly wrong and it would not be compatible with his other claim either to have added only “a few things”103. Pötscher also argues that the long version of the Bouphonia aition contradicts Porphyry’s intention because the god orders the consumption of meat, while it is compatible with Theophrastus’ aim to show that animals should not be killed. Therefore, Porphyry would not have added it were it not part of his main source Theophrastus. The first part of the argument is stronger than the second because Porphyry obviously regards Sopatros’ interpretation of the oracle as correct. This is shown by his addition in § 31.2 where Porphyry accepts the possibility that a god may demand that men “lay hands on animals” in cult, i.e. kill and eat them which clearly refers to the preceding aition104. In addition, there are other and stronger arguments which may speak in favor of Theophrastus’ authorship of all these stories. Theophrastus lived in Athens as a metic for decades. So it is not likely that he ignored the Athenian aitia told there about the introduction of various forms of animal sacrifice. As he was probably writing (also or even especially) for an Athenian audience, it is not easy to imagine that he did not take them into account, especially if we see that Athenian evidence played a role in his work elsewhere: the Athenian procession in honor of the Sun and the Hours (§ 7.1) was an important piece of 102. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 52: “C’est bien le second, en effet, qui fait le mieux apparaître le caractère impie du premier meurtre du bœuf, ce qui correspond tout à fait aux intentions de Théophraste”. 103. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 129-130. 104. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 25 has shown that this passage is by Porphyry and he is followed by FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), p. 65 and FHS&G (n. 2), vol. 2, p. 429.

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evidence for his reconstruction of early sacrifice, and perhaps also the sprinkling of the altars with human blood (§ 27.2), of which he speaks in his discussion of human sacrifice, alludes to an Athenian custom105. The important role played by the Delphic Apollon in three of the aitia has a parallel in the story of the Thessalian and Hermionian men in § 15, and the Delian Apollon is the owner of the Altar of the Pious on Delos (§ 28.1)106. Furthermore, the rite of the Bouphonia as it is described in §§ 29–30 was very probably introduced in the early 330s replacing a simpler rite. Together with the new rite a new aition seems to have been created which fitted the new rite better than the old one107. This reform is to be seen in the context of the reform program of Lycurgus when many festivals were embellished. It is unlikely that this change was not noticed by Theophrastus and that the new, more spectacular, rite did not impress him108. It would be too unlikely a coincidence if Porphyry happened to add the description of an Athenian rite and the corresponding aition to his summary of Theophrastus which were created exactly at the time when Theophrastus was working there. That this explanation is more probable than the alternative one, which would attribute all these myths to Porphyry’s compilatory activity, is supported by additional evidence from Ovid. The poet combines descriptions of the history of bloodless food and sacrifice with the four aitia on the introduction of animal sacrifice in such a way that makes it likely that they were already contained in On Piety. Ovid describes the early development of sacrifice and food in two passages of the Fasti (1.337-348 and 4.395-416) and he has Pythagoras, in the latter’s long speech in Metamorphoses book 15, recommend the vegetarian food he wants his contemporaries to eat and which was eaten in the Golden Age when peace reigned among living beings (Met. 15.73-103). In both works this description is combined with the four aitia explaining the introduction of killing swine, goat, sheep, and ox. Schmekel has shown that Ovid bases himself 105. Thus BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 117, followed by FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), p. 127. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 93, n. 3 (on p. 209) is somewhat hesitant to accept this interpretation but does not contradict explicitly. CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 65, n. 273 (on pp. 150-151) says we do not know which rite is referred to here. 106. On the importance of the Delphic Apollon here and elsewhere in On Piety, see PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 20. 107. This will be shown in SCHORN, Einleitung (n. 91), that will be discussing the important insights of Jacoby’s unpublished paper. 108. Also BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), pp. 52-53, who argues for a different development of the cult, writes that Theophrastus must have been impressed by the archaic rite: “On imagine en outre l’intérêt que pouvait présenter aux yeux de Théophraste, que fonde en grande partie sur l’histoire sa réflexion sur les sacrifices, un rite qui, dès le Ve siècle, frappait les Athéniens par son archaïsme” (with reference to Aristophanes, Nubes 985).

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in both works for all these elements on one and the same source but uses it differently and adapts it to the different intentions of the Fasti and the Metamorphoses109. In the Fasti the focus is, in book 1, on the development of sacrifice and the poet wants to legitimize the sacrificing of the four species. In book 4, in the chapter on Ceres and the Cerealia, it is on the development of food. In Pythagoras’ speech in Metamorphoses 15, sacrifice is of little importance and Ovid’s interest is in food. Here the aitia are presented as empty excuses for eating animals and as what people only claim. In both works Ovid makes use of this source freely and it is not his intention to reproduce it correctly. He adapts it to different contexts and contradicting arguments, adds to it and replaces elements by others. In other words, he uses it as a poet, not as a historian110. This we must bear in mind so that we do not overestimate the differences with Porphyry. Schmekel has also made it extremely likely that Ovid uses, in the parts on the development of bloodless sacrifice and vegetarian food, a tradition that goes back to Theophrastus111. It is combined with the four aitia in Fasti 1.349-382 (swine, goat, ox112, sheep, followed by information on other animals that are sacrificed which do not always constitute aitia) and in Met. 15.111-126 (swine, goat, sheep, ox). The aitia in both works agree with those in Porphyry in such a way that there are no serious differences and they can be combined to form coherent stories. In other words: they may belong to the same tradition. As Ovid’s direct 109. See SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), p. 20. 110. See the appropriate assessment by SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), p. 20. Cf. B. GLADIGOW, Ovids Rechtfertigung der blutigen Opfer: Interpretationen zu Ovid, Fasti I 335-456, in Der altsprachliche Unterricht 14 (1971) 5-23. 111. The main passages are Ovid, Fasti 1.339-342 ~ Porphyry, Abst. 2.5.1; Fasti 1.345 ~ Abst. 2.6.4; Fasti 4.395-402 ~ Abst. 2.5.2–6.1; Met. 15.103 ~ Abst. 2.21.1–22.1. See SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), pp. 22-25. His observations are generally correct but a more detailed comparison will show even better the agreements of content and structure. Schmekel does not regard the four aitia as stemming from Theophrastus (p. 39 with n. 25) and he has not seen that the aitia in the two Ovid passages and in Porphyry can be combined and that the differences can be easily explained. In addition, his reconstruction of the evolution of sacrifice in Theophrastus (pp. 33-42) is impossible. This does not affect the general correctness of his conclusion that the development from grass to grain in Ovid represents the Theophrastean tradition. See also GRAF, Ad aureae aetatis fabulam (n. 56), p. 22 and already BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 186. 112. The “ox aition” has here been replaced by the Aristaeus story which is not an aition that explains why oxen are sacrificed, but why they are killed to create bees from their rotting bodies; cf. SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), p. 16; BÖMER, Fasti (n. 73), vol. 2, p. 44 (on 1.361); p. 45 (on 1.363); E. LEFÈVRE, Die Lehre von der Entstehung der Tieropfer in Ovids Fasten 1,335-456, in Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 119 (1976) 39-64, pp. 46-47.

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source Schmekel hypothesized Varro, who on his part would have relied on an unknown Hellenistic Pythagorean work, but later he saw in Posidonius Varro’s source113. With somewhat greater probability Segl regarded one of the many contemporary Pythagorean works as Ovid’s source114. Whatever the source was, it already combined the Theophrastean development of bloodless food/sacrifice with the four aitia. If we assume with Schmekel that the first element (development of food/sacrifice) goes back to Theophrastus and the second one (the four aitia) was added by this unknown intermediary source from elsewhere, we cannot explain the presence of the second one in Porphyry115, because Porphyry has without doubt used Theophrastus directly. We would have to assume that both the unknown author and Porphyry combined Theophrastus’ account with the four aitia independently from each other. This would be too much of a coincidence; it is much more likely that the four aitia are found in Ovid and Porphyry together, because they were already contained in Theophrastus’ On Piety116. But still, the four aitia do not fit Theophrastus’ historical reconstruction. Nevertheless, also this problem can be solved. It has, to my knowledge, never been taken into account that the four aitia are explicitly labelled as something the Athenians narrate, which is said twice, at the beginning of the passage and even more clearly at its end117. When Theophrastus refers to aitia or cults elsewhere within his own reconstruction of the development of sacrifice, it is his authorial voice which narrates them, showing in that way that the author authenticates what is told. Thus 113. SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), pp. 26-29; 73-74; Die Philosophie der mittleren Stoa in ihrem geschichtlichen Zusammenhange dargestellt, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1892, pp. 288-289, n. 4. 114. R. SEGL, Die Pythagorasrede im 15. Buch von Ovids Metamorphosen, Diss. Salzburg 1970 (unpublished), pp. 31; 87; 98; 115-116 etc. against SCHMEKEL, De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione (n. 56), pp. 100-102. 115. The same is true if one sees in Ovid the author who has combined the two elements. 116. GRAF, Ad aureae aetatis fabulam (n. 56), p. 22 notes that the transition from bloodless to bloody sacrifice is similar in Theophrastus and Ovid’s Metamorphoses and that in both texts it is followed by the sacrifice of swine and goat (here he follows Bernays’ tentative inclusion of these two aitia in Theophrastus’ text), but he does not draw the conclusion that this is an additional argument of Theophrastus’ authorship of these two aitia and even of all four aitia. Also Plutarch seems to have used, spread over different works, a tradition which combined elements similar to those in Theophrastus with allusions to some of the Athenian aitia. But this evidence does not contribute much to our problem. It only confirms the existence of a tradition in which they were combined. I do not agree with SCHMEKEL’S (De Ovidianae Pythagoreae doctrinae adumbratione [n. 56], pp. 39-42) conclusions. 117. § 9.1: αὐτίκα τῶν κατὰ μέρος παρ’ Ἀϑηναίοις ἀναιρέσεων αἱ αἰτίαι ἢ ἀγνοίας ἢ ὀργὰς ἢ φόβους τὰς ἀρχὰς ἔχουσιν. § 10.3: καὶ παρὰ μὲν Ἀϑηναίοις τοιαῦται κατὰ μέρος ἀποδίδονται αἰτίαι, ἄλλαι δὲ παρ’ ἄλλοις λέγονται.

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two interpretations seem possible. The first is that Theophrastus only narrated the aitia without endorsing their correctness or even challenging it. The second is that he accepted a different development for Athens. We should not forget that we do not know the literary form of On Piety. It has been suggested that it may have been a dialogue118. But even if it was a treatise, it is possible, and even probable, that Theophrastus dealt with competing views and stories that were incompatible with his own general theory or admitted different developments. Of the two possibilities, the first seems unlikely to me. I do not think that Theophrastus doubted the “historicity” of these stories. That would have been unwise for a metic living in Athens and in such a case he would not have narrated the Bouphonia story so extensively. We may suspect in addition that also some other aitia may have been more extensive. The most probable explanation is therefore that Theophrastus’ historical reconstruction was not so monocausal as Porphyry seems to suggest. I think it is possible that Theophrastus admitted the possibility of different developments in different places. In other words, although he assumed that the general development was that from human sacrifice to animal holocausts to sacrificial meals, he may have accepted that in Athens animal sacrifice was introduced for different reasons. The way then in which he treated the Athenian claims in On Piety was, as it seems, to dispute the traditional interpretation of the divine will and to deny they contain a general approval of animal sacrifice. We should not forget that also these aitia contain many elements that confirm some of Theophrastus’ basic views: animal sacrifice is a late development, there are no good reasons for its introduction (i.e. mistake, fear, anger) and, as the Bouphonia story shows, animal life is no less valuable than human life to the god. That should have made it easy for Theophrastus to tell these stories in his work and to show the points where he disagreed from their usual interpretation. All in all, it seems likely that the four aitia, including the long Bouphonia aition, were already present in On Piety. Their original place can only be established tentatively because we know too little about its structure. They might have been discussed after Theophrastus had set out his own theory. Alternatively, another chapter recommends itself as a good place. It is § 25 in which it is noted with reproach that men also eat animals that help them with their work and provide food, using the alleged will 118. GOTTSCHALK, in Gnomon (n. 10), p. 344; ID., in JHS (n. 1), p. 169; WEHRLI, in Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft (n. 10), p. 223; FORTENBAUGH, Piety (n. 48), p. 175. This is not impossible. We should not forget that in Porphyry’s paraphrase of Plutarch’s De Sollertia Animalium all dialogical elements have been removed so that the original literary form is no longer visible; see above, p. 78.

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of the gods as a pretense. As we have seen above, ox, sheep and swine are listed there explicitly along with stag and bird. It would not be surprising if Theophrastus had reported there the traditional Athenian stories that legitimize their being offered and responded to them by showing that their interpretation is mistaken. A remainder of this original context may even be preserved at the end of the Bouphonia aition, where the story is concluded with the words: “Thus even in ancient times it was not holy to kill those animals that contribute to our lives (τὰ συνεργὰ τοῖς βίοις ἡμῶν ζῷα), and now we ought to guard against doing this” (§ 31.1). They echo the repeated mention in § 25 of the use and help domesticated animals offer to human life, and especially the one which alludes to the plough ox: “Of these (scil. animals) some provide assistance for our own lives by sharing our labors (ὧν τὰ μὲν τοῖς βίοις ἡμῶν ἐπικουρεῖ συμπονοῦντα)” (§ 25.4)119. c) § 10.3-4 After the Athenian aitia, Porphyry declares that people elsewhere give other reasons why they started killing animals and that most of them blame hunger as the initial reason. Since they were used to sacrificing what they ate, animal sacrifice developed (§ 10.3). It is indeed a widespread idea in ancient literature that mankind started eating animals due to lack of food at an early stage of history and Theophrastus might have told some of these stories120. If he did, he must have doubted here as well that they serve as a legitimation of animal sacrifice in general. But it is also possible, and even more probable, that the mention of hunger here only refers back to § 9.1 and § 7.2 where “hunger” resp. “hunger and wars” appear as the initial reasons for killing and sacrificing animals. As we have seen above, Porphyry wants us to believe there (incorrectly) that this was Theophrastus’ view. And now again, Porphyry is deliberately vague when he is speaking of ἔμψυχα. Although this term is also used by Peripatetics121, in On Abstinence it is Porphyry’s standard term for animals, while it is never used in passages where Theophrastus’ authorship is certain. So probably once again Porphyry insinuates that 119. Cf. also § 25.1: ἃ μηδεμίαν εἰς τὸν βίον ἡμῖν παρέχεται χρείαν (on wild and dangerous animals); § 25.3: τῶν δὲ τοῖς βίοις ἡμῶν χρείαν τινὰ παρασχομένων. 120. E.g., Megasthenes, FGrHist 715 F 12 § 4; Diod. 1.43.3-4; Plutarch, De esu carn. I 2 p. 993c-d; cf. J. HAUSSLEITER, Der Vegetarismus in der Antike (Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten, 24), Berlin, Töpelmann, 1935, pp. 64-72. 121. See the references to Aristotle and Theophrastus in PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 29-30 who regards them as evidence for Theophrastean authorship of the sentence under discussion.

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according to Theophrastus’ general view bloody sacrifice started with animals. From a formal point of view, he is not lying as ἔμψυχα includes all living beings, also humans. The reader, however, has to understand it otherwise because the topic in the preceding text was animal sacrifice only. The following sentence (§ 10.4) draws the conclusion from the fact that animal sacrifice is a consequence of the consumption of animal meat in times of famine. It is linguistically complex, much more than the regular Theophrastean diction, and it contains, in a very condensed form, a syllogistic reasoning which is not altogether clear. In addition, it introduces a new topic as it argues against the consumption of meat, which is Porphyry’s specific concern in On Abstinence, but is assumed to have been of limited interest to Theophrastus. Therefore, from Bernays onwards all scholars with the exception of Pötscher have denied Theophrastean provenance of § 10.4122. In order to assess authorship, it is worthwhile to have a closer look at this sentence: ὅϑεν οὐδὲ πρεσβύτερον τὸ ϑυσιῶν ὑπάρχον τῆς ἀναγκαίας τροφῆς ἐκ τούτου ἀφορίζοι ἂν τοῖς ἀνϑρώποις τὸ βρωτέον, ἑπόμενον δὲ οἷς ἐγεύσαντο καὶ ἀπήρξαντο, οὐκ ἀναγκάζοι προσίεσϑαι ὡς εὐσεβές οὗ μὴ εὐσεβῶς τοῖς ϑεοῖς ἀπήρξαντο.

The first part of the sentence is clearer than the second. I understand it as: “Therefore, not even (οὐδέ) if the sacrificial practice (i.e., animal sacrifice) were older than the eating (of animal meat) out of necessity, would it follow from it that men have to eat it (= animal meat)”. Note that this is a hypothetical reasoning123: it is imagined what would be if animal sacrifice existed before the consumption of animal meat, which is neither the case in Theophrastus’ nor in Porphyry’s view. Not even then the consequence of such sacrifice would be that men have to eat animal meat. The continuation of the argument one expects now is thus: “as animal sacrifice is later than the consumption of meat, men are even less obliged to eat meat”. What we read there is the following: “As it (= animal sacrifice) followed the consumption and offering (of animals) 122. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), p. 60; see also FORSTER, Opferwesen (n. 9), p. 62; BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 22; FORTENBAUGH, Quellen (n. 4), pp. 56 and 266; F 584A,92 FHS&G; DITADI, Teofrasto (n. 40), p. 197, n. 41. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 25-37 claims §§ 9–11 for Theophrastus. Several reviews of his book explicitly disagree from assigning § 10 to Theophrastus: WEHRLI, in Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft (n. 10), p. 222 (§ 10); GOTTSCHALK, in JHS (n. 10), p. 169; ID., in Gnomon (n. 10), p. 342 (§§ 10.3–11.2 with the possible exception of the first sentence of 10.3). PÖTSCHER’S (Strukurprobleme [n. 11], p. 145) defense of his F 6 only regards § 11.2 but he clearly sticks to his attribution of the whole passage §§ 9–11 to Theophrastus. 123. Cf. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 34.

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as first-fruits, it does not oblige us to admit as pious that of which we have offered first-fruits in an impious way”. It seems that the implied object of προσίεσϑαι can only be “the eating of animals/animal food”, supplied from βρωτέον in the first part of the sentence, not, again, the practice of animal sacrifice124. If this reading is correct, § 4 is an obvious 124. Thus also CLARK, Porphyry (n. 3), p. 58: “So even if use in sacrifice had preceded use as necessary food, it would not determine what people should eat; but since their offering was a consequence of what they had eaten, it could not require them to eat, as a pious act, what they had impiously offered the gods”. M. PERIAGO LORENTE, Porfirio. Sobre la abstinencia. Traducción, introducción y notas, Madrid, Editorial Gredos, 1984, p. 94: “Por consiguiente, si la existencia de estos sacrificios es más antigua que la necesidad de alimentarse, no se puede precisar por ello lo que los hombres deben comer. Pero, al ser posterior a la consumición y ofrendas de primicias, no se podría sostener como un hecho piadoso el comer un alimento, cuya ofrenda a los dioses es una impiedad”. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 80: “Or même si l’usage sacrificiel précédait l’usage alimentaire, il ne saurait de ce fait définir ce que les hommes ont besoin de manger. Mais puisqu’il est postérieur à la consommation et à l’offrande des prémices, il ne saurait faire admettre qu’on satisfait à la piété en consommant un aliment dont l’offrande même constitue une impiété”. At least in the second half of the sentence, also T. TAYLOR (Select Works of Porphyry; Containing His Four Books of Abstinence from Animal Food; His Treatise on the Homeric Cave of the Nymphs; and His Auxiliaries to the Perception of Intelligible Natures. Translated from the Greek by Th.T., London, Thomas Rodd, 1823, pp. 51-52) interprets the text in this way: “Whence, since the sacrifice of animals is not more ancient than necessary food, it may be determined from this circumstance what ought to be the nutriment of men. But it does not follow, because men have tasted of and offered animals in sacrifices as first-fruits, that it must necessarily be admitted to be pious to eat that which was not piously offered to the Gods”. Less clear, although he understands it in this way, is PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 155: “Daher könnte der Opferbrauch, auch wenn er wohl älter wäre als die notwendige Nahrung, für die Menschen deshalb noch nicht bestimmend sein, was zu essen ist, da er aber dem folgt, was sie gekostet und zum Opfer gebracht hatten, kann er wohl nicht zwingen, als fromm anzuerkennen, was sie den Göttern unfromm dargebracht haben”. Cf. I. DE RHOER, Porphyrii philosophi de abstinentia ab esu animalium libri quattuor. Cum notis integris Petri Victorii et Ioannis Valentini, et interpretatione Latina Ioannis Bernardi Feliciani. Editionem curavit et suas itemque Ioannis Iacobi Reiskii notas adiecit Iacobus de Rhoer. Accedunt IV epistolae de apostasia Porphyrii, Utrecht, Apud Abrahamum Paddenburg, 1767, p. 120: “Unde mos huiuscemodi sacrificiorum cum antiquior non esse conspiciatur, quam necessarius ex animalibus victus fuerit, declarare hominibus satis potest, semovenda etiam animalia ab eo quod comedendum sit: neque necesse esse, ut ex iis quae illi comederint, et sacrificarint, illud quasi pium admittamus, quod diis non pie obtulerunt”. BERNAYS, Theophrastos (n. 5), pp. 60-61: “Daher kann das Opfern, da es nicht älter ist, als die in Nothzeiten aufgekommene Nahrung, den Menschen wohl nicht späterhin den Maassstab abgeben für das was sie essen sollen, vielmehr da es nur als nachträgliche Folge aus dem Essen und der Weihgabe entstanden ist, darf es wohl nicht nöthigen als fromm dasjenige zuzulassen, was man in nicht frommer Weise den Göttern darbrachte”. SODANO, Porfirio (n. 40), p. 149: “Ond’è che l’uso sacrificale, neppure se fosse precedente alla necessaria alimentazione, potrebbe per questo fatto definire quel che gli uomini devono mangiare, ma poiché è posteriore a quel che gli uomini assaggiarono e offrirono come primizie, esso non potrebbe costringere ad ammettere come pio ciò che empiamente gli uomini offrono come primizie agli dei”. ZEKL, Porphyrios (n. 40), p. 84 does not seem to have understood the passage: “Und daher (kann man) auch nicht den gewichtigeren (Schluß ziehen), daß von dem aus, was an notwendigen Nahrungsmitteln den Räucheropfern zugrunde liegt, bestimmt werden könnte, was

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addition by Porphyry. It interrupts the argument and introduces a new topic, the question of whether eating meat is pious or even obligatory. This is indeed Porphyry’s main concern while Theophrastus has so far discussed the reasons for sacrificing livings beings. In the following sentence (§ 11.1), the topic is the question of why eating and sacrificing animals is unjust, and then, after an explicit reference to Theophrastus, the topic is animal sacrifice again. This also points to an insertion. However, Pötscher has made an important observation125: this sentence can be read as an answer to what is narrated by Theophrastus in § 27.6: when early men substituted human for animal sacrifice, they had, up to this point, never eaten animals. But as everything they had sacrificed so far was sacrificed because it served them as food, they believed they were obliged to eat animals as well, so they started doing so. In § 27 Theophrastus does not say explicitly that he regards this reasoning as mistaken, although this is clear from the context. Our § 10.4 contains precisely such an explicit rejection of early men’s reasoning. In this regard, Pötscher rightly refers to Theophrastus’ discussion of the three possible functions of sacrifice, to ask the gods for something, to thank them for benefactions and to purely venerate them (§ 24). None of this, Theophrastus argues, is possible by unjustly killing animals. This means that according to Theophrastus the cannibalism of early times was no legitimate reason to sacrifice men and later, as their substitutes, animals126. If we now read § 10.4 against the background of § 27.6 it is important to bear in mind that there animal sacrifice is a substitute for human sacrifice and sacrificing animals without eating them precedes sacrificial meals. If we imagine Theophrastus to have spoken there of living beings in general terms, i.e., humans and animals alike, the sentence fits very well: “Therefore, not even if the sacrificial practice (of sacrificing living beings) were older than the eating (of living beings) out of necessity, it would follow from it that we have to eat (living beings). As it followed the consumption and offering (of living beings) as first-fruits, it does not oblige us to admit as pious that (i.e. meat food) of which we have offered first-fruits in an impious way”. The latter part would then refer to the cannibalism and human sacrifice of early times: eating humans was a crime, thus sacrificing humans was impious. Now that human sacrifice has been Menschen zu essen haben; das Folgende hingegen, nämlich, daß sie von dem, wovon sie kosteten, auch Erstlingsopfer brachten, dürfte nicht zwingend herbeiführen, (die Annahme) zuzulassen, das wäre auch gottwohlgefällig, wovon sie auf nicht gottwohlgefällige Weise den Göttern die Erstlingsgabe nahmen”. 125. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), pp. 34-37, esp. 36. 126. Wrong on this SCHORN, On Eating Meat (n. 34), p. 26.

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replaced by animal sacrifice, this does not mean that men are obliged by the divine will to eat animals. In § 10.4 the only point of reference is the consumption and offering of animals: “Therefore, not even if the sacrificial practice (i.e. animal sacrifice) were older than the eating (of animal meat) out of necessity, would it follow that men have to eat it (animal meat). As it followed the consumption and offering (of animals) as firstfruits (out of necessity), it does not oblige us to admit as pious that (i.e. the eating of animals/animal food) of which we have offered first-fruits in an impious way”. What Pötscher has not seen, however, is that § 10.4 is out of place where it stands now. I think it possible that Porphyry has transferred to § 10.4 an argument that he had found in the context of § 27.6 or, more probably, in a following theoretical discussion. The latter is more likely because historical and the theoretical parts seem to have been distinct in On Piety. As we have seen above, taking arguments out of their original context and inserting them where he needs them is his common practice in this work. Also the syllogistic form of the sentence may point to this because it is reminiscent of similar syllogistic reasonings in the more theoretical parts of On Piety127. If this assumption thus hits the mark, it is to be assumed that Theophrastus’ original argument was much more elaborate and clearer and that Porphyry condensed it so much that it has become almost incomprehensible. He may also have adapted it, to some extent, to make it fit the new context in which animal sacrifice is not a substitute for human sacrifice. The reason for transferring this argument here may have been that Porphyry’s own focus is on animal sacrifice and that the argument can also be used in a theory which sees in the eating and sacrificing of animals the first form of meat consumption and bloody sacrifice. d) § 11.1-2 and § 26.5: Phoenicians and Egyptians In the last part of this whole passage ethnographical evidence is used to show that sacrificing and eating animals is a consequence of unjust behavior (§ 11.1-2). The argument is that different peoples have different legislation about which animals may be sacrificed and that they are based on entirely utilitarian considerations. Egyptians and Phoenicians would rather eat human meat than that of a cow although they eat bulls. The reason for this is that cows are rare and needed for reproduction. It is thus implied that religious reasons adduced for this kind of legislation are 127. See §§ 12–14; 22–24.

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pretenses only. Bernays excludes this passage together with the preceding one because it deals with eating meat, Porphyry’s concern, not Theophrastus’, and he is followed by editors besides Pötscher128. The passages the latter refers to as parallels are for the most part irrelevant or it is unclear why he mentions them129. The topic of consumption of meat is indeed suspect but we have seen in the discussion of the preceding sentence and elsewhere that it was also present in Theophrastus’ work. That Theophrastus is mentioned explicitly in the following sentence (§ 11.3) also raises the suspicion that in the passage immediately before Porphyry may have added material or, at least, rearranged material from Theophrastus. The absence of a clear line of argument in the whole passage was already noted above and it definitely shows Porphyry’s intervention. So also here the question is rather whether the narrative element stems from Theophrastus, not whether it belonged to this context in his work. Bouffartigue sees it as an addition by Porphyry because the idea that some peoples would rather eat human meat than that of certain animals is also found elsewhere in On Abstinence130. This is not compelling. Many arguments in the whole discussion are topical and appear in works of a different philosophical orientation. It might speak for Theophrastean provenance that Theophrastus uses Egyptians and Phoenicians as ethnographic examples elsewhere, when he speaks of the earliest times: it is Egypt where human history began (§ 5.1) and he tells that early Egyptians honored animals so highly that they displayed their own gods as animals (§ 26.5)131. The Phoenician Carthaginians are mentioned in the discussion of human sacrifice (§ 27.2). One might, however, detect a contradiction to our passage in § 25 where Theophrastus claims that “we” eat all domestic animals. No differentiation is made there between male and female cattle. However, “we” need not mean “we humans” but may also be interpreted as “we Greeks”. That Theophrastus assumes exceptions from this general eating of meat is shown by the example of the contemporary Jews who according to him do not eat meat at all and the Pythagoreans who do so only on occasion to commemorate the 128. BERNAYS, Porphyrios (n. 5), p. 60. 129. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 27. I will not discuss why this is so in each case. 130. BOUFFARTIGUE, Porphyre (n. 6), p. 22 with reference to 1.2.3 and p. 80, n. 2 with reference to 1.12.3-4 where the Epicurean Hermarchus is quoted. 131. GOTTSCHALK, Gnomon (n. 10), p. 342; ID., in JHS (n. 10), p. 169 regards this latter chapter as in contradiction with our passage, but PÖTSCHER, Strukturprobleme (n. 11), p. 145 rightly stresses that two different periods are spoken of. PÖTSCHER, Theophrastos (n. 10), p. 27 lists the above two passages on the Egyptians as parallels and also others where it is unclear to me in what sense they should constitute parallels and contribute to the discussion of authorship.

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cannibalism of the past. Seen in this light, the argument in our passage might even have belonged to the discussion of § 25: the paragraph’s thesis is that men sacrifice only because they want to eat meat. Theophrastus might have added to the example of the Greeks that of other countries where only certain animals are sacrificed and might have argued that this does not, in reality, have a religious foundation but is based on practical reasons only. These peoples too are driven by the desire to eat meat and only refrain from doing so if this brings about major disadvantages. Thus, content does not prevent Theophrastus’ authorship and neither does language. As also the four Athenian aitia may stem from this discussion, as was argued above, we may imagine that Porphyry has again moved a thematic block from somewhere else. Incidentally, one of the above-mentioned passages on the Egyptians (§ 26.5) seems to be another example of this procedure. It now stands after the description of Jewish sacrifice which was, in all likelihood, originally part of Theophrastus’ history of sacrifice and illustrated one specific step of the development, as shown above132. Jewish sacrifice is now inserted after § 25, the chapter just mentioned which claims that “we” sacrifice all kinds of domestic animals because we want to eat them. It is meant to make the point that men would stop sacrificing animals if they were forced to do this like the Jews do who burn the animals completely. The description of their rite is followed by a reference to the Egyptians: One may also learn by looking at the most rational of all (peoples), the Egyptians, who were so far from murdering any of the other animals that they made likeness of them (as) imitations of the gods. Thus, they used to think that these were related and akin to the gods and to men (trans. FHS&G, slightly modified).

It remains unclear what one may learn from the Egyptians. FHS&G write “one may also learn (this)”. But it cannot be the same as what one may learn from the Jewish example, i.e. that we would stop sacrificing if we could not eat the sacrificed animals. The example seems out of place. One might see in it one of the “ancestral traditions” mentioned in § 20.2. But it only provides indirect evidence that fruits were the sacrifice of earlier times. However, I suspect it comes from Theophrastus’ history of sacrifice. It fits the idealization of early Egyptians as is visible in § 4.1, so it may have been used in the discussion to document that early men did not sacrifice and eat animals. Otherwise, they would not have pictured their gods as animals. The assumption that already earliest mankind 132. See above, pp. 93-94.

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was forced to eat animal meat is widely attested in other authors133 so that Theophrastus may have felt the need to address the question implicitly or explicitly if he wanted to prove his reconstruction to be correct in which consumption of animals is a late development and only a consequence of cannibalism. Alternatively, it may have been part of the discussion about the introduction of bloody sacrifice. Jewish sacrifice documented there the stage of animal holocausts without consumption of meat and Egyptian animal gods may have served in that context as evidence that early times did not know the killing and eating of animals. Such a localization could then also explain where it stands now, next to the Jewish example. It would be another block excerpted by Porphyry. To sum up this discussion of §§ 9–11, we can say that the passage is a creation by Porphyry himself. He has assembled textual elements related to animal sacrifice in order to hide that the passage that precedes (§§ 7.2–8.3) was originally concerned with human sacrifice in Theophrastus. Therefore, he has inserted, first, in §§ 9–10 Athenian aitia on the introduction of animal sacrifice. Then he refers back in § 10.3 to § 9.1 and § 7.2 in order to suggest again that outside Athens people blame famine for the introduction of animal consumption and sacrifice, which has again the function to hide that § 7.2 was originally on cannibalism and human sacrifice. He then adds arguments why people are not obliged to eat animals and why it is unjust to eat and sacrifice them. This forms the transition to the following excerpt from Theophrastus, which indeed deals with the question what is just to sacrifice and what not. In all likelihood, he has reused in this passage to a large extent elements from Theophrastus, but elements from different parts of the latter’s work. If this interpretation is correct, then § 11.3 – which pretends to resume the quotation from Theophrastus – is a very misleading résumé by Porphyry of what Theophrastus had said (§§ 11.3–12.1): These things being so, Theophrastus reasonably orders those who wish to be truly pious not to sacrifice living creatures; he also offers other similar reasons. First, (he argues) that offering them as first-fruits has its beginning in a greater necessity, as we say, which took hold of us. For the causes are famine and war, which also brought the necessity of eating them.

One can infer from these words that either the preceding and the following is from Theophrastus or that only the following is. Porphyry clearly wants us to believe the first, but that is misleading because the Theophrastean elements originally belonged to different contexts. “Living beings” is τὰ ἔμψυχα in the Greek text, a Porphyrian word not used by Theophrastus in 133. See n. 120.

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On Piety. It covers men and animals alike, but it is Porphyry’s standard expression for animals. When the following sentence again speaks of “hunger and wars” as the reason for the consumption of meat, this refers back to § 7.2. The reader must believe that this refers to animal meat, but we now know that § 7.2 was in reality speaking of cannibalism.

III. CONCLUSION (1): THE STRUCTURE OF THEOPHRASTUS’ ON PIETY In the first part of this paper a partially new reconstruction of Theophrastus’ general history of sacrifice has been proposed. The single steps of the development are listed on pp. 91 and 93 above. Theophrastus first set out the development of vegetarian food and offerings from grass to sacrificial cakes which was evaluated as a positive evolution. Within this discussion he also addressed the development of incense offerings, where he recognized a deterioration in the course of time from the moment precious spices were burnt. The following section contained a history of libations, concluded by verses of Empedocles which constituted the transition to human sacrifice, followed by animal holocausts and, in the end, the consumption animal meat at sacrificial meals. If my interpretation of §§ 9–11 in the second part of this paper is correct, most of its elements stem from On Piety, but from contexts different from where they stand now. Although Theophrastus assumed a general development of sacrifice in the way explained above, he also admitted the possibility of alternative developments in other places, namely in Athens. Thus he related the Athenian aitia, in which animal sacrifice directly follows vegetable sacrifice, but this was not a part of his general historical reconstruction. He critically discussed them to show that they do not legitimize animal sacrifice either.

IV. CONCLUSION (2): PORPHYRY AS A SOURCE OF “FRAGMENTS” What general conclusions can we draw on the basis of this case study concerning Porphyry’s use of Theophrastus and of the other sources he quotes? As for the first question, we have seen that Porphyry excerpted blocks of different content from Theophrastus, passages on the history of vegetable sacrifice (§§ 5.1–7.1), the consequences of human sacrifice (§§ 7.2–8.3), the history of libations and the transition to bloody sacrifice (§§ 20.2–22.1), and the introduction of human sacrifice and the development of bloody sacrifice afterwards (§§ 26.1–28.2). These he inserted

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into his argument where he considered them useful. It obviously did not fit his argument very well that Theophrastus regarded animal sacrifice as a substitution for human sacrifice. Most other accounts on the introduction of animal sacrifice he came across did not take this detour and he probably did not find this view convincing. Thus, he manipulated Theophrastus’ account in a way that the reader has to think that also in Theophrastus the consumption of meat and bloody sacrifice started with animals. He did not even shrink back from presenting elements of Theophrastus’ description of cannibalism and human sacrifice as part of the latter’s history of animal sacrifice. He included in Theophrastus’ own developmental theory the four Athenian aitia that Theophrastus had narrated as an alternative evolution in this city, because they could serve as evidence that bloody sacrifice started with animal sacrifice (§§ 9.1–10.2). Additionally, he moved other elements of Theophrastus’ discussion to the section on animal sacrifice (§§ 10.4–11.2). Inserting all this into Theophrastus’ developmental theory he suggested this was what the Peripatetic had written, and only added at the end of the whole discussion of animal sacrifice Theophrastus’ evolutional theory about bloody sacrifice. Did he not realize or did he not care that this contradicted his previous argument? I guess he assumed that the reader would not notice but conclude that Theophrastus had reported all this and that the substitution theory only accounted for the disappearance, for the most part, of human sacrifice. Looking at Porphyry’s programmatic statement at the end of § 32.3 (quoted above on p. 75), it is difficult to say whether we should call him a liar. What we read between §§ 5 and 32 is for the most part material taken from On Piety, perhaps even the “main points” as he asserts, and Porphyry labels longer additions from other authors as such (§§ 16–20.1). If our interpretation of §§ 9–10 and 29–30 is correct, he did not add myths from elsewhere and his own additions were rather limited, indeed ὄλιγα. But he used the elements from On Piety and his own additions to create a history of sacrifice of his own. I would not call that an epitome. This is a disillusioning result, especially if we realize that reporting Theophrastus correctly would not really have been problematic for his own argument. But he obviously thought it would be more impressive to have Theophrastus as evidence for the popular idea that consumption of meat and bloody sacrifice started with animals. We may wonder how far Porphyry went when he “summarized” the works he wanted to refute134. Probably we have to expect in such cases 134. On distortions in polemical contexts, see, e.g., P.A. BRUNT, On Historical Fragments and Epitomes, in Classical Quarterly 30 (1980) 477-494 and, with a focus on

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even more distortions than those detected so far. In view of the results of this study, it seems worthwhile to have a fresh look at all the cases in which Porphyry’s “résumé” of a lost source contradicts other evidence on the same author or work. We should check whether there are reasons to suppose that Porphyry has manipulated the evidence there as well. But the real problem is the many “fragments” for which he is our only source, historical and philosophical alike. It should make us feel uncomfortable to realize how much we think we know about these lost works and the views of their authors, when our knowledge is based only on what Porphyry presents us as their content. The Budé editors have already signaled some additions or problematic claims. Nevertheless, a more critical analysis of On Abstinence may well identify many more. KU Leuven Ancient History Blijde Inkomststraat 21, bus 3307 BE-3000 Leuven Belgium [email protected]

Stefan SCHORN

Polybios, the contributions in G. SCHEPENS – J. BOLLANSÉE, The Shadow of Polybius: Intertextuality as a Research Tool in Greek Historiography. Proceedings of the International Colloquium Leuven, 21-22 September 2001 (Studia Hellenistica, 42), Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA, Peeters, 2005.

DIE ENMANNSCHE KAISERGESCHICHTE ZU EINEM REKONSTRUIERTEN GESCHICHTSWERK DES VIERTEN NACHCHRISTLICHEN JAHRHUNDERTS

I. EINLEITUNG 1884 veröffentlichte der Petersburger Bibliothekar Alexander Enmann im Supplementband des Philologus eine umfangreiche Studie mit dem Titel „Eine verlorene Geschichte der römischen Kaiser und das Buch De viris illustribus urbis Romae“1. In seinen Darlegungen, die gegenüber vielen anderen Produkten der Quellenforschung der damaligen Zeit durch große analytische Klarheit und kluge Vorsicht in der Hypothesenbildung auffallen, kam Enmann zum Ergebnis, dass das 360 abgeschlossene Geschichtswerk des Aurelius Victor, das 369 veröffentlichte Breviarium des Eutrop und die Sammelbiographie der Historia Augusta eine gemeinsame Quelle benutzt hätten. Diese Quelle war, so Enmann, eine von Augustus bis Diokletian reichende Kaisergeschichte. Da Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Aurelius Victor und Eutrop auch für das vierte Jahrhundert zu konstatieren seien, hätten die Breviatoren dann für die Zeit ab 284 gemeinsam auf eine Fortsetzung dieser Kaisergeschichte zurückgegriffen, die bis zur Darstellung der Schlacht von Straßburg (357) gereicht habe. Die Postulierung einer von den drei Quellen (Aurelius Victor, Eutrop und Historia Augusta) benutzten Kaisergeschichte von Augustus bis Diokletian und einer anschließenden nur von Aurelius Victor und Eutrop benutzten Fortsetzung von Diokletian bis Constantius II. hing damit zusammen, dass Enmann noch davon ausgehen musste, dass die Historia Augusta in tetrarchisch-konstantinischer Zeit zu datieren war, die von ihr benutzte Quelle also nicht über Diokletian hinausreichen konnte. Wenige Jahre nach dem Erscheinen der Arbeit Enmanns konnte aber Dessau 1889 den Nachweis führen, dass die sechs Autoren der 1. A. ENMANN, Eine verlorene Geschichte der römischen Kaiser und das Buch De viris illustribus urbis Romae: Quellenstudien, in Philologus Suppl. 4 (1884) 337-501. Für eine umfangreichere Bibliographie sei auf meine Einleitung in B. BLECKMANN – M. NICKBAKHT – C. SCARDINO, Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte – Rufius Festus. Ediert, übersetzt und kommentiert (Kleine und fragmentarische Historiker der Spätantike, 1 and 4), Paderborn, Schöningh, 2022, hingewiesen. Hier werden auch einige der hier gegebenen Ausführungen übernommen und vertieft.

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Historia Augusta fiktive Gestalten sind und dass die Historia Augusta in Wirklichkeit deutlich nach Aurelius Victor und Eutrop entstanden sein muss2. Damit entfiel die Notwendigkeit, eine Kaisergeschichte bis 284 und eine anschließende Fortsetzung ab 284 annehmen zu müssen, und das Konzept Enmanns konnte vereinfacht werden. Unter dem nunmehr als Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte, abgekürzt EKG, betitelten Werk versteht man in der Forschung zur Spätantike ein verloren gegangenes biographisch strukturiertes Geschichtswerk, das die Kaiserzeit von Augustus bis zu Constantius II. und seinem Caesar Julian dargestellt hat3. Die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte kann als ein geradezu exemplarischer Fall eines nicht mehr erhaltenen, aber durch die Quellenforschung rekonstruiertes Werk gelten. II. GEMEINSAMKEITEN UND BINDEFEHLER BEI AURELIUS VICTOR UND EUTROP Wie für viele Postulate der Quellenforschung des 19. Jahrhunderts hat man auch bei der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte den Verdacht geäußert, es handle sich um ein höchst fragiles Konstrukt oder um ein Phantom4. Vermeintliche Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Aurelius Victor und Eutrop könnten, so wurde eingewendet, damit zu erklären sein, dass es nicht erstaunlich sei, wenn das gleiche simple historische Faktum auch in zufällig identischen Formulierungen zur Sprache gebracht werden müsse. Diese Begründung, mit der auch in der Apologie von Plagiaten gerne gearbeitet wird, ist aber im vorliegenden Fall deshalb problematisch, weil Aurelius Victor und Eutrop über weite Strecken hinweg die gleichen Ereignisse auswählen und gleich anordnen, die gleichen spezifischen Auffassungen dieser Ereignisse zeigen und partiell die gleichen falschen 2. H. DESSAU, Über Zeit und Persönlichkeit der Scriptores Historiae Augustae, in Hermes 24 (1889) 337-392. 3. H.W. BIRD, Further Observations on the Dating of Enmann’s Kaisergeschichte, in Classical Quarterly 23 (1973) 375-377; R. BURGESS, On the Date of the Kaisergeschichte, in Classical Philology 90 (1995) 111-128. Vorschläge für eine Redaktion in konstantinischer Zeit bei T.D. BARNES, The Lost Kaisergeschichte and the Latin Historical Tradition, in Bonner Historia Augusta Colloquium (1968/1969), Bonn, Habelt, 1970, 13-43, S. 17-30; B. BLECKMANN, Überlegungen zur Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte und zur Formung historischer Traditionen in tetrarchischer und konstantinischer Zeit, in G. BONAMENTE – K. ROSEN (Hgg.), Historiae Augustae Colloquium Bonnense (1994), Bari, Edipuglia, 1997, 11-37. 4. Zu den skeptischen und vorübergehend sehr einflussreichen Positionen von W. DEN BOER, Some Minor Roman Historians, Leiden, Brill, 1972 s. R. BURGESS, Jerome and the Kaisergeschichte, in Historia 44 (1995) 349-369, hier S. 352-354.

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Behauptungen bieten, so dass man von regelrechten Bindefehlern sprechen kann. Eine besondere Zusammenballung solcher Bindefehler fällt bekanntlich für die Regierungszeit des Septimius Severus auf5. Zu nennen sind etwa Passagen über die Bürgerkriegssiege des Septimius Severus: Eutr. 8.18.4: Pescennium Nigrum, qui in Aegypto et Syria rebellaverat, apud Cyzicum interfecit. […] Sub eo etiam Clodius Albinus, qui in occidendo Pertinace socius fuerat Iuliano, Caesare se in Gallia fecit, victusque apud Lugdunum est et interfectus6. Aur. Vict. 20.8: Pescennium Nigrum apud Cyzicenos, Clodium Albinum Lugduni victos coegit mori; 9: quorum prior Aegyptum dux obtinens, bellum moverat, spe dominationis, alter, Pertinacis auctor occidendi, […] in Gallia invaserat imperium7.

Pescennius Niger wurde in Wirklichkeit zwar in der Nähe von Kyzikos militärisch geschlagen. Er erlitt aber weitere Niederlagen bei Nikaia und Issos und wurde schließlich bei Antiocheia getötet. Er war ferner zum Zeitpunkt seiner Erhebung Statthalter in Syrien, ein Kommando in Ägypten hatte er nicht inne. Schließlich kann von einer Beteiligung des Clodius Albinus an der Ermordung des Kaisers Pertinax keine Rede sein. Clodius Albinus erhob sich auch nicht in Gallien, sondern kommandierte zum Zeitpunkt der Ermordung des Pertinax vielmehr Truppen in Britannien und war dann von Septimius Severus aus taktischen Gründen vorübergehend als Caesar anerkannt worden, solange der Sieg über Pescennius Niger ausstand. Weiter berichten beide Quellen über einen Bürgerkriegssieg des Septimius Severus gegen Didius Iulianus an der Milvischen Brücke, der als freie Erfindung gelten muss. Beide Quellen nennen dabei den Didius Iulianus auffälligerweise „Salvius“ Iulianus, wobei Aurelius Victor ihn dann mit dem gleichnamigen Rechtsgelehrten selbst verwechselt, während 5. H.W. BIRD, A Strange Aggregate of Errors for A.D. 193, in Classical Bulletin 65 (1989) 95-98. 6. Eutr. 8.18.4 (Übers. B. BLECKMANN – J. GROSS, Eutropius. Breviarium ab urbe condita [Kleine und fragmentarische Historiker der Spätantike, 3], Paderborn, Schöningh, 2018): „Pescennius Niger, der sich in Ägypten und Syrien erhoben hatte, tötete er bei Kyzikos. […] Unter ihm erklärte sich auch Clodius Albinus zum Caesar, der mit Iulianus bei der Ermordung des Pertinax gemeinsame Sache gemacht hatte, und wurde bei Lyon besiegt und getötet“. 7. Aur. Vict. 20.8-9 (Übers. M.A. NICKBAKHT, Aurelius Victor. Historiae Abbreviatae [Kleine und fragmentarische Historiker der Spätantike, 2], Paderborn, Schöningh, 2021): „Den Pescennius Niger, der bei Kyzikos, und den Clodius Albinus, der in Lyon besiegt worden war, zwang er zu sterben. Der erstere von beiden hatte, als er Ägypten als Dux innehatte, in der Hoffnung auf die Herrschaft einen Krieg begonnen, der andere, ein Anstifter des Mordes an Pertinax, hatte, […] in Gallien die Herrschaft an sich gerissen“.

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Eutrop ihn für dessen Enkel hält (was vermutlich die Version der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte war): Eutr. 8.17: Post eum Salvius Iulianus rem publicam invasit, vir nobilis et iure peritissimus, nepos Salvi Iuliani qui sub divo Hadriano perpetuum composuit edictum. Victus est a Severo apud Mulvium pontem, interfectus in Palatio8. Aur. Vict. 19.1: Didius Salvius Iulianus […]. 2: Genus ei pernobile, iurisque urbanis praestans scientia, quippe qui primus edictum, quod varie inconditeque a praetoribus promebatur in ordinem composuerit9. 4: Namque eum acceptis illico, quae acciderant, Septimius Severus, qui forte Syriae legatus in extremis terris bellum gerebat, imperator creatus pontem proxime Mulvium acie devicit, missique, qui fugientem insequerentur, apud palatium Romae obtruncavere10.

Als Bindefehler lässt sich dann auch die Angabe verstehen, Septimius Severus habe in Britannien eine von Meer zu Meer reichende Mauer errichtet: Eutr. 8.19.1: Novissimum bellum in Britannia habuit, utque receptas provincias omni securitate muniret, vallum per CXXXII passum milia a mari ad mare duxit11. Aur. Vict. 20.18: His maiora aggressus Britanniam, quoad ea utilis erat, pulsis hostibus muro munivit, per transversam insulam ducto utrimque ad finem Oceani12.

Historischer Kern dieser Nachricht ist allenfalls, dass nach dem Tode des Septimius Severus seine Söhne weitgehende Eroberungspläne aufgaben und die Truppen hinter den Hadrianswall zurückgezogen wurden, der dabei weiter befestigt und verstärkt wurde13. 8. Eutr. 8.17 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Nach ihm bemächtigte sich Salvius Iulianus des Staates, ein vornehmer Mann und großer Rechtsgelehrter, ein Enkel des Salvius Iulianus, der unter dem vergöttlichten Hadrian das Edictum perpetuum verfasst hat. Er wurde von Severus an der Milvischen Brücke besiegt und im Palast ermordet“. 9. Aur. Vict. 19.1-2 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Didius Salvius Iulianus […]. Er gehörte zu einem sehr vornehmen Familiengeschlecht und zeichnete sich durch seine Kenntnis des städtischen Rechts aus, brachte er doch als erster das Edikt, das von den Prätoren uneinheitlich und unübersichtlich veröffentlicht wurde, in eine Systematik“. 10. Aur. Vict. 19.4 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Sobald nämlich dem Septimius Severus, der gerade als Statthalter Syriens in den äußersten Landstrichen Krieg führte, bekannt wurde, was sich ereignet hatte, wurde er zum Kaiser auserwählt und besiegte Iulianus in einer Schlacht ganz nahe der Milvischen Brücke; und Leute, die ausgeschickt waren, den Fliehenden zu verfolgen, hieben ihn im Palast in Rom nieder“. 11. Eutr. 8.19.1 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Er führte seinen allerletzten Krieg in Britannien und um die zurückeroberten Provinzen mit jeglicher Sicherheit zu befestigen, ließ er einen Wall von 132 Meilen (ca. 195 km) Länge vom einen Meer zum anderen errichten“. 12. Aur. Vict. 20.18 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Indem er zu noch Größerem als diesem schritt, sicherte er Britannien, soweit es von Nutzen war, nach Vertreibung der Feinde mit einer quer über die Insel, auf beiden Seiten bis an die Küste des Ozeans, gezogenen Mauer“. 13. A.R. BIRLEY, Further Notes on HA Severus, in G. BONAMENTE – F. PASCHOUD (Hgg.), Historiae Augustae Colloquium Genevense (1991), Bari, Edipuglia, 1994, 19-42, hier S. 38-40.

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Für die Zeit des Caracalla ist auf die falsche Angabe zu verweisen, Iulia Domna, die leibliche Mutter des Kaisers, sei lediglich die Stiefmutter des jungen Kaisers gewesen, wobei diese Nachricht in eine verfängliche Geschichte von der angeblichen Beziehung Caracallas zu Iulia Domna eingebaut wird14: Eutr. 8.20: Inpatientis libidinis, qui novercam suam Iuliam uxorem duxerit15. Aur. Vict. 21.3: Namque Iuliam novercam, […] forma captus, coniugem affectavit. Cum illa factiosior, aspectui adulescentis, praesentiae quasi ignara, semet dedisset intecto corpore, asserentique: “Vellem, si licereter, uti”, petulantius multo […] respondisset: “Libet? Plane licet”16.

Spezifische Übereinstimmungen und Bindefehler lassen sich bekanntlich auch für die Geschichte der Reichskrise nachweisen. Während in Wirklichkeit Maximinus Thrax 238 Aquileia belagerte und während dieser unglücklich verlaufenden Aktion von seinen eigenen Truppen umgebracht wurde, behaupten Eutrop und Aurelius Victor, Maximinus Thrax sei zwar von seinen Truppen im Stich gelassen, aber vom Kaiser Pupienus besiegt und getötet worden. Beide Quellen berichten zuvor teilweise identisch vom erfolgreichen Kampf des Maximinus gegen die Germanen und überspringen den Aufenthalt des Kaisers in Sirmium: Eutr. 9.1: Is bello adversus Germanos feliciter gesto cum a militibus imperator esset appellatus, a Pupieno Aquileiae occisus est, deserentibus eum militibus suis cum filio17. Aur. Vict. 26.1: Haud incommode proelio gesto contra Germanos18. 27.4: Eos (nämlich Maximinus und sein Sohn) Pupienus Aquileiae obsidione confecit, postquam proelio victus reliqui paulatim desuerant19. 14. Umfassende Diskussion bei C. DAVENPORT, The Sexual Habit of Caracalla: Rumor, Gossip, and Historiography, in Histos 11 (2017) 75-100. 15. Eutr. 8.20 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Er war von ungezügelter Begierde, so dass er seine Stiefmutter Iulia zur Frau nahm“. 16. Aur. Vict. 21.3 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Denn seine Stiefmutter Julia […], begehrte er, durch ihr Äußeres gefangen, zur Frau, nachdem sie sich recht durchtrieben den Blicken des jungen Mannes, als habe sie seine Gegenwart nicht bemerkt, mit unbekleidetem Körper dargeboten hatte und ihm, der ihr versicherte: ‚Ich möchte wohl, wenn es erlaubt wäre, davon Gebrauch machen‘, noch viel frivoler […] geantwortet hatte: ‚Es gefällt? Dann ist es auch erlaubt‘“. 17. Eutr. 9.1 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Als dieser nach einem erfolgreichen Krieg gegen die Germanen von den Soldaten zum Imperator akklamiert worden war, wurde er, da ihn seine Soldaten im Stich ließen, von Pupienus in Aquileia getötet zusammen mit seinem Sohn“. 18. Aur. Vict. 26.1 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Und nicht ohne Erfolg eine Schlacht gegen die Germanen geschlagen hatten“. 19. Aur. Vict. 27.4 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Pupienus tötete sie bei der Belagerung von Aquileia, nachdem ihre Resttruppen sie, die in einer Schlacht Besiegten, nach und nach im Stich gelassen hatten“.

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Beide Quellen berichten weiter parallel über den Aufbruch des Gordian III. in den Perserkrieg nach Öffnung des Ianus-Tempels (ein für die allgemeine Ereignisgeschichte völlig irrelevantes, aber sehr spezifisches Detail), ferner über die vermeintlich großen Erfolge dieses Kaisers im Innern des Sasanidenreichs und über dessen anschließende Ermordung durch die Heimtücke des Philippus Arabs: Eutr. 9.2.2: Gordianus admodum puer […] Ianum Geminum aperuit 3: et ad Orientem profectus Parthis bellum intulit, qui iam moliebantur erumpere. Quod quidem feliciter gessit proeliisque ingentibus Persas adflixit. Rediens haud longe a Romanis finibus interfectus est fraude Philippi20. Aur. Vict. 27.7: Eoque anno […] in Persas profectus est, cum prius Iani aedes, quas Marcus clauserat, patentes more veterum fecisset. 8: Ibi gesto insigniter bello Marci Philippi praefecti praetorio insidiis periit sexennio imperii21.

Beide Autoren geben wiederum gemeinsam an, Decius habe 251 die Goten jenseits der Donau zum Kampf gestellt und sei auf barbarischem Territorium getötet worden, während die Entscheidungsschlacht in Wirklichkeit diesseits der Donau, in Abrittus, geschlagen wurde22. Ein letztes Beispiel der spezifischen Übereinstimmungen zwischen Eutrop und Aurelius Victor sei hier für die Zeit der Tetrarchie eingefügt. Beide Quellen berichten wieder ganz parallel, unmittelbar nach der Darstellung der Vollendung der Tetrarchie durch die Erhebung der neuen Caesares Constantius und Galerius im Jahre 293, über das britannische Sonderreich des Carausius und Allectus und über die Beendigung dieses frühen Brexit-Versuchs durch die Entsendung des Prätorianerpräfekten Asclepiodotus. Eutr. 9.22.2 bietet hier: Cum Carausio tamen, cum bella frustra temptata essent contra virum rei militaris peritissimum, ad postremum pax convenit. Eum post septennium Allectus, socius eius, occidit, atque ipse post eum Brittanias triennio tenuit. 20. Eutr. 9.2.2-3 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Gordian, der noch ganz jung war […] öffnete […] den Tempel des Janus Geminus, reiste in den Orient und begann einen Krieg gegen die Parther, die schon Anstalten trafen, aus ihrem Gebiet auszubrechen. Diesen Krieg führte er erfolgreich und richtete die Perser in gewaltigen Schlachten zugrunde. Bei seiner Rückkehr wurde er nicht weit von römischem Gebiet durch einen Anschlag des Philipp getötet“. 21. Aur. Vict. 27.7-8 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „In diesem Jahr brach er […] gegen die Perser auf, nachdem er zuvor den Tempel des Janus, den Marcus (d.h. Aurelius) geschlossen hatte, nach altem Brauch geöffnet hatte. Nachdem er dort ausgezeichnet Krieg geführt hatte, kam er durch Nachstellungen des Prätorianerpräfekten Marcus Philippus im sechsten Jahr seiner Herrschaft um“. 22. Vgl. Aur. Vict. 29.4 und Eutr. 9.4.

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Qui ducto Asclepiodoti, praefecti praetorio oppressus est. Ita Brittaniae decimo anno receptae23.

Aur. Vict. 39.39-42 dagegen: 39: Solique Carausio remissum insulae imperium, postquam iussis ac munimento incolarum contra gentes bellicosas opportunior habitus. 40: Quem sane sexennio post Allectus nomine dolo circumvenit. 41: Qui cum eius permissu summae rei praeesset, flagitiorum et ob ea mortis formidine per scelus imperium extorserat. 42: Quo usum brevi Constantius Asclepiodoto, qui praetorianis praefectus praeerat, cum parte classis ac legionum praemisso delevit24.

Ganz offenkundig berichtete die Grundquelle in einer sehr detaillierten Chronologie über den Gang des britannischen Sonderreichs. Drei dieser Daten sind bei Eutrop festgehalten worden, nämlich die sieben Jahre der Regierung des Carausius, die dreijährige Regierungszeit des Allectus und die Rückführung Britanniens unter die Herrschaft der Tetrarchen im neunten Jahr. Aurelius Victor hat dagegen nur, dass Allectus nach einem Sexennium die Herrschaft übernahm, trägt also nur einen Teil aus den gemeinsamen Quelleninformationen vor. Umgekehrt berichtet er aber Näheres zu den Hintergründen der Tötung des Carausius durch Allectus. Beide Quellen ergänzen sich anscheinend auch, was den Kompromiss zwischen Carausius und der Tetrarchie betrifft, indem Eutrop die Tatsache des Friedensschlusses (pax convenit), Aurelius Victor dagegen den Inhalt der Friedensregelung (Überlassung der Herrschaft über Britannien) bezeugt. Dieser angebliche Friedensschluss zwischen der Tetrarchie und Carausius ist im Übrigen wieder eine Art Bindefehler, da nach Ausweis der Münzen Carausius niemals die Anerkennung der Tetrarchie fand, was ihn nicht daran hinderte, sich umgekehrt als „Bruder” der Tetrarchen zu bezeichnen25. 23. Eutr. 9.22.2 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Mit Carausius jedoch, nachdem gegen ihn mit seiner bemerkenswerten militärischen Erfahrung erfolglose Feldzüge versucht worden waren, wurde zum Schluss Frieden vereinbart. Nach sieben Jahren tötete ihn sein Genosse Allectus und herrschte selbst nach ihm drei Jahre über Britannien. Dieser wurde unter der Leitung des Prätorianerpräfekten Asclepiodotus niedergeworfen. So wurde Britannien im zehnten Jahr wiedergewonnen“. 24. Aur. Vict. 39.39-42 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Allein Carausius wurde die Herrschaft über die Insel belassen, nachdem er aufgrund seiner Befehle und des Schutzes der Einwohner gegen kriegerische Stämme als geeignet erachtet wurde. Allerdings hat ihn nach sechs Jahren einer namens Allectus heimtückisch hintergangen. Dieser hatte ihn, als er mit dessen Erlaubnis der höchsten Stellung vorstand, aus Furcht wegen seiner Schandtaten und vor dem deshalb drohenden Tod die Herrschaft durch ein Verbrechen entrissen. Er hatte sie nur kurz inne gehabt, als ihn Constantius vernichtete, nachdem dieser Asclepiodotus, den Präfekten der Prätorianer, mit einem Teil der Flotte und der Legionen vorausgeschickt hatte“. 25. Vgl. C. DAVENPORT, Carausius and His Brothers: The Construction and Deconstruction of an Imperial Image in the Late Third Century AD, in Antichthon 53 (2019) 108-133.

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Der Schluss, dass Aurelius Victor und Eutrop eine gemeinsame Quelle bieten, scheint also unausweichlich. Die einzige Möglichkeit, die spezifischen und bis zu Bindefehlern reichenden Gemeinsamkeiten der beiden Quellen zu erklären, bestünde darin, anzunehmen, dass Eutrop seine Informationen aus Aurelius Victor schöpfte. Das ist wiederum mit einiger Sicherheit auszuschließen, und zwar nicht unbedingt wegen der geringen zeitlichen Distanz, in der die beiden Autoren ihre Werke niederschrieben, sondern, weil Aurelius Victor bisweilen zur Unkenntlichkeit verkürzte und unvollständige Versionen bietet. Es ist nicht zu erkennen, wie Eutrop seine oft vollständigeren Informationen aus Aurelius Victor gewinnen konnte. Trotz der Benutzung dieses gemeinsamen Geschichtswerks setzen Eutrop und Aurelius Victor sehr verschiedene Akzente und berichten auch immer wieder durchaus abweichend voneinander. Gerade Aurelius Victor war durchaus in der Lage, nicht nur seine Quellenvorlagen umzuformulieren, sondern auch ganz verschiedene Traditionen zu einem kunstvollen Gewebe miteinander zu verbinden. Und auch für Eutrop – oder für seine unmittelbare Vorlage – kann die Benutzung zusätzlicher Quellen nicht ausgeschlossen werden, etwa eines Katalogs zur Divinisierung römischer Kaiser, die bei Aurelius Victor kaum berücksichtigt wird. Aus diesem Grund können Passagen eines dieser Autoren, die ohne Parallelen sind, nicht ohne weiteres für die Rekonstruktion der Kaisergeschichte in Anspruch genommen werden. III. ZUR BENUTZUNG WEITERER ZEUGEN FÜR DIE REKONSTRUKTION DER ENMANNSCHEN KAISERGESCHICHTE Jenseits des Kerns, der durch eindeutige Übereinstimmungen zwischen Eutrop und Aurelius Victor bestimmt ist, gibt es eine diffusere Außenzone, wenn man weitere Textzeugen hinzuzieht. Alle Fälle können an dieser Stelle nicht diskutiert werden, etwa die Frage, nach dem Verhältnis zwischen der Origo Constantini oder des Polemius Silvius zur Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte26. Hinzuweisen ist aber auf zwei klassische Probleme der Forschung zur Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte. 26. Zu Polemius Silvius und der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte: R. BURGESS, Principes cum tyrannis: Two Studies on the “Kaisergeschichte” and Its Tradition, in Classical Quarterly 43 (1993) 491-500. Polemius Silvius hat allerdings vor allem Aurelius Victor benutzt. Zur Origo Constantini und der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte G. ZECCHINI, L’Origo Constantini imperatoris, in ID., Richerche di storiografia latina tardoanticha (I), Roma, L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993, 28-38. Auch für die Caesares Julians ist eine Benutzung

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Das erste Problem betrifft das Verhältnis zwischen der Historia Augusta einerseits und den spätantiken Breviarien Eutrop und Aurelius Victor andererseits27. Als illustrierendes Beispiel für die Komplexität der Beziehungen mag die Geschichte des Triumphs Kaiser Aurelians über Tetricus und Zenobia dienen. Die Kaisergeschichte beschrieb, wie die Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Victor und Eutrop hier eindeutig belegen können, (1.) die Kapitulation des Tetricus, der sich vor seiner eigenen Armee fürchtete und sie daher preisgab, ferner (2.) dessen Zurschaustellung im Triumph, sowie die anschließende Begnadigung und die Erhebung zum corrector Lucaniae. Aurelius Victor hat bei der Darstellung dieses Triumphs Aurelians Zenobia, die neben Tetricus einhergeführt wurde, nicht erwähnt (3.). Dafür nennt er die von Eutrop ignorierte Usurpation des Faustinus, die Tetricus zur Kapitulation veranlasste (4.) sowie die Existenz eines Sohnes des Tetricus, der ebenfalls begnadigt und geehrt wird (5.). Eutr. 9.13.1: Post eum Aurelianus suscepit imperium, […]. Superavit in Gallia Tetricum apud Catalaunos ipso Tetrico prodente exercitum suum, cuius adsiduas seditiones ferre non poterat. Quin etiam per litteras occultas Aurelianum ita fuerat deprecatus, ut inter alia versu Vergiliano uteretur: “Eripe me his invicte, malis”. 2: Zenobiam quoque, quae occiso Odenatho marito Orientem tenebat, haud longe ab Antiochia sine gravi proelio cepit, ingressusque Romam nobilem triumphum quasi receptor Orientis Occidentis egit praecedentibus currum Tetrico et Zenobia. Qui quidem Tetricus corrector Lucaniae postea fuit ac privatus diutissime vixit; Zenobia autem posteros, qui adhuc manent, Romae reliquit28. der Kaisergeschichte vermutet worden. A. ALFÖLDI, Die verlorene Kaisergeschichte Enmanns und die „Caesares“ Julians, in Bonner Historia Augusta Colloquium (1966/1967), Bonn, Habelt, 1968, 1-8. 27. Zu dieser in der Historia-Augusta-Forschung intensiv diskutierten Frage, die sich wohl dahingehend lösen lässt, dass der Autor der Historia Augusta sowohl die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte als auch die Breviatoren kannte. s. J. FÜNDLING, Kommentar zur Historia Augusta. Band 4: Vita Hadriani, 2 Bände, Bonn, Habelt, 2006, Band 1, S. 123 und 136. Zur Benutzung des Aurelius Victor und Eutrop s. die klassischen Beiträge von E. HOHL, Die Historia Augusta und die Caesares des Aurelius Victor, in Historia 4 (1955) 220-228. A. CHASTAGNOL, L’utilisation des „Caesares“ d’Aurélius Victor dans l’Histoire Auguste, in Bonner Historia Augusta Colloquium (1966/1967) (Anm. 26), 53-65. W. SCHMID, Eutropspuren in der Historia Augusta: Ein Beitrag zum Problem der Datierung der Historia Augusta, in Bonner Historia Augusta Colloquium (1963), Bonn, Habelt, 1964, 123-133. F. CHAUSSON, Severus XVII,5-XIX,4: une identification?, in BONAMENTE – ROSEN (Hgg.), Historiae Augustae Colloquium Bonnense (1994) (Anm. 3), 97-113; M. FESTY, Aurélius Victor, source de l’Histoire Auguste et de Nicomaque Flavien, in F. PASCHOUD (Hg.), Historiae Augustae Colloquium Genevense (1998), Bari, Edipuglia, 1999, 121-133. 28. Eutr. 9.13.1-2 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Nach ihm übernahm Aurelian die Herrschaft, […]. Er besiegte in Gallien Tetricus bei Châlons, wobei Tetricus selbst sein Heer preisgab, dessen ständige Aufstände er nicht ertragen konnte; ja, er hatte sogar in einem geheimen Brief Aurelian in der Art angefleht, dass er unter anderem den Vergilvers

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Aur. Vict. 35.3: Simul Germanis Gallia demotis Tetrici […] caesae legiones proditore ipso duce. 4: Namque Tetricus, cum Faustini praesidis dolo corruptis militibus plerumque peteretur, Aureliani per litteras praesidium imploraverat eique adventanti productus ad speciem acie inter pugnam se dedit. 5: Ita, uti rectore nullo solet, turbati ordines oppressi sunt; ipse post celsum biennii imperium in triumphum ductus Lucaniae correcturam filioque veniam atque honorem senatorum cooptavit29.

Die Historia Augusta bietet in der Vita Aureliani eben diese Erzählung von der Preisgabe des eigenen Heers durch Tetricus, ferner vom Triumph über Zenobia und Tetricus und der Erhebung des Tetricus zum corrector Lucaniae: HA Aurelian 32.3: (Aurelianus) Occidentem petit atque, ipso Tetrico exercitum suum prodente quod eius scelera ferre non posset, deditas sibi legiones obtinuit. 4: Princeps igitur totius orbis Aurelianus, pacatis Oriente, Gallis atque undique terris, Romam iter flexit, ut de Zenobia et Tetrico, hoc est de Oriente et de Occidente, triumphum Romanis oculis exhiberet30. HA Aurelian 39.1: Tetricum triumphatum correctorem Lucaniae fecit, filio eius in senatu manente31.

In der Vita des Tetricus wiederholt die Historia Augusta die Geschichte. Zahlreiche Elemente werden genannt, die sich bei Eutrop finden, nämlich zitierte: ‚Entreiße mich, Unbesiegbarer, diesen Übel!‘ (Aen. 6,265). Auch Zenobia, die nach der Ermordung ihres Gemahls Odainathos den Osten beherrschte, nahm er nicht weit von Antiocheia ohne schweres Gefecht gefangen und führte bei seinem Einzug in Rom einen denkwürdigen Triumphzug durch als Wiedergewinner des Ostens und Westens, wobei seinem Wagen Tetricus und Zenobia vorausgingen. Dieser Tetricus nun war später Corrector von Lucania und lebte noch sehr lange als Privatmann; Zenobia aber hinterließ Nachfahren in Rom, die noch heute leben“. 29. Aur. Vict. 35.3-5 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Zugleich wurden nach der Vertreibung der Germanen aus Gallien die Legionen des Tetricus […] niedergemacht, wobei ausgerechnet ihr Heerführer zu ihrem Verräter wurde. Denn Tetricus hatte, da er von den durch die Hinterlist des Statthalters Faustinus bestochenen Soldaten wiederholt angegriffen worden war, brieflich um Aurelians Schutz gefleht und, als dieser herangenaht war, ergab er sich ihm im Verlaufe des Kampfes, nachdem er sein Heer zum Schein ins Gefecht geführt hatte. So wurden, wie es ohne einen Befehlshaber zu geschehen pflegt, die in Unordnung geratenen Reihen besiegt. Er selbst wurde nach zwei Jahren im Besitz der höchsten Befehlsgewalt im Triumph mitgeführt und verlangte dann die Stellung eines Correctors über Lucanien und für seinen Sohn die Begnadigung und Senatorenwürde“. 30. HA Aurelian 32.3-4 (Übers. E. HOHL, Historia Augusta: Römische Herrchergestalten, 2 Bde [Die Bibliothek der Alten Welt], Zürich, Artemis, 1976 und 1985): „[Aurelian] begab […] sich […], nach Westen; da Tetricus selbst sein Heer verriet, weil er dessen Untaten nicht mehr ertragen konnte, bekam er die ihm übergebenen Legionen in seine Gewalt. So trat er denn als Herr der ganzen Welt nach der Befriedung des Ostens, der gallischen Provinzen und aller Gebiete ringsum den Marsch nach Rom an, um den schaulustigen Römern den Triumph über Zenobia und Tetricus, das heißt über Ost und West, vorzuführen“. 31. HA Aurelian 39.1 (Übers. HOHL): „Den im Triumph aufgeführten Tetricus machte er zum Landvogt von Lukanien; dessen Sohn durfte im Senat bleiben“.

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etwa die von Tetricus formulierten Vergilverse (in der Vita des Tetricus) oder die Darstellung des Triumphs über Zenobia und Tetricus als einen Triumph über den Orient und Okzident. Einige Angaben Eutrops, die in der Vita Aureliani noch korrekt wiedergegeben worden sind, werden in dieser Nebenvita scherzhaft erweitert. Aus dem corrector Lucaniae wird der corrector totius Italiae. Die Tetricus-Vita bietet die bei Eutrop wiedergebenen Vergilverse, die in der Aureliansvita noch nicht vorkommen. Während bei Eutrop Tetricus als corrector Lucaniae im spätantiken Sinne Privatmann (i.e., Nicht-Kaiser ist), überhöht die Historia Augusta, dieses Detail aufgreifend und mit ihm spielend, den Tetricus zum Nicht-Privatmann, nämlich zum collega des Aurelian und sogar zum imperator: HA Tyr. Trig. 24.2: Et cum multa Tetricus feliciterque gessisset et diuque imperasset, ab Aureliano victus, cum militum suorum impudentiam et procacitatem ferre non posset, volens se gravissimo principi et severissimo dedit. 3: Versus denique illius fertur, quem furtim ad Aurelianum scripserat: “Eripe me his invicte malis”. 4: Quare […] senatorem p. R. eundemque consularem, qui iure praesidali omnes Gallias rexerat, per triumphum duxit, eodem tempore quo et Zenobiam. […] 5: Pudore tamen victus, vir nimium severus eum quem triumphaverat correctorem totius Italiae fecit, id est Campaniae, Samni, Lucaniae Brittiorum, Apuliae Calabriae, Etruriae atque Umbriae, Piceni et Flaminiae omnisque annonariae regionis, ac Tetricum non solum vivere, sed etiam in summa dignitate manere passus est, cum illum saepe collegam, nonnumquam commilitonem, aliquando etiam imperatorem appellaret32. 25.2: Qui (der jüngere Tetricus) et ipse cum patre per triumphum ductus, postea omnibus senatoriis honoribus functus est33.

Man könnte also hier der Auffassung sein, dass die Historia Augusta alle ihre Inhalte über den Triumph Aurelians und das Los des Tetricus aus (dem oft wörtlich zitierten) Eutrop gewinnen konnte. Allerdings weiß, wie gerade gezeigt worden ist, nur Aurelius Victor etwas über einen Sohn 32. HA Tyr. Trig. 24.2-5 (Übers. HOHL): „Nachdem Tetricus viele glückliche Taten verrichtet und lange regiert hatte, wurde er von Aurelian besiegt; da er die Unverschämtheit und Dreistigkeit seiner Soldaten nicht mehr ertragen konnte, ergab er sich willig dem so würdigen und gestrengen Kaiser. Gleich zu Beginn seines Schreibens an Aurelian soll er sich folgenden Zitats bedient haben: ‚Entreiß mich, Unbesiegter, diesen Leiden‘. Da […] führte er den Senator des römischen Volkes und gewesenen Konsul, der über alle gallischen Lande als Statthalter gewaltet hatte, im Triumph auf, gleichzeitig mit Zenobia. […] Doch bestellte der allzu Gestrenge gleichwohl in einer Anwandlung von Beschämung den Mann, über den er triumphiert hatte, zum Statthalter über ganz Italien, nämlich über Kampanien, Samnium, Lukanien, Bruttium, Apulien, Kalabrien, Etrurien und Umbrien, Picenum und Flaminia und den ganzen getreideabgabenpflichtigen Distrikt; so schenkte er ihm nicht nur das Leben, sondern beließ ihn im Besitz hohen Ranges, ja nannte ihn häufig seinen Kollegen, mitunter Kamerad, einige Male sogar Kaiser“. 33. HA Tyr. Trig. 25.2 (Übers. HOHL): „Nachdem auch er mit seinem Vater im Triumph aufgeführt worden war, bekleidete er nachmals sämtliche senatorische Ehrenstellen“.

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des Tetricus. Die Historia Augusta hat daher entweder Aurelius Victor und Eutrop gleichermaßen benutzt und deren Angaben miteinander verbunden, oder sie hat die Grundquelle der beiden Autoren gekannt, nämlich die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte. Am wahrscheinlichsten ist allerdings, dass man gar nicht von einer Alternative auszugehen hat, sondern dass die Historia Augusta sowohl die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte als auch Aurelius Victor und Eutrop benutzt hat. Das Phänomen, dass neben der Grundquelle auch spätere Bearbeitungen hinzugezogen werden, ist keineswegs vereinzelt und entspricht etwa dem Umstand, dass Zonaras neben Cassius Dio auch die Zusammenfassung des Cassius Dio, in der Epitome des Xiphilinos kannte. Diese Ungewissheit, die durch die gleichzeitige Benutzung der Grundquelle und der abgeleiteten Quellen erzeugt wird, erschwert es in diesem Fall, zu einer genauen Aussage zu kommen. Die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte kann, muss aber nicht für die Angaben über den Triumph Aurelians die direkte Quelle der Historia Augusta gewesen sein. Diese Feststellung gilt auch für die Passagen, in denen die Historia Augusta für die Viten des Septimius Severus oder des Caracalla beinahe wortwörtlich mit Aurelius Victor und für die Vita des Mark Aurel fast wörtlich mit Eutrop übereinstimmt. Einen solchen Fall einer extremen Nähe zwischen der Historia Augusta und den Breviatoren des vierten Jahrhunderts bietet etwa die Anekdote, in der über die Ermahnung der Soldaten durch Septimius Severus berichtet wird. Aur. Vict. 20.25: Nam cum pedibus aeger bellum moraretur, idque milites anxie ferrent, eiusque filium Bassianum, qui Caesar una aderat, Augustum fecissent, in tribunal se ferri, adesse omnes, imperatoremque ac tribunos, centuriones ac cohortes, quibus auctoribus acciderent, sisti reorum modo iussit. 26: Quo metu stratus humi victor, cum tantorum exercitus veniam precaretur: „Sentitisne“, inquit pulsans manu, „caput potius quam pedes imperare?“34. HA Sev. 18.9: Idem, cum pedibus aeger bellum moraretur, idque milites anxie ferrent, eiusque filium Bassianum, qui una erat, Augustum fecissent, tolli se atque in tribunal ferri iussit, adesse denique omnes tribunos centuriones duces et cohortes, quibus auctoribus id acciderat, sisti deinde filium, qui Augusti nomen acceperat. 10: Cumque animadverti in omnes auctores 34. Aur. Vict. 20.25-26 (Übers. NICKBAKHT): „Als er nämlich, wegen eines Fußleidens unpässlich, einen Krieg verschob und die Soldaten dies übelnahmen und seinen Sohn Bassianus, der als Caesar mit zugegen war, zum Augustus erhoben, befahl er, sich auf das Tribunal tragen und alle antreten zu lassen, und dass der Kaiser und die Tribunen, Zenturionen und Kohorten, welche die Urheber waren, wie Angeklagte (vor dem Tribunal) hingestellt wurden. Als hierdurch aus Furcht das über so viele siegreiche Heer auf dem Boden liegend, um Vergebung bat, sagte er, wobei er sich mit der Hand ⟨an den Kopf⟩ schlug: ‚Merkt ihr jetzt, dass vielmehr der Kopf regiert als die Füße?‘“.

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facti praeter filium iuberet, rogareturque omnibus ante tribunal prostratis, caput manu contingens ait: Tandem sentitis caput imperare, non pedes35.

Selbst für diesen auf den ersten Blick ziemlich klaren Fall hat Hermann Dessau36, der die Benutzung von Aurelius Victor durch die Historia Augusta als klares Kriterium für die von ihm entdeckte Spätdatierung benannt hat, als Konzession die Möglichkeit in Erwägung gezogen, dass die Historia Augusta nicht Aurelius Victor, sondern einen von diesem nicht weiter veränderten Bericht benutzt haben könnte: „Trotz einer sachlichen Differenz – sie besteht in der Aufbauschung des sisti reorum modo in animadvertit in omnes auctores facti praeter filium – ist es klar, dass dem Verfasser der Vita Severi entweder ein Bericht vorgelegen hat, den Victor ausgeschrieben hat, ohne etwas zu ändern, oder Victor selbst“. Für die Rekonstruktion der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte sind alle Fälle, in denen Ähnlichkeiten zwischen der Historia Augusta und den spätantiken Breviarien auffallen, nachgeordnet, weil sie sich zwar nicht zwingend, aber doch mit einiger Wahrscheinlichkeit, auch einfach dadurch erklären lassen, dass die Historia Augusta die Breviarien direkt benutzt hat. Ein zweites, im Zusammenhang mit der Rekonstruktion der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte zu diskutierendes Problem stellen die Übereinstimmungen zwischen Eutrop, Hieronymus und Festus dar. Durch die Forschungen von Rudolf Helm steht fest, dass die zahlreichen ähnlichen Passagen zwischen Eutrop und Hieronymus nicht oder jedenfalls nicht immer damit zu erklären sind, dass Hieronymus, der die Übersetzung des Euseb mit Notizen aus lateinischen Quellen ergänzt hat, einfach nur Eutrop benutzt hat37. 35. HA Sev. 18.9-10 (Übers. HOHL): „Als Severus wegen seines Fußübels den Krieg hinauszögerte und die darob mißgestimmten Soldaten seinen mitanwesenden Sohn Bassianus zum Augustus erhoben hatten, ließ er sich vom Bett heben und auf das Tribunal tragen, vor dem dann alle Obersten, Hauptleute, Generäle und Kohorten, die jenen Zwischenfall veranlaßt hatten, antreten mußten; sodann zitierte er den Sohn, der den Augustustitel entgegengenommen hatte. Als er den Befehl gab, gegen sämtliche Urheber der Tat mit Ausnahme des Sohnes einzuschreiben, worauf alle sich vor dem Tribunal niederwarfen und ihn um Gnade anflehten, berührte er mit der Hand seinen Kopf und sagte: ‚Endlich begreift ihr, daß der Kopf regiert und nicht die Füße!‘“. 36. DESSAU, Über Zeit und Persönlichkeit (Anm. 2), S. 366. 37. R. HELM, Hieronymus und Eutrop, in Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 76 (1927) 138-170 und 254-306. Vgl. BURGESS, Jerome (Anm. 4). Die Gemeinsamkeiten dieser Quelle reichten über 357 hinaus, vgl. (mit abweichenden Schlüssen darüber, welchen zeitlichen Umfang die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte hatte) R. BURGESS, A Common Source for Jerome, Eutropius, Festus, Ammians, and the Epitome de „Caesaribus“ between 358 and 378, along with Further Thoughts on the Date and Nature of the „Kaisergeschichte“, in Classical Philology 100 (2005) 166-192.

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Als Beispiel mögen die Nachrichten über den Sieg und den Triumph über Zenobia dienen. Hier ist in der bereits vorgestellten Passage Eutr. 9.13.2 zu lesen: Zenobiam quoque, quae occiso Odenatho marito Orientem tenebat, haud longe ab Antiochia sine gravi proelio cepit, ingressusque Romam nobilem triumphum quasi receptor Orientis Occidentis egit praecedentibus currum Tetrico et Zenobia. Qui quidem Tetricus corrector Lucaniae postea fuit ac privatus diutissime vixit; Zenobia autem posteros, qui adhuc manent, Romae reliquit38.

Hieronymus bietet trotz einige offenkundiger wörtlicher Ähnlichkeiten und engster inhaltlicher Übereinstimmung (etwa zur Herrschaft der Zenobia über die Diözese Oriens nach dem Tode des Odainathos oder darüber, dass sie gemeinsam mit Tetricus im Triumph Aurelians vor dem Wagen lief) offenkundig mehr als Eutrop, einschließlich der Ortsangabe zur militärischen Auseinandersetzung: Hier. 222 e: Zenobia aput Immas haut longe ab Antiochia vincitur, quae occiso Odenato marito Orientis tenebat imperium39. Hier. 222 g: Aurelianum Romae triumphantem Tetricus et Zenobia praecesserunt. E quibus Tetricus corrector postea Lucaniae fuit et Zenobia in urbe summo honore consenuit. A qua hodieque Romae Zenobiae familia nuncupatur40.

Die Lokalisierung der Schlacht wird aus der gleichen Quelle auch von Festus geboten, der auch für die Herrschaft der Zenobia über den Orient ganz analog zu Hieronymus formuliert: Fest. 24.1: Aureliani imperatoris gloriae Zenobia, Odenathi uxor, accessit: ea enim post mortem mariti feminea dicione Orientis tenebat imperium: quam Aurelianus multis clibanariorum et sagittariorum milibus fretam

38. Eutr. 9.13.2 (Übers. BLECKMANN – GROSS): „Auch Zenobia, die nach der Ermordung ihres Gemahls Odainathos den Osten beherrschte, nahm er nicht weit von Antiocheia ohne schweres Gefecht gefangen und führte bei seinem Einzug in Rom einen denkwürdigen Triumphzug durch als Wiedergewinner des Ostens und Westens, wobei seinem Wagen Tetricus und Zenobia vorausgingen. Dieser Tetricus nun war später Corrector von Lucania und lebte noch sehr lange als Privatmann; Zenobia aber hinterließ Nachfahren in Rom, die noch heute leben“. 39. Hier. 222 e (eigene Übersetzung): „Zenobia, die nach der Ermordung ihres Gatten Odenathus die Herrschaft über Oriens innehatte, wird bei Imma, nicht weit von Antiocheia, besiegt“. 40. Hier. 222 g (eigene Übersetzung): „Vor Aurelian, der in Rom triumphierte, schritten Tetricus und Zenobia voraus. Von ihnen war Tetricus später Lenker von Lucania und Zenobia wurde in der Stadt mit größter Ehre alt. Nach ihr heißt heute noch in Rom die Familie der Zenobia“.

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apud Immas haut procul ab Antiochia vicit et captam Romae triumphans ante currum duxit41.

Die Übereinstimmungen zwischen Festus, Hieronymus und Eutrop belegen also eindeutig die Existenz einer gemeinsamen, unabhängig von den drei Zeugen benutzten Vorlage. Sie führen allerdings deshalb lange noch nicht sofort zur Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte. Denn solche engen wörtlichen Abhängigkeiten zwischen den drei Quellen fallen nicht nur für die Geschichte der Kaiserzeit, sondern auch für diejenige der Republik auf. Alle drei Autoren hängen damit nicht unmittelbar von der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte ab, sondern von einer römischen Kurzgeschichte, die eine Gesamtdarstellung der Geschichte von der Gründung an bot, dabei aber für die Republik vor allem aus Livius-Epitomen schöpfte, für die Kaiserzeit dann aus der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte. Es ist dabei ohne weiteres wahrscheinlich, dass die meisten Angaben bei Eutrop, Hieronymus und Festus mittelbar aus der Kaisergeschichte stammen dürften. Die Benutzung zusätzlicher Informationen aus anderem Material und aus anderen Quellen ist aber gleichwohl nicht ausgeschlossen. Der Kaisergeschichte können daher übereinstimmende Passagen aus Eutrop, Hieronymus und Festus folglich nicht zwingend zugewiesen werden. Vielmehr müssen sich zusätzliche Anhaltspunkte für eine sichere Zuweisung finden. Im Falle des Triumphes Aurelians über Zenobia und Tetricus sind es insbesondere die parallelen Bemerkungen des Aurelius Victor, der zwar Zenobia ignoriert, aber über den Triumph über Tetricus berichtet. IV. BILANZ Angesichts des hohen Frustrationspotentials von oft ins Leere verlaufenden Untersuchungen und stets neu anzufertigender Penelope-Arbeiten ist es verständlich, wenn die Bereitschaft, sich auf Rekonstruktion verloren gegangener Quellen und die hypothetische Darstellung von Quellenbeziehungen einzulassen, relativ gering ist. Die Tatsache, dass die sogenannte Quellenforschung in wilhelminischer Zeit Gegenstand zahlreicher 41. Fest. 24.1 (Übers. A. BETTENWORTH – P. SCHENK, Festus: Kleine Geschichte des römischen Volkes [Tusculum], Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020): „Den Ruhm Kaiser Aurelians mehrte Zenobia, die Ehefrau des Odenathus. Diese hatte nämlich nach dem Tod ihres Mannes die Herrschaft über den Osten inne, obwohl sie eine Frau war. Aurelian aber besiegte sie, die auf viele Tausend gepanzerte Reiter und Bogenschützen vertraute, bei Immae nicht weit von Antiochia und führte sie in Rom als Gefangene im Triumphzug vor seinem Wagen her“.

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Promotionen und das Steckenpferd von (im Übrigen wissenschaftlich durchaus produktiven) Gymnasiallehrern war, hat zusätzlich dazu beigetragen, diesem Forschungsfeld allenfalls wissenschaftshistorisches Interesse zuzubilligen und die Diskussionen angesichts des erreichten Leerlaufs für abgeschlossen zu erklären. Dieser Neigung, sich von Fragen der Quellenkritik und der Quellenforschung abzuwenden, steht freilich der Befund im Weg, dass eine Beschäftigung mit abgeleiteten und späten historiographischen Quellen, die auf die Auslotung früherer Quellenschichten verzichtet, de facto nicht möglich ist. Wer Diodors Beitrag zur Geschichte der Diadochenkriege verwertet, kommt trotz aller Erklärungen, dass nur die Darstellungsabsichten des im Späthellenismus schreibenden Autors zählen und die Frage seiner Quellen nicht beantwortet werden kann, nicht umhin, sich Gedanken darüber zu machen, wie Diodor an Material und Informationen, das einen zweihundert Jahre zurückliegenden Zeitraum behandelt, gelangt sein könnte. Jede Arbeit, die späte und abgeleitete Quellen etwa zu Alexander dem Großen benutzt und bewertet (d. h. im Falle Alexanders im Grunde das gesamte verfügbare Quellenmaterial), nimmt implizit quellenkritische Operationen vor. Die Funktion der Quellenkritik besteht darin, diese mitunter nicht ausreichend reflektierten Annahmen explizit zu machen und sich über die Möglichkeit der Verwendung später Traditionen Rechenschaft abzulegen. Dass im Regelfall die lückenlose Herstellung einer vom berichteten Phänomen zur späten Quelle reichenden Kette nicht gelingt, dass Erklärungen von Quellenabhängigkeiten dort, wo Material fehlt, hypothetisch sein müssen, unterscheidet die Quellenkritik nicht vom sonstigen wissenschaftlichen Geschäft. Im Rahmen einer reflektierten Quellenkritik ist dabei insbesondere die Postulierung und Rekonstruktion von verlorenen Geschichtswerken aufgrund der Übereinstimmungen von Passagen in erhaltenen Autoren ein völlig legitimes Verfahren, sobald sich eine Reihe inhaltlicher oder auch sprachliche Übereinstimmungen durch Synopsen darstellen lassen. Für die Diskussion der spätantiken Historiographie hat sich die Rekonstruktion solcher verlorener Geschichtswerke, von der Kirchengeschichte des Gelasios von Kaisareia über den anonymen Homöer, die Consularia Italica bis hin zu Theophilos von Edessa, als durchaus fruchtbar erwiesen, auch wenn fast nie über den Umfang der möglichen Rekonstruktionen und selten genug auch hinsichtlich der Frage, ob die Existenz dieser Quellen überhaupt nachweisbar ist, ein definitiver Konsens hergestellt werden kann. Die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte stellt insofern einen Sonderfall dar, weil immerhin die Existenz dieses Werks kaum umstritten ist. Im Handbuch der Lateinischen Literaturwissenschaften ist diesem

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Werk sogar ein eigenes, aus der Feder von P.L. Schmidt stammendes Kapitel zugeteilt worden42. Die wenigen jüngeren skeptischen Stimmen sind meistens argumentativ nicht weiter ausholende Äußerungen des Unmuts43. Davon hebt sich allenfalls das in detaillierterer Weise begründete Urteil von G. Zecchini ab, der die Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen den Breviarien zwar nicht in Abrede stellt, aber davon ausgeht, die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte sei eher ein „filone storiografico“ als ein eigentliches Geschichtswerk44. Umstritten ist aber weiterhin auch bei denjenigen, die von der Existenz der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte ausgehen, die Frage, in welchem Umfang Stücke aus späteren Quellen jeweils diesem Werk zugewiesen werden können. Hier lässt sich damit operieren, dass man einen sicher ermittelbaren Kern von einer diffusen Randzone trennt. Den Kern machen Bindefehler und spezifische Übereinstimmungen zwischen Eutrop und Aurelius Victor aus. Zum diffusen Rand gehören etwa Passagen der Historia Augusta, die Eutrop oder Aurelius Victor extrem ähnlich sind und bei denen man eher den Eindruck haben muss, dass die Historia Augusta die Breviatoren und nicht deren Quelle benutzt hat. Dass ein Autor nicht nur die Grundquelle, in diesem Falle die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte, sondern neben der Grundquelle auch die abgeleitete Quelle benutzt hat, ist ein durchaus geläufiges Muster. Kompliziert erscheint auch der Befund, dass die Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Eutrop und Hieronymus nicht direkt auf die Benutzung der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte, sondern einer die Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte benutzenden, Republik und Kaisergeschichte vereinenden „Römischen Geschichte“ zurückgehen. Für die Rekonstruktion der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte besteht die Möglichkeit, entweder das gesamte diffuse Umfeld im Sinne des Ökonomieprinzips auszuklammern oder umgekehrt der Vollständigkeit wegen zu berücksichtigen und zu dokumentieren. Der Kern, nämlich die Übereinstimmungen zwischen Eutrop und Aurelius Victor, genügt aber bereits, um das spezifische Profil der Enmannschen Kaisergeschichte zu erkennen. Das Kaiserideal des Autors war offenkundig relativ konventionell und entsprach in etwa dem, was 42. P.L. SCHMIDT, Die sogenannte Enmannsche Kaisergeschichte (=EKG), in R. HERRestauration und Erneuerung: Die lateinische Literatur von 284 bis 374 n. Chr. (Handbuch der lateinischen Literatur der Antike, 5), München, Beck, 1989, 196-198. 43. Z.B.: M.P. LÓPEZ HERNANDO – I. LASALA NAVARRO, Origo Constantini Imperatoris. Commentar, notas y traducción, in Habis 38 (2007) 271-285, hier S. 274. 44. G. ZECCHINI, Qualche ulteriore riflessione su Eusebi di Nantes el’EKG (1999), in ID., Ricerche di storiografia latina tardoantica. II: Dall’ Historia Augusta a Paolo Diacono, Roma, L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2011, 59-71, hier S. 70.

ZOG,

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wiederholt für Eutrop herausgearbeitet worden ist, nämlich in der Verbindung einer respektvollen Haltung gegenüber der senatorischen Aristokratie im Innern und einer aggressiv-imperialen Außenpolitik. Er verzeichnete historische Zäsuren in der Organisation der kaiserlichen Macht oder Brüche im Wesen des Kaisertums, wobei er von den Realitäten der spätantiken Kollegialherrschaft ausging. Ein besonderes Anliegen war ihm die genaue Beschreibung der Bildung der Kaiser. Die Gesamtheit des Reiches wurde in den Blick genommen, wenn sich auch wohl – was auch mit der deutlichen Voreingenommenheit zugunsten der konstantinischen Dynastie zusammenhängt – bei den Textzeugen noch relativ viele Informationen zu Gallien finden, insbesondere zum Gallischen Sonderreich, aber auch zur Usurpation des Carausius und des Allectus. Für eine gallische oder zumindest westliche Herkunft spricht auch das Tableau der vom Autor für die Regierung des Gallienus berücksichtigten Tyrannen, wo die Ausklammerung des östlichen Raumes auffällt. Heinrich-Heine-Universität Düsseldorf Lehrstuhl für Alte Geschichte Universitätsstraße 1 DE-40225 Düsseldorf Deutschland [email protected]

Bruno BLECKMANN

PART TWO

JUBILEES 23 A TEST CASE FOR JUBILEES’S USE OF SOURCES

I. INTRODUCTION The Book of Jubilees, a retelling of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus, belongs to the genre of Rewritten Scripture. I argue here that in recasting the biblical account, Jubilees’s author draws not only on Scripture but on other, contemporary, literature. Using Jubilees 23 as a test case, I will show how the author incorporated both a Hellenistic-Jewish work and a work from Qumran in his treatment of the question of the decline in the human lifespan. Palaeographic criteria indicate that the book was composed during the reign of John Hyrcanus (134-104 BC)1; the earliest manuscript of the book dates to between 150 and 100 BC2. The work’s content also reflects such a date. Jubilees polemicizes against the Pharisaic halakhic system authorized by the Hasmonean regime under Jonathan, Simon, and part of John Hyrcanus’s reign3. The book also polemicizes against Hellenistic culture4, whose influence in Judea waned during the Hasmonean revolt and the reign of Simon but returned in full force under John Hyrcanus5. 1. For a rejection of the common scholarly position that the book was written during the Antiochan decrees and the Hasmonean revolt, see J. DORAN, The Non-Dating of Jubilees: Jub 34–38; 23:14-32 in Narrative Context, in Journal for the Study of Judaism 20 (1989) 1-11. 2. J.C. VANDERKAM – J.T. MILIK, The First Jubilees Manuscript from Qumran Cave 4: A Preliminary Publication, in Journal of Biblical Literature 110 (1991) 243-270, p. 246, n. 4. 3. C. WERMAN, The Rules of Consuming and Covering Blood in Priestly and Rabbinic Law, in Revue de Qumran 16 (1995) 621-636; EAD., The Book of Jubilees: Introduction, Translation, Interpretation, Jerusalem, Yad Ben-Zvi, 2015, pp. 4-13 [Hebrew]. 4. C. WERMAN, The Book of Jubilees in the Hellenistic Context, in L. LIDONNICI – A. LIEBER (eds.), Heavenly Tablets: Interpretation, Identity and Tradition in Ancient Judaism. Jubilee Volume in Honor of Prof. Betsy Halpern-Amaru (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 119), Leiden, Brill, 2007, 133-158; EAD., Moses in the Book of Jubilees and Qumran Literature, in M. SOMMER – E. EYNIKEL – V. NIEDERHOFER – E. HERNITSCHEK (eds.), Mosebilder: Gedanken zur Rezeption einer literarischen Figur im Frühjudentum, frühen Christentum und der römisch-hellenistischen Literatur (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 390), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2017, 77-95, pp. 87-92. 5. U. RAPPAPORT, The Hasmonean State and Hellenism [Hebrew], in Tarbiz 60 (19901991) 477-503. For a shorter version in English, see The Hellenization of the Hasmoneans, in Studies in Jewish Civilization 2 (1992) 1-13.

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Another underlying assumption here is that Jubilees’s author or authors were members of the Qumran community. This argument is grounded in the book’s preaching of the 364-day calendar observed by the Qumran community, its accusation that the people sinned in abandoning this calendar in the late First Temple period, and its prediction that this sin will continue until the end of days. Moreover, the book’s author is faithful to the priestly-sectarian halakhah reflected in the Qumran Scrolls and also espouses their apocalyptic and dualistic world view6. Transforming Genesis and Exodus into a work espousing a sectarian message demands a high degree of sophistication. It is not possible to outline here all of the techniques employed by the author of Jubilees to achieve this goal7. Nonetheless, for the purposes of the discussion, I begin with a brief summary of the book’s poetics. Three different narrative levels can be identified in Jubilees. The first level, in which an anonymous narrator establishes the setting – the epic moment of the Sinai revelation – is found only in the prologue. The second level, which begins in chapter two and continues throughout the book, has an identifiable internal narrator: the angel of presence. As befits a representative of the angelic realm, this angel, who addresses Moses in the second-person singular, usually refers to himself in the first-person plural. Yet, the angel of presence is not truly independent; his role is to dictate what is written on the heavenly tablets. Some divergence from this straightforward reading of the tablets occurs at the book’s end, where Moses’s life is surveyed: the angel turns to Moses and reminds him of events, and occasionally provides explanations of the same. On this narrative level, the angelic reading of the heavenly tablets also incorporates statements by the actors to their descendants. As recounted in Jubilees, pericopes from different genres, such as law and testament, are woven into the plot. On many occasions, however, the internal narrator also participates in the story, thereby creating a third level of narration. Here the angel of presence, in his role both as a heavenly being and omniscient narrator, diverges from the act of dictation. He offers comments regarding himself 6. C. WERMAN, Two Creations for One Nation: Apocalyptic Worldviews in Jubilees and Other Qumran Writings, in R.A. CLEMENTS – M. KISTER – M. SEGAL (eds.), The Religious Worldviews Reflected in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the 14th International Orion Conferences (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah, 127), Leiden, Brill, 2018, 264-284. 7. C. WERMAN, The Book of Jubilees, in M.D. COOGAN (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Books of the Bible, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011, 500-513; EAD., Jubilees (n. 3), pp. 31-43, 69-77.

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and his cohorts (e.g., “to serve before the Lord as we [do] for all time” [30,18]8); he also reveals to Moses additional information written on the heavenly tablets. This reflects the penetration of one literary level – information shared with Moses that deviates from the “text” being dictated by the angel-narrator – into the main textual level, the predestined history recorded on the tablets. These levels are linked, as the information provided in the third level takes the form of observations on the events recounted in the second. In the third level, the angel reports what is written on the heavenly tablets with respect to the post-Sinai period, either biblical law or halakhah to be given in the future, or distant events. Thus, Jubilees is a masterpiece of literary art. By weaving remarks into the narrative, the author directs the reader to interpret and understand the events described through the prism of his particular viewpoint. I ascribe this creative framework to the author of the work; clearly, he is responsible for creating these remarks, which are in complete harmony with the overall content of the work. As I have shown in past publications, and in the introduction to my critical edition of the work, the view that Jubilees is a multi-layered work that accumulated over several compositional stages should be rejected9. In my research, I have shown that Jubilees is indeed the work of a single author. However, in these and in other studies, I have also demonstrated that the author of Jubilees made use of written sources that predate the writing of the book. Some of these sources have been preserved through the ages, including the introduction to the Oath of Assaf the Physician (or ‫ )ספר הרפואות‬as well as Midrash Va-yisaʽu. Others, such as the Book of Enoch and the Aramaic Levi Document, were discovered in the nineteenth century; still others, such as the Genesis Apocryphon and the Visions of Amram, became known with the discovery of the Qumran scrolls10. Based on our acquaintance with some of the written sources that preceded the writing of Jubilees, and our awareness of the author’s use of 8. The English translation of Jubilees is based on J.C. VANDERKAM (ed. and trans.), The Book of Jubilees (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, 511; Scriptores Aethiopici, 88), Leuven, Peeters, 1989. 9. C. WERMAN, Narrative in the Service of Halakkha: Abraham, Prince Mastema, and the Paschal Offering in Jubilees, in K.-P. ADAM – F. AVEMARIE – N. WAZANA (eds.), Law and Narrative in the Bible and Neighbouring Ancient Cultures (Forschungen zum Alten Testament, II/54), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2012, 225-242; EAD., Jubilees (n. 3), pp. 44-45. Cf. M. SEGAL, The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 117), Leiden, Brill, 2007; and J.L. KUGEL, The Interpolations in the Book of Jubilees, in Revue de Qumran 24 (2009) 215272. 10. C. WERMAN, The Book of Jubilees and Its Aramaic Sources [Hebrew], in Meghillot 8-9 (2010) 135-174.

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them, it is possible to speculate that Jubilees’s author may have embedded other, no longer extant, writings in his work. Similarity between Jubilees and other works from antiquity bolsters this premise. I note, for example, that the similarity between Jubilees and the third Sibylline Oracle led to the proposal that the author of Jubilees was familiar with a HellenisticJewish work that rewrote Genesis 10, which contains a table of the nations and describes the settlement of Noah’s descendants throughout the world, by merging it with the mythological description of Zeus’s descendants in Hesiod’s Theogony (421–424; 629–638). This Hellenistic-Jewish work was reworked in one fashion in the third Sibylline Oracle and in another by the author of Jubilees11. Thus, although Jubilees contains only one historical layer and is the work of a single author, investigation of its sources beyond the books of Genesis and Exodus is pertinent. For this purpose, I focus on Jubilees 23. I argue that a Hellenistic-Jewish treatise, a reworking of Hesiod’s Works and Days, is embedded in this chapter. In the second section of this article, I attempt to provide textual support for the existence of such an independent treatise and its HellenisticJewish character. Nonetheless, in and of itself, this assertion does not suffice to achieve a full understanding of the chapter or its source history, for analysis of chapter 23 demonstrates that the author of Jubilees inserted his own comments into this earlier, Hellenistic-Jewish, treatise. The third section of this article focuses on these interpolations, and demonstrates the existence of three levels of literary creation within Jubilees, two that preceded the final creation of the book, and one that we can attribute to the author himself: (1) Hesiod’s Works and Days; (2) a Hellenistic-Jewish reworking of Hesiod’s composition (which I term Pseudo-Hesiod, as explained below); and (3) the integration of the Hellenistic-Jewish treatise into chapter 23, alongside interpolations by the Jubilean author. In the third section I also take note of an additional complexity, namely, that these interpolations are not completely independent creations by the Jubilean author, but rather reflect yet another composition that preceded Jubilees, a Qumranic composition titled PseudoMoses (4Q390). In the fourth section I discuss the relationship between Pseudo-Moses’s worldview and that of the author of Jubilees. My hope is that this close textual analysis of chapter 23 and the process of its creation will contribute to answering broader questions: how ancient authors treated their sources; the status enjoyed by sources during antiquity; and the need for source criticism. The concluding section discusses the particular relevance of the findings outlined here to these broader questions. 11. WERMAN, Jubilees in the Hellenistic Context (n. 4), pp. 146-150.

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II. THE HELLENISTIC-JEWISH TREATISE Jubilees 23 opens with Abraham’s death and burial. The chapters concerning the end of Abraham’s life expand the brief treatment in Genesis to include many elements not found in the biblical narrative. The chapter opens with Abraham and Jacob lying together in bed, after Abraham has given Jacob a long blessing (chapter 22). Jacob witnesses Abraham’s death and rushes to call his father, Isaac, and mother, Rebekah (who did not live together). The opening of the story of Abraham’s burial constructs a theme not found in the Bible itself, namely the marginality of Ishmael within his paternal family. Whereas biblical Ishmael shares an equal role with Isaac in burying Abraham (Gen 25,9), in Jubilees Ishmael barely plays any role. After summarizing the length of Abraham’s life, the author turns his attention to the question of the decline in human longevity in order to explain why Abraham died so young, at only 175. It is at this point that the narrative shifts from one literary level – the narrative provided by the angelic narrator, to another – the narrator’s own comments on the narrative. The angel ceases reading from the sequential narrative written on the heavenly tablets and brings to Moses’s attention information available to him due to his knowledge of the past and present (also written on the heavenly tablets, but not in the sequence of events that the angel reads to Moses). The angel’s direct speech to Moses concerning human longevity is anchored in the Bible itself. As Kugel notes12, Jubilees 23 alludes to Psalm 90, whose first verse identifies Moses as the speaker, “A prayer of Moses, the man of God […]”: (4) “For in Your sight a thousand years are like yesterday that has past, like a watch of the night”; (7) “So we are consumed by Your anger, terror-struck by Your fury”; (10) “The span of our life is seventy years or, given the strength, eighty years but the best/most of them are trouble and sorrow”. Jubilees 23 provides a context for Psalm 90. Moses’s words in Psalm 90 regarding “the span of our life” are part of a larger revelation granted him at Sinai, when the angel conveyed to him information from the heavenly tablets. From v. 9 on we hear the angelic voice imparting to Moses his knowledge of the past and future, and thus expanding the brief lament in Psalm 90. In v. 9, the angel surveys the facts that emerge from Genesis: “For the days of life of the ancients were nineteen jubilees. And after the flood they started to decrease from nineteen jubilees, to be fewer with respect

12. J.L. KUGEL, The Jubilees Apocalypse, in Dead Sea Discoveries 1 (1994) 322-337.

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to their days, to age quickly, and to have their times completed quickly, because of much deceit and through the wickedness of their ways”. The biblical ancients did indeed enjoy extraordinarily long lifespans lasting nineteen jubilees, or 931 years. Adam lived 930 years. In Genesis 11 longevity begins to decline from Shem (600 years) to Arpachshad (438 years), Peleg (239), Serug (230), and Nahor (148)13. Thus the statement, “they started to decrease from nineteen jubilees, to be fewer with respect to their days” is a correct assessment of what is written in Genesis. The author then immediately explains why human beings began to age more quickly, why their length of days, meaning those allotted to them from the outset, came to a swifter end: “because of much deceit and through the wickedness of their ways”. This statement, found at the end of the verse, is elucidated in the continuation of chapter 23. As stated above, my claim is that this expansion, and possibly parts of v. 9, were not composed by the author of Jubilees himself, but are rather a quotation, deliberately incorporated into his book from an independent treatise. This treatise’s objective is to attribute the decline in human longevity to divine punishment of humanity for its sins. I mention here Kugel’s suggestion that underlying the position that human longevity declined as a result of sin is a question of theodicy: if humanity sinned with such great frequency and intensity, as First Temple prophets and Second Temple thinkers claimed, what punishment did it receive14? In contrast, I contend that the treatise embedded in Jubilees 23 rather aimed to defend the truth of the biblical narrative. In antiquity Jewish chronographies (and in their wake Christian ones) struggled with the question of why earlier generations lived far longer than the members of their own generation15. Although their composition postdates Jubilees, we can assume that this issue was already discussed in the second century BC because there are echoes of it in Josephus as well. Josephus writes: Nor let the reader, comparing the life of the ancients with our own and the brevity of its years, imagine that what is recorded of them is false; let him not infer that, because no life is so prolonged today, they too never reached such a span of existence. For, in the first place, they were beloved of God and the creatures of God Himself; their diet too was more conducive to longevity: it was then natural that they should live so long. Again, alike for 13. In the Septuagint the lifespans are longer, but still less than the antediluvian generations. 14. KUGEL, Jubilees Apocalypse (n. 12), pp. 325-327. 15. W. ADLER, Time Immemorial: Archaic History and Its Sources in Christian Chronography from Julius Africanus to George Syncellus (Dumbarton Oaks, 26), Washington, DC, Dumbarton Oaks, 1989, pp. 48-50.

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their merits and to promote the utility of their discoveries in astronomy and geometry, God would accord them a longer life” (Ant. 1.107).

The treatise assimilated into Jubilees offers a worldview not that different from Josephus’s attribution of the decline in human lifespan to humanity’s straying from God, abandonment of a proper lifestyle, and desertion of its passion for discovering the world. The treatise in question, however, makes a harsher, more detailed argument, and subdivides history into four periods: (1) the antediluvian period (hinted at in v. 9); (2) the period beginning with the flood and ending with the time of Moses (mentioned explicitly in vv. 9-10); (3) the period beginning with Moses’s life and ending with the author’s own era (vv. 11-14); and (4) the period from the author’s lifetime until the end of time (vv. 16-20 and 25). The Four Epochs

Longevity

Epoch 1: Antediluvian Period

Epoch 2: Flood to Moses’s Day

Epoch 3: From Moses to the Author’s Day

Epoch 4: Before the Eschaton

(9) For the times of the ancients were nineteen jubilees.

(9-10) And after the flood they started to decrease from nineteen jubilees, to be fewer with respect to their days, to age quickly, and to have their times completed quickly, because of much deceit and through the wickedness of their ways, with the exception of Abraham. For Abraham was perfect with the Lord in everything that he did – being properly pleasing throughout all his lifetime. And yet (even) he had not completed four jubilees during his lifetime when he became old – because of wickedness – and reached the end of his time.

(11) All the generations that will come into being from now until the great day of judgment will grow old quickly before they complete two jubilees. Their understanding will leave them because of their old age; all their sense will depart. (15) Then it will be said: “The days of the ancients were numerous – as many as 1000 years – and good. But now the days of our lives, if a man has lived for a long time, are seventy years, and, if he is strong, eighty years”. All are evil and there is no peace during the days of that evil generation.

(25) The children’s heads will turn white with gray hair. A child who is three weeks of age will look old like one whose years are 100, and their condition will be destroyed through distress and pain.

152 Sins that zenut lead to (fornication) next epoch and tum’ah (impurity)

Suffering

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(14) All this will happen to the evil generation which makes the earth commit sin through sexual impurity and their acts are detestable and abominations.

(16) During that generation the children will find fault with their fathers and elders because of sin and injustice, because of what they say and the great evils that they commit, (17) For all have acted wickedly: every mouth speaks what is sinful. Everything that they do is impure and detestable; all their ways are (characterized by) abomination, and impurity and adultery. (12-13) At that time, if a man lives a jubilee and a half years, it will be said about him: He has lived for a long time. But the greater part of his time will be (characterized by) difficulties, toil, and distress without peace. Because there will be blow upon blow, wound upon wound, distress upon distress, bad news upon bad news, disease upon disease, and every kind of punishment like this, one with the other: disease and stomach pains; snow, hail, and frost; fever, cold, and numbness; famine, death, sword, captivity, and every (sort of) devastation and misery.

(18) The earth will indeed be destroyed because of all that they do. There will be no seed, no wine and no oil for all their deeds are disobedience. All will be destroyed together – animals, cattle, birds, and all the fish of the sea – because of humanity’s misdeeds. (19) One group will quarrel with another – the young with the old, the old with the young; the poor with the rich, the lowly with the great; and the needy with the ruler. (20) They will stand up with swords and warfare in order to bring them back to the way; but they will not be brought back until much blood is shed on the earth by each group.

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According to this survey, humanity’s sins grow increasingly severe over the course of history. Although the sins of the antediluvian generation, which cause a decline from Epoch 1 to Epoch 2, from a nineteen jubilees lifespan to one of four jubilees, are not mentioned explicitly, they can be surmised: zenut (fornication) and tum’ah (impurity), sins evident in the story of the fallen angels and the daughters of men and their illicit union (Genesis 6). The reason for the further decline which occurred after Moses’s day and caused the passage from the second to the third epoch, the author’s period, is stated clearly in v. 14. Here, along with zenut and tum’ah, we find other detestable sins and abominations. Verse 17 intensifies the severity of the sins, mainly by adding the adjective “all”. This is what causes a further deterioration from the third epoch, the period of the author himself, to the fourth, in which the human lifespan will be only twenty-one years. The biblical influence on this historical survey is obvious, not just in terms of the content derived from Psalm 90, but in terms of the precise phrasing as well. I note here the influence of Psalm 90 and other biblical, actually prophetic, texts. Verse 11 is a paraphrase of Ps 90,716. As scholars have noted17, v. 12 paraphrases Ps 90,10. The elements enumerated in v. 13 are not found in the Bible but the structure is similar to Ezek 7,26, “Disaster upon disaster shall come, and rumor after rumor shall be”. In v. 15 the author summarizes the speaker’s confession in Ps 90,10 regarding the seventy- or eighty-year lifespan. Finally, as Kister notes18, v. 18 reworks Hos 4,1-3. Despite the biblical influences on its content and phrasing, I maintain that Jubilees 23 actually incorporates a Hellenistic-Jewish work. This claim is related to my supposition that the author of this HellenisticJewish treatise was motivated by a desire to defend the veracity of the biblical account. Such an apologetic aim is characteristic of HellenisticJewish works. By definition, these works attempt to bridge the gaps between philosophic-Hellenistic thinking and the more mythic Jewishbiblical world, because of their sense of faith in, and love for, both distinct systems. Bolstering the claim that this is a Hellenistic-Jewish work 16. KUGEL, Jubilees Apocalypse (n. 12), pp. 335-336. 17. H. RÖNSCH (ed.), Das Buch der Jubiläen oder Kleine Genesis, Leipzig, Fues, 1874 (reprint: Amsterdam, 1970), p. 178; R.H. CHARLES, The Book of Jubilees or the Little Genesis, London, Adam and Charles Black, 1902, p. 145; KUGEL, Jubilees Apocalypse (n. 12), pp. 331-333. 18. M. KISTER, Concerning the History of the Essenes: A Study of the Animal Apocalypse, the Book of Jubilees and the Damascus Document [Hebrew], in Tarbiz 56 (1987) 1-18, p. 6, n. 23.

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are the similarities between Jubilees 23 and Hesiod’s Works and Days, a well-known Greek composition from the eighth-seventh centuries BC. In this composition, Hesiod reworks earlier Persian traditions, and provides symbolic meanings for the four metals – gold, silver, bronze, and iron – mentioned in these traditions. Hesiod uses these four metals to claim that there are four generations in human history, and that each generation is worse than its predecessor. The parallels between Hesiod and the treatise woven into Jubilees are manifested not only in the overall structure of the four generations, but in other details. 1. The description of the fourth generation in the first part of v. 19 as the most sinful and degraded paraphrases Isa 3,5, “And the people shall oversee each other, one man and his fellow. The young shall lord (‫)ירהבו‬ it over the old, and the worthless over the honored” and renders the verb ‫ ירהבו‬as ‫“ – ויריבו‬fight”, or “quarrel”, as does the Septuagint19. The motif of strife between different societal groups as a characteristic feature of the suffering generation that precedes the end of days (or the generation that lives at the end of days itself) is well known from Second Temple and early Christian literature20. This motif can also be found in earlier literature from both Mesopotamia and Greece. For our purposes, it is significant that Hesiod mentions it in connection with the iron generation. I draw attention to the similarity between the unit that includes v. 19 and Hesiod’s description. Jubilees 23

Hesiod’s Works and Days

(183) This will be a time when the father will not have equanimity with his children, nor the children with their father […] (184) Once men grow old, their sons will give them no time. They will reproach their parents, shouting at them with harsh words. Wretches, Men who do not know about the retribution of the gods! Such men would not even give to their aging parents the honor (19) One group will quarrel with another – that is their due. the young with the old, the old with the (183) […] nor the guest with the host, nor young; the poor with the rich, the lowly with comrade with comrade. Nor will brother be the great; and the needy with the ruler […] friend, as he had been before. (16) During that generation the children will find fault with their fathers and elders because of sin and injustice, because of what they say and the great evils that they commit […]

19. Ibid., p. 6, n. 24. 20. For a short survey, see M.E. STONE, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Ezra (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress 1990, p. 113.

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2. The parallel between Hesiod and the verses in Jubilees is not only thematic but also in wording, as the following table demonstrates: Jubilees 23

Hesiod’s Works and Days

Epoch 3 (12) At that time, if a man lives a jubilee and a half years, it will be said about him: He has lived for a long time. But the greater part of his days will be spent in difficulty, toil, and distress without peace.

(Iron) Not ever during the day will men cease from toil and distress; not even at night will they cease from being oppressed. The gods will give hard cares (176-178).

Epoch 4 (25) The children’s heads will turn white with (Iron) And Zeus will destroy this race of gray hair. A child that is three weeks of age mortal people too, when they turn out to be will look old like one whose years are 100, grey-templed at birth (181). and their condition will be destroyed through distress and pain.

3. The treatise that I am positing has been incorporated into Jubilees 23 includes other elements also found in Works and Days. What is noteworthy with regard to these elements is that in Works and Days these elements describe the generations of silver and gold whereas in the Hellenistic-Jewish treatise I am attempting to reconstruct, they are not used to describe the first generation, the diluvian generation, but rather one not referred to at all by Hesiod, the generation of the eschaton. Jubilees 23

Hesiod’s Works and Days

The end of time: (28) There will be no old man, nor anyone who has lived out his lifetime, because all of them will be infants and children.

(Silver) […] wretched old age did not hang over them, but unchanged in feet and hands (113-114) […] a child was nurtured playing at his devoted mother’s side for a hundred years in his oikos, an utter fool (130-131).

The end of time: (Gold) But ever since the earth covered over (31) Their bones will rest in the earth and this race, they are divinities in accordance their spirits will be very happy. with the plans of great Zeus (121-122).

This comparison allows us to detect in v. 31 a theological “correction” made by the editor of this Hellenistic-Jewish treatise to the material he took from Hesiod. Hesiod’s description refers to divinities and the great Zeus. In the Jewish version, these elements are removed and the promise is adapted to its author’s worldview, according to which the body does not exist after death. However, the conclusions drawn from this comparison are even more telling: Hesiod presents a pessimistic picture whereas the source embedded in Jubilees 23, although it uses elements from Hesiod, ends the process of decline after the “iron” generation, the fourth generation, and anticipates the future hopefully.

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The end of the decline of the generations is described in Jubilees 23,26: “In those days the children will begin to study the laws, to seek out the commandments, and to return to the ways of righteousness”. Old age signifies the loss of intelligence; the revolution will be led by children. This statement calls into question one of the fundamental tenets of Wisdom literature, namely, that wisdom resides with the elderly, for it assumes that at the end of history the youth will be more intelligent and morally superior to their parents and teachers’ generation21. The path with no outlet in Hesiod is altered in this treatise. The young are the basis for hope, hope not found in Hesiod. Thus, the author of the treatise fashions an impressive literary structure by making the end of the treatise, vv. 27-31, into the mirror image of the punishment meted out on humanity (a punishment which he borrowed, as we saw, from Hesiod). Jubilees 23

Hesiod’s Works and Days

(12) At that time, if a man lives a jubilee and (27) The days will begin to become numerous a half years, it will be said about him: He has and increase, and humanity as well – generalived for a long time. tion by generation and day by day until their lifetimes approach 1000 years and to more years than the number of days (had been). (25) The children’s heads will turn white with (28) There will be no old man, nor anyone gray hair. A child who is three weeks of age who has lived out his lifetime, because all of will look old like one whose years are 100, them will be infants and children. and their condition will be destroyed through distress and pain. (12) But the greater part of his time will be spent in difficulty, toil, and distress without peace. (13) Because there will be blow upon blow, turmoil upon turmoil, distress upon distress, bad news upon bad news, disease upon disease, and every kind of punishment like this, one with the other: disease and pain; snow, hail, and frost; fever, cold, and numbness; famine, death, sword, captivity, and every (sort of) devastation and misery.

(29a) They will complete and live their entire lifetimes peacefully and joyfully.

(29c) For their entire lifetimes will be times of blessing and healing.

(29b) There will be neither a satan nor any evil one who will destroy. (31) Their bones will rest in the earth and their spirits will be very happy.

21. On this aspect of Wisdom literature, see A. ROFE, Revealed Wisdom: From the Bible to Qumran, in J.J. COLLINS – G. STERLING – R.A. CLEMENTS (eds.), Sapiential Perspectives: Wisdom Literature in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 20-22 May, 2001 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah, 51), Leiden, Brill, 2003, 1-11.

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In summary, I propose that the core of Jubilees 23 is an independent treatise, which I will refer to henceforth as Pseudo-Hesiod. Its author’s goal was to defend the veracity of the Bible, which he achieved by blatantly using a canonical foreign work, Hesiod’s Works and Days, borrowing from the pagan author the notion of four generations and the decline of humanity. He expressed his ideas in Biblical Hebrew. His greatest innovation was his hope not just for the eventual reward for the righteous in heaven after their death, a promise already found in Hesiod, but also for an eventual reward on earth. Humanity would reach its nadir, but the youth would ensure that future generations would again follow the path of righteousness and all would be rewarded. III. INTERPOLATIONS A fundamental question still remains: why should we assume that an independent treatise is embedded in chapter 23? Why not suppose that the author of Jubilees himself composed the verses that I have ascribed to Pseudo-Hesiod? The answer to this question lies in the identification of interpolations by the author himself into the chapter. If the entire chapter had been created by the author of Jubilees, he would have been able to integrate these interpolations into the rest of the chapter more seamlessly. Indeed, had the author not used pre-existing material, it is unlikely that we would have been able to detect any seams between original composition and later interpolations. The lack of correlation between the verses and the interpolations demonstrates that the author of Jubilees used an already existing, independent treatise as the basis for his chapter. I now examine these interpolations and their source. Careful analysis of this chapter demonstrates several incongruencies in Jubilees 23. Usually the chapter refers to humanity in its entirety. From time to time, however, comments can be found that relate to subgroups22. For instance, in v. 21 we suddenly hear of “those who escape”. In vv. 30-31 concerning the eschaton, “his servants”, “his beloved” and “the righteous” all appear; opposing them are “the wicked” and “his enemies”. These subdivisions create repetition. For instance, v. 30 which is dedicated only to the “righteous” repeats what is promised to all of humanity in v. 29. We should also note the nature of the transgressions found in the chapter. Above, I mentioned the accusations of fornication, defilement, and abomination which are cast against all of humanity (vv. 14, 17). 22. For preliminary discussion, see KISTER, Essenes (n. 18), pp. 4-9.

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However, alongside these universal sins, Jubilees 23 also includes transgressions of a more “nationalistic” nature, which would be applicable only to Israel. Such accusations can be found in vv. 16b, 19b, and 21. Verse 16b addresses the abandonment of the covenant and calls for the people to observe and perform “all his commands, ordinances, and all his laws without deviating to the left or right”. The topic of v. 19b is neglect of the festivals, and the abandonment of the correct calendar, and v. 21, which refers to those who escape, mentions greed and the defilement of the Temple. All these sins are relevant to Israel in particular, not to the entire human race. Another interpolation can be identified in vv. 23-24. These verses prophesy the arrival of a cruel foreign enemy sent to exact revenge on those who have escaped, the subjects of v. 21. The appearance of this foreign enemy is not consistent with the punishment located at the chapter’s core, the decrease in the length of human life, and the chapter makes no attempt to explain the relationship between the two different forms of punishment. Moreover, the verse that describes the despair at the enemy’s arrival (v. 24) is not connected to the verse that immediately follows, which reverts to referring to all of humanity and a decrease in longevity (v. 25). The consecutive, consistent text that remains after removal of these elements attests to the secondary nature of this interpolation. I suggest that these discrepancies are the result of the full and partial interpolation of verses by the author of Jubilees into Pseudo-Hesiod, which served as the core of the chapter. I attempt to reconstruct the steps taken by the work’s author. I begin with the punishment for “those who escape”. (22) There will be a great punishment from the Lord for the actions of that generation. He will deliver them to the sword, judgment, captivity, plundering, and devouring. (23) He will arouse against them the sinful nations who will have no mercy or kindness for them and who will show partiality to no one, whether old or young, or anyone at all, because they have the skill to do evil more than all humanity. They will cause chaos in Israel and sin against Jacob. Much blood will be shed on the earth, and there will be no one who gathers up (corpses) or who buries (them). (24) At that time they will cry out and call and pray to be rescued from the power of the sinful nations, but there will be no one who rescues (them).

I first note the literary structure created by the author. Verse 21 refers to “those who escape”. Verse 24, which closes this unit, announces that these escapees will no longer be able to flee. Between vv. 21 and 24 the author places prophecies of vengeance. In the beginning, the author gathers various images of enemies found in

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the Bible, such as the “sword” – Jer 5,17; “plundering” – Isa 10,6; “devouring” – Deut 28,51, among others. This is followed in v. 23 by the reworking of Deut 28,49-50: ‫ ישא ה‘ עליך גוי מרחק מקצה הארץ כאשר ידאה‬49 ‫הנשר גוי אשר לא תשמע לשנו‬ The LORD will bring a nation against you from afar, from the end of the earth, which will swoop down like the eagle – a nation whose language you do not understand, 23 that will have no mercy or kindness ‫ גוי עז פנים אשר לא ישא פנים לזקן ונער לא יחן‬50 for them and will show partiality to a ruthless nation, that will show the old no regard no one, whether old or young, or and the young no mercy. anyone at all. (23) He will arouse against them the sinful nations

The assertion in v. 23 that “Much blood will be shed on the earth, and there will be no one who gathers up (corpses) or who buries (them)”, alludes to Ezekiel 38–39, and describes the punishment in apocalyptic tropes. The comment, “because they have the skill to do evil more than all humanity” also heightens the sense of terror. I now turn my attention to the accusations of sin, and first of all to those found in vv. 16 and 19. Above I claimed that these two verses belong to one unit which echoes Hesiod’s Works and Days. The verses placed between 16 and 19 are an integral part of this unit: (16) During that generation the children will find fault with their fathers and elders because of sin and injustice, because of what they say and the great evils that they commit. (17) For all have acted wickedly: every mouth speaks what is sinful. Everything that they do is impure and detestable; all their ways are (characterized by) abomination, and impurity and adultery. (18) The earth will indeed be destroyed because of all that they do. There will be no seed, no wine, and no oil for all their deeds are disobedience. All will be destroyed together – animals, cattle, birds, and all fish of the sea – because of humanity. (19) One group will struggle with another – the young with the old, the old with the young; the poor with the rich, the lowly with the great; and the needy with the ruler. (20) They will stand up with swords and warfare in order to bring them back to the way; but they will not be brought back until much blood is shed on the earth by each group. 23. This description in Jubilees is not dependent on the description of the Kittim, that is of Rome, in Pesher Habakkuk (cf. KISTER, Essenes [n. 18], pp. 13-14). Although the description there is similar, “Its interpretation concerns the Kittim who will cause many to die by the edge of the sword, youths, adults and old people, women and children, not even children at the breast will they pity (6:10-12)”, Pesher Habakkuk is based on Isa 13,18 (B. NITZAN, Pesher Habakkuk: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea [1QpHab]: Text, Introduction and Commentary, Jerusalem, Bialik Institute, 1986, pp. 63-64 [Hebrew]): “Their bows shall shatter the young; They shall show no pity to infants”.

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This unit tells of the decline during the third epoch. We should pay attention to the connection between vv. 16 and 17. Verse 16 describes societal strife – the youth rebuke their fathers and elders for their sinful words and evil actions. These two elements return in a chiastic structure at the end of v. 16 and the beginning of v. 17, where they are used as an explanation for the rebuke: Because of what they say and the great evils that they commit For all have acted wickedly; every mouth speaks what is sinful.

In the continuation we again encounter the familiar sins – impurity, detestable acts, contamination, and corruption – and the grave results of these sins: the destruction of the land, the lack of sustenance in v. 18, and the chaos and class and generational struggle due to famine in v. 19. Verse 20 ends the sequence begun in v. 16: the youth that previously rebuked their fathers and elders now attack them with swords to bring them to repent, and much needless blood is spilled. The Jubilean author seems to have viewed vv. 16-19 as an opportunity for interpolation, for despite the difference between these verses and the message he wished to introduce – an accusation concerning sins specific to Israel – they do include the theme of societal struggle over the correct path. (16) During that generation the children will find fault with their fathers and elders because of sin and injustice, because of what they say and the great evils that they commit and because of their abandoning the covenant which the Lord had made between them and himself so that they should observe and perform all his commands, ordinances, and all his laws without deviating to the left or right. (19) One group will quarrel with another – the young with the old, the old with the young; the poor with the rich, the lowly with the great; and the needy with the ruler – regarding the Torah and the covenant. For they have forgotten the commandments, the covenant, festivals, months, sabbaths, jubilees, and every law.

These additions (marked in bold type) change the unit’s overall message. Verse 20 cannot now be read as a conclusion to the statement made in the opening of v. 16. It no longer refers to youth who attempted to change the ways of their fathers and elders and now attack them violently. Instead, this verse is now a summary of the civil war fought within Israel over “Torah and covenant” and the calendar. The new understanding of v. 20 allows the author to incorporate from v. 21 and onwards an entire unit he himself composed: vv. 21-24. Those who refused to accept the Torah, the covenant, and the calendar, even under the threat of the sword, are referred to as “those who

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escape”. They continue to hold fast to their sins and furthermore adopt other sins: Those who escape will not turn from their wickedness to the right way because all of them will advance themselves for (the purpose of) oppression and wealth so that one takes everything that belongs to another. They will invoke the great name but neither truly nor rightly. They will defile the holy of holies with the impure and with the vanity of their abomination.

The fact that “those who escape” enter the historical stage after the “civil war” allows us to speak of a “first” and “second” generation of sinners: First Generation

Second Generation

(16b) […] because of their abandoning the covenant which the Lord had made between them and himself so that they should observe and perform all his commands, ordinances, and all his laws without deviating to the left or right. (19b) One group will quarrel with another […] regarding the Torah and the covenant. For they have forgotten the commandments, the covenant, festivals, months, sabbaths, jubilees, and every law.

(21) Those who escape will not turn from their wickedness to the right way because all of them will advance themselves for (the purpose of) oppression and wealth so that one takes everything that belongs to another. They will invoke the great name but neither in truth nor in righteousness. They will defile the holy of holies with the impure and the vanity of their abomination.

Here a comparison with the text known as Pseudo-Moses is instructive; the same transgressions are cited there and in the same order. Jubilees, First Generation

Pseudo-Moses, First Generation

Pseudo-Moses, Second Generation

(19b) One group will quarrel with another […] regarding the Torah and the covenant.

‫וי]ח[ל]ו[ להריב אלה באלה‬ ‫שנים שבעים מיום הפר‬ ‫ה]תורה וה[ברית אשר יפרו‬ t]he[y] will be[gi]n to quarrel among themselves for seventy years, from the day of the violation of the [Torah and the] covenant which they will have violated […]

For they have forgotten the commandments, the covenant, festivals, months, sabbaths, jubilees, and every law.

‫ ישכחו‬... ‫ביובל השביעי‬ ‫]את שבתותי יחללו[ את‬ ‫חוק ומועד ושבת וברית‬ ‫]מו[עדי יש]כחו[ו‬ ‫[ ויפרו הכול ויעשו הרע‬they will profane my ‫ בעיני‬Sabbaths] they will in the seventh for[ge]t my [fes]tivals, jubilee of the

Jubilees, Second Generation

(21) Those who escape will not turn from their wickedness to the right way

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devastation of the land, they will forget statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant. And they will violate everything and they will do what is evil in my eyes (Col. I. 7-9). ‫ובאשר לא חפצתי בחרו‬ ‫להתגבר להון ולבצע‬ ‫]ולחמס ואי[ש אשר לר]ע[הו‬ ‫יגזולו ויעשוקו איש את‬ ‫רעהו‬ what I did not want they will have chosen; to advance themselves through wealth and gain [and violence, ea]ch robbing that which belongs to his neigh[bour], and oppressing each other.

‫כי כולם לעושק ובהון‬ ‫ לגזול איש כול‬,‫יתגברו‬ ‫אשר לרעהו‬ because all of them will advance themselves for (the purpose of) oppression and wealth so that one robs everything that belongs to another.

They will invoke the great name but neither in truth nor in righteousness. ‫ את מקדשי יטמאו‬They will defile the They will defile my holy of holies Temple, ‫ובבני ]נכר[ יחלל]ו[ את‬ ‫זר]ע[ם‬ and with fo[reign]ers [t] he[y] will profane their offspr[ing]. ‫ כוהניהם יחמסו‬with the impure and Their priests will the vanity of their commit violence abomination. (Col. II. 6-10)

As I have shown elsewhere, Pseudo-Moses is an anti-Hasmonean sectarian composition that is dated to the late second century BC, the time of John Hyrcanus’s reign24. The accusations of sins that Pseudo-Moses casts 24. C. WERMAN, Epochs and End-time: The 490-Year Scheme in Second Temple Literature, in Dead Sea Discoveries 13 (2006) 229-255. For the official publication of the

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against the second generation accurately describe the events that occurred during the period under Hyrcanus’s rule: its conquests, its spread, and the forced conversion of the nations living within its borders. The composition’s main purpose is to forge an analogy between the generation that preceded the Antiochean decrees and the generation that followed the decrees and the Hasmonean rebellion, namely, the generation of Hasmonean rule. According to Pseudo-Moses, Israel abandoned the 364-day calendar in the seventh Jubilee after the destruction of the First Temple. The calendrical sin lasted seventy years and, in its view, the Antiochean decrees, which according to Pseudo-Moses lasted seven years, are a punishment for this sin. In its author’s eyes, the Hasmonean period is steeped in sin; rather than learning their lesson from the oppressive decrees, the people do not revert to the 364-day calendar. Even worse, Hasmonean rule leads the nation into more and new sins. It is almost certain that after the description of the Hasmonean period, Pseudo-Moses provides a description of an enemy in the image of Antiochus, or perhaps an even crueller figure. However, this description was not preserved. Pre-167 BC [for seventy years] Sin: in the seventh jubilee of the devastation of the land, they will forget statute and festival and Sabbath and covenant. And they will violate everything and they will do what is evil in my eyes (Col. I. 7-9).

Post-152 BC Sin: [t]he[y] will be[gi]n to quarrel among themselves for seventy years, from the day of the violation of the [Torah and the] covenant which they will have violated […] what I did not want they will have chosen; to advance themselves through wealth and gain [and violence, ea]ch robbing that which belongs to his neigh[bour], and oppressing each other. They will defile my Temple, [they will profane my Sabbaths,] they will for[ge]t my [fes]tivals, and with fo[reign]ers [t]he[y] will profane their offspr[ing]. Their priests will commit violence (Col. II. 6-10).

Punishment: [and my] house [and my altar Punishment. and th]e Holy of Ho[lies ] so it was done [ ] for these things will befall them [ ] and [there] will be the rule of Belial over them so as to deliver them to the sword for a week of year (Col. II 2-4).

The period surveyed in Pseudo-Moses lasts 490 years (seven jubilees, another seventy years, another seven years and then another seventy), a text, see D. DIMANT, Qumran Cave IV, XXI: Parabiblical Texts. Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, 30), Oxford, Clarendon, 2001, pp. 237, 244-245.

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number influenced by Daniel (9,24). The seven-year period the work attributes to the Antiochean decrees is also taken from Daniel (9,27). Pseudo-Moses is also familiar with biblical prophecies from the end of the First Temple period concerning seventy years of foreign rule (Jer 25,8-12; Zech 1,12) or of exile (Jer 29,10; 2 Chron 36,20-21) and uses these prophecies to build his paradigm. Moreover, Pseudo-Moses is also familiar with the prophetic works composed in the early Second Temple period and does not wish to deny their veracity. Therefore, he transforms the beginning of the Second Temple period into a period of obedient faithfulness to God and posits that the straying of the nation and their calendrical errors began only with the seventh Jubilee, after the destruction of the First Temple. Pseudo-Moses’s highly crafted structure of punishment and reward, the analogy it creates between the two periods, as well as its attempts to determine the end of times all demonstrate that this work preceded Jubilees and that Jubilees used it. Consultation of Pseudo-Moses in light of the similarities between the accusations interpolated by the author of Jubilees into chapter 23 and those in Pseudo-Moses clarifies the nature of these accusations. *Verse 19, concerning the first generation, contains a literal parallel with Pseudo-Moses: “For they have forgotten the commandments, the covenant, festivals, months, sabbaths, jubilees, and every law”. This is of course a reference to the calendrical dispute. In order to create a precedent for the cycle of sin and punishment, the author of Pseudo-Moses first ascribes this sin to the predecree generation, and then to the postdecree generation. We can assume that Jubilees’s prophecy that the second generation “will not turn from their wickedness to the right way” (v. 21) implies the persistence of the first generation’s calendrical sin. Thus, the author of Jubilees maintains the claim found in Pseudo-Moses. *Verse 21, “Because all of them will elevate themselves for (the purpose of) cheating and through wealth so that one takes everything that belongs to another” also contains a literal parallel with Pseudo-Moses, “to advance themselves through wealth and gain [and violence, ea]ch robbing that which belongs to his neigh[bour], and oppressing each other” (Col. II.8-9). Both in Jubilees and Pseudo-Moses the sin simply seems to be greed. However, the additional accusations in Jubilees, “They will defile the holy of holies with the impure and the vanity of their abomination” have a religious character, similar to Pseudo-Moses’s, “They will defile my Temple”. The use of the word “abomination” is close to that

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found in the composition known as Miqṣat Ma’asei ha-Torah (4QMMT) or the Halakhic Letter, “[… because of] violence and fornication [many] places have been lost. [And also] it is writ[ten in the book of Moses:] you shall [no]t bring an abomination in[to your house for] abomination is an odious thing” (3,5-7). As Kister notes, 4QMMT alludes to Deut 7,25, which prohibits bringing into one’s home gold and silver used in idolatrous worship25. It is possible that its author believes that use of silver and gold taken from non-Jews in the temple is prohibited and blamed the Hasmonean dynasty of carrying out this deed. It is also possible that the impurity of the wealth against whose theft Jubilees warns stems from improper administration of the ban and oath (compare CD 6,15-16: “to abstain from wicked wealth which defiles, either by vow or by ban [‫]חרם‬, and [to abstain] from the wealth of the temple”). If so, the accusation regarding wealth, woven into the beginning of the verse, may also refer to cultic sin. *In v. 19b Jubilees adopts another element from Pseudo-Moses: “One group will quarrel with another […] regarding the Torah and the covenant”. In Pseudo-Moses this theme appears in a description of the second generation, the generation that follows the Antiochean decrees, and not the first generation, as in Jubilees. However, the phrasing is identical, “[t]he[y] will be[gi]n to quarrel among themselves for seventy years, from the day of the violation of the [Torah and the] covenant which they will have violated”. A similar expression is used in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah; there too in connection with the generation following the decrees, “And Israel will be split apart in th[at] generation, waging war against one another regarding the Torah and the covenant”. It is possible that “the Torah and the covenant” was a Hasmonean slogan (1 Macc 2,27.50) which was afterwards transformed into a symbol of the factional dispute within Israel (the phrase occurs in the Apocryphon of Jeremiah but is not used there from a sectarian viewpoint!26). For the purposes of our discussion, the difference between Pseudo-Moses (and to a certain extent the Apocryphon of Jeremiah) and the interpolation into Jubilees is critical. Both Jubilees and Pseudo-Moses refer to a civil war over “the Torah and the covenant”. However, Pseudo-Moses describes a nation dwelling in sin without referring to the existence of a righteous faction. Even when he notes, “[t]he[y] will be[gi]n to quarrel 25. M. KISTER, Studies in 4QMiqṣat Ma’aśe Ha-Torah and Related Texts: Law, Theology, Language and Calendar [Hebrew], in Tarbiz 68 (1999) 317-371, p. 347. 26. WERMAN, Epochs and End-time (n. 24), pp. 231-242.

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among themselves for seventy years” he does not adopt a stance in favour of either group. In his eyes, all the opposing groups are wicked. In contrast, Jubilees does espouse the viewpoint of one of these groups. In v. 16b the author supports the group that rebukes its fathers and elders, and this stance applies to the group referred to in v. 19 as well. The author of Jubilees is thus obligated to reward this righteous group and to note the select destiny of its members. In vv. 30-31 we find his additions to what was already promised to humanity in Pseudo-Hesiod. * V. 30, “Then the Lord will heal his servants. They will rise and see great peace” is similar to Jubilees 1,29, “All the luminaries will be renewed for (the purpose of) healing and peace”. The phrase “They will rise and see great peace” weaves together two verses from Psalms, “And the poor shall inherit the earth, and take pleasure from great peace” (37,11); “Hope for the Lord and keep his way and he will exalt you to inherit the earth” (37,34). * “He will expel his enemies. The righteous will see (this), offer praise, and be very happy forever and ever”. This verse is based on Ps 37,10, “And very soon, wickedness will be no more (‫ )ואין רשע‬. You will look to its place – it will be gone”. However, the abstract “wickedness” has been replaced by “his enemies”. The author, as a good Qumranite, views the downfall of the enemy favourably. The same is true in the following phrase, “They will see all their punishments and curses on their enemies”. * V. 31, “They will know that the Lord is one who executes judgment but shows kindness to hundreds and thousands and to all who love him”. This is a paraphrase of Exod 20,6, “And performs righteousness for the thousands, those who love him and observe his commandments”. “Visits the sin of the fathers on the sons” (Exod 20,5) has been replaced with the brief phrase “executes judgment”. IV. JUBILEES’S COMPOSITIONAL INDEPENDENCE It is time to sum up the implications of the claims made above. First of all, the assertion made at the outset that the author of Jubilees was a member of the Qumran community is supported by the analysis of chapter 23, for the nationalistic accusations the author borrowed from Pseudo-Moses and interpolated into chapter 23 clearly represent a sectarian viewpoint. Second, the author of Jubilees was not completely faithful

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to Pseudo-Moses and occasionally paved his own path. As we just saw, unlike the author of the earlier work who posits that the entire nation is sinful, the Jubilean author adopts the viewpoint of one faction in particular. And, as noted, he locates the origins of the division among Israel in the first (vv. 16 and 19), not the second generation (v. 21). I note another distinction that can help us understand the author’s ideological choices. In v. 16b the author issues the following accusation, “[…] because of their abandoning the covenant which the Lord had made between them and himself so that they should observe and perform all his commands, ordinances, and all his laws without deviating to the left or right”. “Without deviating to the left or right” is a phrase from Deuteronomy, “And you shall observe to do as the Lord your God commanded you, do not deviate to the right or left” (5,29) or “Do not deviate from all that I commanded you today, neither to the right nor left, to follow other gods and worship them” (28,14). This instruction became somewhat of a slogan at Qumran. Thus, for example the warning, “Do not deviate from the laws of his truth to go to the right or left” is an obligation members of the community took upon themselves during the yearly covenant renewal ceremony (Rule of the Community 1,15). This accusation is, however, not found in Pseudo-Moses. It is possible that this slogan also originated in Hasmonean propaganda and that, over the course of time, sectarians adopted it in their counterpropaganda. The author of 1 Maccabees (2,22) ascribes the following declaration to Mattathias, “We will not obey the king’s words by turning aside from our religion to the right or the left”. Subsequently, once adopted by the members of the Qumran community, the slogan became anti-Pharisaic. Its message constitutes a crucial element of Jubilees’s worldview; thus, the author interpolated it into chapter 23, despite the fact that it does not originate from Pseudo-Moses. This allowed him to include a denunciation of the Pharisees, who are not alluded to in PseudoMoses, at least not in the surviving portions of the work. Jubilees thus describes a dispute with the Pharisees, and a division and struggle over the “Torah and the covenant” and the calendar during the first generation. To the second generation the author ascribes the sins of conquest and violence initiated by the Hasmonean rulers, aided by the Sadducees, during the reign of John Hyrcanus. This assessment allows for the following conclusion: whereas to Pseudo-Moses the first generation is the generation that preceded the Antiochean decrees, and the second generation refers to the Hasmonean period, Jubilees focuses only on the Hasmonean period, that is, the period after the Antiochean decrees, which it divides into two generations. The first generation is the beginning

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of Hasmonean rule, the reigns of Jonathan, Simon, and part of John Hyrcanus’s reign. During this generation, the Pharisees are in power and a dispute breaks out between them and the priests. There is also an internecine priestly struggle between the Sadducees and the members of the Qumran community who exile themselves from Jerusalem and adopt a different calendar. The second generation is the period of John Hyrcanus. From the sectarian point of view, this generation continues to sin by maintaining an errant calendar. However, during this period Pharisaic influence dissipates, and new sins began to appear. It should now be clear why the author of Jubilees used Pseudo-Hesiod as a platform for his own message. Onto the intergenerational tension in v. 16 and the societal chaos in v. 19, the author easily superimposed the struggle of a newly formed group that espoused “the Torah and the covenant” and polemicized most vehemently against the luni-solar calendar and against the Pharisaic halakhah which constantly deviated to the right and left. These verses also served as an excellent backdrop for discussion of the Pharisee-Sadducee divisions and disputes. Even in v. 20, which cites the bloodshed to which a torn society is destined, the Jubilean author finds echoes of his own period. It is almost certain that he and his community would have read this verse in light of the violence enacted by Hyrcanus and his sons during the civil war that broke out when Hyrcanus switched his allegiance from the Pharisees to the Sadducees27. Verse 20 serves the author of Jubilees well in summarizing the first generation and beginning his tale of the second.

V. A BRIEF SUMMARY If I am correct, Jubilees 23 provides evidence that the Jubilean author incorporated into this chapter two sources familiar to him: the treatise I have called “Pseudo-Hesiod” and Pseudo-Moses. As I noted at the outset, the author of Jubilees grappled with the challenges presented by the Hellenistic world. The decision to interpolate a Hellenistic-Jewish source in chapter 23 and to modify the source manifests this struggle: the author of Jubilees was willing to open the door to new ideas that originated in a foreign culture, as long as they were properly adapted to his viewpoint. In addition, as a member of the Qumran community, the 27. On this forgotten struggle, see B. BAR-KOCHVA, On the History of the Judaean Desert Sect: Relations with the Hasmonean Rulers from Simeon to Jannaeus (143–76 BCE) [Hebrew], in Zion 84/1 (2019) 5-57.

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author wanted to include allusions to the Hasmonean period, and to ensure his audience that this period would end positively for his own sect. These two, somewhat opposing, goals led to textual inconsistency and a lack of coherence in chapter 23. Nonetheless, we should be grateful to the author for this lack of coherence, and for the textual incongruities, for they allow us to reconstruct how he composed his monumental work, and also provide an opportunity to answer some questions concerning the ways ancient authors dealt with their sources and the status of sources in antiquity. Furthermore, in my opinion, chapter 23 comprises a perfect example of why classicists, ancient historians, and biblical scholars have been so interested in source criticism. Quite simply, the lack of correlation between different parts of a single chapter obligates the scholar to engage in source criticism. As to the question of how ancient authors dealt with their sources, the answer is more complicated. I have proposed that the author of Jubilees quoted Pseudo-Hesiod in its entirety. However, he also interpolated into this source other statements that, to a certain extent, blur the main message of the original treatise. Some of these statements were taken from Pseudo-Moses. Others, in my opinion, were his creation. The relationship between the author of Jubilees and Pseudo-Moses can be clarified by noting the salient differences between the two. Pseudo-Moses is a sectarian historiography. It was written after the Hasmoneans had already separated from the Pharisees and adopted Sadducean norms of behaviour. The authors who composed this work did not, therefore, feel the need to relate to Pharisaic halakhah. As noted, PseudoMoses’s main goal was to create an analogy through which it can with certainty prophesize the eventual downfall of the Hasmonean dynasty. The author of Jubilees is not faithful to this ideological historiography. Rather, he wants his composition to echo the details of the Hasmonean period and how it changed over time. He left out Pseudo-Moses’s reckoning of time and the end of time entirely. Already in the first chapter of Jubilees, he offers his own view as to when Israel abandoned the correct solar calendar: at the end of the First Temple period and the beginning of the Babylonian exile. He also forgoes the analogy found in PseudoMoses between the period preceding the Antiochean decrees and that which follows, and thus he does not even mention the decrees. He voices his conviction in the eventual end of the evil Hasmonean dynasty by ascribing such a prophecy to the angel transmitting to Moses his knowledge of the past and future as written on the heavenly tablets. Thus, if the voice of Pseudo-Hesiod was blurred in Jubilees, the unique voice of

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Pseudo-Moses was completely silenced. We can thus offer an answer to the broad question of what status sources enjoyed in antiquity. In light of Jubilees 23 we can say quite simply that ancient authors exercised a certain freedom in adapting their sources. Department of Jewish History Ben-Gurion University of the Negev P.O.B. 653 Beer-Sheva [email protected]

Cana WERMAN

A SECTARIAN BACKGROUND FOR 1 ENOCH 22* I. INTRODUCTION The work of a scholar applying source criticism to a text is usually hypothetical. We examine a text that is already compiled and redacted, but contains literary difficulties, such as repetitions, contradictions, and other textual flaws. Then we propose a hypothesis about the compositional history of the text that may remedy all or most of the textual problems. In this respect 1 Enoch is an interesting example, since it was preserved in multiple manuscripts from several stages of its composition, thus offering us empirical evidence for the process1. Enoch is an antediluvian figure mentioned already in a cryptic verse in Genesis 5. According to Genesis, unlike other offspring of Adam and Eve, Enoch did not simply live, but he “walked with God”, and did not die, but “was taken by God”. Based on these verses and probably some other extra-biblical traditions, a vast Enochic literature was developed * I thank Martha Himmelfarb and Cana Werman for their useful comments on earlier versions of this paper. Avraham Yoskowitz and Naomi Hadad assisted me in the process of preparing this paper. I thank the Azrieli foundation for their financial support of the publication of this paper. 1. For studies of the Dead Sea Scrolls as empirical evidence for source criticism hypotheses see J.H. TIGAY, An Empirical Basis for the Documentary Hypothesis, in Journal of Biblical Literature 94 (1975) 329-342; ID., Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism, Philadelphia, PA, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985; H.J. TERTEL, Text and Transmission: An Empirical Model for the Literary Development of Old Testament Narratives (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 221), Berlin, De Gruyter, 1993; B.M. LEVINSON, You Must Not Add Anything to What I Command You: Paradoxes of Canon and Authorship in Ancient Israel, in Numen 50 (2003) 1-51; ID., Legal Revision and Religious Renewal in Ancient Israel, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2008; K. VAN DER TOORN, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2007; S. WHITE CRAWFORD, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2008; D.M. CARR, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005; ID., The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011; J.E. BOWLEY, Bible, in M.D. COOGAN (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Books of the Bible, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011, vol. 1, 73-84; E. MORCZEK, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2016; R.G. KRATZ, Sources, Fragments, and Additions, in P.B. HARTOG – A. SCHOFIELD – S.I. THOMAS (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Study of the Humanities: Method, Theory, Meaning. Proceedings of the Eighth Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies (Munich, 4-7 August, 2013) (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah, 125), Leiden, Brill, 2018, 1-27.

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by Second Temple Jews. This literature, apocalyptic in nature, included descriptions about Enoch’s journeys in heaven and in earth, eschatological revelations, and a long account expanding the story of the sons of God and daughters of men, here understood to be the Watchers, or rebellious angels coming to earth bringing evil and sins upon humanity.

II. COMPOSITION OF 1 ENOCH Already in the earliest stages of scholarship during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries 1 Enoch was considered by many as a conglomerate of sources2. Greek papyri found at the end of the nineteenth century and the Aramaic scrolls found in the middle of the twentieth century may help us describe better the process of their compilation. As is evident from the Dead Sea Scrolls, among which the earliest manuscripts of 1 Enoch were found, its earliest stages of composition belong to the second half of the first millennium BC in Aramaic (and perhaps partly also in Hebrew). From Aramaic it was translated into Greek. Large sections of the Greek translation were found in papyri in Egypt. We also have a long quotation in the Ἐκλογὴ χρονογραφίας of the Byzantine chronographer George Syncellus. The most complete form of the book is found only in Ge’ez (Classical Ethiopic), which is a translation of the Greek. These three versions are not identical. Moreover, significant differences exist within the manuscripts of each language. Traditionally, textual criticism and source criticism are two distinct disciplines. While the distinction relies on the assumption that the redaction and acceptance of a book ended at a certain point, and only then the stage of transmission begins, evidence shows that these processes often happen simultaneously. Thus, at least at a certain point of time a text may be copied by some scribes, while still being redacted by others or even by the same scribe3. This 2. For a summary of these opinions see R.H. CHARLES, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch, Oxford, Clarendon, 1912, pp. xxvii-lvi. 3. Representatives of this approach in the Study of the Hebrew Bible are: P. KAHLE, Die hebräischen Handschriften aus der Höle, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1951, pp. 166-167; M. GREENBERG, The Stabilization of the Text of the Hebrew Bible Reviewed in the Light of the Biblical Materials from the Judean Desert, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 76 (1956) 157-167; M. GOSHEN-GOTTSTEIN, The History of the Bible Text and Comparative Semitics, in Vetus Testamentum 7 (1957) 195-201; S. TALMON, Old Testament Text, in P.R. ACKROYD – C.F. EVANS (eds.), The Cambridge History of the Bible, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1970, vol. 12, 198-199; S.D. WALTERS, Hannah and Anna: The Greek and Hebrew Texts of 1 Samuel 1, in Journal of Biblical Literature 107 (1988) 385-412. In Qumran studies, where we find manuscripts dating to the same time

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means that textual evidence may also be a proof for the textual evolution of the composition. I will begin from the general structure of the book, and continue to smaller units, focusing at last on one particular chapter – chapter 22, exemplifying how taking source criticism and textual evidence seriously may help us understand it differently. Already in the Ethiopic text, 1 Enoch is divided into five sections and two appendices: Chs. 1–36: Book of Watchers Chs. 37–71: Book of Parables Chs. 72–82: Astronomical Book Chs. 83–90: Dream Visions Chs. 91–105: Epistle of Enoch Chs. 106–107: App 1: Birth of Noah Ch. 108: App. 2: Conclusion

It is not clear when exactly those sections were compiled into this particular collection, since on the one hand, none of the Greek manuscripts includes more than one section4, and on the other, some of them are copied with other literature. Syncellus brings parts of the Book of Watchers together with verses from the Book of Giants, a work also found in Qumran. Although this text is related to Enoch, it is not included in the Ethiopic version of the book. Thus, for a start we know some form of the pan-ultimate sources of 1 Enoch, that is the five sections and two appendices.

of the work’s composition, the most common assumption is that texts evolve, and unless otherwise proven we cannot expect textual stability. A well-known example is the various texts of the Community Rule (1QS, 4Q255-264, 5Q11, and 5Q13), see, e.g., P.S. ALEXANDER, The Redaction History of “Serekh Ha-Yahad”: A Proposal, in Revue de Qumran 17 (1996) 437-456; S. METSO, The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah, 21), Leiden, Brill, 1997; C. HEMPEL, Shifting Paradigms concerning the Literary Development of the Serekh, in EAD., The Qumran Rule Texts in Context: Selected Studies (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 154), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, 109-119; EAD., The Community Rules from Qumran: A Commentary, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2020; E. QIMRON, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings (Between Bible and Mishnah), Jerusalem, Yad Ben-Zvi, 2010-2014, vol. 1, pp. 209-210. A whole issue named Textual Plurality beyond the Biblical Texts was dedicated to this matter lately in Revue de Qumran 30/2 (2018). 4. R.D. Chesnutt suggests that Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 2069 contains three small sections that belong to one manuscript, which includes both Dream Visions and the Astronomical Book. See R.D. CHESNUTT, Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 2069 and the Compositional History of 1 Enoch, in Journal of Biblical Literature 129 (2010) 485-505 and J.T. MILIK, Fragments grecs du Livre d’Hénoch (P. Oxy. XVII 2069), in Chronique d’Égypte 46 (1971) 321-343. However, the identification of the Astronomical Book is quite dubious. See G.W.E. NICKELSBURG – J.C. VANDERKAM, 1 Enoch. 2: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch 37–82, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2012, p. 346.

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While the Book of Parables is not preserved in either Aramaic or Greek5, all other sections of 1 Enoch are represented in several copies discovered at Qumran, each one of them with at least one scroll preserving it alone6. Consequently, two hypotheses, equivalent to the Documentary and Supplementary Hypotheses known from Pentateuch studies, were applied to the redaction of the five sections. Joseph Milik argues that this is evidence for the independent existence of all of them7. His opinion is unanimously accepted regarding the Astronomical Book, which has survived in four copies all of which attest only this section. For the rest of the sections, Nickelsburg thinks that the Dream Visions and the Epistle were supplemented to the Book of Watchers. Specifically regarding the evidence of the scrolls, he claims against Milik that the scrolls are too fragmentary, and we cannot use evidence from silence. He, thus, suggests that other sections were copied on these scrolls, but did not survive8. Nickelsburg’s argument can be used both ways. If a scroll attests several chapters of one section, we cannot be certain that it did not include other sections, but we can also doubt if it did include chapters of the same section that are not preserved, especially when these chapters are considered later based on literary reflections. Here, I will focus on the Book of Watchers. Scholars divide this section of 1 Enoch into several units, redacted in their turn from even smaller ones. The Book of Watchers begins with several verses that attribute the next chapters or the entire book to Enoch. The first chapter is focused on the end of time when God will reveal himself to humanity and bring justice upon the righteous and

5. This fact led some scholars to date the book after the destruction of the Second Temple (e.g., J.T. MILIK, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4, Oxford, Clarendon, 1976, pp. 91-96 dates it to the third century). Others claim that it was not composed by the same social circles as the Qumran community (e.g., J.C. GREENFIELD – M.E. STONE, The Enochic Pentateuch and the Date of the Similitudes, in Harvard Theological Review 70 [1977] 51-65). Sacchi and Boccaccini think that at this stage Enochic Judaism was separated from the Qumran Community, see G. BOCCACCINI, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1998, pp. 144-149; P. SACCHI, Qumran and the Dating of the Book of Parables, in J.H. CHARLESWORTH (ed.), The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2006, vol. 2, 390-394. But it can also be attributed to mere coincidence. 6. For the Book of Watchers 4Q201-202; all of the scrolls attesting the Astronomical Book (4Q208-211); for the Dream Visions – 4Q207; and for the Epistle of Enoch 4Q212. 7. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 246. While Devorah Dimant agrees with Milik that the Enochic sections existed independently, she claims that no fixed Enochic collection ever existed in Qumran or even in the first centuries AD, see D. DIMANT, The Biography of Enoch and the Books of Enoch, in Vetus Testamentum 33 (1983) 14-29, esp. pp. 16-19. 8. G.W.E. NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2001, p. 25.

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wicked. Following, chapters 2–5 demand that people learn from the regular and unchanged Nature how not to deviate from the divine law9. Chapters 6–16 expand on the myth of the sons of God and daughters of men, mentioned briefly in Gen 6,1-4. Enoch receives a heavenly message intended for the rebellious angels, and rebukes them. These chapters are composed of several sources. Chapters 17–36 describe two or three journeys Enoch takes around the universe. These chapters are also composed of several sources, as will be discussed below. It is widely agreed that chapters 17–36 are later than chapters 6–16, and refer to them occasionally, though scholars differ regarding details of the evolution of these chapters. Nevertheless, there is a consensus that the final redaction of all these sources predated the earliest manuscript of the Book of Watchers found in Qumran, and was thus completed by the third century BC10. In the present paper, I intend to contest this consensus, based on material and literary considerations.

III. THE BOOK OF WATCHERS (1 ENOCH 1–36) The Book of Watchers is attested in five copies. 4Q201 is the oldest copy. It is dated by Milik on the basis of palaeographical criteria to the beginning of the second century BC, and by Michael Langlois to the middle of the same century11. On this basis the entire book is usually dated to the third century, with its sources predating its final redaction. 9. For this distinction see M. BLACK, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha, 7), Leiden, Brill, 1985, pp. 12-13, 25-26. For even smaller separations of chapter 1–5 see E.J.C. TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old and the Day of the End: Zechariah, the Book of Watchers and Apocalyptic (Old Testament Studies, 35), Leiden, Brill, 1996, pp. 163-164. 10. CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), pp. xxvii-lvi summarizes the views of the earlier scholars. He divides these chapters to two units 6–11 and 12–16. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), pp. 22-41, on the other hand, sees chapters 6–19 as one source, comprised of two sections (6–13 and 14–19) written even before Genesis 6. P. SACCHI, – W. SHORT, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, vol. 20, London, Bloomsbury, 1996, pp. 61-71 also dates the entire Book of Watchers to the fourth century BC, and its earlier chapters even to the fifth. Further source criticism of these chapters was done by later scholars. See C.A. NEWSOM, The Development of 1 Enoch 6–19: Cosmology and Judgement, in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 42 (1980) 310-329, esp. pp. 315-316; BLACK, Enoch (n. 9), pp. 13-15; TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), pp. 155-157; NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 25; H. DRAWNEL, Qumran Cave 4: The Aramaic Books of Enoch, 4Q201, 4Q202, 4Q204, 4Q205, 4Q206, 4Q207, 4Q212, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2019, p. 2. 11. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 140; M. LANGLOIS, Le premier manuscrit de Livre d’Hénoch: étude épigraphique et philologique des framents araméens de 4Q201 à Qumrân, Paris, Cerf, 2008, p. 68.

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Accordingly, it is considered to be one of the earliest Jewish texts outside of the Hebrew Bible, and even earlier than the Book of Daniel. However, 4Q201 extends only to chapters 1, 2, 6, 8, 10, and perhaps also 12 and 1312. The end of the book, including the two journeys, is not preserved. Milik dates 4Q202 to the early Hasmonean Period, or the first half to the middle of the second century BC. It consists of chapters 1, 5, 6, 8, 10, and 14. Drawnel dates the manuscript to somewhat later, in the second half of the second century. He identifies fragment 33 with 1 Enoch 22,11. However, the only clear word on this tiny fragment is the word ‫עד‬. So, it is impossible to draw far-reaching conclusions based on its doubtful reading13. Again the second half of the book did not survive with any certainty. Only 4Q204-206 include fragments attesting to chapters 17–36. All of these copies are dated to the first century BC. 4Q205, which Milik dates to the beginning of the first century includes only chapters 22–24 and a part of the Dream Visions. 4Q206, which Milik dates to the end of the first century BC contains chapters 18–34 and again parts of the Dream Visions14. Thus, while both these copies include the second part of the Book of Watchers together with the Dream Visions, none of them shows evidence for the combination of the two parts of the Book of Watchers. Only in 4Q204, which Milik dates to the end of the first century BC, we find the entire Book of Watchers on the same copy, but this copy also includes the Dream Visions and the Epistle of Enoch, and perhaps also the Book of Giants15. Consequently, it is not certain at all that the Book 12. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), pp. 140-163 did not publish the entire manuscript. The very small fragments 2-8 were first published by Loren Stuckenbruck, who identified 1 Enoch 10,15 in frg. 2 and 1 Enoch 13,8 in frg. 6. He claims that the rest of the fragments do not match any text of the Book of Watchers and either they belong to another work or they preserve a text of the Book of Watchers that is very different than the Greek and Ethiopic versions. See L.T. STUCKENBRUCK, 201 2-8. 4QEnocha ar, in S.J. PFANN (ed.), Qumran Cave 4 XXVI (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, 36), Oxford, Clarendon, 2000, p. 4. However, all of these fragments are very small. The largest of them (frg. 8) holds four lines of 4-8 letters, most of which are not legible. Michael Langlois identifies frg. 2 with 1 Enoch 9,9. He doubts the relation of frg. 6 to this manuscript, and does not consider an identification of any of the other small fragments to be possible (LANGLOIS, Premier manuscrit [n. 11], pp. 389-422). DRAWNEL, Aramaic Books of Enoch (n. 10), p. 2 identifies parallels only to chapters 1–9, and cautiously states that it is impossible to know whether chapters 11–36 existed in this copy. 13. DRAWNEL, Aramaic Books of Enoch (n. 10), pp. 2-3, 183. 14. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), pp. 217, 225-227, 235-238. 15. Ibid., pp. 178-217 included in 4QEnc fragments that were later separated by others to manuscript 4Q203. See K. BEYER, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer. Ergänzungsband, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994, pp. 125-126; L.T. STUCKENBRUCK, 4QEnochGiantsa ar (Pl.II), in PFANN (ed.), Qumran Cave 4 XXVI (n. 12), 8-41; É. PUECH, 203 1 4QLivre des Geantsa ar, in ID. (ed.), Qumran Grotte 4 XXII (Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, 31), Oxford, Clarendon, 2001, 17-18. It is possible that 4Q206 1, which Milik identified as attesting 1 Enoch 18, in fact represents 1 Enoch 14, as DRAWNEL,

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of Watchers as we know it, that is as one composition, ever existed in Aramaic. At least it is no more certain than the combination of the Book of Watchers with the Dream Visions and the Epistle of Enoch. In fact, if we only had the Qumran evidence without the translations, we would have considered the second part of the Book of Watchers to be more related to the Dream Visions than to the first part of the Book of Watchers16. The main evidence for the inclusion of the entire Book of Watchers in 4Q201 is the idea, based on literary considerations, that the included chapters 1–5 were originally composed as an introduction for the Book of Watchers. This is the position of Milik and Hartman; others, however, see them as an introduction for larger sections: an introduction for the entire Book of Enoch as Charles hesitantly suggests, for the Book of Watchers and parts of the Dream Visions and the Epistle of Enoch as Nickelsburg also cautiously claims17. Milik simply assumes that 4Q201 once contained all of the Book of Watchers, but Hartman supports this claim with some literary evidence. He shows that most of the motifs in 1–5 reappear in 6–36. However, out of the 32 themes in his comparison only five include examples from only 1–5 and 17–36, but not 6–16. These include: God’s coming forth, mercy, light, nature’s order, and execration. Most of them are very common themes in Jewish writings and earlier scriptures. Some of them indeed appear in 6–16, for example mercy and light are connected in 1–5 to the blessings for the righteous, which do appear in chapters 10–11. The theme of nature is unique since it is a central theme in both 2–5 and in Enoch’s journeys in the second part of the Book of Watchers. However, while the introduction’s main purpose is to show that natural order cannot be changed, 1 Enoch 18,17 blames the stars or some of the stars for not rising in their appropriate time. For that sin they are punished in a special prison outside of the boundaries of heaven and earth. A similar concept may also appear in

Aramaic Books of Enoch (n. 10), pp. 347-348 claims. In that case, only 4Q205 preserves the second half of the Book of Watchers without its earlier chapters, and 4Q204 and 4Q206 both contain the entire book. 16. The Animal Apocalypse, which is the main part of the Dream Visions, describes human history from Adam and Eve to the Endzeit. The point in which it shifts from the real history to eschatological descriptions is used for dating the composition. Most scholars identify the last real events there as referring to the Maccabean revolt and to the days of Judas Maccabeus. I agree, however, with Menachem Kister, who dates it to the establishment of the Qumran sect. See M. KISTER, Concerning the History of the Essenes: A Study of the Animal Apocalypse, the Book of Jubilees and the Damascus Document [Hebrew], in Tarbiz 56 (1987) 1-18. 17. CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), p. xlviii; MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 141; L. HARTMAN, Asking for a Meaning: A Study of 1 Enoch 1–5, Uppsala, LiberLäromedel – Gleerup, 1979, pp. 138-145; NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), pp. 24-25.

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chapter 2318. In addition, the mere fact that some parallels can be found between two literary works does not indicate dependency. Moreover, even if we do see an influence, we still have to establish the right order of the sources. Hartman rightly claims that it is more plausible that the watchers’ narrative should be interpreted in light of the introduction, which is focused on human sins. The meaning of this claim is that chapters 1–5 provide a clue of how to decipher the watchers’ account, applying the message to the author’s contemporary generation19. This argument, however, shows that chapters 1–5 are the introduction for chapters 6–16, focusing on the watchers. It is irrelevant for chapters 17–36 that do not need any clues for their decipherment, since they explicitly compare the sins and punishments of humans, stars, and angels, as if their author/ redactor has already learned the lesson implemented in the combination of chapters 1–5 together with 6–16. I, therefore, suggest that chapters 17–36 were not included in the earlier manuscripts 4Q201-20220. In fact, until Milik’s assertion that the Book of Watchers is attested in an early second-century manuscript, most scholars dated the book to the second century BC, mainly based on the description of the abode of the dead in chapter 2221. Abandoning Milik’s assumption that the entire book was 18. Glorifying nature for its constant order was a popular theme in Second Temple literature. See CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), pp. 8-9; M.E. STONE, The Parabolic Use of Natural Order in Judaism of the Second Temple Age, in S. SHAKED – D. SHULMAN – G.G. STROUMSA (eds.), Gilgul: Essays on Transformation, Revolution and Permanence in the History of Religions, Dedicated to R.J. Zwi Werblowsky (Numen Book Series, 50), Leiden, Brill, 1987, 298-308; NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), pp. 152-155. This does not mean, however, that each and every one of the ancient sources holds these conceptions. Some harmonization attempts were offered by D.R. JACKSON, Enochic Judaism: Three Defining Paradigm Exemplars, London – New York, T&T Clark International, 2004, pp. 140-144 and V. BACHMANN, Die Welt im Ausnahmezustand: Eine Untersuchung zu Aussagegehalt und Theologie des Wächterbuches (1 Hen 1–36), Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2009, p. 82 try to reconcile these supposedly contradictions. But see TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), p. 163 and E. RATZON, The Conception of the Universe in the First Book of Enoch (Ph.D. Diss., Tel Aviv University, 2012), pp. 262-263. HARTMAN, Asking for a Meaning (n. 17), pp. 141-142 himself points to several other differences between nature’s description in chapters 2–5 and 17–36. 19. HARTMAN, Asking for a Meaning (n. 17), p. 143. 20. I am not sure if I agree with Tigchelaar’s suggestion that chapters 1–5 are the product of the same author as 33–36, see TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), pp. 163-164. However, his claim does not affect the general argument of this paper. If he is correct then the earliest manuscripts also included chapters 33–36, which should be separated from the linear journey, see below. Consequently, only chapters 17–32 or even the linear journey alone were added at a later stage. 21. See for example D.S. RUSSELL, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic. 200 BC – 100 AD, Philadelphia, PA, Westminster, 1964; W. SCHMITHALS, The Apocalyptic Movement: Introduction & Interpretation, trans. J.E. STEELY, Nashville, TN, Abingdon, 1975, p. 63. But CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), pp. xiv-xv dated the book to the pre-Maccabean era.

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copied in 4Q201-202 may lead us back to an adaptation of the earlier opinion – that the second part of the Book of Watchers is later, and should indeed be dated to the second century BC. This suggestion should be supported by a detailed analysis of Enoch’s journeys. After presenting the second part of the Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 17–36), I will focus on only one of the places Enoch visited – the abode of the dead. IV. 1 ENOCH 17–36 Chapters 17–19 describe Enoch’s first journey around the universe. It is composed of several smaller units including lists of water and wind sources, a description of the divine throne on top of seven mountains, and a prison for the rebellious angels and stars22. From a very early stage of scholarship, these chapters were considered a separate source, since they contain duplications with chapters 20–36 (specifically with the descriptions of the west in chapters 21–25), and because they are different in style. Chapter 20 is a list of seven archangels and their area of dominium. This list was probably expanded from a list of four archangels frequently mentioned in 1 Enoch23. The first four angels in this list are the same angels that escort Enoch in his journey in chapters 21–25. Some call chapters 21–36 “the second journey”, but it seems that two journeys are described in these chapters. In the redacted form of chapters 21–32, they 22. For further analysis of this unit see TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), pp. 157158; K. COBLENTZ BAUTCH, A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19: “No One Has Seen What I Have Seen” (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 81), Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2003; RATZON, Conception of the Universe (n. 18), pp. 58-59. BLACK, Enoch (n. 9), p. 15 claims that the astronomical and meteorological lists are taken from an astronomical source. Other explanations of these chapters were suggested. Some saw Enoch’s first journey in light of Greek Nekyia stories, see A. DILLMANN, Das Buch Henoch übersetzt und erklärt, Leipzig, Wilhelm Vogel, 1853, p. 116; D. ALBRECHT, Nekya: Beiträge zur Erklärung der neuentdeckten Petrusapokalypse, Leipzig, Teubner, 1893; CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), pp. 38-39; F. GLASSON, Greek Influence in Jewish Eschatology, London, SPCK, 1961, pp. 8-11; COBLENTZ BAUTCH, Geography (n. 22), pp. 238244. James Scott explains 1 Enoch 17–19 as a story similar to the Greek genre of περίοδος γῆς, see J.M. SCOTT, Review: Kelley C. Bautch, A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19: ‘No One Has Seen What I Have Seen’, in Review of Biblical Literature (2005) [http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/4367_4852.pdf]. Carol Newsom reads these chapters in light of Ancient Near Eastern Royal Wisdom and Diplomatic literature, whose aim is to present the king as ruler of the world, here stressing Enoch’s wisdom. See NEWSOM, Development (n. 10), pp. 323-328. 23. BLACK, Enoch (n. 9), p. 162. On the other hand, CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), p. 43 believes that originally there were seven places, to which Enoch reached, but they were omitted for some reason.

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present a linear journey from the Far West through Jerusalem in the middle of the earth to the Far East. The geography in these chapters is combined of both real and mythic information. The author’s information comes from both Jewish and non-Jewish sources. To each location Enoch is escorted by a different angel, who answers Enoch’s questions and interprets what he sees. In chapters 33–36 Enoch performs a circular tour around the edges of the earth, beginning and ending in the east. There he sees the heavenly gates and the meteorological phenomena entering through them. There are no dialogues in this tour24.

V. THE LINEAR JOURNEY (1 ENOCH 21–32) In the linear journey, Enoch visits places related to the final judgement. The first place is a prison of fire for the sinful stars and angels (chapter 21). Chapter 22 describes the abodes of the dead. The content of chapter 23 is quite enigmatic. In this place Enoch sees a running fire that has something to do with the luminaries. Chapters 24–25 deal with seven mountains at the north-west edge of the world. On these mountains the divine throne lies, and a garden is planted. In the garden a tree of life is planted (whether or not it is the Tree of Life is open for debate)25. In chapters 26–27, Enoch reaches Jerusalem in the middle of the earth 24. TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), pp. 161-163 distinguishes these chapters from the linear journey. On the relation of these chapters to the Astronomical Book see MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 204; E. RAU, Kosmologie, Eschatologie und die Lehrautorität Henochs: Traditions- und formgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum äth. Henochbuch und zu verwandten Schriften, Hamburg, Selbstverlag, 1974, pp. 252-253; O. NEUGEBAUER, The “Astronomical” Chapters of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch (72 to 82), in BLACK, Enoch (n. 9), p. 405; NICKELSBURG – VANDERKAM, 1 Enoch 2 (n. 4), pp. 390-394; RATZON, Conception of the Universe (n. 18), pp. 284-289. 25. DILLMANN, Henoch (n. 22), pp. 129-130 and others claim that the tree was unrooted from Eden, and transplanted in its current location. Martha Himmelfarb claims that the author of 1 Enoch 24–25 was trying to detach the Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden, attaching it instead to Mount Zion and the temple. See M. HIMMELFARB, The Temple and the Garden of Eden in Ezekiel, the Book of the Watchers, and the Wisdom of Ben Sira, in J.S. SCOTT – P. SIMPSON-HOUSLEY (eds.), Sacred Spaces and Profane Places: Essays in the Geographies of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, New York, Greenwood Press, 1991, 63-78. On the other hand, J.C. VANDERKAM, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series, 16), Washington, DC, Catholic University of America Press, 1984, p. 139 uses the absence of the explicit names “Garden of Eden” and “Tree of Life” in chapters 24–25 as an argument against identifying this garden as the Garden of Eden. V. BACHMANN, Rooted in Paradise? The Meaning of the “Tree of Life” in 1 Enoch 24–25 Reconsidered, in Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 19/2 (2009) 83-107 points that the tree of 24–25 does not make the eaters of its fruit immortal. This fact makes her doubt the identification of the two trees.

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and the Valley of Hinnom next to it. Chapters 28–32 are a journey to the east through the Red Sea, which is probably the Persian Gulf or the Indian Ocean, as well as through deserts, and mountains with fragrant trees, until Enoch reaches the eastern edge of the earth were the Garden of Eden is placed. A constant literary structure unifies the entire journey, including: 1. Introduction with the formula “and from there I was led to another place” 2. Description of the place 3. A dialogue between Enoch and an interpreting angel 4. Blessing

Many scholars refer to the linear journey as a composition of a single author, expanding on the first journey in chapters 17–19. The indisputable duplications are 18,6-9a . 24,1-3a and 18,9b–19,3 . 21. More similarities between verses in 17–19 and 20–36 have been proposed, but they are not literal, and require some interpretation. In addition, many details exist in only one of the narratives and not the other. The duplications may have been taken by the author/redactor of 21–25 from 17–19, but it is not impossible that both authors derived them from a difference source. One way or another it is clear that while composing chapters 20–32, the author used earlier sources. Several other indications point to the conclusion that the redactor of the second journey composed it from distinct sources. There are several fates for the righteous and wicked in chapters 21–32. Chapter 21 describes a place beyond the edges of the earth for the rebellious stars and angels, while chapter 23 either duplicates it shortly or describes another place in the west for the luminaries. Chapter 22 places the spirits of the dead in pits in the west, while chapter 25 says that the righteous will rejoice in a holy place next to the house of God in the day of judgement. Chapters 26–27 describe Jerusalem and the Valley of Hinnom as the places where in the future the righteous will be rewarded and the wicked will be punished. While it may be possible to reconcile these data, no such attempt is explicitly made in the text. In addition, the journey seems to be a linear one from west to east. However, an attempt to place all these locations on a map, does not result in a straight line26. Thus, it is clear that the redactor of the second journey incorporated pre-existing materials in his narrative27. 26. RATZON, Conception of the Universe (n. 18), pp. 82, 225-226. 27. MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 25 followed by NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 290 who claims that 21–25 are a rework of 17–19. TIGCHELAAR, Prophets of Old (n. 9), pp. 158-161 gives a detailed analysis of the development of the linear journey. Here I mostly agree with him, only adding a few more arguments in favour of his opinion.

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VI. 1 ENOCH 22 With that conclusion, we continue to the smaller unit of chapter 22, which describes the abodes of the dead. In my analysis of the chapter, I will claim that the social background behind this chapter is sectarian and best fits the second century BC. The word sectarian is widely used in scholarship in many different ways. It is not possible to survey it all in this article, but some clarifications are, nevertheless, necessary. Subsequently, I will argue that the author of 1 Enoch 22 was part of a Jewish group that perceived itself as a persecuted minority. Their oppressors are other Jews rather than gentiles, and their disputes include inner Jewish theological and halakhic themes. While the origins of some of these disputes can be traced back to the third century BC, I assume that they did not materialize into a social violent clash until the Hasmonean period, when these disagreements became involved with political and economic interests28. This is the only sense in which I am using the word “sectarian” here. For the sake of this argument there is no need to make a judgement on highly contested questions, such as the accuracy of the number three in Flavius Josephus’ descriptions of the Jewish “philosophies” or the Qumran-Essene hypothesis, and so on. Bearing this in mind, we can now return to analyzing chapter 22. 1 Enoch 22 is divided into three units. In vv. 1-4 Enoch sees four pits: three are dark and one is illuminated. Rafael explains to Enoch that in these pits the spirits of the dead are gathered and imprisoned until the 28. As Josephus first mentions the three philosophies in the days of Jonathan, the scholarly consensus usually dates their origins (or at least the origin of the Essenes) to the early Hasmonean period or middle of the second century BC. See for example E. SCHÜRER et al., The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ. New English Version Revised and Edited by G. VERMES – F. MILLAR – M. BLACK – M. GOODMAN, London, T&T Clark, 2014, vol. 2, pp. 560-561. Nevertheless, some scholars date the beginning of these groups to the third century and even earlier. For example, P. SACCHI, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History (The Library of Second Temple Studies, 20), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1996; ID., The History of the Second Temple Period, Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 2000 argues that Apocalyptic Judaism originates from the fifth century BC. G. BOCCACCINI, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2002 claims that Enochic Judaism predating the Essen movement. F. GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ, Qumran Origins and Early History: A Groningen Hypothesis, in Folia Orientalia 25 (1988) 113-136 = Qumranica Minora I, ed. E. TIGCHELAAR, Leiden, Brill, 2007, 3-29 identifies the beginning of the Essenes in the third century BC. M.E. STONE, Enoch, Aramaic Levi and Sectarian Origins, in Journal for the Study of Judaism 19 (1988) 159-170 discusses unidentified groups or even sects that were the origins of the later Qumran community. Much of these analyses are based on the assumption that the entire Book of Watchers already existed in its current form by the third century BC. For further criticism on these approaches see J.C. VANDERKAM, Mapping Second Temple Judaism, in G. BOCCACCINI – J.J. COLLINS (eds.), The Early Enochic Literature (Themes in Biblical Narrative, 2), Leiden, Brill, 2007, 1-20.

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day of judgement at the end of time. Then Enoch sees the spirit of Abel, who keeps complaining about Cain. According to this account, Cain was not punished enough, and according to the lex talionis he should be killed for his crime. The last unit explains the need of four different pits. The four groups are: The righteous that rest in peace in their illuminated pit; the wicked that are punished in their pit forever; the spirits like Abel that were murdered, and are still waiting for justice; and the average people that are also considered sinners for associating with the wicked. They have a reduced punishment in the pit, and will not be punished more severely in the day of judgement. (1) From there I was led to another place. And he showed me to the west another big high mountain like a rock. (2) And there were four pits in it, deep and very smooth. Three of them are dark and one illuminated. And a fountain of water was in it. And I said: “How smooth are these pits (κοιλώματα), and deep, and dark to view”. (3) Then answered Rafael, one of the holy angels who was with me, and he told me: “These are the pits, to which the spirits of the souls of the dead are gathered. They were created for these very souls, in order to gather all the souls of the sons of men. (4) And these are the pits for their confinement. They were created for that (purpose) until the day of their judgement and until the time of the end day when the great judgement will be executed upon them”. (5) There I saw the spirit of a dead man complaining. And his cry rises and cries and complains. (6) Then I asked Rafael the angel and holy one that was with me, and I said to him: “This complaining spirit, whose is it, that its cry rises and cries and complains to heaven?” (7) And he answered me and said: “This is the spirit coming out of Abel, whose brother Cain murdered, and Abel will complain about him until his offspring will be perished from the face of the earth, and until the offspring of the son of men will murder his offspring”. (8) Then I asked about all the surroundings (κυκλώματα): “Why were they separated one from the other?” (9) And he answered me saying: “These three were made to separate the spirits of the dead. And this one is separated for the spirits of the righteous, who have a water fountain with light in it. (10) And likewise one was created for the sinners, when they die and are buried in the ground, but judgement has not been executed upon them during their lives. (11) Here their spirits are separated because of their great guilt until the great day of judgement of the scourging and guilts of the damned spirits forever. The retribution of the spirits is that they will be bind there forever. (12) And likewise one is separated for the complaining spirits, who make disclosure for the lost that they were murdered in the days of the sinners (13) And likewise one is separated for the spirits of the people who will not be pious, but sinners, and with wicked people they will associate. The spirits that are bounded there are punished less severely than them. They shall not be revenged in the day of judgement and shall not rise with them from it. (14) Then I blessed the Lord of Glory, and said: Blessed will be the lord of justice, the ruler of the world”29. 29. This is my own eclectic translation, based mainly on the Aramaic and Greek versions of the text. It seems like in this chapter most of the differences between the Ethiopic

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As mentioned above, the chapter is divided into three units, each summarized with a dialogue between Enoch and the angel Rafael, who explains the meaning and message of the vision. It has been suggested that these units were gradually redacted together. Verses 1-4 compose the first unit. Enoch there sees four compartments for the dead: one is enlightened and the other three are dark. However, the dialogue does not mention the enlightened compartment or any separation between the souls of the dead. According to Rafael’s explanation, all the souls are gathered to these pits, which serve as temporary prisons until the day of judgement30. The meaning of the enlightened compartment is only explained in v. 9 in the third unit, where this place is designated for the righteous. There, the division of the souls is also explained. This led previous scholars to suggest that the earlier source did not include a distinction between the righteous and the wicked, and only focused on the gathering of the souls to their western abode31. Verse 2 indeed seems redacted to the first unit in an attempt to harmonize it with the third unit. However, Rafael’s answer does not seem to discuss all the souls of the dead without separation. The language used to describe the pits is not neutral, but rather very much connected to punishment. The pits are explicitly referred to as prisons, and the souls are waiting to be judged. Moreover, much similarity can be found between Rafael’s interpretation in chapter 22 and Rafael’s punishment to Asael in 1 Enoch 10,4-8, which was probably known to the author of the current unit. In chapter 10, Rafael throws Asael into a dark pit in the desert, where he waits for the day of judgement to be fully punished. In these verses the choice of Rafael is explained because he heals (rafa) the land from all the crimes of the watchers. In chapter 22 the choice of Rafael is not explained, as it probably relies on the acquaintance of the readers with at least chapters 6–11, which were composed earlier. One of Asael’s sins in chapter 8 is that he taught human beings how to make weapons, thus causing them to fight each other. It seems like 22,1-4 knows the story of the watchers and expands Asael’s punishment also to the human murderers32. and Greek translations can be explained as scribal mistakes. Only rarely there are intentional variations. Detailed notes on reading and translation will be published elsewhere. 30. M.-T. WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht: Studien zu 1 Henoch 22, Würzburg, Echter, 1982, pp. 133-139; NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), pp. 304-305. 31. WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht (n. 30), pp. 122-131 claims that vv. 1-4 were the first to be composed. Originally, they did not include any number, as their main theme was the gathering of all spirits into the pits with no moral separations. See also NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), pp. 302-303. 32. For the similarities between this chapter and 1 Enoch 6–11 see NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), pp. 186, 201, 208, 305-306.

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Thinking of the historical and social background, the author of the first unit felt violently oppressed, but from vv. 1-4 only, it is difficult to identify the oppressors, and they might as well be the same oppressors as the ones referred to by the author of chapters 6–11. But while the first part of the book is focused on the watchers, 22,1-4 is focused on their human collaborators. Another new theological point is the explicit description of the abode of the dead. The choice of the humans, rather than the watchers, is significant in this respect, as the watchers are immortal rebellious angels, and here the description deals with human immortal souls, which is a very early description of their abode fate. The understanding of the first unit as focused on human murderers, explains the relation between the first unit in vv. 1-4 and the second unit (vv. 5-7), which describes the case of the first murder – the story of Cain and Abel. The choice of the specific example of Cain and Abel may be attributed to the narrative, as this is the only murder that predated the life of Enoch. However, it is possible to read more into it. In the 2015 Enoch Seminar, Ron Herms argued that the apocalyptic story in chapter 22 should be understood as a nonviolent response for violence. Specifically, since Cain and Abel are siblings, it is written against the background of inter-Jewish conflicts33. If Herms is right, and Cain and Abel indeed represent an inner-Jewish conflict, it may be a significant clue for dating this chapter. We do not have much information about the inner politics of the third century BC, but no evidence was transmitted regarding violent clashes between Jewish groups at that time. The second century, on the other hand, is abundant with evidence for such occurrences, starting with the Maccabean revolt, which included also fights between the Hasmoneans and supporters of the Hellenization process. Later, we know that sectarian disputes were not merely intellectual discussions, but also led to civil wars and/or religious persecutions. We know from several sources about violent persecutions against the Qumran community or their leader. The scrolls tell us about the Wicked Priest persecuting the Teacher of Righteousness (Pesher Habakkuk XI 2-8; 4QpPs-a 1-10 IV 7-8)34. 33. R. HERMS, The Spirit of Abel: An Exploration of Petitionary Prayer Traditions in 1 Enoch, A Paper presented at the Enoch Conference, Gazzada, Italy, 2015. A similar view that identifies the conflicts in the entire Book of Watchers as inner-Jewish is found in S. SCHWARTZ, Imperialism and Jewish Society: 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E., Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2001, p. 31; see also A. YOSHIKO REED, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 60. NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 170, on the other hand, understands the violent background of the watcher’s myth to be related to the diadochi and the Syriac wars. But all of them attribute the Book of Watchers as a whole to the third century BC. 34. Already in the earliest generation of DSS scholars, the persecution of the Teacher of Righteous by the Wicked Priest in Pesher Habakkuk was understood to be part of the

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4QTestimonia (4Q175) 21-29 mentions a Jewish leader persecuting both Ephraim and Juda, code names for the Pharisees and the Essenes, by shedding blood like water. If this leader should indeed be identified as John Hyrcanus, as Hannan Eshel suggests, this event is probably referring to a civil war Flavius Josephus mentions (War 1.67; Ant. 13.299)35. While Charles understands Jubilees 23,19-20 as referring to Judas Maccabeus’ fight against the Hellenizing factions, Kister suggests that it describes a sectarian civil war, but Cana Werman sees this description as a literary development from the Animal Apocalypse rather than a historical treatise36. Finally, the days of Alexander Jannaeus are most known for such conflicts (War 1.90-98; Ant. 13.372-282), but their date may be borderline in comparison to the latest possible date of the composition of chapter 22, which is attested in 4Q205 from the beginning of the first century BC. It is not possible to choose the specific conflict or persecution that the author of chapter 22 refers to, but the usage of the murder of Abel by his brother, Cain, as a prototype for such persecutions, indicates that the group’s opponents are Jews, thus supporting the separatist background of the author and the second century dating of the text. In addition to the historical background of the author or authors, more can be said about their social milieu, connected to the theological debates sectarian disputes. See S. TALMON, Yom Hakippurim in the Habakkuk Scroll, in Biblica 32 (1951) 549-563. The identification of the Wicked Priest is highly disputed in scholarship, and practically every Hasmonean leader has been suggested. Obviously, if he was John Hyrcanus II, these persecutions will not fit the present discussion. The same goes for Alexander Jannaeus (see p. 186). But all identifications with John Hyrcanus I, Simon, Jonathan, and Judas may be relevant. For some of these identifications, see H. BARDTKE, Die Handschriftenfunde am Toten Meer, Berlin, Evangelische Haupt-Bibelgesellschaft, 1952, p. 142; F.M. CROSS, The Ancient Library of Qumran and Modern Biblical Studies, Garden City, NY, Anchor Books, 1961, pp. 141-56; W.H. BROWNLEE, The Wicked Priest, the Man of Lies, and the Righteous Teacher: The Problem of Identity, in The Jewish Quarterly Review 73 (1982) 18-21; R. VAN DE WATER, The Punishment of the Wicked Priest and the Death of Judas, in Dead Sea Discoveries 10 (2003) 395-419; GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ. Qumranica Minora I (n. 28), pp. 53-66; J.C. VANDERKAM, The Wicked Priest Revisited, in D. HARLOW – K.M. HOGAN – M. GOFF – J.S. KAMINSKY (eds.), The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2011, 350-367. 35. H. ESHEL, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Ben Zvi, 2004, pp. 56-79; B. BAR-KOCHVA, On the History of the Judaean Desert Sect: Relations with the Hasmonean Rulers from Simeon to Jannaeus (143-76 BCE) [Hebrew], in Zion 84/1 (2019) 5-57, pp. 14-19. 36. R.H. CHARLES, Maṣḥafa Kufālē or the Ethiopic Version of the Hebrew Book of Jubilees (Anecdota Oxoniensia), Oxford, Clarendon, 1895, pp. 147-48; KISTER, Essenes (n. 16), pp. 5-8; C. WERMAN, The Book of Jubilees: Introduction, Translation, Interpretation [Hebrew], Jerusalem, Yad Ben-Zvi, 2015, p. 359. VanderKam goes back to Charles’ suggestion, see J.C. VANDERKAM, Jubilees 1–21 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2018, pp. 689-690.

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at the core of chapter 22. In this unit, the story is not saved with putting Cain’s soul in a pit waiting for the final judgement. Abel’s spirit cries and complains, not so much because of his own fate, but because Cain’s punishment was not severe enough. The crying of the soul is an interpretation of the biblical narrative, in which Abel’s blood is personified and cries out from the ground (Gen 4,10), based on the statement in Deut 12,23 that the blood is the soul (‫)הדם הוא הנפש‬. While the Genesis phrasing can be interpreted metaphorically, 1 Enoch 22,5-7’s expands it, finding an authoritative precedent to the belief in afterlife in earlier scripture37. This may be related to sectarian disputes on this topic. Flavius Josephus mentions that unlike the Pharisees and the Essenes, the Sadducees believed that the soul dies with the body (War 2.165 [2.8.15]; Ant. 18.1.4, see also Hippolytus, Ref. 9.24). Echoes for the disagreement regarding afterlife and resurrection are also found in the New Testament (Mt 22,23-33; Mk 12,18-27; Lk 20,27-40; Acts 23,6-7) and Rabbinic literature (e.g., m. Sanhedrin 10,1; Avot de-Rabbi Nathan A 5,2; b. Sanhedrin 90a-92b), where it seems that some of the Sadducees’ arguments against this opinion were that it cannot be found in the Torah or in the Hebrew Bible38.

37. Philo, Worse 48 also infers from this verse that Abel was partly alive partly dead after his murder. For the use of authoritative literature or earlier scripture in the Book of Watchers, see G.W.E. NICKELSBURG, Scripture in 1 Enoch and 1 Enoch as Scripture, in T. FORNBERG – D. HELLHOLM (eds.), Texts and Contexts: Biblical Texts in Their Textual and Situational Contexts: Essays in Honor of Lars Hartman, Oslo, Scandinavian University Press, 1995, 333-354; K. POMYKALA, A Scripture Profile of the Book of Watchers, in C. EVANS – S. TALMON (eds.), The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (Biblical Interpretation Series, 28), Leiden, Brill, 1997, 263-284; E.J.C. TIGCHELAAR, Eden and Paradise: The Garden Motif in Some Early Jewish Texts (1 Enoch and Other Texts Found at Qumran), in G. LUTTIKHUIZEN (ed.), Paradise Interpreted: Representations of Biblical Paradise in Judaism and Christianity (Themes in Biblical Narrative, 2), Leiden, Brill, 1999, 37-62; E. RATZON, Placing Eden in Second Temple Judaism, in M. AHUVIA – A. KOCAR (eds.), Placing Ancient Texts: The Rhetorical and Ritual Use of Space (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 174), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2018, 15-52. But most of them do not distinguish between the first and second parts of the Book of Watchers. For the specific use of the Cain and Abel story see J. BYRON, Cain and Abel in Text and Tradition: Jewish and Christian Interpretations of the First Sibling Rivalry (Themes in Biblical Narrative, 14), Leiden, Brill, 2011, 179183; C.D. ELLEDGE, Resurrection of the Dead in Early Judaism, 200 BCE – CE 200, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2017, pp. 71-75 (in pp. 66-78 Elledge refers also to other early Jewish attempts to use scripture as legitimation of the belief in resurrection); J.A. SIGVARTSEN, Afterlife and Resurrection Beliefs in the Apocrypha and Apocalyptic Literature, London, Bloomsbury, 2019, pp. 108-109. 38. Unfortunately, no Sadducee text has survived, but some scholars try to reconstruct their beliefs. For a survey of all the ancient sources through which Sadducee denial of afterlife and resurrection is reconstructed and scholarly literature on this topic see ELLEDGE, Resurrection (n. 37), pp. 87-106. See also SIGVARTSEN, Afterlife and Resurrection (n. 37), pp. 10-11.

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1 Enoch 22 obviously argues for post-mortem judgement. Hence, attempts to authenticate resurrection with scriptural argumentations are found both in the present chapter and in later rabbinic and Christian literature. While resurrection does not always come hand in hand with immortality of the soul, it often does, and in chapter 22 it does at least in some form (see below). Thus, the Cain and Abel story was used here as a proof that the belief in the immortality of the soul is based on the Torah39. The exact group to which the author of this chapter belonged cannot be determined from his attempt to justify the afterlife, but it can teach us that he was engaged in this debate, and he was probably not a Sadducee. As mentioned above, it is very much possible that the origin of sectarian disputes regarding the afterlife and resurrection can be found already in the third century or even earlier. Therefore, this claim for the social background cannot stand alone as evidence for dating chapter 22, but it joins the other considerations. Nevertheless, it is important to note that dating the second part of the Book of Watchers is the main reason for the attribution of the development of the concept to the third century. Older scholarship regarded Dan 12,1-3 as the first explicit mention of resurrection in Jewish sources, and explained the sudden emergence of this view as a response to Antiochus Epiphanes’ religious persecution and the suffering and martyrdom that followed40. Later scholars identified some complex ideas of afterlife and resurrection already in earlier books of the Hebrew Bible, but others saw them as either ambiguous or metaphorically referring to the nation rather than to the individual body and soul41. 39. For the interrelation between theodicy and social and political structures see P.L. BERGER, The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion, Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1967, pp. 58-60; W. BRUEGGEMANN, Theodicy in a Social Dimension, in Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 33 (1985) 3-25; A.J. SALDARINI, Pharisees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach, Wilmington, DE, Michael Glazier, 1988, p. 73; M.A. ELLIOTT, Origins and Functions of the Watchers Theodicy, in Henoch 24 (2002) 63-75, esp. p. 63; ELLEDGE, Resurrection (n. 37), p. 61. 40. Similar connection between the belief in resurrection and martyrdom in the times of the Maccabean revolt is expressed in 2 Maccabees 2. See W. BOUSSET, Die Religion des Judentums im späthellenistischen Zeitalter, 3rd rev. ed. by H. GRESSMANN (Handbuch zum Neuen Testament, 21), Tübingen, Mohr, 1926, pp. 269-278, esp. 270, n. 1; P. VOLZ, Die Eschatologie der judischen Gemeinde im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter, Tübingen, Mohr, 2 1934, pp. 230-231; R.H. CHARLES, Eschatology: The Doctrine of a Future Life in Israel, Judaism, and Christianity, 1913; re-printed New York, Schocken, 1963, pp. 208-211. 41. The belief in life after death was widespread in the surrounding cultures. See A. SEGAL, Life after Death: A History of the Afterlife in the Religions of the West, New York, Doubleday, 2004, pp. 27-119. Although not the centre of interest, some references to the afterlife exist also in the Hebrew Bible, for example Num 16,33; 1 Sam 2,6; 28,819; 2 Kgs 2,11; Isa 26,19; Ezek 37,1-14. They may testify to a popular belief, similar to the Canaanite religion, to which the editors of the Hebrew Bible oppose. See L.J. ALFONSO, Netherworld, in Encyclopedia Judaica 12, p. 996; J. MILGROM, Leviticus 1–16: A New

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As the dating of the entire Book of Watchers, including 1 Enoch 22, to the third century BC was unanimously accepted, the trauma of the Hellenistic conquest was suggested. Alternatively, a more evolutionary rather than revolutionary description of the history of this concept was proposed, but the embarrassment regarding the sociopolitical background for the immergence of the belief in resurrection in the third century BC can still be found in recent scholarship42. This modest paper does not presume to Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible, 3), New York, Doubleday, 1991, pp. 459-460; P. JOHNSTON, Shades of Sheol: Death and Afterlife in the Old Testament, Downers Grove, IL, InterVarsity, 2002, pp. 217-239; R.C. STEINER, Disembodied Souls: The Nefesh in Israel and Kindred Spirits in the Ancient Near East, with an Appendix on the Katumuwa Inscription (Ancient Near East Monographs, 11), Atlanta, GA, SBL Press, 2015), pp. 97-100; SEGAL, Life after Death (n. 41), pp. 120-170; M.J. SURIANO, A History of Death in the Hebrew Bible, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018, p. 218; D.R. HILLERS, Burial, in Encyclopedia Judaica, 2nd ed., 4, p. 291; E. BLOCH-SMITH, Burials, in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, 1, p. 785. Some scholars interpret these verses not merely as hints to the popular belief, but also as evidence for the existence of the concepts of afterlife and resurrection in the Hebrew Bible prior to their attestation in Dan 12,1-3. For maximalist interpretations, see, e.g., R. MARTIN-ACHARD, From Death to Life: A Study of the Development of the Doctrine of the Resurrection in the Old Testament, Edinburgh, Oliver & Boyd, 1960; M. DAHOOD, Psalms, 3 vols. (The Anchor Bible, 16-17A), Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1965-70; J.A. SAWYER, Hebrew Words for the Resurrection of the Dead, in Vetus Testamentum 23 (1973) 18-34; G.F. HASEL, Resurrection in the Theology of Old Testament Apocalyptic, in Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 92 (1980) 267-284; L.J. GREENSPOON, The Origin of the Idea of Resurrection, in B. HALPERN – J. LEVENSON (eds.), Traditions in Transformation: Turning Points in Biblical Faith, Winona Lake, IL, Eisenbrauns, 1981, 189-240; J.B. DOUKHAN, Radioscopy of a Resurrection: The Meaning of niqqepû sō᾿t in Job 19:26, in Andrews University Seminary Studies 34 (1996) 187-193; A. CHESTER, Resurrection and Transformation, in F. AVEMARIE – H. LICHTENBERGER (eds.), Auferstehung-Resurrection: The Fourth Durham– Tübingen Research Symposium, Resurrection, Transfiguration and Exaltation in Old Testament, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (Tübingen, September 1999) (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, II/135), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 47-77, pp. 65-67. Specifically regarding Ezekiel 37 and Isaiah 26, it has been suggested that their metaphorical meaning may represent a cultural background that allows such a metaphor. See C. SETZER, Resurrection of the Body in Early Judaism and Early Christianity: Doctrine, Community, and Self-Definition, Leiden – Boston, MA, Brill, 2004, p. 8. But others consider Daniel 12 as the only clear attestation for such beliefs, and all the earlier ones as ambiguous or merely metaphorical, and do not find the impression of a next life in the Hebrew Bible. See J.J. COLLINS, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 1993, pp. 391-392; JOHNSTON, Shades of Sheol (n. 41), p. 65, and N.T. WRIGHT, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Christian Origins and the Question of God, 3), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2003, p. 97. SIGVARTSEN, Afterlife and Resurrection (n. 37), pp. 1-8. 42. The importance of the dating of the Book of Watchers for the understanding of the evolution of belief in afterlife and resurrection is stressed by many scholars, but even in later scholarship the hope for resurrection continued to be attributed to the sociopolitical crisis of the religious persecution at the time of Antiochus Epiphanes. A good example for the change in scholarship following Milik’s publication is the difference between Nickelsburg’s first and expanded editions of his book about resurrection, immortality, and eternal

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solve the large question of the evolution of these concepts or to delete all previous scholarship, but if the second part of the Book of Watchers should indeed be dated to the second half of the second century BC, it makes Daniel 12 the first clear attestation of resurrection again, and the concept’s evolution will have to be revisited. Another hint for the social background of the author may lie in the content of Abel’s complaint, which may be connected to a sectarian halakhic dispute. Abel’s soul will not be able to rest “until his offspring will be perished from the face of the earth, and until the offspring of the son of men will murder his offspring”. Commentators were very much concerned with the question whether Abel is considered righteous or neutral and if he was a martyr43, but it seems like these questions did not life. His first edition was published in 1972, where he attributed the emergence of the belief in resurrection to the time of the Maccabean revolt. In his introduction to his expanded edition he writes: “My hesitations about the dissertation begin with the first sentence of chapter 1, where I state concerning Daniel 12:2: ‘This verse is our earliest datable intertestamental reference to resurrection from the dead’. As I should have known at the time, the Enochic Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36) […] antedates the Book of Daniel. […] This conclusion upsets the chronological aspect of my typology according to which belief in resurrection grew out of circumstances of the Antiochan persecution” (G.W.E. NICKELSBURG, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism and Early Christianity, expanded ed., Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2006, p. 5). It is impossible to encompass the vast literature on this topic. For some important benchmarks see M.E. STONE, The Book of Enoch and Judaism in the Third Century BCE, in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 40 (1978) 479-492; É. PUECH, La croyance des Esséniens en la vie future: immortalité, resurrection, vie éternelle? Histoire d’une croyance dans le judaïsme ancien (Études Bibliques. NS, 21-22), Paris, Gabalda, 1993, pp. 109-111, 741-745; R. BAUCKHAM, Life, Death, and the Afterlife in Second Temple Judaism, in R. LONGENECKER (ed.), Life in the Face of Death: The Resurrection Message of the New Testament, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1998, 80-95, p. 83; J.J. COLLINS, The Afterlife in Apocalyptic Literature, in A. AVERY-PECK – J. NEUSNER – B. CHILTON (eds.), Judaism in Late Antiquity. Vol. 3, Part 4: Death, Life-after-Death, and the World-to-Come in the Judaisms of Antiquity (Handbook of Oriental Studies. Section 1: The Near and Middle East, 55), Leiden, Brill, 2001, 119-140, p. 127; WRIGHT, Resurrection (n. 41), p. 138; SEGAL, Life after Death (n. 41), p. 269; J.L. CRENSHAW, Defending God: Biblical Responses to the Problem of Evil, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2005, pp. 151-152; ELLEDGE, Resurrection (n. 37), pp. 130, 145-149. 43. Wacker already attributes this concern to the translators. She explains that the group represented by Abel posed a theological problem for the later translators. Why do the righteous martyrs stay in the dark? Wacker explains that the theological problem did not bother the original author, since it was only later that Abel was considered as a martyr. In earlier Jewish sources, she claims, he was perceived as neutral (WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht [n. 30], pp. 182-183). NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 306 disagrees with her, pointing that already in Genesis, Abel’s sacrifice was accepted. This question appears to bother also the ancient Jewish and Christian interpreters; see BYRON, Cain and Abel (n. 37), pp. 167-177, 182-183, who claims that the tradition of Abel’s righteousness was already known to the readers even without specifying it explicitly. He thinks that the inclusion of the second unit of vv. 5-7 was meant to present a paradigmatic righteous, who was murdered and is still crying for vengeance.

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bother the author of these verses. Even though the words are put in Abel’s mouth, the main figure with whose fate the author is concerned is Cain. Abel has very strict demands regarding Cain and his offspring. Not only does he want them to perish, but he also asks that they will be killed by a human hand. Again the second unit is occupied with the full vengeance for the violent wicked. But unlike the first section, it is not satisfied with a divine obscure intervention at the end of time in the day of judgement. It wants a specific human punishment that equally parallels the sin. While in Genesis 4 Cain is responsible only for Abel’s murder, the author of 1 Enoch 22 also adds to Cain’s responsibility the potential unborn children of Abel44. According to Genesis 4, Cain is not sentenced to death for his crime. Eventually, his entire seed will perish in the deluge. The author of chapter 22 expands the Genesis punishment, as for him justice is not achieved without the lex talionis, that is unless the punishment is an exact imitation of the crime. Therefore, Cain’s exile in not enough, and his offspring’s death in the deluge is not similar enough to Abel’s murder by the hand of a man. It is difficult to believe that this is a prescriptive legislation, demanding that in similar cases both murderers and their children should be executed. It is more likely that a future hope is expressed here for a war in which all of Cain’s offspring will be killed. Such a war is described in the first part of the Book of Watchers in 1 Enoch 10,9-10, where the angel Gabriel is sent to cause a war between the murderous giants that were born to the watchers and the women that they took. Again chapter 22 expands the punishment from the mythical figures to humans, thus, implying the talio law. A similar theological-interpretative problem also bothers the author of Jubilees 4,31, which states that Cain was crashed under the stones of his house. It is presented as justice since according to this verse Cain killed Abel with a stone. Jubilees also states that it was ordained that every murderer should be killed with the same instrument that he used, and that if someone injures his fellow, he should be punished in a similar way. A similar rabbinic Midrash speculates on the means in which Cain killed Abel from the way Cain was killed by the hands of Lemech; according to one of the opinions, it was by a stone (Genesis Rabbah 22,8; Tg. Ps. J. Gen 4,8; Pirqe R. El. 21)45. However, unlike the haggadic similarity, 44. A similar accusation is found in the Onkelos Targum to the verse: ‫ָקל ַדּם זַ ְר ֲעיָ ן‬ ‫( ַדּ ֲע ִת ִידין ְל ִמ ַפּק ִמן ֲאחוְּך‬The voice of the blood of the offspring that were supposed to be born from your brother). In Genesis Rabbah 22,9 R. Yudan learns from the use of plural with regards to Abel’s blood in Gen 4,10 that these are the bloods of both Abel and his offspring (‫)דמו ודם זרעיותיו‬. See BYRON, Cain and Abel (n. 37), p. 180. 45. On early Jewish speculations regarding the measures Cain took to kill Abel see BYRON, Cain and Abel (n. 37), pp. 73-75.

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commentators note the difference between the Jubilees law and the rabbinic halakha on these two matters, and thus considered the topic to be under sectarian dispute46. M. Sanhedrin 9,1 states that every murderer is executed by a sword, no matter what means were used at the time of the murder. Y. Talmud 7,3 [24b] explicitly rejects Jubilees’ law that a murderer should be punished with the same means which he used when murdering. Likewise, m. B. Qama 8,1 takes for granted that a financial compensation is required for maiming another person. Two versions of Megillat Taanit for the fourth or tenth of Tamuz refer to sectarian disputes related to these topics. According to the Oxford manuscript the sectarian dispute was related to different sorts of death penalties, while according to the Parma manuscript it was concerned with a literal understanding of several laws including the Eye for an Eye law47. However, some evidence does not fit the claim of the scholion to Megillat Taanit that these issues were part of the sectarian disputes during the Second Temple period. Regarding the Eye for an Eye law, R. Eliezer also interprets this law literally48, and so do Philo and Josephus49. It is also doubted if the means by which a murderer is killed were part of the sectarian dispute, as it is possible that Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai 21,12 supports the Jubilees law, 46. B. BEER, Das Buch der Jubiläen und sein Verhältniss zu den Midraschim, Leipzig, Wolfgang Gerhard, 1856, p. 42; L. FINKELSTEIN, The Book of Jubilees and the Rabbinic Halaka, in Harvard Theological Review 16 (1923) 39-61, esp. p. 59; V. APTOWITZER, Observations on the Criminal Law of the Jews, in Jewish Quarterly Review 15 (1924) 55-118, esp. pp. 75-79; C. ALBECK, Das Buch der Jubiläen und die Halacha, in Bericht der Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judentums 47 (1930) 1-37, esp. pp. 25-26; WERMAN, Jubilees (n. 36), pp. 11-12, 205; VANDERKAM, Jubilees (n. 36), p. 267. For other endings of Cain’s life in early Jewish literature see BYRON, Cain and Abel (n. 37), pp. 129-140. 47. V. NOAM, Meggilat Ta῾anit: Versions, Interpretation, History, Jerusalem, Yad BenZvi, 2003, pp. 206-215 with a thorough survey of previous scholarship. 48. Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael, Mishpatim, 10; b. Baba Qamma 83b-84a. See NOAM, Meggilat Ta῾anit (n. 47) for the scholarly discussion on his opinion. See lately also J. DAVIS, Lex Talionis in Early Judaism and the Exhortation of Jesus in Matthew 5.38-42, London, Bloomsbury, 2005, pp. 93-97. 49. See Philo, On the Preliminary Studies 137; Special Laws 2.26-28, 252-253; 3.108, 181-204; Flavius Josephus, Ant. 4.277-280. The gap between rabbinic and Josephus’ interpretation of the law has occupied scholarship from very early days. Scholars diverge between preferring one, the other or both as representing Second Temple Jewish practice. See H. WEYL, Die jüdischen Strafgesetze bei Flavius Josephus, in ihrem Verhältnis zu Schrift und Halacha, Berlin, Itzkowsky, 1900, p. 103; B. REVEL, Some Anti-Traditional Laws of Josephus, in Jewish Quarterly Review 14 (1924) 293-301; L. FINKELSTEIN, An Eye for an Eye, in The Menorah Journal 24 (1936) 207-228; B. COHEN, The Relationship of Jewish to Roman Law (Continued), in Jewish Quarterly Review 34 (1944) 409-424; J.K. MIKLISZANSKI, The Law of Retaliation and the Pentateuch, in Journal of Biblical Literature 66 (1947) 295-303; D. DAUBE, The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism: Jordan Lectures 1952, London, Athlone, 1956, pp. 255-256; M. AVIOZ, “Eye for an Eye” according to Josephus, in Beit Mikra 54/1 (2009) 97-108.

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rather than the Yerushalmi50. This may suggest that the Jubilees laws merely reflect the older laws, and while the rabbis changed it, they attributed the older custom to the sects. Nevertheless, Josephus states that the Sadducees normally imposed stricter penalties and a more literal understanding of the biblical law (Ant. 13.293-298). Hence, together with the testimony of the scholion, it is possible to say that while we cannot be certain regarding the exact content of the sectarian legal dispute, the lex talionis was at the core of it, in which the Sadducees were stricter than the Pharisees51. In this respect, Abel’s expectation in chapter 22 is even stricter than Jubilees, and can be read against the background of these disputes. As to the ethical problem of the unjustly murdered people, including Abel, lying in the darkness, I have to return to the forgotten answer of the older generation of commentators. It is indeed unfair that they stay in the dark. This is exactly the point that the author is trying to make. They are kept in the dark crying for revenge, and they will not rest until their murderers are punished as they should52. Again a similar idea is found in the first part of the Book of Watchers in 9,1053. As mentioned, the difference between these chapters is that while chapter 9 asks for divine judgement, chapter 22 specifically demands human intervention. This chapter argues that if the community laws are not implemented, the 50. ALBECK, Das Buch der Jubiläen und die Halacha (n. 46) understands Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai 21,12 as a Tannaitic evidence for the opinion posed in the Yerushalmi, but A. SHEMESH, Punishments and Sins: From Scripture to the Rabbis, Jerusalem, Magnes, 2003, pp. 145-147 explains it as siding with Jubilees. 51. For a survey of early Jewish attitudes on this topic see J. DAVIS, Lex Talionis in Early Judaism and the Exhortation of Jesus in Matthew 5.38-42, London, Bloomsbury, 2005, pp. 55-104. 52. A. LODS, Le Livre d’Hénoch: Fragments grecs, découverts à Akhmîm (Haute-Égypte) publiés avec les variantes du texte éthiopien, Paris, Ernest Leroux, 1892, pp. 177-179; MILIK, Books of Enoch (n. 5), p. 231. 53. For previous comparison between chapters 22 and 9 see WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht (n. 30), pp. 188-190. This verse was not preserved in Aramaic. It has two similar Greek evidence both in Papyrus Panopolitanus and in Syncellus. The Syncellus text is closer to the Aramaic in this chapter. It says: καὶ νῦν ἰδοὺ τὰ πνεύματα τῶν ψυχῶν τῶν ἀποϑανόντων ἀνϑρώπων ἐντυγχάνουσιν, καὶ μέχρι τῶν πυλῶν τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἀνέβη ὁ στεναγμὸς αὐτῶν καὶ οὐ δύναται ἐξελϑεῖν ἀπὸ προσώπου τῶν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς γινομένων ἀδικημάτων. And now behold the spirits of the souls of the dead complaining people, and their sighing rises to the gates of heaven, and they cannot exit because of the presence of iniquities on the face of the earth. Scholars have corrected the text explaining that it is the sighing that cannot stop ascending to heaven (assuming that the Aramaic ‫ למפסק‬to stop was corrupted to ‫ למנפק‬to exit). See CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), p. 22. However, the sighing in the Greek is singular, and the subject that cannot exit is plural. The emendation is not necessary if we assume that the subject is the spirits of the dead people, who cannot exit from their pits as long as they do not get their revenge, as in chapter 22.

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spirits of the dead will keep suffering, waiting for the justice that they deserve54. While the second unit is not interested in Abel’s fate, it already assumes that his soul is immortal. The question of the fate of the righteous and the existence of divisions between different kinds of people is explicitly discussed in the third unit. Here a supposed contradiction occurs. Verse 2 mentions the number four, while the number three appears in v. 9. The number four in v. 2 refers to pits, ‫ פחתיא‬in Aramaic, τόποι κοῖλοι or κοιλώματα in Greek. The number three in v. 9 is attributed to the κυκλώματα mentioned in the previous verse (8), which are rounded objects, but previous scholars saw it as a corruption from κοιλώματα (the pits). August Dillmann’s answer is that one group was already counted in the second unit, describing Abel, which represents the third group of the people who were murdered unjustly55. Adolf Lods, as well, does not find a contradiction. He thinks that the number three refers only to the dark places, and together with the illuminated pit, they make a four56. Charles suggests that three was the original number. He counts the murdered people as part of the righteous group57. Marie-Theres Wacker claims that the number four fits the symmetry of the third unit, which is the only evidence for the number three, thus suggesting that four was the original number. It was later changed into three based on later Jewish division of humanity into righteous, wicked, and average58. I am not certain that the contradiction truly exists, as it only occurred due to modern emendation of the text. Many of the earlier scholars easily dismiss another possibility, that the number three does not refer to the pits, but to the barriers between the four pits. Only three barriers are required to separate four pits. This is a very neat solution. As mentioned

54. Other answers were suggested in scholarship as apologetics for the unjust situation. WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht (n. 30), pp. 184-190 sees them as neutral rather than righteous and SIGVARTSEN, Afterlife and Resurrection (n. 37), pp. 105-106 explains that unlike Abel, the third group are also a group of wicked people. 55. DILLMANN, Henoch (n. 22), p. 126. 56. LODS, Le Livre d’Hénoch (n. 52), pp. 177-179. 57. CHARLES, Enoch (n. 2), pp. 46-47. 58. WACKER, Weltordnung und Gericht (n. 30), pp. 182-183, 308. Wacker also notes that all three units include a dialogue between Enoch and the angel Rafael, but only the first two have the introduction and description parts of the Second Journey’s constant structure, and only the third contains the blessing part. See also Loren Stuckenbruck and Nickelsburg, who suggest that the second unit was added last: NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 306; L.T. STUCKENBRUCK, 1 Enoch 91–108 (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature), Berlin, De Gruyter, 2007, p. 312. An earlier idea that the text gradually evolved was Wilhelm Bousset’s who assumed that the original number of groups was only two. See BOUSSET, Religion des Judentums (n. 40), p. 270.

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above, the Greek version does not mention three pits (κοιλώματα), but three κυκλώματα, which usually in the Septuagint translates words of the root ‫ סב”ב‬in Hebrew and ‫ סח”ר‬in Aramaic; both mean to surround, not necessarily in a circle. As Wacker rightfully demonstrates, the main point of the third unit is to discuss the ethical separation between the groups brought to the pits. Thus, Enoch, who has already asked about the existence of the pits in the first unit, now asks about the barriers that divide and encompass them. This way or another, it therefore seems that the chapter as it appears in the linear journey refers to four groups of dead people. The first group is that of the righteous, which does not interest the author. Their reward is merely an enlightened pit with water. If the author thought that the righteous will be resurrected at the end of days, he never bothered to state it explicitly59. The redaction of chapter 22 within the linear journey gives an answer to this problem, as the fate of the righteous is the main concern of chapter 2560. The second group are the wicked, who did not receive their full punishment while living. They will, therefore, wait in their pit until the day of judgement, when they will be fully revenged elsewhere61. This group is probably the one mentioned in the first unit, and represented in the second unit by Cain. The third group is the murdered people, who keep complaining, the ones represented by Abel. The last group is particularly important for the understanding of this chapter as sectarian. The fourth group is a group of the sinners, who are not wicked, but associate with the wicked. This group is punished, but not as severely as the wicked. All previous scholars assumed that the reason for their punishment is because they are as wicked as the second group, but their reduced punishment is due to the fact that they already received their judgement while still alive62. They arrived at this conclusion based on an assumed symmetry, in which two groups of righteous and two groups of wicked are mentioned: one that did receive its punishment while still alive, and the other that did not. But it is not mentioned in the text. The retribution while still alive or its lack of is only mentioned regarding the wicked. What the text actually says is that their only sin is

59. The assumption that the righteous will be resurrected according to 1 Enoch 22 is expressed by several scholars, presumably based on Daniel 12. See lately SIGVARTSEN, Afterlife and Resurrection (n. 37), p. 102. 60. NICKELSBURG, 1 Enoch 1 (n. 8), p. 306; ELLEDGE, Resurrection (n. 37), p. 142. 61. Their double punishment is again similar to the punishment of the watchers in 1 Enoch 10,11-15. See ELLEDGE, Resurrection (n. 37), p. 139. 62. DILLMANN, Henoch (n. 22), p. 126 and others.

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that they join with the wicked63. This fits well with a sectarian way of thinking that anyone who is not with them is against them. While the later rabbinic concept of righteous, wicked and average practically assumes that most people are around the average, 22,13 assumes that its audience is part of the persecuted righteous, and the majority of the nation gangs with or at least supports the wicked. This demonstrates the author’s belonging to a group perceiving itself as a minority, very hostile to the rest of the society. VII. CONCLUSION To conclude, a literary analysis of 1 Enoch 22 suggests that the author of this chapter knew the first chapters of the Book of Watchers, used them, and expanded on them. The focus on the Cain and Abel story as a paradigm for persecutions suggests that it was written in times of inner-Jewish conflicts, which better fits the historical evidence of the second century. The identification of everyone who is not righteous, wicked or persecuted by the wicked, as a sinner who supports the wicked, suggests that the group responsible for this chapter perceived itself as a persecuted minority. This group participated in theological and halakhic debates known to us from other Second Temple literature. They believe in the strict lex talionis in life as well as after death. They also believe in the afterlife, and polemically argue that the origin of this belief is in the Pentateuch. The beliefs in the afterlife and resurrection played a significant revolutionary role in the Hasmonean revolt and later in the Great Revolt against the Romans. They were part of the powers deriving the rebels to oppose the ruling powers. Interestingly, if chapter 22 is indeed a sectarian composition, the same arguments were used by the Hasmonean inner opposition, during the Hasmonean reign. It seems that the time for the composition of this chapter, together with Enoch’s linear journey and probably the entire second part of the Book of Watchers, is the second half of the second century BC. It was authored by a separatist group that was in a violent conflict with other Jews, and disputed them on halakhic and theological issues. A material analysis of the evidence supports this conclusion. The textual evidence does not require that the second part of the Book of Watchers 63. BLACK, Enoch (n. 9), p. 186 also understands that the mediocres’ sin is their cooperation of the wicked. However, he assumes that the wicked are the Hellenistic gentiles rather than Jews.

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existed in the beginning of the second century BC. If indeed it was not included in the earlier manuscripts, 4Q201 and 4Q202, coming from the beginning and middle of the second century, but is clearly attested in 4Q204-206 from the beginning of the first century BC, we have quite a narrow time-frame for its composition, which is the second half of the second century BC. Historically, this was the time between the Hasmonean revolt and the death of John Hyrcanus or the beginning of the reign of Alexander Jannaeus. Since these chapters are also redacted on the basis of several sources, perhaps in more than one stage, their sources most probably predate this period. During this time, we should already expect a sectarian background for the composition. Moreover, the Qumran evidence alone suggests that the second part of the Book of Watchers may be more connected to the Animal Apocalypse than to the first part of the Book of Watchers. The Animal Apocalypse is usually dated to the second century BC, and some scholars identify it as a sectarian composition. This may indicate that not merely 1 Enoch 22 is a sectarian composition of the second century BC, but the entire second part of the Book of Watchers. The present paper has offered a literary analysis of chapter 22; a similar study is still required for the rest of chapters 17–36. These chapters include significant features of Jewish theology. Determining their date may require a revision of our understanding of its evolution. Tel Aviv University 92/10 Ibn Gvirol St. Tel Aviv Israel [email protected]

Eshbal RATZON

WAS JOSEPHUS A SOURCE FOR LUKE-ACTS?

As soon as Christian writers became aware of Josephus’ writings in the second century, they valued them for their overlaps with the gospels and Acts1. In the pre-critical phase of Christian use of Josephus, which lasted from about the second to the nineteenth centuries (though critical impulses began obliquely in the Reformation), Christians basically thought, “Isn’t it wonderful, providential even, that we have this large corpus by a contemporary Jewish writer, which confirms the Christian story on so many points?”2. In this way of thinking, Luke and Acts were not studied as a two-volume work or separated from the rest of sacred scripture. Josephus was imagined as an omnibus data resource: for King Herod and his descendants, the Roman governors, Jewish institutions and groups, Pontius Pilate, John the Baptist, and especially the harrowing siege and destruction of Jerusalem. With the arrival of thoroughgoing historical-critical thinking in the nineteenth century, scholars began to say something different about the Luke-Josephus relationship: “Wonderful, yes, but is it not puzzling that there are so many overlaps between das lukanische Doppelwerk and Josephus?”. To critical minds alive to – sometimes obsessed with – sources, it seemed odd that, given the choice of all events and personalities one could write about, the same selections turned up in both corpora: Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene, a census under Quirinius, a rebellion led by Judas, Pontius Pilate, Felix, and Festus (among the dozen or so governors, others unnamed), the sicarii, the Egyptian prophet, descriptions of the philosophical schools, and much more. Commonalities come through even in Luke’s distinctive presentation of the ethical side of John the Baptist’s teaching (Lk 3,10-14; cf. Ant. 18.116-119), in Luke’s unique 1. M.E. HARDWICK, Josephus as an Historical Source in Patristic Literature through Eusebius, Atlanta, GA, Scholars, 1989; A. WHEALEY, Josephus on Jesus: The Testimonium Flavianum Controversy from Late Antiquity to Modern Times, New York, Peter Lang, 2003; M. GOODMAN, Josephus’s The Jewish War: A Biography, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2019. 2. S. INOWLOCKI, Eusebius and the Jewish Authors: His Citation Technique in an Apologetic Context (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, 64), Leiden, Brill, 2006. For the end of the epoch, see the introduction by B.F. WESTCOTT (= B.F. DUNELM, Bishop of Durham) in W. KNIGHT, The Arch of Titus and the Spoils of the Temple, London, Religious Tract Society, 1896, 9-12: “The prophecies of the Lord and the narrative of Josephus combine to form one picture” (p. 12).

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distinction between powerful, temple-based Sadducees and popular Pharisees, and in their similar portraits of Agrippa I’s death. Is it possible that the author of Luke-Acts knew Josephus’ works? That is our simple question here. After some methodological and contextual considerations, I shall take up five case studies in sequence. The hypothesis that the Christian author reworked episodes from Josephus’ War and Antiquities appears to explain the evidence better than any other. I. METHOD IN THE STUDY OF JOSEPHUS AND LUKE-ACTS Whenever we have reason to suspect a literary relationship between two texts, A and B, we have three basic explanations to test: either A used B or B used A, or A and B independently drew from some C, a mediating source or sources not immediately known to us. There are many possible complications of this basic set: a C comprising several parts, C comprising oral traditions of unexpected verbal precision, or intermediate links between A and B or between C and the others. But these three options define the broad range of possibilities. We use them instinctively and axiomatically – and justifiably – when we grade two student essays that show extended verbal agreement. If the students did not collaborate (another possibility with texts composed in the same small period from among a small group), then either one borrowed from the other or they both reflect the language of the same external source, often nowadays a Wikipedia article. In the late nineteenth century, the most famous study of our question, by Max Krenkel (1894), argued for Luke-Acts’ literary dependence on Josephus. With no awareness of the compositional issues to be considered here, Krenkel argued simply (and unconvincingly) from aggregate statistics of verbal agreement, with faulty word counts3. The next year, J.E. Belser explained the agreements the other way around, positing Josephus’ knowledge of the Christian author4, a proposal generally ignored because it creates many more problems than it solves. As the twentieth century dawned, a few historically minded scholars had become convinced that Krenkel was right: Luke-Acts borrowed from Josephus. 3. M. KRENKEL, Josephus und Lucas: Der schriftstellerische Einfluss des jüdischen Geschichtschreibers auf den christlichen, Leipzig, H. Haessel, 1894, with apt critique by H.J. CADBURY, The Style and Literary Method of Luke, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1920, pp. 6-7, and W.L.K. CLARKE, The Use of the Septuagint in Acts, in F.J. FOAKES JACKSON – K. LAKE (eds.), The Beginnings of Christianity. Part 1: The Acts of the Apostles, 5 vols., London, Macmillan & Co., 1922, vol. 2, pp. 81-82. 4. J.E. BELSER, Lukas und Josephus, in Theologische Quartalschrift 77 (1895) 634-662.

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Among them were Zurich scholar P.W. Schmiedel (1902) and the Cambridge palaeographer and theologian F.C. Burkitt (1906). They stressed a point that would often be ignored later, which I shall take up, and which may seem counter-intuitive: that the very differences between Josephus and Luke-Acts are best explained by borrowing5. But this view did not carry the day. The contributors to Foakes Jackson and Lake’s monumental Beginnings of Christianity (1922), who did much to relocate Luke-Acts from the domain of purely theological study to that of hard-nosed historical analysis, did not miss the parallels with Josephus. Hans Windisch allowed that some confusions in Acts are “best explained as a rather inaccurate reminiscence of Josephus” – though he allowed that he could not prove this6. H.J. Cadbury, while acknowledging the explanatory power of the hypothesis, held back from endorsing it, and his reasoning would prevail until recent times (my emphasis): The case will always rest on three passages [Gamaliel and the Egyptian in Acts, Lysanias in Luke 3], and it is safe to say that they can never be completely explained away, yet will never convince every one. […] These three examples of Lucan errors explained by Josephus are certainly very persuasive. But they fall just short of demonstration. The case of Theudas is the strongest, but even here there is always the possibility that Luke and Josephus were using a common source, in which the events were arranged in the order given by Josephus7.

Most scholars since have followed this line, which boils down to the problem: Why would Luke have taken such material from Josephus and 5. P.W. SCHMIEDEL, Lysanias, and Theudas, in Encyclopaedia Biblica, respectively 3 (1902) 2840-2844 and 4 (1903) 5049-5057; F.C. BURKITT, The Gospel History and Its Transmission, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 31911 [1906 lectures], pp. 105-110, 119. 6. So H. WINDISCH, The Case against the Tradition, in FOAKES JACKSON – LAKE (eds.), Beginnings of Christianity (n. 3), vol. 2, p. 312. His careful reasoning is worth quoting (my emphasis): “There are beyond all doubt several passages in the writings of Josephus which are much clarified by passages in Luke’s writings, in respect both to subject-matter and to expression. […] It is more difficult to decide definitely the question whether or not Luke had access to Josephus’ writings. One is most tempted to give an assenting answer in the case of the speech of Gamaliel […]. Further confirmation is to be had in certain coincidences in expression […]. If literary contact is assumed here, there will be many other parallel passages […] about which we shall have to hold that the influence has been in the same direction, and the inevitable result of such a decision will be a new terminus a quo for the genesis of Luke’s writings, namely the year 93 A.D. We should have won thereby a sure date on which to base our opposition to the traditional point of view. But since I cannot persuade myself that Luke’s dependence on Josephus is a proved fact, I prefer to make no use of this hypothesis […]”. 7. H.J. CADBURY, Subsidiary Points, in FOAKES JACKSON – LAKE (eds.), Beginnings of Christianity (n. 3), vol. 2, 355-358.

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then changed his source so? Having discounted A-B or B-A borrowing, most scholars have resorted to a vaguely conceived C: Josephus and Luke-Acts must have known the same or very similar oral traditions or literary sources. Heinz Schreckenberg put the logic succinctly in 1992, adding the twist that the sources themselves must have been different, if also very similar (my emphasis): It seems probable that Luke and Josephus wrote independently of one another; for each would certainly have had access to sources and information, which he then employed according to his own perspectives. A characteristic conglomerate of details, which in part agree, in part reflect great similarity, but also in part, appear dissimilar and to stem from different provenances, accords with this analysis. Presumably the two authors use neither the same sources nor each other8.

So: neither A from B nor B from A nor both from C, but A and B from C1 and C2. The seeming advantage of this view, its convenience, comes at the high cost of supreme vagueness. Its advocates feel no need to engage in historical explanation, describing what those similar but different sources looked like and how they would explain the evidence9. Contrast scholarship on the Q hypothesis, which (granted persistent niggles and debates) seeks tirelessly to construct the kind of common source that would adequately explain Matthew’s and Luke’s arguably independent use10. In glaring contrast, no one has ever tried to describe the posited common source(s) that would explain the overlapping material in Josephus and Luke-Acts, to show how any imagined C-group would compellingly explain their supposedly independent agreements. The C hypothesis in this case amounts to what American football calls a “hail-Mary pass”: We don’t know what to do with these parallels, so let’s shoot the ball down the field and hope something works. 8. In H. SCHRECKENBERG – K. SCHUBERT, Jewish Historiography and Iconography in Early and Medieval Christianity, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 1992, pp. 51-52. 9. So H.S. CRONIN, Abilene, the Jewish Herods and St. Luke, in Journal of Theological Studies 18 (1917) 150-151 (my emphasis): “resemblances in diction point rather to the existence of a sort of literary κοινή of the eastern provinces […] than to a direct dependence. Where St Luke and Josephus narrate the same event, more often than not they either differ in their details or they disagree […]. The Josephus theory […] credits the author of the Gospel and the Acts with a slovenliness of method and a lack of earnestness of purpose, which do occur in journalism but require proof in his case. It implies also a late date for the Gospel and Acts”. 10. See inter alia J.S. KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections, Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1987; J.M. ROBINSON, The Sayings Gospel Q in Greek and English with Parallels from the Gospels of Mark and Thomas, Leuven, Peeters, 2001; H.T. FLEDDERMANN, Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary (Biblical Tools and Studies, 1), Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA, Peeters, 2005.

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In the same year that Schreckenberg articulated the prevailing hypothesis, I revived the proposal that the disagreements between Luke and Josephus are most economically explained by Luke’s dependence on Josephus. Although this conclusion was not new, I argued from the distinctive compositional interests of these texts, a consideration that had not been part of the old debates11. My argument was welcomed by some scholars, especially those who were happy with a second-century date for Acts on other grounds12, though still generally doubted, whether because of the absence of conclusive proof, a criterion inappropriate for most ancient history, or because scholars could not accept a LukeActs after 100 AD, especially if this meant that it was derivative and mistaken13. The present essay revisits just a few particulars in the relationship between Josephus and Luke-Acts. Reconsideration for this project leads me to put the matter more forcefully than I did in 199214. Given further research in the intervening decades, it now seems to me clear – it could never be certain – that Luke’s knowledge of Josephus’ works best explains their agreements and their disagreements alike. As with many problems in ancient history, our solutions depend at least as much on our methods and the framing of our questions as on what the surviving evidence “says”. So I begin by spelling out my three most important methodological assumptions. 1. The first has to do with the meaning of difference in texts for the question of their literary relationship. Source use is the theme of this volume, and contributors explore it from various angles. I would only stress the familiar observation that, even when they used the same source material (e.g., Homer or tragedy), as a function of their writing to express and extend their own authority, and in keeping with their absorption of rhetoric’s values, ancient writers usually tried to create new products with 11. S. MASON, Josephus and the New Testament, Peabody, MA, Hendrickson, 1992, 185-229; in the second edition (2003), pp. 251-295. 12. Notably R.I. PERVO, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists, Santa Rosa, CA, Polebridge, 2006, pp. 149-200; J.B. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle, Columbia, SC, University of South Carolina Press, pp. 14-15, who cites only Pervo, though Pervo had elaborately acknowledged my arguments as a foundation. 13. More recently, D. BOCK, Acts, Grand Rapids, MI, Baker, 2007, pp. 25-27, rejecting the claim that Luke knew Josephus (p. 27, n. 27: “has not won wide consent”) while mentioning Josephus nearly 200 times for factual background. 14. Even then, proper academic caution was energised by the publisher’s concern not to risk discomfiting Hendrickson’s main (somewhat conservative) market, with the prospects that Luke misunderstood and erroneously reported events or the resulting date of Luke-Acts, a generation or two later than readers had supposed.

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distinctive moral lessons15. Exercises in reworking and even challenging famous texts were a basic part of rhetorical training16. Examples include Timaeus, who was known for both his dependence on sources (Polybius 12.4-6) and his relentless fault-finding with them (12.2-4, 12-13)17. Polybius vehemently criticised his own sources for bygone periods, while nevertheless using them (cf. 12.7, 5)18. Diodorus pointedly distanced himself from his sources, while nevertheless using and ostensibly improving them19. Plutarch shared Polybius’ criticism of Phylarchus (Arat. 38.8), but still used the discredited historian extensively in several of his Lives (Agis 9.2; Cleomenes 5.3; 28.1; 30.2; Pyrrhus 27.4). Luke’s criticism of his predecessors (Lk 1,1-4) did not prevent him from incorporating large chunks of Mark, even as he reframed it to make it suit his project20. Matthew likewise disagreed with much of Mark, and yet took it over almost bodily. Josephus’ Apion happily plays both sides of this table (e.g., 1.58-59; cf. Ant. 8.262; 14.118): excoriating older non-Judaean writers while pointedly using them, in spite of themselves, to prove his points about Judaean antiquity. Most impressively, Josephus’ own Antiquities-Life reworks many episodes from his War 1–2, including those he knew only from personal life-experience, but furnishing different internal structures, characterisations, speeches, and moral evaluations21. He shows, with undeniable clarity, that one can radically revise even one’s own earlier work for new purposes. This activity reflected the ethos and assumptions of pervasive rhetorical values. In the case of Josephus and Luke-Acts, scholars (e.g., Schreckenberg above) tend to conclude that significant differences between two texts 15. A.J. WOODMAN, Rhetoric in Classical Historiography, London, Croom Helm, 1988; C.B.R. PELLING, Plutarch’s Adaptation of His Source-Material, in Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980) 127-140; ID., Literary Texts and the Greek Historian, London, Routledge, 2000; J. MARINCOLA, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1997, pp. 12-19, 63-86, 217-257. Several essays in C.S. KRAUS (ed.), The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts (Mnemosyne. Supplements, 191), Leiden, Brill, 1999, are relevant. 16. G.A. KENNEDY, A New History of Classical Rhetoric, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1994, pp. 202-208; ID., Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Atlanta, GA, SBL Press, 2003, e.g., pp. 72, 101-103, 144-146. 17. C.A. BARON, Timaeus of Tauromenium and Hellenistic Historiography, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013, pp. 58-88. 18. See for context A.M. ECKSTEIN, Polybius, Phylarchus, and Historiographical Criticism, in Classical Philology 108 (2013) 314-338. 19. MARINCOLA, Authority and Tradition (n. 15), pp. 114, 121, 233-234. 20. I use traditional gospel names only to avoid repeating “the author of […]”. 21. S. MASON, Life of Josephus (Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, 9), Leiden, Brill, 2001, especially the summary in Appendix C: pp. 213-222.

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recounting similar episodes preclude literary dependence. If B borrowed from A, why would B not mirror A? But this intuitive view does not hold up when tested against demonstrable ancient practice. 2. My second assumption is that, once his writings appeared, Josephus quickly became the authority for pre-70 Judaea in the Roman empire. Many others in the Flavian period apparently tried their hands at writing about the great “foreign” victory that helped legitimise the Flavians’ rise. We surmise this from Tacitus’ criticisms of the fawning historians who have described the Flavians’ rise to power (Hist. 2.101) and from Josephus’ complaints as these accounts were appearing (War 1.2-8). They were quickly thrown into the shade, however, by Josephus’ expert history. It received some kind of endorsement and propagation from Titus and then was deposited in the imperial library for consultation (Life 362– 364). Eusebius made extensive use of Josephus, two centuries later, because he was sure that he was the eminent authority on Judaea and its war, boasting even a statue in Rome (Hist. eccl. 1.5.3; 3.9.1-2). From the Judaean side, we know that the well-educated and connected Justus of Tiberias became a late rival, challenging Josephus’ War on many points while also attacking his character (Life 336). But we have no reason to think that this assault fared any better than did Josephus’ personal accusers in Rome, against the imperial protection he enjoyed (War 7.447-450; Life 428–429). Not only Christian authors, but such a curious investigator as Aelius Herodian, writing in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, reflexively turned to Josephus as the sole authority on Judaean life and ways22. It appears that Josephus’ works began to acquire this status already by Titus’ time (d. 81 AD), displacing other available accounts. If that is so, then any writer wishing to include Judaean realia in his work (e.g., Tacitus [below], Suetonius, Luke, Herodian) would presumably have turned to him. 3. My third assumption has to do with the qualitative difference between lived reality and its representation in narrative, a point that seems obvious but needs emphasis because it is so often overlooked. We seem to feel instinctively that the most “important” events of the past (but important for whom?) must be recorded somewhere, in texts or material remains. There must be a general fund of facts, distinguishable from opinion or colouring, from which all ancient authors could draw. That 22. The surviving epitomes of Herodian (even) cite Josephus about 30 times for Syrian names; cf. www.tlg.uci.edu.

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appears to be the assumption underlying Schreckenberg’s assessment, above, and the following relevant entry on Theudas from Oxford Biblical Studies Online (my emphasis)23: Theudas. A Messianic pretender who promised to lead his followers in revolt against Rome; he was killed according to Josephus in 44 CE. In Acts 5:36-7 Theudas is regarded as preceding another revolutionary, Judas, who died in 6 CE, so it would seem that either Josephus or the Acts has made a mistake. The time when Gamaliel was speaking (Acts 5:34) was about 30 CE, so that Theudas’ rebellion had not then taken place. However, since there were numerous other disorders, it is just possible that there was another leader called Theudas who lived at an earlier date.

Notice two things here: first, the lack of distinction between facts and literary sources (Josephus is mentioned only for the date of Theudas, not as the only other evidence for the man’s existence, though Josephus does not date his execution so precisely to 44. And who says that Judas died in 6 AD?). Second, a thick overlay of assumption is stated as fact: Theudas was “messianic”; there was a decades-long atmosphere of “revolt against Rome”, which Theudas represented in the 40s; and at least one of the authors must have mistaken the known reality, the only alternative being that there were two real Theudases. Theudas thus appears as an independent, self-defining datum (messianic and anti-Roman), who was known from somewhere. A basic problem with this postulate of unnamed sources is the lack of reflection on the nature of any representation of real life, in distinction from life itself. Life as we live it – even one’s morning commute – is a chaos of motives, thoughtless routine, and unpredictable human interaction. As they unfold minute by minute, events come with no narrative meaning or structure. This is not to say they have no meaning as they happen for each participant. Graduations, weddings, and injurious car accidents are full of meaning for those involved in the moment. But they have no narrative meaning: they do not automatically form part of Chapter 2 in the story My Life. That cannot happen until much later, when the author-subject is in a position to select and shape events, bringing out chosen aspects to craft a meaningful story. These later syntheses are qualitatively different from the original events as they occurred, with their unbounded horizons of possible interpretation by all players. Events and narratives are thus two different kinds of things. Leonardo da Vinci was apparently the first to deal with this problem in artistic representation, when he came to terms with the non-intuitive 23. http://www.oxfordbiblicalstudies.com/article/opr/t94/e1902 (accessed 10 November 2019).

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fact that points and lines are not present or given in nature, that representation therefore required not mere imitation of things as they were, but considerable artifice to capture an interpretation of things, and that perspective cannot really be ignored, to see things just in themselves. Some kind of perspective, well or badly executed, is necessary for presentation24. Authors of narratives, including historians, are likewise involved in creating order from the chaos of countless events, which have no selfevident boundaries or shape, let alone meaning. They can do this by argumentation about particular questions (as I am doing here), though the more common and ancient solution is the construction of a narrative. But a narrative requires a clear beginning and end, elements that do not inhere in events themselves. Authors must therefore create a notional starting point, though points are not real, and draw a plotline through other points to form a narrative arc, usually of suspense and resolution. There is a practically infinite range of possibilities for doing this, even for commonly accepted ways of chunking the past. That is why I have shelves full (and my books are a tiny fraction of what exists) of “authoritative” studies of the Second World War, or Churchill’s premiership, or even just the Monte Cassino campaigns of January-May 1944. Each of these studies is original and insightful, and often enough is welcomed as the definitive work. But none comes close to capturing everything that was. Not only new data, but new questions, imagined contexts, and connections will continue to generate new investigations of this momentous past, likely for decades to come. Ancient historians occasionally expressed their awareness of the unmanageable chaos of the past, the impossibility of knowing just what happened, and the possibility of constructing many stories from the same evidence. On the second point Cassius Dio, whom we respect as a serious and capable historian, spoke with disarming candour of his own and others’ work (53.19.4-6): Much that does not actually happen gets endlessly repeated, while much that really does happen remains unknown, and in more or less every case there is a difference between what happens and what gets reported. Certainly, too, the size of the empire and the number of things going on make accuracy in these respects a very slippery prospect. In Rome a great deal is happening, and much in the subject territory [provinces] too, and with the enemy it is always 24. See W. ISAACSON, Leonardo da Vinci, New York, Simon and Schuster, 2017, pp. 260278. Some scholars argue that ancient Chinese language reflected similar assumptions about the lack of fixed points or lines, clear and distinct objects: R.T. AMES – H. ROSEMOUNT, The Analects of Confucius: A Philosophical Translation, New York, Ballantine – Random House, 1998, pp. 19-44.

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something or other ‒ every single day, you might say. When it comes to these things, no one beyond the circle of those immediately involved can easily get a clear picture, while most people do not even hear the first thing of what happened. With this in mind, I shall explain everything in sequence, as much as needs to be said at any rate, as it has been made public here and there, whether it really happened like that or in some other way.

Dio realised the instability of knowledge and resolved to do his best, giving his unique perspective to the best information available. Sallust had long before dealt with the impossible vastness of Roman history by tackling only manageable slices in the form of biographies of Catiline or Jugurtha (Bell. cat. 4.2-5). Without explicitly reflecting on these problems, Josephus does much the same thing. This is clearest in Antiquities, which describes not historical periods but a succession of morally assessable characters (Moses, Joshua, Saul, David, Herod, etc.). War begins this way, with a focus on Hasmonean and then Herodian characters (book 1), though its later subject matter invites a systemic treatment and stock characters – a polis in stasis, with tyrannoi and bandits against the traditional leaders, energised by hot-headed youth – more in the vein of Thucydides and Polybius. Even in the later sections, however, Josephus tends to bring forward individuals to make his aggregate types vivid and involve the reader in the fear and pity of his high drama. The figures he selects are not obvious, or required by the data25. His Roman audiences could have had no idea who such people were, and they have no continuing roles in the story. The scholar who tries to identify them might abandon the task in frustration26. Why does Josephus include their names, then? For the sake of vividness (ἐνάργεια), in part, but vividness would lose its value if people thought it merely invented. Josephus’ claimed ability to draw out one example from a countless number supports his claim to unique expert knowledge (War 1.1-8). Crafting a narrative required some degree of playing fast and loose with the real people and their motives, since it is not possible for those lacking omniscience or omnipotence in representation to bring real people to life. He might even have gotten away with creating a character from whole cloth, here or there, though presumably there were enough knowledgeable others in Rome (Agrippa II and Berenice, Romans 25. E.g., War 2.451 (Gorion, Ananias Sadouki, and Judas offer terms to the garrison); 4.18 (Chares and Joseph at Gamala); 4.140-141 (Antipas, Levias, and Syphas among bandits’ first victims in Jerusalem); 5.317-330 (the crafty Judaean Castor); 6.169-176 (Jonathan, Pudens, and Priscus in combat outside Jerusalem). 26. E.g., T. ILAN – J.J. PRICE, Seven Onomastic Problems in Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum, in Jewish Quarterly Review 84 (1993-1994) 189-208.

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familiar with the conflict, Judaeans with connections) to discourage this kind of thing on a grand scale. Reflection on the nature of narrative composition has important consequences for our question. For if Josephus shows off his expertise by selecting episodes and characters from a wide range of possibilities, we would expect independent authors writing of the times to have made different choices. The principle that events are not self-interpreting, and therefore are not recorded somewhere in mysterious records of the whole past, but that selection and shaping belong to each author, is fundamental for our investigation. Given the nearly limitless possibilities, we expect independent accounts of the same events to be recognisable for their distinctive plots, choice of characters and events, pitch, scope, thematic palette, and narrative colouring. When, therefore, we find distinctive elements from one author’s creation in another kind of text, literary dependence becomes the most economical explanation. It seems to me that, although the Christian narrative of LukeActs has little to do with Josephus in its main purposes, audience, scope, or themes, striking agreements in named examples and lexical choices for describing them strongly suggest a literary relationship, because the agreements are very difficult to explain otherwise. One set of parallels has to do with language and narrative-framing techniques of the two authors’ prologues and their postures toward Greek rhetoric27. These are fascinating, but too generic to make into much of a case. Three clusters of material have to do with Luke’s handling of figures connected with the Herodian dynasty – Agrippa I, Agrippa II and sisters Berenice and Drusilla, the former accompanying her brother as though his wife, the latter marrying the Prefect Felix in the early 50s. In these cases, knowledge of Josephus adds a great deal of texture to the Christian story, and would explain narrative details in Acts that the author does not explain. But I concede that the story of Acts makes good sense without such background, and a case for dependence on the strength of these connections would face too many uncontrollable variables. I shall not take these up either. My focus is rather on five specific references to individuals, groups, and events that are largely unexplained in the narrative of Luke-Acts, and seem to be there largely to support this author’s claim to expert knowledge (Lk 1,1-4), though they do not make good sense, especially when 27. See S. MASON, Speech-Making in Ancient Rhetoric, Josephus, and Acts: Messages and Playfulness. Part 1, in Early Christianity 2 (2011) 445-467; Part 2, in Early Christianity 3 (2012) 147-171; ID., Luke-Acts and Contemporary Historiography, in P. BOVATI (ed.), L’Opera Lucana (Vangelo di Luca e Atti degli Apostoli) Seminario per studiosi di Sacra Scrittura Roma, 21-25 gennaio 2019, Roma, Gregorian and Biblical Press, 2019, 17-36.

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compared with Josephus’ accounts. These episodes are most easily understood as loose borrowings or mangled artefacts from Josephus’ detailed and joined-up accounts of the same episodes. They appear as vestiges of Josephus because, far from being free-floating facts available for anyone’s use, they still bear the distinctive markings of their origin in the Judaean author’s works. II. A METHODOLOGICAL ANALOGUE: TACITUS, SULPICIUS SEVERUS, AND JOSEPHUS The question of Luke-Acts’ use of Josephus is not a theological matter in the first instance. Methodologically speaking, it is the same question that we might pose of Tacitus’ Histories (ca. 100-109 AD) or Sulpicius Severus’ Chronicle (401 AD) where they overlap with Josephus. In these cases, too, the prevailing view in scholarship has been that neither author knew Josephus’ work. And this position has enormous implications for the question of Titus’ destruction of Jerusalem’s temple in 70 AD. Josephus famously relates that Titus held a consilium with his generals, in which he reversed a prior order to burn the temple and now insisted that such a structure must be preserved in Rome’s interest (War 6.236-243). Tacitus’ account of the temple’s fall has fallen out of his Histories, the surviving parts of book 5 (1-13) still anticipating the missing account. Most scholars have concluded, however, from Tacitus’ glaring differences from Josephus on Judaean origins and customs (5.2-5) that he could not have known the Judaean’s work, and therefore used other accounts28. Most likewise hold that Severus in 401 AD knew Tacitus but not Josephus, with the consequence that the Chronicle’s very different account of the consilium, according to which Titus forcefully determined to destroy the temple (Chron. 2.30.6-8), comes from the lost material in Tacitus (who took it from a shadowy Roman prefect in Judaea) – and so provides a coldeyed picture of Flavian bloody-mindedness, which Josephus whitewashed to exculpate the ruling family29. Elsewhere I have tried to show that Severus’ echoes of distinctive Josephan language show, on the contrary, that he tendentiously reused Josephus’ War30. This would not mean that Josephus’ account of the 28. A recent (2018) and convenient review of scholarship on Tacitus, Hist. 5.3-5, is by M. ROUX: http://www.judaism-and-rome.org/tacitus-histories%C2%A0v4-5 (accessed 11 November 2019). 29. S. MASON, A History of the Jewish War, A.D. 66-74, New York, Cambridge University Press, 2016, pp. 487-508. 30. See previous note.

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consilium should be accepted, as anything like minutes of that meeting – I argue that both authors highlight just one military consultation, of many that must have occurred – but only that it is most unwise to take the deeply Christian fifth-century account as an independent window on what happened in 70 AD31. Not only did Severus know Josephus’ War, but it seems most likely that Tacitus did too. Even his apparent ignorance of Antiquities for Judaean origins is not dispositive. In Tacitus’ section on Judaean origins, he claims to know many accounts, which he summarises with extreme economy (5.2.1). Although the frame of his remarks about Judaean aloofness is clearly hostile (5.5), the content he provides is not; it happens to agree with Josephus’ more sanguine presentation of the same issue in the Apion32. But most germane for our question are the striking agreements between Hist. 5.12-13 and Josephus’ War 5–7. Hist. 5.12 appears to summarise War 5–6. Tacitus reflects Josephus’ thematic (not necessarily unique) interest in the temple’s impregnable walls, for example, including the one begun by Agrippa I (War 5.136-247); reflects Josephus’ emphasis on the influx of outsiders into Jerusalem after the Flavians’ arrival (War 4.130-150); and names the same three duces (John, Simon, Eleazar), noting with Josephus that they were eventually reduced to two, and mentioning their burning of each other’s grain supplies (War 5.1-38, 248-257), though Tacitus mashes up the names, calling John bar-Giora – somewhat like Luke’s re-combinations, I would suggest. In Hist. 5.13, Tacitus not only lists four of the six or seven prodigies that Josephus presents in War 6.288-300 (309), which were not real, observable events but apparently Josephus’ construction and collection; Tacitus also gives precisely the same interpretation of an “ambiguous” ancient oracle, after the omens that occupy the same place in War (6.312-315), concerning a world ruler arising from the east. Tacitus agrees almost verbatim, in Latin translation, with Josephus’ disparaging remark about the common people’s inclination to interpret such things in their favour33. 31. A review of scholarship is in T. LEONI, Against Caesar’s Wishes: Flavius Josephus as a Source for the Burning of the Temple, in Journal of Jewish Studies 58 (2007) 39-51. Concerning both dependencies I agree with the minority view of T. RAJAK, Josephus: The Historian and His Society, London, Duckworth, 22002, pp. 193-194, 207-209. Whereas she argues for Josephus’ reliability on this basis, however, “reliable narrative” seems to me a category mistake. 32. See S. MASON, Stranger Danger! Amixia among Judaeans and Others, in G. VAN KOOTEN – J. VAN RUITEN (eds.), Intolerance, Polemics, and Debate in Antiquity: PoliticoCultural, Philosophical, and Religious Forms of Critical Conversation (Themes in Biblical Narrative, 25), Leiden, Brill, 2019, 232-255. 33. War 6.312-315: τὸ δ᾿ ἐπᾶραν αὐτοὺς μάλιστα πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ἦν χρησμὸς ἀμφίβολος ὁμοίως ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς εὑρημένος γράμμασιν, ὡς κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν ἐκεῖνον

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If these items are thematically charged creations of Josephus’ narrative, then Tacitus was dependent on Josephus, directly or indirectly. And why would he not have turned to Josephus’ War if it was known in Rome as the Flavian-endorsed account of their legitimising conflict? It is true that Tacitus’ figure of 600,000 besieged persons halves Josephus’ 1.1 million dead and 97,000 prisoners (War 6.420-421). But Josephus’ figures are unbelievable, and Josephus himself revises them with apparent abandon. Moreover, this is the kind of statistical-factual information that Tacitus could have known from Flavian accounts. It is also the only item to which he attaches a source note (fuisse accepimus), perhaps flagging a departure from his main source. The cases of Tacitus and Severus help, I suggest, to clarify the problem of Josephus and Luke-Acts because they raise the problem of what ancient historians really did with their sources, in spite of our intuitions or abstract reasoning. Must we cling to the principle that disagreements between texts disprove borrowing or rather, given many examples of authors departing from their source material, should we not focus on the problem of how two independent authors made improbably similar choices? Obviously, I favour the second approach. In the five case studies that follow, hypothesising Luke’s use of Josephus best explains not only their similarities but also their main differences. III. JOSEPHUS AND LUKE-ACTS: FIVE CASE STUDIES 1. Quirinius, Census/Registration, Rebellion, Judas One could tell the story of Roman Judaea without mentioning P. Sulpicius Quirinius (cos. 12 BC), who was legatus augusti pro praetore to Syria in 6-12 AD, or the census he conducted throughout that large province on his arrival. We know that one could describe the period without the census because Josephus, describing 6 AD in War 2.117-118, just before his ἀπὸ τῆς χώρας αὐτῶν τις ἄρξει τῆς οἰκουμένης. τοῦϑ᾿ οἱ μὲν ὡς οἰκεῖον ἐξέλαβον καὶ πολλοὶ τῶν σοφῶν ἐπλανήϑησαν περὶ τὴν κρίσιν. […] οἱ δὲ καὶ τῶν σημείων ἃ μὲν ἔκριναν πρὸς ἡδονὴν ἃ δὲ ἐξουϑένησαν, μέχρις οὗ τῇ τε ἁλώσει τῆς πατρίδος καὶ τῷ σφῶν αὐτῶν ὀλέϑρῳ διηλέγχϑησαν τὴν ἄνοιαν. Hist. 5.13: Quae pauci in metum trahebant: pluribus persuasio inerat antiquis sacerdotum litteris contineri eo ipso tempore fore ut valesceret Oriens profectique Iudaea rerum potirentur. Quae ambages Vespasianum ac Titum praedixerat, sed vulgus more humanae cupidinis sibi tantam fatorum magnitudinem interpretati ne adversis quidem ad vera mutabantur. Suetonius (Vesp. 4.5) has something similar, making this Judaean opinio about a native conqueror the cause of their revolt, agreeing with Josephus’ words but ignoring the late appearance of this claim in his War, which provides a much more complex account of the war’s origin.

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famous digression on the Essenes (2.119-166), makes no mention of either the census or Quirinius. Instead, he relates that after the removal of Archelaus (5 or 6 AD), Judaea was made a province and placed under an equestrian governor. A certain Judas the Galilean led a rejectionist campaign against this change to provincial status, castigating his compatriots for tolerating an earthly master, but Judas appears as a crank with no rational motive. Josephus knew about Quirinius and the census, for he mentions them later in passing (War 2.433; 7.253), but he could tell the story of 6 AD without them – and actually giving a somewhat different impression, as though Judaea had become in independent province. If he could do so, then so could any other writer. This illustrates my methodological point, above, that events do not announce their meaning or significance. Each author must select, combine, and characterise events to create narrative meaning. Josephus’ personal depiction of Judas, as a “sophist” leading his private “school” (ἦν δ᾿ οὗτος σοφιστὴς ἰδίας αἱρέσεως), is again not a fact evident to all. It serves Josephus’ literary creation, immediately the juxtaposition with the three legitimate philosophical schools (2.119). It turns out that War is interested in Judas partly in order to make him the patriarch of a troublemaker family behind conflict with Rome, although the alleged family connections are sketchy at best. Josephus names Menachem, leader of an armed faction in 66 AD, as a “son” of the Galilean sophist Judas at the time of Quirinius (2.433) – the first mention of the legate. The arithmetic, however, with Menachem’s emergence sixty years after Judas’ activity, raises questions easily ignored by Josephus’ first audiences, who could not pore over the text as we do. Near the end of War, he further claims that the Eleazar who led some sicarii to Masada was “a descendant of the Judas who persuaded more than a few Judaeans, as we explained before, not to join in the property registration when Quirinius was sent as registrar into Judaea” (7.253), though he explained nothing about such a property registration in the narrative corresponding to the time period. Again, Josephus knew much more than he wrote, in any episode: choices about what to write were not determined by even what he knew had happened. Indeed, such gaps were unavoidable because War compresses a great deal that Josephus knew but could not write in a relatively tight and balanced war monograph. Antiquities expands considerably on Judas’ significance, but giving him a completely different overall frame. Now identified as a Gaulanite from Gamala (rather than War’s Galilean), and newly paired with a Pharisee named Sadok, Judas here appears as the founder of a fourth school of philosophy, having no relation to the other

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three because it supposedly rejected all earthly masters and recognised God alone. Although the “rogue school” was hinted at in War 2, Josephus now elaborates considerably (Ant. 18.9-10, 23-25). But this account forces the historian to suspect that the other-worldly slogan with which he taxes Judas – no ruler but God! – is at best a half-truth, given that Judaeans had been under foreign rule since the sixth century BC or earlier, and under Rome since 63 BC. It seems that Judas was not committed to an other-worldly vision of theocratic paradise, but attracted a following rather because he was deeply involved in the political crisis in 6 AD. This needs a bit of unpacking. When Herod dies in 4 BC, according to both War and Antiquities, an embassy of fifty eminent Jerusalemites travels to Rome to plead with Augustus not to be placed under another monarch, a son of Herod. They ask to be returned to the province of Syria, to be accountable only to the legate in Antioch, Quirinius at the time (War 2.21, 80, 91; Ant. 17.300-314). Augustus decides against their appeal in that moment, preferring to give young Archelaus a chance to prove himself in deference to Herod’s will. As the youth’s tyrannical tendencies become insufferable over the following years, however, the elite group renews its appeal to Augustus. This time – apparently because they are joined by Samarian counterparts – Augustus grants their request and banishes Archelaus to the far west. Antiquities now, departing from War’s claim that Judaea became a province, explains that Jerusalem and its territory were annexed to Syria, just as the emissaries had requested, under the imperial legate Quirinius (Ant. 17.304-314, 317-320, 342-344, 354; 18.2). This makes much better sense historically. It further emerges only now that the high priest Joazar and his circle had engineered the removal of Archelaus and annexation to Syria, in coordination with Samaria’s elite, and so Joazar also leads the campaign to enlist support for the annoying property registration that re-incorporation in Syria required (Ant. 18.3). This is the context in which Judas and his Pharisee colleague appear, in protest. In spite of the derisive slogan Josephus ascribes to them, about rejecting all earthly rule, something in the changes of 6 AD must have motivated them. The obvious cause is that Jerusalem will lose its status as the regional hegemon it has been since Hasmonean times, with a brief interruption after Pompey, becoming just one of many poleis in Roman Syria. Its loss of status might well come with unpleasant consequences, given its long domination of the other poleis and the nearby Samarians34. 34. Cf. MASON, History (n. 29), pp. 247-255.

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In this regard, it may be telling that Antiquities relates that two sons of Judas who do not appear in War were crucified for disturbances in the mid-40s, soon after Jerusalem’s renewed loss of status following the death of Agrippa I in 44 (Ant. 20.102) – a notice, incidentally, that makes War’s Menachem in the 60s even less likely to be another “son” of Judas. This might suggest that Judas’ sons renewed their father’s agitation when Jerusalem again lost its primacy. However that may be, my main point is that Josephus had distinctive literary reasons in each of his histories to feature Judas as a pivotal figure, albeit in different ways. In both cases, Josephus neglected whatever real-life motives the man had, preferring to cast him as an arch-rebel migrant to Judaea from the north, a generic bad guy with no worthy motives. Another author, such as Justus of Tiberias, if he mentioned Judas at all, might well have given him a very different press, certainly in different language. It was not a historical fact that being a generic, transplantable rebel defined Judas. Although Justus’ history is lost to us, we know that it described early-war Galilee in a way that differed markedly from Josephus’ account (Life 336). Josephus then decided to make Justus a principal cause of the nation’s ills, though he had not even mentioned him in War (Life 40–41). Josephus likewise presents John of Gischala and Ananus II very differently in War and Antiquities-Life. Each narrative, even a new one by the same author covering similar events, had a life of its own. For each new story, the author made original choices about which figures to include and felt free to revise his earlier portraits, which served other purposes. So, a Pharisee named Sadok can suddenly appear alongside Judas, renamed as a Gaulanite. All of this means that the four elements of the census complex in Antiquities – viz., Quirinius, the annexation to Syria, the property registration, and the rebellion led by Judas – were not a pre-existing bundle of facts that demanded to belong together. They did not call out to every author, not even to Josephus in writing War, demanding to be treated as a complex. Another historian might have referred to the annexation but not the legate, or the property registration but not Judas, or Judas but not Sadok (or vice versa), or the legate and property registration without commenting on the brief resistance. Only Josephus’ Antiquities links these in a complex, for reasons that make unique sense in this work’s eighteenth volume. Therefore, if the annexation-Quirinius-registration-rebellion-Judas complex is a literary construction for Antiquities 18 – drawn from real events, but not inherent in them such that any author had to feature them – how should we explain the following features of Luke-Acts?

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First, this author chooses the registration of property (calling it an ἀπογραφή as Josephus does: Lk 2,2; Acts 5,37 || War 7.253; Ant. 18.3) under Quirinius, who is named but unexplained in Luke, as a watershed event for his narrative. The census is his vehicle for explaining how Jesus came to be born in Bethlehem, although he grew up in Nazareth and was always identified by that origin. It is perfectly clear that the Quiriniuscensus complex was not a given, or required to explain Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, because Matthew has a completely different explanation: Jesus’ family was from Bethlehem and later migrated to Galilee (2,7-23). Luke, however, mirrors the complex in Josephus’ Antiquities, with some absurd embellishments, to suit his narrative needs: it has become a worldwide census mandated by Emperor Augustus, requiring all provincials to return to the towns of some selected ancestors (Lk 2,1-3) – for no reason, by unstated criteria, and in contravention of any rationale for a property census. Luke will do the same thing with the famine of the 40s, which Josephus locates in Judaea, such that relief from Egypt and other neighbouring regions was possible (Ant. 20.51-53, 101). The famine in LukeActs, predicted by Christian prophets, must also be centred in Jerusalem (or relief would not be feasible), but the author inflates it to become world-wide (ἐφ᾿ ὅλην τὴν οἰκουμένην, Acts 11,28; cf. ἀπογράφεσϑαι πᾶσαν τὴν οἰκουμένην in Lk 2,1). The author postures as one familiar with events across the whole οἰκουμένη and so writes on a cosmic scale. Second, in the speech he crafts for Gamaliel in the second volume, Luke remarks that a rebel named Judas the Galilean (NB: War’s label) once “drew the people off after him” (Acts 5,37). Compare Josephus’ account in Antiquities. After the initially spontaneous resistance of Judaeans toward the property registration is overcome by the arguments of the respected high priest (Ant. 18.3-4) and the registration process is proceeding smoothly, Judas and Sadok begin rousing the rabble (Ant. 18.5-6). It is not possible that Luke wrote about Judas’ drawing the people after him because he independently knew that this is what happened, for the dating of Jesus’ birth to the census in 6 AD does not fit his claim that this happened during Herod’s life (d. 4 BC) or shortly afterward (Lk 1,5). Ingenious efforts to posit two Syrian legateships for Quirinius and an earlier census (while Herod or Archelaus ruled) do not work35. If Luke chooses to make the ἀπογραφή under Quirinius, accompanied by a popular rebellion led by Judas the Galilean, a crucial reference point 35. E. SCHÜRER, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.– 135 C.E.), revised edition G. VERMES – F. MILLAR, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1973, vol. 1, pp. 420-427.

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in both of his narratives, and this was neither a narrative necessity or something that everyone knew (as Matthew and War 2 show), how did he come to use this potent complex of events? Since Josephus was the most famous Judaean author from the 70s onward, and he is the only author (as far as we know) who clustered these themes in this way, and only in his Antiquities, that work – however used or remembered – is the most likely foundation of Luke’s knowledge. 2. Abila, Tetrarchy of Lysanias That one of Luke’s primary motives in mentioning so many personal and place names as well as events outside the Christian sphere (contrast Mark, Matthew, and John) was to enhance his impression of authority, in fulfilment of his claim to exact knowledge (Lk 1,1-4), is suggested by Lk 3,1-2, where he opens the main narrative after the quasi-poetic birth story. Many critics concede that the list of political figures used to date the appearance of John the Baptist – Tiberius as emperor, Pilate ruling Judaea, three men “tetrarching”, and “Annas and Caiaphas” as high priest (cf. Acts 4,16) – looks like overkill. Emperor, governor, and high priest would already have been plenty. Even if one pleads the author’s later interest in the Herodians, Antipas (always “Herod” here, perhaps under Mark’s influence), Agrippa I, and Agrippa II, the standout oddity remains Lysanias’ “tetrarching” in Abilene (Λυσανίου τῆς Ἀβιληνῆς τετρααρχοῦντος), since neither Lysanias nor Abilene appears again. Even the conservative scholar H.S. Cronin, writing a century ago, found this odd:36 The selection of Lysanias […] has for a long time puzzled me, as […] many others. It is difficult to understand why one minor potentate of Syria should be chosen, when others, Aretas, for instance, of Nabataea, or the dynast of Chalcis, have, at all events at first sight, as good or better claims.

Cronin was right to wonder. The simplest explanation is the same one we use for modern works, our own but also student essays and dissertations: that Luke drops names he knows for reasons other than narrative need. His most obvious motive is to enhance the impression of expert authority: “I can even tell you who was ruling in a place called Abilene. Never heard of it? Well, that’s why you need me!”. But asking where Luke acquired this titbit helps us to think about Josephus’ possible influence37. 36. CRONIN, Abilene (n. 9), p. 47. 37. So already SCHMIEDEL, Lysanias (n. 5).

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As with many of the issues we are discussing, research has focused all but exclusively on the question of Luke’s referential accuracy: on locating the tetrarchy in question, which sits (Souk Wadi Barada) on the route from Damascus to Heliopolis/Baalbek38 – in relation to Ituraea and Josephus’ unlocated “Chalcis under Lebanon”, while distinguishing it from both coastal Leucas and Decapolis Abila east of Gadara39 – and debating whether Luke’s Lysanias was a current ruler in 30 AD, otherwise unknown, or rather the well-attested tetrarch Lysanias from the mid-first century BC, transplanted to Luke’s story time because the author knew the name40. It is now sufficiently clear, historically speaking, that Lysanias’ “tetrarchy” was one of three or four in and around the two Lebanese mountain ranges41. In addition to Josephus’ rough indication of this situation (below), two versions of a Greek inscription concerning the hilltop temple of Kronos in this northern Abila confirm a tetrarchy under Lysanias there42. And among the Latin inscriptions commemorating a new road 38. J. HOGG, On the City of Abila, and the District Called Abilene near Mount Lebanon, and on a Latin Inscription at the River Lycus, in the North of Syria, in The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 20 (1850) 38-48. 39. F. DE SAULCY, Numismatique de la Terre Sainte, Paris, J. Rothschild, 1874, pp. 308309, citing earlier studies that already distinguished the two. It is not certain that Josephus was always clear about the distinction. At War 2.252 he says that Nero gave Agrippa II four poleis with their toparchies: Abila and Julias in Peraea, Tiberias and Taricheae in Galilee (Ἄβελα μὲν καὶ Ἰουλιάδα κατὰ τὴν Περαίαν, Ταριχέας δὲ καὶ Τιβεριάδα τῆς Γαλιλαίας). On the strength of that notice A. SPIJKERMAN, The Coins of the Decapolis and Provincia Arabia, Jerusalem, Franciscan, 1978, pp. 48-49, understands Decapolis Abila as Nero’s gift to Agrippa II. Ant. 20.159 changes (corrects?) this grant, however, to the two Galilean poleis plus Julius in Peraea with fourteen attached villages (no Abila). The reason may be that Ant. 20.138 (with no parallel in War) has Claudius, shortly before Nero’s accession, add Abila – but there defined as Lysanias’ tetrarchy – as a grant to Agrippa II. 40. SCHMIEDEL, Lysanias (n. 5); CADBURY, Subsidiary Points (n. 7), p. 357: “It is clear that an inaccurate knowledge of Josephus would adequately account for the error in Luke”. 41. N. KOKKINOS, The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse, Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1998, pp. 280-281; N.L. WRIGHT, Ituraean Coinage in Context, in The Numismatic Chronicle 173 (2013) 55-71; K. BUTCHER, Roman Coinage in Syria: Northern Syria 64 BC – AD 253, London, Royal Numismatic Society, 2004, p. 435; G.M. COHEN, The Hellenistic Settlements in Syria, The Red Sea Basin, and North Africa, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 2006, 210, pp. 239-242. 42. The first, more lacunose copy, was CIG 4521. NB: CIG 4523 is a fragmentary inscription in memory of Zenodorus’ daughter, and Zenodorus’ name is followed by one beginning ΛΥΣ. R. SAVIGNAC published a full version of the text in CIG 4521, discovered decades later, in Texte complet de l’inscription d’Abila relative à Lysanias, in Revue Biblique 9 (1912) 533-540. It reads (my trans.): “For the preservation of the lords augusti (ὑπὲρ τῆς τῶν κυρίων σεβαστῶν σωτηρ[ί]ας) along with their whole house. Nymphaeus Abimmenos, freedman of Lysanias the tetrarch, after founding the road, made

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section cut through the mountain, after a later flood in the time of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, one confirms that the local “Abilenes” paid the costs43. Coins, furthermore, put it beyond doubt that the first-century BC Lysanias, his swashbuckling father Ptolemy, and son Zenodorus bore the title tetrarch (as well as high priest)44. It cannot be ruled out that the name Lysanias reoccurred in a later generation, such that a Lysanias was indeed “tetrarching” over Abilene around 30 AD45. If so, Luke’s accuracy on this point would be honoured, but that would not answer the more basic compositional question: Why would Luke include Lysanias’ distant Abila in this passage, even if it was a real place, other than to shore up his authority, and where did he find his information? This prompts us to ask whether Josephus, the main surviving narrative of the period, had special narrative reasons to highlight Lysanias, tetrarch of Abila, as he did (eventually) the census under Quirinius. Josephus first describes Ptolemy son of Mennaeus as a king of Chalcis and lord of the Bekaa Valley, who became father-in-law and later husband of the Hasmonean Alexandra (War 1.103, 185-186; Ant. 13.392, 418; 14.39, 126, 297). His detailed Hasmonean history in Antiquities provides a motive for beginning to highlight this family, which remains in the picture after being introduced. Around 40 BC, he relates (cf. Strabo, Geog. 16.2.10), Ptolemy’s son Lysanias inherits the father’s territory (14.330). Ptolemy tries to forge an anti-Herodian and anti-Roman alliance, in favour of the Hasmonean Antigonus and his Parthian backers (War 1.248; Ant. 14.330). In other words, he becomes a significant regional player. Vying to preserve the Seleucid mantle against Rome’s incursion, this Greek-named dynasty of Ptolemy and Lysanias tries to shape the politics and constructed the temple and planted all the orchards around it from his own resources. For the Lord Kronos and in a spirit of piety for the homeland”. 43. HOGG, City of Abila (n. 38); cf. photos and commentary at https://syriaphotoguide. com/souq-wadi-barada-‫بردى‬-‫وادي‬-‫سوق‬/ (accessed 25 November 2019). 44. Described in T.E. MIONNET, Description de médailles antiques, grecques et romaines, Paris, de Testu, 1811, p. 145; F.W. MADDEN, Coins of the Jews, London, Trübner, 1881, p. 124, n. 2; WRIGHT, Ituraean Coinage (n. 41); A. BURNETT et al. (eds.), Roman Provincial Coinage, London, British Museum Press, 1992, pp. 662-663, with images on Plates 172-173, nos. 4768-4780. 45. SAVIGNAC (Texte complet [n. 42], pp. 538-539), with a full version of CIG 4521, followed E. Renan’s and E. Schürer’s arguments (a) that the scenario of two augusti could only fit between 14 and 29 AD, the time between Livia’s designation as Augusta on Augustus’ death and her own passing, and (b) that a freedman of the Lysanias who died in 36 BC could not have been building roads and temples fifty years later. So, there must have been a Lysanias around the 20s AD. SCHMIEDEL (Lysanias [n. 5], p. 2843) countered that if Nymphaeus had been granted his freedom as a boy, he would have been active and wealthy fifty years later. CADBURY (Subsidiary Points [n. 7], pp. 356-357) dismissed this argument as motivated by apologetics.

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of southern Syria. Marc Antony removes and executes Lysanias, however, reportedly at Cleopatra VII’s urging, in about 36 BC (War 1.440; Ant. 15.92). Lysanias’ son, Zenodorus or Zenon, leases back his father’s territory from Rome and continues to attack the old dynastic enemy Damascus, until Augustus finally places the troublesome tetrarchy under Herod’s control (War 1.398-340; Ant. 15.344-364). This creates a bitter rivalry, with Zenodorus at the forefront of the regional complaints against Herod. But Zenodorus exhausts the emperor’s patience, and on his death his territory goes to Herod. Upon Herod’s death in 4 BC, “the house of Zenodorus” passes to the tetrarch Philip, Herod’s son (War 2.95; Ant. 17.319). War continues to call this region the “house” or “kingdom” of Zenodorus – or of Lysanias (1.398; 2.215, 247) – but Antiquities prefers “tetrarchy of Lysanias” as a fixed name, long after that tetrarch’s death (below). Josephus thus has obvious and arguably unique reasons for tracking this region and continuing to call it by one of the important early tetrarchs for ease of identification. Herodians dominate the last seven volumes of his Antiquities, and that valuable territory, though it changes shape (shrinking from much of the Bekaa Valley to Abila proper) and rulers must change with some frequency, remains an important piece of acquired Herodian territory. When Josephus relates that Gaius Caligula made over “the tetrarchy of Lysanias” to Agrippa I as part of his starter kingdom in the late 30s AD (Ant. 18.237), and that Claudius confirmed this grant of “Abila of Lysanias and everything of his that lay in Mt. Lebanon” (19.275), he does not mean that Lysanias is the current ruler all this time. He is reminding his audience of the place that has played such an important background role in Herod’s reign. So too, when Claudius gives the area to Agrippa II, Josephus glosses it as “Abila – this had been the tetrarchy of Lysanias” (σὺν Ἀβέλλᾳ· Λυσανία δ᾿ αὕτη γεγόνει τετραρχία, Ant. 20.138), making no effort to identify the current ruler. If there was a new tetrarch in the 20s AD who happened to be named Lysanias, Josephus does not suggest that. He calls it Lysanias’ territory only for the sake of narrative continuity. He is also the only known author apart from Luke to mention Lysanias or (in Antiquities) and his tetrarchy. Because of the uncontrollable variables, as always, I cannot prove from this that Luke knew Josephus. This example is like the others we are considering. They all deal with items that have no sustained narrative place or logic in Luke, but do reflect Josephus’ distinctive programmatic interests and language. Josephus has a clear motive to keep mentioning Lysanias’ tetrarchy (Antiquities) when the tetrarch of that name is long gone, in support of his account of Judaean history, politics, and culture. That is not

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Luke’s interest. Luke uses Herodians as fleeting scenic elements in support of a story concerning Jesus, the resurrection, and the apostles. The simplest explanation of Luke’s perplexing mention of a “tetrarching” Lysanias in Abilene is a vague, direct or mediated recollection of Josephus, Ant. 19.275; 20.138. It would be quite understandable if he had heard or read passages from the later volumes (above) as though Abila passed from Lysanias to Agrippa, such that Lysanias would have been tetrarch around 30 AD. Even if Luke happened to know from elsewhere of a tetrarch Lysanias at the time of the Baptist – a recherché bit of trivia if so – influence from Josephus remains the simplest explanation of his mentioning Lysanias as a significant nearby ruler connected with Herod’s descendants. Like Josephus, Luke will give Agrippa I and II significant roles, and he knows from Josephus – I propose – that Lysanias’ tetrarchy had been tied up with their kingdoms. He neglects to join the dots as Josephus does because he does not need to. The name is enough to impress his readers. 3. Another Generic Rebel: Theudas Luke’s Gamaliel mentions a certain Theudas as though he were another generic rabble-rouser, in the same breath as Judas but before him chronologically. Some of the problems that his name creates have been discussed intensively since the nineteenth century. Scholars have usually approached the issue, however, in relation to historical events and possible sources, without asking about the compositional interests of each author. When we do that, things become even more complicated. Josephus’ War mentions no events under Cuspius Fadus’ governorship (44-46 AD) and so Theudas does not appear in that work, drafted in the 70s. In Antiquities 20, completed by 93 AD, he makes Fadus’ campaign against Theudas the capstone event of this procurator’s tenure (44-46 AD). This is an important turning point in the work, given its interest in Agrippa I, who reigned as king of all Judaea from 41 to 44 AD. Josephus describes the regional turmoil that followed the king’s unexpected death, when the shift of power from Jerusalem back to coastal Caesarea made Judaeans vulnerable to the hostile neighbours they had so recently dominated (Ant. 19.356-359). This was a repeat, I have proposed, of Judas’ concern a generation earlier, when Archelaus’ removal meant Jerusalem’s loss of status and the shift of power to Caesarea. Judas’ sons would soon face crucifixion for their activities after Agrippa’s death, under the next procurator (Ant. 20.102). Having been sent by Emperor Claudius to pick up the pieces after his friend the king’s untimely death, Fadus was tasked

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first of all with suppressing conflicts on the frontiers between Judaea and its neighbours (Ant. 20.1-9). Josephus interrupts that dismal narrative to quote a decree issued by Claudius for the protection of Judaeans (20.10-16) and then for the sublime account of the Adiabenian royal family’s embrace of Judaean law and custom (20.17-96), before he turns to the Theudas episode (Ant. 20.97-99). Theudas, he remarks, attracted a large following by claiming to be a prophet and promising to part the Jordan River – presumably, since he was in Judaea, to lead the people out, thus reversing Joshua’s entry into the land, or possibly to go out and then come back in. This description fits Josephus’ usual but historically unrevealing types and categories (below): prophets promising wonders in the desert, along with bandits and tyrants. Given that he frames Fadus’ term as procurator by mentioning the regional rivalries that followed the death of Agrippa (Ant. 20.2-6, 97-99), after the unseemly celebrations involving the auxiliary army that had the task of protecting Judaea – actions that disgusted Claudius (19.356-366) – it may be that the historical Theudas’ motive was not anti-Roman as such, but rather emerged from conflicts with Judaea’s neighbours and the locally raised auxiliary army. If so, Josephus had no interest in explaining that. Our aristocratic historian, writing for likeminded men in Rome in the wake of Jerusalem’s destruction, saw only base motives in all the individuals who broke from the senior priesthood’s pleas to remain calm and not risk attracting Roman legionary medicine for their local ills, a stance paralleled in Dio Chrysostom and Plutarch around the same time46. For Josephus such men, irrespective of their true motives, were revolutionaries, bandits, or tyrants. That is all one needed to know as far as he was concerned. Fadus, when he learned of Theudas’ following, reportedly sent an auxiliary cavalry troop to end the disturbance. The ever-eager auxiliary soldiers captured the Judaean leader, cut off his head, and stuck it on a post in Jerusalem. It is a compelling story, which suits and illustrates Antiquities’ narrative of regional ructions after the death of Agrippa I. But the historical Theudas could not have been, any more than Judas, an intrinsic rebel who woke up each morning wondering what havoc he could wreak, who could be transplanted into any time and place. Theudas’ concerns in the 40s must have been different from those of Judas in 6 AD. He appears generic to us only because it suited Josephus’ interests to present him in this stock way. An author of different temper and sensibility, 46. E.g., Plutarch’s Advice to the Statesman and Dio’s Alexandrian oration among others.

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even Luke47 if he had had independent knowledge of the men, would have written a different story. If Luke chooses two figures prominent in Antiquities 18–20 and gives them the same, aristocratically informed, generic roles as bad guys, where did he get that impression? These are not autonomous facts about Theudas or Judas, which any observer would see. They betray an author’s compositional perspective – and that author is Josephus. The chronological disparity between Josephus and Luke-Acts in locating Theudas before (Acts) or after (Josephus) Judas is glaring, as every critic has noticed, but what does it mean? As we have seen, scholars usually reason that if Luke had borrowed from Josephus, he would surely have followed Josephus’ order. So they appeal to shared, unknown sources. But this way of thinking is too mechanical, too reflexive. Luke could not have used Theudas in Gamaliel’s speech in the mid-30s and given him his proper date. If Luke merely wished to sound informed about Judaean affairs, however, and wanted to include Theudas because this was one of the few names he knew, he had little choice but to relocate him from Fadus’ later procuratorship. He could have placed him between the census and the 30s, after Judas, but if he was free to redate him anyway, why not place him before Judas? He might have preferred to keep Judas and the census of Luke 2 as the climax. A neglected point enhances the likelihood that Luke borrowed Theudas from a memory of Antiquities 20, and this is the rarity of the name. Like σικάριοι (below), Theudas does not appear in literary texts before Josephus and Acts; it is absent from classical literature (the name is attested in inscriptions). Contrast Judas (Hebrew Yehuda), which was one of the commonest names in first-century Judaea, in large part because of the heroic Judah Maccabee48. Well after Josephus and Acts, the Greek name Theudas first appears in the physician Galen and the contemporary grammarian Aelius Herodian (Pros. cath. 3.1.54; Peri Pathōn 3.2.206,

47. Luke is not afraid to part from Josephus in major ways, for example with respect to Pharisees and Sadducees. Josephus, a proud establishment priest, admires Sadducees such as Ananus II, shares the Sadducean view of the sufficiency of Moses’ laws without an ancestral tradition, and sympathises with the plight of Sadducees in office, who must defer to the popular Pharisees (Ant. 18.17). The Christian author finds in the popular Pharisees, whom Josephus disparages because of their mass appeal, the main environment for Jesus and his early followers. Cf. S. MASON, Chief Priests, Sadducees, Pharisees and Sanhedrin in Acts, in R. BAUCKHAM (ed.), The Book of Acts in Its Palestinian Setting, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1995, 115-177. 48. T. ILAN, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Part 1: 330 BCE – 200 CE, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2002, pp. 7, 56 (Table 7). The diminutive Θευδίων had earlier currency (War 1.592; Ant. 20.14).

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Peri Parōnymōn 3.2.859). But Herodian knew Josephus’ works, as we have seen. He explains Theudas as a diminutive of Theodoros (gift of God), a much more ancient name, just as Zenas reduces Zenodoros (gift of Zeus), Metras Metrodoros (mother’s gift), and Pythas Pythodoros (gift of Apollo). In all these cases, the fuller name is well attested in classical literature, but this diminutive only from the second century AD – except perhaps Zenas in the undatable Aesop’s Fables. It stretches credulity, then, to suppose that two unconnected authors, Josephus and Luke, independently chose the same series of axe handles to shoot through: this man, from among many reportedly troublesome figures of the time, with the uniquely attested name Theudas, both characterising him as a generic rebel, in keeping with only Josephus’ compositional themes, and both writers using him along with Quirinius, the census, Judas, his rebellion, and Lysanias’ tetrarchy. We saw in the opening survey that scholars long thought it possible that Luke misremembered Josephus. One possible explanation of Luke’s mistaken switch of dates – if it were a mistake and not a deliberate reshuffle – they proposed was understandable because of an interesting feature of Josephus’ account49. Immediately after describing Theudas, Antiquities (only) mentions the governorship of Tiberius Julius Alexander (46-48 AD), the main achievement of which was Alexander’s execution of the sons of Judas the Galilean, James and Simon (20.102). Since those two men die immediately after Theudas’ death, in the unique structure of Josephus’ Antiquities, it was proposed that Luke could have sincerely confused the chronology. I do not think that we need to put much weight on this scenario, ingenious though it is, because Luke is manifestly willing to rework his sources without great concern for historical accuracy – with the census, obviously, and in relation to Paul’s career50. It is nevertheless easier to imagine Luke either misremembering Josephus or deliberately shifting Theudas’ floruit, which seems more likely to me, than to conjure up a different, pre-6 AD generic rebel who happened to bear the name Theudas, or to imagine independent “sources” that dated Josephus’ Theudas differently. 4. Walk Like the Egyptian Still more interesting is the decision of both Josephus and Luke to include a rebel figure they both refer to as the Egyptian, though this label makes sense only in Josephus, and of Luke to make him a leader of sicarii. 49. Elaborately SCHMIEDEL, Theudas (n. 5), cols. 5054-5056. 50. See J. KNOX, Chapters in a Life of Paul, New York, Abingdon-Cokesbury, 1950.

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The latter comes in a famous scene in Acts (21,38). When Paul addresses a friendly Roman tribune of the Jerusalem auxiliary cohort, the tribune is surprised to hear him speaking Greek. The officer provides an artificially expository history-lesson for Luke’s literary audience. Turning to camera, as it were, the tribune disgorges Luke’s presumed historical knowledge: “So, then, you are not the Egyptian who, before these days, led a rebellion and led out 4,000 men of the sicarii into the desert?” (οὐκ ἄρα σὺ εἶ ὁ Αἰγύπτιος ὁ πρὸ τούτων τῶν ἡμερῶν ἀναστατώσας καὶ ἐξαγαγὼν εἰς τὴν ἔρημον τοὺς τετρακισχιλίους ἄνδρας τῶν σικαρίων;). This is a rich stew of confused connections. To help us understand them, let us recall Josephus’ contexts in mentioning “the Egyptian”. War’s description of Felix’s governorship in the 50s AD (2.253-265) makes a number of observations, using Josephus’ usual categories, presumably so that his audience in Rome will not get bogged down in details. Here is an overview: – Procurator Felix ends the twenty-year-long rampages (not mentioned earlier, however) throughout the countryside of a man named Eleazar (b. Deinaeus) and his gangs of bandits. – In the urban space of Jerusalem, in contrast to that blight in the villages, a new breed of bandit appears in people known as sicarii. Using knives concealed in their clothing, they murder socially prominent targets in urban crowds, and with impunity – a quick stab, concealment of the knife, and an innocent walk away. – This rash of urban knife crime creates pervasive fear in Jerusalem. According to Josephus, who would have been close to 20 at the time, people worried that even an old friend approaching them might have a concealed knife, having become antagonistic (2.257). – After surveying these two types of violent men, robbers in the countryside and knife-murders (sicarii) in the polis, Josephus turns to still another dangerous category. These are the visionary types, who have “cleaner hands” (they do not kill people), but whose ideas are even more dangerous. These pretenders to divine inspiration would attract a mob of followers, “leading them out into the desert, where God would show them signs of freedom” (τὸ πλῆϑος ἔπειϑον καὶ προῆγον εἰς τὴν ἐρημίαν; 2.259). All such groups Felix met with locally recruited auxiliary forces, which were happy to disperse or kill Judaeans. – All three groups appear as aggregates only, with no named representatives. Before leaving the prophets, he singles out one man as more dangerous than others because he was a hybrid of violence and visionary pretension. “The Egyptian false prophet” (ὁ Αἰγύπτιος ψευδοπροφήτης), he says, promised his miraculous signs in Jerusalem, not in the desert.

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Also playing the tyrant, he gathered 30,000 spear-carriers on the Mount of Olives, promised that God would cause the walls of Jerusalem to collapse, and boasted that he would expel the auxiliary garrison to establish himself as tyrant in the city (anticipating John of Gischala and Simon bar Giora in War 4). All of this should be doubted on historical grounds, given the impossible numbers, the schematisation according to Josephus’ charged language and types, and the unlikelihood that the man confessed to wishing to be a tyrant. But it is a neat picture as far as it goes, and it explains Josephus’ choice of name for the man. He can get by with introducing the featured figure as “the Egyptian pseudoprophet”, that is, because he needs only to distinguish this man from all the other troublemakers and false prophets mentioned. The label pseudoprophet for this man is only another way of referring to those who “made a show of divine inspiration” and filled the masses with enthusiasm (War 2.259), said of the others. Indeed, ψευδοπροφήτης is one of his go-to terms of abuse (16 occurrences, far more than in other writers; LXX has 10, all but 1 in Jeremiah). That this Judaean hailed from Egypt is enough to distinguish him from the many local candidates. Josephus may even have chosen to label him this way, for readers in Rome, in part to exploit anti-Egyptian prejudices among his Roman audience51. It is unusual for Josephus to describe someone without using his name. In the case, however, even if he knew the man’s name, possibly something difficult to render in Greek, there may have been good reason to stay with “the Egyptian” pseudoprophet, to ridicule him. When Josephus reworks the episode in Antiquities 20, as usual he varies context and language, though in this case he retains the basic story. He first describes a large number of “enchanters and tricksters”, who advised the masses to follow them into the desert (Ant. 20.167-168), promising that they would show them signs and wonders52 by divine 51. Notwithstanding the popularity of the Isis cult in Rome and Italy, Romans often voiced disdain for Egypt and Egyptian ways. That ridicule and the political constraints placed on Egypt (devalued currency, lack of a council for Alexandria, governance by an equestrian prefect) had been fuelled by the civil war with Antony. See Tacitus, Hist. 5.4; J.P.V.D. BALSDON, Romans and Aliens, London, Duckworth, 1979, 3, pp. 14-16; J. BARCLAY, Against Apion (Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, 10), Leiden, Brill, 2007, p. 205, n. 232. The Egyptian pseudoprophet was presumably a Judaean, perhaps radicalised by the turmoil in Alexandria (possibly his place of origin) in 38-39 AD. Josephus’ remarks on Egyptian vices and shortcomings include War 2.362; Ant. 1.162, 166; 2.201-204, 239241; 19.81-82; Apion 1.223-253, 270, 279; 2.28-42, and esp. 128-134, 138-144. 52. This is one of only two occurrences in Josephus of τέρατα καὶ σημεῖα or the reverse (also War 1.28). He charges the false prophets with making outlandishly false

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provision (οἱ δὲ γόητες καὶ ἀπατεῶνες ἄνϑρωποι τὸν ὄχλον ἔπειϑον αὐτοῖς εἰς τὴν ἐρημίαν ἕπεσϑαι· δείξειν γὰρ ἔφασαν ἐναργῆ τέρατα καὶ σημεῖα κατὰ τὴν τοῦ ϑεοῦ πρόνοιαν γινόμενα). Then: “At about this time, a certain fellow arrives in Jerusalem from Egypt, saying that he was a prophet (ἀφικνεῖται δέ τις ἐξ Αἰγύπτου κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν καιρὸν εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα προφήτης εἶναι λέγων) and calling for the throng to accompany him to the mountain called ‘of Olives’” (20.169). After such a clear introduction, when Josephus refers to “the Egyptian” later in the paragraph in order to describe the fate of this man’s followers (600 now instead of War’s 30,000) – but his personal escape, as in War – it makes perfect sense. Josephus is still referring to the man who came from Egypt. Needless to say, this man’s parents did not call him “the Egyptian”, much less “pseudoprophet”. His real name must have been known to his followers, and a writer with different sources and interests could presumably have learned his name. In Alexandria, Philo names various local figures (Against Flaccus, Embassy to Gaius). Pseudoprophet and the Egyptian are Josephus’ literary constructions, intelligible in his contexts but otherwise useless. There was a constant stream of Judaeans from Egypt who visited Jerusalem as pilgrims, including Philo (Spec. 1.76-78; Legat. 211–216, 316). Calling the man “the Egyptian” would be like calling an American living in London “the American” and expecting people to understand. Josephus does not simply call him the Egyptian, but first “the Egyptian pseudoprophet” (i.e., of all the pseudoprophets), in War, and in Antiquities explains that this particular would-be prophet had just arrived from Egypt. For others to call him simply “the Egyptian” would make no sense. In Acts, which lacks Josephus’ narrative frame, it is remarkable not only that the author should choose the same figure, whom Josephus had isolated from a parade of unnamed prophet-types, but also that he would identify him as the Egyptian, without Josephus’ justification for doing so. This point is somewhat mitigated, I concede, by Acts’ construction ὁ Αἰγύπτιος ὁ […] ἀναστατώσας κτλ., which reads best as a defining attributive clause (“The Egyptian who led” rather than “The Egyptian, who led […]”). But it remains conspicuous, in two authors who usually name their characters, that the author of Acts does not produce a name

promises. In Acts, the same Septuagintal phrase is thematic (2,22.43; 4,30; 5,12; 6,8; 7,36; 14,3; 15,12), serving as crucial proof the apostles’ claims about the risen Christ. Josephus’ impression that many deceivers claimed signs and wonders illustrates the very different perspectives of the two writers.

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either. It cannot be, if Josephus’ account has merit, that this is because he knows the Egyptian to have been the only man who led “sicarii into the desert”. And the most basic question is why Luke’s tribune mentions the Egyptian at all. He is unnecessary for the interaction with Paul, whom he should simply protect. It is incredible that a tribune should hear someone address him in Greek and conclude, “So then you are not the Egyptian […]”. (Did the Egyptian not know Greek? What language did he use in Jerusalem?) How plausible is it that an independent author or source would choose the same figure and describe him similarly, even to the point of omitting his name? The tribune uses the same phrase to date the Egyptian’s activity that Gamaliel had used in Theudas: “before these days” (πρὸ τούτων τῶν ἡμερῶν), a vague formula that might perhaps betray the author’s indication of what he considers an authoritative source. Another seeming vestige of Josephus is Luke’s claim that his Egyptian led the sicarii “out into the desert”. If we compare that with Josephus’ War, above, we see that the tribune mashes up three distinct elements that sit next to each other in Josephus: sicarii, who however require urban crowds for their murders by concealed weapon; prophet types, who indeed lead their followers into the desert; and the hybrid Egyptian pseudoprophet, who is into signs but also violence and who remains in Jerusalem. Luke fuses the three, creating a super-hybrid Egyptian, but who leads sicarii, and into the desert. If Luke has an interest in displaying his knowledge of political events and figures, a perfectly common trait to which few of us are immune, for a Christian-curious audience lacking such knowledge, it is understandable that he would recall such information from an authoritative source, but with little concern for details. The specificity of his terms (Egyptian, desert, sicarii) creates the desired impact. Josephus’ complex historical narratives have no place in Luke’s purposes, because he does not join any of these dots. He needs only to pepper the story with plausible names and events to sustain an atmosphere. Whether or not I have correctly guessed Luke’s motives, it is difficult to explain this combination of these figures without reference to Josephus. It is not enough to dismiss the prospect of Luke’s borrowing from Josephus because of their differences, without troubling to explain what other source Luke could have used. The problem looks different once we are alert to compositional uniqueness and ask: Which other author had narrative reasons to write in close proximity about the anonymous Egyptian, and sicarii, and visionaries heading into the desert? Luke’s familiarity with Josephus’ War is the most economical explanation of his tribune’s display of erudition.

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Even the name sicarii is more distinctive of Josephus than is usually recognised. Scholars tend to see the sicarii as a known faction in Judaea, with a somewhat defined membership, like the mediaeval order of trained Ismaili killers we know as Assassins. There are basic problems with such a picture, however. To begin with, the Greek transliteration of Latin sicarii is unique to Josephus (and Acts), and frequent in Josephus. It is distinctive of his work, in other words. Second, why would a presumably nationalist Judaean group take an abhorrent Latin name for themselves? The usual explanation is that “Roman authorities” came up with the name, and the group was either known that way by others or perhaps adopted the word as a badge of honour53. But these possibilities need clarification. To begin with, which Roman authorities were in Judaea and using Latin? Judaea was not occupied by Rome. The army in charge of policing was the locally raised auxiliary force, which communicated in Greek. The Prefect-Procurator in Caesarea, responsible to the provincial legatus augusti in Antioch (with four legions), had a tiny support staff, which necessarily used Greek for administrative purposes and communication with the local populace. A fortiori, the prefects or tribunes of auxiliary cohorts communicated in Greek with their soldiers. The biggest problem is that Josephus uses σικάριοι in unstable ways54. War first uses the word generically, as we have seen above, of common people who perpetrated knife crime under Felix in the 50s. Although War introduces the term in that vague way, not for a definable group (2.254, 425), most occurrences attach to the people whom Eleazar ben Yair led away from Jerusalem’s conflicts at the earliest stage (66 AD) to Masada, but then again in War 7 for certain violent Judaeans in Egypt and Cyrenaica – generic troublemakers all (4.400, 516; 7.253, 262, 275, 297, 311, 410, 415, 437, 444). Strangely enough, having introduced the word in War 2 for urban knife crime, Josephus finds it useful in the final paragraphs of War 7 as a generic label for all troublemakers. Aside from Luke, Josephus is the only known author who transliterates Latin sicarii in Greek, and he does so eagerly (19 times)55. If we ask why, the simplest explanation is his context in Rome. In Rome 53. E.g., M. HENGEL, The Zealots: Investigations into the Jewish Freedom Movement in the Period from Herod I until 70 A.D., trans. D. SMITH, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1989, pp. 49, 396-397. 54. See M. BRIGHTON, The Sicarii in Josephus’s Judean War: Rhetorical Analysis and Historical Observations, Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2009. 55. Not counting Origen, Eusebius, and other Christian authors borrowing from Josephus.

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more than anywhere else, the word sicarii had a terrifying force. In 81 BC, Sulla had established special courts (quaestiones) for trying sicarii and poisoners under the lex Cornelia de sicariis et veneficiis, elaborating an earlier law concerning these insidious techniques of murder56. Cicero’s first public defence, aged just 27 (80 BC), was of a prominent man accused under this law57. Defining a sicarius in defence as “a brazen man often involved in murder” (Rosc. 39), Cicero also deploys the word more broadly, in later texts, to smear his political enemies (Cat. 2.4 [7]; Verr. 2.1.9; Pis. 16 [37]). In this political usage the word goes with latro (bandit) – another favourite of Josephus in its Greek equivalent (λῃστής)58. Although it is difficult to make sense of sicarii as the name of a defined group in the Judaean hills, it is easy to understand the term as the literary creation of a foreign statesman living and writing in Rome, who is trying to impress his audiences there with resonant vocabulary from their political past. Still another curiosity. Although the law concerning poisoners and concealed-knife assassins naturally used the plural, to cover all cases, the art of being a sicarius or a veneficius was solitary and those accused were tried as individuals. One did not envision teams of poisoners or sicarii, which would rather spoil the effect of sneaky killing. The deed was so terrifying because of its intimate and insidious character. In Cicero’s defence of Roscius and attack on the real culprits, he allows his target to retort there was then a multitude of sicarii in Rome (erat tum multitudo sicariorum), but – differently from Josephus and Luke – this refers to the large number of individual assassins, either personally motivated or hired to murder an individual. Cicero’s man is allowed to make the point that even if he was seen among such sicarii, that did not make him such a person (Rosc. 93–94). Because it is by definition an individual crime, the singular sicarius is common in Latin texts (Rosc. 39, 76, 94, 103, 152; Cat. 2.7; Dom. 49; Sest. 39; Pis. 38; Horace, Serm. 1.4). Yet Josephus, though he also describes the phenomenon as one of individual urban murders, only ever uses the plural. As his narrative develops, their menace comes from their being a group. The individual crime that should justify the label sicarius fades into the background. Luke appears to piggy-back on Josephus’ peculiar usage, as though “men of the sicarii” were a visible group acting as a team. 56. Justinian, Dig. 48.1; Inst. 4.18.5; cf. A. LINTOTT, The “Quaestiones de Sicariis et Veneficis” and the Latin “Lex Bantina”, in Hermes 106 (1978) 125-138. 57. Pro Roscio Amerino; later Pro Cluentio and Pro Sestio. 58. T.N. HABINEK, The Politics of Latin Literature: Writing, Identity, and Empire in Ancient Rome, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1998, pp. 69-87.

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Since it is difficult to understand a Judaean rebel group acquiring the label sicarii, much less cherishing it; since no other text of the period refers to such a group; since the word does not have a non-Latin equivalent; and since Josephus’ usage of sicarii is so malleable and vague, the simplest explanation of such groups in Josephus is that this is his distinctive choice. Writing for local audiences in Rome, he transliterated a resonant term there to evoke a kind of insidious violence for which only Latin had the mot juste. If that is so, then Luke seems to have borrowed the tribune’s learning from Josephus. War’s sicarii began only about the same time as Paul’s encounter with the tribune, however, late in Felix’s tenure (mid-50s AD), and Antiquities’ sicarii under Festus (59-62 AD?) – not “before these days” at the time of Paul’s arrest under Felix. To sum up this section: the several puzzles of Acts 21,38 – (1) that Luke would choose Latin sicarii for Judaean militants, (2) that he should locate them out in the desert rather than in the city, and (3) that he should place the Egyptian at their head – are not well solved by imagining another source that made such a combination. They are most economically explained as the author’s blending of elements from a dense passage in Josephus, War 2. Looking for another source would leave us with more problems: What other author had the compositional interest in (a) highlighting the desert as the destination of false prophets, (b) positing sicarii in Judaea in the first place, (c) portraying them as a group, and (d) isolating an unnamed Egyptian, all in close proximity? Differences here speak for Josephus’ influence. 5. The Christian Path as a αἵρεσις – Like Pharisees and Sadducees Eight of the 13 occurrences of ἀκρίβεια cognates in the NT fall in Luke-Acts, where they are used programmatically: for something like historiography, as in the prologue (Lk 1,3); for the related process of legal inquiry (Acts 23,15.20); for precision in understanding the Christian Path (Acts 18,25-26; 24,22); and in relation to Paul’s education among the Pharisees, who are called a αἵρεσις. At Acts 22,3, Paul says that he was educated at the feet of the Pharisee Gamaliel, “with accuracy/ precision in the ancestral law” (πεπαιδευμένος κατὰ ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ πατρῴου νόμου). He later tells Arippa II that he had lived as a Pharisee, “the most precise/accurate school of our way of worship” (τὴν ἀκριβεστάτην αἵρεσιν τῆς ἡμετέρας ϑρησκείας, 26,5). The superlative adjective ἀκριβεστάτη, taken at face value, assumes at least three such schools, though perhaps we should not press that point. In any case, the author defaults to αἵρεσις as his category for both Pharisees and Sadducees

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(Acts 5,17; 15,5; 26,5). He uses the same term to include Christ-followers or Nazarenes, to fit under the same umbrella as yet another school, to outside observers – though of course their teaching is unique (Acts 24,5.14; 28,22). Luke is also the only NT author to use αἵρεσις (all 6 times in Acts) with a positive connotation; the letters of Paul and “Peter”, in sharp contrast, use it for destructive factionalism (1 Cor 11,19; Gal 5,20; 2 Pet 2,1). Our question is again whether this cluster of terms in Acts – involving αἵρεσις, ἀκρίβεια, ϑρησκεία – was self-evident. Were these obvious choices that would have imposed themselves on any observer of the scene, or were they unique artefacts of Josephus’ literary programme? If the latter, their presence in Luke-Acts is evidence of Josephus’ influence. We begin with the categorisation of Pharisees and Sadducees as αἱρέσεις. Because Josephus repeatedly claims that Judaea had three schools or philosophies, formerly rendered “sects” in most translations (War 2.119166; Ant. 13.171-173, 298; 18.11-22; Life 10–12), scholars have all but unanimously assumed that this was the reality. Everyone in Judaea must have known of this triad. I recently had a lively email discussion with a respected colleague about the extent of Josephus’ literary creativity, and this was the example he proposed as a bedrock truth that surely no scholar would doubt: there were three schools. He was right that this is the near consensus. It is ubiquitous in handbooks on ancient Judaism or New Testament backgrounds; dissertations and monographs refer unproblematically to the three schools59. The scheme was fundamental in the early 59. E.g., R. DE VAUX, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1973, pp. 126-128, e.g., p. 138: “It [the Qumran sect] must belong to one of the movements which were important and well known within Judaism”. G. MAIER, Mensch und freier Wille nach den jüdischen Religionsparteien zwischen Ben Sira und Paulus, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1982, matching the philosophy of each school to another Judaean text group; G. STEMBERGER, Pharisäer, Sadduzäer, Essener, Stuttgart, Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1991; cf. Jewish Contemporaries of Jesus: Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 1995; E.P. SANDERS, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE – 66 CE, Philadelphia, PA, Trinity Press International, 1992, p. 317: “we know of three named parties: Sadducees, Pharisees and Essenes. […] We shall now examine first the history and then the characteristics of each party in some detail” (i.e., 317-490); L.L. GRABBE, An Introduction to Second-Temple Judaism, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 2010, pp. 51-63 (NB: “the four main ‘philosophies’ described by Josephus”, p. 59 [my emphasis]); J. KLAWANS, Josephus and the Theologies of Ancient Judaism, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, basically redoing Maier. R. BERGMEIER, Die Essener-Berichte des Flavius Josephus: Quellenstudien zu den Essenertexten im Werk des judischen Historiographen, Kampen, Kok Pharos, 1993, p. 56, proposes that the n form of the Essenes’ name in Josephus (as distinct from Essaios) betrays Josephus’ alleged three-school source, but that does not work. Rather, Josephus uses the ai-form for the singular, n-form for plural. A rare exception is Schürer, who treats Pharisees and Sadducees together (SCHÜRER, History

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identification of the Qumran Scrolls as Essene, which was effected partly by process of elimination from the three (if not Sadducee or Pharisee, then Essene), and partly by partial correspondences between 1QS 6–7 and War 2. Scholars have long doubted that other Greek categories Josephus uses when discussing the three groups (e.g., “fate”, “philosophies”) reflect Judaean reality, assuming that he has Hellenised his material60, but few doubt that there were in fact three such groups and that this reality would have been clear to any observer. Surprisingly, given the ubiquity of this belief, it is easily disprovable61. Even the extant NT writers differ with each other and with Josephus in how they label and order Judaea’s groups. Mark and John feature Pharisees alone, seeing them as broadly representative of Judaeans outside Jerusalem, sometimes acting in cahoots with chief priests in the holy city and together constituting Jesus’ cosmic enemies who are out to destroy him (Mk 3,6; 7,3-5; Jn 1,24; 3,1; 7,32.45-48; 11,47.57). Both ignore the Sadducees and Essenes – John completely, Mark allowing Sadducees a single pericope to wave their “no-resurrection” banner (12,18). Mark pairs Pharisees with the elusive “Herodians” (3,6; 8,15; 12,13; cf. Mt 22,16), less often with “scribes” (7,1.5) or students of John the Baptist (2,18), as comparable groups62. Apparently having no better idea who the Herodians were than we do, Matthew gives much more stage time to Sadducees, who appear in his narrative alongside Pharisees in both Galilee and Jerusalem, sometimes joining them in chorus (3,7; 16,1.6.11-12; 23,34). In Matthew, as in Mark and John, Pharisees remain close to chief priests (Mt 27,62), with the consequence that the former group’s lethal conflict [n. 35], vol. 2, p. 388) but removes Essenes to a completely different part of the volume as “a phenomenon of an entirely different kind” (ibid., p. 558). 60. G.F. MOORE, Fate and Free Will in the Jewish Philosophies according to Josephus, in Harvard Theological Review 22 (1929) 371-389; D.R. SCHWARTZ, Josephus and Nicolaus on the Pharisees, in Journal for the Study of Judaism 14 (1983) 157-171; systematic discussion, arguing that Josephus crafted these accounts, in S. MASON, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees: A Composition-Critical Study (Studia Post-Biblica, 39), Leiden, Brill, 1991. 61. See already M. SMITH, Palestinian Judaism in the First Century, in M. DAVIS (ed.), Israel: Its Role in Civilization, New York, Harper & Brothers, 1956, 67-81. 62. J.E. TAYLOR devotes a chapter of The Essenes, the Scrolls, and the Dead Sea, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 109-130, to arguing that the Herodians of Mark were Essenes. But her argument, which begins with the oddity of the NT’s failure to mention Essenes, rests on the assumption (along with a complex series of interpretations and connections) that the three-school model was a reality (p. 109: “Why would the Gospel-writers have avoided mentioning the Essenes if they were powerful players […]? If the Pharisees and Sadducees were concerned about Jesus’ interpretations of the law and actions, surely the Essenes – if they played a public role – would also have been concerned?”).

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with Jesus can issue in his trial and execution in Jerusalem, in a seamless thread. Luke, taking full advantage of the space afforded by two volumes and able to avoid the compression of post-resurrection developments into Jesus’ lifetime (Lk 1,1-4), offers a strikingly different picture. In his first volume, Pharisees figure prominently alongside scribes and law-teachers, but they do not plot Jesus’ death. On the contrary, they address him respectfully and repeatedly invite him to dinner, even though he uses these occasions to scold them (Lk 7,36; 11,37; 14,1). After warning him to flee Galilee to avoid Antipas’ death warrant (13,31), they accompany him as far as his entry to Jerusalem, still addressing him as teacher (19,39). Then they promptly fade from the scene, as the cold-hearted Sadducees and temple authorities apprehend Jesus. Pharisees reappear in Acts as defenders of the new Christ movement. A prominent Pharisee courageously subverts the move by the high priest and Sadducees to execute Jesus’ apostles (Acts 5,34), and Pharisees supply many of the early converts to Christ, including Saul / Paul, their acceptance of resurrection helping to smooth the way (Acts 15,5; 23,4-9). Luke’s Pharisees are not in league with the chief priests and temple authorities, who present an altogether different character and order of power. In between these appearances of Pharisees alongside Jesus and his followers in Acts, the Sadducees appear in sharp relief. In Acts, Peter and John speak freely to the common people, but are arrested by the “(chief) priests, the temple commandant, and the Sadducees” (4,1). The assembly of rulers, elders, and scribes that interrogates the apostles is led by the high priest and three members of his family (4,5). These are the very people, the audience now realises, who crucified Jesus (ὃν ὑμεῖς ἐσταυρώσατε, 4,10). After releasing Peter and John under caution (5,17), “the high priest and all those who were with him, being the hairesis of the Sadducees” (ὁ ἀρχιερεὺς καὶ πάντες οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ, ἡ οὖσα αἵρεσις τῶν Σαδδουκαίων), arrest them again, and still again after a divine messenger frees them, by the temple commandant (one of the chief priests) and his agents (5,26). Finally, the apostles face a trial by this high-priest led court, where the Pharisee Gamaliel intercedes, reducing their punishment to flogging (5,40). This fundamental difference in the character of the two groups persists until the end of Acts. Whereas Pharisees join the Christian movement, Sadducees appear only in the trial conducted by the high priest, who orders Paul struck in the face for insolence. Paul resourcefully turns the deep Pharisee-Sadducee split into a diversion, mischievously claiming that this trial is only about resurrection, which as a Pharisee he accepts (23,1-10).

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Such differences as we find among the gospels and Acts are to be expected in largely independent texts. What they tend agree on, the prominence of Pharisees and Sadducees, is confirmed by rabbinic literature, which several times places perushim and tsadukim in opposition63. None of these independent authors puts Essenes in the same field as Pharisees and Sadducees. Reciprocally, aside from Josephus the texts that feature Essenes (viz., Philo, Pliny, and Porphyry, De Abstinentia) mention them without reference to Pharisees or Sadducees. Essenes appear as a unique kind of group, without peer. Josephus himself, tellingly, takes that approach in most cases, describing Essenes’ actions without reference to Pharisees or Sadducees (War 1.78; 2.113, 119-161 [3.11]; 5.145; Ant. 13.311; 15.371-378; 17.346). He most often portrays Pharisees either alone or in opposition to Sadducees, with no need to mention Essenes (War 2.162-166; Ant. 13.288, 292-293, 297-298; 18.17). Philo compares Palestine-Syria’s Essenes with Alexandria’s Therapeutae (Contempl. 1). The simplest historical explanation of these disparate pictures is that Pharisees and Sadducees were a visible and readily contrastable pair, even if they too differed somewhat in their group type, reasons for being, areas of operation, and constituencies. When prominent Pharisees came into contact with Sadducees, in Jerusalem’s council, their legal perspectives collided. The main question on which they disagreed, whether one should give explicit authority to interpretative precedent, reappears in other cultures in many guises: Karaites vs. rabbis; Hanafi fiqh vs. other schools of Sunni-Islamic jurisprudence; Catholics vs. Protestants; Conservatives vs. Progressives; originalism vs. binding precedent (stare decisis), or strict constructionism vs. judicial activism in the U.S. It makes sense for Josephus to contrast Sadducees and Pharisees along these lines, and the gospels and Acts offer support. Essenes were evidently a different kind of group, which most observers would not have compared with these two. Only Josephus – and he only at an abstract level in certain contexts – groups them with Pharisees and Sadducees to create a Jungian triad, albeit shifting their views of fate and free will as needed (War 2.162-166 in contrast to Ant. 13.171-173). He even uses that scheme as a springboard to posit a still more artificial “fourth philosophy” in Antiquities 18. An admittedly poor analogue: consider how difficult it would be to describe British, American, Dutch, or Israeli society today in terms of its 63. E. RIVKIN, Defining the Pharisees: The Tannaitic Sources, in Hebrew Union College Annual 40 (1969) 205-249.

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leading groups. Even if we restricted our gaze to Britain’s Parliament, it is often said to reflect a “two-party system”. That is not incorrect, given the basic government-vs.-opposition configuration and the present dominance of Conservatives and Labour. But the House of Commons hosts about eight significant parties plus independent members. Depending on one’s perspective, one might describe it as a two-party, three-party64, or four-to-eight party system. The reality is not self-evident. If you favour Scottish independence, you might see the small but vocal Scottish National Party as a major player, and the Northern Irish DUP recently held the whip hand in coalition with Conservatives. And that is making things easy by looking at the House of Commons, where we are talking about certified and theoretically comparable political parties. If we look at the country more broadly, one might favour other groupings: the House of Commons, the House of Lords, and the monarch; conservatives vs. progressives; capitalists vs. organised labour or trade unions; or secular society over against the Church of England, the established religion with 26 bishops in the House of Lords plus a representative in the Commons. None of these (or countless other schemes) would be wrong, but equally none would reflect an objective reality visible to everyone. Only an omniscient mind could take in all the possible configurations. Human authors must make literary choices. Josephus does this when he occasionally but thematically returns to a scheme of three philosophical schools in Judaea. In crafting this picture he needed to make at least three decisions together: (a) how to describe the internal landscape of the alien culture for his Roman readers, at the top level and on other planes (e.g., finding effective labels for militant and prophet-ish groups or individuals from the late 50s onward); (b) which Greek term(s) to use for that highest-level category; and (c) how many groups to include. There were no obvious facts for him simply to reflect; he had to decide. His early choices, in War 2.119-166, suggest that he was feeling his way with conspicuously generic categories: τάγμα (any demarcated body and the standard Greek term for a Roman legion, which suits his disciplined Essenes (2.122, 125, 143, 160, 164)65, and γένος or class (2.113, 160; cf. 1.78 of Essenes), a term he otherwise uses mostly for one’s ancestry or ethnic origin (even at War 2.119). 64. Whether the Liberal Democrats were on the same level as Conservatives and Labour, as a national party much smaller than the other two, became a practical question in the 2019 election campaign. Should TV debates have two lecterns or three? 65. At War 1.110, he has first introduced the Pharisees (alone) as a σύνταγμα, a word with a negative slant when used of people, in his lexicon.

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His more durable and famous category for the three groups, however, is αἵρεσις (War 2.118, 122, 137, 142, 162; cf. Ant. 13.171, 288, 293; 20.199; Life 10, 12, 191, 197). This seems an excellent choice because it could refer to any sort of group commitment or faction – political, philosophical, or other. Right from his first use, however, he shades its meaning toward philosophical affiliation, when he contrasts Judas the Galilean as a σοφιστής leading an aberrant αἵρεσις (War 2.118) with the three groups that engage in real philosophy (Τρία γὰρ παρὰ Ἰουδαίοις εἴδη φιλοσοφεῖται, 2.119) – not in Judas’ kind of sophistry (cf. War 1.2). His final description of the “schools” cements this connotation by explicitly labelling the groups philosophies (φιλοσοφίαι, Ant. 18.9-11, 23). Along the way, he has contrasted them on a perennial philosophical question – Essenes ascribe everything to fate, Sadducees do away with it, Pharisees hold a middle position (Ant. 13.171-173) – and compared Essenes with Pythagoreans (Ant. 15.371). He will later compare Pharisees with Stoics (Life 12). So, Josephus’ final labelling of the three as philosophies, and ad hoc conjuring of a “fourth philosophy”, are no surprise. This formulation lays the groundwork for him to present his advanced education as a tour through the nation’s philosophical schools (Life 10–12), in a striking use of the trope of a youthful quest for truth66. Philo, although he discusses Essenes often and adoringly, never thinks to call them a αἵρεσις, though he uses that label for other philosophical schools (Plant. 151; Contempl. 29)67. This may be because he did not face Josephus’ challenge of trying to explain Judaean culture to foreigners in a comprehensive way, and never had to search for a category that would include Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes (αἱρέσεις). This was Josephus’ unique challenge. Again, Paul and the authors of Mark, Matthew, and John refer to Pharisees and/or Sadducees, but never have reason to call them αἱρέσεις. It is not what these groups objectively were, which everyone could see, but a literary choice that really only makes sense in Josephus’ distinctive corpus. If we did not have Acts, we 66. Cicero, Fam. 13.1, 2; Fin. 1.16; Brut. 89.306–91.316; Ps.-Plutarch, Lib. ed. 10.8A-B; Lucian, Men. 45; Justin, Dial. 2; Galen, De Anim. pecc. dign. cur. 5.102 (and Lucian’s satire, Philosophies for Sale). 67. Since he labels the Therapeutae both a γένος (Contempl. 21) and a αἵρεσις (29), and given that this essay picks up from a lost discussion of Essenes (1), we cannot rule out the possibility that Philo also called the Essenes a αἵρεσις. But we have several of his elaborate descriptions of them that do not use this language. Their dispersion throughout Palestine-Syria’s villages in active life (Prob. 75–91) might not have suggested the category (contrast the Therapeutae). In any case, he does not mention Pharisees and Sadducees or suggest Josephus’ triad.

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should assume that this was his unique lexical choice, arising from his three-school construction. Others would and did describe the Judaean scene differently68. Why three schools? There might be a Jungian explanation of Josephus’ taste for triadic structures, the rhetorical “rule of three”69. In philosophical questions, moreover, it is worth noting that Cicero (De Fat. 39) and Tacitus (Ann. 6.22) portray Graeco-Roman views of fate much as Josephus describes the Judaean spectrum (Ant. 13.171-173), with a trio of options: for it, against it, or favouring a middle way. As far as we know – and we have significant relevant evidence – Josephus’ three-hairesis model of “philosophy” among Judaeans is original. It helps him to communicate with audiences who would easily understand the notion of three or four prominent schools differing on basic questions: Platonists or Pythagoreans vs. Epicureans with Stoics perhaps in the middle, or variations on this. As for Pharisees and Sadducees, Josephus presents a consistent picture, which is matched in the NT narratives only by Luke-Acts. Namely, the Pharisees and their legal system, which gives explicit authority to the school’s post-biblical tradition of interpretation and in the process lightens the potential severity of the law, have long enjoyed pre-eminence, their principles usually governing the implementation of law no matter who holds power (War 1.110-112; 2.162; Ant. 13.288, 298; 18.15-17). This changed for a brief time, to be sure, in the disastrous period from the end of John Hyrcanus’ reign to the death of his son Alexander Jannaeus in 76 BC (Ant. 13.188-196). But Alexander’s reign was marked by massive civil unrest, necessitating brutal measures to control his people. So he advised his wife, as he was dying, to make a show of restoring the Pharisees’ legal system. Only then could she recover popular support (Ant. 13.400-404). So she does, though in Josephus’ anti-Pharisaic and anti-populist view this move sealed the doom of the glorious Hasmonean dynasty (13.430-432). This origin story explains how Judaean society reached its present condition, when Pharisees enjoy overwhelming popular support. Judaean law is now applied according to Pharisaic principle, and prominent Pharisees appear alongside chief priests in Jerusalem’s highest councils (War 2.411; Life 21, 189–191, 197). Even Sadducees must, whenever 68. See SMITH, Palestinian Judaism (n. 61). 69. Two examples of many: the recurring triad of war, civil strife, and famine, or war, famine, and plague (1.27; 4.137, 361; 5.522; 6.13, 205, 216; related: 6.40, 367-369, 399, 405, 421, 430), and his tendency to group especially psychological motives as “some felt X, some Y, others Z” (e.g., War 2.4; 3.436; 4.391; 5.539; 6.170, 214, 392, 397-398; 7.373).

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they come into public office, defer to “what the Pharisee says”, for otherwise the populace would not tolerate them (Ant. 18.15-17). This does not mean that Josephus agrees completely with the Sadducees, though their base is among his wealthy aristocratic group. Although he does not like the Pharisees’ ability to manipulate the masses against leaders (Ant. 13.288; 17.41), he believes in the afterlife, providence, and judgement, which Sadducees reject with all post-biblical tradition. Lacking the amelioration of post-biblical precedent, Sadducean jurisprudence appears to him “savage” (Ant. 13.294-296; 20.199). He seems to have no school allegiance, but prides himself everywhere on being a priest, with the training and authority to interpret the sacred texts, who most admires the Essenes. So much for Josephus. How, then, should we explain Luke’s labelling of Pharisees and Sadducees as αἱρέσεις? When he alone among NT authors not only uses this language, but also portrays Pharisees and Sadducees as fundamentally different kinds of groups, with different social constituencies and regional activities, tending to oppose each other whenever they come into contact, but nevertheless with prominent Pharisees in Jerusalem’s council, where the high priest is in charge and the chief priests usually carry the day (Gamaliel is a wise and brave exception); when he portrays the Sadducees as a small group of the most powerful, a temple-based cadre led by the high priest, which tends toward harsh discipline, against Pharisees who are popular with the masses and therefore close to Jesus and tolerant of his followers, it is hard not to see the influence of the distinctive outlook of Josephus here. This brings us back to Luke’s investment in ἀκρίβεια language. Although they are a standard feature of ancient historical prologues, ἀκρίβεια cognates have a rare thematic coherence in Josephus – as in Dionysius and Philo70. The word group appears 6 times in War’s prologue alone, once in the work’s brief conclusion (War 7.454), twice in the prologue to Antiquities (at Ant. 1.14, 17), and 4 times in Antiquities’ more elaborate conclusion (Ant. 20.258, referring to War’s accuracy, 260, 262 on the accuracy of Antiquities, 263 on his lack of precision in Greek speech). One reason Josephus uses these words more often than other historians is that he speaks of precision not only in historiography but also in following the ancestral laws. 70. E.g., ἀκρίβεια: Thucydides 4, extant Polybius 12, Diodorus 9, Dionysius 34, Philo 23, Josephus 34; ἀκριβής: Thucydides 12, Xenophon 4, Polybius 10, Diodorus 39, Dionysius 71, Philo 78, Josephus 59; ἀκριβόω, Xenophon 8, Polybius 1, Dionysius 10, Philo 65, Josephus 6.

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This is the main point for us: Josephus is the only known author to make a sub-theme of the Pharisees’ reputation – from which he demurs – as the αἵρεσις known for ἀκρίβεια in relation to the ancestral laws. In War 1.110; 2.162; Ant. 13.298; 17.41; and Life 191 he formulaically repeats that the Pharisees are the αἵρεσις who are reputed (δοκέω) to interpret τοὺς νόμους, τὰ νόμιμα, τοῦ πατρίου καὶ νόμων, or τὰ πάτρια νόμιμα – largely interchangeable for him – more precisely than others. The debunking of the Pharisees’ reputation for scrupulosity that usually follows such statements matches his disparagement of Thucydides and Ephorus who, although reputed to be the most precise of historians, are accused of falsehood (Apion 1.8, ὡς ψευδόμενος ὑπό τινων κατηγορεῖται καίτοι δοκῶν ἀκριβεστάτην τὴν καϑ᾿ αὑτὸν ἱστορίαν συγγράφειν; 1.67, οἱ δοκοῦντες ἀκριβέστατοι συγγραφεῖς, ὧν ἐστιν Ἔφορος […] οἴεται […]). Josephus use of the δοκέω + ἀκριβής pair, though not unknown in earlier authors, is characteristic of his writing and particularly consistent in combination with ancestral laws and Pharisees71. When the author of Luke-Acts not only distinguishes Pharisees and Sadducees in the ways that Josephus does and labels them αἱρέσεις (above), but also describes Pharisees as the “most exact school”, this sounds like Josephus. Indeed, I am not quite sure that Luke’s τὴν ἀκριβεστάτην αἵρεσιν τῆς ἡμετέρας ϑρησκείας makes complete sense. What does an accurate group look like? As constructed, the phrase looks like elliptical shorthand for something like “the school that is (regarded as) most accurate in interpreting the law”, which is what Josephus says repeatedly and what Luke’s Paul elaborates, more or less, at Acts 23,3: he is a former student of the Pharisee Gamaliel, hence πεπαιδευμένος κατὰ ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ πατρῴου νόμου. And so to ϑρησκεία. This word appears only here in Luke-Acts, in Paul’s comment to Agrippa II that, as the king will know from his familiarity with Judaean matters, Paul belonged to the ἀκριβεστάτη school “of our worship” (τῆς ἡμετέρας ϑρησκείας). Because of its distinctive presence and significance in Josephus, this word has recently been probed by scholars72. Whereas it is attested only 23 times in all Greek literature 71. Cf. Ant. 20.43 on Eleazar, the advisor of Izates (who advocated circumcision): περὶ τὰ πάτρια δοκῶν ἀκριβὴς εἶναι; Ant. 2.132 (re: the search that revealed the cup in Benjamin’s sack): ἀλλ᾿ ἀκριβῆ τὴν ζήτησιν βουλόμενοι ποιεῖσϑαι δοκεῖν. 72. D.R. SCHWARTZ, Doing Like Jews or Becoming a Jew? Josephus on Women Converts to Judaism, in J. FREY – D.R. SCHWARTZ – S. GRIPENTROP (eds.), Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, 71), Leiden, Brill, 2007, 93-109, pp. 97-98, and with contrasting emphasis concerning the overlap between θρησκεία and religion, ID., Judeans and Jews: Four Faces of Dichotomy in Ancient Jewish History, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 2014, pp. 91-100; C.A. BARTON –

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before him, and not much of that is classical – 4 in 4 Maccabees and Wisdom of Solomon, 5 in Philo, and 3 in the NT outside the Acts passages – Josephus has it 91 times. Similarly, 23 of the first 34 attestations of the verb (ϑρησκεύω) in Greek literature belong to Josephus. He is far and away the most self-conscious user of this word group; it is his characteristic diction. Again, there seems (to me) something slightly off in Acts’ lone use of this term. In its rare appearances elsewhere in the NT (Col 2,18; James 1,26-27), ϑρησκεία refers to a generic piety. This initiates the Christian trajectory toward a category of “religion”, for which ϑρησκεία would become the modern Greek word73. In Josephus, however, the word has the more restricted connotations of “worship” in the sense of ritual, cult, and sacrifice or “devotion”, all activities occurring in the temple precinct74, in keeping with the few non-Judaean uses of the term75. Even though he uses ϑρησκεία often, therefore, Josephus has no reason to make his Judaean philosophical schools part of a national ϑρησκεία. That would not work in his lexicon. Philosophising and cultic activity live on different planes. I render the word “worship” (not “religion”) in Acts’ description of “the most precise [philosophical] school of our worship” to highlight this oddity. Given the unique prominence of ϑρησκεία/ ϑρησκεύω in Josephus and its lone occurrence in Luke-Acts, in connection with the Pharisees as ἀκριβεστάτη αἵρεσις but as a capsule-term for Judaean life, this looks like another case in which Luke’s choice of language is most easily explained – proof is a red herring – by the author’s recollection of Josephus: a mash-up comparable to the Egyptian’s leading sicarii into the wilderness, the census displacement, or the Theudas-Judas reversal. Whatever one makes of ϑρησκεία, when we find Luke matter-of-factly portraying the Pharisees as τὴν ἀκριβεστάτην αἵρεσιν τῆς ἡμετέρας ϑρησκείας, and speaking of Paul’s Pharisaic education as κατὰ ἀκρίβειαν τοῦ πατρῴου νόμου, we cannot conclude that these expressions reflect common knowledge or neutral facts, available to Luke in any D. BOYARIN, Imagine No Religion: How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities, New York, Fordham University Press, 2016, pp. 131-212. 73. Cf. W.C. SMITH, The Meaning and End of Religion: A New Approach to the Religious Traditions of Mankind, New York, Macmillan, 1963, p. 28; B. NONGBRI, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 2013. 74. War 1.148-150; 2.10, 42, 391, 414, 425, 456, 517; 4.218; 7.434 etc.; Ant. 1.222224, 234; 4.74, 306 (the Judaean-Samarian debate about where to worship God, Gerizim or Jerusalem, meant where to perform ritual sacrifice); 5.98-101, 112, 339; 6.19; 7.78 etc.; Apion 1.261; 2.254. 75. Herodotus 2.18, 37; Dionysius, Ant. rom. 2.63.2; Strabo, Geog. 3.23.19.

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number of sources. They belong to a particular, constructed narrative world. Since we know that Josephus created such a world, on a much larger and more integrated canvas than Luke has available – conceiving of the Pharisees as one of three national αἱρέσεις, ascribing to them a reputation for being most ἀκριβής in the ancestral law, and speaking distinctively of the unique Judaean way of worship (ϑρησκεία) – this language in Luke-Acts appears to be vestigial of Josephus, and of his Antiquities in particular. IV. CONCLUSIONS We do not possess video of the author of Luke-Acts reading Josephus’ works. If that is what it would take to make a case for Josephus’ influence on Luke, we can all agree that the case is and will remain unprovable. Nor can we exclude the possibility that some unknown author before Luke wrote just as Josephus did and became Luke’s source. We can, at least, deny that Luke’s descriptions come from the events themselves, because events are not self-disclosing and do not come with a descriptive lexicon. So, either Luke’s literary choices happened to coincide at a few odd points with Josephus’ far more elaborate narrative themes, or Luke borrows from an author just like Josephus, or Luke was influenced by Josephus. Since coincidence is effectively ruled out by the many choices available to an author and by the fact that Josephus’ language makes good sense in his narratives, not so much in Luke-Acts, and since we should not multiply entities without compelling reason (and there is no reason here), it is most likely that Luke was influenced by Josephus. Our problem has been to explain how two authors came to agree on so much: making the Quirinius-census-rebellion-Judas complex as a watershed; selecting Judas, Theudas, the Egyptian, and sicarii going into the desert as examples of generic trouble-makers; describing Pharisees and Sadducees as αἱρέσεις, with Pharisees the (reputedly) ἀκριβεστάτη in interpreting the ancestral law, or of the national ϑρησκεία; and in distinguishing Pharisees as a popular school – hence close to Jesus and his early followers – from a powerful and harsh Sadducean clique based in Jerusalem’s temple. The problem has two sides: the selection of names, events, and conditions, and Josephus’ distinctive lexicon and narrative colouring. I have argued that each of these elements only makes full sense as an embedded feature of Josephus’ narratives, because it reflects both his

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choice (from a range that this Jerusalemite knew) and his thematicrhetorical preferences. In Josephus’ works, these items take their meaning from a rich supportive context. This does not mean that Josephus always knew what he was talking about, or that he correctly dated or faithfully characterised events. He made plenty of his own mash-ups, drawing from his expert knowledge and not caring much about details that his audiences were unable to check. His main interest was in creating a communicative atmosphere, and he chose material that could best carry his values and formulaic language. The author of Luke-Acts had a similar need for his project and audiences, but his knowledge base was at several removes from Roman Judaea. For Judaean affairs, understandably, he borrowed from the leading authority. That Luke made a bit of a hash of what he took from Josephus is no surprise. It would only be a problem if we expected something different – of him or of Josephus. They knew what they were about, however, and did what they needed to do. Doubt is the engine of historical inquiry, and I understand that some colleagues will not find this case convincing. Historians are not free to say, however, that because we cannot be certain we are at a complete loss. Taking that approach would mean the end of historical research. The case for Josephus’ influence on Luke is, at least, far stronger than that for Luke’s use of undefined “other sources”. A historian wishing to advance that would need to explain how that would explain the evidence, and what such sources must have looked like, as I have tried to do. What would a lost-source hypothesis explain better than the alternative that Josephus influenced Luke? I close by suggesting some implications of the present study, if its main lines are valid. The most obvious concern the date and reliability of Luke-Acts. As for the chronology, since the date of Antiquities is fairly secure (93/94 AD)76, if Luke used it then he must have been writing after the mid-90s. As for reliability, if he used Josephus (or any source), he changed quite a bit – and not because he knew better. I hold no shares in the question of Luke-Acts’ date, and “reliable narrative” is a chimera. Any narrative, no matter how insightful, careful, or judicious, could only ever be one interpretation of a selected sliver of what happened. Ancient historians assumed the values of a pervasive rhetorised mentality, and felt free to write up the past as they saw fit. Reliance on any such construction, ancient or modern, would be a dereliction of critical thinking. Although my ultimate interest is in what happened, my concern here is with better 76. Josephus carefully dates the work’s completion, in two different ways (Ant. 20.267; cf. Life 5).

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understanding the approaches that each of these fascinating authors takes. Only when we understand our evidence can we use it responsibly for historical reconstruction77. The author of Luke-Acts, though he quibbles with other Christian authors in his preamble, was in a basically different situation from them and from Josephus. Supremely confident of the recent revelation of Christ’s resurrection, he held back from pursuing historia. Josephus indulged it in order to beat the Greeks at their own game, while insisting that this Greek pursuit paled in contrast to the revealed truths in Judaean texts (War 1.13-16; Apion 1.6-43). Luke goes farther, omitting not only the label of historia but even his own name, to avoid any sense that he is merely an investigator making a case in the way of Herodotus, Thucydides, or Polybius. He claims that the resurrection of Christ imposed itself on people who had no choice but to obey this divine disclosure (Acts 4,19-20; 5,38-39; 9,1-22; 10,10-14.28; 26,19). He dresses that message in historylike accoutrements, to be sure, quietly borrowing names and events from authorities and citing his superior research effort, implying that he could do this too if he wished. But this was only to highlight and enrich his clear announcement of Christ’s resurrection – anticipating such later historians as Eusebius and Sulpicius Severus. Oude Boteringestraat 38 NL-9712 GK Groningen The Netherlands [email protected]

Steve MASON

77. The brightest beacons in my understanding of historical method are M. BLOCH, The Historian’s Craft, trans. L. BENJAMIN, New York, Knopf, 1953, and R.G. COLLINGWOOD, The Idea of History, ed. J. VAN DER DUSSEN, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1994.

PART THREE

THE MYTH OF SCHLEIERMACHER AND THE LOGIA THE EARLY ORIGINS OF THE Q HYPOTHESIS

Scholars who hold to the Two-Document Hypothesis are well acquainted with the charge that they are the dupes of Schleiermacher’s misguided interpretation of Papias’s comment about the Matthean Logia, the victims of a collective delusion. The origins of this charge merit further research, but in English-language scholarship its present dissemination owes quite a bit to William Farmer’s 1963 The Synoptic Problem. Farmer claimed that the 2DH is based on “ideological presuppositions” that originated in the “creative imagination” (i.e. not grounded in the “realities of the Synoptic Problem”) of Lessing and Schleiermacher respectively1. While it was Lessing who contributed the notion of a written Urgospel as the source of all three Synoptics, it was Schleiermacher’s novel 1832 interpretation of Papias’s Logia as a sayings source that opened the way for Markan priority, by designating a distinct source for the double tradition. The “final ideological step” was then taken by C.H. Weisse in his 1838 exposition of the 2DH2. To hear Farmer tell the story, the period intervening between Lessing and Weisse and their creative, ideological imaginings, and persisting until even well after until Holtzmann, was one of mostly uncontroverted scientific consensus around the Griesbach Hypothesis3. Farmer’s is a tendentious history of scholarship that at points approaches fiction. Schleiermacher’s interpretation of the Papias fragment is certainly a highly important marker in the history of the 2DH. But the rudiments 1. W.R. FARMER, The Synoptic Problem: A Critical Analysis, New York, MacMillan, 1963, p. 25. See G.E. LESSING, New Hypothesis concerning the Evangelists Regarded as Merely Human Historians, in Lessing’s Theological Writings, trans. H. CHADWICK, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 1957 [1784]), 65-81, and F.D.E. SCHLEIERMACHER, Über die Zeugnisse des Papias von unsern beiden ersten Evangelien, in Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher: Exegetische Schriften, ed. H. PATSCH – D. SCHMID, Berlin – New York, De Gruyter, 2001, 229-254. First published in Theologische Studien und Kritiken 4 (1832) 735-768. 2. With the disparaging term “ideological” Farmer appears to mean that Lessing’s Urgospel hypothesis with its offspring Markan priority and C.H. Weisse’s 2DH was invented to meet the urgent need of liberal theologians for an authentic Ursource that could provide a solid historical foundation for Christian belief in the face of Reimarus’s skeptical attack on the gospels (see pp. 17-19). The Griesbach Hypothesis, in contrast, is “scientific”, which for Farmer means based on the tangible Synoptic texts. But it is less useful to the source project of the liberal theologians. Frankly, this charge is pretty much the substance of Farmer’s attack on the Urgospel hypothesis, Markan priority, and the 2DH. 3. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), p. 8.

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of the 2DH, and of what would become the Q hypothesis in particular, are widely attested prior to Schleiermacher, indeed evident as early as Herder.

I. HERDER The history of Synoptic scholarship from Lessing to Schleiermacher (and as it has been since) was a matter of trying to come up with source histories that could satisfactorily explain the curious Synoptic patterns of variation and agreement. Lessing attempted this with a written Urgospel. Though Johann Gottfried Herder is rightly remembered as the originator of the oral Urgospel hypothesis, his source history is in fact rather more complex. A cohering oral Urgospel, he argues, the basis for proclamation of the gospel, formed in the Jerusalem Urgemeinde. Mark and Luke, as “apostolic helpers”, i.e. evangelistic preachers, were competent in the oral Urgospel, and Matthew as an apostle self-evidently so. The three evangelists wrote out their gospels drawing directly from the oral Urgospel in the version in which it was current for them4. Markan priority is a prominent feature of Herder’s account (as Farmer acknowledges). In an acerbic dissent from the Mark-as-epitomator theory Herder argues that of the three Synoptics Mark is the earliest and the most primitive. Its shortness, its unpolished expression, its Aramaic complexion all indicate that it is very close to the form of the primitive (urältesten) Palestinian oral Urgospel, as the latter existed prior to its modifications and secondary expansions in its oral transmission and dissemination. In contrast to the pitiful, woodenly-compiled Mark of the Griesbach Hypothesis the Gospel of Mark is closest to the archetypal apostolic narrative; it renders the latter in its most unsullied form, “without admixture of subsequently motivated additions”. This is to say that a not inconsiderable quantity of the additional materials found in Matthew and Luke is not original to the oral Urgospel, for example the nativities and elements like those found in Matthew 18 that reflect later church formation. In fact, on the assumption that Mark is the best representative of the Urgospel the divergences

4. J.G. HERDER, Regel der Zusammenstimmung unsrer Evangelien, aus ihrer Entstehung und Ordnung, in Sämmtliche Werke: Religion und Theologie, Erster Theil, ed. J.G. MÜLLER, Carlsruhe, Büreau der deutschen Classiker, 1829, pp. 1-68 (26-29) (first published 1797); ID., Von Gottes Sohn, der Welt Heiland: nach Johannes Evangelium. Nebst einer Regel der Zusammenstimmung unsrer Evangelien aus ihrer Entstehung und Ordnung, in Christliche Schriften von J. G. Herder, Dritte Sammlung, Riga, Hartnoch, 1797, pp. 1-273 (5-7).

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of the other Synoptic evangelists are easily explicable5. Mark’s complexion reflects its direct derivation from vivid oral storytelling; this also accounts for its thinness in didactic materials, which are less suitable to oral narrative utterance6. The Urgospel, best conserved in Mark, is the basis, the “unadorned center column”, for agreements in order and wording in the common tradition of the three Synoptics. But though the most pristine representative of the oral Urgospel, Mark’s Gospel was not the first written gospel. In Herder’s view that distinction goes to the Aramaic Gospel of the Hebrews (or Nazarenes), fragmentarily attested in patristic citations but more fully albeit only approximately represented in Greek translation, in our Gospel of Matthew, which is a free translation project, with supplementations and subtractions, undertaken after the appearance of the Gospel of Mark. This Gospel of the Hebrews was composed in the primitive Jerusalem community, perhaps by the scribally-trained Matthew himself – thus Herder seems to interpret Papias’s hint about Matthew’s λόγια. Like the Gospel of Mark, this proto-Matthean Gospel of the Hebrews took the oral Urgospel as its basis, hence the pattern of agreements between Matthew and Mark. This it supplemented with Messianic proofs and a number of traditions directed to the instruction of its Jewish-Christian recipients7. For his part Luke likewise drew directly upon the oral Urgospel in the version that had descended to him, rendering it in polished Hellenistic Greek. The Urgospel thus is the medial term between Mark’s Gospel and Luke’s Gospel8. But Herder entertains the possibility that Luke also used the primitive Gospel of the Hebrews, whose translation into Greek as our Gospel of Matthew had not yet occurred when Luke wrote. This, says Herder, would account for the double tradition, the materials that the Gospel of Luke shares with the Gospel of Matthew. But he thinks it on balance more likely that Luke did not use the Gospel of the Hebrews – this is difficult to square his very different arrangements of the double tradition. Instead, he directly accessed the primitive body of sayings and narratives that the author of the Gospel of the Hebrews had drawn upon. Though Luke incorporates the double tradition into his baseline oral 5. HERDER, Regel (n. 4), pp. 14-15, 18-24, 33-34, 61-63 (quotation p. 19); Von Gottes Sohn (n. 4), pp. 3-5; ID., Vom Erlöser der Menschen: nach unsern drei ersten Evangelien, in Johann Gottfried Herder Theologische Schriften, ed. C. BULTMANN – T. ZIPPERT (Johann Gottfried Herder Werke, 9/1), Frankfurt a.M., Deutsche Klassiker Verlag, 1994, 609-724, pp. 677-678 (first published 1796-97). 6. HERDER, Vom Erlöser (n. 5), p. 688. 7. HERDER, Regel (n. 4), pp. 26-29, 63-66; Vom Erlöser (n. 5), pp. 677-678, 683-684, 694. 8. HERDER, Regel (n. 4), pp. 51-55, 64.

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Urgospel source intelligibly, in comparison to Matthew its dispersed (zerstreut) arrangement in Luke more closely approximates to its primitive mode of circulation9. In addition to the Traditionshypothese (oral Urgospel theory) one finds in Herder incipient forms of both the Two-Source Hypothesis and what today would be called the Farrer Hypothesis. Herder affirms Markan priority in principle, the only material difference being that the triple tradition is mediated to Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels by the oral Urgospel (Matthew’s via the Gospel of the Hebrews). The oral Urgospel, that is to say, is a kind of proto-Mark. The double tradition is distinct from the mostly narrative tradition transmitted in the oral Urgospel. The Gospel of Matthew’s double tradition comes to him via the Gospel of the Hebrews. Luke possibly gets his either from the Gospel of the Hebrews but more likely direct from the double tradition sources of the Gospel of the Hebrews itself. Herder judges the latter possibility – a rudimentary Q hypothesis – as more likely10. As regards the medium of the double tradition itself Herder is less clear, though most likely that he conceives it as circulating not in a written source but orally and unaggregated. On the other hand he suggests that the pre-Markan oral Urgospel is thin in instructional materials because sayings are less apt than narratives for vivid oral utterance. Didactic traditions do not make a natural fit with an oral Erzählung; they more befit “a written work, or […] a sermon”11. In his summary of Herder’s source history Farmer conveniently omits all these elements that bear on the double tradition12.

II. STORR Gottlob Christian Storr (1786) is among the very earliest advocates for Markan priority. He complicates Farmer’s picture of virtually unbroken Griesbach dominance to Weisse and so barely receives a mention. Other than the connection of Mark to Peter, Storr proceeds in the first instance not from the patristic testimony but by reasoning from agreements in order. Mark and Luke agree not only in their common fund of pericopes but also in their order – this must indicate a written source relationship. Mark cannot have excerpted from Luke, for why would he have omitted

9. Ibid., pp. 41, 49-50, 64; Vom Erlöser (n. 5), pp. 692-693. 10. HERDER, Regel (n. 4), p. 50. 11. HERDER, Vom Erlöser (n. 5), p. 688. 12. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), pp. 30-35.

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so much material? Luke therefore used Mark as a source13. What about his non-Markan materials? These are special Palestinian materials, “oral reports” (mündliche Nachrichten) that he received from eyewitnesses in Jerusalem, which included Jesus’ family (hence the Nativity), while resident there during Paul’s imprisonment. Where these reports were doublets of Markan materials Luke made it his policy to substitute the non-Markan doublet. This policy of editorial parsimony, which included his omission of the redundant Mk 6,45–8,26, opened up for Luke the space to insert a large block of these Palestinian traditions in Lk 9,51– 18,1414. Storr thinks that Luke was aware of Aramaic Matthew, which was circulating in Palestine at this time, but did not use it, in part because of his marginal Aramaic abilities, but also because Matthew’s arrangement of materials did not align with Luke’s own narrative and historywriting policies15. Storr infers on the basis of common order that Matthew similarly had Mark before him as a source. Adequate grounds can be found for Matthew’s departures from that order, and it is easier to account for Matthew’s arrangement on his use of Mark than the converse. Though Matthew himself was an apostle it is not surprising that he would take Peter’s testimony, laid down in Mark, as his baseline. This he supplemented with additional sayings (Reden) and episodes from the Palestinian tradition, which he would have known first-hand. Storr bundles Luke’s and Matthew’s double tradition with their respective special materials. These come to them directly from eyewitnesses: Luke’s from his two-year residency in Palestine, Matthew’s from his own knowledge as an eyewitness. This explains why Storr does not enquire further into the sources of the double tradition and the special materials. However, he takes Luke’s Travel Narrative as a block of these materials, and he rejects Luke’s use of Matthew on the grounds of their divergent arrangements. III. MARSH Herbert Marsh starts from the striking patterns of agreement in the triple tradition. Matthew and Luke do not agree in order except where both are in agreement with Mark. Similarly, Matthew and Luke invariably diverge verbally except where both agree with Mark16. As the ground of 13. G.C. STORR, Ueber den Zweck der evangelischen Geschichte und der Briefe Johannis, Tübingen, Herbrandt, 1786, pp. 274-275. 14. Ibid., pp. 271-272, 276-277, 297. 15. Ibid., pp. 361-362. 16. H. MARSH, A Dissertation on the Origin and Composition of Our Three First Canonical Gospels, Cambridge, Burges, 1801, pp. 151, 169.

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these agreements Marsh posits (with a nod to Eichhorn, see below) a written Aramaic Ursource, ‫א‬: a “short narrative was drawn up” comprising the principal episodes in the life of Jesus, beginning with Jesus’ baptism and ending with his passion17. Very early, but after the Ursource ‫ א‬had diverged into three separate lines of transmission, it began to be variously augmented by “new communications from Apostles and other eyewitnesses”. Because the Ursource had already diverged into different lines of transmission its various exemplars came to display different admixtures and combinations of additions, which are manifest for example in the different double agreement configurations. Marsh further differentiates these various supplements to ‫ א‬into shorter, close-agreement circumstantial additions, labeled α, β, γ, and longer episodic sectional additions, labeled Α, Β, Γ, which do not necessarily display close verbal agreement (e.g., Matthew’s and Mark’s parallel versions of the Death of John the Baptist). Mt/Mk agreements of the former kind he labels α augmentations, of the latter kind Α augmentations, likewise, Mk/Lk agreements he labels β and Β. He singles out Mt/Lk agreements, i.e. double tradition, and categorizes them γ and Γ. Accordingly, the Gospel of Matthew is ‫א‬+αγΑΓ; the Gospel of Mark is ‫א‬+αβΑΒ; the Gospel of Luke is ‫א‬ +βγΒΓ. The α/Α augmentations (Mt/Mk agreements) were made to one copy of the Ursource, the β/Β (Mk/Lk agreements) to a different copy. Along branching stemmata of transmission these two versions subsequently came be combined and merged in a third copy – to form the proto-Mark Aramaic exemplar. Likewise along diverging branches of transmission the γ/Γ materials (Mt/Lk agreements) were added independently to the forerunner ‫א‬+αΑ and ‫א‬+βΒ exemplars to form the proto-Matthew and proto-Luke Aramaic exemplars18. These exemplars descend, along these separate lines, to the evangelists, none of whom worked with knowledge of the others. The γ/Γ (double tradition) materials display distinguishing characteristics that catch Marsh’s attention. He notes that a limited subset of these materials, specifically the Sermon and the Healing of the Centurion’s Servant (presumably he would also include the Preaching of John the Baptist), fall in coherent narrative order in both Matthew and Luke. These he designates Γ1, and reasons that they were transmitted to Matthew and Luke as additions to ‫א‬. But “by far the most numerous” of the γ/Γ materials appear in very different places in Matthew and Luke respectively; these Marsh designates Γ2. The best way to explain these distinctive Γ2 17. Ibid., pp. 169, 195-197. 18. Ibid., pp. 176-177, 200.

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materials and their “non-correspondent” patterns of distribution, Marsh thinks, is to suppose that they come from a distinct Aramaic document, ‫ב‬, “a collection of precepts, parables, and discourses”. This was a Γνωμολογία as primordial as the narrative source ‫ א‬and which like the latter “formed by continual accretions of new matter”19. Matthew’s and Luke’s respective versions of this source had diverged in transmission, that is, it came to them in what amounts to ‫ב‬Mt and ‫ב‬Lk20. Since it had no narrative order, and since Matthew and Luke had no knowledge of each other, they distributed ‫ ב‬materials into their narrative ‫ א‬source on different principles. Matthew attached them to the appropriate narrative settings, though also opting to expand the ‫ א‬Sermon with materials drawn from various locations in the ‫ ב‬source. Luke retained them mostly in the original order of the ‫ ב‬source, inserting the bulk between 9,51 and 18,14, supplementing them, as well as ‫ א‬sequences, with materials picked up from his own enquiries (thus Ls materials)21. Matthew and Luke display verbal agreements in these γ/Γ passages because Matthew’s translator consulted Luke’s translation in rendering them22. Marsh’s keen observation of the distinctive patterns of triple tradition and double tradition agreement and economical resolution of these patterns into Ursources ‫( א‬narrative source) and ‫( ב‬gnomologion) make him a pioneer of the Two-Document Hypothesis. Reconstituted on the basis of triple-agreements, the Ursource ‫ א‬amounts to a kind of proto-Mark: a short narrative comprising the principal episodes in the life of Jesus, beginning with Jesus’ baptism and ending with his passion, which then undergoes augmentation along divergent stemmata of transmission. In its thereby differentiated exemplars it forms the baseline for Matthew, Mark, and Luke, with Mark the medial term of the other two. Marsh attributes the Markan transpositions and the Matthean distribution of the sayings source materials to the Apostle Matthew’s own redactional intervention. Marsh’s extended stemmata of transmission from these primitive sources to the three Synoptics are his attempt, like his contemporary Eichhorn’s, to explain the rise of the complex patterns of Synoptic variation in the framework of a strictly source-copying media model. Marsh’s Dissertation was translated into German in 1803, and citations to him, which appear through to 1850 at least, confirm the wide reception of the work in German source criticism. This is uncongenial to Farmer’s

19. 20. 21. 22.

Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid.,

pp. 234-235 (reference to Eichhorn, p. 178). pp. 177-178. pp. 203-206, 235-236. p. 209.

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story of the 2DH originating in the “creative imagination” of Schleiermacher and then Weisse’s clever combination of Lessing’s Urgospel theory with Schleiermacher’s Logia interpretation. How does he deal with Marsh’s 1798 schema of “two primitive sources” – an “Ur-Marcus” (‫)א‬ and a sayings source (‫ ?)ב‬He labels it “purely hypothetical” (his term for non-extant). But he also claims that the schema required Schleiermacher’s interpretation of Papias’s Logia before it “could gain wide acceptance”23. Farmer is actually on to something here, and we will return to the point later. IV. EICHHORN Johann Gottfried Eichhorn proposed his Synoptic source history in 1794 and propounded it, with modifications, through to the last edition of his Einleitung in 1820. We will take these two works as our points of reference. Eichhorn follows Lessing’s lead and posits a written Aramaic Urgospel (Urschrift), though unlike Lessing, and like his contemporary Marsh, he conceives it as a primitive, truncated work progressively augmented along diverging stemmata of transmission. The patterns of common order supply the criterion for demarcating this Urschrift. Where the order of all three Synoptics in their common episodes agrees, one is securely in touch with the Urschrift. And where two of three agree in order against the third, and a reason can be given for the latter’s divergence, one has reconstituted yet more of it. For Eichhorn it is simply taken for granted that this Urschrift, as kind of first draft of the gospel message, would have had a raw, primitive form (ein roher Entwurf), bare-essentials in its content and uneven in its episodic arrangement. Because at times one Synoptic, at times another has what appears to have the most primitive form of their common tradition, none of the three preserves the Urschrift unsullied. Doubly-attested (Mk//Mt and Mk//Lk) pericopes found in the common triple sequence are additions to the Urschrift in the course of its written transmission in branching and intersecting lines of development. Accordingly, the Urschrift has descended to the Evangelists in a branching stemma of three different exemplars: an exemplar “A” used by the Matthean evangelist that contained a number of additions, an exemplar “B” used by Luke, with a set of different additions, and an exemplar “C” used by Mark that had combined the additions found in the A and B exemplars respectively. A distinguishing 23. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), pp. 14-15.

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feature of the Matthean exemplar “A” is that very early in its separate line of transmission it underwent a redaction by the apostle Matthew, who relocated a number of Urschrift episodes to more chronologically accurate locations. All three evangelists independently translated their Aramaic exemplars into Greek. This accounts for their variation in wording24. Incremental scribal modifications of a manuscript work copied and recopied down long chains of transmission is Eichhorn’s model for the rise of Synoptic variation. This entails a lengthy genealogy of intermediating exemplars arranged in a branching stemma, and as such precludes the possibility of even conceiving Markan priority. Within this scribal transmission media framework, moreover, the evangelists do not exercise the level of redactional autonomy that would make Matthew and Luke’s direct utilization of Mark even a theoretical possibility. Nevertheless one finds in Eichhorn intimations of Markan priority. Eichhorn applies the sound criterion that the common order of the triple tradition is the order of the Urschrift: where all three agree, but also where two agree against the third, and reasons can be given for the divergence of the third. By the same token, comparing Mk//Mt parallels, and Mk//Lk parallels, he recognizes that Mark is medial. The Markan evangelist uses a version of the Urschrift (C) that had combined the versions used respectively by Matthew (A) and Luke (B). Eichhorn notes though that of the three Mark adheres to the Urschrift “the most faithfully”25. The standard problem for any Markan priority theory is alternating primitivity. But playing an out-sized role in Eichhorn’s primitivity determinations is his axiom, grounded in his “raw, rough draft” assumption about this earliest attempt at gospel writing, that the “shortest, most incomplete, most deficient” parallel will always stand closest to the original Urschrift26. This means he will think that the abbreviated pericopes in the Gospel of Matthew best preserve Urschrift forms. Within this array of assumptions Markan priority has no chance of emergence. But our particular interest is the origins of the Q hypothesis. Naturally the double tradition attracts Eichhorn’s attention. Reckoning with its puzzling combinations of close verbal agreements and wildly different order gives him no end of trouble. In his 1794 essay Eichhorn divides the double tradition up and treats it in subsets: 24. J.G. EICHHORN, Ueber die drey ersten Evangelien: Einige Beyträge zu ihrer künftigen kritischen Behandlung, in Allgemeine Bibliothek der biblischen Literatur, vol. 5, Leipzig, Weidmann, 1794, 760-996, pp. 797-800, 826, 961-962. 25. Ibid., p. 828. 26. Ibid., p. 789.

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(1) His analysis of the Preaching of John the Baptist and the Beelzebul Accusation gives us some sense of his approach to overlap passages. Matthew and Luke’s close agreements against Mark in the Preaching of John the Baptist require their common dependence upon “some written source or other”. Eichhorn takes three-way agreements in Mk 1,7-8/ Mt 3,11/Lk 3,16 (The Stronger One) to indicate that the primitive Urschrift must have been the foundation for what are additions of double tradition. Luke’s divergences from Matthew, not least his longer form of John’s preaching, make his derivation of them from Matthew or the Matthean exemplar unlikely. Eichhorn’s inference seems to be (he is not always explicit) that this double tradition parallel was present in both their Urschrift exemplars27. In the case of the Beelzebul Accusation Eichhorn surmises from the agreements with Mark that Matthew’s version must come from his Urschrift exemplar, but relocated to Matthew 12 by an early eyewitness redactor, likely the apostle Matthew, out of his concern for chronological accuracy. The Lukan version’s placement of the Accusation (Lk 11,14-23) in a very different narrative sequence than Mark’s version and (presumably) its lack of agreements with Mark indicate that Luke takes his Beelzebul episode not from his Urschrift exemplar but from “another memoir” (eine andre Denkschrift), and that he passes over the version attested by Mark (thus in Luke’s “B” version of the Urschrift) to avoid creating a doublet28. On this account of things, however, the close Mt/Lk agreements against Mark in the parallel are anomalous. Eichhorn must explain these by hypothesizing some early cross-fertilization from the Urschrift stemma into the separate Lukan Denkschrift line29. (2) On the list (perhaps not exhaustive) of another set of double tradition materials demarcated by Eichhorn in 1794 he includes the Temptation, the Healing of the Centurion’s Servant, Jesus’ Discourse on John the Baptist, the pre-mission call stories (Lk 9,57-62//Mt 8,18-22), the Woes, and the Parable of the Entrusted Money. Matthew’s and Luke’s disagreements in these passages, combined with their divergent arrangements, rule out any direct dependence of one on the other. These materials come either from commonly expanded Urschrift exemplars descending to Matthew and Luke respectively, or from other sources, distinct from the Urschrift but just like it rough narrative bioi. Eichhorn judges the

27. Ibid., pp. 809-811. 28. Ibid., p. 860; see also J.G. EICHHORN, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, vol. 1, Leipzig, Weidmann, 21820, pp. 259-260. 29. EICHHORN, Ueber die drey ersten Evangelien (n. 24), pp. 860-865.

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latter scenario the more likely, one presumes because of the difficulty of taking Matthew’s and Luke’s very different contextualizations of these double tradition materials back to a single branching Urschrift stemma30. (3) Eichhorn thinks that that Travel Narrative 9,51–18,14 is a distinct Lukan source, a memoir written down by a companion of Jesus on his final journey to Jerusalem that the evangelist has inserted as a block. This source therefore contained double tradition elements such as the Mission Instruction, the Our Father, Ask, Seek, Knock, the Beelzebul Accusation (thus Luke’s separate source for that episode), Return of the Evil Spirit, Demand for a Sign, Lamp of the Body, the Woes, Do Not Be Anxious, Divisions, and Settling with an Opponent. But if Luke has a unique source for these, how does Eichhorn explain the close-agreement Matthean parallels, many of them in the Sermon on the Mount? He observes that these agreements point to a written source connection of some sort, and so Matthew and Luke must be using a common source ([haben] gemeinschaftlich einerlei Denkschrift gebraucht)31. Is this common Denkschrift Luke’s Travel source? But the latter is a unique Lukan source, and limited to the final journey. Eichhorn’s account is getting incoherent. The double tradition is simply evading his grasp. Thus his 1794 analysis of the double tradition. The 1820 edition of his Einleitung registers Eichhorn’s final effort to cope with its difficulties. He now consolidates quite a bit of the double tradition into a separate version of the Urschrift, a “D” exemplar. In one list he includes the Temptation, Sermon on the Mount/Plain elements, the Healing of the Centurion’s Servant, the Lk 9,57-62 call stories, Jesus’ discourse on John the Baptist, elements of the Beelzebul Accusation, including the Return of the Unclean Spirit and Demand for a Sign, from the Mission Instruction the Woes against the Galilean Cities, the Woes, including the Announcement of Judgment and Lament over Jerusalem, Faithful & Unfaithful Servants, Bold Proclamation (Lk 12,2-8) and the Entrusted Money. The common denominator of these parallels is high agreement, though with enough disagreement to rule out direct utilization of one evangelist (or earlier tradent) by the other. Matthew and Luke must therefore be using a common written source (von einer gemeinschaftlichen schriftlichen Quelle abhängen). Eichhorn rules out that it might be a self-contained double tradition source, a sayings source. He claims not to be able to see how these various double tradition materials might cohere as a work, but his more fundamental reason is his belief that narrative, i.e. an Urgospel, 30. Ibid., pp. 965-967. 31. Ibid., pp. 992-993, also 977-978.

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a Leben Jesu, would have been the archetypal primitive Christian genre. Much more likely therefore these double tradition expansions characterize a “D” version of the Urschrift that has descended separately to the first and third evangelists32. But how can Eichhorn square his “D” exemplar hypothesis with Matthew’s and Luke’s highly divergent arrangements of these materials? He gives it his best shot. The principal causes were very early interventions in the “A” exemplar transmission line by the apostolic redactor Matthew on the one hand, and final interventions by the letzte Ordner of the gospel (presumably the Matthean evangelist) on the other. Eichhorn seems to think of the double tradition coming into the Urschrift in two waves. Some elements came in so early that they were present in the Urschrift exemplar redacted by the apostle Matthew. A number of these he shifted to more chronologically accurate narrative contexts; still others got shifted around in the wake of his Markan transpositions. A second quantity was added (along with a number of M materials) by the letzte Ordner, who was also principally responsible for giving the gospel the schematic topical arrangement that is its emblematic feature. (We see that Eichhorn regards the Lukan arrangement of the double tradition as the more original.) A subsidiary factor was the Lukan evangelist’s preference on occasion for a doublet33. Take away the genealogical manuscript stemmata, and this is effectively a Q hypothesis. The difference is that the Matthean “Ordner” re-orders the double tradition of a Matthew-redacted Urgospel relative to the latter’s triple-tradition narrative spine. To sum up: we have here, in 1794, and again in 1820, a rudimentary version of the 2DH, with several of its pieces in place, including that Luke’s Gospel best preserves the order of the double tradition materials in the common source, and that Matthean redactors have carried out a rearrangement of the double tradition guided by specific editorial principles. Eichhorn is impeded from associating the double tradition to a sayings source because his Urschrift hypothesis (the abbreviated pericope form of which is best preserved in the Gospel of Matthew) requires narrative as the archetypal primitive Christian genre. We saw that rudiments of Markan priority are present as well. One would have no idea of any of this from reading Farmer on Eichhorn. That the Gospel of Mark is a translation of exemplar “C”, i.e. expanded with the additions to the exemplar used by Luke and the additions to the exemplar used by Matthew, is Eichhorn’s attempt “to do justice 32. EICHHORN, Einleitung (n. 28), pp. 365-367. 33. Ibid., pp. 368, 491-497, 544-545.

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to Griesbach’s insight”, so Farmer claims34. This is a stretch in itself, but he also tiptoes around Eichhorn’s sharp rejection of the Griesbach conception of Mark (der fälschlich sogenannte epitomator Matthaei) and his ten page long critique of the hypothesis35. Likewise he passes over Eichhorn’s explicit rejection of the possibility that Luke uses Matthew36. Other than noting that it is “the completely new feature” of Eichhorn’s hypothesis Farmer says little about the “D” exemplar (the early Urschrift exemplar expanded with double tradition materials). V. GRATZ Alois Gratz published Neuer Versuch, die Entstehung der drey ersten Evangelien zu erklären in 1812. He singles out Marsh for particular mention, and his own account bears marks of Marsh’s influence37, ruling out direct Benutzungs-scenarios in favor of a written Urgospel theory. On the basis of the shorter Matthean parallels and certain divergences of Matthew from Mark and Luke he draws a distinction between an Aramaic Urgospel used by the Gospel of Matthew and a Greek version used by Mark and Luke, which was an “expanded translation” of the Aramaic Urgospel38. The double tradition is more complicated. Gratz notes that in many of these materials Luke and Matthew agree more closely than they do in their triple tradition parallels. In Luke, he further observes, these materials appear in the two large blocks 6,17–8,3 and 9,51–18,12; Gratz conjectures that these are two separate sources39. The latter (Luke’s Travel Narrative) bears the genre markers of a gnomologium and forms a striking contrast to Luke’s Gospel up to this point: predominantly sayings sequences lacking in time-and-place indicators, pragmatically directed towards instruction40. The Lk 6,17–8,3 block (Sermon; Centurion’s Servant; Nain miracle; John the Baptist sequence; Sinful Woman), on the other hand, is an ἀπομνημόνευμα, a memoir of a particular epoch in Jesus’ ministry41. The different locations of the Sermon and the John the 34. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), p. 10. 35. EICHHORN, Ueber die drey ersten Evangelien (n. 24), p. 880; Einleitung (n. 28), pp. 395-405. 36. EICHHORN, Einleitung (n. 28), p. 640. 37. A. GRATZ, Neuer Versuch, die Entstehung der drey ersten Evangelien zu erklären, Tübingen, L. F. Fues, 1812, p. v. 38. Ibid., pp. 33, 105-106. 39. Ibid., pp. 141-143. 40. Ibid., p. 61, citing Marsh in support. 41. Ibid., p. 61.

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Baptist sequence in Matthew, as well as the two Luke 7 episodes absent from Matthew, indicate that the first evangelist has not seen this source. Did he have at his disposal the gnomologium that Luke has inserted in 9,51–18,12? This is a more difficult question. The sheer number of the sayings-type parallels is high, and not infrequently also their level of verbal agreement. But these materials are found dispersed in Matthew, and other indications that Matthew knew this source, which is preserved intact in Luke and covers a particular historical phase of Jesus’ ministry, are lacking42. Gratz therefore surmises that Matthew made use of “a gnomologium related to Luke’s”43. For double tradition materials not found in the ἀπομνημόνευμα and the gnomologium, many of them close-agreement, Gratz proposes secondary interpolation from Matthew to Luke, and vice versa44. There is not much in Gratz that goes beyond Marsh. Notable, however, is his observation of the distinctive genre profile of the double tradition; this is a key element in his reasoning to a Spruchsammlung source45. To explain Matthean/Lukan divergences in the arrangement of the double tradition he conjectures two versions of the gnomologium source – a forerunner to QLk QMt theories of the future. Farmer says nothing of Gratz, though to be sure, he is a minor figure. VI. SARTORIUS Ernst Sartorius is another minor figure of the time who nevertheless merits a mention. He holds that the Synoptic authors did not utilize one another but a number of separate collections of traditions (he is perhaps influenced by Schleiermacher’s theory, published 1817). He identifies the block of material Lk 9,51–18,15 as one of these, “a distinct collection (Sammlung) of the sayings of Jesus”46. This collection was constituted out of numerous (vielerley) smaller collections, which explains why the parallels in the Gospel of Matthew are found dispersed. Matthew did not have access to the aggregated collection used by Luke, but to the smaller sayings collections, which he has placed in fitting narrative locations47. 42. Ibid., p. 143. 43. Ibid., p. 163. 44. Ibid., pp. 143-150 (quotation from p. 147). 45. Gratz uses the Spruchsammlung term on p. 150. 46. E. SARTORIUS, Ueber die Entstehung der drey ersten Evangelien, in Drey Abhandlungen über wichtige Gegenstände der exegetischen und systematischen Theologie, Göttingen, Dieterische Buchhandlung, 1820, 9-126, p. 64. 47. Ibid., pp. 97-98.

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VII. GIESELER Johann Carl Ludwig Gieseler is notable chiefly for his attempt to flesh out Herder’s oral Urgospel theory, which became known as the Traditionshypothese. He rejects written utilization scenarios out of hand and offers little analysis of actual Synoptic parallels. One might think he has nothing to contribute to our retracing of the early history of the Q hypothesis, and that is not far from the mark. But his imputation of properties of the written medium to his oral Urgospel (to give it the textual stability requisite to account for Synoptic verbal agreements) means, however, that he does work out a utilization schema of sorts. Synoptic verbal agreement is in Greek. To explain this Gieseler posits two oral Greek versions of the Aramaic Urgospel, both originating in the Jerusalem church. The first, for the benefit of the Hellenist believers, was taken along on the Antioch mission, where it was rendered into more fluent Greek and received a Gentile-friendly profile with elimination of the Urgospel’s particularistic Jewish-Christian elements. From there it passed into the Pauline mission to be eventually committed to writing by the evangelist Luke. The second Greek version of the Urgospel is associated with Matthew and Peter and their call to ministry beyond Palestine. They worked up a Greek version of the oral Urgospel that owing to their lack of facility in Greek bore a more pronounced Semitic linguistic complexion, but for that reason more faithfully reflected the Aramaic Urgospel. This, Gieseler says, explains why Matthew and Mark (i.e. Peter) agree more closely with each other in wording than with Luke. The Greek oral gospel that the evangelist Mark uses shares with the Greek oral gospel version used by Matthew the distinction of hewing closest to the original Aramaic Urgospel, Luke’s Gospel being derived from the Antioch revision. The faintest hint of the Q hypothesis lies in Gieseler’s insistence that the primitive community focused on the narratives of Jesus’ life (die Begebenheiten seines Lebens) and his sayings (seine Reden) as being of equal importance48. VIII. DE WETTE Wilhelm Martin Leberecht de Wette held consistently to the Griesbach Hypothesis across the numerous editions of his Lehrbuch from 1826 on 48. J.C.L. GIESELER, Historisch-kritischer Versuch über die Entstehung und die frühesten Schicksale der schriftlichen Evangelien, Leipzig, Engelmann, 1818, pp. 100, 113-116, 123-127.

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into the 1850s. His source theorizing around the problem of the double tradition nevertheless has elements that are relevant to our enquiry. De Wette can be understood as combining a Griesbach account of Mark with a permutation of the oral Urgospel hypothesis (Farmer agrees)49. A primitive oral Vortrag (i.e. because of its orality not capable of coalescing into a stable gospel Gestalt) circulated and was eventually subjected to various spontaneous efforts to bring it into writing (de Wette grounds this in the Lukan Prologue). The effect of these provisional writing projects was not only to fix the materials but also to bring them into a more cohesive, coherent order – a gospel. These written artifacts then had a feedback effect upon the oral Vortrag in its ongoing oral transmission, affecting the latter’s organization and tightening up its cohesion, and upon subsequent gospel writing projects, not only directly but also indirectly, via the mediation of their cohesion-producing effects on the oral Vortrag50. From the Prologue we learn that Luke drew upon these written gospel artifacts and also from the stabilized oral Vortrag itself. The Matthean evangelist likewise drew upon it. This explains Matthew’s and Luke’s relationship and the variation profile of their parallels. Their relationship is mediated by the quasi-stabilized oral Urgospel. They share the same basic narrative sequence, with striking but localized divergences51. The common sequence of Matthew’s and Luke’s narrative episodes is the narrative sequence of the stabilized oral Urgospel. This sequence commences in their John the Baptist materials, and it continues, with localized disruptions, through to the passion narrative and resurrection accounts. The situation is different, however, in their common sayings materials. A large number of these are found concentrated in Luke’s Travel Narrative, often with perfunctory historical settings, but their Matthean parallels appear in other contexts, and in extended topical arrangements. All these materials likewise derive ultimately from the oral Urgospel, but Luke’s disposition of them is mediated by his Gewährsmann, the compositor of the written version of the oral gospel that Luke uses, who had configured them into a different arrangement. Other places where Matthew’s and Luke’s common sayings materials are concentrated include their respective Sermons and Mission Instructions. The divergent dispositions of these materials likewise is due to the alternative arrangement of Luke’s reconfigured Urgospel source. 49. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), p. 9. 50. W.M.L. DE WETTE, Lehrbuch der historisch kritischen Einleitung in die Bibel Alten und Neuen Testaments, Berlin, Reimer, 1826, pp. 145-146. 51. Ibid., p. 146.

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Matthew’s discourse arrangement of the sayings material likely owes something to the Matthean evangelist himself52. The ultimate source for the Mt/Lk common sayings tradition, however, is the oral Vortrag, not a Spruchsammlung53. The oral Vortrag would have been only a loose, unstable collection of individual pericopes. It was an influential first rendering of the Vortrag in writing that brought these units into coherent narrative order, one that concentrated the bulk of its episodes quite artificially into a Galilean ministry. As noted, this order recursively influenced the oral Vortrag in its subsequent transmission, and it was also followed by subsequent writing evangelists. This Urevangelist could not have been Luke: he says as much in his Prologue. That it was the Matthean evangelist – and that Luke then utilized the Gospel of Matthew directly – cannot be satisfactorily demonstrated. But it seems likely that the order of the Gospel of Matthew – or the order of a precursor evangelist taken up by the Gospel of Matthew – reacted back upon the oral Vortrag, and via this oral route fed into the Gospel of Luke, who was also influenced, however, by another written version of the oral Vortrag from his Gewährsmann who had reconfigured their common sayings materials in different arrangements. These routes of influence explain the Mt/Lk patterns of agreement and variation in the order and wording of parallels54. In short, de Wette combines a modified oral Urgospel hypothesis with Matthean priority (Matthew depends on an early written instantiation of the oral Vortrag), and makes Luke dependent on Matthew via the middle term of the oral Vortrag that has been recursively shaped by a the proto-Matthean written version of the Vortrag, and has been reconfigured, particularly in its double tradition, by an intermediating redactor, Luke’s Gewährsmann. To this source-critical array de Wette appends the Griesbach Hypothesis to account for the Gospel of Mark, but the conjunction is arbitrary: de Wette’s Griesbach account of Mark has no organic connection with his account of Matthew and Luke. In fact de Wette’s oral Urgospel – the middle term between Matthew and Luke – turns out to look more like an “Ur-Marcus”, a phantom Mark expanded by double tradition narrative episodes such as the Preaching of John the Baptist. Other than a few localized transpositions in order its narrative sequence tracks the triple tradition order, commencing with John the Baptist, the Baptism, continuing through the Galilean ministry, 52. Ibid., pp. 148-155. 53. Ibid., p. 156. 54. Ibid., pp. 157-158.

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to the passion narrative, and concluding with resurrection accounts. The corollary is that de Wette fails to accommodate the double tradition – in particular its widely divergent arrangements in Matthew and Luke respectively – successfully to his theory of a proto-Matthean Urgospel. He is forced to the expedient that Luke is using an alternative written instantiation of the Urgospel, one with a very different configuration of the double tradition materials, though remarkably this source sticks with the triple tradition order, and though its existence conflicts with de Wette’s claim that it was the Gospel of Matthew that exerted the principal organizing influence on the oral Vortrag. But then, oddly, de Wette also identifies Lk 9,51–18,14 as a Lukan Einschaltung, though saying elsewhere that the presence of Sermon on the Mount parallels in the Travel Narrative is due to Luke’s special gospel source. That is, de Wette is not quite clear about the origins of Luke’s disposition of the double tradition. His explanation for Mark’s omission of the double tradition – that didactic materials could not be so easily grasped in memory – runs counter to his postulate that the oral gospel mediates (via memory) Matthean influence to Luke. And one wonders how the double tradition could then be mediated orally (by memory) at all. If it (supposedly) presents special problems for oral mediation, then the oral Vortrag become oral gospel must have looked more like a proto-Mark than a proto-Matthew. And behind the account he gives of the double tradition one can be forgiven for seeing something that looks more like a phantom Q. How does Farmer present de Wette? He of course claims him as a champion of the Griesbach Hypothesis. He avers further that de Wette’s Urgospel “was nothing like an Ur-Marcus”, because he “reconstructed it from the material common to Matthew and Luke, including […] all the sayings material”55. This is a rather inadequate representation of de Wette’s difficult grappling with the double tradition, to say the least. In fact Farmer has little interest in the details of de Wette’s theory. He is fixated on de Wette’s view that Luke did not know the Gospel of Matthew, which is a departure from Griesbach orthodoxy. De Wette’s theory, he says, is a hybrid of Lessing’s Urgospel theory and the Griesbach Hypothesis. De Wette’s view that Luke does not know Matthew comes from the “ideological” and purely “hypothetical” notion, sprung from Lessing’s fertile imagination, that Matthew and Luke are related to each other only through an Urgospel, a scenario which Farmer shrewdly recognizes contains within it the seeds of Markan priority56. He then claims that 55. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), p. 20. 56. Ibid., pp. 32-33, 39-44.

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Holtzmann got the notion from de Wette and made it a main plank of his influential version of the 2DH57. This is the role de Wette gets to play in Farmer’s drama: he was a medium for the transmission of Lessing’s Urgospel notion, “the proverbial unclean spirit” of nineteenth-century source criticism58. But if Lessing is the source of the deleterious Urgospel idea, with Schleiermacher the hypothesis of a primitive sayings collection “burst upon the scene of Synoptic criticism” in its full force59. IX. SCHLEIERMACHER 1832 Schleiermacher’s proto-Synoptic “collections” theory of 1817 forms the backdrop for his more famous 1832 essay on the Matthean λόγια source mentioned in the Papias fragment60. According to Papias, Ματϑαῖος μὲν οὖν Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ τὰ λόγια συνετάξατο, ἡρμήνευσεν δ’ αὐτὰ ὡς ἦν δυνατὸς ἕκαστος (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.14-17). Schleiermacher identifies the meaning of the Greek term τὰ λόγια as “oracles of God”, that is, Gottessprüche. He argues that Papias is referring not to the Gospel of Matthew but to a collection (Sammlung) comprising individual sayings (Sprüche) and longer instructional sequences, i.e. speeches (Reden), compiled by the Apostle Matthew61. Subsequently an unknown redactor made this Logia source the major structural element of a gospel (the Gospel of Matthew) by affixing minimalist narrative frames to its discourses. The narrative framework formed by Mt 4,23-25 and 7,28–8,1, for example, made a sermon on a mountain out of what had been the first section of this collection. The sayings format of the collection made it an uncomplicated matter for the redactor to break into the sequence of logia at various places with narrative materials, healing stories and the like. The large Matthean discourses roughly preserve this collection’s original sequence and structure. Schleiermacher thinks that because it was a collection of sayings the source would have lacked narrative materials and therefore did not contain the Preaching of John the Baptist or the Temptation in Matthew 3–4, or the Beelzebul Accusation sequence in Matthew 1262.

57. Ibid., pp. 18-22. 58. Ibid., p. 117. 59. Ibid., p. 15. 60. SCHLEIERMACHER, Über die Zeugnisse des Papias (n. 1). See ID., Ueber die Schriften des Lukas: ein kritischer Versuch. Erster Theil, in ID., Exegetische Schriften (n. 1), 1-179 (first published 1817). 61. SCHLEIERMACHER, Über die Zeugnisse des Papias (n. 1), pp. 232-237. 62. Ibid., pp. 238-242.

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On the other hand, the dispersed arrangement and completely different contextualization of the double tradition parallels in Luke show that even if on the chance that Luke knew the Logia source he “manifestly” did not use it, indeed he couldn’t have, for in Luke the parallel materials appear in their actual (wirklich) narrative connections, in contrast to the topical organization of the Matthean Logia and the contrived narrative frames that attach Logia discourses to the narrative ductus of the Gospel of Matthew63. This brings Schleiermacher to Papias’s comments on Mark. Papias’s informant, he argues, could not have been referring to the Gospel of Mark. The “Mark” referred to by the informant is a companion and translator of Peter who transcribed the elements of Peter’s to-the-occasion teaching, in whatever order they came to his recollection. The described activity, Schleiermacher points out, would hardly have produced the Gospel of Mark with its bios narrative sequence; indeed, Papias says explicitly “but not in order”. Rather, his work would have amounted to a provisional, ad hoc collection of narratives mingled with sayings, but predominantly narratives, which are more suited for preaching64. In short, Schleiermacher posits a Logia collection and a proto-Markan narrative collection, though without ruling out – in a nod to his 1817 essay – the existence of other ad hoc collections of the Markan type, attested in some of the Lukan sequences65. Schleiermacher allows for the possibility that the author of the Gospel of Mark uses the proto-Markan narrative collection as his principal source. This means that the Matthean redactor could be drawing his common triple tradition materials directly from the Gospel of Mark. But, Schleiermacher continues, he could just as well be taking them direct from the same proto-Markan collection, especially since there is no certainty that Mark’s Gospel appeared before Matthew’s Gospel. The same applies to the Lukan evangelist. Under any scenario the proto-Markan collection is the Gospel of Mark’s principal source, but on the equal odds it was written after Matthew and Luke the Markan evangelist could have drawn in addition from his predecessors. Either would account for the triple tradition pattern of alternating agreement66. The upshot is that in 1832 Schleiermacher attributes priority to the proto-Markan collection, functionally a proto-Markan Urgospel, while

63. 64. 65. 66.

Ibid., p. 247. Ibid., pp. 249-250. Ibid., pp. 250-254. Ibid., pp. 252-253.

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leaving open the question of triple-tradition utilization relations, in his view undecidable. He also makes a fundamental triple-tradition/double-tradition distinction between a narrative source and sayings source. The Logia collection is now the chief source of Matthew’s double tradition, whereas Luke’s – as in Schleiermacher’s 1817 essay – continues to be various proto-Synoptic collections that like the proto-Markan collection mingle sayings materials with narrative pericopes67. This explains the double tradition’s dispersed arrangement in Luke, which in Schleiermacher’s view also preserves its original historical settings, lost in the apostle Matthew’s artificial organization in the Logia source. The multiple collections of 1817 therefore maintain a residual presence in Schleiermacher’s 1832 source history, serving to account for Luke’s double and special tradition68. But Schleiermacher does not enquire into how Luke’s use of the now proposed proto-Markan collection (or Mark directly) might factor into his use of these other collections, given the actual patterns of variation and agreement in order. That is, he does not adjust his 1817 account of Luke’s sources to his 1832 theory of the Markan collection. The question of Luke’s source for the double tradition therefore remains open. This brings us to the claim, voiced not infrequently by detractors of the 2DH, that the Q hypothesis is predicated on an interpretative error of Schleiermacher: his interpretation of the Matthean λόγια mentioned by Papias as a sayings collection. Since λόγια actually means “oracles”, not “sayings” (λόγοι), so it goes, Schleiermacher committed a fundamental error, for the term could just as well, perhaps even more probably designate a narrative gospel. But we have seen that this view of the origins of the Q hypothesis is mistaken. The rudiments of the 2DH, including distinguishing the triple and double tradition by genre and source, are evident already in Herder. Herder posited a distinct double-tradition source, though chances are he thought of it as oral. The sayings collection theory of the double tradition itself can be traced to Marsh, and it continues to surface in various permutations in German scholarship prior to Schleiermacher. Eichhorn rejected it in favor of a “D” exemplar Urschrift solution, on the grounds that any primitive early Christian genre could only have been narrative. But even his “D” exemplar – a combination of the proto-Markan Urschrift with the double tradition – is a kind of 2DH. There is actually not much in Schleiermacher’s source theory that is without precedent. 67. Ibid., p. 251. 68. Ibid., p. 241.

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Schleiermacher’s innovation amounts to this: he grounded the sayings-collection theory in the testimony of Papias. Both before and after Schleiermacher Papias’s testimony on the origins of the Synoptic Gospels was widely (though not universally) treated in nineteenth-century source criticism as credible, though patient of a wide range of interpretation. Many source critics took their point of departure from it, others read it in light of their results. In the scholars surveyed here we have seen Papias’s influence in the reflexive tendency to associate whatever Ur-text is proposed in some way or other with the apostle Matthew, either as author or redactor. Schleiermacher’s hitchhiking on the Papias testimony therefore would certainly have given a powerful impetus to emergent 2DH scholarship. But it most certainly cannot be taken as the point of departure for the Q hypothesis. Schleiermacher himself was already experimenting with the sayings collection theories in his 1817 essay, identifying collections of sayings or Reden among the various provisional collections used by Luke and Matthew69. His 1832 Logia hypothesis therefore owes more to his provisional-collections source theory than to any interpretation of Papias. Where Papias’s influence is to be found is in Schleiermacher’s attribution of the Logia source to the apostle Matthew. Here indeed lies the crucial point. By identifying Papias’s Logia source as a Matthean sayings collection, and grounding the identification in observable features of the double tradition, Schleiermacher provided an alternative to Matthean Urgospel theories, the impulse to associate a proposed Urgospel in some way or other with the Gospel of Matthew. In so doing he removed a principal obstacle to the recognition of Markan 69. SCHLEIERMACHER, Ueber die Schriften des Lukas (n. 60), pp. 18-19, 57-64, 71, 101102, 136. A summary of his 1817 views: At the earliest stage traditions were collected by genre, e.g., collections of healings, collections of sayings, passion accounts etc., which were later combined into rough composite sayings/narrative collections. The Travel Narrative, for example, is a source that comprises two collections that have been joined together (the seam is 13,21-22). Schleiermacher claims that because it contains narrative elements the thus combined source lacks the genre profile of a gnomologium, pointing to 18,15–19,48. The latter, however, is a triple tradition sequence – Schleiermacher thinks that the second of the two Travel Narrative sources stems from someone who accompanied Jesus all the way to Judea, and so ran to 19,48. Behind the Matthean and Lukan Sermons stand what Schleiermacher prefers to call Reden-collections (rather than gnomologia), though he has Luke’s embedded in an extended collection running from Lk 5,17–7,17, i.e. in a composite of double-tradition and triple-tradition. He observes that the Matthean and Lukan Sermons display an identical baseline sequence which indicates, he says, that both go back to a sermon that Jesus delivered outside of Capernaum. The divergences between them are due to their stemming from two different eyewitnesses. So close are the agreements in the tripartite John the Baptist sequence (Lk 7,18-35//Mt 11,2-18) that it likely stems from a single collection that presumably was available to both Evangelists.

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priority and with the same stroke undermined the whole Urgospel approach, in its various permutations, to solving the Synoptic Problem (a copious Urgospel as the source of all three Synoptics). This in its turn made the long-standing problem of the source of the double tradition even more pressing than it already was. Urgospel theories are chronic headaches for those who postulate them, for it requires them to come up with complex scenarios to derive the Lukan double tradition from an often Matthew-like Urgospel source. The Q hypothesis therefore is a natural corollary of Markan priority. Schleiermacher himself was far from breaking free of the habituated source-critical influence of the Papias testimony. Not only does he associate the Logia source to the apostle Matthew, but he makes it the structuring component of Matthew’s Gospel. It amounts to a kind of ersatz Matthean Urgospel. This means that the idea of an original double-tradition source that might hew closer to the Lukan arrangement could not even occur to him. Neither though does he try to derive Luke’s arrangement from Matthew. He sticks with his 1817 multiple-collections account of Luke’s double- and triple-tradition (more or less). But his theory of the Logia was embraced by Lachmann, Weisse, and eventually by Holtzmann and later critics because it efficiently explained the actual Synoptic data, and because, as Lachmann did, they found it to have powerful explanatory capabilities70. It cleared the way for the rudiments of the 2DH observable in Synoptic source criticism since Herder to be brought together in a simple 2DH. This brings us full circle back to Farmer. He correctly identifies wherein lay Schleiermacher’s “revolutionary contribution”: that Papias’s Matthean λόγια “did not, as others held, constitute a Gospel, but was a collection of Jesus’ sayings”71. He correctly appraises the effects of this interpretation: first, that displacing the conventional Urgospel understanding of Papias’s λόγια created the conditions in which a body of critical opinion could firm up around Markan priority, and second, that a sayings source was a natural corollary of Markan priority72. But we see that Farmer’s claim – with Schleiermacher the hypothesis of a primitive 70. Lachmann uses the Logia hypothesis to give an economical explanation of Matthew’s Markan transpositions (K. LACHMANN, De ordine narrationum in evangeliis Synopticis, in Theologische Studien und Kritiken 8 [1835] 570-590; see N.H. PALMER’s translation in Lachmann’s Argument, in New Testament Studies 13 [1967] 368-378). Lachmann goes out of his way to point out that his analysis does not depend on Schleiermacher’s interpretation of Papias but stands on its own, i.e. grounded in the actual Synoptic patterns (p. 373). 71. FARMER, Synoptic Problem (n. 1), p. 15, see also pp. 43-44. 72. Ibid., p. 44.

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sayings collection “burst upon the scene of Synoptic criticism” – presents matters rather badly73. Whether or not this tendentious view of the origins of the Q hypothesis first originates with Farmer, he gave it a powerful impetus, and it still enjoys currency among critics of the 2DH. Let us hope that a reinvigorated Synoptic Problem debate can proceed from now on without being clouded by this piece of misinformation. James Madison University Cleveland Hall MSC 8006 61 East Grace Street Harrisonburg, VA 22807 USA [email protected]

Alan KIRK

73. Ibid., pp. 15, 43. Farmer attributes the languishing of 2DH scholarship between Weisse in 1838 and Holtzmann in 1863 to the obvious inferiority of this “ideological” theory to the “scientific” Griesbach Hypothesis. In fact the post-Weisse marginalization of the 2DH was due to the hyper-skeptic Bruno Bauer’s embrace of Markan priority, in particular the form given it by C.G. WILKE (1838), and his operationalization of it in his 1841 work, Kritik der evangelischen Geschichte der Synoptiker, Leipzig, Otto Wiegand (see C.G. WILKE, Der Urevangelist, oder exegetisch kritische Untersuchung über das Verwandtschaftsverhältniß der drei ersten Evangelien, Dresden – Leipzig, Gerhard Fleischer, 1838). The 2DH was discredited by association; critics assumed that it led to radically skeptical outcomes. But after F.C. Baur even the Tübingen source critics began to shift back incrementally towards Markan priority. In yet another tendentious misrepresentation Farmer claims that Schleiermacher “regarded the Griesbach hypothesis as the best scientific solution to the Synoptic Problem”, with a citation to F.D.E. SCHLEIERMACHER’s posthumously published Einleitung ins neue Testament, ed. G. WOLDE, Berlin, Reimer, 1845 as his source (Synoptic Problem [n. 1], p. 15). In this volume Schleiermacher certainly weighs the Griesbach Hypothesis carefully but concludes, in view of Mark’s numerous divergences (Menge von einzelnen Differenzen) from Matthew and Luke, “inexplicable” on the Griesbach Hypothesis, that “little is left of whatever excess of probability remains to the hypothesis” (p. 312), and then a couple pages later says that if Mark used his predecessors, “it was hardly in their present form” (p. 314). While rejecting the priority of canonical Mark he leaves the question of the evangelist’s source-utilization open, and in fact regards it as undecidable. This is symptomatic of Farmer’s general tendency to exaggerate the sway of the Griesbach Hypothesis prior to Holtzmann. In these as in other matters he is an unreliable guide to nineteenth-century source criticism.

MATTHEW’S USE OF MARK INSIGHTS INTO ATTITUDES TO TRADITIONS, SOURCES AND THEOLOGY

I. INTRODUCTION “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics”. This witty quip draws attention to the persuasive use, or perhaps better the misuse, of numbers to lend weight to an argument that on other grounds might be considered suspect. The witticism is typically attributed to one of the two colossuses of mid-Victorian British politics, the Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli1. However, despite this attribution popularised by Mark Twain2, the phrase is not found in any of the extant works or speeches of Disraeli. In fact the earliest documented appearances occur several decades after Disraeli’s death. Notwithstanding the uncertain origin of the phrase, its sentiments have resonated with many who have detected the false application of numerical measurements to strengthen arguments that otherwise appear ill-founded. It will be suggested that in regard to the use of the Gospel of Mark by the Matthean evangelist that there have been three significantly illfounded arguments that have been propagated. Each of these arguments has resulted in a misunderstanding of the way in which the first gospel reuses and is indebted to its Markan predecessor. In particular, it will be suggested that one of these spurious arguments is statistically-based, whereas the other two (the “lies” and the “damned lies”) represent misunderstandings of the deployment and significance of Markan material for the Matthean evangelist.

1. Disraeli served two terms in office as Prime Minister. The first brief period being February to December 1868, and the second longer period from 1874-1880. See K.T. HOPPEN, The Mid-Victorian Generation 1846-1886 (New Oxford History of England), Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1998, esp. pp. 591-637. 2. Twain notes the attribution of the phrase to Disraeli in the following statement, “Figures often beguile me particularly when I have the arranging of them myself; in which case the remark attributed to Disraeli would often apply with justice and force: ‘There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics’”. M. TWAIN, Chapters from My Autobiography, in North American Review 618 (1907) 471.

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II. FALSE STATISTICS DESCRIBING MATTHEW’S USE OF MARK In regard to describing the volume of Markan material present in the Gospel of Matthew, the statements of B.H. Streeter have proved influential. Moreover, those statements have often been replicated, although sometimes without the nuance supplied by Streeter himself. According to Streeter’s enumeration, “[t]he authentic text of Mark contains 661 verses”3. In relation to Streeter’s “headline” statements concerning Matthew’s use of the Gospel of Mark he presents the following two numerically based assessments. The most straightforward statement is that “Matthew reproduces the substance of all but 55 verses of Mark”4. This implies that material is drawn from 606 Markan verses. However, Streeter seeks to reduce the amount of Markan material omitted by Matthew by finding traces of it elsewhere in the Matthean account. For instance, in relation to the healing of the demoniac (Mk 1,23-28), a passage with no ostensible parallel in the Gospel of Matthew, Streeter argues that parts of it have been absorbed elsewhere in the first gospel. Thus he argues, In his account of the Gadarene Demoniacs (viii. 29) he modifies the words of the demoniac so as to combine the cry, as given in his immediate source (Mk. v. 7), with that of the demoniac as given in the apparently omitted section (Mk. i. 24). This proves that Mk. i. 24 stood in the copy of Mark he used. Moreover, Matthew makes the demoniacs two in number, instead of one as in Mark. Taken together, these phenomena suggest that Matthew considers himself to be, not omitting one, but telescoping two healings of demoniacs which he found in Mark5.

Here Streeter’s main concern is to respond to the Ur-Markus hypothesis by showing that Matthew was not using a different and earlier form of Mark, but a manuscript of canonical Mark. Similar arguments are invoked to explain the apparent omission of the healing of the deaf man also suffering a speech impediment (Mk 7,32-36). Whereas as many would argue that Matthew omits this story due to possible magical overtones occasioned by the use of spittle and tactile intervention, Streeter suggests otherwise. Instead, it is argued that this material is repackaged in briefer form, both in the general statement of Mt 15,31 that parallels Mk 7,37, and through an alternative story of the healing of a dumb man Mt 9,31-326. 3. B.H. STREETER, The Four Gospels: A Study in Origins, London, Macmillan, 1924, p. 159. 4. Ibid., p. 169. 5. Ibid., p. 170. 6. It is stated that “Mark’s cure of the dumb man is not ‘omitted’, for Matthew substitutes in the same context as Mark a general statement that Jesus healed various sick

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For Streeter the consequence of arguing that these pericopae and several others have been used in some way by the Matthean evangelist is to reduce the initial supposed unused 55 verses of Markan material to a significantly lower, but undefined number. It is difficult to provide an exact account of the number of Markan verses that have been unused by Matthew according to this model, but the total would probably be fewer that thirty verses. Elsewhere, Streeter makes this same point when he states that “Matthew omits less than 10% of the subject matter of Mark”7. Here Streeter’s words are carefully chosen in specifying “the subject matter”, rather than the wording of Mark. This allows him to account for the Matthean redactional activity in rewording several passages. In terms of the actual shared wording between the two gospels, Streeter makes the following comment pertaining to the level of verbal similarity. Mark’s style is diffuse, Matthew’s succinct; so that in adapting Mark’s language Matthew compresses so much that the 600 odd verses taken from Mark supply less than half the material contained in the 1068 verses of the longer Gospel. Yet, in spite of this abbreviation, it is found that Matthew employs 51% of the actual words used by Mark8.

Here the larger question concerns how one should count and measure the data. At this point it is useful to consider a number of sample passages in order to more accurately measure the amount of Markan material used by Matthew in his own account. In his invaluable Statistische Synopse, Morgenthaler presents statistics for the degree of verbal correspondence between various Synoptic passages. For the current discussion the table of greatest relevance is the one that presents the data for those passages where there is a parallel with Markan material in the Gospel of Matthew9. Here Morgenthaler presents persons, including dumb and blind, and calls attention to the imprecision produced on the multitude in words that appear to be suggested by the omitted sections in Mark (cf. Mt. xv. 31 – Mk. vii. 37). Also he inserts in another context (Mt. ix. 32-33) a healing of a dumb man”. Ibid. 7. Ibid., p. 160. 8. See ibid., p. 159. The figure of 51% is derived from the research of J.C. Hawkins. He states that, “for those parts of the First Gospel, extending over 477 verses, which refer to the ministry of Jesus and which appear to be founded on the Marcan source, contain 8,180 words, of which 4,173, being a very little more than half, or about 51 per cent., occur either wholly or partially in Mark”. J.C. HAWKINS, St. Luke’s Use of St. Mark’s Gospel, in W. SANDAY (ed.), Oxford Studies in the Synoptic Problem, Oxford, Clarendon, 1911, 27-138, p. 86. 9. The relevant table is entitled “Rangordnung 3: Grad der Wortlautidentität in den Mk-Perikopen des Mt”. See R. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse, Zürich – Stuttgart, Gotthelf, 1971, pp. 239-241.

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118 units of Markan material with parallels in Matthew. The example that is listed as having the highest level of correspondence is the parallel account narrating Jesus and the disciples going out after the last supper to the Mount of Olives. The text in both gospels is identical over the eight word span that constitutes the parallel, καὶ ὑμνήσαντες ἐξῆλϑον εἰς τὸ ὄρος τῶν ἐλαιῶν (Mt 26,30//Mk 14,26). Therefore, Morgenthaler correctly calculates this parallel as having 100% degree of word identity. However, there is a factor here that makes this assessment problematic. The decision to compare just this introductory phrase to the Mount of Olives material as a separate unit from what follows creates the shortest unit among the 118 units, and thus means that there are fewer opportunities for variation. This is in comparison to the longest unit, the Markan discourse on handwashing (Mk 7,1-23), which on Morgenthaler’s enumeration contains 359 words. However, in his analysis there is no attempt to normalise the data in relation to sample size. By contrast, if one were to take the material in Mt 26,30//Mk 14,26 with the continuation of the Mount of Olives scene prior to the arrival at the Garden of Gethsemane (Mt 26,30-35//Mk 14,26-31), then applying Morgenthaler’s method the following figures would emerge. Here the data from Morgenthaler’s units one, twenty-three, and twenty-six have been combined10. This shows that Mk 14,26-31 contains 87 words, Mt 26,30-35 contains 95 words, and of those 95 Matthean words 62 are shared, which would lead to a calculation of a 65.26% (to four sig. figs) level of word identity. This leads to a further problem with the calculation method. Morgenthaler calculates word identity on the basis of the percentage of Markan words compared to the number of Matthean words. In this case, even if Matthew had preserved all 87 of Mark’s words, because his pericope was longer at 95 words, this would only have resulted in the degree of word identity being calculated at 91.58%, even though in this hypothetical case Matthew would have used all of the Markan material. So it is important to emphasise that Morgenthaler’s calculation of “degree of word identity” is not strictly equivalent to measuring the level of usage of Markan material. To better achieve that measure one should take the number of Markan words used by Matthew for a given pericope and divide that number by the total number or words in the Markan parallel. So in the actual case for the parallel Mt 26,30-35//Mk 14,26-31, the degree of Markan usage is 62 words out of a total of 87 Markan words, or 71.26%.

10. Ibid., p. 239.

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In fact, the situation is potentially perhaps even more misleading in cases where Matthew has radically shortened a Markan parallel tradition. For instance, in the case of the handwashing tradition, Morgenthaler states that there are 359 Markan words, the Matthean parallel contains 236 words of which 132 are found in Mark11. Therefore he calculates the degree of Matthean word identity as 56%. However, in reality Matthew has used only 132 of the 359 Markan words that are contained in his source. So in this instance he uses 36.77% of the Markan material available to him. Therefore, in cases where Matthew had radically shortened the material in a Markan pericope, the calculation of word order identity as presented by Morgenthaler is not a meaningful measure of the degree to which the Matthean parallel is identical with the Markan version of the tradition, nor does it provide an accurate measure of the amount of material borrowed from the Markan source. In order to show that this is a universal problem with Morgenthaler’s method and not a single occurrence it is useful to consider the parallel versions of the story of the Gerasene/Gadarene demonic or demoniacs (as in Matthew) see Mt 8,26-39//Mk 5,1-21. On the basis of qualitative observation regarding the material contained in Mt 8,23–9,17, including the story of the Gadarene demoniac Mt 8,26-39, Davies and Allison simply note “Matthew’s text is consistently shorter than Mark’s”12. For quantitative purposes, again drawing on Morgenthaler’s very helpful raw data, Mk 5,1-21 contains 346 words, whereas the shorter parallel in Mt 8,26-39 contains 146 words, of which 55 are in common with the Markan account. Morgenthaler states the degree of word identity as being 38%. However, it is more accurate to calculate the percentage of words that Matthew draws from the Markan account. That measure is 55 words out of a total of 346 words, or 15.90%. Another point that requires closer attention is Streeter’s carefully worded statement, already cited above, that “Matthew reproduces the substance of all but 55 verses of Mark”13. Here Streeter has not claimed that Matthew actually draws material from all but 55 Markan verses, but that the substance of over 90% of Markan verses are to be found in Matthew. Streeter never clarifies what he means by this wording. However consideration of several Markan pericopae that are paralleled in the Gospel of Matthew might give a helpful insight into Streeter’s meaning behind this 11. Ibid. 12. W.D. DAVIES – D.C. ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Vol. 2: Commentary on Matthew VIII–XVIII (International Critical Commentary), Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1991, p. 67. 13. STREETER, The Four Gospels (n. 3), p. 169.

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slightly unusual, but probably carefully chosen wording. Again, in fairness to Streeter, it needs to be remembered that in his discussion he was not primarily interested in providing an accurate quantification of the amount of Markan material that had been taken over by the Matthean evangelist. Instead, his purpose was to combat the Ur-Markus hypothesis, which was still attracting support when Streeter wrote. The way in which Streeter attempted to demonstrate that the Ur-Markus hypothesis was unnecessary in order to explain the interdependencies between the Synoptic Gospels was to show that the Gospel of Matthew, in particular, reflected knowledge of virtually all of canonical Mark (without the longer ending) apart from a few small traditions where the non-use reflected Matthew’s redaction proclivities. Thus Streeter’s argument is formulated in a manner that demonstrates the knowledge of the substance of Markan pericopae by Matthew, rather than the level of reproduction of the full content of those individual Markan units. In order to assess the actual level of use of Markan verses a sampling method will be employed. For instance, commencing with the opening to Mark’s Gospel (Mk 1,1-13), while Matthew has parallels to the substance of most of this material there is material that is not replicated. Matthew choses to begin his gospel in a different way from Mark, and therefore does not reproduce the material in Mk 1,1. Matthew reproduces the substance of Mk 1,2-6 in Mt 3,1-6. However, some of the material is re-ordered to ensure that the material attributed to Isaiah is uniquely Isaianic material, and the part of Mark’s citation that belongs to Jeremiah is left unattributed. Next the majority of the Markan John the Baptist narrative (Mk 1,7-11) is replicated in Mt 3,11-17, but in an expanded form primarily with the addition of Mt 3,14-15 to address the theological concern that Jesus may have been seen as undergoing a baptism for the forgiveness of sins. Similarly the short Markan account of a temptation by Satan (Mk 1,12-13) is substantially expanded by the Matthean account of three specific temptations (Mt 4,3-11a). However the Markan version is used to introduce and conclude the Matthean account of three specific temptations which uses Mk 1,12-13a as its introduction and Mk 1,13b as a conclusion. Therefore in regard to the opening verses of the Gospel of Mark, elements of all verses apart from Mk 1,1 are present in the Gospel of Matthew in some manner. Similarly, with the cycle of five pericopae in Mark’s account of a day in Capernaum (Mk 2,1–3,6), Matthew preserves parallels to each of these five units. However, he splits the continuous Markan sequence into two locations in his narrative: Mk 2,1-22//Mt 9,1-17 and Mk 2,23–3,6// Mt 12,1-14. Again, in general, Matthew tends to shorten the parallel

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accounts of these five Markan pericopae. The result is that several verses from Mk 2,1–3,6 have no parallel in their Matthean counterpart. For instance, in relation to the healing of the paralytic (Mk 2,1-12//Mt 9,1-8) the colourful detail, καὶ συνήχϑησαν πολλοὶ ὥστε μηκέτι χωρεῖν μηδὲ τὰ πρὸς τὴν ϑύραν, καὶ ἐλάλει αὐτοῖς τὸν λόγον (Mk 2,2) is lacking in the Matthean version. While this extra information adds a certain vividness to the narrative it is not essential for the portrayal of Jesus as one who is not only able to heal physical infirmities and also to forgive sins. Thus in terms of Matthew’s compressed version of this incident it was straightforward to delete this extraneous detail. This is not the only place where Matthew has made such a reduction to the Markan account. In regard to the Markan call of Levi (Mk 2,13-17) perhaps the most memorable change in this unit is the change of the name from “Levi the son of Alphaeus” to “Matthew” (Mk 2,14//Mt 9,9). However, this is certainly not the most substantial change. The Markan introductory verse, καὶ ἐξῆλϑεν πάλιν παρὰ τὴν ϑάλασσαν· καὶ πᾶς ὁ ὄχλος ἤρχετο πρὸς αὐτόν, καὶ ἐδίδασκεν αὐτούς (Mk 2,13), is omitted in its entirety by Matthew. Once again, this detail is unnecessary for the telling of the story of the call of a tax-collector. Consequently, it was the type of detail that was easily removed in order to produce Matthew’s more economical version of the story. Although not as extensive, Matthew also deletes the Markan comment that many beside the named tax collector followed Jesus ἦσαν γὰρ πολλοὶ καὶ ἠκολούϑουν αὐτῷ (Mk 2,15b). Here the motivation might not be simply abbreviation. Rather, this detail lessens the focus in the Mark’s Gospel on the response of Levi. In the first gospel, the evangelist may have wished the response of Matthew to remain the unique focus of the story (Mt 9,9). Furthermore, and in common with the treatment of the call of the tax collector, in the following pericope dealing with the question about fasting (Mk 2,18-22//Mt 9,14-17), Matthew removes the Markan introduction καὶ ἦσαν οἱ μαϑηταὶ Ἰωάννου καὶ οἱ Φαρισαῖοι νηστεύοντες (Mk 2,18a), thus commencing the main action of the conflict story more immediately. Matthew’s lengthiest omission of material contained in Mark’s sequence of five pericopae involves the deletion of the penultimate verse in the story of the plucking of grain on the sabbath (i.e. Mk 2,27 from Mk 2,2328//Mt 12,1-8). Here Matthew’s version of the incident is in fact longer than Mark’s account, due to the insertion of qal wahomer argument of Mt 12,5-714. So it is perhaps unlikely that Matthew’s concern in deleting 14. See D.M. COHN-SHERBOK, An Analysis of Jesus’ Arguments concerning the Plucking of Grain on the Sabbath, in Journal for the Study of the New Testament 2 (1979) 31-41.

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Mk 2,27 was simply to create a shorter form of the narrative. Theologically, some have suggested that the sentiments expressed in Mk 2,27 were considered too extreme by both Matthew and Luke. So that both evangelists deleted it independently. Or more specifically in relation to the first gospel it has been suggested that “Matthew probably omitted the proverb-like line because it stands in tension with the christological conclusion in the next verse: the Son of man, not man in general, is Lord of the sabbath”15. These cases show a fairly moderate handling of Markan source material, yet nonetheless a number of verses have been cut from the version of the tradition in Mark’s Gospel. This means Matthew omits significantly more Markan material than is usually recognised, even in those traditions where he is acting as a conservative redactor. By contrast, Matthew takes a far more radical editorial approach with his handling of the Markan story of the Gerasene demoniac (Mk 5,1-20). For Streeter, not only did the Matthean version demonstrate that Matthew had reproduced the substance of these verses, the introduction of a pair of demoniacs provided evidence that this tradition also integrated, or to use Streeter’s terminology, it demonstrated the “telescoping” of Mk 1,23-28 into this story16. However, rather than see this truncated Matthean version of the story as evidence for the use of two Markan pericopae, it actually reveals a far more selective use of the Markan material. With the exception of a few words or a short phrase. Matthew omits the majority of Mk 5,3.5-6.8-10.15-16.18-20. In other words, the shorter Matthean account parallels material drawn from Mk 5,1-2.4.7.11-14.17, or nine of Mark’s twenty verses are utilised to form Matthew’s own seven verse form (Mt 8,28-34). However, even in these verses the material is radically reworded, so as to make Matthew’s account a free paraphrase of the source text. In order to broaden the range of material considered in this sample it is instructive to consider a Markan tradition that belongs to a different genre from that of healing story. The account of the death of John the Baptist is narrated by both Matthew and Mark. Here Morgenthaler separates the transitional verse dealing with the arrest of John (Mk 6,17)17, from the scene of Herod’s birthday celebrations (6,18-29). The statistics for the birthday scene are as follows: Mk 6,18-29 contains 224 words, 15. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 315. 16. STREETER, The Four Gospels (n. 3), p. 170. 17. According to Morgenthaler’s analysis Mk 6,17 contains 19 words. The Matthean parallel (Mt 14,3) uses 19 words of which 15 are drawn from Mark. This gives a measure of word identity on his count at 79%. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), p. 239.

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the Matthean parallel Mt 14,4-12 contains 117 words of which 62 are Markan words. Thus on Morgenthaler’s measure the degree of word identity in the Matthean pericopae is 53%. However the percentage of words taken over from the Markan tradition is 27.68%. Considering the detail of Matthew’s redactional handiwork, it is possible to see that Matthew has made little use of Mk 6,19-20. From the twelve words of Mk 6,19, Matthew utilises four of these words with one in a slightly different form (Mt 14,5a). In relation to twenty-three words of Mk 6,20 Matthew has two shared words – but the shared use of the definite article and maybe also the masculine pronoun might not be due to borrowing Markan tradition, although a third word occurring in a different form is more likely to have been taken over from Mark. The parallel can be set out as follows: Mt 14,5

Mk 6,20

καὶ ϑέλων αὐτὸν ἀποκτεῖναι

(see Mk 6,19b)

ἐφοβήϑη τὸν ὄχλον, ὅτι ὡς προφήτην αὐτὸν εἶχον.

ὁ γὰρ Ἡρῴδης ἐφοβεῖτο τὸν Ἰωάννην, εἰδὼς αὐτὸν ἄνδρα δίκαιον καὶ ἅγιον, καὶ συνετήρει αὐτόν, καὶ ἀκούσας αὐτοῦ πολλὰ ἠπόρει, καὶ ἡδέως αὐτοῦ ἤκουεν.

Despite the slight correspondence between Mk 6,20 and Mt 14,5, it is probably safest to say apart from the different forms of φοβέομαι, the content of Mk 6,20 is deleted by Matthew. The first evangelist replaces the Markan explanation of the reason for Herod’s fear of John, with a more calculating fear of the crowd. Moreover, he omits the Markan description of John as “righteous and just”, and instead describes John using the description of him as a prophet which reflects a Matthean redactional concern18. The examples drawn from the first two of chapters of the Gospel of Mark were examples of the Matthean evangelist employing material from the Markan source in a restrained manner with close dependence. Yet, even here there were significant omissions of Markan material. The example of the Matthean handling of the Markan account of the Gerasene 18. See P. FOSTER, Prophets and Prophetism in Matthew, in J. VERHEYDEN – K. ZAMFIR – T. NICKLAS (eds.), Prophets and Prophecy in Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, II/286), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, 117-138.

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demoniac reveals a far more radical approach. This example cannot be understood simplistically as Matthew using twenty verses of Markan material. Instead, with significant omissions, Matthew draws upon only about nine of the twenty verses in Mark’s account and condenses that material into his own seven verse account. Even in respect to those seven verses the material has undergone substantial reformulation and rewriting, to the extent that perhaps a little less than 16% of the words from Mk 5,1-20 are preserved in Mt 8,28-34. This example is illustrative of the misnomer in simply stating that Matthew uses or incorporates these twenty Markan verses into his narrative. Instead it is more accurate to conclude that Matthew draws upon a story narrated over twenty Markan verses. He significantly abbreviates the story omitting material from perhaps as many as eleven whole verses. In terms of word count Matthew has reproduced 55 of Mark’s 346 words. Hence, without careful explanation of what is meant by “reproduction” or “use”, it is misleading to include all twenty Markan verses in a tally of the verses of Markan material utilised by Matthew. Felix Just has composed a helpful online table of New Testament statistics19. Here he lists the total number of Greek words in the Gospel of Mark as being 11,304. However this count includes both the so-called shorter ending of Mark, as well as the longer ending (Mk 16,9-20). Based on a manual word count, the shorter ending contains 34 words and the longer ending contains 166 words. Reducing the overall count by 200 words, Mk 1,1–16,8 contains approximately 11,104 words20. Felix Just also states that there are 678 verses in Mark including the longer ending. Removing those twelve verses reduces the total number of verses to 666 verses. This figure deviates from the standard total frequently listed as 661 verses, and this suggests that the count also includes the five verses typically deemed not to be part of the earliest recoverable form of the Markan text, as represented in standard critical editions of the Greek New Testament. These verses are Mk 7,16 (6 words)21, Mk 9,44 (11 words)22, Mk 9,46 (11 words)23, Mk 11,26 (17 words)24, and Mk 15,28 19. F. JUST, https://catholic-resources.org/Bible/NT-Statistics-Greek.htm (accessed on11 June 2019). 20. Here it is necessary to speak of an approximate word count due to textual variants. This also reflects the fact that various manuscripts of the Gospel of Mark will differ in the total number of words present. 21. B.M. METZGER, A Textual Commentary of the Greek New Testament, Stuttgart – New York, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft – United Bible Societies, 21998, p. 81. 22. Ibid., p. 86. 23. Ibid., p. 87. 24. Ibid., p. 93.

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(10 words)25. This is a total of a further 55 words that were presumably not part of the initial text of the Gospel of Mark as it is now able to be recovered. This leads to an approximate word count for the 661 verse form of Mk 1,1–16,8 as being approximately 11,049 words. In contrast, the Gospel of Matthew is listed as containing 1071. However, the three verses Mt 17,21, 18,11, 23,14 are each almost certainly a later interpolation. Therefore, Just’s word count for the Gospel of Matthew of 18,345 words needs to be reduced by the number of words in each of these three verses. That is in the case of Mt 17,21 a total of 12 words, for Mt 18,11 that is probably 8 words (although there are a further two words in some variants), and for Mt 23,14 that is 22 words (although some minor variants also occur here). In total, deducting these 42 words, the total word count for the Gospel of Matthew is in the region of 18,303 words. Therefore, based on word count the Gospel of Matthew is 165.6% the length of the Gospel of Mark, or alternatively in comparison with the Gospel of Matthew, the Gospel of Mark has only 60.4% the number of words of total contained in the first gospel. These percentages illustrate the relative sizes of the two texts. However, they do not show the level of verbal agreement at the level of common wording. Here it is again necessary to depend on the raw data supplied by Morgenthaler for his analysis of the word agreement between Matthew and Mark in the cases of the Markan pericopae contained in Matthew. Here, Morgenthaler presents one hundred and eighteen pericopae for consideration. Adding together the word count for each of these individual pericopae this comes to a total of 10,521. Or stated another way, the pericopae with no parallel in Matthew together comprise 528 words26. It is next possible to use Morgenthaler’s data to calculate the total number of Markan words that Matthew replicates in his parallels to these one hundred and eighteen pericopae. On this count Matthew shares 4230 of the words out of the 10,521 Markan words that comprise the one hundred and eighteen shared pericopae. In percentage terms, this is 40.2% agreement in terms of shared words in the common Matthean-Markan material. However, several significant caveats must be stated. First, it is not always clear how exact the verbal correspondence must be for Morgenthaler to have included the term in his count of shared verbal items. Second, some of the differences are minor reflecting the stylistic preferences of the first evangelist. However, be that the case, they are still differences. Third, this process highlights the greater methodological difficulty in 25. Ibid., p. 99. 26. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), pp. 239-241.

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determining what should actually be counted in order to arrive at a fair statistical measure of the degree of Markan material common to the Gospel of Matthew. Streeter’s carefully worded statement that the substance of all but 55 verses of the 661 Markan verses gives the impression that at least the substance of 606, or 91.7% of the substance of Mark is reproduced by the Gospel of Matthew. At one level that might be correct. Alternatively, if one counts the actual common verbal agreement between the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Mark in the one hundred and eighteen shared pericopae, then the percentage level of common material based on Morgenthaler’s data is calculated to be 40.2%. The difference is certainly not statistically insignificant. This may leave one asking “what is the truth?”. Here the damnability of statistics might be what has been more clearly proven, rather than establishing an accurate measure of the level of Markan material contained in Matthew. It is certainly the case that Streeter’s estimate results in an over-estimate of the volume of Markan material contained in the Gospel of Matthew. The true picture might be closer to 40.2%, yet even here the calculation has not taken into account the 528 words of Markan material not used by Matthew. One could make the case that the correct calculation is 4230 shared Markan words out of a total of 11,049 words, or 38.3%. Such low estimates may in fact provide a truer representation, but they are likely to be at least a slightly pessimistic measure of the level of Matthean dependence on Mark. In the end the statistical dilemma is determining what exactly should be measured in order to best represent the level of Matthean dependence on the Gospel of Mark. III. THE MARKAN FRAMEWORK OF THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW? In terms of the structure, or perhaps better the framework of the Gospel of Matthew, it is frequently stated that Matthew has supplemented, augmented, expanded, or top-and-tailed an underlying Markan framework. In essence, this perspective suggests that the Gospel of Matthew is an enlarged, and later version of the Gospel of Mark. In addition to the overall structure of the Gospel of Mark the Matthean evangelist has basically integrated additional Jesus traditions, perhaps by grouping together further parables of Jesus with Markan parables in chapter thirteen, at other times by conflating material where there were Mk/Q overlaps, or performing micro-conflations of thematically similar material. On the basis of this viewpoint, Matthew is a substantially expanded version of

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Mark, and although the opening two chapters and the concluding account in chapter 28 are clear additions, the structure is noticeably and primarily Markan. A typical statement of this view is offered by Craig Evans. He states, It is better to view Matthew’s arrangement and structure as an expansion and adaptation of Mark’s relatively simple outline of a ministry in Galilee, then a journey south to Judea and Jerusalem, and finally the passion in Jerusalem. Matthew has worked within this framework, prefacing Mark’s Gospel with an infancy narrative, concluding it with an evangelistic commission, and enriching the interior with additional materials, not least five impressive discourses27.

Although less fulsome in his description, a similar view was stated by Paul Wernle in his classic treatment of the Synoptic interrelationships. Wernle states that “Mt hat das Mrevangelium gekannt und als Quelle benützt, ja zur Grundlage seiner Geschichtserzählung genommen. Er hat es fast lückenlos in seine Darstellung eingefügt, mit ganz wenigen Ausnahmen seine Anordnung befolgt und auch seinen Text sich zu Grunde gelegt”28. This view has become fairly mainstream in scholarship, even among those who attribute a more radical level of redactional handiwork to the first evangelist. Thus Kümmel describes the structure of the Gospel of Matthew in the following manner. We must be satisfied to state that basically Matthew took over the Markan framework of the reports and placed it at the basis of his expanded presentation, since Mark’s framework appeared suitable to him for the purpose he had in view. Matthew fundamentally transformed Mark’s report by means of scattered rearrangements, by considerable abbreviation and reformulation, but, above all, by means of inserting extensive material29.

While in the second sentence Kümmel describes the extensive rearrangement and supplementation of the material derived from the Gospel of Mark, his fundamental perspective is that “Matthew took over the Markan framework”. Others have attributed an even greater degree of creativity to the first evangelist’s handling of Markan traditions. However, for many scholars Mark is seen as providing the essential framework of the first gospel and it is into this framework that additional Matthean traditions have been integrated. According to Robert Gundry, who views Matthew as being at times a highly creative redactor, nonetheless it is the 27. C.A. EVANS, Matthew (New Cambridge Bible Commentary), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012, p. 9. 28. P. WERNLE, Die synoptische Frage, Freiburg i.Br., Mohr Siebeck, 1899, p. 177. 29. W. KÜMMEL, Introduction to the New Testament, London, SCM, 21970, p. 75.

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Markan structure that acts as a control on the Matthean framework not just when Matthew is following Markan traditions closely, but even when the first evangelist deviates significantly from the Markan order. Thus Gundry states, “[a]t first Matthew freely rearranged his Markan materials in addition to inserting other materials (often shared with Luke). But editorial fatigue set in, so that in the latter half of his gospel he stuck close to Mark’s order even when continuing to insert other materials”30. The purpose of what follows is to test the widely stated hypothesis that the author of the Gospel of Matthew integrated additional Jesus traditions within the framework of the Gospel of Mark, or stated more straightforwardly that the first evangelist simply took over the framework of the Gospel of Mark. The aim is to present the relevant data that will permit an assessment of the degree to which such perspectives actually reflect the use of the various traditions that are present in the Gospel of Matthew. At the outset it should be stated that the purpose is not to present some facile rejection of the predominant viewpoint that Matthew adopts the Markan framework. The analysis attempts to be more nuanced, since it seeks to address the issues of the extent to which the first evangelist might be dependent on the framework of the Gospel of Mark, and to identify places in the Gospel of Matthew where that Markan framework is most prominent. Finally, an assessment will be provided of the degree to which it is correct to speak of the Gospel of Matthew having an essentially Markan framework. The approach adopted analyses each chapter of the Gospel of Matthew in order to quantify the number of Matthean verses that have parallels with either Markan or Q material, or alternatively are unique to Matthew. While more often than not this is a relatively straightforward determination, on other occasions the decision is not entirely clear. This is especially the case for the Mk/Q overlap texts31. As a default position, if a Matthean parallel is listed in his edition of Q-Parallels, then this Matthean material is seen as drawing on Q material32. The attribution of the material to a Q source has also be considered in light of the text of Q as presented in The Critical Edition of Q33. Additionally, especially for Mk/Q overlap texts, 30. R.H. GUNDRY, Matthew: A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church under Persecution, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 21994, p. 10. 31. F. NEIRYNCK, Q Parallels: Q-Synopsis and IQP/CritEd Parallels, Leuven, Peeters, 2001. 32. H.T. FLEDDERMANN, Mark and Q: A Study of the Overlap Texts (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 122), Leuven, Leuven University Press – Peeters, 1995. 33. J.M. ROBINSON – P. HOFFMANN – J.S. KLOPPENBORG (eds.), The Critical Edition of Q, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress; Leuven, Peeters, 2000.

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the strength of the Markan parallel has been assessed to determine whether the Gospel of Mark is the more likely source for the parallel34. While in some cases this is a fine judgment, where meaningful consideration of competing possibilities is required, in most examples that is not the case. Moreover, even if different decisions were taken in regard to the finely balanced cases that would have only minor impact on the calculations in the table below. SOURCES OF MATTHEAN MATERIAL IN EACH CHAPTER Chap

Verses

Matthean Verses with Markan Parallels

Matthean Verses Drawn from Q

Unique Matthean Verses

Total Matthean Verses Unparalleled in Mark

1

25

0

0

25

25

2

23

0

0

23

23

3

17

9

6

2

8

4

25

11

9

5

14

5

48

0

27

21

48

6

34

0

20

14

34

7

29

1

26

2

28

8

34

20

12

2

14

9

38

32

5

1

6

10

42

9

29

4

33

11

30

0

22

8

30

12

50

18

22

10

32

13

58

26

5

27

32

14

36

32

0

4

34

15

39

32

1

6

7

16

28

21

2

5

7

17

26

18

1

7

8

18

34

6

6

22

28

19

30

26

1

3

4

20

34

18

1

15

16

21

46

32

0

14

14

34. K. ALAND (ed.), Synopsis Quattuor Evangeliorum: locis parallelis evangeliorum apocryphorum et patrum adhibitis, 13th rev. ed., Stuttgart, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1985.

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22

46

30

9

7

16

23

38

2

18

18

36

24

51

30

17

4

21

25

46

0

20

26

46

26

75

68

0

7

7

27

66

47

0

19

19

28 Total

20

8

0

12

12

1068

496

259

313

572

46.44%

24.25%

29.31%

53.56%

To interpret this data it is helpful to break the Gospel of Matthew into separate sections in order to assess the use of the material drawn from the Gospel of Mark particularly in regard to forming the structural framework of the Matthean account. For this purpose, the Gospel of Matthew will be divided into four sections, equal in the number of chapters, but not in terms of the number of verses. This is a somewhat arbitrary, although convenient division of material. It creates sizeable subsections to analyse, without overly atomising the data. Moreover, the opening seven chapters form a natural division and provide useful insights into the approach the first evangelist adopted for structuring the traditions utilised in the gospel. 1. Matthew 1–7 In regard to Matthew 1–7, these chapters contain 201 Matthean verses. The sources for this material are as follows: 21 verses drawn from Mark, 88 verses from double tradition material or Q, and 92 verses unique to Matthew. Nearly all of the parallels to Markan material occur in chapters 3–4, with only one Matthean verse in this section of the gospel outside of these two chapters containing a Markan parallel (Mt 7,29//Mk 1,22). Given that only 10.45% of the verses in these seven chapters appear to be based on material drawn from the Gospel of Mark, it is difficult to defend the claim that in the opening section of the Gospel of Matthew the author is adopting the Markan structure and only expanding or supplementing material found in the Markan source. In the same vein, although Q material occurs with more than four times the frequency of Markan material, 88 verses out of the total of 201 verses, or 43.78%, it does not appear that the first evangelist has adopted a thoroughgoing Q structural framework in this section of his narrative. The material that predominates in this section is that which is unique to the first gospel. Presumably this is a mix

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of traditional material that has come to the evangelist by channels other than Mark or Q, as well as material that is due to the redactional handiwork of the evangelist. Together, the minimal use of Mark, the more significant use of Q tradition, and the predominant use of material unique to the first gospel suggests that in the first seven chapters the author is creating a new narrative, and structuring material from different sources according to his own thematic and theological concerns. In fact the Markan traditions that are utilised are only as follows. First, in chapter 3, the John the Baptist material in Mt 3,1-6 parallels Mk 1,2-6. However, the Matthean sequence reorders the Markan material in the progression Mk 1,4.2-3.6.5. Thus, while the majority of commentators note that the Gospel of Mark is the source for the material in Mt 3,1-635, the level of reordering typically is not mentioned. Moreover, in terms of word count Mk 1,1-6 contains 96 words and the Matthean parallel in Mt 3,1-6 has 94 words of which 48 (or 50%) of the Markan words are preserved36. There next follows a unit of double tradition material, Mt 3,7-12//Lk 3,79.16-18. Matthew concludes this chapter of John the Baptist material by returning to Markan material, Mt 3,13.16-17//Mk 1,9-11. However, in the centre of this unit Matthew introduces the theological justification for Jesus submitting himself to a baptism for the forgiveness of sins (Mt 3,1415). Therefore, the content of Mt 3,1-17 can be viewed as largely Markan in origin, replicating Markan material in nine of its seventeen verses. Notwithstanding this fact, it might well be incorrect to characterise the structure as primarily Markan in nature. Rather, it appears that both Mark and Q commence with reminiscences of material dealing with John the Baptist. At this juncture in the first gospel the evangelist has conflated the introductory traditions dealing with the Baptist, and in the process preserved the pre-Synoptic practice of narrating the story of Jesus’ ministry by commencing with an account of the Baptist and his encounter with Jesus. Therefore in relation to Matthew 3, the framework could just as easily be attributed to Q as to Mark, but in reality since both accounts attest to this as the opening element in the story of the ministry of Jesus it is probably more accurate to describe this arrangement as pre-Synoptic, and hence to see Matthew as preserving a framework more primitive than that of either of his sources. Yet, Matthew has proved himself to display a greater degree of innovation, since this is not the starting point of his own narrative. Rather he creates a different narrative frame and a wider 35. W.D. DAVIES – D.C. ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Vol. 1: Commentary on Matthew I–VII (International Critical Commentary), Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1988, p. 286. 36. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), p. 240.

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temporal horizon by presenting an account of the genealogy and birth of Jesus (Matthew 1–2) as the starting point for his account. In percentage terms, the number of Matthean verses in Matthew 4 that draw on material from the Gospel of Mark is lower in comparison with the percentage of Markan material utilised in Matthew 3. In Mt 4,1-25, there are eleven verses with Markan parallels (or 44% of the verses in the chapter). Whereas there are nine verses that draw on Q material and five verses that are unique to Matthew. By comparison, in Mt 3,1-17 nine of the seventeen verses (or 52.94%) have Markan parallels. Notwithstanding this, there is probably a stronger case for seeing a higher level of indebtedness to the Markan structure in this chapter than was the case with Mt 3,1-17. The reason for this assessment is because material from Mark (Mk 1,12-13) frames the sequence of three temptations drawn from Q (Mt 4,2-10). The transitional statement in Mt 4,12 is a rewriting of the material in Mk 1,14. In relation to the Markan statement concerning the handing over of John, Hooker notes that it signifies that “the work of the forerunner is now complete, and the work of Jesus can therefore begin”37. What is true of Mark, is also true of the way in which this tradition functions in the Gospel of Matthew. Thus as Keener notes specifically in regard to Mt 4,12 “John’s imprisonment – which foreshadows Jesus’ own suffering – becomes the signal for Jesus to begin public ministry”38. Moreover, Matthew again uses the Markan material (Mk 1,14-15) to frame a redactional addition Mt 4,13-1639. With the exception of Mt 4,24, the material in Mt 4,18-25 is drawn from the Gospel of Mark. So in essence, Matthew forms this section of the gospel with material drawn from Mk 1,12-20 supplemented with three insertions Mt 4,2-10.14-16.24. The second insertion is primarily a geographical transition, which Matthew views as representing another example of scriptural fulfilment, perhaps with the reference to “Galilee of the Gentiles” (Mt 4,15c) prefiguring the Gentile mission that the Matthean Jesus inaugurates at the conclusion of the gospel (Mt 28,16-20). As Luz observes, With this OT designation Matthew wants on a secondary level to point ahead to what Jesus’ sending has begun in the history of salvation: the movement of salvation to the Gentiles. Then in Galilee the risen Lord will also command the disciples to make disciples of all nations (28:16-20)40. 37. M.D. HOOKER, The Gospel according to Saint Mark (Black’s New Testament Commentary), London, A&C Black, 1991, p. 53. 38. C.S. KEENER, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1999, p. 145. 39. U. LUZ, Matthew 1–7 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2007, p. 156. 40. Ibid., p. 158.

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The addition in Mt 4,24 is more enigmatic. The boundary between northern Galilee and Syria was more permeable and the notion of a border was less defined in the first century. Nonetheless, it is Matthew who employs the geographical designation of “Syria”, καὶ ἀπῆλϑεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν Συρίαν, “and his fame spread throughout all Syria” (Mt 4,24a). Whether this is no more than authorial hyperbole showing although Jesus’ ministry was limited to “Israel” news of his activity was widespread41, or alternatively if this is an implicit clue to the location of the evangelist and the community for which he writes is debatable42. Either way, this is simply a small Matthean editorial addition in what is primarily Markan material. Overall, the arrangement of material in Matthew 4 is largely dependent on the sequence of material in Mk 1,12-20. The Matthean evangelist has inserted three blocks of tradition of different sizes. The first is the largest. Here the double tradition account of a cycle of three temptations has been framed by the material that comprises the much briefer Markan temptation tradition Mk 1,12-1343. The second addition appears to bring forward the geographical move to Capernaum (Mk 1,21) and in line with Matthean redactional interests this move is justified with the aid of a formula citation. The final small redactional supplement (Mt 4,24), at least within the narrative enlarges the fame of Jesus. It may also reflect the location of the Matthean community, although that remains speculative. In terms of the structure of this chapter, it is possible to discern the underlying Markan structure which Matthew has adopted and adapted through incorporating additional material. As is well known, for the next three chapters that form Matthew’s introductory sermon, the evangelist does not utilise any Markan material, with the exception of a single concluding verse (Mt 7,29//Mk 1,22). As Luz observes, “[u]nlike the other discourses, for this programmatic discourse of Jesus he had no source from the Gospel of Mark”44. Yet while there is material taken over from a source shared with Lk 6,20-49, these verses do not form the overarching structure or framework for the Matthean sermon. The Matthean sermon has its own structure, and it also

41. Ibid., p. 167. 42. See the discussion in D.A. HAGNER, Matthew 1–13 (Word Biblical Commentary, 33A), Dallas, TX, Word, 1993, pp. 80-81. 43. Yarbro Collins notes the Markan account “does not reveal exactly how and why Jesus was tested”. A. YARBRO COLLINS, Mark (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2007, p. 153. That very lack of detail may have given rise to the expanded temptation account in the double tradition. 44. LUZ, Matthew 1–7 (n. 39), p. 174.

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contains many units which are unique to the first gospel. Moreover sections such as the antitheses (Mt 5,21-48), while preserving some traces of double tradition material (e.g., Mt 5,39-42.44-48//Lk 6,27-36), appear largely to be created by the redactional handiwork of the first evangelist who has developed the structure of the inaugural sermon. Therefore, in relation to the opening seven chapters of the Gospel of Matthew, the first two chapters as well as chapters five to seven preserve virtually no Markan material, and the first evangelist creates his own structure for this material or inherits it from traditions other than Mark. In relation to chapter three, approximately half the material in that chapter has stands in parallel with Markan traditions. However, the integration of double tradition material (Mt 3,7-12) suggests that the structural framework of the story of Jesus’ ministry commencing with the Baptist and his preaching is in fact a pre-Synoptic arrangement, and that Matthew has simply integrated material from different sources to preserve this traditional, but pre-Markan arrangement. By contrast, in chapter four the Matthean evangelist appears to have been indebted to the Gospel of Mark both for the content and structure of much of this material. This can be seen by the preservation of the order of the Markan source material drawn from Mk 1,12-20, in the enlarged sequence of material in Mt 4,1-25. Notwithstanding the observation that Matthew 4 draws upon the structural arrangement of Markan material, as a whole Matthew 1–7 is more strongly indebted to double and single tradition material. The evangelist has created his own framework for the introductory section of the gospel. This extended block of Matthean material presents a narrative introduction that is very much the author’s own composition. In fact, if the Gospel of Matthew only survived in fragmentary form, and the extant portion were Matthew 1–7, it is not improbable that scholars would discuss whether Matthew was directly dependent on the Gospel of Mark, or whether the evangelist simply drew on a common pre-Synoptic source for the few traditions in common with the Gospel of Mark that are contained in Matthew 1–7. 2. Matthew 8–14 By contrast, in Matthew 8–14 there is a greater preponderance of Markan material. Yet, as might be expected, this is not distributed evenly throughout this section of the Gospel of Matthew. In total there are 288 Matthean verses in these seven chapters. Of these 288 verses, 137 have clear Markan parallels and the remaining 151 verses are derived from double tradition material and traditions that are unique to the first evangelist. For instance,

291

MATTHEW’S USE OF MARK

in Matthew 9, there are thirty-two of the thirty-eight Matthean verses that stand in parallel with traditions contained in the Gospel of Mark. Alternative in the case of the thirty verses that comprise Matthew 11, none of these verses is derived from Markan tradition. Considering initially Matthew 8–9, it is useful to tabulate the individual Matthean units alongside their likely source. This tabulation results in the following presentation of data: SOURCES OF TRADITION UNITS IN MATTHEW 8–9 Matthean Unit

Markan Location

Q Location

8,1 8,2-4

8,1 1,40-45

8,5-13 8,14-17

Unique Matthean

7,1.3.6b-10 1,29-34

8,18-22

9,57-62

8,23-27

4,35-41

8,28-34

5,1-21

9,1-8

2,1-12

9,9-13

2,13-17

9,14-17

2,18-22

9,18-26

5,22-43

9,27-31 (cf. 20,29-34)

10,46-52

9,32-34

8,18

9,1

11,14-15

9,35-38

6,6b.34

8,2

72 verses

52 Mt// 93 Mk

17 Mt//16 Q

3 verses

A number of observations flow from this data. In Matthew 8–9 the first evangelist is more heavily indebted to Markan material than any other source of tradition45. Notwithstanding this, Matthew frequently abbreviates 45. Luz makes the following observation about the use of sources in this section. “The arrangement of individual texts in our section is different from that of Mark and Q, a feature that is strange, even unique. Matthew has combined two Markan sections (1:40– 2:22; 4:35–5:43) and has supplemented them with Q material. He has not, however, used any sources other than Mark and Q”. See U. LUZ, Matthew 8–20 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2001, p. 2.

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and rewrites Markan source material. What is most striking for understanding the way in which Matthew utilises the Markan structure and order is to observe the transpositions, inversions and rearrangements of blocks of Markan material. In Matthew 8, the evangelist utilises the Markan story of the cleansing of the leper (Mk 1,40-45) prior to the short narrative of the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law, which stands earlier in the Markan sequence (Mk 1,29-34). Here the first evangelist has inverted the order of these stories as they occur in the first chapter of the Gospel of Mark. Matthew then jumps to the end of Mark 4 for the tradition of the stilling of the storm (Mk 4,35-41). Next Matthew presents material drawn from Mk 5,1-21, which in Mark’s Gospel stands immediately after the story of the stilling of the storm. So here, Matthew preserves the Markan order of these two pericopae. However, Matthew has radically abbreviated the Markan account of the healing of the Gerasene demoniac, he has changed the location to Gadara, and doubled the number of demoniacs. After this Matthew follows in sequence three Markan pericopae drawn from Mark 2, which occurred after the story of the cleansing of the leper, which Matthew used back in Mt 8,2-4. After this the first evangelist returns to material drawn from Mark 5 for his radically shortened version of the story of Jairus’ daughter (Mt 9,18-26//Mk 5,22-43). Here the Markan version of the story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter contains 374 words, the Matthean version 138 words, and the Matthean version uses 49 of Mark’s 374 words46. Although Matthew preserves the gist of Mark’s intercalated story, he does so using only 13.10% of Mark’s actual words. The final two units of Markan tradition in Matthew 8–9 are drawn from Mk 10,46-52 and Mk 6,6b.34 respectively. This shows that while the first evangelist depends on a considerable number of Markan traditions in these two chapters and also preserves mini-sequences of common order, overall these traditions are drawn from six different Markan chapters (chaps 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, and 10) but not in that sequence. Matthew repositions several of those traditions relative to one another and radically truncates the contents of many of the Markan units. The material in Matthew 10 is complex due to this set of traditions representing a Mk/Q overlap47. Such traditions pose a difficulty in terms of determining the extent of Q. Therefore, for the current discussion it is somewhat problematic to determine the source of the Matthean material at 46. These word counts are based on the data provided by Morgenthaler, although since he does not include Mk 5,21 in his analysis of this unit of tradition a further 21 Markan words are added to account for the material in that verse. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), p. 240. 47. See FLEDDERMANN, Mark and Q (n. 32), pp. IX-XI.

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293

various points throughout this chapter. Hence, albeit in a provisional manner, the determination adopted here has been based on what appear to be the predominant views in scholarship. Matthew depends on Markan material for the traditions behind Mt 10,1-4.17-18.21-22.42, on Q for Mt 10,716.19-20.24-40, and Sondergut material is present in Mt 10,5-6.23.41. Focusing on the Matthean traditions with Markan parallels, the following dependencies emerge: Mt 10,1-4//Mk 6,7 and 3,16-19; Mt 10,17-18// Mk 13,9; Mt 10,21-22//Mk 13,12; Mt 10,42//Mk 9,41. This complexity leads Allison to wryly observe “Mt 10.5-25 is one of the many reasons the synoptic problem is in fact a problem”48. While the source critical issue is indeed complex and debatable, the primary observation for the current discussion of Matthew’s use of Mark’s structural framework is more straightforward. Again Matthew has brought together disparate Markan traditions that are in the eyes of the first evangelist thematically related. These have been conjoined with Q traditions that are also seen as thematically related and Matthew has added some single tradition material to create a narrative which bears his own newly created structure. The Markan traditions that have been employed are drawn together from four different chapters of the Gospel of Mark. This reveals a level of familiarity with the text and degree of forethought and planning in how to integrate those disparate traditions with other double tradition material. At one level the material in Matthew 11 is much simpler to describe. It is a combination of Q material (Mt 11,2-11.12-13.16-19.21-23.25-27// Lk 7,18-28; 16,16; 7,31-35; 10,13-15.21-24) and unique Matthean traditions (Mt 11,1.14-15.20.24.28-30). Here the structure is largely drawn from Q49, although if the Lukan positioning of Q 16,16 reflects the origin location in the sequence of Q, then Matthew has moved this tradition forward from its original Q sequence. Regardless of the transposition of Q traditions, this chapter is not indebted to Mark for its content or structure. The material contained in Matthew 12 returns to being a mixture of Markan, Q, and unique Matthean traditions. The places where Matthew is dependent on Markan traditions are as follows: Plucking grain on the Sabbath Healing of withered hand Summary of healing Blasphemy against Spirit Jesus’ true family

Mt 12,1-4.8//Mk 2,23-26.28 Mt 12,9-10.12-14//Mk 3,1-6 Mt 12,15-16//Mk 3,7-12 Mt 12,31//Mk 3,28 Mt 12,46-50//Mk 3,31-35

48. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 163. 49. In relation to Mt 11,2-19, Davies and Allison note that this material “very closely resembles Lk 7.18-35. Verbatim agreement is extensive, and the ordering of sentences is the same”. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 235.

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Here it is possible to observe the first evangelist’s dependence on both the content and the sequence of material contained in Mk 2,23–3,35. In fact this dependence on the Markan sequence is further strengthened when it is noted that within this sequence, although Matthew is closer to the Q form of tradition, there is an additional Mk/Q overlap text – the Beelzebul controversy (Mt 12,22-30//Mk 3,22-27)50. Moreover, the Matthean doublet on the sign of Jonah is a further complicating factor51. The version in Mt 12,38-42 appears closer to Lk 11,29-32, whereas the version in Mt 16,1-2a.4 is closer to Mk 8,11-12. Therefore, including the Beelzebul narrative, there are six Matthean traditions in Matthew 12 that occur in the same order as material contained in Mk 2,23– 3,35. Hence this section of the first gospel is a clear example where Matthew has followed the structure of the Markan source reasonably closely, albeit with additions both from Q and singly attested Matthean material. Matthew’s parables chapter (Matthew 13) draws together parable material from Mark, Q, and a number of parables that are unique to Matthew in the Synoptic tradition. However, within this chapter Matthew arranges material in a way that conforms to his own structural preferences. As Davies and Allison observe, “Matthew follows Mark rather closely in 13.1-23. But when he sets out on his own course, beginning with 13.24, we have two triads: vv. 24-30+31-32+33 and 44, 45-6, 47-8”52. Davies and Allison note that the same compositional technique is used in chapters 24–25. Thus, while Matthew introduces the parable material with an extended block of Markan material which he follows closely, Mark’s Gospel does not form the structure of this chapter. Instead, Matthew creates his own structure formed from a range of different traditions. This structural arrangement also allows Matthew to give this material explanatory force for explicating the mixed reception of the proclamation of the kingdom of heaven. As Christian Münch 50. Tuckett’s analysis of the details of this passage is helpful. He states that Matthew “takes vv. 24-28 from Q, v. 29 from Mark, v. 30 from Q, v. 31 from Mark, and then v.32 from Q. Once again, rather than engage in any micro-conflation, Matthew is working much more with a (mini-) ‘block’ policy in using his sources”. C.M. TUCKETT, Matthew’s Conflation of His Sources, in J. VERHEYDEN – G. VAN BELLE (eds.), An Early Reader of Mark and Q (Biblical Tools and Studies, 21), Leuven – Paris – Bristol, CT, Peeters, 2016, 67-107, here pp. 98-99. One might reasonably ask whether this is a case of perspective, or when does one scholar’s mini-block theory become sufficiently small to qualify as micro-conflation? 51. On the phenomenon of the doublets see P. FOSTER, The Doublets in Matthew: What Are They Good For?’ in VERHEYDEN – VAN BELLE (eds.), An Early Reader of Mark and Q (n. 50), 109-138. 52. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 372.

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states, “Mt 13,1-52 nimmt die Gottesherrschaft, den Erfolg und Misserfolg ihrer Verkündigung und ihre Wirklichkeit in der Welt in den Blick”53. So while the Markan parable of the sower (Mk 4,1-20) may have provided the impetus for drawing the parable material together in this chapter, the structure of Mark 4 does not provide the framework for Matthew 1354. Rather, the first evangelist has brought together disparate source material, and he has created his own structural framework to support the theological themes he wishes to advance in this parable discourse. The material in Matthew 14 is largely drawn from the Gospel of Mark. There is no double tradition material in this chapter, and only four verses represent material that is unique to the first gospel. Matthew commenced following material from Mark 6 at the end of the previous chapter (Mt 13,53-58//Mk 6,1-6a). The material contained in Mk 6,6b-13 has also been covered in the Mk/Q overlap passage of Mt 10,7-16, where Matthew is closer to the Q form of the tradition55. In Matthew 14 dependence on the content and sequence of material from Mark 6 continue: the death of John the Baptist (Mt 14,1-12//Mk 6,14-29), the feeding of the five thousand (Mt 14,13-21//Mk 6,30-44), and walking on the water and healing the sick (Mt 14,22-35//Mk 6,45-56). The significant Matthean addition is the Petrine scene during the walking on the water (Mt 14,28-31) which is unparalleled in Mark56. Utilising Morgenthaler’s word counts for each for these three blocks in Matthew 14, the following emerges57. For the narrative of the death of John the Baptist (Mt 14,1-12//Mk 6,1429), the Markan version has 302 words whereas Matthew significantly abbreviates this resulting in a narrative of 170 words of which only 89 are shared with Mark, or 29.47% of Mark’s vocabulary is used by the first evangelist in his version of the tradition. For the account of the 53. C. MÜNCH, Einleitung – III. Parabeln im Matthäusevangelium, in R. ZIMMERMANN (ed.), Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu, Gütersloh, Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007, 385391, p. 386. 54. Thus it is not possible to accept B.W. Bacon’s assessment of his so-called third book of Matthew (Matthew 11–13). Bacon states, “Mt takes over and enlarges the Markan discourse in its framework”. B.W. BACON, Studies in Matthew, New York, Henry Holt, 1930, p. 202. 55. As Fleddermann observes, “Besides conflating the Q Mission Discourse with Mark’s discourse, Matthew considerably expands the discourse by drawing in additional Marcan material and other Q texts”. H.T. FLEDDERMANN, Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary (Biblical Tools and Studies, 1), Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA, Peeters, 2005. 56. Davies and Allison state, “the material about Peter walking on the water has been inserted (Mt 14.28-31)”. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 496. 57. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), pp. 239-241.

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feeding of the five thousand (Mt 14,13-21//Mk 6,30-44), Mark has 236 words, Matthew 168 words of which 87 or 36.86% are Markan. Finally, with the walking on water and healings at Gennesaret (Mt 14,22-35// Mk 6,45-56), Mark has 211 words, Matthew 164 words of which 92 or 43.60% are Markan. Thus Matthew consistently abbreviates and rewrites the Markan traditions employed in Matthew 14, and the evangelist makes only one large-scale addition, that of the inclusion of the story of Peter walking on the water (Mt 14,28-31). The material in Matthew 14 is, therefore, directly dependent on the Gospel of Mark for its content and structure, although the material from Mk 6,6b-13 has been excluded from this otherwise sequential and continuous use of the material drawn from Mark 6 because it had been conflated with the Mk/Q overlap passage in Mt 10,7-16. Overall in the block of Matthean material contained in Matthew 8–14, there is an increased dependence on Markan material in comparison with the Matthean material in Matthew 1–7. Matthew 8–14 contains 288 verses of which at least 137 have Markan parallels58. Those Markan traditions are drawn from various sections of the gospel including chapters 1–6, 9–10. Hence in these chapters Matthew draws upon material from the pre-passion section of the Gospel of Mark, but not consistently in the order in which it occurs in Mark. The material in Matthew 14 is the strongest example of reproduction of the Markan sequence of traditions. Overall, however, Matthew, while exhibiting greater dependence on Markan material in Matthew 8–14 than in Matthew 1–7, continues to create a new structure for the traditions that are amalgamated in this part of the narrative. 3. Matthew 15–21 The increased dependence on the content and structure of the Markan narrative that was seen in Matthew 14 as it followed the sequence of Mark 6, continues in Matthew 15–17. For these three Matthew chapters the structure adopted by the first evangelist is largely the same as the Markan account contained in Mark 7–9. This dependence is most easily seen when the parallel pericopae are presented in a tabulated form. 58. Here the slightly open-ended estimate of “at least 137” is used intentionally to account for the fact in certain Mk/Q overlap passages the source of Matthew’s tradition is sometimes unclear. This is especially the case in passages such as Mt 10,7-16. However, if more Markan material was deemed to be present in these verses the count would only be increased by a few verses.

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SEQUENCE OF PERICOPAE IN MATTHEW 15–17

AND

MARKAN PARALLELS

Matthean Pericope

Matthean Location

Markan Sequence & Source Material

Clean and Unclean Food

Mt 15,1-20

Mk 7,1-23 (+ unique material)

Canaanite Woman

Mt 15,21-28

Mk 7,24-30 (+ unique material)

Healing Summary Statement

Mt 15,29-31

– Mk 7,31-37 (Healing Deaf Man)

Feeding of Four Thousand

Mt 15,32-39

Mk 8,1-10

Request of Sign from Heaven

Mt 16,1-4

Mk 8,11-12 (+ unique material)

Leaven of Pharisees & Sadducees

Mt 16,5-12

Mk 8,14-21

–

Mk 8,22-26 (blind man healed)

Peter’s Confession

Mt 16,13-20

Mk 8,27-30 (+ unique material)

First Passion Prediction

Mt 16,21-23

Mk 8,31-33

Cost of Discipleship

Mt 16,24-28

Mk 8,34–9,1

Transfiguration

Mt 17,1-9

Mk 9,2-10 (+ unique material)

Coming of Elijah

Mt 17,10-13

Mk 9,11-13 (+ unique material)

Healing an Epileptic

Mt 17,14-20

Mk 9,14-29

Second Passion Prediction

Mt 17,22-23

Mk 9,31-32

Paying Temple Tax

Mt 17,24-27

–

Here the sequence of Matthean pericopae in Matthew 15–17 can be seen to follow the Markan order of material in Mark 7–9. The major deviations are Matthew’s omission of two Markan healing stories, the healing of a deaf man (Mk 7,31-37) and the healing of a blind man (Mk 8,22-26). Both of these miracles are tactile in nature, they involve the application of spittle, and they carry overtones of magic. As Davies and Allison comment specifically in regard to the Markan pericopae of the healing of the deaf man (Mk 7,31-37), “Matthew’s omission of this is easy to comprehend. His dislike of everything savouring of magic is well

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known”59. Moreover, Matthew adds two pericopae that do not stand in Mark. First, the summary statement of healing. While Matthew is in general fond of summary statements, in this specific case, beyond that fondness, the summary may function as a replacement for the magical healing of the deaf man60. Interestingly, while Matthew refers to healings of several categories of people – the lame, the crippled, the blind, and the dumb – there is no reference to the deaf being healed. This is possibly intentional, and an attempt to suppress the story of magical healing by not permitting even a hint of it to stand in the summary healing statement. The second addition is the unique Matthean narrative of the coin in the fish’s mouth, and the payment of the Temple tax, Mt 17,24-27. This brief story contains a number of elements that suggest it has been shaped by Matthean thematic concerns, that it contains distinct vocabulary and stylistic traits, and at least in its final form it appears to be a late development within the Synoptic tradition61. Despite these two omissions from the Markan sequence of material and the addition of two unique pericopae, the dependence of the first evangelist on the Markan narrative for the content and ordering of the material in Matthew 15–17 is fully apparent. However, even here while dependent on the Markan sequence, Matthew substantially rewords many of the individual Markan pericopae. This can be seen in the example of the parallel versions of the story of the healing of the epileptic boy Mt 17,14-20// Mk 9,14-29. The Markan version contains 270 words. By contrast, the Matthean version is 110 words of which only 39 are shared with Mark. Therefore Matthew preserves only 14.44% of Mark’s vocabulary62. The opening pericope in Matthew 18 continues following the Markan sequence (Mt 18,1-6//Mk 9,33-37)63. After this, however, Matthew departs 59. DAVIES – ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, vol. 2 (n. 12), p. 561. 60. As Bultmann notes, Mt 15,29-31 is “using Mk. 731-37, though in substitution of the deaf mute recounted in Mk. 731-37”. R. BULTMANN, History of the Synoptic Tradition, Oxford, Blackwell, 1963, p. 353. 61. See P. FOSTER, Vespasian, Nerva, Jesus and the Fiscus Judaicus, in D.B. CAPES – A.D. DECONICK – H.K. BOND – T.A. MILLER (eds.), Israel’s God and Rebecca’s Children: Christology and Community in Early Judaism and Christianity. Essays in Honor of Larry W. Hurtado and Alan F. Segal, Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2007, 303-320. It is argued that while this pericope is set within the ministry of Jesus, for the Matthean community it addressed the issue of whether or not they were obliged to pay the fiscus Judaicus, levied on Jews in the aftermath of the Jewish revolt. The evangelist advised compliance with payment, yet “Matthew had to demonstrate to community members that payment of the fiscus was not only astute, but was also a demonstration of the community’s faith” (see p. 315). 62. The word counts are taken from MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), p. 240. 63. Specifically Mt 18,1-2.5-6 is drawn from Mk 9,33-37, and in the following pericope (Mt 18,7-14) the material in Mt 18,8-9 is drawn from Mk 9,43.47.

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from following source material taken from the Gospel of Mark64, and instead draws on some Q material but integrates the majority of material in this chapter that is unique to the first evangelist. Matthew brings this material together to form an extended discourse that initially deals with the treatment of “little ones” (Mt 18,1-6), but quickly transforms to discuss how inner group behaviour and discipline should be conducted (Mt 18,1520), and an illustrative parable presenting the ideal of unlimited forgiveness (Mt 18,21-35). Much like the Temple tax narrative, the majority of the material in Matthew 18 although presented in the context of Jesus’ teaching appears to speak clearly to the situation of the evangelist’s contemporaries. This, along with characteristic Matthean theological interests and choices of vocabulary suggests that this unit is a compositional creation of the author of the Gospel of Matthew that addresses pastoral concerns as he perceives them to exist among his current readers. The next two chapters of the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 19–20) resume the pattern of Matthew 15–17 by following the sequence of Markan material, this time as contained in Mark 10. Nonetheless these two chapters are different in their compositional formation. In Matthew 19 limited non-Markan material intrudes on the sequence of material drawn from Mk 10,1-31. After the transitional and scene-setting material in Mt 19,1-2 (//Mk 10,1), in the opening pericope dealing with the Pharisees’ question concerning divorce based upon Mk 10,2-12, Matthew both reorders the Markan account and adds material unique to the first gospel. While Matthew rearranges the order of the Markan material, there are two significant redactional changes. The first is the addition of the concessive clause μὴ ἐπὶ πορνείᾳ “except for porneia” (Mt 19,9), which has no parallel in Mk 10,11. This phrase replicates the Matthean comment in Mt 5,32, and thus this “exceptive clause” may be seen as an addition due to Matthean theological perspectives on divorce. The second more substantive addition involves a different conclusion with the dialogue with the disciples (Mt 19,10-12). Here Matthew responds to the disciples’ contention that it is better not to marry with a general in principle, but tempered agreement, and a statement concerning eunuchs. The remainder of the chapter is nearly exclusively dependent on Mark. In sequence the pericopae are the blessing of the children (Mt 19,13-15//Mk 10,13-16), the encounter with the rich young man (Mt 19,16-22//Mk 10,17-22), and the obstacle of riches and rewards of discipleship (Mt 19,23-30// Mk 10,23-31). Only in relation to this final pericope does Matthew supplement its content with material drawn from another source. The “thrones 64. With the exception of Mt 18,8-9 as noted above.

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saying” of Mt 19,28 also occurs in Lk 22,28.30, thereby indicating that this material was taken from the Q source65. Therefore, Matthew 19 is largely dependent on Mk 10,1-31 for the sequence of material, and although Matthew reorders and rewords the source material at a number of places the basic content is basically Markan in nature. The situation in Matthew 20 is somewhat different from the close and virtually uninterrupted dependence on the Markan narrative in Matthew 19. Here Matthew intersperses Markan material with a single more extensive non-Markan tradition. The parable of the vineyard workers is a unique Matthean tradition, albeit rounded off with a modified duplicate of the “first will be last and the last will be first” saying (Mt 19,30// Mk 10,31), although in this context in reverse order “the last will be first, and the first last” (Mt 20,16). Afterwards Matthew returns to sequence of material drawn from Mark 10. This includes the third passion prediction Mt 20,17-19//Mk 10,32-34, the request of the mother of the sons of Zebedee rather than the sons themselves (Mt 20,20-28//Mk 10,35-45), and the healing of two blind men near Jericho (Mt 20,29-34//Mk 10,46-52). With this selection of pericopae, Matthew utilises all the material in Mark 10 in the sequence of material contained in Matthew 19–20, although he has made a number of supplements and wording choices of varying sizes and degrees. The material in Matthew 21 is the commencement of the passion narrative. Since the Q source contained no passion narrative, the basic sequence of the narrative of events from Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem to the discovery of the empty tomb (Mt 21,1–28,8) follows the Markan sequence covering the same material (Mk 11,1–16,8). However, Matthew makes significant additions to that basic narrative, utilising some Q traditions that had not been used previously in the narrative, integrating several traditions found only in the Matthean account, and rewording, reordering or omitting elements from the Markan source material at several points. The source of Matthew’s account of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (21,1-11) is Mk 11,1-11. The most significant change is the addition of the fulfilment formula and accompanying citation of Zech 9,9 in Mt 21,4-566. This reflects Matthew’s redactional technique of suppling scriptural texts to illustrate that Jesus represented the fulfilment of these 65. Both Matthew and Luke appear to have substantially expanded and rewritten the underlying Q form of this saying. For a discussion of the reconstruction of the version that may have occurred in Q see FLEDDERMANN, Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary (n. 55), pp. 864-869. 66. As is stated elsewhere, “[t]he quotation of Zech 9:9 in the Matthean version of the triumphal entry into Jerusalem is unique to the first gospel. The addition comprises the introductory formula to the fulfilled prophecy (v. 4), followed by the quotation itself

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traditions67. In particular the deployment of this citation advances the christological perspective of the gospel that through this “clear example of Matthew’s use of a citation from Zechariah, we can see that it is used in line with the first evangelist’s concern with showing that Jesus fulfils the prophecies of scripture thereby vindicating his messianic claims”68. With Mark’s twin and intercalated stories of the cursing of the fig tree and the cleansing of the Temple (Mk 11,12-24), Matthew follows the content of the Markan source, but reorders the material. The first evangelist commences with the cleansing of the Temple (Mt 21,12-13// Mk 11,15-17), then he combines the two stage Markan story of the cursing and withering of the fig tree into a single story with an instantaneous outcome (Mt 21,18-22//Mk 11,12-14.20-24). The first evangelist appears to miss the Markan intention of the fig tree curse as a commentary on the fate and the state of the Temple. Matthew also expands the Temple scene (Mt 21,14-17) in a way that introduces three redactional features that are favourites of the first evangelist. First, a summary statement of healing activity (Mt 21,14), second the children affirming Jesus’ status as son of David (Mt 21,15) and third a citation showing that events surrounding Jesus aligned with scripture (Mt 21,16). Matthew continues following the Markan sequence by replicating the controversy surrounding the source of Jesus’ own authority and the source of the authority of John the Baptist (Mt 21,23-27//Mk 11,27-33). Next Matthew introduced the parable of the two sons, which is unique to the first gospel (Mt 21,28-32). The chapter is concluded by using Markan source material for the parable of the wicked vineyard workers (Mt 21,3342.46//Mk 12,1-12). However, Matthew makes a key theological insertion in this parable (Mt 21,43-45). Still addressing the “chief priests and the elders of the people” (see Mt 21,23), he informs them that the kingdom will be taken from them and given to a nation that will produce the fruit commensurate with it (Mt 21,43). Next follows an enigmatic statement that looks like a loose reworded word of Isa 8,15 (cf. Mt 21,44). This verse, however is omitted in some manuscripts, and thus might represent a later addition to the text69. The last element provides an editorial (v. 5)”. See P. FOSTER, The Use of Zechariah in Matthew’s Gospel, in C. TUCKETT (ed.), The Book of Zechariah and Its Influence, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2003, 65-85, p. 74. 67. In particular see G. SOARES-PRABHU, The Formula Quotations in the Infancy Narrative of Matthew: An Enquiry into the Tradition History of Matthew 1–2 (Analecta Biblica, 63), Roma, Biblical Institute Press, 1976, esp. pp. 136-138. 68. FOSTER, The Use of Zechariah in Matthew’s Gospel (n. 66), p. 76. 69. It is, however, far from certain that Mt 21,44 is in fact a later addition. As Metzger notes, “[m]any modern scholars regard the verse as an early interpolation (from Lk 20.18) into most manuscripts of Matthew. On the other hand, however, the words are not the

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comment on Jesus’ interlocutors, now designated as “the chief priests and the Pharisees” (cf. Mt 21,23). Here the evangelist makes it clear to whom the message of judgment is directed for, he states, “they understood that he was speaking about them” (Mt 21,45b). So in the section of the Gospel of Matthew covering Matthew 15–21, there are a total of 237 verses. Of these 154 verses, or 64.98%, appear to have been drawn from Markan source material. By contrast, only 13 verses are identifiable as Q material, that is 5.48% of the material in this section of the Gospel of Matthew. Lastly 70 verses are unique to the first gospel, or 29.54% of the material in Matthew 15–21. The Gospel of Mark, however, is not only Matthew’s primary source in terms of the volume of material used in this section of the gospel, it also provides the structural framework for the Gospel of Matthew in this portion of the narrative. In fact, from Mt 13,53 to Mt 21,46 the first evangelist has integrated most of the material from Mk 6,1–12,12 following the order of the Gospel of Mark without significant levels of reordering or omission. However, the first evangelist continues to abbreviate and reword the Markan source material throughout this section of his gospel. 4. Matthew 22–28 In this final quartile of the Gospel of Matthew the compositional pattern is closer to the method that was observed both in the sections Matthew 1–7 and Matthew 8–14, than it is to the pattern of close dependence of Markan content, a structure observed in Matthew 15–21. There are chapters where Markan material is the strongly predominant source (Matthew 22, 26–27). By contrast, in other chapters no Markan material is present (Matthew 23, 25). While in other chapters there is a greater mix of source material (Matthew 24, 28). In Matthew 22 the first evangelist continues the pattern in Matthew 14–21 by largely following Markan source material, in this instance drawn from Mk 12,13-31.35-37. However, Matthew opens this chapter with nonMarkan material. After a redactional transition (Mt 22,1) the first evangelist returns to double tradition material as the source for his version of the wedding banquet parable (Mt 22,2-14//Lk 14,16-24). As is frequently noted, same, and a more appropriate place for its insertion would have been after ver. 42. Its omission can perhaps be accounted for when the eye of the copyist passed from αὐτῆς (ver. 43) to αὐτόν. While considering the verse to be an accretion to the text, yet because of the antiquity of the reading and its importance in the textual tradition, the Committee decided to retain it in the text, enclosed within square brackets”. METZGER, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (n. 21), p. 47.

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this is one of the double tradition passages with the lowest levels of verbatim agreement. Thus Harnack was unconvinced of a Q origin for this parable. In regard this tradition he states, for St. Matthew has upon no other occasion so freely or edited or amalgamated with other material those sections which are derived from Q. We must therefore conjecture that either this section did not occur in Q, or that if it did, it had already received another form in Q before that source reached St. Matthew70.

Others have noted that the level of difference does not exceed that known from other triple or double tradition passages, and that the changes are explicable on redaction critical grounds71. One of the more recent treatments of parables refrained from coming to a conclusion on the question of whether the two forms share a common literary source. Thus Snodgrass states, [w]hether the accounts of this parable – Matthew on the one hand and Luke/ Gos. Thom. on the other – are two versions of the same parable or two separate parables is debatable, and therefore, whether the two should even be treated together is questionable72.

However, for the current discussion, it is perhaps sufficient to note that whatever the precise origin of this tradition, it is non-Markan73. Apart from this block of tradition, only the traditional and redactional verses in Mt 22,15.34 represent non-Markan material in this chapter. Having followed the sequence of the Gospel of Mark closely since Mt 13,53 (with the exception of the material in Matthew 18), in Matthew 23 the first evangelist creates a fresh composition from a combination of Q traditions and material that is unique to the first gospel. Typically, Q or double tradition is seen as being present in Mt 23,4.6-7.13.23.25-27.29-32.3436. Thus the remainder of the material, Mt 23,1-3.5.8-12.15-22.24.28.33, is unique to Matthew’s Gospel74. Hence there is a close interweaving of thematically related material from Q and material unique to Matthew. 70. A. VON HARNACK, The Sayings of Jesus: The Second Source of St. Matthew and St. Luke, London, Williams and Norgate; New York, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1908, p. 122 (Eng. trans. of Sprüche und Reden: Die zweite Quelle des Matthäus und Lukas, Leipzig, Hinrichs, 1907, p. 84). 71. FLEDDERMANN, Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary (n. 55), p. 722. 72. K.R. SNODGRASS, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2018, p. 299. 73. For further discussion of the possible origin in Q see P. FOSTER, The Q Parables: Their Extent and Function, in D.T. ROTH – M. LABAHN – R. ZIMMERMANN (eds.), Metaphor, Narrative and Parables in Q (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 315), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, 239-270. 74. Mt 23,14 is not present in the best earliest manuscripts.

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Whether this is best understood as micro-conflation or small-block alternation is most likely dependent on how the terms “small-block” and micro-conflation are understood. However, there can be no doubt, regardless of labels, that the first evangelist is presenting material that has resulted from a fine-grained combination of tradition drawn from disparate sources. The choice of language in the foregoing statement is intentional for the phrase “the evangelist is presenting material”, since it is difficult to determine whether the combination of Q traditions and non-Q material is due to the evangelist’s own redactional handiwork, or whether this combination of traditions pre-dates Matthew and he has simply taken it over into his gospel. Streeter goes so far as to suggest that the complex tradition history of this material is “quite the most striking of the very few cases in the Gospels where the diversity between Matthew and Luke can be plausibly accounted for by independent translation from Aramaic”75. Newport’s extended analysis of this passage has not gone without challenge and is certainly controversial. He argues that Matthew 23 “contains an extensive source which is a coherent unit and which fits well into a pre-70 CE Sitz im Leben”76. Notwithstanding the correct nature of the tradition history of this passage, it is clear at this point Matthew has chosen to integrate into his narrative structure a lengthy block of non-Markan material after following Mark closely for the majority of Mt 13,53–22,46 (//Mk 6,1–12,27). In Matthew 24 the evangelist commences the final extended discourse of Jesus presented in the first gospel. To form this section material is brought together from various sources including the Gospel of Mark, Q, and special Matthean material, although the latter is limited to a few editorial additions and comments. For the material in Mt 24,1-36 the evangelist chiefly draws upon Mark. Commenting on the sources of Mt 24,1-35, Davies and Allison state, vv. 1-3, 4-9, 13-14, 15-25, 29, 30c-1, 32-3, 34-5 all have close Markan parallels and are usually accounted for on the theory of Markan priority. Vv. 26 (in the desert or the inner rooms), 27 (the lightning), and 28 (the body and the eagles) closely resemble Lk 17.23-4 and 37 and so have their source in Q77.

75. STREETER, The Four Gospels (n. 3), p. 254. 76. K.G.C. NEWPORT, The Sources and Sitz im Leben of Matthew 23 (Journal for the Study of the New Testament. Supplement Series, 117), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1995, p. 186. 77. W.D. DAVIES – D.C. ALLISON, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Vol. 3: Commentary on Matthew XIX–XXVIII (International Critical Commentary), Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1997, p. 327.

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Thus Mt 24,10-12, foretelling of many falling away, the arrival of false prophets, and an increase of lawlessness and a cooling of hearts, is unique to the first gospel. This material resonates with several redactional passages elsewhere in the gospel. In the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew has already provided a warning against false prophets (Mt 7,15). There have also been warnings to the Matthean audience that they will be “delivered up” παραδώσουσιν (Mt 10,17; 24,9) to courts or to tribulation, or that ἀνομία “lawlessness” will be a sign of rejection of allegiance to Jesus. Among the canonical gospels only Matthew uses the term ἀνομία (Mt 7,23; 13,41; 24,12), which is a clear redactional choice of vocabulary to communicate Matthean theological concerns. While Davies and Allison attribute Mt 24,14 to a recasting of material in Mk 13,9-1078, this appears to be a more thoroughgoing Matthean redactional creation. Admittedly there is some limited correspondence between Mt 24,14b and Mk 13,13b primarily in relation to the common use of the term τέλος79. The theme of “the gospel of the kingdom being preached in the whole world” and the reference to the “nations”, resonates with the climatic great commission which concludes the gospel (Mt 28,19-20). Moreover, the references to the τέλος (Mt 24,14) aligns with the description of the “end of the age” τῆς συντελείας τοῦ αἰῶνος in great commission (Mt 28,20). Therefore, Mt 24,14 is best understood as a Matthean redactional creation that depicts core Matthean theological ideas about the relationship between the proclamation of the gospel to all nations and the ensuing end of the age. The remainder of the chapter (Mt 24,37-51) is largely Matthean reworking of Q material with the exception of Mt 24,42 which is drawn from Mk 13,35. Matthew uses this Markan tradition to provide a concluding statement for the Q apocalyptic material (Q 17,26-30.33-35.37) that is recast in Mt 24,37-41. The chapter is then concluded with two further blocks of Q material. First, the thief at night and watching for the Son of Man saying (Mt 24,43-44//Lk 12,39-40). Second, the parable of the good servant and the wicked servant (Mt 24,45-51//Lk 12,42-46). While Matthew continues to make changes to wording and at times rearranges material, in Matthew 24 the evangelist primarily alternates between thematically related Markan and Q material in two blocks. The sequence of Mark is resumed, following from the previous Markan material used in Matthew 22, after the interruption of a significant placement of non-Markan material in Matthew 23. 78. Ibid., p. 343. 79. For a discussion of source use see U. LUZ, Matthew 21–28 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2005, p. 183.

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As was the case in Matthew 23, in Matthew 25 the evangelist creates a complex of material in this chapter that is composed of one block that is possibly Q material and traditions that are unique to Matthew. The three major blocks of tradition are the parable of the bridegroom and the ten virgins (Mt 25,1-13) which is unique Matthean material, the parable of the talents (Mt 25,14-30//Lk 19,12-27), and the judgment of the sheep and the goats (Mt 25,31-46) which again is unique Matthean material. There has been some hesitancy expressed about classifying Mt 25,14-30 as derived from Q material. Luz provides the following negative assessment. “A variant of our story, the parable of the minas, is preserved in Luke 19:12-27. Is this a Q text? In general the negative assessment seems to outweigh the positive”80. By contrast, Fleddermann attributes a substantial portion of the parable to Q (Q 19,12-13.15-20a.21. 20b.22-24.26). He makes the following observation: If we eliminate the throne-claimant motif as a Lucan addition, then the two parables have the same story line and the same theme. In both Matthew and Luke a departing man entrusts money to his servants and on his return demands an accounting in which he rewards two of the servants and punishes a third. Despite the great differences between Matthew and Luke we also find instances of verbal agreement especially at the end of the parable (Matt 25,24-29 par. Luke 19,20-26). Although the differences between Matthew and Luke seem great, on close examination they do not differ in kind from the many differences we encounter throughout the double tradition81.

Based on these observations, it is preferable to attribute this parable to Q, but to note the significant level of deviation between the Matthean and Lukan versions. The Markan material at the beginning of Matthew 24 provides the context and impetus for Matthew to create his own extended narrative and structure for the eschatological discourse contained in Matthew 24–25. In this sense Mark is neither the source of the content for much of this discourse, neither does it provide the overall structural framework. Rather the Gospel of Mark is best viewed as generating the originating ideas due to the nature of the material in Mark 13 paralleled in Mt 24,1-36. However, the Matthean evangelist surpasses the Markan source material both in terms of extent and the range of related themes covered in Matthew 24–25. The result is a newly created discourse with its own themes and theological concerns.

80. Ibid., p. 247. 81. FLEDDERMANN, Q: A Reconstruction and Commentary (n. 55), p. 839.

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The material in Matthew 26–27 not only forms a tightly connected sequence of chronologically compressed events, but the source usage is similar throughout this section of the Gospel of Matthew. Therefore it is sensible to consider these chapters together when analysing the use of Markan source material in this section of the first gospel. It appears that Q contained no passion narrative. Hence when telling the story of Jesus’ final few days, it is unsurprising that the Markan account forms the bulk of the source material used by Matthew. The Markan account of the last supper, the arrest, the trial and crucifixion of Jesus (Mk 14,1–15,47) forms the basis for the Matthean account of the same sequence of events (Mt 26,2–27,61[66]). The statement in Mt 26,1 is a redactional and transitional statement, where at least the first phrase καὶ ἐγένετο ὅτε ἐτέλεσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς πάντας τοὺς λόγους τούτους (Mt 26,1a) is probably better understood as the conclusion of the eschatological discourse (Mt 24,1– 26,1)82. For the passion events narrated in Mt 26,2–27,66, the source for Matthew’s content and sequence is primarily derived from the Gospel of Mark. However, Matthew introduces several elements found only in the first gospel that are either redactional elements or free floating pre-existent traditions that the evangelist has gathered. Some of these are of sizable extent, some introduce striking additional details, and some create significant theological perspectives many of which are typical of the thematic and theological concerns of the first evangelist. The use of source material can be visualised most straightforwardly in a tabulated form. SEQUENCE OF PERICOPAE IN MT 26,1–27,66

AND

MARKAN PARALLELS

Matthean Pericope

Matthean Location

Markan Sequence & Source Material

Plot to kill Jesus

Mt 26,2-5

Mk 14,1-2 (Mt 26,3 unique: reference to Caiaphas).

Anointing at Bethany

Mt 26,6-13

Mk 14,3-9

82. As is well-known the first evangelist concludes each of his five discourses in a similar way. The first four conclude with a formula along the lines of καὶ ἐγένετο ὅτε ἐτέλεσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς τοὺς λόγους τούτους (cf. Mt 7,28; 11,1; 13,53; 19,1). Only the final variant of this formula emphasises the conclusion of all these words, πάντας τοὺς λόγους τούτους (Mt 26,1). As R.T. France observes, the phrase καὶ ἐγένετο ὅτε ἐτέλεσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς functions as a structural marker. This phrase is “followed by ‘these words’ or a similar indication that it is a section of teaching which has just been concluded (7:28; 11:1; 13:53; 19:1; 26:1). After this in each case comes an indication of a new phase in the story, generally by means of a move to a new geographical area”. R.T. FRANCE, Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher, Exeter, Paternoster, 1989, p. 142.

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Agreement to betray Jesus Mt 26,14-16

Mk 14,10-11

The Last Supper

Mt 26,17-29

Mk 14,12-25 (Mt 26,25 unique: Judas and Jesus dialogue).

Denial predicted

Mt 26,30-35

Mk 14,26-31

Garden of Gethsemane

Mt 26,36-46

Mk 14,32-42 (Mt 26,42b.44 unique: second and third prayer made explicit).

Arrest of Jesus

Mt 26,47-56

Mk 14,43-50 (Mt 26,52-54 unique: Jesus comment on sword, legions and scripture).

Trial before Sanhedrin

Mt 26,57-68

Mk 14,53-65

Peter’s Denial

Mt 26,69-75

Mk 14,66-72

Jesus led to Pilate

Mt 27,1-2

Mk 15,1

Judas’ remorse and death

Mt 27,3-10

–

Trial before Pilate

Mt 27,11-26

Mk 15,2-15 (Mt 27,19 unique: Pilate’s wife’s dream; Mt 27,24-25 unique: Pilate washes his hands and blood on heads).

Soldiers’ mockery

Mt 27,27-31

Mk 15,16-20

Crucifixion

Mt 27,32-56

Mk 15,21-41 (Mt 27,43 unique: Citation of Ps 22,8; Mt 27, 51b-53 unique: three extra phenomena at death).

Burial of Jesus

Mt 27,57-61

Mk 15,42-47

Appointment of a guard

Mt 27,62-66

–

Here, the Gospel of Matthew exemplifies a high level of structural and verbal dependence on the Markan passion narrative. However even here it is possible to see the incorporation of additional material. The result is an expansion of the 119 verses or 1487 words of Mark’s account of the events from before the trial to the burial of Jesus (Mk 14,1–15,47) into a 141 verse or a 2254 word version of the parallel material in Matthew (Mt 26,1–27,66). Therefore in terms of words, Matthew’s version is 767 words longer than Mark’s narrative at this point, or 51.2% more extensive. However, over the parallel to the material contained in Mk 14,1– 15,47, according to Morgenthaler there are 926 of Mark’s 1487 words (or 62.3%) used in Matthew’s narrative Mt 26,1–27,6683. Or out of Matthew’s 2254 word narrative, there are 926 words drawn from Mark, or Markan 83. MORGENTHALER, Statistische Synopse (n. 9), pp. 239-241.

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material constitutes 41.1% of the verbal source material in this section of the Gospel of Matthew. Therefore, even in a section such as Mt 26,1– 27,66, which exhibits a high level of dependence on the Markan source, Matthew displays considerable freedom in introducing extra or new traditions into the source material, and the evangelist freely rewrites large sections of the material while at times retaining significant amounts of Markan vocabulary. So even where Matthew follows the sequence of his Markan source closely, he is not constrained by it in a narrow manner. Rather, he intentionally writes his own narrative, using his own phraseology, his own additional traditions, and he integrates his own redactional concerns. Lastly, the material in Matthew’s final chapters requires consideration. Here, eight of Matthew’s twenty verses display a Markan parallel. The Gospel of Matthew has a parallel version of the Markan story of the visit of the women to the tomb (Mk 16,1-8). However, in the Matthean version additional material is present such as the earthquake and the descent from heaven of an angel that moves the stone from the tomb (Mt 28,2), as well as the detail that the guards at the tomb fled from fear (Mt 28,4). After the story of the women at the tomb Matthew concludes the gospel with unique material (Mt 28,11-20). It is the case that the dominical saying in Mk 16,15-16 does parallel Matthean material in Mt 28,19: Mk 16,15-16 καὶ εἶπεν αὐτοῖς· πορευϑέντες εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἅπαντα κηρύξατε τὸ εὐαγγέλιον πάσῃ τῇ κτίσει. ὁ πιστεύσας καὶ βαπτισϑεὶς σωϑήσεται, ὁ δὲ ἀπιστήσας κατακριϑήσεται.

Mt 28,19 πορευϑέντες οὖν μαϑητεύσατε πάντα τὰ ἔϑνη, βαπτίζοντες αὐτοὺς εἰς τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος,

Yet, even in this case the parallel appears to occur more at a conceptual level, rather than exhibiting strong lexical correspondence. However, it is almost certainly the case that the material in Mk 16,9-20 has been added at a later stage to create a more fitting end to Mark’s account and that this additional material has been fashioned to some extent from material quarried from the other canonical gospels. Despite the almost universal consensus that Mk 16,9-20 represents the dependence of a later redactor on the Gospel of Matthew among other texts, W.R. Farmer argued for the originality of these verses as part of the Gospel of Mark84. 84. Farmer presents five possible explanations of the origin of the material contained in Mk 16,9-20. He opts for the second of his formulations as the most plausible alternative.

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His argument appears to have been ideologically driven since if that were the case, then Mk 16,9-20 would provide strong support for his preferred solution to the Synoptic Problem – the Griesbach Hypothesis. In concluding his gospel, much like the introductory section, but in shorter compass, Matthew utilises his own material in order to create his own non-Markan framework for telling the story of Jesus in the way that he wished to present it. Throughout the first gospel, Matthew draws extensively on the Gospel of Mark, but he does so with great flexibility and freedom. In the process he creates a narrative that contains material that is recognisably Markan in character, but the overall composition is distinctively Matthean in its structure, its framework, its themes, and its theology. IV. DOES THE GOSPEL OF MARK FUNCTION AS MATTHEW’S PRIMARY SOURCE? As a single source of tradition, more material is drawn from the Gospel of Mark for the composition of Matthew’s narrative than from any other single source. Of Matthew’s 1068 verses, 496 have Markan material as their source. By contrast, 259 Matthean verses draw upon Q material, and 313 verses within the first gospel contain material unique to Matthew. In this sense, measured in terms of volume alone, Mark is indeed the largest single source of material employed in the composition of the Gospel of Matthew. However, in total this represents 46.44% of the total verses in Matthew’s Gospel. So from another perspective, it needs to be observed that that there is more non-Markan material than Markan material contained in the first gospel. Therefore, it may be asked whether one can claim that the Gospel of Mark is in fact the “primary” source for the Gospel of Matthew? Of course the answer to that question depends on what is meant by the term “primary”. If it means no more than the single source that contributes the largest volume of material, then that label can reasonably be applied to the Gospel of Mark. However, if it is primarily understood to convey more than a simple measure of volume, then identifying Mark as the primary source for Matthew becomes far more problematic. It is uncertain whether or not the Gospel of Mark was the first source of Jesus tradition known to the Matthean evangelist. Here, the issue is not the date This is presented as being “Mk. 16:9-20 represents redactional use of older material by the evangelist and belonged to the autograph”. W.R. FARMER, The Last Twelve Verses of Mark (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series, 25), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1974, p. 107.

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of composition of the Gospel of Mark compared with Q material or with unique traditions in the Gospel of Matthew. Rather, the question is which source of Jesus tradition had been known to the Matthean evangelist for the longest period of time. It is likely that the earliest known source of Jesus tradition was formative for Matthew in shaping his ideas about Jesus and his message. Then alongside this earliest known source, Matthew may have integrated other perspectives from further sources of Jesus material that came to the evangelist at a later date. Thus, there is a danger in recognising Mark as the source that contributes the greatest volume of material to the Gospel of Matthew, and then simplistically equating this as being the source that most strongly shapes the ideology of the first gospel. As has been noted elsewhere, [t]he common assertion that Mark was Matthew’s primary source can be misleading, if from this it is inferred that the Matthean community historically had aligned itself more closely with the perspectives in Mark’s Gospel than those in other sources used by Matthew85.

The view that the Gospel of Matthew represents a more developed form of the Gospel of Mark and that the latter functioned as Matthew’s primary source not just in terms of volume but also in terms of ideology and theological perspective has been strongly articulated. From this perspective it has been argued that the Gospel of Matthew is best understood as a new edition of the Gospel of Mark. Doole has been expounded this thesis at length and thus it is worth quoting him in detail. Matthew exhibits a degree of creative freedom with his traditions. This includes the reworking of the Markan and Q material and the addition of his own traditions and comment. His decision also to omit a handful of passages and details in Mark is therefore all the more remarkable; Matthew delights in expansions. His rearrangement of Mark is minimal: while there is evidence that Matthew sorts much teaching material thematically, by no means is all material ordered according to theme. Matthew is willing to follow Mark in the progression of story from one tradition to the next. His reworking of the details of Mark is also notable in its consistency with the original […] This loyalty to Mark is the hallmark of Matthew’s approach; Matthew provides us with “a new edition of Mark”, but while the stress hitherto has been on the new, I have sought to demonstrate the crucial role of Mark as the central factor in Matthew’s new edition86. 85. P. FOSTER, Q, Jewish Christianity, and Matthew’s Gospel, in C. HEIL – G. HARB – D.A. SMITH (eds.), Built on Rock or Sand? Q Studies: Retrospects, Introspects and Prospects (Biblical Tools and Studies, 34), Leuven – Paris – Bristol, CT, Peeters, 2018, 367-408, here p. 405. 86. J.A. DOOLE, What Was Mark for Matthew? An Examination of Matthew’s Relationship to His Primary Source (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, II/344), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2013, p. 128.

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In essence Doole seeks to make a theological, rather than a compositional argument. For him, the point of his argument is not simply that the Gospel of Mark stands as Matthew’s major source and structuring framework for his own narrative. Instead, his principal argument focuses on stressing that Matthew can be described as a “Markan Christian”87. In this sense, Doole seeks to break any link between the Gospel of Matthew and putative Christian Judaism, especially as might be represented in the Q document. Hence, reflecting a more irenic landscape within the early Jesus movement, Doole asserts that from Matthew’s perspective the Gospel of Mark forms an accepted and perhaps authoritative account of the life of Jesus. Therefore, it is stated, that “Mark’s Gospel was Matthew’s gospel”, and that Matthew thus succeeds Mark and confirms it as the central text in the growing Christian movement88.

Attitudinally, it is suggested that from Matthew’s perspective the Gospel of Mark was not seen as theologically dissatisfying in any sense, nor does the first evangelist find troubling any of the content of the Markan account. Therefore, for Doole, Matthew is simply a Markan Christian who builds on his predecessor’s work in complete agreement with the perspectives that are contained in the Gospel of Mark89. By contrast with the prominence and priority that Doole gives to the Gospel of Mark in the composition of Matthew’s Gospel, the role of Q material is decidedly secondary. Such collected sayings of Jesus are seen as having an authority status, but the use of this material is viewed as supplementary to the controlling and over-arching Markan framework and theological perspective: By the time Q landed on the desks of Matthew and Luke it was clearly a considerably authoritative source of the words of Jesus. As such a collection, the respect it commanded is certainly unsurprising. Yet although the success of its format would subsequently wane following its incorporation into the Markan-style gospels of Matthew and Luke, in this early period Q travelled just as far as Mark had done to reach the hands of both later evangelists […] Q is certainly therefore an authority on the teachings of Jesus, but for Matthew it does not usually exert sufficient pressure to affect the equally authoritative teachings of Jesus in Mark90.

Here Doole appears to know much about the transmission of Q and Mark within the first century Jesus movement, and equally much about 87. 88. 89. 90.

Ibid., p. 10. Ibid., p. 12. For the detail of these affirmations see ibid., pp. 11-12. Ibid., pp. 30-31, 31-32.

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how the evangelists would have regarded these sources of Jesus tradition. The reality is little is known about the mechanism of transmission. What is apparent, and also a challenge for Doole’s argument is that a close analysis of the structure of the first gospel reveals that the non-Markan material is not simply a supplement or addendum to the Markan narrative for the first evangelist. Rather, as has been shown in some detail, in the first seven chapters of the Gospel of Matthew relatively little Markan material shapes the structure of the Matthean narrative. Moreover, the final chapter of the gospel provides an ending to the narrative that is thoroughly non-Markan. These sections are not mere bookends, but offer readers essential heuristic and hermeneutical perspectives for reading the entire narrative of the Matthean gospel. The function of unique Matthean material, enumerated to be contained in 313 verses of the narrative of Matthew’s Gospel, is ascribed an even more minimal role than the Q material in structuring the first gospel. Such traditions are given remarkably short-shrift in terms of the insights they might offer for understanding Matthew’s theological perspectives or authorial aims in composing and structuring his own gospel account. From Doole’s perspective such unique traditions are seen as little more than elaborations of the Markan gospel. Thus in somewhat dismissive tones, he states, “[t]herefore the M traditions […] provide simple asides and peripheral details to supplement the accounts of the life of Jesus as taken from Mark and the teachings of Jesus as taken from Q”91. As a counterexample to this claim, one perhaps needs to do no more than consider the combination of unique Matthean material and Q traditions combined in Matthew 23. In this excoriating attack on the hypocrisy of certain religious leaders, the so-called M material is approximately equal in extent in comparison with the Q material (18 verses of unique Matthean material, 18 verses of Q material) more significantly the unique Matthean traditions structure this unit and provide much of the evangelist’s outlook on those whom he criticises so harshly. It is an insufficient explanation simply to state that the composition of this material arose because Matthew “is prompted by Mark’s few verses on the ‘scribes’ (Mk 12:37b40) to compose a thirty-eight verse discourse on ‘the scribes and the Pharisees’”92. Not only do these three and half Markan verses not offer sufficient impetus to create a discourse more than ten times its length, it fails to explain the dismissal of the use of the title “rabbi” (Mt 23,7-8) or the stinging and sustained attack on the Pharisees (Mt 23,13-36). This is 91. Ibid., p. 38. 92. Ibid., p. 95.

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not to deny the connection between the related traditions of Mk 12,38-39 and Mt 23,7-8, but rather to question whether this short Markan unit is generative for the composition of the whole of Matthew 23. Many scholars have viewed this material as a reworked Matthean composition dependent primarily on material that was largely independent of Mark, but with some small Markan traditions integrated into this unit. Thus Morris notes that there “is nothing comparable to this sustained denunciation of the scribes and the Pharisees in any of the other Gospels”93. France has highlighted the Matthean evangelist’s intentionality and unique thematic perspectives in this section of largely non-Markan material. He states, “[t]he whole complex suggests a deliberate Matthean compilation along lines similar to those of the five discourses, but lacking a concluding discourse formula”94. Newport’s assessment of sources is even more radical. He sees traditions in Matthew 23 that parallel Q material as not deriving from Q itself, but reflect M/Q overlap texts. Thus it is argued that “there seems no good reason why Matthew 23 and Lk. 11.37-52 should not have developed independently from only the barest oral tradition”95. Moreover, according to Newport, by the time this material reached the Matthean evangelist it had developed into a preformed unit that Matthew inserted into his own composition as a block: “Matthew 23 consists of an already redacted pre-Matthean source”96. These various perspectives have significant differences. However, what is most apparent is that neither suggestion sees the Markan influence as formative for the composition of this unit. Rather these differing understandings view Matthew 23 as presenting a perspective that is distinctive in comparison with Mark. Consequently, the thematic orientation is either Matthean, or perhaps pre-Matthean, but one which Matthew was content to incorporate into his own narrative without any significant dependence on Markan ideas. Thus Doole’s proposal that the Gospel of Mark was Matthew’s primary source, in the sense that the Gospel of Mark was Matthew’s Gospel97, and Matthew was a mere expansion of that predecessor text is untenable. Such a view fails to appreciate the literary creativity and the distinct theological concerns of the Gospel of Matthew. To recognise such literary and theological distinctives does not require the diametrically opposed view that asserts that Matthew was in thoroughgoing conflict with his 93. L. MORRIS, The Gospel according to Matthew (Pillar New Testament Commentary), Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1992, p. 569. 94. R.T. FRANCE, The Gospel of Matthew (The New International Commentary on the New Testament), Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2007, p. 856. 95. NEWPORT, The Sources and Sitz im Leben of Matthew 23 (n. 76), p. 55. 96. Ibid., p. 185. 97. DOOLE, What Was Mark for Matthew? (n. 86), p. 12.

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largest single source of tradition. To suggest such a view would be difficult given the apparently appreciative manner in which Matthew uses so many Markan traditions. From a somewhat related perspective, Larsen views the Gospel of Matthew as an expansion, or perhaps better, a completion of the Gospel of Mark98. Larsen bases his argument on the textual phenomenon of hypomnēmata, as described in several ancient sources. Such hypomnēmata are understood to be unfinished writings or notes. He states of a hypomnēma that, It is occasionally created with the goal of becoming literature in the hands of another. Sometimes not. Such texts are especially associated with rough drafts of historical writers, or technical manuals for teachers, doctors, and other professionals, or students. They are texts possessed by a certain person or circle of people and are often self-consciously not made public by their writers. Openness is left in the text for another to rework them and attach their name to them to “author”99.

In relation to the Gospel of Matthew two aspects of Larsen’s argument are relevant. First, he characterises the Gospel of Mark as a hypomnēma. Second, he sees the Gospel of Matthew as the completion of this unfinished pre-literary Markan draft. Both of these assumptions can be questioned. In relation to the Gospel of Mark being unfinished and pre-literary, perhaps the strongest piece of evidence Larsen presents is the several attempts to provide endings to supplement Mark’s abrupt conclusion. Larsen argues that such endings demonstrate the phenomenon of “adding to an unfinished text” in order to improve “upon a text perceived to be and in some way ambiguous or lacking”100. However, representing Mark as a pre-literary and unpolished text appears to neglect the literary artistry of the text itself. For instance, the carefully plotted sequence of controversy stories in Mk 2,1–3,6 evidences both a sequenced heightening in tension, while structurally creating a chiastic or ring structure for these five pericopae101. Similarly, the three passion predictions of Mk 8,31; 9,31; 10,33-34, each followed by misapprehension from members of Jesus’ inner circle and then a corrective from Jesus, represent a high level of literary sophistication and a keen concern to present a theology centred 98. M.D.C. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book, New York, Oxford University Press, 2018. 99. Ibid., p. 36. 100. Ibid., p. 120. 101. On the literary artistry and the structural arrangement see in particular J. DEWEY, Markan Public Debate: Literary Technique, Concentric Structure, and Theology in Mark 2: 1–3:6 (Society of Biblical Literature. Dissertation Series, 48), Chico, CA, Scholars Press, 1980.

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on the sufferings of the Son of Man. Also the Markan passion narrative is carefully crafted to slow the temporal progression of the narrative to allow readers to focus on the events of the death of Jesus and their deeper significance. It might be possible to argue that these are pre-formed ideas or pre-literary structures. However, when one recognises the linkages between even these three elements mentioned above in relation to the macronarrative of the Gospel of Mark, Larsen’s representation of the text as unfinished and as a sequence of notes becomes exceedingly difficult to defend. The sense of increased foreboding that builds from the earliest conflict stories (Mk 2,1–3,6), that becomes explicitly described in the passion predictions, and meets its dark realisation in the passion narrative itself is surely reflective of a deeply literary work that has been intentionally structured and brought to a meaningful conclusion with the empty tomb tradition. Therefore, the Gospel of Mark does not fall readily into the category of hypomnēmata. The second part of Larsen’s argument that is most relevant for this discussion is his understanding of the role of the author of the Gospel of Matthew. According to Larsen, the way in which the author of the Gospel of Matthew finishes the unfinished and open Gospel of Mark is largely predictable. He states, The Gospel according to Matthew mostly adds to the Gospel according to Mark, supplementing expected yet missing elements. Matthew 1–2 describes Jesus’s lineage, his birth, and his childhood. Matthew 28:9-20 fills out what happened after Jesus’s death, not least his resurrection. Matthew 4:24–7:29 (the Sermon on the Mount), 10:1-39 (the Mission Discourse), 11:1-30 (the Discourse on John the Baptist and Jesus), 18:10-35 (the Community Discipline Discourse), and 24:37–25:46 (the Olivet Discourse) fill out Jesus’s speech. Matthew 13:24-52, along with 20:1-16, 21:28-32, and 22:1-14, provides new expansions of parabolic teachings, fleshing out parables already in the Gospel according to Mark. In this way it adds arrangement or order to the gospel102.

With this description Larsen minimises both the scale of additional material required to complete the supposedly unfinished Markan text. Significantly he does not accurately describe the thematic shifts in perspective Matthew introduces, nor does he recognise the way the largescale discourses restructure and reframe the entire Matthean gospel. Consequently, from Larsen’s perspective the Gospel of Matthew may be characterised as the second edition of the Gospel of Mark, or perhaps more correctly the refined literary publication of the notes written by Mark. 102. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 98), pp. 107-108.

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Therefore, for Larsen the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke both represent the process of bringing the unfinished Gospel of Mark to a form fit for circulation. However, the fact the Gospel of Mark reached Matthew and Luke independently already suggests that it was in at least fairly wide circulation. Moreover, while Larsen might be willing to call the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke mere completions of Mark – perhaps Mk2a and Mk2b respectively, the Lukan prologue seems to suggest that Luke had a more ambitious literary agenda than simply finishing the work of a predecessor set of notes. Therefore, recent attempts to characterise the Gospel of Mark as the primary source of the Gospel of Matthew are perhaps only correct insofar as they show that the Gospel of Mark was the largest single source of traditional material incorporated in the Gospel of Matthew. Both Doole and Larsen wish to convey much more than this. For Doole, Matthew’s primary dependence on Mark reveals that he is in essence a Markan Christian – a mere tradent of Markan theological perspectives with little independent contribution of his own apart from adding supplements to the Markan story103. For Larsen, Matthew is best understood as one who completes rather than supplements Mark’s supposedly pre-literary and unfinished text104. Such accounts do a disservice to both the authors of the Gospel of Mark and the Gospel of Matthew. In particular, in relation to the Gospel of Matthew, the evangelist does not simply supplement or finish the work of his predecessor. He uses many of the traditions in the Gospel of Mark in an appreciative yet creative manner. Stories are recast in a variety of ways, and they are placed in a structure that is thoroughly Matthean, and which conveys Matthean themes and his own developed theological concerns105.

103. Doole argues that Matthew is fully aligned with the Markan theological perspectives. He states, “Matthew felt he understood what Mark was saying about Jesus, and he made this clear in his edited version of the gospel. Thus Mark was for Matthew the only authentic account of the ministry, travels and Passion of Jesus”. DOOLE, What Was Mark for Matthew? (n. 86), p. 194. 104. Larsen’s own concluding statement concerning the purpose of the Gospel of Matthew is as follows: “it seems most reasonable to think of the textual tradition we call the Gospel according to Matthew as continuing the same unfinished textual tradition of ‘the gospel’ more broadly understood, adding stories to a textual tradition that help that tradition conform better to ancient readers’ expectations about what should be in a story about an individual. The alterations of stories often fit well within the framework of a person’s clarifying potentially ambiguous or misleading elements in an unfinished draft”. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 98), p. 114. 105. For more on these developed or distinctive Matthean theological concerns see FRANCE, Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher (n. 82).

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V. CONCLUSION: MATTHEW’S USE AND NON-USE OF MARK Without any doubt it is correct to affirm that the author of the first gospel used the Gospel of Mark as the largest single-source of material that was incorporated into the Gospel of Matthew. Moreover, there is little doubt that the first evangelist valued this Markan material, agreed with many of the perspectives contained in this source text, and determined to arrange certain large sections of his own narrative by following the pattern set out in this literary predecessor text. Importantly, a deeper and richer understanding of the message of the Gospel of Matthew can be apprehended by closely analysing the way in which Matthew has deployed such Markan material, and at times refashioned the Markan source traditions106. However, it has been suggested that three falsehoods can be exposed in the way that Matthew’s use of the Gospel of Mark has frequently been characterised. The first is the statistical lie. The claim, popularised by Streeter107, that Matthew uses more than 600 of Mark’s 661 verses that is more than 90% of the substance of the Gospel of Mark can only been held as true on the loosest measure or interpretation of dependence. A more accurate measure might be that Matthew depends on something in the vicinity of 496 of Mark’s 661 verses, but even here the degree of dependence on material in each verse ranges greatly. The second lie – perhaps the damned lie – is that the framework the Gospel of Matthew is essentially the Markan framework into which the Matthean evangelist simply slots additional traditions and supplements Mark’s account with a prologue comprising the birth narrative (Matthew 1–2), and an epilogue of resurrection accounts (Mt 28,9-10). While many have asserted this perspective perhaps the most straightforward articulation has been provided by Evans, when he states, “Matthew has worked within this [Markan] framework”108. However, close examination of the text of the entire Gospel

106. In essence, what is being affirmed here is the detailed redactional study of Matthew’s handling of Markan material. Most major historical commentaries treating the Gospel of Matthew at least from the 1950s onwards have engaged in some level of redaction-critical analysis. For a classic discussion of redaction criticism for instance see S.S. SMALLEY, Redaction Criticism, in I.H. MARSHALL (ed.), New Testament Interpretation: Essays in Principles and Methods, Exeter, Paternoster, 1977, 181-195. Generally the first acknowledged application of a redactional approach to the Gospel of Matthew is traced to the seminal application of this method in G. BORNKAMM – G. BARTH – H.J. HELD, Überlieferung und Auslegung in Matthäusevangelium, Neukirchen-Vluyn, Neukirchener Verlag, 1960. 107. STREETER, The Four Gospels (n. 3), p. 159. 108. EVANS, Matthew (n. 27), p. 9.

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of Matthew reveals not only that Matthew is responsible for the vast majority of material in the first quarter of the gospel (Matthew 1–7), but in the remainder of the Gospel of Matthew, the evangelist typically restructures the framework by large-scale additions and making the Markan material subservient to significant blocks of non-Markan tradition. The third and final lie, is a half-lie. The claim that Mark is the primary source for the Gospel of Mark is true insofar as it is the largest single source for traditional material incorporated into Matthew’s narrative. However, if more is intended by that designation then the claim is questionable. Markan traditions stand behind less than fifty percent of Matthew’s narrative. It may be the case that the Gospel of Mark was not the first body of Jesus tradition known to the author of the first gospel. It is perhaps more likely that the double tradition or Q source had been known for a longer period of time109. It is also difficult to maintain either that the Matthean evangelist was simply a Markan Christian for whom the Gospel of Mark was the only authoritative account of Jesus’ ministry110, or that Matthew considered the Gospel of Mark as an open and unfinished text to which he simply had to add a few supplementary traditions to conform it to readerly expectations before publishing it under his own name111. So what is the Gospel of Matthew in relation to the Gospel of Mark? The Gospel of Matthew is a new and distinctive literary creation that reflects the theological perspectives and pedagogical concerns of its author. However, it is a text that draws on a rich array of earlier traditions in order to form its own distinctive presentation and understanding of the figure of Jesus. Among those earlier sources of tradition, the Gospel of Mark is heavily utilised and many of its perspectives are embedded in the Gospel of Matthew in at times an appreciative yet creative way. At other times, Matthew chooses to omit such traditions or even signals that he might be critical of some Markan perspectives. Matthew shows a high level of dependence on Mark’s passion narrative. However, the opening seven chapters of the Gospel of Matthew are largely devoid of Markan source material and are based on Q material and traditions unique to the first evangelist. In the end, Matthew is Matthew and Mark is Mark. Matthew is indebted to the Gospel of Mark, the first evangelist is appreciative of much of the 109. P. FOSTER, Matthew’s Use of “Jewish” Traditions from Q, in M. TIWALD (ed.), Kein Jota wird vergehen: Des Gesetzesverständnis der Logienquelle vor dem Hintergrund frühjüdischer Theologie (Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament, 200), Stuttgart, Kolhammer, 2013, 179-201. 110. DOOLE, What Was Mark for Matthew? (n. 86), p. 194. 111. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 98), pp. 99-114.

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literary work that is the Gospel of Mark, however he is not woodenly constrained by that source of Jesus material. In creating his own account, Matthew emphasised the teachings of Jesus to a degree beyond that of the Gospel of Mark. Moreover he portrays Jesus to a greater extent as the legitimate Davidic messiah, and he develops a more elevated divine Christology112. In this way, Matthew draws upon his literary predecessors, but at the same time he may also be attuned to his contemporary theological setting where more elevated claims in relation to divine status were being articulated in relation to Jesus. Therefore, the Gospel of Matthew is a new and innovative literary work. It cannot be understood as an expanded version of Mark, or a second edition of that predecessor text. Both the literary and theological distinctives of the Gospel of Matthew show why it must be read and interpreted in its own right, while not failing to recognise its multiple literary dependencies. Perhaps, finally the scribe trained for the kingdom can be seen to be bringing things old and new out of the repository of Jesus tradition. And perhaps in the end, might there be more that is new, rather than there is old? School of Divinity University of Edinburgh Mound Place Edinburgh EH1 2LX U.K. [email protected]

Paul FOSTER

112. For a discussion of some of the more significant theological themes in the Gospel of Matthew see M. KONRADT, Israel, Church, and the Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew, trans. K. ESS (Baylor-Mohr Siebeck Studies in Early Christianity), Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2014.

OTHER PEOPLE’S SPEECH IN Q I. INTRODUCTION The often verbatim agreement of the double tradition material is some of the most compelling evidence for the Two-Source Hypothesis (hereafter, the 2SH)1. As most have noticed, there are numerous passages in the double tradition (known by proponents of the 2SH as Q)2 whose verbatim agreement is so extensive that they demand some sort of literary relationship. The majority of Q is made up of the speech of Jesus, and so we often find Matthew and Luke regularly reproducing his utterances with great agreement3. But there are other varieties of speech within Q as well. There is, for instance, speech by John the Baptist in Q 3 and Q 7, speech by minor characters (such as the potential disciple in Q 9 and the devil in Q 4), and what I will called “embedded speech” or “embedded quotations”. This latter form can be defined as places in Q where a speaker treats another saying as a direct quotation; it turns out this form of speech is relatively common in Q. This paper will thus explore the extent of agreement of two forms of “other people’s speech” in Q: embedded quotations and speech of minor characters. Looking closely at these forms of speech will give us a new perspective on how Matthew and Luke approach “what is said” in their source Q. My argument is that, contrary to what we might initially think, Matthew and Luke seem to 1. J.S. KLOPPENBORG, Variation in the Reproduction of the Double Tradition and an Oral Q?, in Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 83 (2007) 53-80, here p. 53. 2. The Two-Source Hypothesis is the academic hypothesis that the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke evince literary dependence. According to the hypothesis, Matthew and Luke used the Gospel of Mark as the basic narrative backbone of their compositions, and supplemented it with a collection of Jesus’ sayings that proponents of the 2SH called “Q”, a siglum which is an abbreviation of the German term Quelle (source). The “double tradition” is a more generic way of referring to the common material that Matthew and Luke share that they did not derive from Mark’s Gospel. Q has been reconstructed by an international collaborative group of scholars, known as the International Q Project, whose work was published as The Critical Edition of Q (2000). 3. In my view, the most comprehensive treatments of Matthew and Luke’s redactions of Q to date are: A. KIRK, Q in Matthew: Ancient Media, Memory, and Early Scribal Transmission of the Jesus Tradition (Library of New Testament Studies, 564), London, Bloomsbury, 2016; and C. HEIL, Lukas und Q: Studien zur lukanischen Redaktion des Spruchevangeliums Q (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, 111), Berlin, De Gruyter, 2003. Since Luke’s redaction of Q has traditionally received less attention than Matthew’s, Heil’s work filled a significant lacuna in Synoptic studies.

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have reproduced other people’s speech more faithfully from Q than they did Jesus’ speech. Admittedly, the sample sizes are not extensive4 – indeed, some of the material styled as embedded quotations in Q is only a few words in length – and so some of this is in the realm of speculation. It is, however, a disciplined speculation, which attempts to disentangle different levels of speech (e.g., direct speech, quoted speech, the written word, etc.) and which allows us to think through different forms of source material present in Q and how later authors may have engaged with it. With this in mind, the first part of this paper discusses the import of speech in ancient literature, before turning to speech in the Sayings Gospel Q itself. Although the speech of Jesus is not the primary topic of discussion, I briefly outline the varying ways that Matthew and Luke treat the speech of Jesus in Q to establish a baseline for comparison, before turning to how they treat other people’s words in their redactional processes. In the course of this research, I anticipated numerous objections to my analysis, and so after theorizing about how speech appears to work in Q, I conclude with a section discussing the critiques that might be raised to an analysis such as this. II. THE IMPORTANCE OF SPEECH IN ANCIENT LITERATURE This section will be brief, because the importance of speech in ancient literature is both well-known and mostly self-evident. Suffice it to say that the tendency of early followers of Jesus to collect his speech and to feature dialogue for instructional purposes is part of a wider interest among ancient authors in the words of exemplary people. Ancient authors, from Israel to Egypt to Greece and Rome, all across the ancient Mediterranean world and the ancient Near East, were taken with philosophical writings, wisdom literature, and related writings. Much of this takes the form of sayings collections, dialogues, or debates. One of most well-attested forms of wisdom literature is the instructional genre, which presents a series of teachings from a well-known figure or sage5. In the Greco-Roman world, we find the similar genres of gnomologia and chreia collections6. In the late antique period, we encounter even 4. This is the case when trying to study any sort of pattern in double tradition material, of course. With only around 235 verses, any motifs, tendencies, patterns, and the like in Q are necessarily based on a small sample size. 5. In the Jewish tradition, we find numerous instances of this genre, including Proverbs, Psalms, Ben Sira, Wisdom of Solomon, and the like. 6. For an overview, see J.S. KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections, Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 1987, pp. 263-316.

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more preoccupation with speech, from rabbinical disputes to sayings of the desert fathers. All of these genres attest to the import of speech to preserve the consequential teachings of remarkable people. As numerous scholars have noticed, Q fits within the world of ancient sayings collections, presenting Jesus’ sayings much like other authors presented collections of Cynic teachings or utterances of a Judaean sage7. Since the function of speech in instructional and wisdom literature was didactic, speech was necessarily tied to authority. We can see an extreme version of this truism in rabbinic literature, wherein the opinions connected to individual rabbis are continually rehearsed and pitted against one another to establish authoritative schools of thought. In this context, being able to trace one’s position to a previously identified utterance was critical to establishing the authority to interpret the Torah. In the networks of early Christ groups, even Paul’s authority was based on speech to some extent8. Consider the several places that he says he “received” a tradition (1 Cor 11,2.23; 15,3-5) and passed it on to his addressees9. Such appeal to what he “received” (almost certainly understood to be received speech [oral tradition] as opposed to written texts) is often presented in formulaic style (esp. 1 Cor 15,3-5), perhaps to signal its stronger authority as a fixed unit of tradition. But speech on its own was important to many forms of ancient literature. Historians, as is well known, loved to include robust speeches in their historical and biographical works. As one historian remarks, “It would be nearly impossible to overstate the importance of formal speeches in Greco-Roman historiography”10. These speeches, moreover, while ideally reported by an eyewitness present at their delivery, need not be tied to 7. J.M. ROBINSON, LOGOI SOPHON: On the Gattung of Q, in ID. – H. KOESTER (eds.), Trajectories through Early Christianity, Philadelphia, PA, Fortress, 1971; KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q (n. 6); R.A. PIPER, Wisdom in the Q-Tradition: The Aphoristic Teaching of Jesus (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series, 61), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989; L.E. VAAGE, Galilean Upstarts: Jesus’ First Followers according to Q, Valley Forge, PA, Trinity Press International, 1994. 8. Several recent studies have highlighted how other aspects of Paul’s activities, besides his teachings, helped persuade his audiences to accept his authority as a religious specialist (e.g., J. EYL, Signs, Wonders, and Gifts: Divination and the Letters of Paul, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2019; H. WENDT, At the Temple Gates: The Religion of Freelance Experts in the Roman Empire, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2016. It is certain that some combination of teachings and behavior/practices attracted Paul’s constituents, though here I simply focus on the authority of his teachings. 9. In Galatians, Paul’s teachings have been evidently challenged by others, and the main way he tries to re-establish his authority is to claim that they came from a divine origin. In this case, his human words needed divine backing. 10. C.W. FORNARA, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (Eidos: Studies in Classical Kinds), Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1983, p. 142.

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reality; they could be the author’s best guess of what a person would have said in such a scenario or sometimes, fabrications altogether11. Many modern scholars regard the elaborate speeches in ancient historical literature as “mere rhetorical constructions, no better or worse than the intellectual power and aesthetical predilections of the individual writers”12. Curiously, historians such as Herodotus and Thucydides recognized the possibility of verbatim reproduction of speech, but also acknowledged that it was not always possible to reproduce13. While it is thus debated whether or not these speeches preserve any sort of historical “core”, the role that speech played in ancient historians’ accounts of events is indubitable. Needless to say, Q is not a formal “history” in terms of genre, but some awareness to these generic conventions will help us understand the importance of speech in ancient literature more widely conceived. The reason for beginning with this discussion is that there is every reason to think that the sayings of remarkable people would be so important for ancient authors that they would be interested in preserving them with reasonable rigor. In the case of Paul, for instance, one can easily imagine what could happen when his speech (or his reported speech) is misrepresented or misconstrued. Indeed, some scholars have argued that the Letter of James is a reaction to a situation in which Paul’s “slogan” of “faith not works” was taken out of context and distorted14. In this and many other instances, it seems that some sort of fidelity of speech is necessary for establishing authority. The way authors treat the speech of figures in their sources, then, stands to tell us a great deal about their interests, their redactional habits, and how they viewed the import of ancient speech15. 11. M. GRANT, Greek and Roman Historians: Information and Misinformation, London, Routledge, 1995, pp. 44-53. Fornara notes Polybius’ accusation that two other historians invented speeches that took place in the Roman senate (FORNARA, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome [n. 10], p. 160). 12. FORNARA, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (n. 10), p. 142. 13. Ibid., pp. 143-144. 14. See for instance, T. PENNER’s detailed overview of this segment of Pauline scholarship: The Epistle of James and Eschatology: Re-reading an Ancient Christian Letter (Library of New Testament Studies, 21) London, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 1996, pp. 4775. 15. An excellent example of how analysis of speech uncovers an author’s interests is Joanna Dewey’s examination of speech in Luke’s Gospel; as S. PARKS explains, Dewey finds that Luke displays an “extreme aversion” to women’s speech (Gender in the Rhetoric of Jesus: Women in Q, New York, Lexington, 2019, p. 54, citing J. DEWEY, Women in the Synoptic Gospels: Seen But Not Heard?, in Biblical Theology Bulletin 27/2 (1997) 53-60, p. 58.

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III. JESUS’ SPEECH IN Q AND ITS REPRODUCTION IN MATTHEW AND LUKE As the nomenclature of “sayings gospel” suggests, Q is a collection of sayings that are primarily attributed to Jesus. It also features other speakers, such as John the Baptist and the wisdom of God, the latter of which is typically treated as alternative guise of Jesus. As many scholars of the Synoptic Problem and Q have noted, Matthew and Luke’s reproduction of Jesus’ sayings in Q is not always consistent. There is great variation in the ways that they take over and deploy the words of Jesus. In one passage derived from Q, we may find, for instance, Luke taking over 85% of the wording from Q, while in another unit, he may only take over 35% of Q’s words. Since this observation has been covered well by others16, I will simply illustrate it with two examples, before moving on. It is important to begin with it, however, because it will be a touchstone for later parts of this analysis, which will be concerned with how Matthew and Luke reproduce other people’s speech from Q. My first example of Matthew and Luke reproducing Jesus’ speech from Q is Q 13,34-35, the so-called Lament against Jerusalem. This passage easily illustrates how the double tradition can have extensive verbatim agreement: Mt 23,37-39

Lk 13,34-35

Ἰερουσαλὴμ Ἰερουσαλήμ, ἡ ἀποκτείνουσα τοὺς προφήτας καὶ λιϑοβολοῦσα τοὺς ἀπεσταλμένους πρὸς αὐτήν – ποσάκις ἠϑέλησα ἐπισυναγαγεῖν τὰ τέκνα σου, ὃν τρόπον ὄρνις ἐπισυνάγει τὰ νοσσία αὐτῆς ὑπὸ τὰς πτέρυγας, καὶ οὐκ ἠϑελήσατε;

Ἰερουσαλὴμ Ἰερουσαλήμ, ἡ ἀποκτείνουσα τοὺς προφήτας καὶ λιϑοβολοῦσα τοὺς ἀπεσταλμένους πρὸς αὐτήν – ποσάκις ἠϑέλησα ἐπισυνάξαι τὰ τέκνα σου ὃν τρόπον ὄρνις τὴν ἑαυτῆς νοσσιὰν ὑπὸ τὰς πτέρυγας, καὶ οὐκ ἠϑελήσατε.

ἰδοὺ ἀφίεται ὑμῖν ὁ οἶκος ὑμῶν ἔρημος.

ἰδοὺ ἀφίεται ὑμῖν ὁ οἶκος ὑμῶν.

λέγω γὰρ ὑμῖν, οὐ μή με ἴδητε ἀπ’ λέγω δὲ ὑμῖν, οὐ μὴ ἴδητέ με ἕως ἄρτι ἕως ἂν εἴπητε· Εὐλογημένος ὁ ἥξει ὅτε εἴπητε· Εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου. ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου.

16. This phenomenon is covered most comprehensively by J.S. KLOPPENBORG, Variation in the Reproduction of the Double Tradition and an Oral Q?, in Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 83 (2007) 53-80. M. GOODACRE treats it somewhat differently in Fatigue in the Synoptics, in New Testament Studies 44 (1998) 45-58, as does J.D.G. DUNN, The Oral Gospel Tradition, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2013, pp. 80-108.

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Q 13,34 is reconstructed to look most akin to Matthew’s version in The Critical Edition of Q17, while Q 13,35 is argued to most resemble Luke’s version18. The primary difference between the two versions mostly amounts to Matthew’s repetition of “gathers” (ἐπισυνάγει) in the avian metaphor and his intensification of the temple’s abandonment with the addition of ἔρημος19. The final pronouncements also show some minor differences, such as the different positioning of με and Matthew’s inclusion of ἀπ’ ἄρτι. It is difficult to quantify these differences to show the extent of similarity, but nevertheless, we will try, briefly. Matthew contains 56 words, while Luke contains 53. Leaving aside different inflections of the same vocabulary item, we observe that Matthew only contains three words that are not present, in some form or another, in Luke’s version. In other words, about 95% of Matthew’s version accords with Luke’s. From the opposite perspective, Luke only contains two words that are not present, in some form or another, in Matthew. Curiously, this also yields a figure of roughly 95% of Luke’s version agreeing with Matthew’s version20. This is one of the passages in the double tradition that shows the most extensive agreement and that is thus some of the best evidence for supposing that the authors of Matthew and Luke consulted a written source in addition to Mark. In terms of envisioning the inclusion of this passage within the framework of the Two-Source Hypothesis, we might propose such a compositional scenario: Matthew and Luke each independently encountered this tragic lament in Q and were so struck by its emotive content that they felt the need to reproduce it carefully and faithfully. This careful reproduction exists despite the fact that Matthew, for instance, located the unit in an entirely new context (Matthew 23) that lambasts Jewish leaders21. Perhaps because of the unit’s own internal repetition (Jerusalem, Jerusalem22, gather, gathers), it presented itself with a kind of verbal fixity that 17. J.M. ROBINSON – P. HOFFMANN – J.S. KLOPPENBORG (eds.), The Critical Edition of Q: A Synopsis Including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German, and French Translations of Q and Thomas (Hermeneia Supplement Series), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2000, pp. 420-421. 18. Ibid., pp. 422-423. 19. R. BULTMANN, History of the Synoptic Tradition, trans. J. MARSH, New York, Harper and Row, 51963, p. 115. 20. While I have here compared Matthew’s agreement with Luke and vice versa, Kloppenborg uses a different calculation to arrive at 85% agreement between the two passages (KLOPPENBORG, Variation in the Reproduction of the Double Tradition and an Oral Q? [n. 16], p. 53). 21. See also, KIRK, Q in Matthew (n. 3), p. 279. 22. The double vocative, François Bovon contends, is “freighted with affection, mixed with disappointment” (F. BOVON, Luke 2: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 9:51– 19:27, trans. D.S. DEER [Hermeneia], Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2013, p. 328).

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could not be (or need not be) extensively adjusted. When it comes to the physical conditions of composition, we might also imagine that Matthew and Luke retained visual contact with the source manuscript while they were transcribing it23, or had committed the form of this passage to memory in a rather rigid way24, which also helps explain the near-verbatim agreement. This is merely a thought-experiment, though, for there are many scenarios that could make sense of their faithful reproduction. Of course, not all Q units are reproduced so faithfully by Matthew and Luke. Consider the saying on settling with one’s accuser, a saying which I have worked extensively on25. Mt 5,25-26

Lk 12,58-59

ἴσϑι εὐνοῶν τῷ ἀντιδίκῳ σου ταχὺ ἕως ὅτου εἶ μετ’ αὐτοῦ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ,

ὡς γὰρ ὑπάγεις μετὰ τοῦ ἀντιδίκου σου ἐπ’ ἄρχοντα, ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ δὸς ἐργασίαν ἀπηλλάχϑαι ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ,

μήποτέ σε παραδῷ ὁ ἀντίδικος τῷ μήποτε κατασύρῃ σε πρὸς τὸν κριτῇ, καὶ ὁ κριτὴς τῷ ὑπηρέτῃ, καὶ κριτήν, καὶ ὁ κριτής σε παραδώσει εἰς φυλακὴν βληϑήσῃ· τῷ πράκτορι, καὶ ὁ πράκτωρ σε βαλεῖ εἰς φυλακήν. ἀμὴν λέγω σοι, οὐ μὴ ἐξέλϑῃς λέγω σοι, οὐ μὴ ἐξέλϑῃς ἐκεῖϑεν ἐκεῖϑεν ἕως ἂν ἀποδῷς τὸν ἔσχατον ἕως καὶ τὸ ἔσχατον λεπτὸν ἀποδῷς. κοδράντην.

In this instance, the sayings are clearly a variation on the common theme of settling with one’s accuser prior to court, lest the outcome of court go badly for the plaintiff and land them in prison. However, the variation between the versions is remarkable. Bovon even contends that Luke’s version is “more explicit and more elegant”26. Without following 23. R. DERRENBACKER has outlined the physical conditions of composition that modern scholars should keep in mind. Among them, the proximity of the scribe to the manuscript, especially in an era in which modern writing desks did not yet exist, influenced how a scribe could retain (or lose) visual contact with a written exemplar (Ancient Compositional Practices and the Synoptic Problem [Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 186], Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA, Peeters, 2006, pp. 30-39). On the materiality of writing more broadly conceived, see K.E. PIQUETS – R.D. WHITEHOUSE (eds.), Writing as Material Practice: Substance, Surface and Medium, London, Ubiquity Press, 2013. 24. KIRK (Q in Matthew [n. 3], pp. 110-123) argues compellingly for the mediating position that scribes’ own bodies and minds played between the written word and the physical texts. 25. S.E. ROLLENS, “Why Do You Not Judge for Yourselves What Is Right?”: A Consideration of the Synoptic Relationship between Mt 5,25-26 and Lk 12,57-59, in Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 86 (2010) 449-469. 26. BOVON, Luke 2 (n. 22), p. 257. ROLLENS, “Why Do You Not Judge for Yourselves What Is Right?” (n. 25), p. 466.

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his aesthetic judgments, it is probably accurate to say that Luke’s version more closely resembles Q’s27. I have divided the passage into three units above for brief discussion28. In the first unit, the only strong commonalities are the presence of the accuser (τῷ ἀντιδίκῳ/ τοῦ ἀντιδίκου) and the location of being “on the way” (ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ). The versions of the second unit share “lest” (μήποτε/μήποτε), the judge as the initial agent (τῷ κριτῇ/τὸν κριτήν), and prison as the final destination (εἰς φυλακήν in both versions). The final part is more woodenly reproduced, with Matthew including the emphatic ἀμήν and opting for κοδράντην instead of Luke’s λεπτόν29. Note, of course, that the observations about difference here have only noted vocabulary differences and have not considered the sequence of wording. Trying to quantify the difference between these iterations is even more challenging. If we opt for a method roughly akin to the previous example (that is, examining the extent of agreement while allowing for the same vocabulary items to be differently inflected), we find that Matthew’s version contains 43 words, while Luke’s contains 49. Focusing on Matthew first: of those 43 words, Matthew shares 30 with Luke’s version. Thus, 70% of Matthew’s version matches Luke’s. Shifting the perspective to Luke, we observe that 28 of Luke’s 49 words also occur in Matthew; this means that 57% of Luke’s matches Matthew’s version. Like his deployment of Q 13,34-35, Matthew has relocated this unit to elsewhere in his gospel, this time much earlier to Jesus’ Sermon, which is here organized around the topos of reconciliation30; Luke has kept the saying’s placement within a series of other Q sayings. The reproduction of this unit thus represents a different sort of tendency in the double tradition: the tendency to alter the Q source rather extensively, resulting in great variation in this portion of the double tradition. We could, in the same vein, consider another example such as the Parable of the Pounds (Mt 25,14-30// Lk 19,11-27), whose versions in the double tradition vary so extensively that it is nearly impossible to reconstruct the original version in Q31. 27. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 394-399. 28. Cf. BOVON, Luke 2 (n. 22), p. 257. 29. The IQP’s reconstruction does not take a firm position on whether Matthew or Luke’s monetary vocabulary is to be preferred. There is not a definitive argument for either term (ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q [n. 17], p. 399). 30. KIRK, Q in Matthew (n. 3), p. 196. 31. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 524-555. On the issues involved in the reconstruction of this parable in Q, see E. VAN ECK, Do Not Question My Honour: A Social-Scientific Reading of the Parable of the Minas (Lk 19:12b-24, 27), in HTS Teologiese Studies / Theological Studies 67/3 (2011) Art. #977; R.L. ROHRBAUGH, A Peasant Reading of the Parable of the Talents/Pounds: A Text of Terror?, in Biblical Theology Bulletin 23/1 (1993) 32-39.

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The compositional scenarios for how Matthew and Luke came to have such different expressions of this unit is far more complex. Luke’s version is generally thought to reflect the original Q version, which then means that Luke chose to keep this Q material in its original Q sequence and locate it the series of sayings in Luke 12, which is disrupted by little Markan material32. Matthew’s version does something far more complicated by relocating this saying in the Sermon on the Mount and putting it to work in a wider unit of ethical discourse. As I have discussed elsewhere, since this wider unit is on social ethics, Matthew has shifted the symbolic framework of the saying so that it fits within a discussion of how “brothers” should relate to one another (Mt 5,22-24)33. Matthew sees potential in this saying, but it needs to be significantly transformed (unlike Q 13,34-35) before it fits his purposes. The physical conditions of copying might account for some of the differences in this example as well. Luke seems to have followed Q closely, both in sequence and in word choice, so we might imagine him keeping close visual, even tactile, contact with the manuscript. Matthew, on the other hand, might have filtered this saying through his own memory competencies, recalling the basic thrust of the unit, but transforming its semantic meaning to make it function better in his Sermon. Matthew’s greater variation could also be the result of trying to reproduce the saying without being in close proximity to the manuscript. These are relatively “quick and dirty” assessments, considering mostly variation in vocabulary without attempting to quantify such things as omission or sequence. However, the exercise confirms what has been found by others: Matthew and Luke vary widely in their reproduction of Q material, even the speech of Jesus34. In another study discussing Matthew and Luke’s preservation of double tradition versus triple tradition material, Charles Carlston and Dennis Norlin found that Matthew and Luke, on average, reproduced Jesus’ words in the double tradition with a 71.5% fidelity (which is, incidentally, about 5% higher than their reproduction of Jesus’ words from Mark in their calculation)35. An average, however, can hide a great deal of variation, like that illustrated here with only two examples. 32. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 394-399; BULTMANN, History of the Synoptic Problem (n. 19), p. 96. 33. ROLLENS, “Why Do You Not Judge for Yourselves What Is Right?” (n. 25), pp. 450453. 34. KLOPPENBORG, Variation in the Reproduction of the Double Tradition and an Oral Q? (n. 16). 35. C.E. CARLSTON – D. NORLIN, Statistics and Q – Some Further Observations, in Novum Testamentum 41 (1999) 108-123, here p. 117.

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Such calculations are always tendentious because they rely on assumptions about what the original Q passage must have looked like, as well as presumptions about how to quantify such things as word order and inflection. Even granting some leeway, the conclusion about such extensive variation in the reproduction of Q is a bit strange, given that one might be tempted to assume the speech of Jesus to be so important to his early devotees that they wanted to capture it as clearly and with as much fixity as possible – indeed, this has long been the presumption and hope of many scholars who are interested in the historical Jesus. This, unfortunately, does not seem to be the case; even the earliest expressions of Jesus’ words and actions show evidence of an author’s or redactor’s influence. While we will return later to thinking about why Jesus’ speech was thought to be open to such manipulation, we can turn now to the real object of analysis in this paper: other people’s speech in Q. We will first examine embedded quotations within Q, before turning to the very limited bit of dialogue of minor characters. IV. EMBEDDED SPEECH IN Q As the arguable “main character” of Q, Jesus’ speech has been the subject, in some way or another, of most academic study of Q, often with the goal of accessing the authentic speech of Jesus himself. The Jesus Seminar in America of the 1980s and 1990s is an extreme example of this preoccupation with the ipsissima vox of Jesus36. This effort to uncover the authentic teachings of Jesus has encouraged scholars to try to discern the editorial preferences or the psychological workings of Matthew and Luke in order to assess how they manipulated Jesus’ words in their compositions. What has received less attention has been other people’s speech in Q and the way that Matthew and Luke handle that collection of material. We first turn our attention to embedded speech or embedded quotations in Q, which I defined above as places in Q where a speaker appears to quote the speech of another person. In my initial examination of this type of speech, these units seem to be some of the bits of Q that are most rigidly preserved by Matthew and Luke: thus, my tentative hypothesis to be explored is that Matthew and Luke preserve speech by “other people” in Q better than they do Jesus’ own speech. It seems to me that examining how Matthew and Luke treat 36. This interest came to culmination with the publication of The Gospel of Jesus: according to the Seminar (1999), collectively produced by Robert Funk and the other members of the Jesus Seminar.

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this “source within a source” can give an interesting perspective on how speech in general was treated by ancient authors. Moreover, such an exploration de-centers the focus on the sayings of Jesus and attunes us to different engagements with speech that exists in a source. It allows us to think about the difference between “sayings” of Jesus and merely “things said” by others – if there is even a difference at all. My method in this section will be to examine cases of embedded speech in Q to discern the extent of agreement between Matthew and Luke’s versions in order to see if any patterns in reproduction emerge. While the analysis will highlight some of the evident differences between parallel pericopae, the goal is not to catalogue these systematically or to explain the precise redactional procedure of either Luke or Matthew. I would like to begin at the beginning, with John the Baptist’s opening speech in Q. In this unit, John accuses those who have come to be baptized of a presuming a status that they do not deserve: that they are descendants of Abraham. For the present analysis, I want to focus on how he styles this accusation as if he is quoting what some of them had actually been saying. This is thus my first example of “embedded speech” in Q37. In this example and those following, I have bolded the portion that is styled as a direct quotation in both Matthew and Luke’s versions: Mt 3,8-9

Lk 3,8

ποιήσατε οὖν καρπὸν ἄξιον τῆς μετανοίας καὶ μὴ δόξητε λέγειν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς· Πατέρα ἔχομεν τὸν Ἀβραάμ, λέγω γὰρ ὑμῖν ὅτι δύναται ὁ ϑεὸς ἐκ τῶν λίϑων τούτων ἐγεῖραι τέκνα τῷ Ἀβραάμ.

ποιήσατε οὖν καρποὺς ἀξίους τῆς μετανοίας· καὶ μὴ ἄρξησϑε λέγειν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς· Πατέρα ἔχομεν τὸν Ἀβραάμ, λέγω γὰρ ὑμῖν ὅτι δύναται ὁ ϑεὸς ἐκ τῶν λίϑων τούτων ἐγεῖραι τέκνα τῷ Ἀβραάμ.

As is immediately evident, the embedded speech in this passage (that is, what those coming out to be baptized “say to themselves”) is reproduced identically in Matthew and Luke: “we have Abraham as [our] father (or ancestor38)” (Πατέρα ἔχομεν τὸν Ἀβραάμ). Granted, this is only a sequence of four words, and so the likelihood that Matthew and Luke would keep the original sequence is probably rather high to begin with. Nevertheless, we note that the parallel units differ on other counts outside 37. It is worth noting, at the outset, that embedded speech can be entirely fictive. No one need have ever said the utterance that the speaker in Q is quoting. Rather, I focus on these embedded quotes in Q sayings as a particular register of speech that potentially encourages Matthew and Luke to engage with the unit in a certain way. 38. R. TANNEHILL, Luke (Abingdon New Testament Commentaries), Nashville, TN, Abingdon, 1996, p. 80.

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of the embedded quotation (e.g., καρπὸν ἄξιον versus καρποὺς ἀξίους and δόξητε versus ἄρξησϑε), so certainly Matthew and Luke regarded this unit as generally open to redaction. I find it especially interesting that Matthew and Luke retain the precise phrasing of the bolded material, given that there are other, perhaps less awkward ways of communicating the same sentiment. Synoptic scholars probably hear nothing out of place in the phrasing “we have Abraham as our father”, yet surely we could imagine an author opting for a more natural way to express this, namely, “we are children of Abraham”, which is indeed how the subsequent sentence in both gospels expresses it (using the dative of possession): τέκνα τῷ Ἀβραάμ. Moreover, phrasing the identity as “children of Abraham” (or something similar) seems to be the more common way of expressing this status claim, based on similar usage elsewhere in the New Testament (see Gal 3,7; Acts 13,2639; Rom 9,740; and 1 Pet 3,641). Thus, it is curious that Matthew and Luke both retain the original wording in this quotation embedded in Q, even when there are several other ways to express the same sentiment, as they themselves demonstrate in the following lines. Perhaps unremarkable on its own, the embedded quotation in this unit nevertheless attunes us to the register of speech that I have in mind. The next embedded quotation is found in Q’s so-called Sermon. In the midst of critiquing the audience for judging, Jesus introduces the example of a person who criticizes another for having a speck in his eye, when the one doing the criticizing actually has a “log” (or “beam”) in his own eye42. Within this example, Jesus quotes a fictive interlocutor: “How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me throw out the speck from your eye’”, which is another instance of an embedded quotation in a Q saying. Mt 7,3-5

Lk 6,41-42

τί δὲ βλέπεις τὸ κάρφος τὸ ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ σου, τὴν δὲ ἐν τῷ σῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ δοκὸν οὐ κατανοεῖς;

τί δὲ βλέπεις τὸ κάρφος τὸ ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ σου, τὴν δὲ δοκὸν τὴν ἐν τῷ ἰδίῳ ὀφϑαλμῷ οὐ κατανοεῖς;

ἢ πῶς ἐρεῖς τῷ ἀδελφῷ σου· Ἄφες ἐκβάλω τὸ κάρφος ἐκ τοῦ ὀφϑαλμοῦ σου, καὶ ἰδοὺ ἡ δοκὸς ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ σοῦ;

πῶς δύνασαι λέγειν τῷ ἀδελφῷ σου· Ἀδελφέ, ἄφες ἐκβάλω τὸ κάρφος τὸ ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ σου, αὐτὸς τὴν ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ σοῦ δοκὸν οὐ βλέπων;

39. Both Galatians and Acts use sons (υἱοί) of Abraham. 40. This verse uses the infamous “seed” (σπέρμα) of Abraham. 41. This verse speaks of Abrahamic descent indirectly, by styling the female addressees as “children” (τέκνα) of Sarah. 42. The term for beam is δοκός, which means a large piece of timber, the sort which would be involved in the building of a house. Jesus’ statement is thus absurdly hyperbolic.

OTHER PEOPLE’S SPEECH IN Q

ὑποκριτά, ἔκβαλε πρῶτον ἐκ τοῦ ὀφϑαλμοῦ σοῦ τὴν δοκόν, καὶ τότε διαβλέψεις ἐκβαλεῖν τὸ κάρφος ἐκ τοῦ ὀφϑαλμοῦ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ σου.

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ὑποκριτά, ἔκβαλε πρῶτον τὴν δοκὸν ἐκ τοῦ ὀφϑαλμοῦ σοῦ, καὶ τότε διαβλέψεις τὸ κάρφος τὸ ἐν τῷ ὀφϑαλμῷ τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ σου ἐκβαλεῖν.

Here we see that the quoted material is word-for-word the same in Matthew and Luke’s versions, even though they have subjected the surrounding material to some redaction, mostly in the form of repositioning words. In the first part of the passage, they differ on the placement of δοκόν and in the preference for σῷ or ἰδίῳ. In the second part, they differ primarily over the use of ἐρεῖς or δύνασαι λέγειν, and Luke’s inclusion of the direct address to the “brother”. The third section only differs on the placement of τὴν δοκόν and ἐκβαλεῖν. This example follows the tendency of the previous one, suggesting that embedded quotations in Q tend to be well preserved in Matthew and Luke. We can even go a bit further: when Matthew and Luke take over a Q passage that has quoted material, they are more likely to redact the material surrounding the quotation (whether this means introducing or changing vocabulary or repositioning words) than they are to alter the quoted material itself. A third instance of quoted material in Q comes when John the Baptist’s disciples relay John’s question about Jesus’ identity to Jesus in Q 7. If this unit is read carefully, I suggest that this is another instance of a statement styled as an embedded quotation within a Q unit: Mt 11,2-3

Lk 7,18-20

Ὁ δὲ Ἰωάννης ἀκούσας ἐν τῷ δεσμωτηρίῳ τὰ ἔργα τοῦ χριστοῦ πέμψας διὰ τῶν μαϑητῶν αὐτοῦ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Σὺ εἶ ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἢ ἕτερον προσδοκῶμεν;

Καὶ ἀπήγγειλαν Ἰωάννῃ οἱ μαϑηταὶ αὐτοῦ περὶ πάντων τούτων. καὶ προσκαλεσάμενος δύο τινὰς τῶν μαϑητῶν αὐτοῦ ὁ Ἰωάννης ἔπεμψεν πρὸς τὸν κύριον λέγων· Σὺ εἶ ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἢ ἄλλον προσδοκῶμεν; παραγενόμενοι δὲ πρὸς αὐτὸν οἱ ἄνδρες εἶπαν· Ἰωάννης ὁ βαπτιστὴς ἀπέστειλεν ἡμᾶς πρὸς σὲ λέγων· Σὺ εἶ ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἢ ἄλλον προσδοκῶμεν;

Indeed, the International Q Project reconstructs this passage in a manner that indicates that John asked a question, and his disciples reproduced (i.e., “quoted”) his direct speech before Jesus: “And John, [on hearing

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about all these things], sending through his disciples, [said] to him: Are you the one to come, or are we to expect someone else?”43. Once again, the extent of the agreement of the bolded material is striking, especially given that Luke reproduces the quotation of John twice in his version. There is minor variation between the gospels: Matthew uses the term ἕτερον while Luke opts for ἄλλον. Since the meanings of these Greek words are so similar, it might be impossible to know what Q’s original wording was. This may be a case where the so-called “intertext” of Q is clear even without verbatim reconstruction44. This vocabulary difference aside, both authors treat the quotation from John as a relatively immutable statement. In fact, Luke’s version underscores the fixity of this statement by reproducing it verbatim only a handful of words later. The fixity of the quotation is more notable when one considers that both authors evidently considered the wider unit to be open to redaction. Q probably did not contain Luke’s duplication of the quotation from John45, so that duplication represents an editorial choice on his part46. He also introduces the narrative statement that confirms that Jesus did, in fact, do the things that the disciples were supposed to report back to John about (Lk 7,21). Though the Q version probably looked more like the Matthean version, Matthew, for his part, frames this scene so that it highlights John’s location in prison (Mt 11,2)47. In other words, though Matthew and Luke edit this pericope in different ways, they only minimally alter the quoted material within it. 43. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 118-121. 44. D.T. ROTH, The Parables in Q (Library of New Testament Studies, 582), London, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2018, pp. 23-55. The intertext refers to the common ideas shared between Matthew and Luke, even when the precise wording of the reconstruction is impossible. Roth explains, focusing on an intertext between Matthew and Luke can help us see shared motifs, ideas, narrative structures, etc., in the absence of verbatim agreement. Even aside from the specific focus on the parables, his theorizing has been helpful for me in thinking about shared meaning in general within the double tradition. 45. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 118-121. 46. In addition, the specification that it involves two of John’s disciples is probably a Lukan change to mimic other stories where a pair of disciples or people do something (BULTMANN, History of the Synoptic Tradition [n. 19], p. 316). 47. F. BOVON, Luke, trans. C.M. THOMAS – D.S. DEER – J.E. CROUCH (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2002, p. 278. In Luke, John’s location in prison is probably presupposed, since it has been mentioned in Lk 3,19-20. It is curious that Matthew represents John as sending word to his disciples from prison (Mt 11,2), while Luke views him as able to interact with his disciples and even summon them to him during his time in prison (Lk 7,18-19). Luke’s depiction of this story might be part and parcel of his relatively positive understanding of the legal system and the prison experience that I have otherwise found to be the case in his writing (ROLLENS, Why Do You Not Judge for Yourselves What Is Right? [n. 25], pp. 466-467).

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The memorable passage about the children in the marketplace is yet another unit from Q which contains an internal quotation akin to the others discussed already. In this case, the unit is a parable48 of children sitting in the public square being unable to rouse a reaction from those watching them49. The embedded quotation is the speech of the children who reflect on their “obdurate and unrepresentative”50 audience: Mt 11,16-17

Lk 7,31-32

Τίνι δὲ ὁμοιώσω τὴν γενεὰν ταύτην;

Τίνι οὖν ὁμοιώσω τοὺς ἀνϑρώπους τῆς γενεᾶς ταύτης, καὶ τίνι εἰσὶν ὅμοιοι;

ὁμοία ἐστὶν παιδίοις καϑημένοις ἐν ὅμοιοί εἰσιν παιδίοις τοῖς ἐν ἀγορᾷ ταῖς ἀγοραῖς ἃ προσφωνοῦντα τοῖς καϑημένοις καὶ προσφωνοῦσιν ἑτέροις λέγουσιν· ἀλλήλοις, ἃ λέγει· Ηὐλήσαμεν ὑμῖν καὶ οὐκ ὠρχήσασϑε· ἐϑρηνήσαμεν καὶ οὐκ ἐκόψασϑε·

Ηὐλήσαμεν ὑμῖν καὶ οὐκ ὠρχήσασϑε· ἐϑρηνήσαμεν καὶ οὐκ ἐκλαύσατε·

Within the embedded quotation, Matthew and Luke differ only in having ἐκόψασϑε (mourned) and ἐκλαύσατε (cried), respectively. As we can clearly see, the rest of the Q unit was considered to be open to redaction. Luke opts to speak of “the people of this generation”, while Matthew focuses singularly on “this generation”, the latter probably being the original in Q51. Matthew somewhat curiously emphasizes the plurality of 48. Though it is not labeled as a parable and deviates in form slightly from prototypical parables, I follow Bovon and Roth, among others, in deeming this a parable, due mainly to its comparative structure and the story world that it presupposes (BOVON, Luke [n. 47], p. 280; ROTH, The Parables in Q [n. 44], pp. 146-163). 49. The interpretation of this parable is complicated. There are at least two major opinions among scholars regarding how the imagery should be interpreted. According to Robert Tannehill, the children are a cipher for “this generation”, and they are calling to John and Jesus who refuse to participate in their activities for various reasons (TANNEHILL, Luke [n. 38], pp. 133-134). A more compelling interpretation, in my view, is that John and Jesus are meant to be the children, and they are calling out in vain to people, perhaps other children, trying to get their attention and their responses, but they are consistently rejected (as in BOVON, Luke [n. 47], pp. 286-289; KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q [n. 6], p. 111). The latter interpretation is more persuasive because it fits into Q’s broader theme of the envoys of God being rejected by those to whom they have been sent. In addition, the following saying in Q announces that Wisdom is justified by “her children” (Q 7,35 [the IQP opts for Luke’s “her children” over Matthew’s “her deeds”, though compelling arguments can be made for both] [ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), p. 148]) an identity category which is meant to include Jesus and John. 50. BOVON, Luke (n. 47), p. 280. 51. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 140-141.

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the situation by writing “marketplaces” instead of Luke’s singular “marketplace”. In addition, Matthew opts for ἑτέροις to talk about others in the story, while Luke uses ἀλλήλοις52. There is also some minor rearrangement of the word order, notably the positioning of καϑημένοις. In all this, we nevertheless observe that the internal quotation is rather woodenly reproduced by Matthew and Luke, save for the two vocabulary items already mentioned. Following directly on the heels of this passage in Q is another one that includes two embedded quotations, this time from interlocutors who take issue with both John and Jesus for different reasons. In its Q context, Q 7,33-34 expands upon the theme of rejection introduced in Q 7,31-32. We again encounter more evidence of the general tendency we have been observing: the embedded speech is well preserved, while the surrounding material is open to redaction: Mt 11,18-19

Lk 7,33-34

ἦλϑεν γὰρ Ἰωάννης μήτε ἐσϑίων μήτε πίνων, καὶ λέγουσιν· Δαιμόνιον ἔχει·

ἐλήλυϑεν γὰρ Ἰωάννης ὁ βαπτιστὴς μὴ ἐσϑίων ἄρτον μήτε πίνων οἶνον, καὶ λέγετε· Δαιμόνιον ἔχει·

ἦλϑεν ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου ἐσϑίων καὶ πίνων, καὶ λέγουσιν· Ἰδοὺ ἄνϑρωπος φάγος καὶ οἰνοπότης, τελωνῶν φίλος καὶ ἁμαρτωλῶν.

ἐλήλυϑεν ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου ἐσϑίων καὶ πίνων, καὶ λέγετε· Ἰδοὺ ἄνϑρωπος φάγος καὶ οἰνοπότης, φίλος τελωνῶν καὶ ἁμαρτωλῶν.

καὶ ἐδικαιώϑη ἡ σοφία ἀπὸ τῶν ἔργων αὐτῆς.

καὶ ἐδικαιώϑη ἡ σοφία ἀπὸ πάντων τῶν τέκνων αὐτῆς

Within the first embedded quotation, Matthew and Luke preserve the original – which is, of course, not especially remarkable given that “he has a demon” only requires two words in ancient Greek. Theoretically, the words could be reversed or either author could have added John’s name to ensure clarity53. In the second embedded quotation, the only difference is that Matthew and Luke locate φίλος after or before τελωνῶν, respectively, which does not change the sense of the statement. When Matthew and Luke encountered the surrounding Q material, however, they saw fit to edit it in varying ways. Luke probably added the 52. Note that the preference for these terms (Matthew for ἑτέροις and Luke for ἀλλήλοις) was the one thing that differentiated their reproduction of John’s speech by Matthew and Luke in the previous example as well. 53. Observe that Luke includes the clarification ὁ βαπτιστής after John’s name in this passage. This is likely a Lukan addition to the original from Q, since it answers the question “which John?” and there seems to be no good reason for Matthew to exclude it. Luke also seems to have added it earlier in Lk 7,20.

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objects of bread and wine to make a more vivid accusation54. The Q version has been reconstructed to have the accusation in the second person plural (“you say”), which retains parallelism with the accusations of unresponsiveness in Q 7,31-32, so Matthew must have altered the format of the accusation to the third person “they say” (λέγουσιν). As for the maxim that closes the unit, one might assume that it would be so formulaic as to be closed to editorial intervention, but that does not appear to be the case: Matthew has the claim that Wisdom is vindicated by her “deeds”, while Luke has “by all her children”, the latter likely the phrasing expressed originally in Q55. Yet, like the other examples, the embedded quotation largely retains the same vocabulary and sequence in both gospels. The next example comes from another parable-like56 unit in Q that illustrates who is a faithful slave. Jesus reports that the unfaithful slave is the one who begins to act badly in the absence of their master. In order to introduce that scenario, Jesus quotes the slave, who says to himself, “My master is delayed” before engaging in disobedient behavior: Mt 24,48-51

Lk 12,45-46

ἐὰν δὲ εἴπῃ ὁ κακὸς δοῦλος ἐκεῖνος ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτοῦ· Χρονίζει μου ὁ κύριος, καὶ ἄρξηται τύπτειν τοὺς συνδούλους αὐτοῦ, ἐσϑίῃ δὲ καὶ πίνῃ μετὰ τῶν μεϑυόντων,

ἐὰν δὲ εἴπῃ ὁ δοῦλος ἐκεῖνος ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτοῦ· Χρονίζει ὁ κύριός μου ἔρχεσϑαι, καὶ ἄρξηται τύπτειν τοὺς παῖδας καὶ τὰς παιδίσκας, ἐσϑίειν τε καὶ πίνειν καὶ μεϑύσκεσϑαι,

ἥξει ὁ κύριος τοῦ δούλου ἐκείνου ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ᾗ οὐ προσδοκᾷ καὶ ἐν ὥρᾳ ᾗ οὐ γινώσκει, καὶ διχοτομήσει αὐτὸν καὶ τὸ μέρος αὐτοῦ μετὰ τῶν ὑποκριτῶν ϑήσει·

ἥξει ὁ κύριος τοῦ δούλου ἐκείνου ἐν ἡμέρᾳ ᾗ οὐ προσδοκᾷ καὶ ἐν ὥρᾳ ᾗ οὐ γινώσκει, καὶ διχοτομήσει αὐτὸν καὶ τὸ μέρος αὐτοῦ μετὰ τῶν ἀπίστων ϑήσει.

ἐκεῖ ἔσται ὁ κλαυϑμὸς καὶ ὁ βρυγμὸς τῶν ὀδόντων. 54. According to Bovon, this language communicates much about John’s lifestyle: “In the second century one would expect that an Encratite would eat no meat and drink no wine. So μὴ ἐσϑίων ἄρτον (‘eating no bread’) is astonishing. If ἄρτος does not simply mean food (thus indicating sparing intake), as often in the Hebrew Bible, then it means that John, as Mark 1 intimates, eats on raw foods unprepared by human hands. His dietary intake was in any case more ascetic than the Law of Moses commanded, so that his lifestyle attracted criticism” (BOVON, Luke [n. 47], p. 287). I am not entirely convinced of this complex interpretation; the point, in my view, seems to simply juxtapose John’s well-known restrictive eating habits (i.e., fasting; cf., Mk 2,18 and parallels) with Jesus’ lack of restriction (cf. TANNEHILL, Luke [n. 38], p. 133). Neither John nor Jesus’ habits appears to satisfy the audience. 55. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 140-141. 56. Commentators such as ROTH (The Parables in Q [n. 44], pp. 88-105) treat this passage as a parable due to the story world that it presupposes. However, it lacks a comparative structure.

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In this case, the entire unit shows extensive agreement, so the similarity of the embedded quote could perhaps be a function of the considerable agreement in the surrounding unit. Akin to some of the examples already dealt with, there is some minor redaction evident in the embedded quotation though: the positioning of μου is different, as is Luke’s addition of ἔρχεσϑαι, and Matthew’s specification that the slave is bad (κακός). The final example in this section is a statement in the brief parable in Q 11,24-2657. In this parable, an unclean spirit departs from a person it was possessing and begins wandering through deserted places. Finding nowhere else to rest, it says to itself, “I will return to my house from which I came”, and then returns: Mt 12,43-44

Lk 11,24

Ὅταν δὲ τὸ ἀκάϑαρτον πνεῦμα ἐξέλϑῃ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου, διέρχεται δι’ ἀνύδρων τόπων ζητοῦν ἀνάπαυσιν, καὶ οὐχ εὑρίσκει. τότε λέγει· Εἰς τὸν οἶκόν μου ἐπιστρέψω ὅϑεν ἐξῆλϑον·

Ὅταν τὸ ἀκάϑαρτον πνεῦμα ἐξέλϑῃ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου, διέρχεται δι’ ἀνύδρων τόπων ζητοῦν ἀνάπαυσιν, καὶ μὴ εὑρίσκον λέγει· Ὑποστρέψω εἰς τὸν οἶκόν μου ὅϑεν ἐξῆλϑον·

The meaning of the parable is rather enigmatic, exhorting the individual to generally be on guard and to continually resist evil58. Once again, the embedded speech (bold), which the spirit speaks to itself, is extremely similar. Retaining a similar item of vocabulary from Q, Matthew and Luke differ only in the prefix of the first primary verb (ἐπιστρέψω/ὑποστρέφω) and its placement (either after or before the prepositional phrase εἰς τὸν οἶκόν μου, respectively). Aside from Matthew’s addition of τότε, the surrounding verses are identical in both. Again, the rigid reproduction 57. ROTH, The Parables in Q (n. 44), pp. 255-264. 58. BOVON, Luke 2 (n. 22), p. 124. Bovon fleshes out the scenario with more details: “Let us follow the demon’s itinerary. It could not have gone out cheerfully. Without it being said in so many words, the demon must have been driven out during an exorcism. Depicted as a living being with a will of its own, the demon looks for a new place to live, a resting place. The desert appears to be a favorite place for this time of demon. It would appear that is where it looks in vain for a new refuge […]. The dwelling that had been vacated was fixed up but not protected. The owner cleaned it, put it in order, and, perhaps, decorated it, as if a celebration were going to take place there – whereas it was actually in danger of being occupied. What is thus compared to a house is a person’s inner being […]. The supreme happiness of the arrival of God’s reign (v. 20) is unfortunately matched by the tragic return of the demonic power (vv. 24-26)” (pp. 125-127). Tannehill supposes that the “disaster” implied by the situation might be that “those who, after being freed from unclean spirits by Jesus, refuse to make a commitment” to Jesus (TANNEHILL, Luke [n. 38], p. 194).

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of the embedded quotation could be a function of the general fidelity that Matthew and Luke show in reproducing this Q passage as a whole. But we could also be seeing a more general pattern that embedded speech is generally well-preserved. To summarize the findings so far: the examples of embedded speech/ quotations in Q have suggested that they are preserved relatively woodenly even if the surrounding unit is subjected to more elaborate redaction. In some cases, the preservation of the embedded speech is part of a redactional policy by which Matthew and Luke treated the wider unit (i.e., they rigidly reproduced the entire unit from Q), but in other cases, they altered the surrounding material while retaining the fixity of the embedded speech. The observations can help us better think about how authors engaged with speech of various forms in their sources. Before using this data to try to theorize source use, it is necessary to explore briefly some other, less frequent, forms of speech within Q: the speech of minor characters.

V. SPEECH OF MINOR CHARACTERS IN Q So far, we have been analyzing so-called “embedded quotations”, instances where Jesus or another character in Q appears to quote someone else, whether that quotation is treated as an actual, spoken utterance or it is merely a hypothetical statement employed for didactic purposes. There are also some cases of “other people’s speech” in Q that do not present as embedded quotations but are instead the dialogue of minor characters. The best examples of this are found within the pericope on the commitment of potential followers of Jesus. The minor character’s speech is bolded in both, so that we can examine the extent of the agreement: Mt 8,18-22

Lk 9,57-62

Ἰδὼν δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς πολλοὺς ὄχλους Καὶ πορευομένων αὐτῶν ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ περὶ αὐτὸν ἐκέλευσεν ἀπελϑεῖν εἰς εἶπέν τις πρὸς αὐτόν· Ἀκολουϑήσω τὸ πέραν. καὶ προσελϑὼν εἷς σοι ὅπου ἐὰν ἀπέρχῃ. γραμματεὺς εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Διδάσκαλε, ἀκολουϑήσω σοι ὅπου ἐὰν ἀπέρχῃ. καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Αἱ ἀλώπεκες φωλεοὺς ἔχουσιν καὶ τὰ πετεινὰ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ κατασκηνώσεις, ὁ δὲ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου οὐκ ἔχει ποῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν κλίνῃ.

καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Αἱ ἀλώπεκες φωλεοὺς ἔχουσιν καὶ τὰ πετεινὰ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ κατασκηνώσεις, ὁ δὲ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου οὐκ ἔχει ποῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν κλίνῃ.

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ἕτερος δὲ τῶν μαϑητῶν εἶπεν αὐτῷ· εἶπεν δὲ πρὸς ἕτερον· Ἀκολούϑει Κύριε, ἐπίτρεψόν μοι πρῶτον μοι. ὁ δὲ εἶπεν· Κύριε, ἐπίτρεψόν ἀπελϑεῖν καὶ ϑάψαι τὸν πατέρα μου. μοι ἀπελϑόντι πρῶτον ϑάψαι τὸν πατέρα μου. ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς λέγει αὐτῷ· Ἀκολούϑει εἶπεν δὲ αὐτῷ· Ἄφες τοὺς νεκροὺς μοι, καὶ ἄφες τοὺς νεκροὺς ϑάψαι ϑάψαι τοὺς ἑαυτῶν νεκρούς, σὺ δὲ τοὺς ἑαυτῶν νεκρούς. ἀπελϑὼν διάγγελλε τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ ϑεοῦ. εἶπεν δὲ καὶ ἕτερος· Ἀκολουϑήσω σοι, κύριε· πρῶτον δὲ ἐπίτρεψόν μοι ἀποτάξασϑαι τοῖς εἰς τὸν οἶκόν μου. εἶπεν δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Οὐδεὶς ἐπιβαλὼν τὴν χεῖρα ἐπ’ ἄροτρον καὶ βλέπων εἰς τὰ ὀπίσω εὔϑετός ἐστιν τῇ βασιλείᾳ τοῦ ϑεοῦ.

The first quotation from the potential disciple (the declaration that they will follow Jesus wherever he goes) is identical in Matthew and Luke. The second quotation (the request to bury the disciple’s father before following Jesus) is quite similar as well. In the second, Matthew and Luke differ over the placement of πρῶτον, as well as the use of ἀπελϑεῖν versus ἀπελϑόντι, respectively. This is hardly a significant difference at all, since the latter change retains the same vocabulary item and only alters its inflection. While Jesus’ famous statement on the homeless of the Son of Man is also identical in both (Αἱ ἀλώπεκες φωλεοὺς ἔχουσιν καὶ τὰ πετεινὰ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ κατασκηνώσεις, ὁ δὲ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνϑρώπου οὐκ ἔχει ποῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν κλίνῃ), many other elements of this passage have been redacted. The result is that the surrounding unit is quite different in the parallel versions, resulting in yet another situation in which the embedded speech (as well as Jesus’ saying on the homelessness of the Son of Man) is reproduced more faithfully than the rest of the unit. Another selection of a minor character’s speech comes in the Temptation narrative where Jesus and the devil converse. Focusing on this story also lets us consider a new form of quoted material in Q: the written word.

VI. A SPECIAL CASE: THE TEMPTATION STORY I have left the Temptation Story to the end for a number of reasons. For one, it does not contain the strict form of embedded speech that much of this analysis has focused on, though it does introduce the speech of a minor character (the devil) as he engages with Jesus. For another, as

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many commentators have noticed, in terms of genre this portion of Q seems to be moving the form of the text in the direction of a more developed narrative and is thus probably the latest addition to Q59. For still another, the genre of this material itself cultivates some internal fixity, based on the tripartite form of the story and back-and-forth dialogue of the characters. These features differentiate it from the more flexible, open forms of the sayings found elsewhere in Q, which are often linked to other units by catchwords or thematic/topos links. Yet while the form is a “true narrative”, dialogue nevertheless “plays a central function” in its structure60. And while there is not embedded speech that fits the definition provided at the outset of this essay, we observe that Jesus now cites scriptural61 quotations to support his responses to the devil’s temptations. Such a unit thus provides a fascinating window to see how Matthew and Luke engage with a character who introduces quotations which are themselves assumed to come from a rather fixed source. The Temptation Story is complicated for another reason, namely, because it is one of the infamous Mk/Q overlaps. Yet unlike most of the Mk/Q overlaps, it is rather easy to disentangle the version that came from Q from Mark’s version. Mark’s version is an incredibly brief narrative, and so the complex versions with elaborate dialogue that Matthew and Luke share must derive from Q. Indeed, Mark’s influence on Matthew and Luke’s version, is “weak”, if even detectable at all62. The Temptation Story thus stands to offer insights into how Matthew and Luke engaged a sayings collection that itself appealed to the authority of written texts. I have mapped this agreement out verse by verse for clarity: Mt 4,3

Lk 4,3

καὶ προσελϑὼν ὁ πειράζων εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ ϑεοῦ, εἰπὲ ἵνα οἱ λίϑοι οὗτοι ἄρτοι γένωνται.

εἶπεν δὲ αὐτῷ ὁ διάβολος· Εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ ϑεοῦ, εἰπὲ τῷ λίϑῳ τούτῳ ἵνα γένηται ἄρτος.

59. U. LUZ, Matthew 1–7 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2007, p. 148; J.M. ROBINSON, The Sayings Gospel Q, in F. VAN SEGBROECK et al. (eds.), The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 100), Leuven, Leuven University Press – Peeters, 1992, 361-388; KLOPPENBORG, Formation of Q (n. 6), p. 262. 60. KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q (n. 6), p. 246. 61. The term “scripture” is likely anachronistic. While the Torah was probably relatively fixed in this period, much of what came to be known as the Hebrew Bible was still in flux. Some traditions, such as the various collections of psalms, remained an open, fluid collection for quite some time (see E. MROCZEK, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity, New York, Oxford University Press, 2018). 62. BOVON, Luke (n. 47), p. 139.

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Mt 4,4

Lk 4,4

ὁ δὲ ἀποκριϑεὶς εἶπεν· Γέγραπται· Οὐκ ἐπ’ ἄρτῳ μόνῳ ζήσεται ὁ ἄνϑρωπος, ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ παντὶ ῥήματι ἐκπορευομένῳ διὰ στόματος ϑεοῦ.

καὶ ἀπεκρίϑη πρὸς αὐτὸν ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Γέγραπται ὅτι Οὐκ ἐπ’ ἄρτῳ μόνῳ ζήσεται ὁ ἄνϑρωπος63.

Mt 4,9

Lk 4,6-7

καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Ταῦτά σοι πάντα δώσω, ἐὰν πεσὼν προσκυνήσῃς μοι.

καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ ὁ διάβολος· Σοὶ δώσω τὴν ἐξουσίαν ταύτην ἅπασαν καὶ τὴν δόξαν αὐτῶν, ὅτι ἐμοὶ παραδέδοται καὶ ᾧ ἂν ϑέλω δίδωμι αὐτήν·

Mt 4,10

Lk 4,8

τότε λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Ὕπαγε, Σατανᾶ· γέγραπται γάρ· Κύριον τὸν ϑεόν σου προσκυνήσεις καὶ αὐτῷ μόνῳ λατρεύσεις.

καὶ ἀποκριϑεὶς ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Γέγραπται·64 Κύριον τὸν ϑεόν σου προσκυνήσεις καὶ αὐτῷ μόνῳ λατρεύσεις.

Mt 4,5-6

Lk 4,9-11

Τότε παραλαμβάνει αὐτὸν ὁ διάβολος εἰς τὴν ἁγίαν πόλιν, καὶ ἔστησεν αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τὸ πτερύγιον τοῦ ἱεροῦ, καὶ λέγει αὐτῷ· Εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ ϑεοῦ, βάλε σεαυτὸν κάτω· γέγραπται γὰρ ὅτι Τοῖς ἀγγέλοις αὐτοῦ ἐντελεῖται περὶ σοῦ καὶ ἐπὶ χειρῶν ἀροῦσίν σε, μήποτε προσκόψῃς πρὸς λίϑον τὸν πόδα σου.

Ἤγαγεν δὲ αὐτὸν εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴμ καὶ ἔστησεν ἐπὶ τὸ πτερύγιον τοῦ ἱεροῦ, καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· Εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ ϑεοῦ, βάλε σεαυτὸν ἐντεῦϑεν κάτω· γέγραπται γὰρ ὅτι Τοῖς ἀγγέλοις αὐτοῦ ἐντελεῖται περὶ σοῦ τοῦ διαφυλάξαι σε, καὶ ὅτι Ἐπὶ χειρῶν ἀροῦσίν σε μήποτε προσκόψῃς πρὸς λίϑον τὸν πόδα σου65.

Mt 4,7

Lk 4,12

ἔφη αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· Πάλιν γέγραπται· Οὐκ ἐκπειράσεις κύριον τὸν ϑεόν σου.

καὶ ἀποκριϑεὶς εἶπεν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς ὅτι Εἴρηται· Οὐκ ἐκπειράσεις κύριον τὸν ϑεόν σου.

We can briefly assess the patterns of agreement. I have bolded the parallel speech portions in each section and underlined the textual markers that introduce quotations as coming from a written source. The following statements have verbatim agreement: Mt 4,4//Lk 4,4; Mt 4,10//Lk 4,8; Mt 4,7//Lk 4,12; and the third quotation in Mt 4,5-6//Lk 4,9-11. It is vital to note that all of these are introduced by the respective authors as written quotations, except for Lk 4,12, which instead uses εἴρηται (“it is said”), 63. This citation derives from Deut 8,3. 64. This passage could come from either Deut 6,13 or Deut 10,20. 65. These citations derive from Ps 91,11-12.

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a phrase that evinces Luke’s hand and functions identically to γέγραπται66. In other words, in three of the four places in Q that specifically style themselves as quotations of the written word, Matthew and Luke insist on absolute fidelity to the original. The fourth self-conscious textual citation is the second bolded phrase in Mt 4,5-6//Lk 4,9-11: Τοῖς ἀγγέλοις αὐτοῦ ἐντελεῖται περὶ σοῦ// Τοῖς ἀγγέλοις αὐτοῦ ἐντελεῖται περὶ σοῦ τοῦ διαφυλάξαι σε. The primary difference between the versions is Luke’s inclusion of τοῦ διαφυλάξαι σε (“to protect you” or “concerning your protection”). The original Q version likely lacked this inclusion67. We may surmise, then, that Luke felt entitled to add a more informative phrase to the original, but he, like Matthew, did not want to disrupt the original words that had already been signaled to come from a prior written – apparently fixed – source. It is worth remembering, of course, that Matthew and Luke were consulting a written source this entire time in their engagement with Q68, but outside of the Temptation Story, the written source did not advertise itself as a written source, as it did with the verses cited in Q 4,4.8.10.12. The utterances by the devil (who is, in my terminology, a “minor character” in Q) show more variation in reproduction than the scriptural quotations. For instance, though the beginning of the devil’s statement in Mt 4,3//Lk 4,3 is nearly identical, the second part of the sentence is inflected differently. Mt 4,9//Lk 4,6-7 also evinces some noteworthy differences in reproducing the speech of the devil. Luke’s version specifies that the devil offers “power” (ἐξουσίαν) and “glory” (δόξαν) instead of Matthew’s generic “all these things”. Likewise, Mt 4,10//Lk 4,8 are quite different outside of the direct quotation from Deuteronomy. And finally, Mt 4,5-6//Lk 4,9-11 evinces a great deal of variation in terms of the word choice, though the scriptural citations are relatively fixed. The only exception to the verbatim reproduction of the scriptural citation, as noted, is that Luke contains a clarifying detail (the addition of τοῦ διαφυλάξαι σε). Some interesting patterns of agreement emerge from the Temptation Story. The reproduction of the speech of Jesus and the devil is quite consistent in Matthew and Luke, though there is clearly some variation 66. BOVON, Luke (n. 47), p. 144. 67. ROBINSON et al., The Critical Edition of Q (n. 17), pp. 30-31. 68. On the evidence of Q as a text written in Greek, see the overview in S.E. ROLLENS, Framing Social Criticism in the Jesus Movement: The Ideological Project in the Sayings Gospel Q (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, II/374), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2014, pp. 81-93. The most compelling argument for Q as a source written in Greek remains the analysis of N. TURNER in Q in Recent Thought, in Expository Times 80 (1968-69) 324-328.

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possible. What has been said, in other words, was not written in stone. What has been written, on the other hand, is treated very differently by both Matthew and Luke. They both appear to have treated material introduced with γέγραπται (and εἴρηται in Lk 4,12) as far less open to redactional intervention. This brief discussion of the way that speech is dealt with in the Temptation Story, including as it does speech by minor characters and quotations from a written source, will help us contextualize and better theorize how authors engage with various forms of speech in their sources, a point to which we will return. VII. COUNTER-EVIDENCE Unfortunately, not all of the embedded quotations and speech of minor characters fits the general hypothesis that other people’s speech is preserved faithfully by Matthew and Luke. Indeed, there are admittedly other units that challenge the initial findings here. In the interest of space, I will simply list the four primary examples that comprise this counter-evidence. Once again, I have highlighted the embedded quotations, if they exist, in the following passages: Mt 16,2-3

Lk 12,54-55

ὁ δὲ ἀποκριϑεὶς εἶπεν αὐτοῖς· Ὀψίας γενομένης λέγετε· Εὐδία, πυρράζει γὰρ ὁ οὐρανός·

Ἔλεγεν δὲ καὶ τοῖς ὄχλοις· Ὅταν ἴδητε νεφέλην ἀνατέλλουσαν ἐπὶ δυσμῶν, εὐϑέως λέγετε ὅτι Ὄμβρος ἔρχεται, καὶ γίνεται οὕτως·

καὶ πρωΐ· Σήμερον χειμών, πυρράζει καὶ ὅταν νότον πνέοντα, λέγετε ὅτι γὰρ στυγνάζων ὁ οὐρανός. τὸ μὲν Καύσων ἔσται, καὶ γίνεται. πρόσωπον τοῦ οὐρανοῦ γινώσκετε διακρίνειν, τὰ δὲ σημεῖα τῶν καιρῶν οὐ δύνασϑε. Mt 6,31

Lk 12,29

μὴ οὖν μεριμνήσητε λέγοντες· Τί φάγωμεν; ἤ· Τί πίωμεν; ἤ· Τί περιβαλώμεϑα;

καὶ ὑμεῖς μὴ ζητεῖτε τί φάγητε καὶ τί πίητε, καὶ μὴ μετεωρίζεσϑε,

Mt 10,12

Lk 10,5

εἰσερχόμενοι δὲ εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν ἀσπάσασϑε αὐτήν·

εἰς ἣν δ’ ἂν εἰσέλϑητε οἰκίαν πρῶτον λέγετε· Εἰρήνη τῷ οἴκῳ τούτῳ.

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Mt 17,20

Lk 17,6

ὁ δὲ λέγει αὐτοῖς· Διὰ τὴν ὀλιγοπιστίαν ὑμῶν· ἀμὴν γὰρ λέγω ὑμῖν, ἐὰν ἔχητε πίστιν ὡς κόκκον σινάπεως, ἐρεῖτε τῷ ὄρει τούτῳ· Μετάβα ἔνϑεν ἐκεῖ, καὶ μεταβήσεται, καὶ οὐδὲν ἀδυνατήσει ὑμῖν.

εἶπεν δὲ ὁ κύριος· Εἰ ἔχετε πίστιν ὡς κόκκον σινάπεως, ἐλέγετε ἂν τῇ συκαμίνῳ ταύτῃ· Ἐκριζώϑητι καὶ φυτεύϑητι ἐν τῇ ϑαλάσσῃ· καὶ ὑπήκουσεν ἂν ὑμῖν.

The first example is the pericope on discerning the times based on the appearance of the sky (Q 12,54-55). The second is the hypothetical series of questions in the speech on anxiety (Q 12,29). The third is the instruction on how one should behave when entering into someone’s home, part of the so-called Mission Discourse (Q 10,5). And the fourth example is the saying on faith moving a mountain (Mt 17,20) / tree (Lk 17,6). As we can see from their parallel arrangement, it is nearly impossible to reconstruct a Q version that has embedded speech based on the parallel examples69. There could be numerous reasons that Matthew and Luke fail to rigidly reproduce an embedded quote that we suspect was in Q. In some cases, such as Q 10,5, we might be viewing a situation where one author (Luke) retains the quoted speech from Q, while the other does not. In other cases, such as Lk 12,29, we might be dealing with Luke transforming the quoted material from Q into a second-person imperative form. Or, it could be the case that the embedded speech quotation is a rhetorical fabrication of one author. And finally, as in the cases of Q 17,6 and Q 12,54.55 the reproduction of Q material simply varies extraordinarily widely, departing from the generally tendency we have noticed elsewhere in this analysis. Such wide variation, I suggest though, is exceptional given the tendency we have otherwise seen so far. In addition, there are two other varieties of Q material that I have not treated in this analysis, which potentially constitute problems for my discussion: the embedded quotations in the Mk/Q overlaps and some of the more complex parables. When it comes to the Mk/Q overlaps, there may be some embedded quotations, such as Q 7,3, Q 11,15 or Q 17,23, but the complexity of composition has caused me to leave them aside for the present analysis. When we find Matthew and Luke employing an embedded quotation that is found in the Mk/Q overlaps, we are dealing with a much more complex compositional scenario than the earlier examples,

69. In most of these cases, the variation was so great that the International Q Project was forced to simply choose between either Matthew’s or Luke’s versions instead of trying to construct a version from which both could be derived.

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which simply imagined the authors redacting one passage from Q and (generally) opting to keep the embedded quotation in rather rigid form. As for the parables, Q’s few parables often differ significantly between their Matthean and Lukan iterations. While there are some embedded quotations (e.g., Q 13,25), the overall variation of wording and sequence suggest that Luke and Matthew felt rather free to adjust parables and the characters’ sayings within them. One could argue, of course, that Q 11,2426 (the vignette of the unclean spirit), the scenario in Q 12,58-59 (settling with one’s accuser), and the saying about the faithful slave (Q 12,45-46) are rudimentary parables, which is indeed how they have been treated here. But the speech of the most formal parables in Q (e.g., the Parable of the Pounds in Q 19), evinces so much variation between its Matthean and Lukan versions, that it seems unwise to invest too much in its reconstructed dialogue. VIII. IMPLICATIONS, OR, USING Q TO THEORIZE THE ENGAGEMENT OF SPEECH IN SOURCES Now comes the hard part: assessing whether the examples of engagement with speech analyzed so far lend themselves to any broader theory of source use. The modern scholarly conversation about ancient source use orbits mainly around how authors adapted and deployed both the form and the content of the sources that they encountered. As many scholars have noted, Q has its own internal organization, whether that organization is based on the composition of smaller units, the thematic organization of topics, or the frame of the entire document70. The internal organization, in turn, has some effect on how Matthew and Luke redacted it. Luke, for instance, often keeps chunks of Q material together as he intersperses it throughout Mark’s narrative; the sequence of Q pericopae in Luke 12 is a nice demonstration of this tendency. As for Matthew, Alan Kirk has recently shown persuasively that Q’s internal organization influences how Matthew uses Q; Matthew’s topoi reflect a working-through of Q’s own thematic units71. These observations suggest that the form of Q determines how it is treated as a source more than its content. Indeed, 70. This has been shown in numerous ways by A. JACOBSON, The Literary Unity of Q, in Journal of Biblical Literature 101 (1982) 365-389; A. KIRK, Memory and the Jesus Tradition, New York, Bloomsbury, 2018; J.S. KLOPPENBORG, The Formation of Q (n. 6); PIPER, Wisdom in the Q-Tradition (n. 7); ROLLENS, Framing Social Criticism in the Jesus Movement (n. 68). 71. KIRK, Q in Matthew (n. 3), especially pp. 184-224.

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formal and generic conventions have driven much of the conversation about Matthew and Luke’s use of Q – and for good reason. But content matters too. For that reason, this essay has been focusing on Q’s content, namely, the instances of embedded speech and utterances of minor characters within Q. I want to suggest that, based on some of my findings above, we can think about how the presence of different forms of speech in Q may also influence how Matthew and Luke engaged with it. With a few exceptions, the analysis has found that the embedded speech of hypothetical interlocutors and similar figures, as well as speech of minor characters, has tended to be reproduced rather rigidly by Matthew and Luke. In some cases, they preserve the embedded speech with verbatim fidelity even though the surrounding text has been subjected to redaction. The many expressions of Jesus’ own speech, on the other hand, have been transformed in far more elaborate ways. My suggestion, then, is that embedded speech occupies a middle position between malleable, largely sapiential utterances of a wise figure (which most of Jesus’ sayings in Q are) and the nearly fixed scriptural quotations found in the Temptation Story. Perhaps within the wider units in Q, embedded speech is regarded as “what has been spoken” in the same way that scriptural citations are “what has been written” – both relatively immutable. And, they both are treated as having a previous life before coming to expression in Q. Some conclusions about editorial attitudes toward speech are beginning to emerge. Above all, rigorous preservation of the source material does not automatically signal its importance. Rather, it might be the opposite: the more valuable the material is, the more an author might consider it open to redaction, development, elaboration, contextualization, etc. Put differently, the more important a speaker is in Q, the more variation their words will evince in Matthew and Luke. Vice versa, the less important a speaker is, and the more minor or perhaps perfunctory and formulaic their quotation is in the unit, the more woodenly the words are retained by the redactors. This view is supported, curiously, by some linguistic theories in the study of poetry. Barbara Folkart introduces the concept of “the already said” in her discussion of poetics and translation72. “The already said” is the cultural-linguistic world into which new utterances come. It is full of clichés, conventional ideas, and idioms – ideas that have already been had and words that have already been expressed. Poetry, with its freshness, 72. B. FOLKART, Second Finding: A Poetics of Translation (Perspectives on Translation), Ottawa, University of Ottawa Press, 2007.

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creativity, and living ethos, is “a counter-idiomatic practice”73. This is helpful for thinking about the examples I have explored here. In a sense, Jesus’ speech is the poetic interruption in the otherwise conventionally recorded, stock speech of other characters. We have seen that Matthew and Luke have received “other people’s speech” as “the already said”, but Jesus’ words are often living and flexible, open to new elaboration and positioning. This is not a hard and fast rule, as we have seen, but rather an insight on some examples of dynamism in source use. Complicating such theorizing of engagement with speech in sources is the issue of orality. Part of the explanation for the range of variation in reproduction explored in this essay no doubt also lies in how stories functioned in predominantly oral cultures. Even though Q was likely originally a written composition as opposed to an orally composed speech74, we can still recognize how the sayings would have worked in an oral performance. In such oral settings, the embedded speech would be integral to the architecture of the story’s structure75. As theorists of oral performance would argue regarding these units, Jesus’ speech, the embedded speech that he draws upon as examples, and the speech of Q’s minor characters act as anchor points around which narrative details can be embellished during an oral performance.

IX. OBJECTIONS, CONCERNS,

AND

LIMITATIONS

I can anticipate numerous objections to the sort of analysis carried out in this paper. The first objection has already been mentioned: one might point out that the embedded speech or quotations within Q are extremely limited, both in number and in size. When faced with a sequence of five to six words, this objection might go, it seems relatively unremarkable that near verbatim agreement appears between Matthew and Luke. I understand this critique, and certainly when it comes to parallels such 73. Ibid. 74. ROLLENS, Framing Social Criticism in the Jesus Movement (n. 68), pp. 81-90. Proponents of the notion of Q being originally an oral, as opposed to written composition, include J.D.G. DUNN, The Oral Gospel Tradition (n. 16) and R.A. HORSLEY – J.A. DRAPER, Whoever Hears You Hears Me: Prophets, Performance, and Tradition in Q, Harrisburg, PA, Trinity Press International, 1999. 75. As in R.A. HORSLEY, Oral Performance, Popular Tradition, and Hidden Transcript in Q (Semeia Studies, 60), Atlanta, GA, SBL Press, 2006. While I do not agree with Horsley and others that Q was originally an “orally composed” text and is thus a transcript of the spoken word, the contributors to this volume raise important points about the possible performative dimensions of Q.

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as Mt 3,8-9//Lk 3,8, with an embedded quotation of a mere four words, the point is well taken. But I would argue that the many examples of other people’s speech that I have explored in a document the size of Q are enough to suggest that there might be certain tendencies present. And in addition, there is, in principle, nothing about the length of a passage that should have any bearing on the extent of its agreement when subjected to redaction. In a flexible language such as koine Greek, even a phrase of three to four words could be transformed via numerous inflections or changes in sequence and positioning. Perhaps the collecting of such speech into arbitrary categories, as I have done, is questionable as well, but we as scholars are under no obligation to stick to the native categories of genre or speech that ancient authors did. A second objection is that the so-called agreements I have found in the double tradition material are far less remarkable, or absent altogether, if we work with another Synoptic solution. On the Farrer-Goulder (aka Markwithout-Q76) Hypothesis, for instance, the similarities in other people’s speech in Q is mainly the result of Luke either opting to take over the speech from Matthew or fabricating it himself. On the less popular (Neo-) Griesbach Hypothesis, advocated primarily in the modern period by William Farmer77, there is no compelling explanatory framework for how Matthew and Luke ended up with such similar embedded speech; the main argument of the Neo-Griesbach Hypothesis would be that Mark, in his conflation of Matthew and Luke, chose not to reproduce the many cases where Matthew and Luke featured these forms of speech in their gospels. It does not explain where the similarities in any part of the double tradition come from in the first place. Since I and others have argued for the suasiveness of the 2SH elsewhere, to do so again here would needlessly reinvent the wheel; suffice to say that the 2SH is my starting point and within that framework, the discussion of similarities of other people’s speech in the double tradition is a phenomenon to be explored. The third objection has loomed in the background of this entire discussion and is an important one. The discussion of how faithfully Matthew and Luke reproduced Q passages is necessarily related to the reconstruction of Q. 76. M. GOULDER, Luke: A New Paradigm (Journal for the Study of the New Testament. Supplement Series, 20), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 1989; A. FARRER, On Dispensing with Q, in D.E. NINEHAM (ed.), Studies in the Gospels: Essays in Memory of R.H. Lightfoot, Oxford, Blackwell, 1955, 55-88; M. GOODACRE, The Case against Q: Studies in Markan Priority and the Synoptic Problem, Harrisburg, PA, Trinity Press International, 2002. 77. W.R. FARMER, The Synoptic Problem: A Critical Analysis, Dillsboro, NC, Mercer University Press, 1976.

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Though I have tried to avoid overly technical calculation (i.e., the counting of words or the quantifying of relocating of phrases), the typical way to measure the fidelity of reproduction always relies on comparing Matthew and Luke’s versions to assumptions of what Q originally looked like – which is, in turn, reconstructed from those gospels. It is difficult to avoid the feeling that there is some circular analysis happening here. And finally, due to the limitations of the present analysis, we have necessarily focused in closely on a rather self-contained discussion. What would put an important “check” on this analysis is a further discussion of how Matthew and Luke took over similar quoted material from Mark. This would get into a very complex discussion, because they would be taking over both embedded quotations and speech of minor characters from Mark, as well as many more quotations from Jewish scripture that Mark cites. Observing these habits, though, would help us continue to flesh out Matthew and Luke’s continuum of attitudes toward forms of speech in a source. X. CONCLUSIONS The goal of this essay was to explore different registers of speech in Q than are typically focused on, namely, embedded speech/quotations and sayings of minor characters, few of the latter though there are. These units interested me, because when I first noticed them, they tended to be more faithfully reproduced in Matthew and Luke than Jesus’ own speech. While “faithful reproduction” is immensely difficult to quantify and thus compare, we have observed the general tendency to treat such speech as more fixed than the utterances of Jesus. Indeed, we can plot Jesus’ teachings, other people’s speech, and quotations of written sources from the Temptation Story on a continuum of variation in reproduction. While this certainly does not reveal a comprehensive editorial “policy” that ancient authors were obliged to uphold, it does suggest that certain kinds of speech acted as a more fixed core, while others were deemed more open to redaction. Curiously, the more important the speaker’s teachings and utterances – the prime example here being Jesus – the more his speech was open to alteration to make it fit new forms and contexts. 2000 North Parkway Memphis, TN 38112 USA [email protected]

Sarah E. ROLLENS

EARLY CHRISTIAN TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES AND LUKE’S TREATMENT OF HIS SOURCES

Unlike most cultic groups in the ancient Mediterranean, Christ associations rapidly became “textual communities”, a term coined by Brian Stock to describe a development that occurred in Europe of the eleventh and twelfth centuries1. Stock first applied this term to the Cistercians and later to the Waldensians, both of whom had formed communities whose sociality was organized around books and their interpretation. What was essential to a textual community was not a written version of a text, although that was sometimes present, but an individual, who, having mastered it, then utilized it for reforming a group’s thought and action. The text’s interpreter might, like St. Bernard, remain a charismatic figure in his own right, whose power to motivate groups derive from his oratory, gestures, and physical presence. Yet the organizational principles of movements like the Cistercians were clearly based on texts, which played a predominant role in the internal and external relationships of the members. The outside world was looked upon as a universe beyond the revelatory text; it represented a lower level of literacy and by implication of spirituality2.

It is not that the majority of persons in the eleventh and twelfth centuries could read. Instead, the existence of texts and the importance imputed to texts came to reshape these groups and to create new forms of sociality organized around books and reading. Reading and listening to texts, Stock argues, “if the force of the word is strong enough, […] can supersede the differing economic and social backgrounds of the participants, welding them, for a time a least, into a unit”3. Textuality and textual practices created new relationships of power, endowing the producers of knowledge with special importance and changing the relationships of patronage. Texts, their production, interpretation, and transmission became a “form of life”4. 1. B. STOCK, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1983. 2. Ibid., p. 90. See later, B. STOCK, Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past (Parallax), Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990. 3. Ibid., p. 151. 4. The term “form of life” is Wittgensteinian: “So you are saying that human agreement decides what is false and what is true?” – It is what human beings say that is false and true; and they agree in the language they use. That is not agreement in opinions but

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William Johnson adapted Stock’s textual communities to conceptualize the reading practices of such Roman elite as Pliny, Tacitus, Galen, Aulus Gellius, Fronto and Aurelius. These formed “reading communities” in which reading and the ability to discuss prose texts was an essential part of the construction of a social imaginary. Because the texts they chose were “often difficult and inaccessible to the less educated”, and because the bookroll itself, as Johnson describes it, was “an egregiously elite product intended in its stark beauty and difficulty of access to instantiate what it is to be educated”5, the ability to read and appreciate such beauty underscored the achievements of elite groups and fenced them off from the rest of society. Habits like use of servants to help with the lection (…), or group reading and discussion, are particular to the social group, and mesh together with other, related customs, such as routinely inviting friends to dinners with performance entertainment… Reading functions as group entertainment, intellectual fodder, and aesthetic delight, but sociologically plays a role beyond the sum of its functional components6.

Literacy and literate technologies played a role in textual communities in another way: the creation of a literary past. As Stock has shown, the Waldensians, after the foundation of the community in Lyon and its move to Piedmont, began to create a literary history for itself in which Peter Waldo, a rich merchant from Lyon and the ostensible founder of the group, had been inspired by hearing a public reading of the Vie de saint Alexis (or Alexius). In this tale, a wealthy Christian abandoned his wealth to assume a penniless and itinerant lifestyle7. The Chronicon in form of life” (L. WITTGENSTEIN, Philosophical Investigations. Philosophische Untersuchungen, trans. G. ANSCOMBE, Oxford, Blackwell, 21958, § 241). Wittgenstein is invoked in G. AGAMBEN’s discussion of the emergence of written rules in monasticism in the ninth century (The Highest Poverty: Monastic Rules and Form-of-Life, trans. A. KOTSKO [Meridian, Crossing Aesthetics], Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press, 2013). B. STOCK (Augustine the Reader: Meditation, Self-Knowledge, and the Ethics of Interpretation, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1996, p. 111) argues that it was Augustine first to theorize reading: “Augustine is the first to present a consistent analysis of the manner in which we organize the intentional structure of thought through [the] activity [of reading]” as a “form of life”. 5. W.A. JOHNSON, Readers and Reading Culture in the High Roman Empire: A Study of Elite Communities (Classical Culture and Society), New York, Oxford University Press, 2010, p. 21. 6. W.A. JOHNSON, Toward a Sociology of Reading in Classical Antiquity, in American Journal of Philology 121 (2000) 593-627, p. 623. 7. STOCK, Listening for the Text (n. 2), pp. 24-26. For the Chronicon Laudunensis (Laon Chronicle), see G. WAITZ (ed.), Ex Chronico universali anonymi Laudunensis, in Ex rerum Francogallicarum scriptoribus (Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores, 26), Hannover, Hahn, 1882, p. 447: fuit apud Lugdunum Gallie ciuis quidam Valdesius

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Laudunensis offers an alternate explanation, in which Waldo was instructed by a teacher who reminded him of Mt 19,21, the very text that Athanasius claims was the initial inspiration for St. Antony8. Thus by means of appeal to two texts, the Waldensians could draw straight lines between themselves and St. Alexis and St. Anthony, thus “giving the community a past”9. The idea of a textual community has been applied more recently to Christ groups10. Despite the fact that the majority of Christ followers were illiterate, several features of the practices of early Christ groups contributed to their identity as a textual community. In the first place, their writings increasingly showed consciousness of themselves as literature. Second, from the beginning, intertextual references to other books – the Hebrew scriptures at first, and then the writings produced by Christ groups – underscored the fact that textual knowledge was an essential aspect and not just an incidental feature of Christ groups. At least by the nomine, qui per iniquitatem fenoris multas sibi pecunias coaceruauerat. Is quadam die Dominica cum declinasset ad turbam, quam ante ioculatorem uiderat congregatam, ex uerbis ipsius conpungtus fuit, et eum ad domum suam deducens, intente eum audire curauit. Fuit enim locus narracionis eius, qualiter beatus Alexis in domo patris sui beato fine quieuit, “There was in Lyon in Gaul a certain citizen, Waldo by name, who had amassed a lot of money for himself through the evil of usury. One day, as he had gone out of his way toward a crowd that he had seen gathered around a jongleur, he was goaded by that man’s words and, leading him to his own house, took care to listen to him intently. For it was the part of his story where the blessed Alexis reposed in his father’s home in happy death”. See P.L. CHEKIN, The Roman Middle Ages: Aspects of Late Antique – Medieval Cultural Continuity in Old French Hagiography (M.A. thesis, University of Virginia, 2017), p. 61. 8. WAITZ (ed.), Ex Chronico universali anonymi Laudunensis (n. 7), p. 447: cui magister dominicam sentenciam proposuit, «si vis esse perfectus, vade et vende omnia que abes»; cf. Vita Antonii 2.3: Ταῦτα δὴ ἐνϑυμούμενος εἰσῆλϑεν εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, καὶ συνέβη τότε τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἀναγινώσκεσϑαι καὶ ἤκουσε τοῦ Κυρίου λέγοντος τῷ πλουσίῳ· “Εἰ ϑέλεις τέλειος εἶναι, ὕπαγε, πώλησον πάντα τὰ ὑπάρχοντά σου, καὶ δὸς πτωχοῖς, καὶ δεῦρο ἀκολούϑει μοι, καὶ ἕξεις ϑησαυρὸν ἐν οὐρανοῖς”, “being inspired by these things, he entered the church and it happened the Gospel was being read and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man ‘If you would be perfect, go and sell that you have and give to the poor; and come follow Me and you shall have treasure in heaven’”. 9. STOCK, Listening for the Text (n. 2), p. 26. 10. D. BRAKKE, Scriptural Practices in Early Christianity: Towards a New History of the New Testament Canon, in J. ULRICH – A.-C. JACOBSEN – D. BRAKKE (eds.), Invention, Rewriting, Usurpation: Discursive Fights over Religious Traditions in Antiquity (Early Christianity in the Context of Antiquity, 11), Frankfurt a.M., Peter Lang, 2012, 263-280; L.W. HURTADO, Manuscripts and the Sociology of Early Christian Reading, in C.E. HILL – M.J. KRUGER (eds.), The Early Text of the New Testament, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011, 49-62; J.S. KLOPPENBORG, Literate Media in Early Christian Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture, in Journal of Early Christian Studies 22 (2014) 21-59; G.G. STROUMSA, The New Self and Reading Practices in Late Antique Christianity, in Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015) 1-18.

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late first century, the “gospel”, whether it was conveyed orally or in writing, was a text. And third, as Justin Martyr’s description of meeting in the Roman Christ group shows, textual practices became a fundamental part of the activities of Christ groups (or at least one in Rome): And on the day called for the sun, there is a common gathering of all who live in cities or in the country, and the memoirs of the apostles (τὰ ἀπομνημονεύματα τῶν ἀποστόλων) or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time allows. Next, after the reader (ὁ ἀναγινώσκων) has stopped, the president admonishes and encourages with a speech to imitate these good things. Then we all rise together and pray and, as we before said, after we have finished praying, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each and a participation of the food over which thanks have been said, and for those who are not present some is sent through the “servants” (1 Apol. 67.3-5).

What Justin here describes can easily be seen as a non-elite replication of the reading practices that could be found among such higher social registers as the likes of Pliny and his friends. Books – here the συγγράμματα of the prophets and the ἀπομνημονεύματα of the apostles – were read, no doubt visibly displayed, and their contents used as a basis for exhortation. It is unlikely that Christ groups possessed the deluxe bookrolls of the elite and their writings did not have the level of intrinsic difficulty that marked off elite sociality. But Christ groups had begun to mimic the “bookish” practices of the elite. Even Lucian of Samosata’s polemical portrait of Peregrinus during the time he was associated with Christians emphasized that Peregrinus functioned as an interpreter of their writings and even composed some texts of his own11. Stock’s model of a textual community developed for the Waldensians fits Justin’s description: These textual communities were not entirely composed of literates. The minimal requirement was just one literate, the interpres, who understood a set of texts and was able to pass his message on verbally to others. By a process of absorption and reflection the behavioral norms of the group’s other members were eventually altered. The manner in which the individuals behaved toward each other and the manner in which the group looked upon those it considered to be outsiders were derived from the attitudes formed during the period of initiation and education. The unlettered and semilettered members thereby conceptualized a link between textuality, as 11. Lucian, De morte Peregrini 11: τῶν βίβλων τὰς μὲν ἐξηγεῖτο καὶ διεσάφει, πολλὰς δὲ αὐτὸς καὶ συνέγραφεν.

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the script for the enactment of behavioral norms, and rationality, as the alleged reasonableness of those norms12.

Christ groups in the late first and second centuries thus assumed the characteristics of a textual community. In this respect, they distinguished themselves from most other forms of pious expression in the ancient world. The dominant forms of Greek pieties were based more on the performance of rituals than on knowledge contained in books. Of course there are references to sacred discourses (hieroi logoi)13, but as Henrichs observes, sacred discourses were usually assumed to be either unwritten (to protect their contents), or written and hidden. Those discourses that were more widely known were associated with marginal groups rather than major Greek cults14. Consequently, there is little evidence of forms of piety that relied on reading. The same is even truer of Roman forms of piety. The Sibylline books were used for divinatory purposes by the decemviri sacris faciundis (later quindecemviri sacris faciundis), but hardly for public reading or even for routine performances of the Roman cults. When the Sibyllines were lost in a fire in 83 BC, replacements were obtained from a variety of sites in Greece, Sicily, and North Africa, but these too remained in the care of the quindecemviri sacris faciundis in a rebuilt temple (Tacitus, Ann. 6.12). Egypt provides more examples of sacred books15. Most sacred books were probably preserved in temple libraries and consulted only by priests. The Canopus decree (238 BC) called for a public festival honouring Berenike II Euergetis in which hymns were sung, composed by the sacred scribes and recorded in sacred books16. But perhaps the best 12. STOCK, Listening for the Text (n. 2), p. 23. 13. E.g., Orphic texts written in hexameter (Euripides, Hipp. 954; Plutarch, Symp. 636D; Aristobulus, fr. 4 HOLLADAY); collections of oracles peddled by chrēsmologoi (Aristophanes, Aves 980-989); Pythagoras, Hieros logos (FGrHist 3a 264 F); and bibloi associated with Sabazius (Demosthenes 18.259). Tin sheets containing the mysteries of “the great goddess” of Andania were said to have been discovered in a buried urn (Pausanias 4.26.8) and a stele at Andania contains rules associated with that cult and refers to ta biblia held in a chest (IG V,1 1390.12). 14. A. HENRICHS, “Hieroi Logoi” and “Hierai Bibloi”: The (Un)Written Margins of the Sacred in Ancient Greece, in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 101 (2003) 207266, p. 250. 15. Ibid., pp. 226-229; J.N. BREMMER, From Holy Books to Holy Bible: An Itinerary from Ancient Greece to Modern Islam via Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity, in M. POPOVIĆ (ed.), Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism, 141), Leiden, Brill, 2010, 327-360, pp. 333-336. 16. OGIS 56A.68-70: ἄιδειν δ’ εἰς αὐτὴν | καϑ’ ἡμέραν καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἑορταῖς καὶ πανηγύρεσιν τῶν λοιπῶν ϑεῶν τούς τε ὠιδοὺς ἄνδρας καὶ τὰς γυναῖκας οὓς ἂν ὕμνους

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examples of the widespread use of holy books in Egypt are the many copies of the Book of the Dead, apparently produced on demand for funerary purposes and sometimes personalized for their users17. Judaism of course increasingly became a “book religion” in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods, probably under the influence of Egyptian Jews18. By the Hasmonean period the study of the law had become central to some forms of Judaean piety19. The “bookishness” of Christ groups and at least some Judaean groups likely appeared distinctive in the context of other contemporary cultic associations – the cults of Isis, Sarapis, Mithras, and Jupiter Dolichenus, for example –, for whom common meals and ritual performances were constitutive, but for whom reading and other textual practices were not. In effect, the textual communities of Christ followers replicated elite reading practices, but in a much more modest social register. I. LUKE AND TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES Several features of Luke’s double work suggest that he conceives of the Christ groups he addresses as textual communities and understands that the socialities of those groups are oriented toward textual knowledge. Composed sometimes during in the principate of Trajan or Hadrian20, this conception has required significant changes to his sources, Mark and Q. οἱ ἱερογραμματεῖς γρά||ψαντες δῶσιν τῶι ὠιδοδιδασκάλωι, ὧν καὶ τἀντίγραφα καταχωρισϑήσεται εἰς τὰς ἱερὰς βύβλους, “the men and women singers are to sing to her each day, during the feasts and festivals of the other gods, whatever hymns the sacred scribes write and give to song teacher, and copies of them shall be inscribed in the sacred books”. 17. J.H. TAYLOR, Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead: Journey through the Afterlife, London, British Museum Press, 2010, p. 267. 18. O. WISCHMEYER, Das heilige Buch im Judentum des zweiten Tempels, in Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 86 (1995) 218-242. Judaean groups in Egypt were the first to treat their law as a book (Aristobulus, fr. 3 HOLLADAY). Ps.-Aristeas (§ 177) refers to the translation of the Pentateuch as “oracles” (λόγια), while Philo called it ὁ ἱερὸς λόγος, “probably in order to appropriate the huge prestige of Orpheus” (BREMMER, From Holy Books to Holy Bible [n. 15], p. 337). For Josephus, the Pentateuch was ἱεραὶ βίβλοι, holy books. 19. For example, Sirach 38,34 privileges the study of the Law, and the Theodotus inscription (CIJ II 1404.4-5 = CIIP I 9 [pp. 53-56]) specifies the purpose of the synagogue as εἰς ἀν[άγν]ω||σ[ιν] νόμου καὶ εἰς [δ]ιδαχ[ὴ]ν ἐντολῶν, “for the reading of (the) law and teaching of commandments”. 20. On the controverted dating of Luke-Acts, see R.I. PERVO, Dating Acts, in Forum 5 (2002) 53-72; ID., Dating Acts: Between the Evangelist and the Apologists, Santa Rosa, CA, Polebridge, 2006; ID., The Implications of a Late Date for Acts, in Forum 1, third series no. 1 (2007) 41-63. The implications of S. MASON’s essay (Was Josephus a Source for Luke-Acts?, in this volume, 199-244) is that Luke-Acts is no earlier than 93/94 CE, the

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First, while Mark directs the hearers’ attention to textual knowledge through his various citations of the Hebrew Bible introduced with ὡς γέγραπται (or some variation of this formula), his opening words, ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ employs the term εὐαγγέλιον not in the sense that it would later acquire, as a document, but in the sense of Paul’s εὐαγγέλιον or the Augustan εὐανγέλια of I.Priene 105.40. Neither use necessarily points to a text. Luke, by contrast, makes the textual nature of his work explicit, contrasting his work with predecessor writings (πολλοὶ ἐπεχείρησαν ἀνατάξασϑαι διήγησιν)21 and by drawing attention to his writing and the care he took in arranging it: ἔδοξε κἀμοὶ παρηκολουϑηκότι ἄνωϑεν πᾶσιν ἀκριβῶς καϑεξῆς σοι γράψαι (1,3). Luke’s self-consciousness as a writer is obvious here, as is his conviction that appeal to a written work is a means to securing the truth (ἀσφάλεια) about what his addressee has heard. There is an inevitable competitiveness to Luke’s formulation22, although he is not as aggressive in his criticism of predecessors as is, for example, date of the publication of Josephus’ Antiquities. Recent work on Marcion’s Euanggelion or its predecessor and the problem of the minor agreements by D.A. SMITH, The Sayings Gospel Q in Marcion’s Edition of Luke, in Ephemerides Theologiae Lovanienses 94 (2018) 481-503 suggests that a common ancestor of Luke’s Gospel and Marcion’s Euaggelion was used by Luke. This would imply a much later date for Luke than is commonly supposed (in the 80s or 90s). See also F. WATSON, How Did Mark Survive?, in K.A. BENDORAITIS – N.K. GUPTA (eds.), Matthew and Mark across Perspectives: Essays in Honour of Stephen C. Barton and William R. Telford (Library of New Testament Studies, 538), London, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 1-17. 21. See J.A. FITZMYER, The Gospel according to Luke (The Anchor Bible, 28-28A), Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1981-1985, vol. 1, p. 291 for a discussion of ἐπιχείρησαν in its “neutral” and “pejorative” senses. Fitzmyer notes that it is used neutrally in Josephus, Apion 1.2 (οἱ μέντοι τὰς ἱστορίας ἐπιχειρήσαντες συγγράφειν) and Polybius 2.37.4 (ἐπεὶ γὰρ οὐ τινὰς πράξεις, καϑάπερ οἱ πρὸ ἡμῶν, οἷον τὰς Ἑλληνικὰς ἢ Περσικάς, ὁμοῦ δὲ τὰς ἐν τοῖς γνωριζομένοις μέρεσι τῆς οἰκουμένης ἀναγράφειν ἐπικεχειρήκαμεν, “for since I have not undertaken, as previous writers have done, to write the history of particular peoples, such as the Greeks or Persians […]”); 3.1.4 (ὄντος γὰρ ἑνὸς ἔργου καὶ ϑεάματος ἑνὸς τοῦ σύμπαντος, ὑπὲρ οὗ γράφειν ἐπικεχειρήκαμεν, τοῦ πῶς καὶ πότε καὶ διὰ τί πάντα τὰ γνωριζόμενα μέρη τῆς οἰκουμένης ὑπὸ τὴν Ῥωμαίων δυναστείαν ἐγένετο, “The one aim and object, then, of all that I have undertaken to write is to show how, when, and why all the known parts of the world fell under the dominion of Rome”). Elsewhere, the verb has polemical overtones. Of Justus of Tiberius, Josephus says (Life 40): ἐπεχείρησεν καὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν τῶν πραγμάτων τούτων ἀναγράφειν ὡς τῷ λόγῳ τούτῳ περιεσόμενος τῆς ἀληϑείας, “he undertook to write a history of these events, by this essay, disguising the truth”; Hermas, Sim. 9.2.6: μὴ ἐπιχείρει συνετὸς ὤν ἀλλ᾿ ἐρώτα τὸν κύριον […], “do not attempt to understand as if you were wise but ask the lord […]”. Luke’s other uses of the verb in Acts 9,29 and 19,13 are pejorative. 22. On competitive textualization, see C. KEITH, The Gospel as Manuscript: An Early History of the Jesus Tradition as Material Artifact, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2020.

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Tacitus in the Histories23 or Josephus in Jewish War24. Nevertheless, Luke’s insistence that his examination of the subject matter follows the events “from its beginning” (παρηκολουϑηκότι ἄνωϑεν), on the care he took in doing this (ἀκριβῶς), his seeking out of “eyewitnesses”, and his insistence on order (καϑεξῆς) implicitly characterizes other “attempts” as less than satisfactory25. This must be an implied criticism of his two main sources, Mark and Q. Luke also draws specific attention to the scriptures as texts at Lk 3,4, where Mark’s καϑὼς γέγραπται ἐν τῷ Ἠσαΐᾳ τῷ προφήτῃ becomes ὡς γέγραπται ἐν βίβλῳ λόγων Ἠσαΐου τοῦ προφήτου, and at 22,42 where Mark’s Δαυιδ εἶπεν ἐν τῷ πνεύματι τῷ ἁγίῳ becomes Δαυὶδ λέγει ἐν βίβλῳ ψαλμῶν. Similar phrases occur in Acts: γέγραπται γὰρ ἐν βίβλῳ ψαλμῶν at 1,20 and καϑὼς γέγραπται ἐν βίβλῳ τῶν προφητῶν at Acts 7,42. Second, as is well known, Luke transforms his source material in a variety of ways, quite dramatically abbreviating his source material26, 23. Tacitus Hist. 1.1 begins by invoking earlier historians, whose reliability he seems to endorse (they wrote with equal eloquence and freedom), but contrasts these with the period after Actium whose writers were infected by adulatio or malignitas, flattery or enmity. Tacitus himself claims to be free from these vices: sed incorruptam fidem professis neque amore quisquam et sine odio dicendus est, “but for those who profess incorrupt truthfulness, it is necessary to speak without partiality and without hatred”. See also Lucian, How to Write History 47, who also advises to rely upon eyewitnesses or at least those who relate events “impartially […] and (free) from favouritism (πρὸς χάριν) or from enmity (ἀπέχϑεια)”. See J. MARINCOLA, Source-Citations in the Classical Historians, in this volume, 3-25, p. 10. 24. Josephus, War 1.1-30 complains that some of his predecessors, who were not present at the events of the war, collected stupid and contradictory (εἰκαῖα καὶ ἀσύμφωνα) stories while those who were present gave false accounts, either to flatter the Romans or out of hatred for the Judaeans, with the result that there was no truthful account of the facts (τὸ δ’ ἀκριβὲς τῆς ἱστορίας οὐδαμοῦ). Josephus, as an eyewitness, assures his readers that he is free of flattery and provides an account that appropriately represents the Romans while also detailing the sufferings of the Judaeans. 25. WATSON, How Did Mark Survive? (n. 20), pp. 1-17, esp. 11: “The Lukan evangelist believes his work to be superior to his predecessors; what they only ‘attempted’ he has now ‘achieved’ […]. Crucially, they are seen as the work of individual authors like Luke himself”. See also F. WATSON, Luke Rewriting and Rewritten, in M. MÜLLER – J.T. NIELSEN (eds.), Luke’s Literary Creativity (Library of New Testament Studies, 550), London, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016, 79-95, p. 81: “From Luke’s perspective there can be no need for any future rewriting of his own work, in which his reader will find that perfect correspondence of text and truth that was previously lacking (cf. 1,4)”. In contrast, M. WOLTER, The Gospel according to Luke. Vol. 1: Luke 1–9:50 (Baylor-Mohr Siebeck Studies in Early Christianity), Waco, TX, Baylor University Press, 2016, p. 45 “It is not possible to hear a critical subtext in the Lukan ἐπιχείρησαν […] in what follows Luke does not devalue his predecessor’s works with a single word”. 26. R. MORGENTHALER, Lukas und Quintilian: Rhetorik als Erzählkunst, Zürich, Gotthelf, 1993, p. 244: Of Mark’s approximately 11,000 words, Luke took over 7000 (ca.

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improving the grammar, avoiding vulgarisms, and eliminating redundancies. Since the work of Eduard Norden, it has been observed that Luke substituted Attic vocabulary for Mark’s vulgarisms27. Luke’s Greek cannot be considered to be fully Atticizing, but as Loveday Alexander has argued, it reflects a departure from Mark’s colloquial style towards a more cultivated literary style28. At the same time, while Luke eliminates obvious semitisms, probably treating them as vulgar, he seems consciously to imitate the style of the LXX29. Both the tendency to elevate the vocabulary in the direction of Attic speech and the imitation of Septuagintalisms underscore the literary nature of his work30.

60%), and agreed with the form and order of 2675 (ca. 40%) of the 7000 words taken over from Mark. Both of these statistics are lower than Matthew’s use of Mark: Matthew took over about 77% of Mark and agrees with 4230 of 8500 of Markan forms (ca. 50%). 27. On stylistic improvements, see E. NORDEN, Die antike Kunstprosa vom 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. bis in die Zeit der Renaissance, 2. Aufl., Leipzig, B.G. Teubner, 1909, pp. 480-492, who declared that “Lukas [hat] an einer überaus großen Anzahl von Stellen das von klassizistischen Standpunkt aus Bessere […] (besonders bemerkenswert sind die von mir in den Anmerkungen angeführten Stellen der attizistischen Lexika), während die gegenteiligen Fälle quantitativ und qualitativ kaum in Betracht kommen”. A. WIFSTRAND, Luke and Greek Classicism, in L. RYDBECK – S.E. PORTER (eds.), Epochs and Styles: Selected Writings on the New Testament, Greek Language and Greek Culture in the Post-Classical Era (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 179), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2005, 17-27, however, has cautioned that Luke’s alterations of Mark (and Q) are not demonstrably Atticizing, since it usually cannot be shown that the Markan word is common in koinē documents or that the word Luke substitutes is not also attested in koinē documents. Wifstrand instead suggests that it is more a matter of Luke avoiding vulgarisms. He points out that M.-J. LAGRANGE, L’Évangile selon saint Luc (Études Bibliques), Paris, Gabalda, 41921, cxxiv-cxxv lists Lukan words censured by Phrynichus. WIFSTRAND, Luke and Greek Classicism, pp. 26-27 concludes: “[…] the gospel of Luke neither is nor tries to be classicizing or Atticistic in style. The same thing | can be shown concerning the Acts of the Apostles”. 28. L.C. ALEXANDER, Septuaginta, Fachprosa, Imitatio: Albert Wifstrand and the Language of Luke-Acts, in Acts in Its Ancient Literary Context: A Classicist Looks at the Acts of the Apostles (Library of New Testament Studies, 298), London – New York, T&T Clark International, 2005, 231-252, p. 240, citing WIFSTRAND, Luke and Greek Classicism (n. 27), p. 19: “[Luke’s] language is unquestionably much closer to Attic than is that of the Gospel of Mark. This is due, however, not to his being an Atticist or a classicist but to his representing a cultivated written style, in contrast to Mark, who is more representative of the popular everyday language”. 29. A. WIFSTRAND, Luke and the Septuagint, in RYDBECK – PORTER (eds.), Epochs and Styles (n. 27), 28-45. 30. WIFSTRAND, Luke and the Septuagint (n. 29), pp. 42-43: “Luke’s stylistic aim resembles the contemporary classicizing movement within higher Greek literature. In the same way that Plutarch and Dio Chrysostom borrowed embellishments, nuances and devices from Attic literature, so too Luke sought to borrow the atmosphere and dignity of his own classics, which were not, however, Plato and Thucydides, but Isaiah and Jeremiah, and Moses and David, as they came to him in the Greek attire given them by the Hellenistic Jews in Egypt”.

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The elevation of the vocabulary and the Septuagintalizing of Luke can be seen as an example of Charles Ferguson’s notion of diglossia31 and his distinction between high (H) and low (L) codes. The H form of language is typically written and associated with public and formal communication, and often with religious and traditional texts. As a “prestige” code H has a more complex set of grammatical norms and a broader vocabulary than L, which is used for more informal communication and for “private speech situation involving intra-community conversation”32. Although Luke’s Greek is not especially high code, the various improvements that Luke has introduced and his Septuagintalizing of the language indicate a shift in the direction of literary and formal Greek. Luke also reduces Mark’s multiple short sentences to single grammatical periods. A few cases in point are Lk 3,21-22, which converts Mark’s baptismal scene from four finite verbs into a single period with one finite verb (ἐγένετο), followed by a double absolute genitive, and several infinitives; Lk 8,4 uses an absolute genitive introducing εἶπεν in place of Mark’s (4,1) five finite verbs (ἤρξατο, συνάγεται, ἦσαν, ἐδίδασκεν […] ἔλεγεν); and Lk 11,29 has a single absolute genitive and ἤρξατο λέγειν replacing Mark’s (8,11) construction with three finite verbs and four nominative participles33. The effect of Luke’s compression of Markan sentences is that his units are reduced to single grammatical periods, resembling the construction of chriae such as one encounters in Lucian’s Demonax or in other chriae collections. In almost all instances, Luke has introduced an absolute genitive construction where none existed in his sources34. The elevation of Luke’s vocabulary, the avoidance of vulgarisms, and substitutions of more Atticizing vocabulary coupled with the formal assimilation of the Jesus tradition to a series of chriae and other 31. C.A. FERGUSON, Diglossia, in Word: Journal of the Linguistic Circle of New York 15 (1959) 325-340. 32. J.M. WATT, The Current Landscape of Diglossia Studies: The Diaglossic Continuum of First-Century Palestine, in S.E. PORTER (ed.), Diglossia and Other Topics in New Testament Linguistics (Journal for the Study of the New Testament. Supplement Series, 193), Sheffield, Sheffield Academic Press, 2000, 19-36, p. 19. 33. Luke also uses absolute genitives in narratives to continue action (2,42.43; 4,2.40; 6,48; 9,37.42.43; 11,14.53; 12,36; 13,17; 15,14.20; 17,12; 18,40; 19,33.36.37; 22,10.53; 23,45), to transition from speech to action (22,60; 24,36), and to create synchronicities (3,1). See further H.J. CADBURY, The Style and Literary Method of Luke (Harvard Theological Studies, 6), Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1920, pp. 133-134; N. TURNER, Style, vol. 4 of J.H. MOULTON – W.F. HOWARD – N. TURNER, A Grammar of New Testament Greek, Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1985, p. 59. 34. See 3,15 [+Mk]; 7,24 [Q]; 8,45 [+Mk]. 49 [=Mk]; 9,34 [+Mk]. 57 [+Q]; 12,1 [+Mk]; 19,11 [+Q]; 20,45 [+Mk]; 21,5 [+Mk]; 22,47 [=Mk]; 24,36 [+]. 41 [S].

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anecdotes appears to be Luke’s effort to render his gospel closer to good literary style and to make it look an intellectual biography. Indeed, it is arguable that the elements on Luke’s Gospel – details of Jesus’ birth and forebears, the period of his activity, his early precociousness, Luke’s attention to Jesus’ character and important events in his life, and his manner of death – embody many of the elements of a philosophical biography35. Luke’s portrayal of the death of Jesus owes much to the Phaedo, which by the first century was widely known and had almost achieved a canonical status for the literary depiction of the death of a philosopher36. Third, rather dramatically, Luke depicts Jesus as both a reader and an interpreter of texts. Lk 4,16-30 has Jesus enter a συναγωγή, as he does in other gospels, but in order to read: ἀνέστη ἀναγνῶναι. Having been given the book (βιβλίον) of Isaiah by the assistant, Jesus ἀναπτύξας τὸ βιβλίον εὗρεν τὸν τόπον οὗ ἦν γεγραμμένον. There are three noteworthy features of this description. In the first place, Luke depicts Jesus as “finding” a specific text in a book the length of Isaiah. Whether Luke imagined that Jesus was reading from a Hebrew text (which would have had word spaces but no pagination)37, or from Greek (which would have lacked both word spaces and page numbers), finding a specific location in a lengthy roll or codex would have required an expert reader. There is no reason to suppose that Jesus possessed such competence38. This is in fact the only early Christian text that depicts Jesus as a reader39.

35. See I. DÜRING, Aristotle in the Ancient Biographical Tradition (Acta Universitatis Gothoburgensis 63, 1957, 2 = Studia Graeca et Latina Gothoburgensia, 5), Göteborg, Institute of Classical Studies of the University of Göteborg, 1957, pp. 77-78 and L.C. ALEXANDER, Acts and Ancient Intellectual Biography, in B.W. WINTER – A.D. CLARKE (eds.), Ancient Literary Setting, vol. 1 of The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 1993, pp. 31-63, commenting on Acts. 36. J.S. KLOPPENBORG, Exitus clari viri: The Death of Jesus in Luke, in Toronto Journal of Theology 8 (1992) 106-120; G.E. STERLING, Mors philosophi: The Death of Jesus in Luke, in Harvard Theological Review 94 (2001) 383-402 and L.G. WESTERINK (ed.), The Greek Commentaries on Plato’s Phaedo (Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, afd. Letterkunde: Nieuwe Reeks, Deel 92-93), Amsterdam, North-Holland Pub. Co., 1976, vol. 1, p. 7. 37. See for example the Isaiah Scroll (1QIsa) which lacks any indication of page numbers. 38. P.F. CRAFFERT – P.J. BOTHA, Why Jesus Could Walk on the Sea but He Could Not Read and Write: Reflections on Historicity and Interpretation in Historical Jesus Research, in Neotestamentica 39 (2005) 5-38; C. KEITH, Jesus’ Literacy: Scribal Culture and the Teacher from Galilee (Library of New Testament Studies, 413), London – New York, T&T Clark International, 2011. 39. The exception is the Abgar legend, which has Jesus writing letters to king Abgar of Edessa, composed perhaps in the third century AD.

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In the second place, what Jesus “reads” is not simply Isa 61,1-2 but a fusion of Isa 61,1-2 with Isa 58,640. That is, Jesus could not have “found” the place (ὁ τόπος) where this was written, since such a text does not exist41. Irrespective of how Luke arrived at the text he puts on Jesus’ lips, the key point is that Luke imagines Jesus to be a reader and a competent reader at that. Third, and more controversially, Roger Bagnall has argued that ἀναπτύσσω in Lk 4,17 and elsewhere means “to unfold” and that there are no instances in which the verb must mean “to unroll”. He concludes, It is therefore more plausible to interpret the word in the text of Luke as referring to unfolding a book rather than to unrolling it42.

Bagnall himself, supposing Luke to have been composed in the latter part of the first century, saw the dilemma of having Jesus “unfold” a book (i.e., a codex) before the point at which Christians began to adopt codex technology43. Hence he suggested that the reading of A B L W ανοιξας might be accepted against ‫ א‬D* Θ Ψ φ λ αναπτυξας. Nevertheless, he argued that the latter variant must have been an “an early reflection of the adoption of the codex as the standard form for Christian scriptures”44, presumably because αναπτυξας is attested in Alexandrinus and Vaticanus. Bagnall’s dilemma would be solved, however, if Luke were placed in the early second century, when the transition to codex 40. Lk 4,18-19 is in the main Isa 61,1-2, but it omits one phrase from Isa 61,1 (ἰάσασϑαι τοὺς συντετριμμένους τῇ καρδίᾳ), interpolates another phrase from Isa 58,6 (ἀποστεῖλαι/ ἀπόστελλε τεϑραυσμένους ἐν ἀφέσει) and alters the final infinitive from καλέσαι to κηρύξαι. 41. For a survey of reasons for the alteration of the text of Isaiah, see J.M. LEAR, The Hybrid Isaiah Quotation in Luke 4:18-19, in G.V. ALLEN – J.A. DUNNE (eds.), Ancient Readers and Their Scriptures: Engaging the Hebrew Bible in Early Judaism and Christianity (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, 172), Leiden, Brill, 2019, 159-172. 42. R.S. BAGNALL, Jesus Reads a Book, in Journal of Theological Studies 51 (2000) 577-588, p. 585. But see P. VAN MINNEN, Luke 4:17-20 and the Handling of Ancient Books, in Journal of Theological Studies 52 (2001) 689-690 who argues that “unfold” might also apply to a typical situation with a scroll, since “most rolls would be partially unrolled and in two cylinders. If one is handed over a roll of Isaiah in two cylinders, the most natural thing would be to ‘open’ or ‘unfold’ the two cylinders, so that one column of text would become visible”. But a scroll would normally be stored not partially unrolled but in a scroll case (a single cylinder or placed into a capsa (a scroll case) holding several scrolls. Van Minnen also interprets εὑρίσκω to mean that upon unfolding the scroll, Jesus found (fortuitously) that it was opening to a particular text, which he then read. This interprets the verb passively rather than actively. However, εὑρίσκω as a transitive verb more likely implies an active process, εὗρεν τὸν τόπον οὗ ἦν γεγραμμένον, rather than εὗρεν ὅτι γέγραπται…. 43. T.C. SKEAT, The Origin of the Christian Codex, in Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 102 (1994) 263-268. 44. BAGNALL, Jesus Reads a Book (n. 42), p. 588.

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technology must be assumed. If Bagnall is right, Luke not only assumes that Jesus had a high degree of literary competence but was also using the most recent reading technologies. Finally, Luke routinely represents the major figures of the Jesus movement as literate interpreters. That Jesus himself was a scholar of texts is underscored in Luke’s appearance stories, first with the two disciples travelling to Emmaus where the risen Jesus explains (διερμήνευσεν) about himself from the Hebrew Bible, encapsulated in the phrase ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ Μωϋσέως καὶ ἀπὸ πάντων τῶν προφητῶν (24,27), which the two disciples later recall as “opening” to them τὰς γραφάς (24,32). This motif appears a second time at 24,45, now with all the disciples: τότε διήνοιξεν αὐτῶν τὸν νοῦν τοῦ συνιέναι τὰς γραφάς. Luke’s treatment of other figures as literate agents continues in Acts, where, as Vernon Robbins has observed, “every major character [in Luke-Acts] quotes (often lengthy passages) verbatim from the Jewish Scriptures very soon after being introduced to the implied reader”45. Luke constructed Paul – and by implication, the ideal Christian – as fluent with literary technologies and able to quote not only the Hebrew Scriptures but Epimenides and Aratus’ Phaenomena (Acts 17,28). As Vernon Robbins notes, this reflects Luke’s social location as a reader and as part of a textual community rather than Paul’s location. Luke’s way of referring to writings with such shorthand expressions as ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ Μωϋσέως καὶ ἀπὸ πάντων τῶν προφητῶν and αἱ γραφαί underscores the extent to which he addresses those who take for granted literate technologies. As Stock points out, indeed one of the clearest signs that a group had passed the threshold of literacy was the lack of necessity for the organizing text to be spelt out, interpreted, or reiterated. The members all knew what it was. As a consequence, interaction by word of mouth could take place as a superstructure of an agreed meaning, the textual foundation of behaviour having been entirely internalized46.

Luke’s assumption, and presumably what he also wants to convey to his readers, is that the Hebrew Bible and its interpretation are fixtures of the group’s identity. Related to this is the second aspect of textual communities that Stock notes: the creation of a history that is rooted in texts. As the phrase ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ Μωϋσέως καὶ ἀπὸ πάντων τῶν προφητῶν at 24,27 indicates, 45. V.K. ROBBINS, The Social Location of the Implied Author of Luke-Acts, in J.H. NEYREY (ed.), The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation, Peabody, MA, Hendrickson, 1991, 305-332, p. 325. 46. STOCK, The Implications of Literacy (n. 1), p. 91.

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Luke constructs a textual history of Israel in which Jesus and the Christ group have a place. Of course Luke has not invented all of the textual sites where allusions to the Hebrew Bible occur. He takes over from Mark fulfilment formulae at 3,4 and 19,46 and from Q at 7,27. But he redactionally draws attention to the books at 10,26-27 (ἐν γέγραπται τῷ νόμῳ), and 20,42 (ἐν τῷ βίβλῳ ψαλμῶν), and especially in Acts where he uses the formulae γέγραπται γὰρ ἐν βίβλῳ (1,20; 7,42) or ἐν τῷ ψαλμῷ γέγραπται (13,33)47. To this one can add the intertextual allusions to the birth of Samuel in his account of the birth of John the Baptist, the addition of a genealogy of Jesus (3,23-38), the speech at Nazareth which links Jesus’ activities to the fulfilment of a text from Isaiah (4,1819.21) and Jesus’ post-resurrectional explanations of the true meaning of the scriptures (24,26-27.45-46). II. LUKE AND HIS SOURCES Luke’s sources occasionally gestured towards reading and readers. Only once does Mark directly address the reader with ὁ ἀναγινώσκων νοείτω (13,14). He uses the γέγραπται formula editorially at 1,2 and puts a quotation on Jesus’ lips at 7,6; 9,12.13; 11,17; and 14,21.27. The Markan Jesus challenges opponents with the taunt, οὐδέποτε/οὐδέ/οὐκ ἀνέγνωτε (2,25; 12,10.26), which indirectly implies that Jesus is a reader with textual competence. But such gestures toward literate technologies are relatively rare. In Q Jesus engages in a quasi-scribal debate with the devil in which each cites biblical texts as proofs of their positions (4,4.8.10; cf. 7,27). Moreover, Q 16,17, probably from the final redaction of Q, uses the metaphor of a iota or a serif falling from the Law (ἢ ἰῶτα ἓν ἢ μίαν κεραίαν τοῦ νόμου πεσεῖν), which imagines the Torah not merely as a body of law but as letters on a page that can (or cannot) be damaged or lost. While other aspects of Q suggest that it was a scribal product, it is only rarely that Q draws attention to textual realities. What was Luke’s view of his sources (and predecessors)? A propos of Matthew’s relationship to Mark, David Sim has pointed out that Matthew had effected important changes on Mark, well beyond the editorial alterations of improving on Mark’s grammar, eliminating erroneous and offensive details, and improving the clarity of the narration by dramatically shortening many of Mark’s stories so as to focus on Jesus’ words. According to Sim, Matthew disagreed fundamentally with Mark’s view 47. See also Mk 15,15 οἱ λόγοι τῶν προφητῶν καϑὼς γέγραπται….

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of the status of the Torah; he focused on Jesus’ teaching rather than on the sacrificial death of Jesus (the latter focus being closer to Paul’s law-free Gentile mission); he treated Jesus’ family in a positive way, in stark contrast to the treatments of Mark and Paul; and he confined Jesus’ mission to Judaeans alone and only after the resurrection made Jesus the initiator of a mission to non-Jews, thus undercutting Paul’s claim to have initiated this mission48. Sim’s conclusion, accordingly, was that the evidence of Matthew’s treatment of Mark demonstrates that the former did not write to supplement his primary source and did not intend that his text would be read in conjunction with it. On the contrary, the conclusion is inescapable that Matthew specifically composed his Gospel to render Mark redundant49.

I have suggested above that Lk 1,1-4 implies that Luke regards the previous “attempts” of which he is aware as less than satisfactory. It is not clear, however, that he meant to displace Mark or Q, still less that he disagreed in a fundamental way with Mark’s representation of Jesus50. Many of Luke’s alterations of Mark are of the same kind that Christopher Pelling has observed in Plutarch’s treatment of his sources51: abridgement; compression or telescoping of chronology; and reordering events to produce a more elegant narrative; but also expansion and fabrication of contexts. Moreover, as Pelling shows, Plutarch’s interest in character (ἦϑος) is particularly clear in Crassus, Pompey, Brutus, and Caesar, but also in Alexander (e.g., 1.1-2)52. 48. D.C. SIM, Matthew’s Use of Mark: Did Matthew Intend to Supplement or to Replace His Primary Source?, in New Testament Studies 57 (2011) 176-192. 49. SIM, Matthew’s Use of Mark (n. 48), p. 183. 50. Commentators take a variety of views: F. BOVON, Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1–9:50 (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN, Fortress, 2002, p. 19: “Luke begins with a reference to his predecessors (v. 1), but the manner in which he mentions them shows that he is, at the same time, more or less refuting them […]. He introduces his own product as better and more reliable”; E. EVE, Writing the Gospels: Composition and Memory, London, SPCK, 2016, p. 30: “The fact that ‘it seemed good’ for him ‘to write an orderly account’ is surely an implicit criticism”; less negatively, F. WATSON, Gospel Writing: A Canonical Perspective, Grand Rapids, MI, Eerdmans, 2013, p. 91: “[Luke] seeks to persuade its readers that only the present work is fully reliable”. 51. C.B.R. PELLING, Plutarch’s Adaptation of His Source Material, in Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980) 127-139, pp. 128-135. Pelling argues that Crassus, Pompey, Brutus, and Antony were prepared as single project and thus, although the sources that Plutarch used are no longer extant, Pelling can compare the treatment of the same figures or the same events in these different works and deduce from the differences how Plutarch has treated his source material. 52. PELLING, ibid., p. 135 cites Nikias 1.5 where Plutarch explains that he has included certain events related by Thucydides, since they revealed “the nature of my hero and the disposition (τὸν τρόπον καὶ τὴν διάϑεσιν) which lay hidden beneath his many great sufferings” and collected other details that had escaped most writers or were mentioned

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The great advantage that the Synoptic Gospels offer to the critic is that in contrast to the analysis of Plutarch’s editorial decisions where the shape of his source material quite often has to be hypothesized from his treatment of the same characters in different Lives, with Luke we have access to one of Luke’s sources (or a very close approximation to that source), and can deduce much of the shape of the second source, Q53. This means that micro-comparisons of Luke’s editorial decisions are possible, not simply the large-scale decisions how various figures are treated, but smaller decisions about vocabulary and grammar. Nevertheless, analogies to each of Plutarch’s alterations of his sources are easy to find in Luke’s treatment of his sources: Abridgements of Markan materials are frequent, motivated, at least in part, to expunge stories and details that cast Jesus or his family in a bad light (Mk 3,20-21; 4,12b; 6,1-6; 8,2226; 11,12-14.20-26). A comparison of Mark with Luke indicates that Luke has altered Mark’s chronologies – for example in the apocalyptic discourse Luke inverts the sequence of the messianic deceivers and societal collapse (Mk 13,3-8) and the prediction of persecution (13,9-13) by introducing the latter with πρὸ δὲ τούτων πάντων (21,12), and Luke eliminates Mark’s extra day in the sequence of the entry into Jerusalem and the visit to the temple. In Acts 18 he likely has telescoped of two distinct episodes of Paul’s activities in Corinth (Acts 18,1-11.12-17). Other details are reordered, for example, Luke shifts Mk 10,41-44 to his Last Supper sequence in Luke 22, relocates the visit to Nazareth from its Markan location (Mark 6) to a point immediately after the testing story (Lk 4,16-30) where it serves as a forecast of Jesus’ activities in general, and he moves the story of a woman anointing Jesus from its Markan location (Mk 13,3-9) to a location where it interacts with other stories of Jesus’ interaction with women (Lk 7,11-17; 8,1-3). Luke has also significantly added to Mark, by Q and L material in chapters 4, 6–7, 9–12, and 13–17, and has fabricated introduction to those materials. Luke’s interest in Jesus’ ἦϑος is also obvious, not only in the elimination of the odd story of the cursing of a fig tree that is not yet in season and Mark’s stories that depict Jesus’ family as hostile to him, but also in his addition of the story of Jesus’ intellectual prowess at the age of twelve, which prepares for the main treatment of Jesus as an authoritative teacher. Luke has taken significant steps to conform his account to the casually, because they contributed to an appreciation of character and temperament (οὐ τὴν ἄχρηστον ἀϑροίζων ἱστορίαν, ἀλλὰ τὴν πρὸς κατανόησιν ἤϑους καὶ τρόπου παραδιδούς). 53. Or, if one accepts the FH, we have access to both of Luke’s major sources, Mark and Matthew.

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models of ancient biographies54, which pay attention to “external goods” including Jesus’ parentage and family tree55; omens and oracles and praise by others that point to Jesus’ prowess (2,21-38); early signs of greatness (2,41-52); examples of moderation, courage, justice, piety, liberality, and magnanimity; praise by others (e.g., 2,52; 4,22; 7,17; 11,27-28); and in particular Jesus’ manner of death56 and the regard in which he was held after his death, a device that adjusts both for flattery of the great while living, and for envy57. None of this suggests that Luke is especially critical of his two main sources in the way that Matthew is of Mark, but he may, as Francis Watson has suggested, consider Mark to be a work-in-progress and so simply felt free to modify it in order to produce a more elegant account58. Luke’s treatment of Mark suggests that he regarded it as lacking appropriate τάξις and written with Greek vocabulary and style that were not commensurate with a literary work like the Septuagint. Moreover, in Mark the presentation of the voice of Jesus effectively collapses the distance between that voice and the time of the author. Mark’s style still retains elements of oral stories; its paratactic constructions; its short episodic style; and its lack of linear development of the narrative59. By contrast, as Luke’s prologue (and the prologue of Acts) suggests, the work is not so much intended as a presentation of the immediate voice of Jesus but rather an explicitly retrospective account in which the distance between Jesus and the author is clearly marked, the paratactic style dramatically reduced, and – as Luke claims – with a sense of order and arrangement. 54. THEON, Progymnasmata 4 § 78 SPENGEL: “The properties of the person are origin (genos), nature, training, disposition, age, fortune, morality, action, speech, (manner of) death, and what followed death” (trans. G.A. KENNEDY, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Atlanta, GA, Society of Biblical Literature, 2003, p. 28). See also A. MOMIGLIANO, The Development of Greek Biography, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 17 and in general, C.B.R. PELLING (ed.), Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature, Oxford, Clarendon, 1990. 55. THEON, Progymnasmata 8 § 110 SPENGEL: “External goods [to be praised] are, first, good birth, and that is twofold, either from the goodness of (a man’s) city and tribe and constitution, or from ancestors and other relatives” (trans. KENNEDY, Progymnasmata [n. 54], p. 50). 56. KLOPPENBORG, Exitus Clari Viri (n. 36). 57. See J.H. NEYREY, Encomium versus Vituperation: Contrasting Portraits of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, in Journal of Biblical Literature 126 (2007) 529-552 for an account of how these biographical tropes appear in the fourth gospel. 58. WATSON, How Did Mark Survive? (n. 25). 59. See W.J. ONG, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word, London – New York, Methuen, 1982, pp. 141-143; J. DEWEY, Oral Methods of Structuring Narrative in Mark, in Interpretation 43 (1989) 32-44; L.W. HURTADO, Greco-Roman Textuality and the Gospel of Mark: A Critical Assessment of Werner Kelber’s The Oral and the Written Gospel, in Bulletin for Biblical Research 7 (1997) 91-106.

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These transformations of Mark (and Q) have their place in a textual community – to recall’s Stock’s term – which forms its sociality around textual practices (modelled by the textual practices of the several main characters in Luke’s two accounts) and which anchors its own identity in the biography of its hero and in the more extensive history (of Israel) in which the hero is imagined to participate. Luke’s stance vis à vis his two main sources can be seen as falling at the “accepting” rather than critical end of the spectrum – to invoke John Marincola’s typology. He is not especially critical of the content of his sources. He is more critical of their lection and style, and above all is conscious of presenting a literary account of literate agents of the Christ association, thereby to create a text appropriate to use in a textual community. University of Toronto Trinity College/Larkin 311 6 Hoskin Avenue Toronto ON M5S 1H8 Canada [email protected]

John S. KLOPPENBORG

CRITICAL SOURCE PROBLEMS CANONICAL LUKE AND MARCION’S GOSPEL

Marcion’s Gospel – that is, the form of what we now know as the Gospel of Luke used by Marcion (first half of second century AD), according to his later detractors – provides scholars a unique glimpse into the earliest history of the composition and reception of one of the canonical gospels. The timing is perfect for such a glimpse, because Marcion was active between the time when Luke was (or, began to be?) composed and the time to which the earliest surviving manuscript evidence can reliably be dated1. The difficulties involved in reconstructing Marcion’s Gospel, given that its only citations are found in the rhetorically-charged writings of his later opponents, are well known. Despite the necessarily tentative nature of the results, recent efforts in reconstructing Marcion’s Gospel have allowed scholars to revisit longstanding questions about the composition and reception of Luke, about the Synoptic Problem, and about the formation of the fourfold gospel collection2. In the most recent literature, the traditional view, that Marcion’s Gospel (hereafter, MLk) was an abridged form of Canonical Luke (hereafter, CLk) created by Marcion himself, has been vigorously challenged by several competing hypotheses, most of which involve a variation on the view that MLk is (or derives from) an earlier form of 1. See J. HERNÁNDEZ, The Early Text of Luke, in C.E. HILL – M.J. KRUGER (eds.), The Early Text of the New Testament, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2012, 121-139. See also A. GREGORY, The Reception of Luke and Acts in the Period before Irenaeus: Looking for Luke in the Second Century (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, II/169), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003, p. 353: “I have found no external evidence to demonstrate that Luke was used before the middle of the second century” (with Justin and Marcion as the earliest figures to use Luke in some form). 2. For recent reconstructions, see J.D. BEDUHN, The First New Testament: Marcion’s Scriptural Canon, Salem, OR, Polebridge, 2013; M. KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium und die Entstehung der kanonischen Evangelien (Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter, 60), 2 vols., Tübingen, Francke, 2015; D.T. ROTH, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel (New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents, 49), Leiden, Brill, 2015. Other major studies of Marcion and/or Marcion’s Gospel include J.B. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle, Columbia, SC, University of South Carolina Press, 2006; M. VINZENT, Marcion and the Dating of the Synoptic Gospels (Studia Patristica. Supplement, 2), Leuven, Peeters, 2014; J.M. LIEU, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2015.

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Luke than CLk3. Such approaches also have implications for the study of the Synoptic Problem4. Marcion’s Gospel complicates our analysis of these critical source problems in the study of Luke in positive ways. Considering these two texts as different “forms” or “versions” of Luke demonstrates that it is not always obvious where composition ends and reception begins. If Marcion did edit CLk in order to produce a gospel more congenial to his theology, would he have thought that he was “mutilating” the finished work of a respected author, as Irenaeus and others after him claimed (Haer. 1.27.2), or carrying the composition of an unfinished work to a conclusion that he thought fitting5? Or conversely, if a final “redactor” produced what we now know as CLk from a shorter form of Luke like the one associated with Marcion, would that editor not have believed their work to be one of correction and completion6? One can only wish for similarly early (even hostile) witnesses to Matthew, Mark, or John that could likewise problematize our views of their composition and reception in the first century or so of their circulation. Study of the internal literary tendencies and early manuscript variations of the canonical gospels have, of course, yielded similar results: one example is the Longer Ending of Mark, generally considered a second century addition. MLk therefore provides a unique, but not unproblematic, piece of evidence for the history of Luke. 3. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2); BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2); KLINGDas älteste Evangelium (n. 2); and VINZENT, Marcion (n. 2). While both Tyson and BeDuhn think that CLk represents an expanded form of an earlier Vorlage, which was also the precursor text of MLk, Klinghardt proposes that MLk was the earliest gospel and ultimately the source for all the canonical gospels (with Vinzent taking a similar approach). For diagrams representing the Synoptic theories of Tyson, BeDuhn, and Klinghardt, see D.A. SMITH, The Sayings Gospel Q in Marcion’s Edition of Luke, in Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 94 (2018) 481-503, pp. 485-487. 4. In addition to the works cited above (n. 3), see also M. KLINGHARDT, Markion vs. Lukas: Plädoyer für die Wiederaufnahme eines alten Falles, in New Testament Studies 52 (2006) 484-513; ID., The Marcionite Gospel and the Synoptic Problem: A New Suggestion, in Novum Testamentum 50 (2008) 1-27; J.M. LIEU, Marcion and the Synoptic Problem, in P. FOSTER – A. GREGORY – J.S. KLOPPENBORG – J. VERHEYDEN (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem, Oxford Conference April 2008: Essays in Honour of Christopher M. Tuckett (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, 239), Leuven – Paris – Walpole, MA, Peeters, 2011, 731-751; D.A. SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics: Proposals and Problems, in J. VERHEYDEN – T. NICKLAS – J. SCHRÖTER (eds.), Gospels and Gospel Traditions in the Second Century: Experiments in Reception (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, 235), Berlin, De Gruyter, 2018, 129-173. 5. See also Tertullian, Marc. 4.2.4; Epiphanius, Pan. 42.9.1-2. 6. M.D.C. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2018, provides a very helpful discussion of ancient views of authorship, circulation, publication, and revision, applied to the canonical gospels. HARDT,

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This essay takes the source-critical conundrum of the relationship between CLk and MLk as an opportunity to reflect on the ways in which scholars, ancient and modern, have imagined these two texts as “sources” and presented evidence and arguments in favour of their source hypotheses. Crucial to such a study, especially where modern scholars are concerned, is the reconstruction of MLk. Two recent studies of MLk present new reconstructions of the text along with source-critical arguments concerning the relationship between CLk and MLk, with a third reconstruction remaining neutral7. Because Marcion left behind no description of the form of Luke he used, or how it originated, it is primarily from the text of Marcion’s Gospel that scholars (both in the first centuries after Marcion and since the rise of critical approaches to the Bible) draw inferences about his editorial work with his source, or advance other hypotheses about the nature of the source relationship. This essay begins with a description of the differences between MLk and CLk, in how the two texts are represented by ancient authors and reconstructed by current scholars. The second section examines how treatments of MLk handle (often interconnected) issues relevant to the topic of this conference: representations of sources and source utilization; assumptions about editorial technique, sophistication, and consistency; and arguments for direction of dependence and/or primitivity. A third section will provide, by way of conclusion, brief discussions of the source problems and other uncertainties that plague proposals concerning the relationship between MLk and CLk, and asking whether in the end there is any way forward with the question. I. CANONICAL LUKE VS. MARCION’S GOSPEL: REPRESENTED AND RECONSTRUCTED 1. Ancient Representations Before turning to the contents and characteristics of the reconstructed MLk, it is worth noting how the ancient heresiologists represented the gospel used by Marcion. Irenaeus (ca. 180), who was the first to comment on this matter, asserted that Marcion had “mutilated” the Gospel 7. Both BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2) and KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2) advance source hypotheses in relation to MLk. In contrast, ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2) attempts only to provide “the most accurate possible reconstruction of Marcion’s Gospel” (p. 4) without drawing any conclusions about the relationship between CLk and MLk.

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of Luke by removing the infancy narratives and material that identified the Father of Christ with the Creator of the Universe. Irenaeus claimed that Marcion, by doing this, esteemed himself to be more truthful than the apostles who handed down (tradiderunt) the gospel, though he only provided his disciples with a “fragment” of it (Haer. 1.27.2). For Irenaeus, Luke is Scripture that Marcion mutilated (1.27.4). Elsewhere, Irenaeus refers to the fourfold gospel collection as a set of apostolic books with named authors (3.1.1): he said that Luke “set down in a book” (in libro condidit; ἐν βίβλῳ κατέϑετο) the gospel Paul preached, but Irenaeus did not use the publication language he used for Matthew and John (edidit; ἐξήνεγκεν, ἐξέδωκεν)8. Despite the difference in terminology here, Irenaeus clearly believed all four gospels to be equal in authority and status (see Haer. 3.11.8). About a generation later, Tertullian took in hand to do what Irenaeus had proposed (Haer. 1.27.4), namely, to refute Marcion’s teachings from his own gospel text (Tertullian, Marc. 4.1.1). Tertullian believed that Marcion had selected Luke over the others from the fourfold gospel collection (4.5.4), which he represents as “published” apostolic writings9, and claimed that his version of Luke was older than Marcion’s, which in his estimation should prove Marcion’s to be the falsified version (adulteratum, 4.4.1; see also 4.4.5). Tertullian also described Marcion as a would-be “gospel maker” (evangelizator, Marc. 4.4.5) who represented his gospel as the correction of Luke, which itself had been falsified or “interpolated” through the incorporation of “the law and the prophets” (4.4.4)10. Finally, Epiphanius, writing more than a century after Tertullian, claimed that Marcion’s removal of certain passages could easily be exposed by comparing MLk with the “copy” (ἀντίγραφον) of the Gospel according to Luke (Pan. 42.11.17, e. 28). This term normally denotes a copy of a published book or document11. These remarks, which reveal the textual status of Luke in the ecclesiastical contexts of Irenaeus, Tertullian, and Epiphanius, are usefully illuminated by the recent study of Matthew Larsen. Larsen notes that Irenaeus’ remarks about the four gospels take for granted that Luke’s 8. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 6), pp. 94-95. Greek fragments of Irenaeus are from Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.8.2-4. 9. Tertullian, Marc. 4.5.4: Capit magistrorum videri quae discipuli promulgarint (referring to Mark and Luke as authorized by the apostles Peter and Paul respectively). 10. VINZENT, Marcion (n. 2), pp. 89-107, sees in these passages hints that Marcion composed his gospel (see below, section II.2). See also M. VINZENT, Christ’s Resurrection in Early Christianity and the Making of the New Testament, Farnham – Burlington, VT, Ashgate, 2011, pp. 86-92; cf. J.M. LIEU, The Enduring Legacy of Pan-Marcionism, in Journal of Ecclesiastical History 64 (2013) 557-561, pp. 559-560. 11. LSJ, ad loc.

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authorship – a public, social act that culminates in the publication of a fixed and stable text, that is, a book – can be traced to a first-century colleague of Paul (Haer. 3.1.1). However, “for others in the second century […] the gospel is a textualized tradition, but the configurations of the textual tradition are far too unbounded and messy to conflate with concepts like book, author, and publication”12. Larsen’s work, particularly his discussion of (what became) the Gospel of Mark as ὑπομνήματα, unfinished rough textual notes open to revision, elucidates what source critics have assumed for years – that is, that gospel writers did not consider their sources (even those that were eventually canonized as Christian Scripture) to be finished and authored texts and therefore inviolable, but writings that were subject to continuing compositional work13. It is therefore possible – or even probable – that there was a significant gap in Marcion’s estimation and use of what (however it originated) became the Gospel of Luke and later representations of that estimation and use by the heresiologists. Irenaeus clearly views Luke as Scripture, an authored and published text with an apostolic pedigree; Tertullian assumes it was published before Marcion worked with it; and Epiphanius claims to be working from an authentic copy of the gospel that was clearly different from the Marcionite form. However, there is no way to know whether Marcion thought of his form of Luke as finished, authored and apostolic, as these later authors did, or unfinished and open to revision; indeed, it may be that he had one of two or more forms of Luke that could have been circulating (and subject to expansion and editing by him or by others) in the middle of the second century. As Larsen remarks: Unfinished or unauthored texts were especially open to revision, by their very nature. They invited someone else to revise them by correcting or augmenting them or by adding to the ending. […] Texts still in progress or otherwise not intended for a public readership could and often did slip out of the hands of their writers or readers and accidentally make their way into the public arena. […] Once a text was away from its owner and in a new location, it acquired a new owner, as it were, and that new owner did with it what he or she willed. The more a text was used, the more it tended to be altered14.

Because Irenaeus and others after him assumed a formal authoring and publication of Luke, they concluded, when they compared Marcion’s 12. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 6), p. 2. See similarly LIEU, Marcion (n. 2), p. 200. 13. G.P. FEWSTER, review of Gospels before the Book (2018), by Matthew D. C. Larsen, in Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 48 (2019) 154-156, p. 155. 14. LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 6), p. 76.

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Gospel to the form of Luke they knew, that Marcion had deleted the Infancy Narratives and other materials from “published Luke”. But it is also possible, we suppose, that the material found in CLk but not in MLk (or at least some of it) was simply not present in the Luke used by Marcion, in which case the relationship between MLk and CLk becomes somewhat unclear15. Exactly how current scholars deal with this question will be discussed below. We know with certainty, from later polemics against Marcion, that Luke existed in different forms during the second century. What we do not know with certainty is whether authors such as Tertullian, who appraised MLk based on assumptions that Luke was a published piece of Scripture before Marcion used it, were correct that MLk derived from CLk. Other scenarios are certainly possible. It is also worth noting how these early Christian authors used MLk as a source. Tertullian clearly viewed MLk as an adulterated, counterfeit gospel, secondary and inferior to CLk (Marc. 4.4-5). Although Adolf von Harnack argued that Tertullian used a Latin translation of MLk, Dieter Roth has recently checked Tertullian’s citations of MLk against his other citations and the Old Latin version and determined that it is more likely that Tertullian was translating ad hoc from a Greek copy of MLk16. Epiphanius “took up [Marcion’s] own books” in Greek and made extracts and selections from them, going through “all of the passages” in which Marcion could be refuted by what he left unchanged in his text (Pan. 42.10.2-5). In many cases, however, the mode of reference and the polemically charged context make it difficult to be certain what the text of MLk read. In one or two instances, Tertullian accuses Marcion of deleting material only found in Matthew (e.g., Mt 5,17; 15,24.26; Marc. 4.7.4-5)17. The heresiologists, then, saw MLk not as a source to be scrupulously copied and cited verbatim, but as an opportunity for refuting both Marcion’s theological views and his alleged corruption of an apostolic book. 2. Contemporary Reconstructions Although Epiphanius claimed that Marcion had added material to Luke (Pan. 42.9.2), this could mean that he thought Marcion had substituted his own versions of certain passages instead of the authentic ones (42.10.4). 15. See BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), pp. 69-70. 16. A. VON HARNACK, Marcion: Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott. Eine Monographie zur Geschichte der Grundlegung der katholischen Kirche (Texte und Untersuchungen, 45), Leipzig, Hinrichs, 21924, pp. 178*-181*; D.T. ROTH, Did Tertullian Possess a Greek Copy or Latin Translation of Marcion’s Gospel?, in Vigiliae Christianae 63 (2009) 429-467. 17. See D.T. ROTH, Matthean Texts and Tertullian’s Accusations in Adversus Marcionem, in Journal of Theological Studies 59 (2008) 580-597.

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When reconstructed, however, MLk is considerably shorter than CLk and appears not to contain any substantial material not found in CLk18. Given that redaction- and text-critical studies of gospel literature have tended, fairly consistently, to find that gospel writings normally were altered through addition, not subtraction, Marcion’s editorial work (on the traditional view: e.g., Epiphanius, Pan. 42.9.1-2) would be somewhat anomalous, but this question must be left aside for now. Apart from unattested material (that is, material present in CLk but simply not mentioned by later sources discussing MLk), about which certainty is generally not possible, the material attested as absent is quite telling. MLk evidently began with something like the chronological notice of Lk 3,1, to which Marcion appears to have appended Lk 4,31: In the fifteenth year of the rule of Tiberius Caesar, in the time of Pontius Pilate […] he came down into Capharnaoum, city of the Galilee, […] was teaching […] in the synagogue. And everyone was amazed at his teaching, because his word was with authority19.

This means that Lk 1,1–2,52, 3,2–4,13 were not present in MLk 20. Throughout the rest of MLk, verses from all three material types (Triple Tradition material, i.e. material with parallels in Mark and Matthew; Double Tradition material, i.e. material with parallels in Matthew; and Lukan Sondergut, i.e. “special material” found only in Luke) are attested as absent. On a verse-by-verse count, the statistics show that the majority of material attested as absent from MLk is Sondergut (material unique to Luke), even when Lk 1,1–4,13 are not counted21. According to my calculations, 18. The following discussion is based on the reconstruction of ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2). BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), does not provide a Greek text and does not always distinguish carefully between unattested and absent material; KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), provides a Greek text but often includes readings for MLk derived from variants in the manuscript tradition for CLk, without (or at times even against) the attestation of the later witnesses to MLk (i.e., Tertullian, Epiphanius, et al.). For a brief discussion, see SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 134-135. 19. Tertullian, Marc. 4.7.1, suggesting that Marcion took κατῆλϑεν to indicate Christ’s descent from the divine realm. Translation mine, based on the reconstruction of ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 412. I have not tried to represent Roth’s gradations of certainty. 20. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 412, notes that Lk 3,2-20 are unattested, but indirectly attested as absent; Lk 4,14-30 are variously attested but appear after MLk 4,34. 21. For details about attestation in MLk by material type, plus statistics, see the appendices in SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 159-173. Similar studies were done by J. KNOX, Marcion and the New Testament: An Essay in the Early History of the Canon, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 1942, pp. 106-112; refined by TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), pp. 86-87, 116-117. Both Knox and Tyson based their statistics on the reconstruction of HARNACK, Marcion (n. 16).

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59.4% of the material that we can be sure was absent from MLk (when compared with CLk) is Sondergut; about 30% is Triple Tradition material; and about 10% is Double Tradition material22. When Lk 1,1–4,13 are included, the proportion of absent material jumps to 77.8% Lukan material, 13.4% Triple Tradition, 10.2% Double Tradition. Some related statistics are shown in the following tables: the first gives a general idea about the levels of attestation for Marcion’s Gospel; the other two show breakdown by material type. # verses (CLk)

present

unattested

absent

CLk 4,14–24,53

968

49.3%

39.8%

10.8%

CLk 1,1–24,53

1151

41.5%

33.4%

24.9%

Table 1. Attestation Levels for Marcion’s Gospel, by verse Type of Material

# verses (CLk)

present

unattested

absent

Lukan Sondergut

339

39.5%

41.9%

18.6%

Triple Tradition

416

51.9%

40.4%

7.7%

Double Tradition

213

60.0%

34.8%

5.2%

Table 2. Attestation Levels by Material Type, Lk 1,1–4,13 excluded Type of Material

# verses (CLk)

present

unattested

absent

Lukan Sondergut

498

27.1%

28.5%

44.4%

Triple Tradition

422

51.2%

39.8%

9.0%

Double Tradition

231

55.4%

32.0%

12.6%

Table 3. Attestation Levels by Material Type, Lk 1,1–4,13 included

These statistics are surprising, especially the fact that 78% of the CLk material attested absent from MLk is Lukan Sondergut. However, they do not tell the whole story. First, we should note the high proportion of unattested material: certainty even about its presence or absence is generally not possible, although in select cases (for example, Lk 24,12) an argument could be made that material was absent from MLk, and the 22. These statistics and those in the following tables are based on a verse count following ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2). Unattested verses that probably were absent from MLk (because of their proximity to verses attested as absent) are included in the “absent” tally. For example: for Lk 17,7-10, only v. 10b is attested as absent, with the remainder unattested (i.e. passed over in silence by Tertullian and the others); this pericope was counted as four verses probably absent.

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witnesses passed over the absent material in silence, or did not even know such material themselves23. An argument that material was present but passed over in silence by all the witnesses is also in theory possible, but this seems unlikely. Secondly, hypotheses involving (or excluding) editorial work on Marcion’s part are complicated by the fact that sometimes sections attested as absent from MLk span different material types (e.g., CLk 13,29-35 is a section attested absent from MLk, containing both Double Tradition material and Sondergut). As to the wording of Marcion’s Gospel, it is difficult in some cases, given the highly rhetorical and often paraphrastic citation tendencies of the main witnesses, to be entirely certain of its precise wording24. Often no more can be securely concluded than that a verse was present in MLk, although some who reconstruct MLk do not hesitate to offer a conjecture. Only in a few cases does the wording of MLk differ significantly from that of CLk. One famous example is the Lord’s Prayer, which in MLk evidently replaced the sanctification of the Father’s name in the first petition with an invocation of the holy spirit (MLk 11,2)25. Another is found at Lk 6,27-28: CLk 6,27-28: ἀγαπᾶτε τοὺς ἐχϑροὺς ὑμῶν, καλῶς ποιεῖτε τοῖς μισοῦσιν ὑμᾶς, εὐλογεῖτε τοὺς καταρωμένους ὑμᾶς, προσεύχεσϑε περὶ τῶν ἐπηρεαζόντων ὑμᾶς MLk 6,27-28: ἀγαπᾶτε τοὺς ἐχϑροὺς ὑμῶν, [unattested] εὐλογεῖτε τοὺς μισοῦντας ὑμᾶς καὶ προσεύχεσϑε περὶ τῶν ἐπηρεαζόντων ὑμᾶς26 Mt 5,44: ἀγαπᾶτε τοὺς ἐχϑροὺς ὑμῶν καὶ προσεύχεσϑε ὑπὲρ τῶν διωκόντων ὑμᾶς

Here the attested MLk wording “bless those who hate you” (εὐλογεῖτε τοὺς μισοῦντας ὑμᾶς) neither conforms to CLk nor can be explained as a 23. It seems probable, for example, that Tertullian did not know Lk 24,12, which is not cited by any Christian author until Ambrose: D.A. SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Resurrected Jesus of Canonical Luke 24, in Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 21 (2017) 41-62, pp. 49-52; LIEU, Marcion (n. 2), p. 218. 24. Roth’s method in reconstructing MLk takes serious consideration of the citation tendencies of the main witnesses. See ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), pp. 46-82. 25. See Tertullian, Marc. 4.26.4. For this petition, BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 109, gives “let your sacred spirit come upon us”; ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 421, shows τὸ ἅγιον πνεῦμα as a very likely reading but the rest as unattested; and KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 2, p. 725, reconstructs as follows: ἐλϑέτο τὸ πνεῦμά (σου) τὸ ἅγιον (ἐφ᾿ ἡμᾶς) (καὶ καϑαρισάτω ἡμᾶς), supplementing the attested material with variant readings (in parentheses) for CLk 11,2 from the minuscules 162 (12th cent.) and 700 (11th cent.), and from Gregory of Nyssa. 26. See Tertullian, Marc. 4.16.1. Reconstruction from ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 415.

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harmonization to Matthew. Another example is found at Lk 24,37.39: MLk has φάντασμα where CLk has πνεῦμα (v. 37), and MLk has ὀστέα where CLk has σάρξ καὶ ὀστέα (v. 39)27. In addition, MLk also sometimes demonstrates harmonizations to Matthew or, less frequently, to Mark. It is a matter of debate whether these harmonizations can be reliably attributed to MLk or to the citation habits of the witnesses28. A few other features of MLk are also worth noting. First, MLk typically does not present a different arrangement or ordering of material from CLk. There are only two exceptions: Lk 4,31-35 are found in MLk before 4,16-30, and Lk 4,27 – a line from Jesus’ sermon in Nazareth about “many lepers in Israel” in the time of Elisha – is found after MLk 17,14 in the story of Jesus healing ten lepers (Lk 17,11-19)29. Interestingly, the MLk ordering of events in Luke 4 eliminates the problem of the reference to Capernaum in CLk 4,23: according to the canonical narrative, Jesus had not yet been to Capernaum when he referred to his deeds there (cf. CLk 4,31)30. Aside from these two transpositions, MLk follows the order of CLk exactly, at least in material attested as present. This observation will be important for understanding how Marcion may be imagined as working with CLk as a source. As is well known, the writers of Matthew and Luke, working with the text of Mark, generally follow Mark’s order of material but do make noticeable changes from time to time; Matthew’s reordering of Markan material in Matthew 8–9 is a good example. Next, scholars have long recognized that certain readings attested for MLk share affinities with what textual critics have designated the “Western” text-type. Because of this, Harnack concluded that MLk was based on a Western recension of CLk31. More recently, Matthias Klinghardt claims that nearly two-thirds of the readings attested for MLk that diverge from CLk are also found in Western witnesses for Luke, but his estimation 27. See SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Resurrected Jesus (n. 23), pp. 53-60. Another place where MLk and CLk read differently is MLk 23,2, where according to Epiphanius (Pan. 42.11.6 sch. 69) καὶ καταλύοντα τὸν νόμον καὶ τοὺς προφήτας (cf. Mt 5,17) is added to the charges brought against Jesus: for discussion, see ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), pp. 336-337. 28. See ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 439; J.D. BEDUHN, New Studies of Marcion’s Evangelion, in Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 21 (2017) 8-24, p. 11. 29. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), pp. 412-413. 30. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), p. 83; cf. F.C. BAUR, Kritische Untersuchungen über die kanonischen Evangelien, ihr Verhaltniß zu einander, ihren Charakter und Ursprung, Tübingen, Ludwig Friedrich Fues, 1847, pp. 398-399. 31. HARNACK, Marcion (n. 16), pp. 242*-243*; referenced by ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 438. See also the discussion in KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, pp. 73-77.

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seems to be inflated32. Klinghardt himself prefers Western readings (and non-Western textual variants) for CLk when reconstructing MLk, not only in cases where the text is unattested, but also in cases where there is clear positive attestation of Tertullian or Epiphanius. Klinghardt posits that what scholars now view as “variants” for CLk were actually original to MLk (“the oldest gospel”), and that the later copies of MLk used by the heresiologists were contaminated by the “canonical” revision that produced Luke, that is, by an “interference” between the precanonical and canonical textual traditions33. In contrast, Roth notes several points at which MLk diverges from Western readings (e.g., MLk 22,20 is attested present in MLk, where vv. 19b-20 are missing from CLk in Western witnesses)34. Roth therefore advises caution when reconstructing the text of MLk, because of the difficulty in determining whether harmonizations of Luke to Matthew (or Western readings) were present in MLk or derive from the heresiologists because of inaccurate citation of MLk35. Marcion’s Gospel cannot straightforwardly be identified with the Western text of Luke36. Finally, Jason BeDuhn has argued that in certain instances, MLk as reconstructed shows unharmonized readings in places where CLk has harmonized readings. These instances, the so-called “Minor Agreements” (MAs) of Matthew and Luke against Mark, have long been a problem for one of the standard solutions to the Synoptic Problem, the Two-Document Hypothesis (2DH). Opponents of the 2DH see these Matthew-Luke agreements in Triple Tradition material as vestiges of Luke’s knowledge of Matthew, and as evidence against the independence of Luke from 32. KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, p. 73 (329 out of 528, around 62%). It should be noted that in cases where the different witnesses to MLk (i.e., Tertullian, Epiphanius, the Adamantius Dialogue) disagree in how they cite MLk, Klinghardt counts these as multiple variants in a single verse; so, for example, MLk 4,27 produces five variants against the “canonical manuscripts”, two of which have parallels in Western variants (ibid., vol. 2, p. 1215). It seems obvious that a witness’ paraphrastic reading for MLk should not be counted as a variant; it also seems obvious that Western readings could have influenced how witnesses to MLk cited it. For details, see KLINGHARDT, Anhang III: Die mcn Varianten und die kanonische Handschriftüberlieferung, ibid., vol. 2, 1209-1279. 33. KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, pp. 78-113, with the following summary, vol. 1, pp. 112-113: “Die hier angedeuteten textkritischen Überlegungen gewinnen ihre Plausibilität allerdings ausschließlich unter den Voraussetzungen, dass Mcn erstens tatsächlich ein vor-lk Text ist und dass zweitens der für Mcn bezeugte Text sich tatsächlich in großen Umfang in (den Varianten der) kanonischen Textüberlieferung niedergeschlagen hat”. 34. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 438. 35. Ibid., p. 439. 36. D.T. ROTH, Marcion and the Early Text of the New Testament, in HILL – KRUGER (eds.), The Early Text of the New Testament (n. 1), 302-312, pp. 307-312.

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Matthew, a cornerstone of the Q hypothesis. BeDuhn claims that Marcion’s Gospel has “has substantially fewer (one third) of the ‘minor agreements’ accepted in the current critical text of Luke”37. He bases this on S. McLoughlin’s catalogue of 52 “significant” MAs, saying that of the 31 that can be checked against reconstructed MLk, “twenty do not occur, while eleven do”38. BeDuhn takes this to be important data supporting the view that the MAs derived (in greater proportion than previously acknowledged) from harmonization during the processes of circulation and transmission, rather than from Luke’s knowledge of Matthew at the compositional level39. The matter is, of course, plagued by the same uncertainty just noted: was the harmonization actually in MLk, or was it introduced by those citing MLk? In any case, closer analysis reveals that BeDuhn overstates the data40. In the twenty instances BeDuhn mentions, it is true that the MAs are not attested, but only in five can the wording of MLk be reconstructed with enough certainty to be able to judge whether the MA was present or not. Significantly, in one of these cases (Lk 24,4), the absent MA is not found in any text-critical witness to Luke, which suggests that other MAs could have originated secondarily through copyist harmonization, but without leaving any trace in the extant textual witnesses41. II. MARCION’S GOSPEL AND SOURCE-UTILIZATION: RECENT APPROACHES The above discussion shows that the textual evidence on which to base theories about Marcion’s Gospel and source utilization is complicated by a variety of factors, not least of which is the problem of reconstruction. This section of the essay reviews and assesses recent approaches to the relationship between CLk and MLk, with a focus on how scholars represent gospel texts as sources and questions of source utilization, such as editorial agendas and techniques. 37. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 93. 38. Ibid., p. 354, n. 88, referencing S. MCLOUGHLIN, Les accords mineurs Mt-Lc contre Mc et le problème synoptique: vers la théorie des deux sources, in Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 43 (1967) 17-40. It should be noted that scholars disagree on how to define or assess the significance of the MAs: see M.E. BORING, The “Minor Agreements” and Their Bearing on the Synoptic Problem, in FOSTER et al. (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (n. 4), 227-251. 39. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 93. 40. See SMITH, Sayings Gospel Q (n. 3), pp. 488-493. 41. MLk 24,4 almost certainly lacks the word ἀστραπτούσῃ to describe the angels’ garments (cf. CLk 24,4 par. Mt 28,3; diff. Mk 16,5): ibid., pp. 492-493.

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1. Marcion Edited Canonical Luke The most recent attempt to argue for the traditional view that Marcion edited CLk to produce the shortened MLk is found in Sebastian Moll’s 2010 monograph, The Arch-Heretic Marcion. Moll’s approach to MLk is governed by his general view that “Marcion’s Bible stands in a strangely dialectical relation to his theology: it is the source and at the same time the result of his doctrine”42. Moll suggests a straightforward reason for Marcion working with Luke: “It seems quite possible that Marcion was only familiar with one Gospel at his Pontic home community”, but Moll supposes that Marcion probably would have had to justify his “choice” later, once the fourfold gospel collection was in circulation43. Moll also attempts to demonstrate the consistency of Marcion’s supposed editorial approach against scholars such as Klinghardt and Tyson (concerning whom, see below) who argue that Marcion was not consistent in his alleged editing of Luke and therefore MLk must not have originated as the traditional view claims44. Moll works from his own description of Marcion’s theological views and a list of absent passages based on Harnack’s reconstruction (aware that in 2010 a new, more reliable reconstruction was lacking). He then tries to “see if coherent rules are to be found according to which Marcion proceeded”, but “if a conflict between a certain passage and Marcion’s doctrine cannot be explained in a plain and simple way”, this would count this as an “unexplained” instance of deletion45. Moll’s survey adduces five theological rules which, in his view, can explain almost all the deleted material as removed by Marcion in keeping with his editorial concepts. These are: (1) the tradition of the Church is falsified; (2) Christ is not the Son of the Old Testament God; (3) Christ is neither born nor raised; (4) the Old Testament or its figures are no authority for Christ; (5) the Old Testament cannot be fulfilled in Christ46. Moll finds it impossible to explain Marcion’s removal of Lk 4,14-15 (the beginning of Jesus’ teaching in Galilee), Lk 13,29-30 (an eschatological saying about the inclusion of those “from east and 42. S. MOLL, The Arch-Heretic Marcion (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 250), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2010, p. 77. 43. Ibid., p. 90. See similarly GREGORY, Reception of Luke and Acts (n. 1), p. 205, with references. 44. Ibid., pp. 90-91, citing TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), and KLINGHARDT, Markion vs. Lukas (n. 4). Interestingly, Moll describes the view of Knox and Tyson that Marcion edited PLk as “falsification”: MOLL, Arch-Heretic (n. 42), p. 91; cf. below, section II.3. 45. MOLL, Arch-Heretic (n. 42), p. 92. 46. Ibid., pp. 92-98.

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west”), and Lk 15,11-32 (the Parable of the Prodigal Son). The last of these appears to be the most problematic, because it seems to promote a view of God as loving and forgiving in keeping with Marcion’s own views. With these exceptions noted, Moll concludes that about 93% of the deleted material has an explanation in a coherent editorial schema47. Moll is also aware that there is a good deal of material attested as present in MLk that seems to contradict these five rules for Marcion’s editorial work, and he attempts to answer a representative selection of those passages as well, working from a list compiled by Albert Schwegler (1843)48. BeDuhn has responded in some detail, providing numerous examples of passages attested as present in MLk that contradict Moll’s rules for Marcion’s supposed editorial work; examples include “undeleted” references to John, the prophets, a God who judges and threatens, and so forth49. This seems to be a fairly decisive criticism. Moll also refers to Tertullian’s claim that Marcion had left inconvenient material in his abridged version of Luke in order to give the impression that he had not edited it at all, and then subjected that problematic material to a strange, constrained interpretation (Marc. 4.43.7-8). In the end, Moll must insist both that Marcion was (usually) a consistent editor with a clear theological purpose (although Moll neglects to explain a good deal of material present in MLk that contradicts these rules), but at the same time “a man of such fanaticism” who could arrive at “far-fetched interpretations” of Luke50. Moll does refer, rightly, to the scribal practices that are necessary to the kind of editorial work he imagines for Marcion: “erasing passages in the second century is neither done with an eraser nor by means of ‘copy and paste’. Shortening a text means to write it anew”51. Although Roth has to this point refrained from advocating a position on the relationship between CLk and MLk, he has observed something worth considering as a possible support for the traditional view. In both Lk 4,43 and 16,16, Roth argues that “it is very likely that Marcion read ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ ϑεοῦ εὐαγγελίζεται”, a turn of phrase unique to

47. Ibid., p. 98. 48. Ibid., pp. 98-100; cf. A. SCHWEGLER, review of W.M.L. DE WETTE, Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung in die kanonischen Bücher des Neuen Testaments, 4th ed. (1842), in Theologisches Jahrbuch (Theologie) 2 (1843) 544-590, pp. 577-582. 49. J.D. BEDUHN, The Myth of Marcion as Redactor: The Evidence of “Marcion’s” Gospel against an Assumed Marcionite Redaction, in Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 29 (2012) 21-48, pp. 31-32. Compare, in response to KLINGHARDT, Markion vs. Lukas (n. 4), C.M. HAYS, Marcion vs. Luke: A Response to the Plädoyer of Matthias Klinghardt, in Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 99 (2008) 213-232, pp. 219-222. 50. MOLL, Arch-Heretic (n. 42), p. 100. 51. Ibid.

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Luke-Acts52. This “may be an example of a redactional phrase attributable to the author of Luke-Acts being found in the text Marcion used”. Additional Lukan redactional traits in MLk, Roth suggests, would be “vital and important […] evidence for the likely priority of a text very similar to our Canonical Luke”53. Although the presence of redactional traits has long been seen as a way to test the direction of source dependence between two texts54, it does not seem to work in this case. κηρύσσω/εὐαγγελίζομαι occurs with βασιλεία seven times in Luke-Acts. MLk 4,43 (Triple Tradition; also MLk 9,2) and 16,16 (Double Tradition) contain the phrase; it is also found at Lk 8,1 (Sondergut, unattested for MLk) and three times in Acts (8,12; 20,25; 28,31). The probative value of this redactional trait’s presence in MLk, however, depends entirely on how one construes the literary relationship; all it really shows is that it was a preferred turn of phrase in the source text for MLk, whether that was CLk or, as some have suggested, a pre-Lukan Vorlage that combined Mark and Q (assuming the 2DH)55. In the latter case, the redactional trait could have been picked up by the author of Luke-Acts in the revision that produced CLk. 2. Marcion Wrote Marcion’s Gospel; Canonical Luke Is Secondary A relatively recent variant on the priority of MLk has been argued by Markus Vinzent and Matthias Klinghardt, who propose that Marcion wrote the gospel himself (or was its originator somehow) and that the four canonical gospels are later, mutually interdependent expansions of Marcion’s Gospel. Vinzent and Klinghardt advance separate cases for this view: Vinzent argues that hints of Marcion’s views about his gospel, and its composition, can be found in Tertullian’s polemic against him, while Klinghardt works on the basis of his reconstruction of MLk (and its text- and redaction-critical supports) and arguments about secondary editorial work in the allegedly later gospels56. 52. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 437, citing M. WOLTER, Das Lukasevangelium (Handbuch zum Neuen Testament, 5), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2008, p. 3. 53. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), pp. 437-438. In a recent article, I mistakenly took this to mean that Roth holds to the traditional view, but he has since clarified to me that this was not his intention. Cf. SMITH, Sayings Gospel Q (n. 3), p. 484. 54. See A. GREGORY, What Is Literary Dependence?, in FOSTER et al. (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (n. 4), 87-114, here pp. 108-113. 55. As argued by those discussed in sections II.3 and II.4, below. 56. See VINZENT, Marcion (n. 2), pp. 89-107, some of which is reproduced in M. VINZENT, Marcion’s Gospel and the Beginnings of Christianity, in Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 32 (2015) 55-87; and KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2). See also M. VINZENT, Tertullian’s Preface to Marcion’s Gospel (Studia Patristica. Supplement, 5), Leuven, Peeters, 2016, pp. 310-335.

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Vinzent mines Tertullian’s rhetoric (especially in Marc. 4.4) for Marcion’s own views about the origin and publication of Marcion’s Gospel and the four others, building his account of the origin of MLk and the fourfold gospel collection on these inferences. Most pertinent for his scenario are Tertullian’s references to Marcion as a “gospel-maker” (evangelizator, 4.4.5) who produced a literary innovation (which Tertullian of course denied: nec forma sermonis in Christo nova, 4.11.12), that is, “his own” (4.4.1) first gospel, the original literary combination of narratives and sayings from Jesus’ life; this was then “interpolated” through combination with the Law and the Prophets (4.4.4) and had suffered “plagiarism” before its “publication” (4.4.2; 4.4.4; Praescr. 38.6)57. From these clues, Vinzent argues that MLk – or rather, its first original unpublished draft – originated as classroom notes (memorabilia, ἀμπομνημονεύματα [sic]) that were circulated by students without his consent; prior to Marcion taking up the task of editing and publishing his authored/authorized version, other books using Marcion’s terminology (“gospel”) began to appear. So, Marcion’s own gospel (at least, in the form of his students’ notes; Vinzent does not explain where Marcion’s content came from) “was taken by several people, excerpted, copied, reworked, interpolated, and made public, even before Marcion himself as author had published his original version”58. Vinzent suggests the context for this flurry of literary activity is Rome between 138 and 145 AD. He also refers to an analogous situation: after Quintilian discovered that some of his students had circulated an edition (editionis) of lecture notes under his name but without his approval, he followed up with an official publication (Inst. 1.pr.7)59. Vinzent’s ideas about publication and circulation (authorized and unauthorized) are largely confirmed by the work of Larsen, mentioned above60. Klinghardt, by contrast, sets out to demonstrate a similar scenario with reference to textual data from the gospels. In his earlier writings on Marcion’s Gospel (2006, 2008), he argued only for the priority of MLk over CLk, and proposed a solution to the Synoptic Problem that integrated MLk but still adhered to Markan priority61. Only in his 2015 study Das 57. VINZENT, Marcion (n. 2), pp. 90-96. 58. Ibid., p. 98. 59. Ibid., p. 97. 60. Ibid., pp. 106-107, referring to Hermas, Vis. 2.4.8: “If this short note reflects a typical praxis, then books were published and distributed by the author once they had been read by a few insiders and amendments had been made by those first readers”. See also LARSEN, Gospels before the Book (n. 6), pp. 37-77. 61. KLINGHARDT, Markion vs. Lukas (n. 41); ID., Marcionite Gospel (n. 4).

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älteste Evangelium und die Entstehung der kanonischen Evangelien does he advocate for a position like that of Vinzent, arguing that MLk is the oldest gospel. Text-critical observations about the similarities between MLk (as he has reconstructed it!) and the Western witnesses to Luke have become the foundation of a new argument, namely, that MLk had already been received in the Old Latin and Old Syriac versions (Western witnesses), and therefore predates the canonical forms of the other gospels62. Klinghardt proposes, as a “working hypothesis”, that Mark is posterior to MLk, which he then attempts to demonstrate by explaining Mark’s alleged editorial techniques in editing and adapting MLk63. Generally Klinghardt seems most interested in explaining large-scale redactional techniques in Mark: he notes, for example, that the two healings (Mk 8,2226; 10,46-52) that form an inclusio in Mark’s central section are absent from MLk, and so must be secondary; and he argues that the so-called “great omission” in Luke of material in parallel with Mk 6,45–8,26 is better understood as a Markan expansion than a Lukan omission64. In an earlier essay, however, in which Klinghardt had not yet “closely investigated” the direction of dependence between Mark and MLk, he stated that “it seems plausible that Mcn did not catch the artistic structure” of this section, and omitted it for that reason65. MLk Mark

John Matthew Luke Fig. 1: Klinghardt’s View of Gospel Relationships 62. KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, p. 190. This seems to me to presume already the posteriority of Mark and the other canonical gospels; in addition, Klinghardt works from the Old Latin and Old Syriac versions of the canonical gospels, not from MLk. 63. Ibid., vol. 1, p. 195: “Als Arbeitshypothese ist daher davon auszugehen, dass Mk die erste Bearbeitung dieses mutmaßlich ältesten Evangelium darstellt. Unter dieser Annahme der Mcn-Priorität vor Mk sind dann die Differenzen zwischen beiden Texten daraufhin zu überprüfen, ob sie sich tatsächlich als Ergebnis der mk Redaktion von Mcn wahrscheinlich machen lassen”. This represents a significant departure from Klinghardt’s earlier view that Mark was a source for MLk: KLINGHARDT, Marcionite Gospel (n. 4), pp. 21-22. 64. KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, pp. 194-231; see the discussion in SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 145-147. 65. KLINGHARDT, Marcionite Gospel (n. 4), p. 22.

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Klinghardt has an account of the lines of dependence between MLk and the canonical gospels that can explain the various synoptic data (see fig. 1): Mark used MLk, omitting sayings material but making other expansions; Matthew used both Mark and MLk, retaining the logic of Mark’s central section but using MLk’s sayings material in different locations and arrangements; CLk used both Matthew and MLk, adding in the MLk material not found in Matthew (which now becomes Lukan Sondergut) and following MLk by omitting from Matthew the material in parallel to Mk 6,45–8,26; and John, being an independent expansion of MLk, was also used by the editor of CLk. Early editions of all four then underwent a canonical redaction, which also had an impact on the transmission of MLk (as noted above)66. Minute details of development in individual passages are often worked out in Klinghardt’s discussion of the reconstruction. All this depends on two foundational claims, namely: (1) that MLk (as reconstructed by Klinghardt, and not as transmitted to us by the heresiologists) was the oldest gospel, and (2) that all the others were directly dependent on it; the rest is commentary on editorial techniques, in keeping with the proposed direction of literary dependence, with a few elements of standard solutions to the Synoptic Problem retained (e.g., Markan priority over Matthew; Luke’s use of Matthew). Klinghardt’s account of this web of literary interrelationship attempts to deal with all the Synoptic data (e.g., Double Tradition material, Sondergut, the so-called Mk/Q overlaps, the Minor Agreements), and consequently is detailed and complex and cannot be evaluated here. Although his approach shares much in common with other multistage theories of Synoptic relationships, the fact that the Urquelle (MLk) – the “oldest gospel”, as Klinghardt has reconstructed it – provides the key to the puzzle is unique. Vinzent and Klinghardt seem to differ on a few points in how they view MLk, and later gospels, as sources. Vinzent suggests that Marcion’s unauthorized class notes were taken and adapted by the writers of the other gospels, which suggests that they were interested in MLk’s contents and genre but disputed the authority of its source (i.e. Marcion). The reworked texts were then published as having an “apostolic” origin. Klinghardt, on the other hand, presumes the final version of MLk, not rough lecture notes, as the source for the other four gospels; for it was the final version of MLk that had such a long-lasting influence (on Klinghardt’s theory) on the Western textual tradition. On both accounts, the writers of the four gospels were purposeful (second century) authors/ 66. For a diagram, see KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2), vol. 1, p. 311; for details, ibid., vol. 1.

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redactors, adapting, combining, and editing their source texts and then “authoring” the new texts as apostolic. Generally, the post-Marcion composition and publication of the four gospels that Klinghardt and Vinzent imagine seems to require a fairly short time span and easy circulation of texts but also a certain amount of rivalry, with different writers attempting to supplement or even replace their source texts with their own improved and more finished compositions. However, this is not so different from the scenario imagined in more traditional scholarly accounts of the origins of the four gospels. 3. Marcion Edited an Earlier Vorlage; Canonical Luke Is Secondary In a 2006 monograph, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle, Joseph Tyson revisited the theory of his teacher John Knox (1942), and proposed that CLk is best understood as the result of a three-stage compositional process67. The first stage was the composition of a pre-Marcionite gospel text that combined Markan and Q material (Tyson assumes the 2DH) as well as some Sondergut; the result was a kind of “Proto-Luke” (hereafter, PLk) that began at Lk 3,1 and contained only a very basic resurrection story (see fig. 2). This PLk was the Vorlage for MLk, the second compositional stage. In Tyson’s estimation, Marcion himself omitted from PLk material that he would have found “offensive” or “anathema”, and these omissions explain why his later opponents were able to claim that he had “mutilated” the Gospel of Luke (even though this claim was based on the differences between MLk and CLk!)68. The third compositional stage produced CLk: the author of Luke-Acts added new anti-Marcionite material to PLk, including the prologue (CLk 1,1-4), the birth and infancy stories (CLk 1,5–2,52), and further post-resurrection stories (CLk 24,13-53). The author of CLk “also worked through his source and gave it his own stamp, thus creating the sense of literary unity that the work has”69. Tyson dates the appearance of CLk and Acts to around 120-125 AD, just when (according to an early dating) Marcion and his teachings were becoming widely known; this decision seems linked to more recent reappraisals of the date of Acts70. 67. See TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), pp. 119-120. Tyson does not use the term “Proto-Luke” for his “pre-Marcionite gospel”. See also KNOX, Marcion and the New Testament (n. 21), pp. 77-113. 68. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), pp. 117-118, 120. 69. Ibid., p. 120. 70. Ibid., pp. 1-23. Writing before the publication of Tyson’s book, Andrew Gregory suggested that Marcion was “the first witness to sustained use not just of Luke but of any

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Mark

Q

Matt

PLk MLk

CLk

Fig. 2: Tyson’s View of Gospel Relationships

Tyson makes several assumptions about source utilization that are worth highlighting. First, he cites with approval Knox’s contention that it seems absurd that Marcion would choose Luke from the fourfold gospel collection only to omit distinctively Lukan material in a much higher proportion than other material71. This suggests to both Knox and Tyson that Marcion did not edit CLk but an earlier version of Luke, and that the missing Sondergut – some of it, at least – “was not known to Marcion”72. As Roth notes, “the significance of Marcion’s exclusion of Lukan Sondergut is largely determined by an a priori view of the extent of Marcion’s source text”73. However, even when excluding Lk 1,1–4,13, nearly 60% of the verses that are clearly attested as absent from MLk are Lukan Sondergut. Next, Tyson assumes a consistent editorial agenda on the part of Marcion and the final author of Canonical Luke-Acts alike. This criterion seems to cut both ways. Tyson uses it on the one hand to determine that certain material – the birth and infancy stories, for example – was not in the PLk that Marcion edited, and to claim that it was added in the final redaction of CLk in order to offend Marcionites. He finds “a disjunction” between the birth narratives and the main body of Luke, and concludes that the first two chapters were not omitted by Marcion but added at the final stage of Luke’s composition74. On the other hand, Tyson also uses this criterion to claim that Marcion himself edited out certain material for theological reasons. He supposes that Marcion edited out material with Synoptic parallels (e.g., the Temptation Story in CLk 4,1-13) as well as discrete Gospel, and that he may in fact have been a conservative editor of a shorter form of Luke than that known today”: GREGORY, Reception of Luke and Acts (n. 1), p. 210. 71. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), p. 86, referencing KNOX, Marcion and the New Testament (n. 21), p. 110. 72. Ibid., p. 86. 73. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 34. 74. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), pp. 90-100, citing “disjunctions of narrative and character” and “differences of linguistic style and ideology”.

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Sondergut (e.g., the fig-tree parable in CLk 13,1-9) as incompatible with his theology. In some cases, however, Tyson must “plead ignorance” regarding material attested as absent but of which Marcion would probably have approved (e.g., the Prodigal Son in CLk 15,11-32): “nothing we know of Marcion would give us reason to think he would have omitted these narratives for theological reasons”75. In the same way, the addition of the Parable of the Prodigal Son does not make sense as part of the thorough-going anti-Marcionite editorial agenda of Canonical Luke-Acts that Tyson proposes. Also, if the Lukan Sondergut has any thematic coherence, this could suggest that Marcion as a consistent editor would have been inclined to omit it – including the material in chapters 1–2 and 24, which Tyson holds is anti-Marcionite in origin!76 – in a higher proportion than Triple Tradition or Double Tradition material, if he disagreed with its theological or ecclesiastical interests; but Tyson sees this as suggesting that at least some of the Sondergut can be determined to be secondary. A related point, thirdly, involves Tyson’s assertion about the thematic and stylistic unity of CLk as a whole. One would think this unity would need to be somewhat limited, given that Tyson has also insisted that there is a disjunction between CLk 3–23 and the beginning and end of CLk. Tyson does not mention Knox’s arguments against the claim of William Sanday, which many scholars in the first half of the twentieth century found decisive, that theories presuming the secondary nature of CLk material not found in MLk do not stand up to stylistic analysis77. Knox argued, however, that Sanday did not take the (reconstructed) wording of MLk into account, but attempted to show that the absent material had the same style and vocabulary as the rest of Luke. Without a reconstructed text for the material present in MLk, Sanday only proved that “the ‘verified peculiarities’ [that he analyzed] are peculiarities of our Luke”78. Sanday did make an important advance, however, in attempting to move the discussion beyond the theological interests of Marcion as an editor79. 75. Ibid., p. 117. 76. Noted also by ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 34. 77. W. SANDAY, The Gospels in the Second Century: An Examination of the Critical Part of a Work Entitled “Supernatural Religion”, London, Macmillan, 1876, pp. 222-230; taken up for discussion by KNOX, Marcion and the New Testament (n. 21), pp. 88-99. 78. KNOX, Marcion and the New Testament (n. 21), p. 91. 79. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2), p. 20. Sanday wrote that the task of determining what variations between MLk and CLk could be assigned to Marcion’s dogmatic interests was “a task which suited well the subtlety and inventiveness of the German mind, and [which] has been handled with all the usual minuteness and elaboration”: SANDAY, Gospels in the Second Century (n. 77), p. 218.

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Nevertheless, questions about the cohesiveness of CLk’s style, especially in relation to supposed additions in its final composition, should have a part to play in discussions about the relationship between MLk and CLk. Finally, a problem that Tyson seems to have noticed, but which does not enter his discussion, is how the Synoptic Problem is changed by the possible priority of MLk (or a Vorlage such as Tyson’s PLk) to CLk. This factor has not played a role in any of the hypotheses discussed to this point, but a precommitment to the 2DH seems to control how Tyson imagines the editorial practices of Marcion and/or the final author of CLk. As noted above, Tyson remains committed to the view that MLk’s Vorlage had combined Mark and Q. In order to account for all the Triple and Double Tradition material in CLk, while retaining a traditional approach to the 2DH, he has to argue that any that is missing from MLk must have been omitted by Marcion80. Without Marcion as editor, Tyson would require the final compositional step that produced CLk to introduce the omitted material somehow in its correct place (vis-à-vis Markan or Q order), from another source. A similar controlling commitment to the 2DH is also present in BeDuhn’s approach, discussed next. 4. Marcion Used an Earlier Vorlage; Canonical Luke Is Secondary Jason BeDuhn proposes a theory similar to that of Tyson and Knox, but insists that Marcion did not edit the gospel writing that came to him. On his view, MLk and CLk represent different forms of Luke meant for Gentile and Judean audiences, respectively (see fig. 3)81. Because MLk and CLk contain, according to BeDuhn, different patterns of harmonization to Matthew, they should be viewed as different forms of Luke that developed along different textual trajectories; CLk therefore cannot be a post-Marcionite expansion82. Constrained by the similarities between the two texts, BeDuhn thinks they are indirectly related to a common Vorlage (which we will call PLk). However, his view that Marcion did not edit this PLk but authorized it for use essentially unchanged means that PLk can effectively be identified with MLk in BeDuhn’s source-critical 80. TYSON, Marcion and Luke-Acts (n. 2), p. 115, mentioning only CLk 3,2-22 (John material), 4,1-13 (Temptation of Jesus), 19,29-40 (Entry into Jerusalem), 19,45-46 (Temple Incident). Tyson does not provide a comprehensive account. 81. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), pp. 91-92; see also ID., Myth of Marcion as Redactor (n. 49). 82. BEDUHN, Myth of Marcion as Redactor (n. 49), pp. 33-34. As noted above (p. 378) it is a matter of dispute whether harmonizations to Matthew (or to Mark) should be attributed to those citing MLk or seen as features of the text of MLk.

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scenario. As we will see below, this position creates difficulties for BeDuhn, especially because like Tyson he affirms the 2DH and thinks that the gospel Marcion received already contained Markan and Q material as well as some Sondergut. The appearance in CLk of the material (from all three material types) not found in MLk needs an explanation, however. Mk

Q

Mt

PLk = MLk MLk

CLk

Fig. 3: BeDuhn’s View of Gospel Relationships

Like Tyson, BeDuhn assumes that Marcion’s editorial work should have been consistent, but in this case, the argument for the priority of MLk over CLk leads to the conclusion that Marcion could not have edited his gospel text at all. On the traditional theory, Marcion did not remove all material incompatible with his theology, and to BeDuhn this is unthinkable: “Marcion’s failure to omit them too shows either arbitrary inconsistency or an acute attention deficit”83. On the other hand, BeDuhn finds implausible the idea (argued by Tyson, and many others before him) that CLk originated as an ideological response to Marcion’s views84. Instead, he proposes a simple scenario of two editions stemming from the same author, or at least the same community. Copies of the original edition are made and go into limited circulation somewhere in the eastern Roman empire […]. At some point, it is reissued in a new edition, whose circulation eventually follows different channels than the first. The most likely form taken by this new edition would be an expansion of the original narrative; that would be best in keeping with the typical tendencies of text revision at the time […]85.

By proposing that copies of the earlier form (i.e. the “original edition”) were still in circulation, BeDuhn can also explain the judgment of Irenaeus and Tertullian who, assuming that Marcion must have had access to CLk (the expanded “new edition”) like they themselves did, concluded that he 83. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 83. 84. BEDUHN, Myth of Marcion as Redactor (n. 49), p. 36. 85. Ibid., pp. 39-40.

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had “mutilated” Luke for theological reasons. But, as already noted, BeDuhn needs to explain somehow the source-utilization scenario that can account for the expansion of CLk with non-Sondergut material. It can be seen from BeDuhn’s treatment of the Q material that he is aware of the problem, but in his published work to date he has not yet provided a comprehensive account. He proposes that MLk, which “contained so-called ‘Q’ material integrated with Markan material”, is the better form of Luke from which to establish the text of Q86. BeDuhn offers a brief discussion of the Double Tradition material attested as absent from MLk, suggesting that “a secondary dependence of Luke on Matthew” could explain the presence in CLk of the John material and Temptation Story (CLk/Q 3,7-9.16-17; 4,1-13)87. He sees the high verbatim agreement, mixed sayings/narrative genre, and density of Scripture citation in these passages to be anomalous with the rest of Q. However, long-standing analysis of Q shows these features to be characteristics of Q as a whole, not just the absent material in Q 3–488. Furthermore, BeDuhn does not explain how the rest of the Q material absent from MLk found its way into CLk, but one guesses that he would fall back on the secondary dependence on Matthew in the expanded new (CLk) edition of Luke as the explanation. There is in fact quite a bit more Q material to account for, and Markan material as well89. In at least one case (the Sign of Jonah saying: CLk 11,29b-32; Mt 12,39-42), BeDuhn is reluctant to see the secondary influence of Matthew as the answer, because Luke’s version of the saying is less theologically developed than Matthew’s90. In Luke 13, a case not discussed by BeDuhn, the editor of CLk would have had to draw Double Tradition material from three different places in Matthew in order to create the missing complex CLk 13,29-3591. Finally, BeDuhn also allows that some of the MAs derive from the secondary dependence of CLk on Matthew, but this could also complicate his general account of the MAs, described above92. BeDuhn’s explanation of the differences between MLk and CLk is based on a combination of different presuppositions about source utilization: 86. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 95. 87. Ibid. 88. See SMITH, Sayings Gospel Q (n. 3), pp. 495-497, with secondary literature. 89. Q material attested as absent from MLk includes CLk/Q 3,7-9.16-17; 4,1-13; 11,30-32.49-51; 12,6; 13,29-30.34-35. 90. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), p. 161. 91. SMITH, Sayings Gospel Q (n. 3), p. 499; it should be noted that proponents of the Farrer Hypothesis (without any consideration of Marcion) would have to imagine a similar scenario. 92. BEDUHN, New Studies (n. 26), p. 16; see SMITH, Sayings Gospel Q (n. 3), p. 493.

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(1) MLk (that is, PLk) results from the combination of Mark and Q material (with the addition of Sondergut); (2) MLk, the shorter form of Luke, is prior to its canonical form; (3) Marcion must have been ideologically consistent in his editing, and so the obvious lack of consistency suggests that he could not have edited MLk at all; and (4) some at least of the Synoptic material absent from MLk must have been added to CLk in a final editorial stage that involved supplementation from Matthew. Testing the last point would require closer analysis of the Markan and Q material absent from MLk in order to determine if it has any features suggesting a Matthean origin, but this is not possible here. III. CONCLUSION: MARCION’S GOSPEL, CANONICAL LUKE, AND PERSISTENT DIFFICULTIES As is evident from the above survey, several interrelated themes dominate the discussion about Marcion’s Gospel, and several questions and difficulties persist, many of which have to do with the nature of sources and questions about source utilization. This concluding section will sketch out these persistent difficulties that impeded progress on the question of Marcion’s Gospel, and pose the question: is a way forward possible? 1. Uncertainties in Reconstruction The first and most obvious problem that prevents a clear answer to the relationship between MLk and CLk is that there is so much uncertainty involved in reconstructing MLk. The three current reconstructions deal with this uncertainty, which originates in how the later Christian authors use MLk as a source in their polemical writings, in different ways93. By giving his reconstruction in English, BeDuhn intends to signal that we can never be completely certain about MLk’s wording, although often his textual notes discuss details from and differences between the witnesses94. Both Roth and Klinghardt show in their printed Greek texts of MLk their level of certainty about their reconstructions, which are very different from each other. Whereas Roth’s reconstruction tends to be quite elliptical, only producing text where at least some certainty is possible and declining to offer a judgment in the case of unattested material, Klinghardt’s offers a 93. See the brief discussion in SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 132-135. 94. BEDUHN, First New Testament (n. 2), pp. 50, 53.

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full running text, often supplemented with conjectural readings closely tied to his theories about the origins and influences of MLk95. The origin of harmonizations in MLk is also disputed by all three, as noted above. Uncertainty also vexes the question because so much material is unattested. The fact that we can be certain about what was absent from MLk is important, however, and this material must be considered carefully when evaluating theories of literary dependence and source utilization. 2. Marcion as Editor A second and equally besetting problem is that although there is general agreement that Marcion should have been a competent and consistent editor, different scholars deploy this presupposition in widely varying ways. As seen above, both those who advocate the traditional view (Moll) and those who do not (Tyson, BeDuhn, Klinghardt, and Vinzent) use editorial consistency as a criterion for determining whether Marcion did edit, or could not have edited, CLk to produce MLk. Editorial consistency in source utilization has normally been assumed in discussions of the Synoptic Gospels. A recent example is found in Alan Kirk’s account of Matthew’s use of the Q material, which argues for a thoroughgoing integration of Q with Mark in keeping with consistent editorial techniques and interests96. In contrast with the writer of Matthew, Marcion on the traditional theory seems to have done a fairly poor job. It should be noted that the degree of acceptable inconsistency also seems to vary from scholar to scholar: in the view of Christopher Hays, “it bears asking whether or not it is appropriate to expect him to be a flawless editor”97. Although it seems obvious that theologically-motivated editing cannot explain all the differences between MLk and CLk, it likewise seems too much to conclude, as BeDuhn does, that Marcion therefore must not have edited the gospel at all; indeed BeDuhn’s theory runs aground on certain problematic examples he cannot account for (particularly given his views on the Synoptic Problem; see further below). If it seems appropriate to 95. ROTH, Text of Marcion’s Gospel (n. 2); KLINGHARDT, Das älteste Evangelium (n. 2). 96. A. KIRK, Q in Matthew: Ancient Media, Memory, and Early Scribal Transmission of the Jesus Tradition (Library of New Testament Studies, 564), London, Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016. 97. See HAYS, Marcion vs. Luke (n. 49), p. 221, raising the example of editorial fatigue in Synoptic relationships as noted by M. GOODACRE, Fatigue in the Synoptics, in New Testament Studies 44 (1998) 45-58. Hays also cites with approval SANDAY, Gospels in the Second Century (n. 77), p. 221: “If we judge Marcion’s procedure by a standard suited to the age in which he lived, our wonder will be, not that he has shown so little, but so much, consistency and insight”. I still think Sanday would have graded Marcion quite poorly in comparison with the writers of the canonical gospels!

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question the priority of CLk on the basis of the inadequacy of Marcion’s alleged editorial practices – but too much to think that Marcion used an earlier edition of Luke untouched – the question then becomes how much Marcion edited his hypothetical Proto-Luke, and for Tyson the problem of his inconsistency remains. Also, how can Tyson adequately judge between material added to CLk to “offend” Marcionites, but material edited out of PLk because it “offended” Marcion? 3. Synoptic Problems Although this is not an issue for those holding to the traditional view, commitments to solutions to the Synoptic Problem, as well as attempts to solve the problems that the Synoptic data pose, often complicate studies of the relationship between MLk and CLk. So they should! As noted above, Klinghardt stretches his theory of the priority of MLk to include lines of literary dependence and source utilization that can explain perennial Synoptic problems including the origins of the Double and Triple Tradition materials, the so-called Mark-Q overlaps and Minor Agreements, and Sondergut. Any theory that posits MLk as an earlier version of CLk must likewise account for these data. With PLk as a Vorlage, most of these difficulties can be accounted for in the usual way on the 2DH (theoretically, it could also work more parsimoniously with the Farrer Hypothesis, but no one to my knowledge has attempted this). However, when the 2DH is taken as the explanation for the Synoptic data, the patterns shown by material attested absent from MLk require either a post-PLk editing, as Tyson would have it, or an explanation for the addition of this material in the composition of CLk, as with BeDuhn. For Tyson, the evidence taken to support the priority of MLk – the unlikelihood that Marcionite editing can account for all the missing material – seems to erode if one allows editing, but for BeDuhn, the usual explanation for Synoptic phenomena such as the Minor Agreements likewise seems to erode if the supplementary use of Matthew accounts for the addition of non-Sondergut in CLk. The Q hypothesis likewise suffers if MLk is taken, as BeDuhn insists, as an unedited PLk and a closer witness to Q: as noted above, the Double Tradition material absent from MLk must have come into CLk from somewhere, and if it did not come from Q, it must have come from Matthew98.

98. A bit uneasy about this, I titled a section of a previous essay on Marcion’s Gospel “On Not Dispensing with Any of Q”: see SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 151-156.

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4. Competing Compositional Scenarios Just as is the case with the Synoptic Problem, debates concerning Marcion’s Gospel also involve the editorial or compositional scenarios required by any theory of literary dependence and source utilization. A long-standing example is the debate whether Luke’s use of Matthew on the Farrer Hypothesis makes sense, given that Luke would have to undo much of Matthew’s editorial work with the sayings of Jesus. Theories that include MLk or PLk as an entity in a proposed solution to the Synoptic Problem must give an account of the gospel writers’ alleged work with their sources. In a case noted above, Klinghardt needs to argue that Mark expanding MLk to include the material from the so-called “great omission” (in Luke, of material in parallel to Mk 6,45–8,26) makes better sense than the opposite. Of course, this claim is only one part of Klinghardt’s larger argument for the dependence of Mark on MLk99. Another example arises in BeDuhn’s proposal of secondary dependence of Luke on Matthew to account for the missing Q material: although it seems like a simple solution to the problem, at least in MLk 3–4, it actually raises more difficulties (unseen by BeDuhn, I think) than it solves because of the textual data it must stretch to handle and the tricky editorial work required by the final editor of CLk. The problematic data for the non-traditional theories seems to be the material attested as absent, some of which, as noted above, comprises more than one type of material (as it is not just Sondergut that is attested as absent)100. Another issue that must be accounted for in all this is the general stylistic and thematic coherence of the “finished” gospels, particularly if the compositional scenario involves multiple editions of Luke. More practical issues such as the availability of gospel manuscripts and the status of these texts should not be forgotten as well. The point here is that these explanations of editorial work and source utilization might be compelling or even convincing to a greater or lesser degree but in the end can only establish “relative probability”101. 5. Finally: Is There a Way Forward? It is not difficult to entertain the possibility that Marcion’s Gospel is an earlier form of Luke than its longer canonical counterpart. It is not 99. See SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 143-151. 100. For listings of passages by material type with attestation for MLk, see the Appendices in SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 159-162, 165-171. 101. GREGORY, Literary Dependence (n. 54), p. 114.

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difficult either to imagine a scenario in which a shorter Luke reached Marcion and his followers but was expanded into Canonical Luke in another context102. Arguments to this effect, however, must take all the above factors into consideration: questions of reconstruction, editorial practice, and source utilization, and the implications of integrating MLk (if prior to CLk) into current hypotheses of Synoptic literary interdependence. For some (perhaps many) scholars, this debate will seem too “hypothetical” to take seriously, because it requires not only disputing patristic testimony about Marcion, but also working with a “reconstructed” text. However, thanks to the work of the scholars considered in this essay, we are now seeing the kind of study and debate on this question that will lead, though certainly not to a consensus, at least to better arguments to account for the source-critical challenges posed by MLk, and certainly to a greater appreciation of the complexities of the origins and development of gospel literature in the first two Christian centuries. There is much about which certainty is impossible, so it is understandable that even some who allow for the possibility that MLk did not derive directly from CLk seem to think that progress on questions of literary dependence and source utilization is unlikely103. Matthew Larsen’s work on ancient ideas about publication and authorship, and the examples he cites, open up discussion about the origins of MLk and its relationship to CLk in helpful ways. Knowing, for example, that ancient authors such as Josephus and Cicero could produce more than one edition of a work, or attempt to recall copies already in circulation for correction and modification, or follow up the unauthorized dissemination of their work with authorized publication, is useful: it helps us to see that Luke could have existed in different forms (as indeed Irenaeus et al. claimed) in the second century, that Marcion could have edited and used an early shorter Luke, and that a later editor – possibly even the writer of this Proto-Luke – could have expanded it when he also wrote Acts. If I could venture an opinion without committing myself to working all this out in a future and much fuller study, which I would be very reluctant to take on, I think this is quite probable; but the devil, as Roth says, is in the (reconstructed) details104. The way forward has to be by means of detailed textual study and the careful testing of hypotheses of literary dependence and compositional scenarios. In the end, what is 102. For such a scenario, see SMITH, Marcion’s Gospel and the Synoptics (n. 4), pp. 156157. 103. LIEU, Marcion (n. 2), pp. 208-209. 104. D.T. ROTH, Marcion’s Gospel and the History of Early Christianity: The Devil Is in the (Reconstructed) Details, in Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 21 (2017) 25-40.

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certain is that Marcion’s Gospel provides us with an occasion for thinking about how scholars think about sources and source-utilization, and a helpful problematization of simplistic ideas about gospel composition and reception. Huron University College 1349 Western Rd. London, ON Canada N6G 1H3 [email protected]

Daniel A. SMITH

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS ACKROYD, P.R. 172 ADAM, K.-P. 147 ADLER, W. 150 AGAMBEN, G. 352 AGUILAR, R.M. 42 AHLRICHS, B. 31 43 AHUVIA, M. 187 ALAND, K. 285 ALBECK, C. 192-193 ALBRECHT, D. 179 ALEXANDER, L.C. 359 361 ALEXANDER, P.S. 173 ALFÖLDI, A. 133 ALFONSO, L.J. 188 ALLEN, G.V. 362 ALLISON, D.C. 275 278 287 293-295 297-298 304-305 AMES, R.T. 207 APTOWITZER, V. 192 ARRIGHETTI, G. 66-67 70 72 AVEMARIE, F. 147 189 AVENARIUS, G. 41 AVERY-PECK, A. 190 AVIOZ, M. 192 BACHMANN, V. 178 180 BACON, B.W. 295 BAGNALL, R.S. 362-363 BAILEY, C. 67 72 BAKKER, E. 6 BALSDON, J.P.V.D. 226 BARCLAY, J. 226 BARDTKE, H. 186 BARIGAZZI, A. 68-69 BAR-KOCHVA, B. 168 186 BARNES, T.D. 126 BARON, C.A. 204 BARTH, G. 318 BARTON, C.A. 240 BAUCKHAM, R. 190 223 BAUER, B. 270 BAUR, F.C. 270 378 BECK, M. 34 39 43 46-49 BEDUHN, J.D. 369-371 374-375 377380 382 390-396

BEER, B. 192 BELSER, J.E. 200 BENDORAITIS, K.A. 357 BENEKER, J. 37 39 BERGER, P.L. 188 BERGMEIER, R. 232 BERNAYS, J. 74-81 83 85 93-95 97101 104 107-111 114-115 118 BETTENWORTH, A. 139 BEYER, K. 176 BIGNONE, E. 61 67-68 BIRD, H.W. 126-127 BIRLEY, A.R. 128 BLACK, M. 175 179-180 182 196 BLECKMANN, B. 125-131 133 138 142 BLOCH, M. 244 BLOCH-SMITH, E. 189 BOCCACCINI, G. 174 182 BOCK, D. 203 BODEI GIGLIONI, G. 80 BOEDEKER, D. 8 BÖMER, F. 97 99 110 BOER, E. 66-67 BOLLACK, J. 66-68 72 BOLLANSÉE, J. 123 BONAMENTE, G. 126 128 133 BOND, H.K. 298 BONNECHERE, P. 89 BORING, M.E. 380 BORNKAMM, G. 318 BOSWORTH, A.B. 15 18 44 BOTHA, P.J. 361 BOUFFARTIGUE, J. 74-79 80-82 84-85 95 98-100-102 104 107-109 114-115 118 BOUSSET, W. 188 194 BOVATI, P. 209 BOVON, F. 326-328 334-335 337-338 341 343 365 BOWIE, A. 10 BOWLEY, J.E. 171 BOYARIN, D. 240 BRAKKE, D. 353 BRAUND, D. 46

400

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

BREMMER, J.N. 355 356 BRIDGES, E. 30 BRIGHTON, M. 229 BRINGMANN, K. 29 BRISSON, L. 78 BROWNLEE, W.H. 186 BRUEGGEMANN, W. 188 BRUNT, P.A. 122 BUCKLER, J. 35 BULTMANN, C. 249 BULTMANN, R. 298 326 329 334 BURGESS, R. 126 132 137 BURKERT, W. 99 BURKITT, F.C. 201 BURNETT, A. 219 BUSSE, A. 41 BUTCHER, K. 218 BYRON, J. 187 190-192 CADBURY, H.J. 200-201 218-219 360 CALDERÓN DORDA, E.A. 36 CAPES, D.B. 298 CARLSTON, C.E. 329 CARR, D.M. 171 CARRASCO REIJA, L. 36 CASADESÚS BORDOY, F. 43 CAVALLO, G. 65 CHARLES, R.H. 153 172 175 177-179 186 188 193-194 CHARLESWORTH, J.H. 174 CHASTAGNOL, A. 133 CHATZIS, A. 77 CHAUSSON, F. 133 CHEKIN, P.L. 353 CHESNUTT, R.D. 173 CHESTER, A. 189 CHILTON, B. 190 CLARK, G. 74 79 82-84 97 109 115 CLARKE, A.D. 361 CLARKE, W.L.K. 200 CLEMENTS, R.A. 146 156 COBET, C.G. 67 71-72 COBLENTZ BAUTCH, K. 179 COHEN, B. 192 COHEN, G.M. 218 COHEN, S.M. 41 COHN-SHERBOK, D.M. 277 COLLINGWOOD, R.G. 244 COLLINS, J.J. 156 182 189-190 CONCHE, M. 62-63

COOGAN, M.D. 146 171 COOK, B.L. 36 CRAFFERT, P.F. 361 CRENSHAW, J.L. 190 CRONIN, H.S. 202 217 CROSS, F.M. 186 DAHOOD, M. 189 DAUBE, D. 192 DAVENPORT, C. 129 131 DAVIES, M. 3 8 DAVIES, W.D. 275 278 287 293-295 297-298 304-305 DAVIS, J. 193 DAVIS, M. 233 DE BLOIS, L. 32 46 DECONICK, A.D. 298 DE JONG, I.J.F. 6 10 DE LACY, P. 46 DELVAUX, G. 33 DE MARCO, V. 77 DEN BOER, W. 126 DE RHOER, I. 115 DE ROMILLY, J. 30 DE ROSALIA, A. 36 DERRENBACKER, R. 327 DE SAULCY, F. 218 DESIDERI, P. 33-34 DESSAU, H. 126 137 DEUBNER, L. 98 DE VAUX, R. 232 DE WETTE, W.M.L. 261-265 382 DEWEY, J. 315 324 367 DILLMANN, A. 179-180 194-195 DIMANT, D. 163 174 D’IPPOLITO, G. 36 DISRAELI, B. 271 DITADI, G. 82 101 114 DOOLE, J.A. 311-314 317 319 DORAN, J. 145 DORANDI, T. 34 41 55 57-60 62 65 72 101 DOUKHAN, J.B. 189 DRAPER, J.A. 348 DRAWNEL, H. 175-176 DÜRING, I. 361 DUFF, T. 32 37 39 44 47 50 DUNELM, B.F. 199 DUNN, J.D.G. 325 348 DUNNE, J.A. 362

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

ECKSTEIN, A.M. 204 EICHHORN, J.G. 252-259 267 EK, S. 15 ELLEDGE, C.D. 187-188 190 195 ELLIOTT, M.A. 188 ENMANN, A. 125-142 ERBSE, H. 50 102 ESHEL, H. 186 EVANS, C.A. 187 283 318 EVANS, C.F. 172 EVE, E. 365 EYL, J. 323 EYNIKEL, E. 145 FARMER, W.R. 247-248 250 253-254 258-260 262 264-265 269-270 310 349 FARRER, A. 349 395-396 FEHLING, D. 7 FERGUSON, C.A. 360 FERNÁNDEZ DELGADO, J.A. 48 FESTY, M. 133 FEWSTER, G.P. 373 FINGLASS, P.J. 3 8 FINKELSTEIN, L. 192 FITZMYER, J.A. 357 FLACELIÈRE, R. 48 FLEDDERMANN, H.T. 202 284 292 295 300 303 306 FLOWER, M.A. 11 FOAKES JACKSON, F.J. 200-201 FOLKART, B. 347 FONTENROSE, J. 98 FORNARA, C.W. 323-324 FORNBERG, T. 187 FORSTER, E. 74 78-79 81 85 92 95 97-98 109 114 FORTENBAUGH, W.W. 73-74 76-77 80 85 88 90 92 95 102 105 108 112 114 FOSTER, P. 279 294 298 301 303 311 319-320 370 380 383 FRANCE, R.T. 307 314 317 FRAZER, J.G. 97 FRAZIER, F. 33 45 FREY, J. 240 FROST, F.J. 35 FÜNDLING, J. 133 FUNK, R. 330 GABBA, E. 30

401

GALLÉ CEJUDO, R.J. 43 GALLO, I. 28 30 36 43 46-47 GARCÍA LÓPEZ, J. 36 42 GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ, F. 182 186 GASSENDI, P. 65 67-68 GEIGER, J. 32 GIESELER, J.C.L. 261 GLADIGOW, B. 110 GLASSON, F. 179 GOFF, M. 186 GÓMEZ, P. 27 GOODACRE, M. 325 349 394 GOODMAN, M. 182 199 GOSHEN-GOTTSTEIN, M. 172 GOTTSCHALK, H.B. 74-75 77 95-96 112 114 118 GOULDER, M. 349 GRABBE, L.L. 232 GRAF, E. 90 92 110-111 GRANT, M. 324 GRATZ, A. 259-260 GREENBERG, M. 172 GREENFIELD, J.C. 174 GREENSPOON, L.J. 189 GREGORY, A. 369-370 381 383 387388 396 GRESSMANN, H. 188 GRETHLEIN, J. 5 GRIESBACH, J.J. 247-248 250 259 261-264 270 310 349 GRILLO, L. 15 GRIPENTROP, S. 240 GROSS, J. 127-131 133 138 GUNDRY, R.H. 283-284 GUPTA, N.K. 357 GUTAS, D. 73 GUTSCHMID, A. VON 7 HABINEK, T.N. 230 HADAD, N. 171 HAGNER, D.A. 289 HALL, E. 30 HALPERN, B. 189 HAMILTON, J.R. 35 40 44 HARB, G. 311 HARDWICK, M.E. 199 HARLOW, D. 186 HARNACK, A. VON 303 374-375 378 381 HARRISON, T. 8

402

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

HARTMAN, L. 178 HARTOG, P.B. 171 HASEL, G.F. 189 HAUSSLEITER, J. 113 HAWKINS, J.C. 273 HAYS, C.M. 382 394 HEFTNER, H. 31 43 52 HEIL, C. 311 321 HELD, H.J. 318 HELLHOLM, D. 187 HELM, R. 137 HELMBOLD, W.C. 28 HEMPEL, C. 173 HENGEL, M. 229 HENRICHS, A. 355 HERDER, J.G. 248-250 261 267 269 HERMANN, C.Fr. 70 HERMS, R. 185 HERNÁNDEZ, J. 369 HERNITSCHEK, E. 145 HERSHBELL, J.P. 27 HERZOG, R. 141 HILL, C.E. 353 369 379 HILLERS, D.R. 189 HIMMELFARB, M. 171 180 HIRSCH-LUIPOLD, R. 28 HOFFMANN, P. 284 326 HOGAN, K.M. 186 HOGG, J. 218-219 HOHL, E. 133-134 137 HOLLADAY, C.R. 355-356 HOLTZMANN, A. 247 265 269-270 HOLWERDA, D. 102 HOOKER, M.D. 288 HOPPEN, K.T. 271 HORN, C. 55 HORSLEY, R.A. 348 HORSTER, M. 47 HOWARD, W.F. 360 HUBY, P.M. 73 HÜBNER, H.G. 72 HUGHES, D.D. 89 HUMBLE, N. 50 HURTADO, L.W. 353 367 HUTCHINSON, G.O. 46 ILAN, T. 208 223 INGENKAMP, H.G. 30 32 INOWLOCKI, S. 199 ISAACSON, W. 207

JACKSON, D.R. 178 JACOBSEN, A.-C. 353 JACOBSON, A. 346 JACOBY, F. 34 102 JOHNSON, W.A. 352 JOHNSTON, P. 189 JONES, C.P. 33 36 42 JUST, F. 280 KAHLE, P. 172 KAMINSKY, J.S. 186 KEENER, C.S. 288 KEITH, C. 357 361 KENNEDY, G.A. 204 367 KIRK, A. 270 321 326-328 346 394 KISTER, M. 146 153 157-158 165 177 186 KLAWANS, J. 232 KLINGHARDT, M. 369-371 375 377379 381-386 393-396 KLOPPENBORG, J.S. 3 202 284 321323 325-326 329 335 341 346 353 361 367-368 370 KNIGHT, W. 199 KNOX, J. 224 375 381 387-390 KOCAR, A. 187 KOCHALSKY, A. 68 KOESTER, H. 323 KOKKINOS, N. 218 KONRAD, C.F. 43 44 KONRADT, M. 320 KRATZ, R.G. 171 KRAUS, C.S. 204 KREBS, C.B. 15 KRENKEL, M. 200 KRUGER, M.J. 353 369 379 KÜMMEL, W. 283 KUGEL, J.L. 147 149-150 153 LABAHN, M. 303 LACHMANN, K. 68 269 LAGRANGE, M.-J. 359 LAKE, K. 200-201 LAKS, A. 4 66-68 LANGLOIS, M. 175-176 LAPINI, W. 57-59 62 64 70 LARMOUR, D.H.J. 43 47 LARSEN, M.D.C. 315-317 319 370 372-373 384 397 LASALA NAVARRO, I. 141 LATEINER, D. 6

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

LAVERY, G.B. 32 LEAR, J.M. 362 LEFÈVRE, E. 110 LENDLE, O. 35 LENFANT, D. 16 LEONE, G. 65 LEONI, T. 211 LESSING, G.E. 247-248 254 264-265 LEVENSON, J. 189 LEVINSON, B.M. 171 LICHTENBERGER, H. 189 LIDDEL, P. 35 LIDONNICI, L. 145 LIEBER, A. 145 LIEU, J.M. 369-370 372-373 377 397 LINTOTT, A. 230 LODS, A. 193-194 LONG, H.S. 72 LONGENECKER, R. 190 LONGO, A. 59 LÓPEZ HERNANDO, M.P. 141 LUCE, T.J. 23 LURAGHI, N. 7 16 LUTTIKHUIZEN, G. 187 LUZ, U. 288-289 291 305-306 341 MA, J. 9 MAASS, E. 59 MACLAREN, M., JR. 11 MADDEN, F.W. 219 MAIER, G. 232 MARCOVICH, M. 67 72 MARINCOLA, J. 8-9 11 15 22-23 25 204 358 368 MARSH, H. 251-254 259 260 267 MARSHALL, I.H. 318 MARTIN, A. 91 105 MARTIN-ACHARD, R. 189 MASI, F.G. 62 MASON, S. 3 203-204 209-211 214 223 233 244 356 MATTHEWS, G.B. 41 MCLOUGHLIN, S. 380 MCNAMEE, K. 65 MEEUS, A. 15 22 MEJER, J. 56 MERKELBACH, R. 3 5 MESTRE, F. 27 METSO, S. 173 METZGER, B.M. 280 301-302

403

MIKLISZANSKI, J.K. 192 MILGROM, J. 188 MILIK, J.T. 145 173-178 180-181 189 193 MILLAR, F. 182 216 MILLER, T.A. 298 MIONNET, T.E. 219 MOLES, J.L. 43-44 MOLL, S. 381-382 394 MOMIGLIANO, A. 367 MONTES CALA, J.G. 43 MOORE, G.F. 233 MORCZEK, E. 171 MOREL, P.M. 58 MORGENTHALER, R. 273 274-275 278 281-282 287 292 295 298 308 358 MORRIS, L. 314 MOSSMAN, J.M. 28 46 MOST, G.W. 4 MOULTON, J.H. 360 MOYA DEL BAÑO, F. 36 MROCZEK, E. 341 MUCCIOLI, F. 30 35 MUELLER, H.-F. 46 MÜLLER, J.G. 248 MÜLLER, M. 358 MÜNCH, C. 294-295 MYNORS, R.A.B. 99 NAIDEN, F.S. 99 NAUCK, A. 78 98 NEIRYNCK, F. 284 NEUGEBAUER, O. 180 NEUSNER, J. 190 NEWPORT, K.G.C. 304 314 NEWSOM, C.A. 175 179 NEYREY, J.H. 363 367 NICKBAKHT, M. 125 127-131 133 136 NICKELSBURG, G.W.E. 173-175 177178 180-181 184-185 187 189-190 194-195 NICKLAS, T. 279 370 NIEDERHOFER, V. 145 NIELSEN, J.T. 358 NIKOLAIDIS, A.G. 33 35 39 46 49 50 52 NINEHAM, D.E. 349 NITZAN, B. 158 NOAM, V. 192 NONGBRI, B. 241

404

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

NORDEN, E. 359 NORLIN, D. 329 NOUSEK, D.L. 15 NÜNLIST, R. 10 NÜRNBERGER, C. 61 71 OBBINK, D. 80 83 90 93 105 OBSIEGER, H. 27 O’NEIL, E.N. 28 ONG, W.J. 367 OPSOMER, J. 30-31 46 PALMER, N.H. 269 PAPADI, D. 46 PARKE, H.W. 98 PARKER, R. 98 PARKS, S. 324 PARSONS, P. 65 PASCHOUD, F. 128 133 PATILLON, M. 74 78-79 PATSCH, H. 247 PELLING, C.B.R. 30-31 33 35-40 43 45-47 49-50 52 204 365 367 PENNER, T. 324 PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ, A. 28 30 32-33 4243 47 PERIAGO LORENTE, M. 115 PERRIN, B. 27 PERVO, R.I. 203 356 PETER, H. 31 34 PFANN, S.J. 176 PIERGIACOMI, E. 63 PIPER, R.A. 323 346 PIQUETS, K.E. 327 PITCHER, L. 11 PÖTSCHER, W. 74-79 83 85 95-96 101 108-109 113-118 POMYKALA, K. 187 POPOVIĆ, M. 355 PORDOMINGO PARDO, F. 48 PORTER, S.E. 359-360 PRICE, J.J. 208 PRIMAVESI, O. 91 105 PUECH, B. 27 42 PUECH, E. 176 190 PUGLIA, E. 58 QIMRON, E. 173 RAJAK, T. 211 RAMÓN, V. 27 30 39 RAPPAPORT, U. 145 RATZON, E. 178-181 187 197

RAU, E. 180 REGENBOGEN, O. 75 78 94 96 REIMARUS, H.S. 247 REITZ, C. 47 RENAN, E. 219 REVEL, B. 192 RHODES, P.J. 30 RIBEIRO MARTINS, P. 78 80 RIEDWEG, C. 55 RIVKIN, E. 235 ROBBINS, V.K. 363 ROBINSON, J.M. 202 284 323 326 328-329 334-335 337 341 343 RÖNSCH, H. 153 ROFE, A. 156 ROHRBAUGH, R.L. 328 ROLLENS, S.E. 327 329 334 343 346 348 350 ROOD, T. 10 ROSE, H.J. 36 ROSELLI, A. 58 ROSEMOUNT, H. 207 ROSEN, K. 126 133 ROSKAM, G. 3 30-31 38 43 46-48 50 53 ROTH, D.T. 303 334-335 337-338 369 371 374-379 382-383 388-389 393-394 397 ROUX, M. 210 RUDHARDT, J. 99 RUSSELL, D.A. 31 39 43 47-48 RUSSELL, D.S. 178 RUSSO, F. 35 RYDBECK, L. 359 SACCHI, P. 174-175 182 SAKKELION, I. 73 SALCEDO PARRONDO, M. 46 SALDARINI, A.J. 188 SÁNCHEZ ORTIZ DE LANDALUCE, M. 43 SANDAY, W. 273 389 394 SANDERS, E.P. 232 SANSONE, D. 48 SANTANA HENRÍQUEZ, G. 43 SANZ MORALES, M. 28 SARTORIUS, E. 260 SAVIGNAC, R. 218-219 SAWYER, J.A. 189 SCARDIGLI, B. 31 34 46-47 SCARDINO, C. 22 125

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

SCHENK, P. 139 SCHEPENS, G. 6 123 SCHETTINO, M.T. 34 SCHLEIERMACHER, F.D.E. 247-170 SCHMEKEL, A. 90 106 109-111 SCHMID, D. 247 SCHMID, W. 133 SCHMIDT, P.L. 141 SCHMIDT, T.S. 28 SCHMIEDEL, P.W. 201 217-219 224 SCHMITHALS, W. 178 SCHNEIDER, J.G. 61 68 71 SCHOFIELD, A. 171 SCHORN, S. 3 56 80 89-90 93 101 102 105 109 116 123 SCHRADER, C. 27 30 39 SCHRECKENBERG, H. 202-204 206 SCHRÖTER, J. 370 SCHUBERT, K. 202 SCHÜRER, E. 182 216 219 232 SCHWARTZ, D.R. 233 240 SCHWARTZ, E. 55 59 SCHWARTZ, S. 185 SCHWEGLER, A. 382 SCOTT, J.M. 179 SCOTT, J.S. 180 SEDLEY, D. 68 SEGAL, A. 188-190 SEGAL, M. 146-147 SEGL, R. 111 SEGONDS, A.P. 78 SETAIOLI, A. 36 SETZER, C. 189 SHAKED, S. 178 SHARPLES, R.W. 73 80 SHEMESH, A. 193 SHIPLEY, D.R. 40 SHORT, W. 175 SHULMAN, D. 178 SIGVARTSEN, J.A. 187 189 194-195 SIM, D.C. 365 SIMPSON-HOUSLEY, P. 180 SIRINELLI, J. 28 SKEAT, T.C. 362 SMALLEY, S.S. 318 SMITH, D.A. 311 357 370 375 377378 380 383 385 392-393 395-398 SMITH, M. 233 238 SMITH, W.C. 241

405

SNODGRASS, K.R. 303 SOARES, C. 46 SOARES-PRABHU, G. 301 SODANO, A.R. 82 101 115 SOMMER, M. 145 SPENGEL, L. 367 SPIJKERMAN, A. 218 STADTER, P.A. 30-32 36-38 40 43-44 47-50 STEELE, R.B. 20 STEINER, R.C. 189 STEMBERGER, G. 232 STERLING, G.E. 156 361 STOCK, B. 351-355 363 STONE, M.E. 154 174 178 182 190 STORR, G.C. 250-251 STREETER, B.H. 272-273 275 278 282 304 318 STROBACH, A. 36 STROUMSA, G.G. 178 353 STUCKENBRUCK, L. 176 194 SURIANO, M.J. 189 TALMON, S. 172 186-187 TANNEHILL, R. 331 335 337-338 TAORMINA, D.P. 59 TAYLOR, J.E. 233 TAYLOR, J.H. 356 TAYLOR, T. 115 TEODORSSON, S.-T. 30 TERTEL, H.J. 171 THEANDER, C. 30 34 THEODORIDIS, C. 73 77 THOMAS, S.I. 171 TIGAY, J.H. 171 TIGCHELAAR, E.J.C. 175 178-182 187 TITCHENER, F.B. 28 30-33 46 TIWALD, M. 319 TOSI, R. 30 TUCKETT, C.M. 294 301 TULLI, M. 62 TURNER, E.G. 65 TURNER, N. 343 360 TWAIN, M. 271 TYSON, J.B. 203 369-370 375 378 381 387-391 394-395 UEBERWEG, F. 55 ULRICH, J. 353 USENER, H. 61-62 65-68 72 VAAGE, L.E. 323

406

INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS

VAMVOURI, M. 28 VAN BELLE, G. 294 VAN DE WATER, R. 186 VAN DER DUSSEN, J. 244 VANDERKAM, J.C. 145 147 173 180 182 186 192 VAN DER STOCKT, L. 32 42-43 48 50 VAN DER TOORN, K. 171 VAN ECK, E. 328 VAN GRONINGEN, B.A. 34 VAN KOOTEN, G. 211 VAN MEIRVENNE, B. 43 VAN MINNEN, P. 362 VAN NUFFELEN, P. 80 VAN RUITEN, J. 211 VAN SEGBROECK, F. 341 VAN WEES, H. 6 VELA, J. 27 30 39 VERDE, F. 62 68-69 VERDEGEM, S. 31 33 38 43 47-48 VERHEYDEN, J. 3 279 294 370 VERMES, G. 182 216 VINZENT, M. 369-370 372 383-386 394 VOLZ, P. 188 VON DER MÜHLL, P. 61 65 67 70 72 WACKER, M.-T. 184 190 193-195 WACKERNAGEL, J. 104 WAITZ, G. 352-353 WALTERS, S.D. 172 WARDMAN, A.E. 30 44 47 WATSON, F. 357-358 365 367 WATT, J.M. 360 WAZANA, N. 147 WEHRLI, F. 74 112 114 WEISSE, C.H. 247 250 254 269-270 WENDT, H. 323 WERMAN, C. 145-148 162 165 170171 186 192

WERNLE, P. 283 WEST, M.L. 3 5 WEST, S.R. 9 WESTCOTT, B.F. 199 WESTERINK, L.G. 361 WEYL, H. 192 WHEALEY, A. 199 WHITE CRAWFORD, S. 171 WHITEHOUSE, R.D. 327 WIFSTRAND, A. 359 WILAMOWITZ-MOELLENDORFF, U. 59 98 WILKE, C.G. 270 WINDISCH, H. 201 WINTER, B.W. 361 WISCHMEYER, O. 356 WITTGENSTEIN, L. 351-352 WOLDE, G. 270 WOLFF, G. 98 WOLTER, M. 358 383 WOODMAN, A.J. 10 204 WORMELL, D.E.W. 98 WRIGHT, N.L. 218-219 WRIGHT, N.T. 189-190 WYRWA, D. 55 XENOPHONTOS, S.A. 43 YARBRO COLLINS, A. 289 YOSHIKO REED, A. 185 YOSKOWITZ, A. 171 ZADOROJNYI, A.V. 28 46 ZAMFIR, K. 279 ZECCHINI, G. 30 132 141 ZEKL, H.G. 82 115 ZIEGLER, K. 30 33 ZIMMERMANN, R. 295 303 ZIPPERT, T. 249

VON

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

Acta Senatus

21

Aelius Herodian General Prosody 3.1.54 223 On Modifications of Words 3.2.206 223 On Nominal Derivatives 3.2.859 224 Aeschylus

1.15 1.17

51 51

Aramaic Levi Document 147 Aratus of Sicyon Memoirs

37 35

Aratus of Soli Phaenomena

363

Archilochus

30

30

Aesop Fables

224

Aristarch

30

Agallis of Cercyra

102

Pseudo-Aristeas 177

356

Alcman

30 Aristobulus fr. 3 Holladay fr. 4 Holladay

356 355

(Tommaso) Aldobrandini 66 Alexander the Great Letters

35 40

Ammianus Marcellinus 15.1.1

11

Ammonius 41-42 45-47 Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories 4.6-13 41

Aristobulus of Cassandreia 12 14 17 40 FGrHist 139 F 41 13 FGrHist 139 F 54 14

Antiochus of Syracuse FGrHist 555 F 2

16

Aristophanes Birds 980-989 1354a Clouds 985 Peace 420

Antiphanes

85

Aristotle

Antisthenes

55

Apocryphon of Jeremiah

165

(Lucius Flavius) Arrian 18 23-24 Anabasis Praef. 1 17 7.18.1-5 14

Antigonus

Appian Civil Wars

17

(Gaius) Asinius Pollio

355 73 102 109 104 30 55 113

36 40

408

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

Athanasius of Alexandria Life of Anthony 2.3 353 Augustine

352

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 17.21.44

352 13

(Sextus) Aurelius Victor 125-133 136-137 139 141 On the Emperors 19.1-2 128 19.4 128 20.8-9 127 20.18 128 20.25-26 136 21.3 129 26.1 129 27.4 129 27.7-8 130 29.4 130 35.3-5 134 39.39-42 131 Berossus of Babylon FGrHist 680 F 1b (1) Bible Genesis 4 4,10 5 6 6,1-4 10 11 25,9 Exodus 20,5 20,6 Numbers 16,33 Deuteronomy 5,29 6,13

16

145-146 148-149 190 191 187 191 171 153 175 175 148 150 149 145-146 148 166 166 188 167 342

7,25 8,3 10,20 12,23 28,14 28,49-50 28,51 1 Samuel 2,6 28,8-19 2 Kings 2,11 2 Chronicles 36,20-21 1 Maccabees 2,22 2,27 2,50 2 Maccabees 2 Psalms 37,10 37,11 37,34 90 90,4 90,7 90,10 91,11-12 Wisdom Sirach 38,34 Isaiah 3,5 8,15 10,6 13,18 26 26,19 58,6 61,1-2 Jeremiah 5,17 25,8-12 29,10 Ezekiel 7,26 37 37,1-14

165 342 342 187 167 159 159 188 188 188 164 167 165 165 188 166 166 166 149 153 149 149 153 149 153 342 241 356 154 301 159 158 189 188 362 362 159 164 164 153 189 188

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

38–39 Daniel 9,24 9,27 12 12,1-3 Hosea 4,1-3 Zechariah 1,12 9,9 Q 3–4 3 3,7-9 3,16-17 4 4,1-13 4,4 4,8 4,10 4,12 7 7,3 7,27 7,31-32 7,33-34 7,35 9 10,5 11,15 11,24-26 11,30-32 11,49-51 12,6 12,29 12,45-46 12,54-55 12,58-59 13,25 13,29-30 13,34-35 16,16 16,17 17,23 17,26-30 17,33-35 17,37

159 175 164 164 189-190 195 189 153 164 300 247-270 392 321 392 392 321 392 343 364 343 364 343 364 343 321 333 345 364 336-337 336 335 321 345 345 338 346 392 392 392 345 346 345 346 346 392 325-326 328-329 392 293 364 345 305 305 305

19 19,12-13 19,15-20 19,21 19,22-24 19,26 Marcion’s Luke 3–4 4,27 4,34 4,43 6,27-28 9,2 11,2 16,16 17,14 22,19-20 22,20 23,2 24,4 Matthew 1–7 1–2 2,7-23 3–4 3 3,1-17 3,1-6 3,7-12 3,7 3,8-9 3,11-17 3,11 3,13 3,14-15 3,16-17 4 4,1-25 4,2-10 4,3-11 4,3 4,4 4,5-6 4,7 4,9 4,10 4,12 4,13-16

409

346 306 306 306 306 306 369-398 396 379 375 383 377 383 377 383 378 379 379 378 380 286-290 296 302 319 288 318 216 265 287-288 287-288 276 287 287 290 233 331 349 276 256 287 276 287 287 288-290 288 290 288 276 341 343 342 342-343 342 342-343 342-343 288 288

410 4,15 4,18-25 4,23-25 4,24 5,17 5,21-48 5,22-24 5,25-26 5,32 5,39-42 5,44-48 5,44 6,31 7,3-5 7,15 7,23 7,28–8,1 7,28 7,29 8–14 8–9 8 8,2-4 8,18-22 8,23–9,17 8,26-39 8,28-34 9 9,1-17 9,1-8 9,9 9,14-17 9,18-26 9,31-32 10 10,1-4 10,5-6 10,7-16 10,12 10,17-18 10,17 10,19-20 10,21-22 10,23 10,24-40 10,41 10,42 11–13 11

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

288 288 265 288-289 374 378 290 329 327 299 290 290 377 344 332 305 305 265 307 286 289 290-296 302 291-292 378 292 292 256 339-340 275 275 278 280 291 276 277 277 277 292 272 292 293 293 293 295-296 344 293 305 293 293 293 293 293 293 295 291 293

11,1 11,2-19 11,2-18 11,2-11 11,2-3 11,2 11,12-13 11,14-15 11,16-19 11,16-17 11,18-19 11,20 11,21-23 11,24 11,25-27 11,28-30 12 12,1-14 12,1-8 12,1-4 12,5-7 12,8 12,9-10 12,12-14 12,15-16 12,22-30 12,31 12,35-37 12,38-42 12,39-42 12,43-44 12,46-50 13 13,41 13,53–22,46 13,53-58 13,53 14–21 14 14,1-12 14,3 14,4-12 14,5 14,13-21 14,22-35 14,28-31 15–21 15–17 15,24

293 307 293 268 293 333 334 293 293 293 335 336 293 293 293 293 293 256 265 293-294 276 277 293 277 293 293 293 293 294 293 302 294 392 338 293 294-295 305 304 295 302-303 307 302 295-296 295 278 279 279 295-296 295-296 295-296 296-302 296-299 374

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

15,26 15,29-31 15,31 16,1-2 16,1 16,2-3 16,4 16,6 16,11-12 17,14-20 17,20 17,21 17,24-27 18 18,1-6 18,1-2 18,5-6 18,7-14 18,8-9 18,11 18,15-20 18,21-35 19–20 19 19,1-2 19,1 19,9 19,10-12 19,13-15 19,16-22 19,21 19,23-30 19,28 19,30 20 20,16 20,17-19 20,20-28 20,29-34 21 21,1–28,8 21,1-11 21,4-5 21,12-13 21,14-17 21,18-22 21,23-27 21,23 21,28-32

374 298 272 294 233 344 294 233 233 298 345 281 298 248 298-299 303 298-299 298 298 298 298-299 281 299 299 299-300 299-300 299 307 299 299 299 299 353 299 300 300 300 300 300 300 300 300 300 300 300 301 301 301 301 301-302 301

21,33-42 21,43-45 21,43 21,44 21,45 21,46 22–28 22 22,1 22,2-14 22,15 22,16 22,23-33 22,34 23 23,7-8 23,13-36 23,14 23,34 23,37-39 24–25 24 24,1–26,1 24,1-36 24,9 24,10-12 24,12 24,14 24,37-51 24,37-41 24,42 24,43-44 24,45-51 24,48-51 25 25,1-13 25,14-30 25,31-46 26–27 26,1–27,66 26,1 26,30-35 26,30 27,62 28,2 28,3 28,4 28,9-10

411

301 301 301 301 302 301-302 302-310 305 302 302 303 233 187 303 303-306 313-314 326 313-314 313 281 303 233 325 294 306 304-306 307 304 306 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 337 306 306 306 328 306 307 307-309 307 274 274 233 309 380 309 318

412 28,11-20 28,16-20 28,19-20 28,19 Mark 1–6 1 1,1–16,8 1,1-13 1,1 1,2-6 1,2 1,7-11 1,7-8 1,9-11 1,12-20 1,12-13 1,14-15 1,21 1,22 1,23-28 1,29-34 1,40-45 2 2,1–3,6 2,1-22 2,1-12 2,2 2,13-17 2,13 2,14 2,15 2,18-22 2,18 2,23–3,35 2,23–3,6 2,23-28 2,23-26 2,25 2,27 2,28 3,1-6 3,6 3,7-12 3,16-19 3,20-21 3,22-27 3,28 3,31-35

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

309 288 305 309 296 292 280-281 276 276 276 287 364 276 256 287 288-290 276 288-289 288 289 286 289 272 278 292 292 292 276-277 315-316 276 277 277 277 277 277 277 277 233 277 337 294 276 277 293 364 277-278 293 293 233 293 293 366 294 293 293

4 4,1-20 4,1 4,12 4,35-41 5 5,1-21 5,1-20 5,21 5,22-43 6 6,1–12,27 6,1–12,12 6,1-6 6,6-13 6,6 6,7 6,14-29 6,17 6,18-29 6,19-20 6,30-44 6,34 6,45–8,26 6,45-56 7–9 7,1-23 7,1 7,3-5 7,5 7,6 7,16 7,31-37 7,32-36 7,37 8,11-12 8,11 8,15 8,22-26 8,31 9–10 9,12 9,13 9,14-29 9,31 9,33-37 9,41 9,43 9,44

292 295 295 360 366 292 292 275 292 278 280 292 292 292 295-296 366 304 302 295 366 295-296 292 293 295 278 278 279 295-296 292 251 385-386 396 295-296 296-297 274 233 233 233 364 280 297 272 272 294 360 233 297 366 385 315 296 364 364 298 315 298 293 298 280

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

9,46 9,47 10 10,1-31 10,1 10,2-12 10,11 10,13-16 10,17-22 10,23-31 10,31 10,32-34 10,33-34 10,35-45 10,41-44 10,46-52 11,1–16,8 11,1-11 11,12-24 11,12-14 11,15-17 11,17 11,20-26 11,20-24 11,26 11,27-33 12,1-12 12,10 12,13-31 12,13 12,18-27 12,18 12,26 12,38-39 13 13,3-9 13,3-8 13,9-13 13,9-10 13,9 13,12 13,13 13,14 13,35 14,1–15,47 14,21 14,26-31 14,26 14,27

280 298 292 299-300 299-300 299 299 299 299 299 299 300 300 315 300 366 292 300 385 300 300 301 301 366 301 364 366 301 280 301 301 364 302 233 187 233 364 314 306 366 366 366 305 293 293 305 364 305 307-308 364 274 274 364

15,15 15,28 16,1-8 16,5 16,9-20 16,15-16 16,16 Luke 1–2 1,1–4,13 1,1–2,52 1,1-4 1,3 1,5–2,52 1,5 2 2,1-3 2,1 2,2 2,21-38 2,41-52 2,52 3–23 3,1-2 3,1 3,2–4,13 3,2-22 3,2-20 3,4 3,7-9 3,8 3,10-14 3,16-18 3,16 3,19-20 3,21-22 3,23-38 4 4,1-13 4,3 4,4 4,6-7 4,8 4,9-11 4,12 4,14-30 4,14-15 4,16-30

413

364 280 309 380 280 309-310 370 309 293 369-398 389 375-376 388 375 204 209 217 234 365 387 231 357 387 216 223 216 216 216 367 367 367 389 217 375 387 375 390 375 358 364 287 331 349 199 287 256 334 360 364 366 378 388 390 341 343 342 342-343 342-343 342-343 342 344 375 381 361 366 378

414

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

4,17 4,18-19 4,21 4,22 4,23 4,27 4,31-35 4,31 4,43 5,17–7,17 6–7 6,17–8,3 6,20-49 6,27-36 6,27-28 6,41-42 7 7,11-17 7,17 7,18-35 7,18-28 7,18-20 7,18-19 7,20 7,21 7,27 7,31-35 7,31-32 7,33-34 7,36 8,1-3 8,1 8,4 9–12 9,51–18,15 9,51–18,14 9,51–18,12 9,57-62 10,5 10,13-15 10,21-24 10,26-27 11,2 11,14-23 11,24 11,27-28 11,29-32 11,29 11,37

362 362 364 364 367 378 378 378 375 378 382 268 366 259 289 290 377 332 260 366 367 268 293 333 334 336 334 364 293 335-336 336 234 366 383 360 366 260 251 253 257 264 259-260 256-257 339-340 344 293 293 364 377 256 338 367 294 392 360 234

12 12,2-8 12,29 12,39-40 12,42-46 12,45-46 12,54-55 12,58-59 13–17 13 13,1-9 13,21-22 13,29-35 13,29-30 13,31 13,34-35 14,1 14,16-24 15,11-32 16,16 17,6 17,7-10 17,11-19 18,15–19,48 19,11-27 19,12-27 19,29-40 19,39 19,45-46 19,46 19,48 20,27-40 20,42 21,12 22 22,28 22,30 22,42 24 24,4 24,12 24,13-53 24,26-27 24,27 24,32 24,37 24,39 24,45-46 24,45

329 346 257 344-345 305 305 337 344 327 366 392 389 268 377 392 381 234 325 234 302 382 389 382 345 376 378 268 328 306 390 234 390 364 268 187 364 366 366 300 300 358 389 380 376-377 387 364 363 363 378 378 364 363

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

John 1,24 3,1 7,32 7,45-48 11,47 11,57 Acts 1,20 2,22 2,43 4,1 4,5 4,10 4,16 4,19-20 4,30 5,12 5,17 5,26 5,34 5,37 5,38-39 5,40 6,8 7,36 7,42 8,12 9,1-22 9,29 10,10-14 10,28 11,28 13,26 13,33 14,3 15,5 15,12 17,28 18,1-11 18,12-17 18,25-26 19,13 20,25 21,38 22,3 23,1-10 23,3 23,4-9

233 233 233 233 233 233 332 358 364 227 227 234 234 234 217 244 227 227 232 234 234 234 216 244 234 227 227 358 364 383 244 357 244 244 216 332 364 227 232 234 227 363 366 366 231 357 383 225 231 231 234 240 234

23,6-7 23,15 23,20 24,5 24,14 24,22 26,5 26,19 28,22 28,31 Romans 9,7 1 Corinthians 11,2 11,19 11,23 15,3-5 Galatians 3,7 5,20 Colossians 2,18 James 1,26-27 1 Peter 3,6 2 Peter 2,1

187 231 231 232 232 231 231-232 244 232 383

Book of the Dead

356

Book of Giants

173 176

415

332 323 232 323 323 323 332 332 232 241 241 332 232

(Caius Iulius) Caesar Anticato 35 Gallic War 14 1.50.4 15 2.16.1 15 2.17.2 15 4.18.4 15 Callimachus

65

Callisthenes

40

Cassius Dio Roman History 53.19.1-6 53.19.4-6

13 136 208 222 12 207

416

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

72.18.1–21.3 72.18.3-4 72.18.4 73.1.4-5 73.3.2 73.8.1-5 73.12.1–13.3

13 13 11 13 13 13 13

Cato the Elder

17 20

Chares

40

Cleitarchus

40

Cleomenes

37

(Marcus) Cluvius Rufus

21

(Lucius) Coelius Antipater 20-21 FRHist 15 F 49 14 Consularia Italica 140

Chronicon Laudunensis

352-353

(Marcus Tullius) Cicero 29 61 397 Against Gaius Verres 2.1.9 230 Against Piso 16 [37] 230 38 230 Cato the Elder on Old Age 35 2.4 [7] 230 2.7 230 In Defense of Publius Sestius  230 39 230 In Defense of Sextus Roscius of Ameria 39, 76, 93–94 230 103, 152 230 Letters 36 Letters to Atticus 12.52.3 29 Letters to Brutus 89.306–91.316 237 Letters to Friends 13.1, 2 237 On Behalf of Aulus Cluentius 230 On the Ends of Goods and Evils 1.6 29 1.16 237 On Fate 39 238 On His Consulship 35 40 On His House 49 230 (Lucius) Cincius Alimentus 14 17 20 FRHist 2 F 5 14

Ctesias of Cnidus FGrHist 688 T 3 / F 5 FGrHist 688 T 8 / F 45 (§ 51) FGrHist 688 TT 11a-j Cydias

16 11 16

30

Cyril of Alexandria Against Julian 77 Dead Sea Scrolls 1QIsa 361 1QS 173 1QS 6-7 233 4Q175 21-29 186 4Q201-202 174 178-179 4Q201 175 177 197 4Q202 176 197 4Q203 176 4Q204-206 176 197 4Q204 177 4Q205 176-177 186 4Q206 176-177 4Q207 174 4Q208-211 174 4Q212 174 4Q255-264 173 4Q390 (Pseudo-Moses) 148 161 164 167170 4Q390 Col. I. 7-9 162-163 4Q390 Col. II 2-4 163 4Q390 Col. II 8-9 164 4Q390 Col. II. 6-10 162-163 176 4QEnc 4QMMT 3,5-7 165 4QpPs-a 1-10 185 5Q11 173

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

5Q13 CD 6,15-16 Pesher Habakkuk XI 2-8 Pesher Psalms Rule of the Community 1,15 Visions of Amram Demetrius of Laconia

58

Democritus

55

Demosthenes Orations 18.259

30

173 165 185 185 167 147

10.73 10.74 10.90 10.91 10.96–97 10.97 10.84–116 10.117–121 10.122–135 10.135 10.136–138 10.139–154 10.139

417

61 69 61 63 69 61 66 61 63-64 67 61 63 62 56 61 68 57 56 61 57 58 56 61 71 61 63

355 Diogenes of Oenoanda 61

Dialogue of Adamantius 379 Dio Chrysostom

222

Diocles of Peparethos

18

Diodorus of Sicily Library of History 1.43.3-4

140 204 239 113

Diogenes Laertius 55-72 Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers 55 2.125 98 3.47 59 5.16 73 10 56 61 64 10.1–16 57 10.16–21 57 10.22–26 57 10.22 57 10.27–28 57-58 10.28–29 58 10.29–154 57 10.29–34 57 10.35–83 56 62 71 10.39 61-62 65 10.40–41 62 10.40 61 10.43 61 63 10.44 61-63 10.56–57 63 10.61 63 10.66 61 64

Diogenes of Sinope

55

Diogenes of Tarsus Select Lectures

64 62-63

Dionysius of Halicarnassus 15-16 23-24 39-40 239 Roman Antiquities 1.6.1-2 17 1.6.2 11 1.7.3 17 2.63.2 241 6–8 31 On Thucydides 5.2-3 16 Empedocles 55 86-87 89-91 VS 31 B 3.1-5 (= D 44 Laks – Most) 4 VS 31 B 128.1-8 90 VS 31 B 128.8-10 91 VS 31 B 139 91 1 Enoch 1–36 1–9 1–5 1 2–5

147 171-172 174 177 173-179 182 185186 188-191 195197 176 174 177-178 176 175 177-178

418 2 5 6–36 6–19 6–16 6–13 6–11 6 8 9 9,9 9,10 10–11 10 10,4-8 10,9-10 10,11-15 10,15 11–36 12–16 12 13 13,8 14–19 14 17–36 17–32 17–19 18–34 18 18,6-9 18,9–19,3 18,17 20–36 20–32 20 21–36 21–32 21–25 21 22–24 22 22,1-4 22,2 22,5-7 22,8 22,9 22,11 22,13 23

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

176 176 177 175 175 177-178 175 175 184-185 176 176 184 193 176 193 177 176 184 184 191 195 176 176 175 176 176 176 175 176 175-179 197 178 179 181 176 176 181 181 177 179 181 181 179 179 179-181 179 181 180-181 176 171-197 182 184-185 184 194 185 187 190 193 184 194 176 196 178 180-181

24–25 24,1-3 25 26–27 28–32 33–36 37–71 72–82 83–90 85–90 91–105 106–107 108

180 181 181 195 180-181 181 178 180 173-174 173-174 179 173-174 176-177 176 186 197 173-174 176-177 173 173

Ephorus Universal History

240 34

Epicurus Big Epitome On Nature Twelve Rudiments

55-72 62-63 66 62-63 65-66 70-71 62-63

Epimenides

363

Epiphanius Panarion 42.9.1-2 42.9.2 42.10.2-5 42.10.4 42.11.6 sch. 69 42.11.17, e. 28

372-374 379

Euripides Hippolytus 954

370 375 374 374 374 378 372

355

Eusebius of Caesarea 137 229 244 Ecclesiastical History 1.5.3 205 3.9.1-2 205 3.39.14-17 265 5.8.2-4 372 Preparation for the Gospels 77 Eutropius

125-133 136-137 139 141 Abridgement of Roman History 8.17 128

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

8.18.4 8.19.1 8.20 9.1 9.2.2-3 9.4 9.13.1-2 9.13.2 9.22.2

127 128 129 129 130 130 133 138 130-131

Fabius Maximus

17

Fabius Pictor

11 17-18 20

Fabius Rusticus

21

(Gaius) Fannius FRHist 12 F 4

13

Fenestella FRHist 70 F 16

14

Festus 24.1

137 139 138-139

Fronto

352

Galen 223 352 Affections and Errors of the Soul 5.102 237 Gelasius of Caesarea Ecclesiastical History

140

Genesis Apocryphon

147

Gospel of the Hebrews

249-250

Gregory of Nyssa 377 Hecataeus of Miletus 5-7 16 FGrHist 1 F 1a = EGM F 1 5 FGrHist 1 F 19 = EGM F 19 5 Heraclitus

55

Hermarchus

57 118

Herodian of Syria History of the Roman Empire 1.2.5 11

Herodotus Histories praef. 1 1.87.1-2 2 2.18 2.37 2.55 2.99 2.99.2ff. 2.112–120 2.121α.1-ζ2 3.55.3 4.76.6 5–9 9.15.4

419

6-16 18-20 22 30 34 324 7 8 7 6-7 241 241 19 6 6 8 7 19 19 6 19

Hesiod Catalogue of Women F1 F 127 Theogony 1 22 24ff. 25 421-424 629-638 Works and Days 12-13 25 113-114 121-122 130-131 176-178 181 183-184

30 85 5 3 5

Pseudo-Hesiod

148 157-158 166 168-169

3 3 3 4 148 148 148 154 157 156 156 155 155 155 155 155 154

Hippolytus Refutation of All Heresies 9.24 187 Historia Augusta Life of Aurelian

125-126 133-136 141 134-136

420

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

32.3-4 134 39.1 134 Life of Septimius Severus 137 18.9-10 136-137 Thirty Tyrants 134-135 24.2-5 135 25.2 135 Homer Iliad 1.1 2 2.484-492 Odyssey 1.1

22-23 30 203 8 3 3 4 8 3

Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) Satires 1.4 230 Iambic and Elegiac Poets (IEG2) F 1-18 3 F 9.2-6 4 F 13 4 F 13.1-2 3 F 14.1-2 5 Inscriptions CIG 4521 218-219 CIG 4523 218 CIJ II 1404.4–5 = CIIP I 9 [pp. 53-56] 356 IG V,1 1390.12 355 I.Priene 105.40 357 OGIS 56A.68-70 355 Irenaeus of Lyons Against Heresies 1.27.2 1.27.4 3.1.1 3.11.8

372-374 397 370-372 372 372-373 372

Jerome of Cardia 17 Jerome of Strido Chronicle 222 e 222 g

137-139 141 138 138

(Flavius) Josephus 182 192 199-144 356 397 Against Apion 211 1.2 357 1.6-43 244 1.8 240 1.58-59 204 1.67 240 1.223-253 226 1.261 241 1.270 226 1.279 226 2.28-42 226 2.128-134 226 2.138-144 226 2.254 241 Jewish Antiquities 200 208 211 213 243 357 praef. 5 17 1.14 239 1.17 239 1.27 238 1.107 150-151 1.162 226 1.166 226 1.222-224 241 1.234 241 2.132 240 2.201-204 226 2.239-241 226 4.74 241 4.137 238 4.277-280 192 4.306 241 4.361 238 5.98-101 241 5.112 241 5.339 241 5.522 238 6.13 238 6.19 241 6.40 238 6.205 238 6.216 238 6.367-369 238 6.399 238 6.405 238 6.421 238 6.430 238

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

7.78 8.262 13.171-173 13.171 13.188-196 13.288 13.292-293 13.293-298 13.293 13.294-296 13.297-298 13.298 13.299 13.311 13.372-282 13.392 13.400-404 13.418 13.430-432 14.39 14.118 14.126 14.297 14.330 15.92 15.344-364 15.371-378 15.371 17.41 17.300-314 17.304-314 17.317-320 17.319 17.342-344 17.346 17.354 18–20 18 18.1.4 18.2 18.3-4 18.3 18.5-6 18.9-11 18.9-10 18.11-22 18.15-17 18.17 18.23-25

241 204 232 235 237-238 237 238 235 237-239 235 193 237 239 235 232 238 240 186 235 186 219 238 219 238 219 204 219 219 219 220 220 235 237 239-240 214 214 214 220 214 235 214 223 215 235 187 214 216 214 216 216 237 214 232 238-239 223 235 214

18.23 18.116-119 18.237 19.81-82 19.275 19.356-366 19.356-359 20 20.1-9 20.2-6 20.10-16 20.14 20.17-96 20.43 20.51-53 20.97-99 20.101 20.102 20.138 20.159 20.167-168 20.169 20.199 20.258 20.260 20.262 20.263 20.267 Jewish War 1–2 1 1.1-30 1.1-8 1.1.3 1.2-8 1.2 1.13-16 1.28 1.67 1.78 1.90-98 1.103 1.110-112 1.110 1.148-150 1.185-186 1.248 1.398-340 1.398

237 199 220 226 220-221 222 221 221 223 226 222 222 222 223 222 240 216 222 216 215 221 224 218 220-221 218 226 227 237 239 239 239 239 239 243 200 210 213 204 208 358 208 11 205 237 244 226 186 235-236 186 219 238 236 240 241 219 219 220 220

421

422 1.440 1.592 2 2.4 2.8.15 2.10 2.21 2.42 2.80 2.91 2.95 2.113 2.117-118 2.118 2.119-166 2.119-161 2.119-133 2.119 2.122 2.125 2.137-157 2.137 2.142 2.143 2.160 2.162-166 2.162 2.164 2.215 2.247 2.252 2.253-265 2.254 2.259 2.362 2.391 2.411 2.414 2.425 2.433 2.451 2.456 2.517 3.436 3.11 4 4.18 4.130-150

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

220 223 214 217 229 231 233 238 187 241 214 241 214 214 220 235-236 212 237 213 232 236 235 78 213 236-237 236-237 236 78 237 237 236 236 235 237-238 240 236 220 220 218 225 229 226 226 241 238 241 229 241 213 208 241 241 238 235 226 208 211

4.140-141 4.218 4.391 4.400 4.516 5–7 5–6 5.1-38 5.136-247 5.145 5.248-257 5.317-330 5.539 6.169-176 6.170 6.214 6.236-243 6.288-300 6.309 6.312-315 6.392 6.397-398 6.420-421 7 7.253 7.262 7.275 7.297 7.311 7.373 7.410 7.415 7.434 7.437 7.444 7.447-450 7.454 The Life 5 10–12 10 12 21 40–41 40 189–191 191 197 336

208 241 238 229 229 211 211 211 211 235 211 208 238 208 238 238 210 211 211 211 238 238 212 229 213 216 229 229 229 229 229 238 229 229 241 229 229 205 239 243 232 237 237 237 238 215 357 238 237 240 237-238 205 215

423

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

362–364 428–429 Jubilees 1,29 4,31 22 23 23,9-10 23,9 23,11-14 23,11 23,12-13 23,12 23,13 23,14 23,15 23,16-20 23,16 23,17 23,18 23,19-20 23,19 23,20 23,21-24 23,21 23,22-24 23,23-24 23,23 23,25 23,26 23,27-31 23,28 23,29 23,30-31 23,31 30,18

205 205 191-192 166 191 149 145-170 151-151 149-151 151-152 153 155 153 153 153 157 151 153 151-152 159-160 154 158 161 166168 153 157 153 186 154 158 161 164168 168 160 157-158 161 164165 167 158 158 159 151 155 158 156 156 155 157 157 166 155 147

Justin Martyr Dialogue with Trypho 2 237 First Apology 67.3-5 354 Justinian Digest

48.1 Institutes 4.18.5 Licinius Macer FRHist 27 F 18

230 230 17

(Titus) Livius 20 24 36 139 The History of Rome 1.44.2 20 1.55.8 20 2.40.10 20 3.5.13 20 21.38.2 20 21.38.6 20 21.46.10 20 22.31.8 20 26.49.3 20 30.19.11 20 30.45.5 23 31–45 23-24 33.10.8 20 33.10.10 23 34.15.9 20 34.50.6 23 36.19.11 23 38.54.11 20 45.44.19 23 Lucian of Samosata 42 45-47 354 Demonax 360 How to Write History 47 10 358 48 41 Menippus 45 237 The Passing of Peregrinus 11 354 Philosophies for Sale 237 (Titus) Lucretius (Carus) On the Nature of Things 61 2.1145-1146 67 Lucullus

32

4 Maccabees

241

Manetho of Egypt FGrHist 609 F 1

16

424

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

Marcion

357 369-398

15.111-126

110

Marcus Aurelius

352

Papias

Megasthenes FGrHist 715 F 12 § 4

113

Menander

76 85

Metrodorus

57

Mimnermus of Colophon Smyrneis

30 4

Papyri Papyrus Herculanensis 1012 58 1148 65 Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 2069 173 2258 65 Papyrus Panopolitanus 193

Naevius FLP 4 fr. 2

13

247 249 254 265266 268-269

Parmenides VS 28 B 1.1-5 (= D 4 Laks – Most) 4

Olympiodorus Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories 6.25-35 41

Pausanias Description of Greece 1.24.4 102 1.28.10 102 4.26.8 355 9.29.4 4

Onesicritus

40

Philinus

Oppius

37

Philo

Origen

229

Origo Constantini

132

(Publius) Ovidius (Naso) Fasti 1 1.337-348 1.339-342 1.345 1.349-382 1.349 1.354 1.361 1.363 4 4.395-416 4.395-402 Metamorphoses 15 15.73-103 15.103

111

Oath of Assaf the Physician 147

110 109 110 110 110 97 99 110 110 110 109 110 110-111 110 109 110

18

192 235 239 241 356 Against Flaccus 227 On the Contemplative Life 1 235 21 237 29 237 On the Embassy to Gaius 211–216 227 316 227 On Planting 151 237 On the Preliminary Studies 137 192 On the Special Laws 1.76-78 227 2.26-28 192 2.252-253 192 3.108 192 3.181-204 192 That Every Good Person Is Free 75–91 237 That the Worse Attacks the Better 48 187

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

Philoponus Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories 3.29–4.10 41 Photius Bibliotheca cod. 190 p. 148b18-21 77 Lexicon κ 1234 73 77 Phylarchus

37

Pindar

30

Plato Phaedo Timaeus 35a7

30 40 55 361

Pliny the Elder

21 235 352 354

Pliny the Younger Letters 5.8.12

53

15

Plutarch 23 61 222 Moralia Sayings of Kings and Commanders 48-49 Sayings of the Spartans 38 47-49 Virtues of Women 243BC 51 Roman Questions 38 Greek Questions 29 38 292B 30 294D 30 295D-F 30 On the Epsilon at Delphi 384E 27 On Tranquility of Mind 464F-465A 42 On the Sign of Socrates 575C-D 37 Table Talks 629E 48 636D 355 729E-F 98 Precepts of Statecraft 222

425

On the Malice of Herodotus 30 On the Face Which Appears in the Orb of the Moon 29 923A-C.F 30 927B 30 931E-F 30 934B.F 30 935F 30 938B.D 30 940A.C.F 30 941A 30 942F 30 944F 30 Whether Land or Sea Animals Are Cleverer 112 959E-963F 78 On the Eating of Flesh 993C-D 113 Platonic Questions 29-30 1006C 30 1010E-1011A 30 Summary of On the Generation of the Soul in the Timaeus 1012C 53 It Is Impossible to Live Pleasantly in the Manner of Epicurus 1095BC 48 Parallel Lives Aemilius Paullus 5.10 Agesilaus Agis/Cleomenes 9.2 15.4 20.5 21.5 22.4 37.4-5 38.4 40.4 45.8 Alcibiades 1.7-8 4.1-4 6.1-5 Alexander 1.1-2 1.2

27-53 204 366 27 40 204 35 51 51 51 35 35 35 44 33 46 48 35 51 51 35 40 365 44

426

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

20.8 35 50.1 Antony 68.7-8 Aristides 9 Artaxerxes Brutus Caesar 3.2 8.4 54.2-3 Camillus Cato the Younger 9.10 11.4 36.3 Cicero 10–23 35.1 39.5 Cimon 10.8 Cleomenes 5.3 28.1 30.2 Coriolanus 1.2-5 15.4 32.5-8 38.2-7 Crassus 13.4 Demosthenes proem 2.1 2.3 Demetrius 1.5-6 Dion Eumenes 13.4-8 14.3 Fabius 1.1 Flamininus 10.8-10

44 48 44 33 365 20 44 46 33 365 33 365 35 35 35 33 33 32 35 35 33 40 35 44 35 45 204 204 204 31 33 40 51 51 48 48 33 365 35 27 34-35 27 34 37 36 32 33 52 51 44 27 34 48

Lucullus 33 Lycurgus 1.7 39 Marius 35.4 35 Nicias 31 33 38 40 1.5 44 365 4.4-8 35 Numa 33 Pericles 40 9.2 45 13.8-10 35 16.2 35 24.1 44 24.12 48 Philopoemen 34 5.3-4 45 Pompey 33 365 8.7 44 10.9 37 Publicola 33 Pyrrhus 27.4 204 Romulus 33 3.1 18 Sertorius 11.3-8 51 20.1-5 51 21.1-3 44 Solon 35 Sulla 6.8 35 37.1 35 Tiberius/Gaius Gracchus 1.1 27 2.2 51 2.5 51 Themistocles 38 14–15 44 Timoleon 33 13.10 52 Lives of the Caesars Galba 1.3 Otho

29 30 30 30

Aratus 3.3

35

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

32.5 33.3 38.6 38.8 38.11-12

35 35 35 204 37

Pseudo-Plutarch On the Training of Children 10.8A-B 237 Polemius Silvius

132

Polybius

6 11-12 14-15 1719 22-24 30 34 122 239

Histories 1.14.2-3 1.58.5 2.37.4 3.1.4 3.33.17-18 4.2.3 9.2.1-2 12 12.2-4 12.4-6 12.5 12.7 12.12-13 12.28a.8-10 21.38.1-7 22.19.1-2 29.5.1–9.13

18 18 357 357 19 15 15 23 204 204 204 204 204 12 14 13 14

Porphyry On Abstinence from Animal Food 73-123 235 1.2.3 118 1.12.3-4 118 1.38.2 84 2.10 100-101 104 114 2.10.2 100 2.10.3–11.2 114 2.10.3-4 84 113-117 95-96 111 113 120 2.10.3 2.10.4–11.2 122 2.10.4 114 116-117 2.11.1-2 117-121

2.11.1 2.11.2-3 2.11.2 2.11.3–12.1 2.11.3 2.12–14 2.12 2.12.2–13.3 2.13.4–20.1 2.13.4–15.3 2.14.1 2.15 2.15.1-3 2.16–20.1 2.16.1–19.3 2.16.1–19.2 2.19.4–20.1 2.20.1 2.20.2–22.1 2.20.2 2.21 2.21.1–22.1 2.21.1 2.21.3-4 2.21.4 2.22–24 2.22.1 2.22.2–23.2 2.22.2 2.24 2.24.1-5 2.25 2.25.1–26.5 2.25.(1)2-5 2.25.1 2.25.3 2.25.4 2.26.1–28.2 2.26.1-4 2.26.1 2.26.5 2.27–28 2.27 2.27.1–28.2 2.27.1-7 2.27.1

427

116 96 94 114 120 76 84 94-95 118 120 117 94 85 85 77 106 86 109 77 85 122 86 76 85 76 90 121 76 86-87 91 95-96 119 87 91 110 73 77 86 89 117 77 86-87 90 88 88 107 116 88 107 112-113 118119 88 107 113 113 113 121 88 76 117-121 90 90 116 90 90 88 90-91

428

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

2.27.2 2.27.4 2.27.6 2.28.1 2.28.2 2.28.3-4 2.28.3 2.28.4 2.29–30 2.29–31.1 2.29.1–31.1 2.29.1–30.5 2.29.1 2.29.3 2.29.4 2.30.4 2.30.5 2.31 2.31.1 2.31.2 2.31.3 2.31.4 2.31.5 2.32 2.32.3 2.4 2.4.1 2.4.4 2.5–32 2.5 2.5.1–8.3 2.5.1–7.2 2.5.1–7.1 2.5.1 2.5.2–6.1 2.5.2 2.5.3-4 2.5.4 2.5.5 2.6.1ss. 2.6.1 2.6.3 2.6.4 2.7.1 2.7.2–8.3 2.7.2 2.7.3

109 118 89 116-117 89 109 89 105 107 101 105 107 99-100 102 109 122 100 94-95 92 100-102 104 106 92 102 103 104 98 91 113 105 107-108 91 91 91 108 122 75 122 115 119 74-75 73-74 122 90 79 90 96 121 75 80 110 118 110 86 87 80-81 80 86 77 80 80 87 91 110 87 91 96 108 120-121 80 84-85 89-92 96 113 120-121 76 81-83 90 93

2.8 2.8.1-2 2.8.1 2.8.2 2.8.3 2.9–11 2.9–10 2.9 2.9.1–11.2 2.9.1–10.3 2.9.1–10.2 2.9.1 2.9.2 2.9.3 3.1.1 3.25.1-4 3.25.1-3 3.25.1 4.11.3–13.9 4.17.6 4.20.7–24.5

84 95-96 76 93 86 92 94-96 114 120121 95 100 104 106107 120 122 84 95 94-121 84 95 122 84-85 96 107 111 113 120 97 106 84 87 74 84 78 84 78

Posidonius 111 FF 255, 269 Edelstein-Kidd 13 Ptolemy Chennus New History 3.21

77 77

Pyrrhon

55

Pythagoras Sacred Discourse

55 109 355

Quintilian Institutes 1.pr.7

384

Rabbinic Works Avot of Rabbi Nathan A 5.2 b. Bava Qamma 83b-84a b. Sanhedrin 90a-92b Genesis Rabbah 22,8 Genesis Rabbah 22,9 m. Bava Qama 8,1 m. Sanhedrin 9,1

187 192 187 191 191 192 192

429

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

m. Sanhedrin 10,1 187 Megillat Taanit 192 Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael 192 Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon bar   Yochai 21,12 193 Midrash Va-yisaʽu 147 Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 21 191 R. Eliezer 192 R. Yudan 191 Targum Onqelos 191 Targum Pseudo-Jonathan Gen 4,8 191 y. Talmud 192 y. Talmud 7,3 [24b] 192 (Gaius) Sallustius (Crispus) 36 War with Catiline 4.2-5 208 48.9 14 Scholia on the Iliad Σ 483-606, IV p. 530,6-8

77 102

Seleucus

30

Seneca

61

Stesichorus 30 FF 90–91 Davies-Finglass 8 FF 90, 100.6, 172 Davies-Finglass 3 Stobaeus 3.3.42

77

Strabo Geography 3.23.19 16.2.10

241 219

Suetonius Vespasianus 4.5

35

Sulpicius Severus Chronicle 2.30.6-8

210-212 244 210 210

(George) Syncellus

172-173 193

Sibylline Oracles 3

148

Silenus

17

Simplicius Commentary on Epictetus 38.177-180

76 83

Socrates

55

Solon

35

Song of Saint Alexius

352

Annals 1.69.2 3.16.1 4.53.2 6.12 6.22 13.20.2 15.61.3 15.74.3 Histories 1.1 2.101 5.1-13 5.2-5 5.2.1 5.3-5 5.4 5.5 5.12-13 5.12 5.13

Sophocles

30 85

Tertullian

357 384

212

Sulla Memoirs

Tacitus Shepherd of Hermas Similitudes 9.2.6 Visions 2.4.8

205

20-21 205 210-212 352 19 21 21 19 21 355 238 21 21 21 210 358 205 210 210 211 210 226 211 211 211 211-212 372-374 376 379

430

INDEX OF ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL AUTHORS AND WRITINGS

Against Marcion 4.1.1 372 4.2.4 370 4.4-5 374 4.4 384 4.4.1 372 384 4.4.2 384 4.4.4 372 384 4.4.5 372 384 4.5.4 372 4.7.1 375 4.7.4-5 374 4.11.12 384 4.16.1 377 4.26.4 377 4.43.7-8 382 Prescription against Heretics 38.6 384 Themistogenes of Syracuse 11 Theognis 27–28 Theon Progymnasmata 4 § 78 8 § 110

3 19 4

367 367

Theophilus of Edessa 140 Theophrastus On Inventions 77 On Piety 73-123 Fragmenta (Fortenbaugh et al.) 73 75 81-84 95 108 119 F 277 73 F 523 77 F 531 74 87 F 580,3 73 F 584A 74 95 F 584A,65-68 83 F 584A,92 114 F 584A,96-153 85 F 584A,169-171 86 F 584A,177 73 F 584A,312-316 90

F 584A,323-324 102 F 588 77 F 730 77 Fragmenta (Pötscher) F6 114 F 10 77 Physics 83 Theopompus 12 73 76 85 History of Philip II 34 Thucydides

6-14 16 22 30-31 34 40 239-240 324 365 History of the Peloponnesian War 1.2-19 10 1.22.2-3 10-11 2.5.6 14 2.48.3 13 Lexicon Patmense 73 Timaeus 17 23 FGrHist 566 T 18, FF 113, 115, 154, 155 23 Valerius Antias

17 20-21

Varro

111

Velleius Paterculus 13 2.101.2-3 13 2.104ff. 13 (Publius) Vergilius (Naso) Georgics 2.380ff. 99 (Peter) Waldo

352-353

Xenophon Anabasis Hellenica 3.1.2

34 40 239 11

Xiphilinus

136

Zeno of Citium

55

Zonaras

136

11

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239. P. FOSTER – A. GREGORY – J.S. KLOPPENBORG – J. VERHEYDEN (eds.), New Studies in the Synoptic Problem: Oxford Conference, April 2008, 2011. XXIV-828 p. 85 € 240. J. VERHEYDEN – T.L. HETTEMA – P. VANDECASTEELE (eds.), Paul Ricœur: 79 € Poetics and Religion, 2011. XX-534 p. 241. J. LEEMANS (ed.), Martyrdom and Persecution in Late Ancient Christianity. 78 € Festschrift Boudewijn Dehandschutter, 2010. XXXIV-430 p. 242. C. CLIVAZ – J. ZUMSTEIN (eds.), Reading New Testament Papyri in Context – Lire les papyrus du Nouveau Testament dans leur contexte, 2011. XIV-446 p. 80 € 243. D. SENIOR (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew at the Crossroads of Early 88 € Christianity, 2011. XXVIII-781 p. 244. H. PIETRAS – S. KACZMAREK (eds.), Origeniana Decima: Origen as Writer, 105 € 2011. XVIII-1039 p. 245. M. SIMON, La prière chrétienne dans le catéchisme de Jean-Paul II, 2012. XVI-290 p. 70 € 246. H. AUSLOOS – B. LEMMELIJN – J. TREBOLLE-BARRERA (eds.), After Qumran: Old and Modern Editions of the Biblical Texts – The Historical Books, 84 € 2012. XIV-319 p. 247. G. VAN OYEN – A. WÉNIN (eds.), La surprise dans la Bible. Festschrift 80 € Camille Focant, 2012. XLII-474 p. 248. C. CLIVAZ – C. COMBET-GALLAND – J.-D. MACCHI – C. NIHAN (eds.), Écritures et réécritures: la reprise interprétative des traditions fondatrices par la littérature biblique et extra-biblique. Cinquième colloque international du RRENAB, Universités de Genève et Lausanne, 10-12 juin 2010, 2012. XXIV-648 p. 90 € 249. G. VAN OYEN – T. SHEPHERD (eds.), Resurrection of the Dead: Biblical 85 € Traditions in Dialogue, 2012. XVI-632 p. 90 € 250. E. NOORT (ed.), The Book of Joshua, 2012. XIV-698 p. 251. R. FAESEN – L. KENIS (eds.), The Jesuits of the Low Countries: Identity and Impact (1540-1773). Proceedings of the International Congress at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven (3-5 December 2009), 65 € 2012. X-295 p. 252. A. DAMM, Ancient Rhetoric and the Synoptic Problem: Clarifying Markan 85 € Priority, 2013. XXXVIII-396 p. 253. A. DENAUX – P. DE MEY (eds.), The Ecumenical Legacy of Johannes 79 € Cardinal Willebrands (1909-2006), 2012. XIV-376 p. 254. T. KNIEPS-PORT LE ROI – G. MANNION – P. DE MEY (eds.), The Household of God and Local Households: Revisiting the Domestic Church, 2013. XI-407 p. 82 € 255. L. KENIS – E. VAN DER WALL (eds.), Religious Modernism of the Low Coun75 € tries, 2013. X-271 p. 256. P. IDE, Une Théo-logique du Don: Le Don dans la Trilogie de Hans Urs von 98 € Balthasar, 2013. XXX-759 p. 257. W. FRANÇOIS – A. DEN HOLLANDER (eds.), “Wading Lambs and Swimming Elephants”: The Bible for the Laity and Theologians in the Late Medieval 84 € and Early Modern Era, 2012. XVI-406 p. 258. A. LIÉGOIS – R. BURGGRAEVE – M. RIEMSLAGH – J. CORVELEYN (eds.), “After You!”: Dialogical Ethics and the Pastoral Counselling Process, 79 € 2013. XXII-279 p.

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259. C. KALONJI NKOKESHA, Penser la tradition avec Walter Kasper: Pertinence d’une catholicité historiquement et culturellement ouverte, 2013. XXIV320 p. 79 € 260. J. SCHRÖTER (ed.), The Apocryphal Gospels within the Context of Early 90 € Christian Theology, 2013. XII-804 p. 261. P. DE MEY – P. DE WITTE – G. MANNION (eds.), Believing in Community: 90 € Ecumenical Reflections on the Church, 2013. XIV-608 p. 262. F. DEPOORTERE – J. HAERS (eds.), To Discern Creation in a Scattering 90 € World, 2013. XII-597 p. 263. L. BOEVE – T. MERRIGAN, in collaboration with C. DICKINSON (eds.), Tradi55 € tion and the Normativity of History, 2013. X-215 p. 264. M. GILBERT, Ben Sira. Recueil d’études – Collected Essays, 2014. XIV-402 p. 87 € 265. J. VERHEYDEN – G. VAN OYEN – M. LABAHN – R. BIERINGER (eds.), Studies in the Gospel of John and Its Christology. Festschrift Gilbert Van Belle, 94 € 2014. XXXVI-656 p. 266. W. DE PRIL, Theological Renewal and the Resurgence of Integrism: The 85 € René Draguet Case (1942) in Its Context, 2016. XLIV-333 p. 267. L.O. JIMÉNEZ-RODRÍGUEZ, The Articulation between Natural Sciences and Systematic Theology: A Philosophical Mediation Based on Contributions 94 € of Jean Ladrière and Xavier Zubiri, 2015. XXIV-541 p. 268. E. BIRNBAUM – L. SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER (eds.), Hieronymus als Exeget und Theologe: Interdisziplinäre Zugänge zum Koheletkommentar 80 € des Hieronymus, 2014. XVIII-333 p. 269. H. AUSLOOS – B. LEMMELIJN (eds.), A Pillar of Cloud to Guide: Text-critical, Redactional, and Linguistic Perspectives on the Old Testament in Honour 90 € of Marc Vervenne, 2014. XXVIII-636 p. 270. E. TIGCHELAAR (ed.), Old Testament Pseudepigrapha and the Scriptures, 95 € 2014. XXVI-526 p. 271. E. BRITO, Sur l’homme: Une traversée de la question anthropologique, 2015. XVI-2045 p. (2 vol.) 215 € 272. P. WATINE CHRISTORY, Dialogue et Communion: L’itinéraire œcuménique 98 € de Jean-Marie R. Tillard, 2015. XXIV-773 p. 273. R. BURNET – D. LUCIANI – G. VAN OYEN (eds.), Le lecteur: Sixième Colloque International du RRENAB, Université Catholique de Louvain, 85 € 24-26 mai 2012, 2015. XIV-530 p. 274. G.B. BAZZANA, Kingdom of Bureaucracy: The Political Theology of Village 85 € Scribes in the Sayings Gospel Q, 2015. XII-383 p. 275. J.-P. GALLEZ, La théologie comme science herméneutique de la tradition de foi: Une lecture de «Dieu qui vient à l’homme» de Joseph Moingt, 2015. XIX-476 p. 94 € 276. J. VERMEYLEN, Métamorphoses: Les rédactions successives du livre de Job, 84 € 2015. XVI-410 p. 277. C. BREYTENBACH (ed.), Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context, 2015. XXII-751 p. 94 € 278. J. GELDHOF (ed.), Mediating Mysteries, Understanding Liturgies: On Bridging the Gap between Liturgy and Systematic Theology, 2015. X-256 p. 78 € 279. A.-C. JACOBSEN (ed.), Origeniana Undecima: Origen and Origenism in the 125 € History of Western Thought, 2016. XVI-978 p.

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280. F. WILK – P. GEMEINHARDT (eds.), Transmission and Interpretation of the Book of Isaiah in the Context of Intra- and Interreligious Debates, 2016. XII-490 p. 95 € 281. J.-M. SEVRIN, Le quatrième évangile. Recueil d’études. Édité par G. VAN 86 € BELLE, 2016. XIV-281 p. 282. L. BOEVE – M. LAMBERIGTS – T. MERRIGAN (eds.), The Normativity of History: Theological Truth and Tradition in the Tension between Church 78 € History and Systematic Theology, 2016. XII-273 p. 283. R. BIERINGER – B. BAERT – K. DEMASURE (eds.), Noli me tangere in Interdisciplinary Perspective: Textual, Iconographic and Contemporary Inter89 € pretations, 2016. XXII-508 p. 284. W. DIETRICH (ed.), The Books of Samuel: Stories – History – Reception 96 € History, 2016. XXIV-650 p. 285. W.E. ARNAL – R.S. ASCOUGH – R.A. DERRENBACKER, JR. – P.A. HARLAND (eds.), Scribal Practices and Social Structures among Jesus Adherents: 115 € Essays in Honour of John S. Kloppenborg, 2016. XXIV-630 p. 286. C.E. WOLFTEICH – A. DILLEN (eds.), Catholic Approaches in Practical Theology: International and Interdisciplinary Perspectives, 2016. X-290 p. 85 € 287. W. FRANÇOIS – A.A. DEN HOLLANDER (eds.), Vernacular Bible and Religious Reform in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Era, 2017. VIII-305 p. 94 € 288. P. RODRIGUES, C’est ta face que je cherche … La rationalité de la théologie 92 € selon Jean Ladrière, 2017. XIV-453 p. 289. J. FAMERÉE, Ecclésiologie et œcuménisme. Recueil d’études, 2017. XVIII668 p. 94 € 290. P. COOPER – S. KIKUCHI (eds.), Commitments to Medieval Mysticism within 79 € Contemporary Contexts, 2017. XVI-382 p. 291. A. YARBRO COLLINS (ed.), New Perspectives on the Book of Revelation, 98 € 2017. X-644 p. 292. J. FAMERÉE – P. RODRIGUES (eds.), The Genesis of Concepts and the 78 € Confrontation of Rationalities, 2018. XIV-245 p. 293. E. DI PEDE – O. FLICHY – D. LUCIANI (eds.), Le Récit: Thèmes bibliques et 95 € variations, 2018. XIV-412 p. 294. J. ARBLASTER – R. FAESEN (eds.), Theosis/Deification: Christian Doctrines 84 € of Divinization East and West, 2018. VII-262 p. 295. H.-J. FABRY (ed.), The Books of the Twelve Prophets: Minor Prophets – 105 € Major Theologies, 2018. XXIV-557 p. 296. H. AUSLOOS – D. LUCIANI (eds.), Temporalité et intrigue. Hommage à 95 € André Wénin, 2018. XL-362 p. 297. A.C. MAYER (ed.), The Letter and the Spirit: On the Forgotten Documents 85 € of Vatican II, 2018. X-296 p. 298. A. BEGASSE DE DHAEM – E. GALLI – M. MALAGUTI – C. SALTO SOLÁ (eds.), Deus summe cognoscibilis: The Current Theological Relevance of Saint Bonaventure International Congress, Rome, November 15-17, 2017, 2018. XII-716 p. 85 € 299. M. LAMBERIGTS – W. DE PRIL (eds.), Louvain, Belgium and Beyond: Studies in Religious History in Honour of Leo Kenis, 2018. XVIII-517 p. 95 € 300. E. BRITO, De Dieu. Connaissance et inconnaissance, 2018. LVIII-634 + 635-1255 p. 155 €

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301. G. VAN OYEN (ed.), Reading the Gospel of Mark in the Twenty-first Century: Method and Meaning, 2019. XXIV-933 p. 105 € 302. B. BITTON-ASHKELONY – O. IRSHAI – A. KOFSKY – H. NEWMAN – L. PERRONE (eds.), Origeniana Duodecima: Origen’s Legacy in the Holy Land – A Tale of Three Cities: Jerusalem, Caesarea and Bethlehem, 2019. XIV-893 p. 125 € 303. D. BOSSCHAERT, The Anthropological Turn, Christian Humanism, and Vatican II: Louvain Theologians Preparing the Path for Gaudium et Spes 89 € (1942-1965), 2019. LXVIII-432 p. 304. I. KOCH – T. RÖMER – O. SERGI (eds.), Writing, Rewriting, and Overwriting in the Books of Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets. Essays in Honour 85 € of Cynthia Edenburg, 2019. XVI-401 p. 305. W.A.M. BEUKEN, From Servant of YHWH to Being Considerate of the Wretched: The Figure David in the Reading Perspective of Psalms 35–41 69 € MT, 2020. XIV-173 p. 306. P. DE MEY – W. FRANÇOIS (eds.), Ecclesia semper reformanda: Renewal 94 € and Reform beyond Polemics, 2020. X-477 p. 307. D. HÉTIER, Éléments d’une théologie fondamentale de la création artistique: Les écrits théologiques sur l’art chez Karl Rahner (1954-1983), 2020. XXIV-492 p. 94 € 308. P.-M. BOGAERT, Le livre de Jérémie en perspective: Les deux rédactions conservées et l’addition du supplément sous le nom de Baruch. Recueil de ses travaux réunis par J.-C. HAELEWYCK – B. KINDT, 2020. LVIII-536 p. 95 € 309. D. VERDE – A. LABAHN (eds.), Networks of Metaphors in the Hebrew Bible, 85 € 2020. X-395 p. 310. P. VAN HECKE (ed.), The Song of Songs in Its Context: Words for Love, 95 € Love for Words, 2020. XXXIV-643 p. 311. A. WÉNIN (ed.), La contribution du discours à la caractérisation des personnages bibliques. Neuvième colloque international du RRENAB, Louvain95 € la-Neuve, 31 mai – 2 juin 2018, 2020. XX-424 p. 312. J. VERHEYDEN – D.A.T. MÜLLER (eds.), Imagining Paganism through the Ages: Studies on the Use of the Labels “Pagan” and “Paganism” in 95 € Controversies, 2020. XIV-343 p. 165 € 313. E. BRITO, Accès au Christ, 2020. XVI-1164 p. 314. B. BOURGINE (ed.), Le souci de toutes les Églises: Hommage à Joseph 93 € Famerée, 2020. XLIV-399 p. 315. C.C. APINTILIESEI, La structure ontologique-communionnelle de la personne: Aux sources théologiques et philosophiques du père Dumitru Stăniloae, 90 € 2020. XXII-441 p. 316. A. DUPONT – W. FRANÇOIS – J. LEEMANS (eds.), Nos sumus tempora: Studies on Augustine and His Reception Offered to Mathijs Lamberigts, 98 € 2020. XX-577 p. 317. D. BOSSCHAERT – J. LEEMANS (eds.), Res opportunae nostrae aetatis: Studies on the Second Vatican Council Offered to Mathijs Lamberigts, 2020. XII578 p. 98 € 318. B. OIRY, Le Temps qui compte: Construction et qualification du temps de l’histoire dans le récit des livres de Samuel (1 S 1 – 1 R 2), 2021. XVI-510 p. 89 €

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319. J. VERHEYDEN – J. SCHRÖTER – T. NICKLAS (eds), Texts in Context: Essays on Dating and Contextualising Christian Writings from the Second and 98 € Early Third Centuries, 2021. VIII-319 p. 320. N.S. HEEREMAN, “Behold King Solomon on the Day of His Wedding”: A Symbolic-Diachronic Reading of Song 3,6-11 and 4,12–5,1, 2021. XXVIII-975 p. 144 € 321. S. ARENAS, Fading Frontiers? A Historical-Theological Investigation into 80 € the Notion of the Elementa Ecclesiae, 2021. XXXII-261 p. 322. C. KORTEN, Half-Truths: The Irish College, Rome, and a Select History of 98 € the Catholic Church, 1771-1826, 2021. XII-329 p. 323. L. DECLERCK, Vatican II: concile de transition et de renouveau. La contribution des évêques et théologiens belges, 2021. XVIII-524 p. 97 € 324. F. MIES, Job ou sortir de la cendre: étude exégétique, littéraire anthropologique et théologique de la mort dans le livre de Job forthcoming 325. J. LIEU (ed.), Peter in the Early Church: Apostle – Missionary – Church 160 € Leader, 2021. XXVIII-806 p. 326. J.Z. SKIRA – P. DE MEY – H.G.B. TEULE (eds.), The Catholic Church and Its Orthodox Sister Churches Twenty-Five Years after Balamand forthcoming

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