Reading Revelation as Pastiche: Imitating the Past 9780567672704, 9780567672728, 9780567672711

Table of contents :
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Acknowledgements
List of Abbreviations
List of Illustrations
Introduction
I Overview
Part I Contextualizing the Study
Chapter 1 Reviewing the Past: Previous Studies and Approaches
I Gregory Beale (1984)
II Jon Paulien (1988)
III Jean-Pierre Ruiz (1989)
IV Jan Fekkes (1994)
V Steve Moyise (1995)
VI Alison Jack (1999)
VII David Mathewson (2003)
VIII Beate Kowalski (2004)
IX Marko Jauhiainen (2005)
X Agreements and Ways Forward
Chapter 2 Revisualizing the Past: Ancient Imitation and Combination
I Statues
II Literary Imitation and Combination
III Herod’s Temple
IV Second Temple Pseudepigrapha
V Summary
Chapter 3 Pastiche: Imitation and Combination
I What Is Pastiche?
II Reading Revelation as Pastiche: Methodology and Preview
Part II Case Studies
Chapter 4 Listening to All the Voices: Reading Plurality in Revelation 1
I The Inaugural Vision of One like a Son of Man (Rev. 1.12–18)
II Test Cases: Reading Combined Voices
III Listening to All the Voices in Rev. 1.12–18
Chapter 5 Once Upon a Time in Babylon: Reading Revelation 17 Affectively
I Reading the Whore of Babylon
II Test Case: Once Upon a Time in the West
III Rereading the Whore
Chapter 6 Revelation 18: Far from the Past?
I Revelation 18: Artifice
II Similarity Studies
III Test Case: Far from Heaven
IV Revelation 18: Like but Not the Same
Chapter 7 Apocalypse Noir: Rereading Genre through Pastiche
I Apocalypse Awareness
II Test Case: Film Noir and Neo-Noir
III Neo-Apocalypse-Noir
Chapter 8 Conclusions
I Overview of Findings and Contributions
II The Results and Ramifications of Reading Revelation as Pastiche
Appendix
I Appendix 1: Tabulated Apocalypse Features
Bibliography
Filmography
Index
Index of References

Citation preview

LIBRARY OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES

571 Formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series

Editor Chris Keith

Editorial Board Dale C. Allison, John M.G. Barclay, Lynn H. Cohick, R. Alan Culpepper, Craig A. Evans, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Love L. Sechrest, Robert Wall, Steve Walton, Catrin H. Williams

ii

READING REVELATION AS PASTICHE

Imitating the Past

Michelle Fletcher

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc Imprint previously known as T&T Clark 50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway London New York WC1B 3DP NY 10018 UK USA www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2017 © Michelle Fletcher, 2017 Michelle Fletcher has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-7270-4 ePDF: 978-0-5676-7271-1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Series: Library of New Testament Studies, volume 571

Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

To Tom, because you are the best

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Contents Acknowledgements ix List of Abbreviations x List of Illustrations xii Introduction 1 I Overview 2 Part I Contextualizing the Study Chapter 1 Reviewing the Past: Previous Studies and Approaches I Gregory Beale (1984) II Jon Paulien (1988) III Jean-Pierre Ruiz (1989) IV Jan Fekkes (1994) V Steve Moyise (1995) VI Alison Jack (1999) VII David Mathewson (2003) VIII Beate Kowalski (2004) IX Marko Jauhiainen (2005) X Agreements and Ways Forward

7 9 12 13 15 16 20 21 22 23 25

Chapter 2 Revisualizing the Past: Ancient Imitation and Combination I Statues II Literary Imitation and Combination III Herod’s Temple IV Second Temple Pseudepigrapha V Summary

29 30 36 39 42 46

Chapter 3 Pastiche: Imitation and Combination I What Is Pastiche? II Reading Revelation as Pastiche: Methodology and Preview

48 61

48

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Contents

Part II Case Studies

Chapter 4 Listening to All the Voices: Reading Plurality in Revelation 1 75 I The Inaugural Vision of One like a Son of Man (Rev. 1.12–18) 76 II Test Cases: Reading Combined Voices 82 III Listening to All the Voices in Rev. 1.12–18 90 Chapter 5 Once Upon a Time in Babylon: Reading Revelation 17 Affectively 99 I Reading the Whore of Babylon 100 II Test Case: Once Upon a Time in the West 114 III Rereading the Whore 124 Chapter 6 Revelation 18: Far from the Past? 137 I Revelation 18: Artifice 138 II Similarity Studies 143 III Test Case: Far from Heaven 156 IV Revelation 18: Like but Not the Same 169 Chapter 7 Apocalypse Noir: Rereading Genre through Pastiche 182 I Apocalypse Awareness 185 II Test Case: Film Noir and Neo-Noir 195 III Neo-Apocalypse-Noir 205 Chapter 8 Conclusions 214 I Overview of Findings and Contributions 214 II The Results and Ramifications of Reading Revelation as Pastiche 218 Appendix 223 I Appendix 1: Tabulated Apocalypse Features 223 Bibliography 226 Filmography 239 Index 241 Index of References 252 I List of Ancient Works

Acknowledgements First and foremost, I owe thanks to both Edward Adams and Ben Quash for being such enabling, patient and supportive supervisors. Their belief in me has facilitated the transition of my ideas to reality. Huge thanks are also owed to my examiners, Ian Boxall and James Crossley, for their support of my work and for their insights, probing questions and recommendations. Thank you too to those who have provided me with invaluable critique, correction and friendship: Rosie Andrious, Mette Bundvad, Davina Grojnowski, Steffan Mathias, Joan Taylor and Blair Wilgus. My thanks also go to the BNTC Revelation seminar, SBL Revelation seminar and SBL Bible and Film seminar for their feedback, without which this project would have not become what it is. The staff of the Maughan and Franklin Wilkins libraries are also owed thanks for supporting of me as both a student and a colleague. T&T Clark have been the most understanding of publishers and my particular thanks go to Miriam Cantwell and Dominic Mattos for their unwavering assistance. Many thanks to Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen, Richard Dyer and The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, for their kind permission to use images. To my parents: thank you for your constant love and understanding, and for instilling me with a sense of who I am and what I can do if I say I can and I will. To my friends in Boston, Lisbon and London: I know you know more about Revelation, pasticcio and film noir than you ever wanted to; thanks for listening, drinking and laughing. Finally, and most essentially, thank you, Tom, for everything – without you what follows would be blank.

List of Abbreviations AB ABD

Anchor Bible David Noel Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary (New York: Doubleday, 1992) AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies BARev Biblical Archaeology Review BBC Blackwell Bible Commentaries BDAG F. W. Danker, W. Bauer and W. Arndt, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001) BDF Friedrich Blass, A. Debrunner and Robert W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961) BFI British Film Institute BHS Biblia hebraica stuttgartensia BJA British Journal of Aesthetics BNTC Black’s New Testament Commentaries BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin CamOb Camera Obscura CBR Currents in Biblical Research CP Classical Philology EJES European Journal of English Studies EuntDoc Euntes Docete EvQ Evangelical Quarterly ExpTim Expository Times GSR German Studies Review HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology HTR Harvard Theological Review IBS Irish Biblical Studies IDB George Arthur Buttrick (ed.), The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible (4 vols; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1962) IDBSup IDB, Supplementary Volume IJCS Iowa Journal of Cultural Studies JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series

List of Abbreviations LPGL MAARSup NA 28 NCBC Neot NICNT NIGTC NRSV Numen RB RevExp RivB SBL SBLSP SBLSymS SBLTT SBLWGRW SBT Scriptura TAPA TWNT WBC

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G. W. H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961) Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome: Supplementary Volumes Novum Testamentum Graece (Nestle-Aland) 28 (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012) New Cambridge Bible Commentary Neotestamentica New International Commentary on the New Testament The New International Greek Testament Commentary New Revised Standard Version Numen: International Review for the History of Religions Revue biblique Review and Expositor Rivista biblica Society of Biblical Literature SBL Seminar Papers SBL Symposium Series SBL Texts and Translations SBL Writings from the Graeco-Roman World Studies in Biblical Theology Scriptura: International Journal of Bible, Religion and Theology in Southern Africa Transactions of the American Philological Association Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich (eds), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament (11 vols; Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1932–79) Word Biblical Commentary

All English biblical quotations are from the NRSV, unless otherwise stated; Hebrew quotations are from BHS; LXX quotations are from Rahlfs-Hanhart; Greek NT quotations are from NA 28.

List of Illustrations 2.1

Pastiche portrait of Marcia Furnilla, fusing her head with a Venusesque body. Image reproduced courtesy of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photographer, Ole Haupt 34 2.2 Model of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period, the Israel Museum, Jerusalem. Author’s own image, used with kind permission of The Israel Museum, Jerusalem 41 3.1 Table showing pastiche in a world of imitation (R. Dyer, Pastiche [London: Routledge, 2007], p. 24). Reproduced with kind permission 56 4.1 The New Yorker July 19, 1993 © Bob Knox/The New Yorker Collection/The Cartoon Bank 84 5.1 Sestertius minted 71 ce showing Vespasian and Roma © The Trustees of the British Museum 105 5.2 The men bearing down on Timmy in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran) 118 5.3 Joey pretending to shoot in George Stevens’s Shane, 1953 (Paramount)119 5.4 Timmy, clearly not Joey from Shane, in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran) 119 5.5 The famous dance scene in John Ford’s My Darling Clementine, 1946 (Twentieth Century Fox) 121 5.6 Frank (Fonda) right before he shoots Timmy in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran) 121 5.7 The flash as Frank (Fonda) shoots directly at us (POV shot) in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/ Rafran)123 5.8 The slow camera movement out into the plains in the opening scene of John Ford’s The Searchers, 1956 (Warner Bros/Whitney) 125 5.9 The fast camera movement from a POV perspective in as Timmy runs out in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran)125 5.10 The doorway into the scene of trauma in John Ford’s The Searchers, 1956 (Warner Bros/Whitney) 131 6.1 Cathy (Julianne Moore) and Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), who is wearing a red and black shirt, in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) 159 6.2 Cary (Wyman) and Ron (Hudson), who is wearing a red and black shirt, in Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal) 160

List of Illustrations

6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 6.8 6.9 6.10 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5

Egg-shell blue and white wagon, with small-town images and autumn foliage in the opening of Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal) Egg-shell blue and white wagon, with small-town images and autumn foliage in the opening of Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) Cathy dressed in purple, wearing white-rimmed glasses and sat on a sunlounger in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) Helen Philips (Wyman) wearing purple, with white-rimmed glasses and sat on a sunlounger in Douglas Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession, 1954 (Universal)

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160 161 162 163

Sara meeting Cary clad in purple and green in Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal) 164 Reversal: in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) Cathy meets Eleanor dressed in the colours and style of Cary’s friend Sara from All That Heaven Allows 164 Uncontrolled hysterics in Douglas Sirk’s Imitation of Life, 1959 (Universal)168 Cathy left behind, breaking inside as the train leaves in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) 169 Background blinds in the train carriage in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, 1951 (Warner Bros) 199 The shadows of the blinds are clearly highlighted in Roman Polanski’s Chinatown, 1974 (Long Road) 200 Ned gropes Matty in Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat, 1981 (Ladd Company/Warner Bros) 201 Glasses-wearing pregnant Mrs Haines in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, 1951 (Warner Bros) 203 Glamorous, rich and married femme fatale Evelyn Mulwray in Roman Polanski’s Chinatown, 1974 (Long Road)204

xiv

I ntroduction

Umberto Eco writes about the ghostly process of encountering texts of the past in The Name of the Rose: Some fragments of parchment had faded, others permitted the glimpse of an image’s shadow, or the ghost of one or more words. At times I found pages where whole sentences were legible; more often, intact bindings, protected by what had once been metal studs … ghosts of books, apparently intact on the outside but consumed within; yet sometimes a half page had been saved, an incipit was discernible, a title … I spent many, many hours trying to decipher those remains. Often from a word or a surviving image I could recognise what the work had been. … At the end of my patient reconstruction, I had before me a kind of lesser library, a symbol of the greater, vanished one: a library made up of fragments, quotations, unfinished sentences, amputated stumps of books.1

Indeed, the ghosts of past texts2 do haunt our artistic encounters; they hang in the air, lurk beneath surfaces and at times rear their heads in the form of quotations and allusions. Of all New Testament (NT) books, this sense of the ‘already encountered’ is most striking when reading Revelation, with OT3 texts infusing it at all levels. Yet, despite all the textual shadows, not a single direct quotation is to be found. What is more, even allusions are hard to pinpoint as voices blend and mingle. How then do we read such a highly allusive and elusive text, and how do we decide which voices to listen to and which to silence? These often debated questions are the focus of the present study. I will argue that a focus on

1. U. Eco, The Name of the Rose (London: Vintage, 2004), p. 492. 2. ‘Text’ will be used throughout with the broadest possible field of reference, encompassing all forms of artistic creation including painting, sculpture, music, literature, architecture and also sections of wider works. 3. I will use Old Testament (OT) to refer to the Hebrew Bible. This is for two reasons. First, OT is used by nearly every scholar I dialogue with, and so using the same vocabulary makes for a more streamlined discussion. Second, as so much debate exists surrounding which version of the OT lies behind Revelation (MT, LXX, Theodotion, etc.) to say HB can further confuse debates by indicating that Hebrew was the language of the text Revelation is dialoguing with. OT helps avoid this specifically Revelation based confusion.

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Reading Revelation as Pastiche

finding fragments and authenticating allusions has dominated the field as a way of controlling the text, and has led to a preference for reading Revelation in relation to what it is ‘most like’, rather than what is most striking about it: it is very like but not the same as many OT texts. The crucial question we will then address is what happens when we read Revelation, not as a repository of OT fragments, but as a multivocal text resounding with a sense of the familiar and engaging readers in a complex dialogue with past textual encounters.4 Therefore, rather than fragment-finding, our attention will turn to allowing ourselves to feel the weight of Revelation’s textual ghosts as we read in a way that prioritizes textual interaction over textual authentication, similarity over sameness and the presence of past textual experiences over the precision of past textual meaning. In doing so, we will examine what it is to encounter the already seen like never before, from unexplored perspectives where shadows are allowed to mingle, and the text’s allusive fabric is entered into rather than ironed out.

I Overview This book, as its title suggests, is a study of Revelation’s highly allusive textual fabric through the lens of pastiche. We often find ourselves moving in a world where anything imitative or eclectic is viewed as second rate, less valuable and, more often than not, less worthy. In such a realm, the term ‘pastiche’ in particular has become somewhat of a synonym for ‘less than’ or ‘lacking’. Why then would an examination of Revelation’s relationship with OT texts want to deal with such a term, let alone make it the focus of a scholarly study? This book aims to show why, and in doing so not only redeem imitation and combination as worthy practices, but also introduce readers to the richness of pastiche, and the potential it offers for Revelation scholarship. Although previous ‘Revelation and OT studies’ have recognized Revelation’s imitative and multivocal nature, these facets have not been explored in any great depth, as Chapter 1 will reveal. Steve Moyise suggests, however, that reading Revelation in relation to imitation may present a fruitful way forward. Indeed, he is proved right as studies of ancient visual arts and literature are revealing that although the post-romantic world of the academy may have a problem with imitative practices, the Graeco-Roman world did not. In fact, as Chapter 2 shows, ancient audiences had an eye and an ear for imitation and combination, and these practices were frequently implemented, even actively sought. Therefore, reading Revelation in relation to imitation and combination becomes a useful endeavour, and in Chapter 3 this takes us into the world of pastiche, tracing its etymology, scholarly history and manifold manifestations. The most comprehensive works 4. Inclusive language, including gender neutral pronouns and possessives (the reader – they; the reader – their), will be used throughout unless the situation forces otherwise.

Introduction

3

on pastiche are written by film scholar Richard Dyer and cultural critic Ingeborg Hoesterey,5 and these show the full spectrum of pastiche practices, which range from the highly imitative to the highly eclectic, and everything in between. These are example-heavy studies, immersing their readers in pastiche texts in order to show how reading as pastiche can alter textual encounters. This also becomes our approach, as in Chapters 4–7 we go about actually ‘reading Revelation as pastiche’. In order to maximize reader engagement, four comparative case studies are created which actively combine the reading of pastiche with the reading of Revelation. Each study takes a similar form. It begins by examining a key ‘Revelation and OT’ issue (Revelation 1’s son of man (Chapter 4), Revelation 17’s whore of Babylon (Chapter 5), Revelation 18’s artifice (Chapter 6) and the genre apocalypse (Chapter 7)). A carefully chosen pastiche ‘test case’ which presents similar interpretative/textual issues is then drawn from the work of Hoesterey and Dyer in order to ascertain how reading as pastiche impacts interpretation. These insights allow us to reread Revelation from a pastiche perspective, entering into and reassessing its imitative and combined fabric. The studies act cumulatively, each building on the theory presented in the previous ones, as they take the reader on a pastiche journey, moving from eclectic combinatory pastiches (Chapter 4), to the highly affective (Chapter 5), through to the subtlest of imitative endeavours (Chapter 6), and finally on to the macro-level of genre pastiche (Chapter 7). In doing so, these case studies present fresh insights into familiar Revelation and OT issues. Therefore, we find in Chapter 4 that reading the figure of one like a son of man as a combinatory and eclectic pastiche allows us to encounter a multivocal image where the disparate voices are listened to without a need to harmonize. In Chapter 5, pastiche reanimates the affective nature of the whore of Babylon, opening up arguments that she is both Jerusalem and her enemies in a powerful image of ‘self and other’. The exploration of highly nuanced imitative pastiche in Chapter 6 reveals that the overriding feature of Revelation 18 is just how very similar it is to other texts, and that encountering this similarity creates a sense of loss and lacking. Pastiche’s usefulness beyond allusion-focused studies is revealed in Chapter 7, as we see how scholarly awareness of the genre apocalypse appears to have come about while looking through the pastiche-style lens of Revelation. Therefore, throughout this study we see not only how pastiche helps to make intellectual and affective sense of our key Revelation issues, but also how it reveals the previously unencountered, as Revelation is actively reread, reconsidered and experienced anew. Therefore, this is an exercise focused on reading rather than writing, on text and reader rather than author, and on how Revelation has been read by previous interpreters, rather than its intrinsic ‘meaning’. It is not a relabelling exercise to argue that Revelation is a pastiche, but instead a re-viewing exercise which reads

5. I. Hoesterey, Pastiche: Cultural Memory in Art, Film, Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001); R. Dyer, Pastiche (London: Routledge, 2007).

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Revelation as pastiche.6 And most of all, it is certainly not arguing that John of Patmos set out to create a pastiche or that pastiche explains the way that ancient readers approached texts. Rather, it is a study that explores scholarly textual interactions and offers ways to challenge previous assumptions by revealing what can be seen when we remove our anachronistic anti-imitation lenses, and insert pastiche-shaped ones.

6. Different facets of pastiche will be introduced and focused on in each chapter, but its elastic nature should remain in the background as there is no hard and fast rule of pastiche, and to present one would remove its usefulness for covering a range of texts and textual practices.

Part I C ontextualizing the S tudy

6

Chapter 1 R eviewing the P ast: P revious S tudies a nd A pproaches

A resurgence of interest in Revelation’s relationship with OT texts began in the 1980s when Gregory Beale published his doctoral dissertation which argued that Revelation used Daniel as a major source text.1 Prior to this, studies had mainly been limited to sections of commentaries and articles,2 but following his publication a steady stream of monographs appeared,3 all seeking to explain how OT source texts are used in Revelation.4 In these examinations, there arose

1. G. K. Beale, The Use of Daniel in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature and in the Revelation of St. John (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1984). Later he would declare that ‘the OT in general plays such a major role that a proper understanding of its use is necessary for an adequate view of the Apocalypse as a whole’. G. K. Beale, The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans, 1999), p. 79. 2. The only major monograph was A. von Schlatter, Das Alte Testament in der johanneischen Apokalypse (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1912). An often overlooked examination also occurred in L. A. Vos, The Synoptic Traditions in the Apocalypse (Kampen: Kok, 1965), pp. 16–53. For an extensive examination of pre-Beale commentaries and articles, see J.-P. Ruiz, Ezekiel in the Apocalypse: The Transformation of Prophetic Language in Revelation 16, 17–19:10 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1989), pp. 4–176. 3. For an overview of studies of the use of scripture more generally, see A. Y. Collins, ‘Presidential Address: The Use of Scripture in the Book of Revelation’ (presented at the Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense, Leuven, 23 July 2015). 4. Prior to this, focus fell on other aspects of what it was ‘most like’, with the early twentieth century examining what ‘source’ it was based on, with a belief that John combined a number of pre-existing texts into one document due to its composite nature – for example, R. H. Charles, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Revelation of St. John (2 vols; Edinburgh: Clark, 1956); H. B. Swete, The Apocalypse of St. John (London: Macmillan and Co., 1911); Schlatter, Das Alte Testament. Attention was also paid to its Vorlage, as Revelation’s Greek looks ‘like’ Hebrew in many ways, and so whether the MT or LXX was used became contested, with little resolution as in some places it looks more like MT, in others LXX or even Theodotion, for example, G. Mussies, The Morphology of Koine Greek, as Used in the Apocalypse of St. John: A Study in Bilingualism (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971); G. Ozanne, ‘Influence of the Text and Language of the Old Testament on the Book of

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a recurring interpretative challenge: how best to read Revelation’s highly allusive fabric, or as Beale puts it: ‘Most of the OT reminiscences are combined into groups. Sometimes four, five, or more OT references are merged into one picture … how are such combined allusions to be studied?’ (emphasis mine).5 Two seemingly opposing camps were established: one spearheaded by Beale arguing that only ‘certain allusions’ which were intended by the author should be sought and one led by Steve Moyise, favouring approaches which foregrounded the reader.6 The ensuing debates about ‘correct’ reading methods have weighed heavily on scholarship ever since. Beale’s approach has tended to be favoured, resulting in examinations heavy in pinpointing intended allusions, silencing erroneous echoes, finding dominant ‘source texts’ and attempting to inhabit the mind of the author. This has often led to fragmentary approaches, where single OT books are examined, or where the text is broken down atomistically.7 More recently, however, approaches have begun to reassess this focus and move into a realm more attuned to reader interactions and multiple textual voices.8 Therefore, we now turn to a review of the past three decades of post-Beale ‘Revelation and OT’ allusion studies in order to ascertain the current state of the field.9 We will begin with Beale due to his pivotal role in ‘Revelation and OT’ studies,10 and then focus our review on monographs which provide detailed Revelation’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., University of Manchester, 1964); L. P. Trudinger, ‘The Text of the Old Testament in the Book of Revelation’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., University of Manchester, 1963).As Revelation’s compositional unity was realized, attention turned to its generic resemblance, with questions arising surrounding whether it was an apocalypse, a prophecy or a letter, for example, J. J. Collins (ed.), ‘Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre’, Semeia 14 (1979), pp. 1–217; J. L. Blevins, ‘The Genre of Revelation’, RevExp 77, no. 3 (1980), pp. 393–408.   5. Beale, Commentary, p. 79.   6. For a summary, see J. Paulien, ‘Dreading the Whirlwind: Intertextuality and the Use of the Old Testament in Revelation’, AUSS 39, no. 1 (2001), pp. 5–22.   7. For example, J. Fekkes, Isaiah and Prophetic Traditions in the Book of Revelation: Visionary Antecedents and Their Development (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994); J. Paulien, Decoding Revelation’s Trumpets: Literary Allusions and Interpretation of Revelation 8:7–12 (Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 1988).   8. For example, D. Mathewson, A New Heaven and a New Earth: The Meaning and Function of the Old Testament in Revelation 21:1–22:5 (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003).  9. Although pseudepigraphal texts have been discussed, they have not been the focus, with scholarly eyes firmly on canonical OT texts. Graeco-Roman influences feature increasingly in discussions. 10. Beale is the usual launch pad for literature reviews as he rewrote the field by arguing for more attention to objective criteria and authorial intention. In doing so he instigated the development of ‘Revelation and OT’ studies. All of the studies which are examined openly work in the light of his publications.

Reviewing the Past: Previous Studies and Approaches

9

examinations of Revelation’s highly allusive relationship with OT texts,11 and dialogue with Beale’s methodology and arguments.12 These post-Beale monographs are chosen in order to best scrutinize the results of different methodological approaches to reading Revelation’s allusions, and review trends and assumptions within this specific research area.13 This will allow us to see the legacy of Beale’s study and, most importantly, it will facilitate the pinpointing of promising new ways to engage with Revelation.

I  Gregory Beale (1984) Gregory Beale’s contribution to the development of ‘Revelation and OT’ studies cannot be understated. He began by exploring the use of Daniel in Jewish Apocalyptic literature and Revelation, moving on to John’s use of the OT in general and culminating with an in-depth commentary.14 As stated above, he has also been half of a public polemic regarding how to interpret the OT in Revelation, allowing much of his methodology and epistemology to be laid bare.15 Beale’s doctoral research examined the use of Daniel in Revelation and apocalyptic literature, focusing particularly on whether there 11. Therefore, unpublished dissertations, commentaries or single articles will not be included. Monographs focusing on broader ‘Revelation and OT’ topics will also not be included, for example, R. Bauckham, The Climax of Prophecy: Studies on the Book of Revelation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1993); S. Bøe, Gog and Magog: Ezekiel 38–39 as Pre-Text for Revelation 19.17–21 and 20.7–10 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). This is in order to focus on extended methodological examinations of allusions. However, when pertinent to the topic in later chapters many of these publications will be examined in detail. Unpublished dissertations which offer approaches similar to those discussed include J. M. Vogelgesang, ‘The Interpretation of Ezekiel in the Book of Revelation’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., Harvard University, 1985); R. R. Rogers, ‘An Exegetical Analysis of John’s Use of Zechariah in the Book of Revelation: The Impact and Transformation of Zechariah’s Text and Themes in the Apocalypse’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., South Western Baptist Theological Seminary, 2002); W. Lo, ‘Ezekiel in Revelation: Literary and Hermeneutics’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., University of Edinburgh, 1999). 12. Although only authors of monographs which fulfil these two criteria will be examined, further relevant publications by the same authors will be discussed. 13. Each study chosen offers a distinct methodological framework and exhibits noticeable influences from Beale’s approach. 14. Beale, Use of Daniel; G. K. Beale, John’s Use of the Old Testament in Revelation (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); Beale, Commentary. 15. G. K. Beale, ‘Questions of Authorial Intent, Epistemology, and Presupposition and Their Bearing on the Study of the Old Testament in the New: A Rejoinder to Steve Moyise’, IBS 21, no. 4 (1999), pp. 151–80; G. K. Beale, ‘A Response to Jon Paulien on the Use of the Old Testament in Revelation’, AUSS 39, no. 1 (2001), pp. 23–33. His epistemology noticeably affects his stance as shown by Paulien, ‘Dreading the Whirlwind’, pp. 5–22.

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was a ‘tendency to respect the meaning of the OT contexts’ from which allusions were drawn.16 He explored the use of Daniel in Qumran and Second Temple apocalyptic texts17 and then in four Revelation test cases: Rev. 1, 4–5, 13 and 17 (each chosen due to their reputation for alluding to Daniel). This led him to argue that Daniel is the Vorbild behind much of Revelation (Vorbild for Beale being synonymous with prototype),18 with Revelation acting as a Danielic ‘midrash’.19 He also believes that Daniel is the ‘dominant’ text, with other OT texts contributing to the core Danielic model which dictates interpretation.20 He justifies these claims through showing that this is the intended meaning which can be recovered: Definite and demonstrable connection between two documents can be shown when the following elements are found together: similarities of 1) theme, 2) content, 3) specific constructions of words 4) structure. In addition, 5) a reasonable or persuasive explanation of authorial motive should be given.21

Beale argues that authorial intent and original meaning are essential for understanding the use of the OT in Revelation. As a result, his later work draws on literary theorist E. D. Hirsch,22 defining original meaning as what the author ‘consciously intended’,23 which is partly recoverable and comparable to an apple in an orchard that, although moved into a fruit bowl, is still an apple even when put with pears and bananas.24 16. Beale, Use of Daniel, p. 3. 17. Ibid., pp. 12–143. 18. Ibid., p. 85, n. 131. 19. Ibid., pp. 313–20. He applies midrash loosely, foregrounding Vorbild (which he defines as prototype), criticized by A. Y. Collins, ‘Review of G. K. Beale, The Use of Daniel in Jewish Apocalyptic Literature and in the Revelation of St. John’, JBL 105 (1986), pp. 734–5 (735). 20. Beale, Use of Daniel, p. 320. 21. Ibid., p. 308. For full discussion, see ibid., pp. 307–11. 22. While Hirsch may be lauded by those intent on finding original meaning, it is worth remembering that outside the field he is a marginalized voice. For his position within wider theory, see E. D. Hirsch, ‘Meaning and Significance Reinterpreted’, Critical Inquiry 11, no. 2 (1984), pp. 202–25; Beale, Old Testament, pp. 51–2. 23. He separates this from ‘significance’: how readers interpret original meaning in different circumstances. For Beale’s understanding and use of Hirsch, see particularly Beale, ‘Authorial Intent’, pp. 151–80; Beale, ‘Response to Paulien’, pp. 23–33. Also, for his attitudes to authorial intention, see chapter 1 of Beale, Old Testament, and for the Hirschian roots of his commentary, see Beale, Commentary, pp. 68–9. 24. The ‘apple’ metaphor has become a major discussion point, as summarized in Paulien, ‘Dreading the Whirlwind’, pp. 13–14, and criticized by S. Moyise, ‘The Old Testament in the New: A Reply to Greg Beale’, IBS 21 (1999), pp. 97–113; S. Moyise, ‘The Use of Analogy in Biblical Studies’, Anvil 18, no. 1 (2001), pp. 33–42. It represents something epistemological

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Therefore, Beale categorizes allusions in Revelation in relation to certainty of intention: 1. Certain allusions: ‘virtually identical’ (most ‘like’) to the OT source, shares some common core meaning and could not have come from anywhere else; 2. Probable allusions: material, images or structure which is uniquely traceable to an OT source; 3. Possible allusions: similar in language or imagery but far less specific, and more of an unconsciously unintended echo to known literature.25 Beale is keen to emphasize that although Revelation’s allusions may be very similar to prior texts, they are not the same as them and often involve multiple textual combinations presenting interpretative challenges: We have already acknowledged the nonformal character of the OT references in Revelation. This makes it difficult not only to identify allusions but also to say whether a given allusion was made consciously or unconsciously. This problem is compounded since many, indeed most, of the OT reminiscences are combined into groups. Sometimes four, five, or more OT references are merged into one picture … how are such combined allusions to be studied?26

His answer is to separate out the textual layers into individual parts and analyse each separately.27 While he does admit that John may have had more than one text ‘in mind’, he argues that tensions between texts and potential interpretations should be understood in light of ‘supplementary aspects of an author’s one meaning’.28 So for Beale, in Revelation’s highly allusive text, the closer the wording is to OT texts, the more probable and useful the allusion is for harmonizing potentially mixed messages, acting as a ‘guiding’ source text. Thus, he silences multiple meanings/sources because he cannot believe that the author intends to create mixed messages.29

for Beale, but its effectiveness has to be questioned in light of criticisms raised by Paulien and Moyise. 25. First set out in Beale, Use of Daniel, pp. 43–4, n. 62, and expanded in Beale, Commentary, p. 78. 26. Beale, Commentary, p. 79. 27. Ibid., pp. 79–80. 28. Beale, Old Testament, p. 52 (my italics). He adheres to Hirsch’s idea of ‘willed type’. For the full discussion, see ibid., pp. 51–9. 29. He asserts that if allusions do not fit original/new literary contexts they are likely to be the unconscious product of a saturated brain. Beale, Commentary, pp. 81–6. Contra Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. x–xi, who argues that nothing John does is a product of a saturated brain.

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The results of his research cannot be underestimated, foregrounding a belief in the importance of Daniel to Revelation, bringing the classifications of allusions to prominence and giving primacy to authorial intent, which he believes can be recovered by understanding what OT source texts Revelation is most like. The field, as we shall see, still sits under the weight of his work, for better or worse.

II  Jon Paulien (1988) Jon Paulien’s study followed Beale’s, critiquing the concept of certain/probable/ possible allusions.30 Paulien seeks an ‘objective’ and ‘more scientific’31 way of reading, wanting to ensure that ‘certain allusions’ are the focus in order ‘to understand the book in terms of the author’s original intent’.32 After an extensive review of Revelation and ‘sources’ research,33 he demonstrates the variety of allusions by comparing those argued for by ten scholars in the ‘seven trumpets’ in Rev. 8.7–12.34 Paulien argues this variety is not due to subjectivity, but to a poor definition of allusion, and so definitions should be tightened. He suggests that John Hollander’s concept of echo (which carries no ‘intention’) and direct allusion (‘intentional’ reference) should be adopted.35 He then proposes his ‘scientific’ method: first, look at internal evidence to find verbal, thematic and structural allusions (the more levels of allusion to a text found, the more definite),36 second, check whether this could be known by the author.37 He applies this method to the seven trumpets and believes the results demonstrate its effectiveness as an ‘objective step-by-step approach’38 which should be adopted by all interpreters in order to minimize biases through comparing results.39 He reassessed his approach after receiving criticism about his belief that the probability of authorial intention increased when more ‘levels’ of similarity were 30. Paulien, Decoding. 31. Ibid., pp. 106, 128, 178. 32. Ibid., pp. 4–5. For potential flaws, see J. Paulien, ‘Criteria and the Assessment of Allusions to the Old Testament in the Book of Revelation’, in Studies in the Book of Revelation, ed. S. Moyise (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001), pp. 113–30; Paulien, ‘Dreading the Whirlwind’, pp. 117–18, n. 33. 33. Paulien, Decoding, pp. 10–100. 34. ‘The overwhelming impression is that the selection of allusions to the Old Testament in the book of Revelation is a hit-and-miss operation, with each commentator mentioning whatever passages happen to come to mind.’ Ibid., p. 127. 35. J. Hollander, The Figure of Echo: A Mode of Allusion in Milton and After (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981); Paulien, Decoding, pp. 165–75. 36. Paulien, Decoding, pp. 179–86. 37. Ibid., pp. 187–90. 38. Ibid., p. 425. 39. Ibid., p. 431.

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present (verbal, thematic, structural).40 However, he called for caution in finding allusions as ‘interpretation is harmed less by missing the occasional allusion than by the confident application of allusions that do not exist’.41 Paulien seeks objectivity and ‘scientific’ approaches to texts but in doing so reduces something creative into something static.42 He also does little to reveal how to approach the passages and text as a whole. Indeed, he admits that his method does not offer a holistic reading, having ‘resulted in a somewhat disjointed approach to the text of Rev. 8:7–12’.43

III  Jean-Pierre Ruiz (1989) Although often passed over in literature reviews, Jean-Pierre Ruiz’s dissertation Ezekiel in the Apocalypse: The Transformation of Prophetic Language in Revelation 16, 17–19:10 represents one of the most comprehensive examinations of the use of OT in Revelation in existence.44 As the title suggests, his primary focus is on how Ezekiel is used in Revelation, particularly in Rev. 16:17–19.10. However, Ruiz covers far more. He begins with an impressive literature review, examining previous work on the OT in Revelation in general, on Ezekiel in particular and similarly focused studies such as Beale’s.45 Ruiz picks up on Boismard’s assessment that Revelation is reliant on Ezekiel to the point that John may be seen to ‘imitate’ Ezekiel. In light of this, Ruiz wants to explore whether Revelation is a ‘creative reworking’ rather than something imitative,46 and so instead of focusing on Ezekiel references only, Ruiz sets out to read in a way that allows him to ‘integrate an understanding of John’s use of biblical material within the framework of John’s whole literary effort’.47 This is due to the fact that when OT material does appear in Revelation it is often intertwined and reformed through ‘John’s technique of combining two or 40. Paulien, ‘Criteria’, pp. 113–30. While aware of criticisms, Paulien continued to argue for classifying direct allusions and echoes, introducing the work of Hays, and developing his idea of compiling lists of allusions found by other commentators, even creating statistical parameters to dictate whether the allusions are certain, probable or possible. For criticisms, see I. Paul, ‘The Use of the Old Testament in Revelation 12’, in The Old Testament in the New Testament: Essays in Honour of J. L. North, ed. S. Moyise; JSNTSup, 189 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 256–76. 41. Paulien, ‘Criteria’, p. 128 (my italics). 42. For similar criticisms, see M. Jauhiainen, The Use of Zechariah in Revelation (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 43. Paulien, Decoding, p. 431. 44. It is missing from Fekkes, Isaiah; Jauhiainen, Zechariah. 45. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 20–176. He criticizes Beale’s Daniel-centric lens in ibid., pp. 97–128. 46. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 49–51. 47. Ibid., p. 178.

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more biblical texts into a single reference’.48 Therefore, Ruiz wants to take a more holistic approach to examining Revelation’s relationship with the OT. In order to do this, Ruiz sets out three key ‘hermeneutics of Revelation’ which he will bring into his reading: the liturgical context, hermeneutical imperatives (points where readers are called to understand and interact) and the symbolism of Revelation. He wants to foreground a focus on audience participation in the interpretation of Revelation by situating it within its wider context of reception. He also wants to explore the transformation of prophetic language into new compositions that are ‘not simply repetitions or combinations of the old ones’.49 He then provides an extensive examination of his test case: Rev. 16.17–19.10, exploring how Ezekiel dialogues with other textual voices and reading with an ear sensitive to the slightest resonances.50 The result is hard to replicate, comparable only to Aune’s commentary.51 His conclusions are also complex and insightful, and although they bring Ezekiel to the fore he does not argue it is the ‘primary source’, believing that the section ‘depends on a consistent rereading of Ezekiel 16 & 23, and 26:1–28:19, in combination with other texts’.52 Therefore, he argues that Beale’s assertion that ‘Danielic midrash’ lies behind the passage is incorrect,53 because ‘the readers of Rev. 16:17–19:10 are not reading Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Isaiah, or Daniel, nor are they reading a commentary on any of these texts. … They are reading John’s text, John’s prophetic book.’54 For Ruiz, this is a new composition, a lens through which to reread the OT and a ‘creative reshaping of the prophetic tradition’ which recontextualizes what has been seen before in a way that speaks into new circumstances.55 As he states: ‘The words themselves are not an archaizing or nostalgic repetition, but a transformation of prophetic speech at the service of powerfully developed motifs. These suggested to the churches that their situation could be understood in terms of symbolic constants from biblical tradition.’56 Therefore, Ruiz believes the seer took the tradition of the congregation, maintained continuity and developed it in a way that made it appropriate for their situation so they could enter into it as active participants. As a result, he sees the difficulties of the text as something that should

48. Ibid., p. 177. 49. Ibid., p. 228. 50. Ibid., pp. 230–516. 51. D. E. Aune, Revelation (WBC, 52A–C; 3 vols; Dallas, TX: Word Books; Thomas Nelson, 1998 1997). 52. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 537. 53. Ibid., pp. 517–18. 54. Ibid., p. 526. 55. Ibid., pp. 527–9. 56. Ibid., p. 529.

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be faced: ‘The harshness of the texts is inescapable and undeniable. It cannot be mitigated and should not be softened.’57 This is a far cry from Beale’s one true meaning and certain, probable or possible allusions, presenting a far more complex and hard to ‘pin down’ reading. While Ruiz may be criticized for his lack of methodology for assessing allusions,58 what he presents demonstrates how a reader may approach Revelation and hear multiple voices in passages. What is more, he is actually far closer to presenting a multivocal reading than his Ezekiel-focused title indicates, showing how familiar images with many resonances are brought together in the text and demonstrating the signalling of active reader participation.

IV  Jan Fekkes (1994) In Isaiah and Prophetic Traditions in the Book of Revelation: Visionary Antecedents and Their Development, Jan Fekkes produced the first in-depth study of the use of Isaiah in Revelation, setting out to bring clarity into defining allusions and believing, like Paulien, that erring on the side of caution was most effective.59 Revelation has no formal quotations but after this observation, Fekkes believes classifying textual usage becomes a little more slippery. Therefore, he discusses the distinctions and overlaps between formal quotations (with introductory formulae), informal quotations (lacking introductory formulae) and allusions, believing that the distinction between allusions and informal quotations is not always clear.60 Although he notes how ‘John’s use of the OT is so thoroughly pervasive, and yet at the same time so consistently allusive in character’,61 he believes the best approach is to ‘weed out dubious parallels’ in order to ascertain a ‘fundamental matrix’ of visionary expression.62 Therefore, Fekkes does not create rigid criteria for assessing allusions. Instead, he prefers to contextualize each assessment and as a result finds the term ‘allusion’ ‘not entirely satisfactory in describing John’s method’. 63

57. Ibid., p. 536. 58. For criticisms and comparisons to Moyise, see Beale, Old Testament, pp. 29–40. 59. Fekkes, Isaiah, p. 15. Previous studies include J. Comblin, Le Christ dans L’Apocalypse (Tournai: Desclee, 1965); B. Marconcini, ‘L’utilizzazione del T.M. nelle citazioni Isaiane dell’ Apocalypse’, RivB 24 (1976), pp. 113–36; A. Gangemi, ‘L’utilizzazione del Deutero-Isaia nell’Apocalyisse di Giovanni’, EuntDoc 27 (1974), pp. 109–44. 60. ‘For this reason the term allusion itself can only be accepted as a broad definition, for it conveys little information about an author’s use of Scripture, except to indicate that it is not a quotation.’ Fekkes, Isaiah, p. 64 (italics original). 61. Ibid., p. 13. 62. Ibid., p. 15. 63. Ibid., p. 69. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, p. 26, notes that, despite calling for allusion to be defined, Fekkes’s concept of allusion is hard to ascertain.

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Next, he presents an overview of the use of OT texts throughout Revelation, grouping their usage under four thematic headings before contextually assessing each allusion in order to ascertain whether it is certain/virtually certain, probable/ possible or unlikely/doubtful.64 He then tabulates his results.65 After this, he refers back to the four thematic headings he had grouped OT texts under, concluding that the results of his study reveal that Isaiah is used under the same headings.66 Fekkes’s most striking insight is that he believes OT texts are grouped around themes rather than controlled by a particular source text: ‘It misses the point to ask whether the book of Daniel, Ezekiel or Isaiah is more important to John. For it is not the book or author which dictates his choice of passages, but the topic.’67 This is important, demonstrating far more variety of sources than Beale’s presentation of Daniel as a guiding text, with other texts linked to its key themes. Therefore, Fekkes’s work acts as an important milestone in the study of particular books in Revelation because, although it focuses on one text, the results demonstrate that reading for a dominant voice is somewhat problematic. However, the research is still dictated by the need to silence voices, tabulate in order of prominence and read for authorial intent.

V  Steve Moyise (1995) Steve Moyise’s The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation drew heavily on the work of Ruiz, calling for a more reader-focused approach to the text.68 He examines the use of the OT in Revelation before suggesting a suitable methodology.69 Based on this, he argues that Revelation’s ‘allusive use of Scripture is not easily contained within traditional source criticism but demands a broader approach’.70 The approach he suggests is ‘intertextuality’, as used by John Hollander and Richard

64. Fekkes, Isaiah, pp. 71–101. The four categories are: (1) visionary experience and language, (2) Christological titles and descriptions, (3) eschatological judgement and (4) eschatological salvation. He observes that ‘rather than discovering a conglomerate of divergent texts, one continually encounters various clusters of tradition which can be arranged according to theme and purpose’. Ibid., p. 70. 65. Ibid., pp. 106–278. 66. Indicating his research order and guiding principle (Isaiah). 67. He wants to avoid notions that ‘he [John] indiscriminately lumps together primary, secondary and even, at times, non-existent allusions’. Ibid., p. 103. 68. S. Moyise, The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995). Yet, in some ways, Ruiz is more radical in his approach, as observed in Beale, Old Testament, pp. 29–40. 69. He examines references to the seven churches and OT in Revelation 1–3, the use of Ezekiel, and the use of Daniel. He also looks at the use of the OT in Qumran. 70. Moyise, Revelation, p. 139.

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Hays.71 For Moyise, intertextuality involves looking at the dialogue between different texts and seeing whether the tensions created are resolved,72 its task being ‘to explore how the source text continues to speak through the new work and how the new work forces new meanings from the source text’.73 He strives to show how neither OT nor NT has priority but each dialogue with each other, with tensions left unresolved.74 What is more, he argues that the possibilities of intertextual echo need not ‘be limited to John’s conscious intention’,75 and that seemingly erroneous voices need not be silenced.76 Thus, Moyise foregrounds reader interactions, and

71. Ibid., pp. 108–20; Hollander, Figure of Echo; R. B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). Intertextuality is a notoriously slippery term. It was coined by semiotician Julia Kristeva when she was explaining how all language is in dialogue with other terms be they linguistic, social or cultural. This permanent interconnectedness was therefore termed ‘intertextuality’. See J. Kristeva, ‘Word, Dialogue, Novel’, in Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art, trans. T. Gora, L. S. Roudiez and A. Jardine (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), pp. 64–91; R. Barthes, S/Z, trans. R. Miller (New York: Hill and Wang, 1974); M. Orr, Intertextuality: Debates and Contexts (Cambridge: Polity, 2003). For an excellent introduction, see G. Allen, Intertextuality (London: Routledge, 2006).Moyise, Revelation, p. 23, notes intertextuality’s semiotic roots and continues to nuance his views in later publications, for example, S. Moyise, ‘Intertextuality and the Book of Revelation’, ExpTim 104, no. 10 (1993), pp. 295–8; S. Moyise, ‘Intertextuality and the Study of the Old Testament in the New Testament’, in Old Testament in the New Testament, ed. S. Moyise (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 14–41; S. Moyise, ‘Intertextuality and the Use of Scripture in the Book of Revelation?’, Scriptura 84 (2003), pp. 391–401; S. Moyise, ‘Intertextuality, Historical Criticism and Deconstruction’, in The Intertextuality of the Epistles: Explorations of Theory and Practice, ed. T. L. Brodie, D. R. MacDonald and S. E. Porter (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006), pp. 24–34; S. Moyise, Evoking Scripture: Seeing the Old Testament in the New (London: T&T Clark, 2008); S. Moyise, ‘Models for Intertextual Interpretation of Revelation’, in Revelation and the Politics of Apocalyptic Interpretation, ed. R. B. Hays and S. Alkier (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2012), pp. 31–46. 72. For example, he points out that both Thyatira’s metal industry and Daniel’s fiery furnace have been claimed as the primary source ‘burnished bronze’ in Revelation 1. He then questions whether one of these suggestions has to be settled on or whether they can remain in tension: ‘Are these contradictory explanations or can they both be true?’ Moyise, Revelation, pp. 143–4. 73. Ibid., p. 111. 74. Ibid., pp. 108–38. 75. Ibid., p. 118. 76. Ibid., p. 117. This is in relation to Psalm 89 and Rev. 1.5, where he argues that even if altered the voice need not be silenced if it can be found in the readers’ ‘cave of resonant signification’ as discussed by Hollander in Figure of Echo.

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does not need to harmonize potentially conflicting voices in Revelation, or to find one particular ‘hermeneutical key’.77 Moyise does not describe a precise methodology so much as he proposes an ‘interactive approach’ to reading where less dominant voices are listened to, and the reader is addressed by a plurality of voices.78 The closest he comes to a methodology is to look at the work of Renaissance literary theorist Thomas Greene which discusses four types of imitative practice: 1. Reproductive: an imitation that is ‘virtually a copy’ and has a positive sense of the object being imitated, where the source text moves into the realm of sacred object ‘whose greatness can never be adequately reproduced’ 2. Eclectic: bringing together many sources ‘seemingly at random’ without prioritizing any one source 3. Heuristic: a new work which rewrites or modernizes a past text creating a distance between the old and the new, making way for resolution 4. Dialectic: where neither text is able to absorb or master the other, a struggle is created that cannot be easily resolved, and anachronism becomes a dynamic source for artistic power.79 Moyise then argues that all bar reproductive imitation are promising ways for examining Revelation’s text, presenting short readings of sections and scholarly approaches to show how this could create a more interactive approach.80 After this publication, Moyise became part of the debate already outlined over authorial intention/reader-response approaches with Beale. However, despite becoming known as ‘radical’ in his reader-response theories, Moyise’s first work actually uses ‘authorial intention’ language for nearly its entirety.81 This allows Beale, during their debates regarding reading practices, to demonstrate the similarities in their work, arguing that Moyise does exactly what Beale does only clothed in new language.82 This means that Beale can subsume Moyise into his own interpretative practices, when in fact at the heart of Moyise’s work is something quite different, 77. Moyise, Revelation, p. 143. 78. Ibid., pp. 143–5. He observes, ‘It is often worth asking whether the less dominant voice has anything to contribute. It may be that traditions of interpretation have forced it into premature closure.’ Ibid., p. 145. 79. T. M. Greene, The Light in Troy: Imitation and Discovery in Renaissance Poetry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), pp. 37–48; Moyise, Revelation, pp. 18–20. 80. Moyise, Revelation, pp. 120–35. 81. For example, ‘what John is doing with the text’, ‘what he intended’. Only in his conclusion does he make his case for reader focused interpretations, but still uses the language of authorial intent. 82. Beale, Old Testament, pp. 41–59; Beale, ‘Authorial Intent’, pp. 151–80; Beale, ‘Response to Paulien’, pp. 23–33. See Paulien, ‘Criteria’, pp. 113–30, who breaks the difference down into Hirschian and Derridean stances.

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looking for both similarities and differences, points of tension, unresolved issues and ambiguities in meaning. Moyise uses authorial intent terminology in order to offer a new approach, introducing the possibility of OT texts dialoguing with cultural sources,83 neither of which receives primacy,84 and also focusing on how cultural locations cause changes in interpretation.85 In doing so, he argues that the ‘apple’ sense of meaning is incorrect and that rather: Texts are not like apples that have been placed in a decorative bowl of fruit, with solid boundaries to protect them from interacting with other fruit. If anything, they are more like a fruit salad, where the pieces of fruit retain traces of their original setting but one is now more impressed with the differences.86

These are important observations which Beale glances over too quickly with his Hirschian analyses of ‘significance’ and ‘meaning’. Moyise’s studies continue to move in a reader-response direction, focusing on potential areas of tension, disharmony and duality.87 Indeed, as with Beale it is impossible to ignore the impact Moyise’s work has made. His argument that the primary question in looking at OT allusions should not be ‘has the author respected the context?’ but ‘in what ways do the two (or more) contexts interact?’ opens the way for more multifaceted composite readings.88

83. W. M. Ramsay, The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia and Their Place in the Plan of the Apocalypse (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1904); C. J. Hemer, The Letters to the Seven Churches of Asia in Their Local Setting (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989). 84. Contra Beale who argues that OT texts are always the primary point of importance. 85. For Beale, this is simply the difference between meaning and significance, but what Moyise argues is more subtle, where ‘original meaning’ is annulled, and the audience creates ‘meaning’ in their new location. Even if we describe Moyise’s work with authorial intent language, he still demonstrates that for John of Patmos the meaning of the text cannot be the same as it was in its OT context, for John is reading it from a different cultural perspective. See S. Moyise, ‘Respect for Context Once More’, IBS 27 (2006), pp. 24–31, which summarizes Moyise’s and Beale’s arguments up until 2006, and demonstrates what the difference in assumptions of ‘original meaning’ actually is. 86. Moyise, ‘Use of Analogy’, p. 34 (italics original). 87. For example, S. Moyise, ‘Does the Lion Lie down with the Lamb?’ in Studies in the Book of Revelation, ed. S. Moyise (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001), pp. 181–94, where he shows some tensions are hard to resolve, using varying critical views to demonstrate the different ways readers respond to the same text. 88. It is interesting to note that much of his subsequent focus has been on the use of specific OT books in the NT, and so he is perhaps not using his potential composite reading techniques as effectively as he could, for example, Moyise, Evoking Scripture.

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VI  Alison Jack (1999) If Moyise is radical, Alison Jack’s Texts Reading Texts, Sacred and Secular is extreme,89 fully embracing postmodern reader-response literary theory and rarely appearing in ‘Revelation and OT’ studies.90 Jack sets up a dialogue between two books’ relationships with their source texts: James Hogg’s The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (1824) and Revelation, and Revelation and the OT. First, she examines how reading Confessions in light of Derridean notions of deconstruction can create fresh insights, and then reads Revelation in light of these findings. She then explores Tina Pippin’s deconstructionist readings of Revelation to see whether these can, in turn, inform readings of Confessions.91 She concludes that Revelation is a text where attempts to create a power base through using OT sources ultimately fail when the dichotomies created are allowed to collapse, believing that inconsistencies need not be ‘smoothed over’, as previous interpreters have done.92 A problem with Jack’s work is that only Hogg’s Confessions is used as a dialogue partner and so if the reader has not already encountered this book, it makes much of her study difficult to enter into. However, her approach of throwing aside criteria for assessing OT allusions, definitions and original meaning is refreshing. She finds useful methodologies for reading ‘texts within literary texts’ through her explorations of Revelation in Hogg’s Confessions and then seeks to show how these can inform readings of the OT in Revelation. She does not focus on one OT source in particular, but looks at composite passages allowing texts to dialogue with each other, giving none the final say.93 As a result, the work throws the field into a completely new direction, and is particularly informative through showing literary theory in situ in Hogg’s Confessions, before applying it to Revelation.94

89. A. Jack, Texts Reading Texts, Sacred and Secular: Two Postmodern Perspectives (JSNTSup, 179; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). This perhaps accounts for the lack of appreciation of her work in mainstream Revelation studies (e.g. Jauhiainen makes no mention of her work). 90. For a summary of literary theory and readings of the Bible until 1999, see ibid., pp. 11–36. 91. Ibid., pp. 193–7. See also T. Pippin, Death and Desire: The Rhetoric of Gender in the Apocalypse of John (Louisville: John Knox Press, November 1992); T. Pippin, ‘Peering into the Abyss: A Postmodern Reading of the Biblical Bottomless Pit’, in The New Literary Criticism and the New Testament, ed. E. McKnight and E. Malbon (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1994), pp. 251–67. 92. Jack, Texts, pp. 197–209. 93. She follows Beale and Moyise’s footsteps by providing historical comparison through the study of miradshim and Qumran literature. Ibid., pp. 75–124. 94. Jack’s work manages to free itself of the weight of the debate we have explored above, approaching Revelation from fresh perspectives and a range of methodologies.

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VII  David Mathewson (2003) David Mathewson’s A New Heaven and a New Earth: The Meaning and Function of the Old Testament in Revelation 21:1–22:5 focuses on OT usage in a particular section aiming ‘not just to isolate and validate allusions’ but also to move into interpretation, drawing on the work of Hays, Hollander and Moyise.95 He questions the adoption of an allusion/echo distinction, pointing out that in Hays’s work this is more of a spectrum than two separate terms.96 He also questions whether viewing an allusion as more important than an echo is actually a useful way to approach Revelation’s complex textual fabric. Finally, he wants to read in what he calls an ‘intertextual’ way, which he describes as a way that allows him ‘to focus on the complex interplay between two texts’, where the older text affects the new, and also the new text is read as affecting the old.97 Therefore, in order to facilitate this complex textual interplay, Mathewson aims to bring Graeco-Roman texts and cultural voices into his discussion, rather than only focusing on the OT. In doing so he wants to account for the fact that ‘John does not slavishly follow his sources’ but ‘modifies and transforms his Old Testament imagery’.98 The results of reading from this perspective indicate that what would often fall into the realm of an echo actually presents a significant textual presence in the image of the New Jerusalem. Also, he demonstrates not only that the image is focused on the textual world of the OT, but also that Graeco-Roman ideas are also likely to be involved: ‘It seems likely that John has employed imagery that would have been at home in more than one thought-world and would have evoked multiple associations.’99 Finally, he concurs with Jauhiainen/Fekkes that texts are brought together not around a hermeneutical magnet, or a selection of specific theological concepts, but rather around more broad thematic resonances.100 Mathewson’s reading presents a way to approach Revelation which does not give precedent to one text, but rather allows for both echoes and allusions to resonate. Also, he moves away from finding what the author consciously intended, instead focusing more on the interaction of voices within the passage, believing ‘the interpretive task is only half accomplished when Old Testament allusions and echoes are isolated, validated and acknowledged’.101 He is happy to see more than one ‘source text’ at work in a section, comparing the use of OT in Revelation to counterpoint, where two or more independent melodies are going at the same   95. Mathewson, New Heaven, p. 23.   96. Ibid., pp. 24–5.   97. Ibid., p. 23.   98. Ibid., p. 19.   99. Ibid., p. 232. 100. D. Mathewson, ‘Assessing Old Testament Allusions in the Book of Revelation’, EvQ 75, no. 4 (2003), pp. 311–25. 101. Mathewson, New Heaven, p. 235.

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time.102 However, as his study progresses he does fall into finding guiding sources and plotting how they move through the image, ultimately concluding that certain texts provide the dominant voices, with others being supplementary. Therefore, despite his Ruiz/Moyise leanings, finding harmony and dominance still feature prominently.

VIII  Beate Kowalski (2004) Beate Kowalski set out to systematically map references to Ezekiel,103 intent on creating a methodology which prevents subjectivities and parallelomania, while also examining Greek and Hebrew versions.104 She adopts a two-pronged approach to deal with the multiple-level relationship between Revelation and Ezekiel.105 In the first part of the study, she uses previous scholarly categorizations and also the software programme Bible Works106 to pinpoint every instance where two or more words unique to Ezekiel appear together in order to find all allusions to Ezekiel and to examine how ‘similar’ they are.107 She then pinpoints thematic sections of Ezekiel which John was particularly concerned with, such as temple measurements, unfaithful women and Gog and Magog.108 Finally, she provides a short discussion of hermeneutical implications, concluding that Revelation is not an ‘Interpretation’ of the OT nor a ‘Textmosaik’, and that John and Ezekiel did not share identical understandings of texts, but that scripture is still a timeless source.109 This is the most ‘scientific’ approach to Revelation’s allusions to date, and it should come as little surprise that Paulien described it as ‘the best available

102. Ibid., p. 234. 103. B. Kowalski, Die Rezeption des Propheten Ezechiel in der Offenbarung des Johannes (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2004). 104. Ibid., pp. 52–69. 105. She demonstrates the extensive signalling to OT texts in different layers of the book, in order to show the multilevel relationship, and variety of ‘leserlenkungssignale’ present. Ibid., pp. 28–52. 106. Bible Works for Windows, Version 5.020w. 107. ‘Sprachliche Untersuchung aller Anspielungen auf Ez’. Kowalski, Die Rezeption, p. 70. Full results: ibid., pp. 83–275; Scholarly sources: ibid., pp. 71–2. 108. She identifies seven key categories, the others being commissioning narratives and divine visions; sealing and labelling, hope of resurrection, and New Jerusalem visions. Kowalski, Die Rezeption, pp. 307–426. 109. Ibid., p. 499. For a more extensive and collated examination of findings and clarification of terminology, see B. Kowalski, ‘Transformation of Ezekiel in John’s Revelation’, in Transforming Visions: Transformations of Text, Tradition, and Theology in Ezekiel, ed. W. A. Tooman and M. A. Lyons (Eugene: Pickwick, 2010), pp. 279–311.

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example of the approach I was calling for in my dissertation’.110 Her structural and verbal focus does facilitate a more contextualized approach, and the depth and breadth of past scholarship covered and interpretative issues discussed are extensive, to say the least. However, it is yet another study of a single book, splitting Revelation up into constituent parts rather than reading its multivocal text holistically, and again focusing on authorial motivation and mindset.111 What is more, reading only in relation to Ezekiel produces another skewed set of results. For example, it is hardly surprising to find Kowalski arguing that John sees himself standing in line with Ezekiel when she has examined Revelation through the lens of Ezekiel.112 Others have come to remarkably similar conclusions when looking through one-book lenses, as we have seen with Beale’s Daniel-centric reading. Also, excessive detail aside, what her results actually show which has not been previously seen is somewhat unclear. For example, she argues that there is a Christological hermeneutic at work, that the OT material is transformed, that particularly strong Ezekiel resonances occur in Rev. 18 and that reliance on LXX or MT cannot be confirmed. These results have all been shown in previous studies which have relied on far less detailed methodological frameworks. What is more, this study offers little in the way of understanding readerly interactions with the text because the method she uses is so nuanced, scientific and systematic that it bears no resemblance to the reading practice.113

IX  Marko Jauhiainen (2005) Marko Jauhiainen focuses on the use of Zechariah in Revelation.114 He moves away from the certain/probable/possible debates, stating that as an endeavour ‘analysing allusions in Revelation is – and remains – essentially a subjective one’.115 Jauhiainen believes, like Paulien, that different criteria were being used by interpreters to 110. J. Paulien, ‘Review of Beate Kowalski, Die Rezeption Des Propheten Ezechiel in Der Offenbarung Des Johannes’, JBL 123, no. 4 (2005), pp. 782–5 (782). 111. She does note Beale’s challenge of combined allusions, presenting potential multiple voices in order to find where Ezekiel alone has influenced. Ibid., pp. 73–83. 112. Kowalski, ‘Transformation’, p. 500. 113. Yes, Bible Works is helpful, but such systematic application and splitting up of such a composite text goes somewhat against the grain of what it is to enter into an artistic experience. Alarm bells ring when, as a result of this study, Paulien made ‘statistical calculations’ to find out percentages of allusions in Revelation. ‘Review’, pp. 784–5. 114. Jauhiainen, Zechariah. During his research the aforementioned Rogers’s ‘John’s Use of Zechariah’ appeared, and he responded by using Rogers’s results to demonstrate the subjectivities of findings. 115. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, p. 34. Although keen to move on from Moyise-reader/ Beale-author debates, he uses author-centred language, limiting the distance from previous studies.

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isolate allusions in Revelation.116 Therefore, he turns to Ziva Ben-Porat of the Tel Aviv School of poetics and semiotics for a definition of allusion which is neither too scientific nor too ‘catch all’: A device for the simultaneous activation of two texts. The activation is achieved through the manipulation of a special signal; a sign (simple or complex) in a given text characterized by an additional larger ‘referent’. This referent is always an independent text. The simultaneous activation of the two texts thus connected results in the formation of intertextual patterns whose nature cannot be predetermined.117

Key for Jauhiainen is not only the fact that Ben-Porat defines an allusion from a reader-oriented perspective, which he is keen to adopt, but also the fact that she describes the fourfold process by which an allusion ‘actualizes’ with the readers. This process is separated out into three categories: literary allusion, general allusion and echo, which Jauhiainen uses as a way to read potential allusions to Zechariah in Revelation and to examine whether proposed allusions are in fact actualized.118 After providing his own reading of Zechariah,119 he then analyses each potential allusion in Revelation in the order that they appear to have been drawn from Zechariah.120 As a result he concludes that the majority of potential allusions are actually false positives, and the number of certain/possible allusions (he adopts Beale’s categories) are much less frequent than believed. He also sees them as thematically grouped.121 By adopting a wide-reaching allusion definition which does not focus on size or similarity, Jauhiainen creates more nuanced readings than some of his predecessors. However, by focusing only on Zechariah and reading allusions in the order they appear in that book rather than in the text of Revelation, the work is dry at best, and at worst completely decontextualized. Also, when finding ‘false parallels’ he makes judgements against the background of Zechariah primarily, rather than in the broad textual framework of Revelation. Like Fekkes, his eagerness to focus on limiting the number of allusions limits the cumulative effect of reading Revelation 116. Ibid., pp. 19–26. 117. See ibid., pp. 26–9; Z. Ben-Porat, ‘The Poetics of Literary Allusion’, PTL 1 (1978), pp. 105–28. Ben-Porat is an acclaimed literary theorist, lending weight to the work, and her methods have been used in other studies on allusions, for example, J. S. Vassar, Recalling a Story Once Told: An Intertextual Reading of the Psalter and the Pentateuch (Macon: Mercer University Press, 2007). 118. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, pp. 21–4. 119. Ibid., pp. 37–61. 120. Ibid., pp. 62–129. 121. He presents statistical breakdowns, comparing his results with previous studies, and arguing that ‘objective’ criteria have led to disparate results. See ibid., pp. 100, 134–5, for his tabulated information.

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in relation to multiple textual voices. However, he does note that allusion is just one technique at work in Revelation, calling for more work to be done on the different relationships between source texts and suggesting in a footnote that the work of Gérard Genette and ‘hypertextuality’ may prove useful.122

X  Agreements and Ways Forward As already stated, Beale draws attention to a key issue surrounding Revelation’s relationship with the OT, which is echoed in all the above studies: ‘Sometimes four, five, or more OT references are merged into one picture. … How are such combined allusions to be studied?’123 Answers fall (roughly) into two categories: read what the author intended (e.g. Beale, Paulien and Fekkes) or take a readerresponse approach (e.g. Ruiz, Moyise and Jack), with Beale and Moyise acting as the public figureheads for these approaches. We begin by assessing the trends in studies which follow Beale’s way of reading before arguing that Ruiz, Jack and Moyise need to be reconsidered. Beale’s answer is to split up the text, pinpointing ‘certain allusions’ and finding key OT sources to guide interpretation. This has been continued by Paulien, Fekkes and Jauhiainen who have all read in order to uncover the allusions which control the texts, and to ‘split up’ textual units. ‘Original meaning’ can then be assessed and questions surrounding whether John respected contexts can be asked. However, as Paulien admits, this has led to fragmented readings, often telling us more about the OT source texts than Revelation itself. By concentrating on ‘how John uses scripture’, the focus has been turned away from Revelation and towards OT texts. Mathewson presents a more contextualized approach, focusing on the cumulative effect of OT texts in his chosen passage, rather than on one particular source text, and so presents a less fragmented way to move forward. The primary focus in OT textual relationships with Revelation has been allusions. This appears to arise due to their being the ‘next best’ textual source after quotations (Beale and Paulien). The ‘more like’ source texts allusions are in wording, structure and theme, the better and the more influential they become when interpreting Revelation. Hays’s and Hollander’s studies on the difference between allusions and echoes have been invoked (Paulien, Mathewson) to assist sorting definite allusions from more erroneous echoes. However, Mathewson has shown that allusions and echoes are more of a spectrum without ‘primacy’ of importance, and so reading Revelation’s relationship with OT texts more 122. Ibid., p. 138, n. 15. G. Genette, Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree, trans. C. Newman and C. Doubinsky (Stages, 8; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997). Jauhiainen’s more recent scholarship examines Qumran and rewritten Bible, for example, M. Jauhiainen, ‘Revelation and Rewritten Prophecies’, in Rewritten Bible Reconsidered, ed. A. Laato and J. V. Ruiten (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2008), pp. 177–97. 123. Beale, Commentary, p. 79.

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holistically is becoming foregrounded, with an increasing call to listen to both quiet and louder textual voices. Also, Jauhiainen points out that allusions are only one way that Revelation dialogues with other sources, and Fekkes declares that allusions are ‘not entirely satisfactory in describing John’s method’.124 Mathewson’s attention to one section and a range of ‘textual voices’ is, in many ways, returning to Beale’s case study approach. However, by focusing on interactions and plurality of reference fields, it is clear that Beale’s ‘one-book focus’ style of reading and searches for which OT source text Revelation is most like (Kowalski aside) are beginning to be laid to rest after thirty years of attempts.125 Also, we can see a movement away from Beale’s need to find dominant textual voices to control passages. While the studies of Fekkes, Kowalski and Jauhiainen work focused on the importance of one text, they actually found that no one source controlled groupings, rather arguing that ‘themes’ seemed to guide. Also, Mathewson has demonstrated that quieter voices may play key roles which are silenced prematurely when read in relation to the loudest controlling texts. These insights have come about as interpretations have moved away from the need to harmonize readings, allowing more room for multiple textual voices to speak, and this has enabled Mathewson to study both Graeco-Roman and OT sources, believing that multiple meanings and thought-worlds are being evoked. The foregrounding-authorial-intent-searching reading practice proposed by Beale has influenced/instigated many of the interpretative strategies seen above. Finding the ‘core meaning’ of multivalent images, ‘key source texts’ and what is ‘in the mind of the author’ has understandably led to a focus on ‘how John understood’ particular OT texts, and what he has ‘done’ with his sources. However, it is clear that this perspective is finally losing ground, as indicated by Mathewson’s and Jauhiainen’s more recent studies. Although resembling Beale, Paulien and Fekkes in many ways, Mathewson makes clear that describing the ‘use of OT sources alone’ is not enough. He argues that equal weight should be given to understanding the effect of the text on the interpreter. Also, Jauhiainen may still pinpoint allusions but he does this by using Ben-Porat’s reader-focused allusion mechanism. The way the text impacts the audience is being reconsidered as ‘scientific methodologies’ and ‘John’s use of ’ studies have still not found effective ways to describe Revelation’s complex textual fabric. The multivocal nature of the text, which does not seem guided by one specific key source and which points to tension, calls for a more interactive way of reading. Therefore, it is time to bring the often marginalized readings of Ruiz, Jack and Moyise back into focus in order to introduce interpretative strategies that build on the above findings. 124. Fekkes, Isaiah, p. 69. 125. Indeed, if Kowalski represents the future of readings, then Revelation and OT studies runs the risk of forgetting the creative and artistic nature of Revelation. However, it is clear from the majority of studies, Paulien aside, that something more holistic and reader focused is needed, and what is more, even Paulien’s review notes that Kowalski’s approach actually moves into bias towards Ezekiel.

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Moyise suggests an answer to ‘how are such combined allusions to be studied?’126 which is in line with the trends emerging above: ‘It is more fruitful to try and find ways to describe the interaction of the OT motifs, phrases, and images in Revelation than to debate whether or not John has respected the OT context of his allusions.’127 Ruiz, Jack and Moyise all present attempts to read Revelation this way, describing textual interactions and focusing on reader impact. Ruiz sees multiple voices in the text which call the readers into active participation; Moyise and Jack take this further, believing that readers are called to struggle with the text of Revelation and not necessarily harmonize the multivalent voices. Moyise does not seek comparative texts, but rather a theory to describe Revelation, seeing intertextuality as offering the most potential, as Mathewson does. However, intertextuality itself is not a methodology, nor even a description of specific textual practices. Rather, it is a way of describing textual relationships.128 Therefore, while we can definitely state that Revelation is highly intertextual and that this should be kept in mind, it is clear that something more is needed to describe its composite nature. Moyise suggests the work of Greene and his eclectic, heuristic and dialogical imitative categories. Imitation is also raised as an issue hovering over Revelation by Ruiz, albeit in a negative sense, as he is keen to show that Revelation does not imitate Ezekiel, but rather offers a more creative reworking. This tension of imitation versus creativity was also noted by Mathewson. The notion of imitation sits well with Beale’s observations that the text of Revelation is never identical to OT texts, but continually very close. Jauhiainen also draws attention to the work of Genette exploring ‘literature in the second degree’. Therefore, this area of imitation warrants further attention than Moyise’s short studies provide.129 It is clear from above that there is little consensus as to how to read Revelation’s complex relationship with OT sources. However, there are some important trends present in these studies and even some agreements. All interpreters have agreed that Revelation presents a multivoiced text. All have agreed that the fabric of the text is complex and resembles OT sources on many levels, including verbal, thematic and structural. All have agreed that Revelation never exactly replicates source texts, but rather creates something generally termed as ‘more allusive’. Also, all have in one way or another recognized that this complex textual fabric creates potential tensions for interpretation. Therefore, although differences appear around how best to answer Beale’s question ‘how are such combined allusions to be studied?’ we have seen a general movement towards focusing on the impact on readers and a movement away from finding which OT source text Revelation is most like, towards exploring fruitful ways of describing 126. Beale, Commentary, p. 79. 127. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, p. 15; S. Moyise, ‘Does the NT Quote the OT Out of Context?’, Anvil 11, no. 2 (1994), pp. 133–43 (138); Moyise, Revelation, p. 141. 128. Paul, ‘Revelation 12’, p. 259. 129. I know of no Revelation publications that have further pursued this.

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its multivocal interactions. Therefore, rather than isolating single voices, reading combined voices together is becoming foregrounded as an important reading approach. Most significantly, Moyise’s suggestion of imitative categories fits effectively with increasing recognition that Revelation utilizes source texts at a variety of levels and picks up on Jauhiainen’s suggestion that Genette’s work on imitation may be a way forward. However, we have seen a concern to apply the term ‘imitation’ to Revelation in the work of Ruiz and Mathewson, with both arguing that Revelation is not ‘mere imitation’ but rather a ‘creative reworking’. Yet, by drawing attention to Greene’s ‘types’ of Renaissance imitation and the potential that viewing Revelation in relation to imitation offers, Moyise has indicated that these negative opinions warrant reassessing. In light of this, we now turn to the Graeco-Roman world in order to examine whether the concepts of combined voices and imitation are something which may be appropriate to use in relation to Revelation. Previous studies have, at this point, turned to Qumran to explore textual practices, with Beale, Jack, Moyise, Kowalski and Fekkes all comparing Revelation’s use of OT texts to Qumran and Jauhiainen suggesting rewritten Bible as a way forward. However, the fruits of these comparisons have been limited, demonstrating that Revelation is clearly not the same as texts from Qumran. Due to the similarity of content (OT sources) a focus on reader impact tends to get subsumed into questions surrounding how OT texts were viewed theologically, which OT sources were preferred and what scribal practices were at work. I follow in their footsteps by also providing a window into ancient textual practices. However, I take a different approach in order to avoid the above issues by choosing to look at imitation and combination in the Graeco-Roman world, and past scholarly attitudes to these practices. The focus is then on reader approaches and scholarly attitudes to imitation and combination, rather than on more content-focused questions so that we can see whether these concepts of imitation and combination can offer a way forward that allows us to gain insights into Revelation’s multivocal, like but not the same as, textual impact on readers.

Chapter 2 R evisualizing the P ast: A ncient I mitation and C ombination

Imitation has suffered from a somewhat negative reputation since what James Austin describes as ‘the nineteenth-century cult of the original writer’,1 where originality was foregrounded, and we have seen the impact of this mindset on the works above. Indeed, we have seen a reluctance to use imitation to refer to textual practices of the past, rather reserving the term for works which are ‘substandard’ or ‘lacking’. In the same way, combination and its natural artistic outcome eclecticism have frequently been relegated to hotchpotch, aesthetic confusion and poor practice. However, as postmodernism2 revitalized these creative practices, so approaches to ancient texts began to be reconsidered, and questions were raised regarding the primacy of originality. This new viewpoint, as we shall see, revealed the diversity and complexity of ancient imitation and combination which had previously been overlooked, and indicated that modern approaches to viewing ancient texts warranted reconsideration. Therefore, we now turn to a historical recontextualization of the world into which Revelation was written in order to 1. J. Austin, Proust, Pastiche, and the Postmodern, or Why Style Matters (Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press, 2015), p. 41. 2. Discussing what exactly constitutes the postmodern/postmodernism is beyond the scope of this project, and its range of reference is so broad that Charles Jencks can say, ‘In short, it [postmodernism] means almost everything and, thus, nearly nothing.’ C. Jencks, ‘Postmodern and Late Modern: The Essential Definitions’, Chicago Review 35, no. 4 (1987), pp. 31–58 (47). For our purposes, the postmodern/postmodernism follows the work of Margaret Rose as referring to the culture of the second half of the twentieth century which seemed to move on from the principles of Modernism, breaking down grand narratives, introducing double-speak and moving into a realm of borrowing and imitation. This will be discussed more in our next chapter. For a postmodern account of sculptural viewing theory, see E. K. Gazda, ‘Roman Sculpture and the Ethos of Emulation: Reconsidering Repetition’, HSCP 97 (1995), pp. 121–56; E. E. Perry, The Aesthetics of Emulation in the Visual Arts of Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); R. Weisberg, ‘Twentieth-Century Rhetoric: Enforcing Originality and Distancing the Past’, MAARSup 1 (2002), p. 25.

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show how eclectic combination, an appreciation of imitation and an ability to read multiple voices from different locations (geographical/temporal/textual) were very much part of the viewing practices of the Graeco-Roman world. After all, as Beale points out, quoting M. Goulder, ‘Unless you can show your tool in the hands of other contemporary sculptors, I shall remain unconvinced of its use in the architecture of the New Testament.’3 Therefore, we take this interpretative challenge literally, by showing how sculptural practices dialogued with and combined past models in complex artistic relationships. Then literary theory will be discussed, revealing a clear encouragement and praise for the practice of imitation and an appreciation for literature which openly blended sources from various texts. Finally, we turn to architecture to see how the centre of Jewish life, the temple, was full of eclecticism. This will not be an exhaustive study, but rather a ‘snapshot’ of recent scholarly developments surrounding a range of ancient creations from the world into which Revelation was written, in order to reassess the tools being used at the time. Also, the focus here is intentionally different from historical comparisons carried out in previous studies: rather than examining how other documents used OT texts (rewritten Bible, midrash, etc.), our focus is on imitation and combination as more wide-ranging ancient textual practices, and also on previous scholarly attitudes to these phenomena. Therefore, this is an exercise in reimagining how we can view Revelation, showing how the recent trends observed in the above Revelation studies are also being seen in wider Graeco-Roman viewing practices, revealing multivocal texts, a penchant for imitation and less need for harmonization of voices than previously imagined.

I Statues Statues are our entry point into the Graeco-Roman world of imitation and combination. This is because it was impossible not to mix with them on some level as they were found in so many locations: temples, homes, palaces, marketplaces, baths, gardens, etc.4 Many creations were heavily influenced by Greek sculptures, and for much of history their merit has been questioned, often regarded only as poor re-creations of Greek masterpieces. However, more recent studies have questioned the assumption that these are ‘lesser works’, and in doing so have introduced new perspectives on imitation and combination in antiquity. 3. Beale, Use of Daniel, p. 310; M. D. Goulder, Type and History in Acts (London: SPCK, 1964), p. 10. 4. Jerusalem was the exception, but even the most zealous Jews seem to have had issues avoiding such images: S. Fine, Art and Judaism in the Greco-Roman World: Toward a New Jewish Archaeology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 113. As Revelation addresses cities located within the Diaspora the presence of statues should be assumed: S. J. Friesen, Imperial Cults and the Apocalypse of John: Reading Revelation in the Ruins (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001).

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Greek sculptors such as Myron, Leochares and Praxiteles are renowned for creating some of the most famous sculptures in history. However, although descriptions of their works can often be found in ancient texts, the actual statues described are seldom found.5 Instead, the only surviving versions are Roman ‘copies’ which resemble these lost Greek masterpieces such as Apollo Belvedere, believed to be copy of a Greek original attributed to Leochares, and Discobolus, prized as a copy of the original by Myron.6 Primary scholarly importance has been given to those copies which are ‘most like’ the Greek originals, and methods have been created to assist in extracting the no longer existing forms.7 The aim has been to uncover ‘exactly how Greek the sculpture is and how corrupted the Greek quality has been by contact with Rome’.8 Therefore, the less statues resemble ‘originals’, the less importance and focus they are given.9 This has created two levels of Roman copy categorization: ‘copies’ which were attempts to re-create exact replicas of the now lost Greek masterpieces; ‘free copies’ which were new classicizing creations, obviously ‘Romanized’ and eclectic.10 Free copies have been awarded merit only in regard to their use of past   5. For example, Lucian, Philops, 18, discusses Myron’s Discobolus, and Pliny, Nat. 34.79 discusses Leochares’s Ganymede/Apollo Belvedere.   6. For an in-depth account of Graeco-Roman copying, see Perry, Aesthetics, who points out that these Greek works were clearly valued in the Roman world with stories of people ‘forging’ them by attributing them to the greats. See also E. E. Perry, ‘Rhetoric, Literary Criticism, and the Roman Aesthetics of Artistic Imitation’, MAARSup 1 (2002), pp. 153–71; Gazda, ‘Roman Sculpture’, pp. 121–56; E. K. Gazda, The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002); B. S. Ridgway, Roman Copies of Greek Sculpture: The Problem of the Originals (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1984); M. Bieber, Ancient Copies: Contributions to the History of Greek and Roman Art (New York: New York University Press, 1977). For a structuralist approach, see T. Hölscher, The Language of Images in Roman Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).   7. The reading method has been ‘copy criticism’ (Kopienkritik), with origins in finding Ur-texts behind surviving literary remnants. Fundamental methodological presuppositions include the following: ‘what they replicated were Greek masterpieces, that those master pieces could be identified with the help of ancient testimonia; that the “hand” of a particular artist can be determined from a copy made by other artists many centuries later, that one can determine what constitutes a good or poor copy even when one lacks the originals, and that stylistic similarities between two sculptures are indicative not only of region or time period, but, more specifically, of an artist’s hand’. Perry, Aesthetics, p. 6.   8. Ibid., p. 90.  9. These statues are labelled as substandard imitations, which fail to achieve the greatness of the originals. 10. They are judged ‘in relation to those past models from which they drew inspiration – presumably those very “masterworks” now lost’. M. Koortbojian, ‘Forms of Attention: Four Notes on Replication and Variation’, MAARSup 1 (2002), pp. 173–204 (173). On classification

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works and have been ‘decried as derivative and of questionable aesthetic value’.11 Latent in this scholarship has been an understanding that rarely did the Roman sculptors carry out ‘simple replication’, but instead they introduced changes to fit their own purposes.12 However, for the past two hundred years, the more the alterations made, the more scholarship has viewed the work as ‘contaminated’, leading to eclectic free copies being passed over.13 Therefore, although imitation and combination was clearly occurring in the creation of Roman statues, the focus has been on ‘the pure original underneath’, and the eclectic layering/imitative changes have been viewed as something to be stripped away.14 However, in light of postmodernism the merit of imitation/reconfiguration within Roman copies has been reconsidered.15 The idea that merit should be allocated based on similarity to source texts has been revoked, and concepts of ‘copy’ and ‘free copy’ rendered constructs of the post-romantic penchant for authenticity and originality/origins.16 This means that previously derided ‘free copies’ are no longer seen as repositories of source texts, but as creations in their own right. From this perspective, attention has turned to how free copies are utilizing eclecticism, imitation and emulation, and in many cases these complex imitative and combinatory practices point to multiple sources.17 Also, their of statues, see Perry, Aesthetics, pp. 78–110. There is also a separate movement which has only valued sculptures in relation to their Romanizing features, in order to extract what it was to be Roman. 11. Koortbojian, ‘Forms of Attention’, p. 173. 12. Terms have been used such as ‘copy’, ‘replica’, ‘repetition’, ‘type’, ‘original’, ‘change of stylization’, ‘transformation’, ‘change of creation’, ‘development’, ‘contamination’, ‘use and reuse’: Bieber, Ancient Copies; Perry, Aesthetics, p. 89; Ridgway, Roman Copies, pp. 82–3. 13. ‘If the artist combines details from different originals into a new work, that is a contamination.’ G. Lippold, Kopien und Umbildungen griechischer Statuen (Munich: Oskar Beck, 1923), Translated by Perry, Aesthetics, p. 78. 14. For a summary of the acceptance of eclecticism in Roman sculpture, see F. C. Tronchin, ‘Introduction: Collecting the Eclectic in Roman Houses’, Arethusa 45, no. 3 (2012), pp. 261–82. 15. This has led to a reassessment of Kopienkritik’s modes of viewing. Indeed, whether the ‘originals’ ever actually existed is now debated. Perry, Aesthetics, pp. 78–110. 16. ‘New discoveries, new approaches, and especially the awakened realisation that many of our positions were based on a romantic conception of art and artists, have brought us to a diametrically opposite stance within the campus of three decades. That many Greek originals could share stylistic and iconographic features is undoubtedly true, but that each Roman ideal work is a faithful rendition of a Greek prototype is – equally undoubtedly – wrong.’ Ridgway, Roman Copies, p. 84. 17. For example, Gazda, ‘Roman Sculpture’, pp. 121–56; Perry, Aesthetics. Unsurprisingly, there have been problems involving definitions. Imitatio had been used to refer to a free rendering of a single prototype, while aemulatio for those after several prototypes and resulting in a new piece of sculpture.

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potential lack of harmony is not seen as derisible because, as Brunilde Ridgway states, ‘a sculpture combining diverse renderings and styles may seem discordant to us, but it was obviously meaningful to the Romans’.18 Therefore, what were previously viewed as contamination and ‘mistakes’ are now being viewed as key Roman artistic practices. Roman sculptors appear to have imitated past works, but also altered them by blending in new features from other statues and contemporary situations.19 These imitative and combinatory practices ranged from the simplistic to the highly complex. For example, there was a popular practice of combining parts of statues into new forms now labelled ‘pastiches’, placing portrait heads onto idealized bodies (Figure 2.1).20 This represented the most basic form, but it could be far more complex, right through to the blending of multiple features and textual forms: It became a sophisticated practice as sculptors mixed Lysippan and Polykleitan forms, translated Hellenistic iconography into classical styles, combined renderings typical of bronze work with others typical of marble carving, and in brief so managed to cloud the stylistic picture that our judgement, based on the vertical development of art, can no longer isolate the individual components of these new wholes.21

Not only can the images these sculptures are ‘most like’ no longer be isolated but there is also a realization that ‘no single Greek master was capable of satisfying entirely the new Roman taste, yet each could contribute to it’.22 Therefore, these combined statues reveal a mentality where multiple sources were in demand, and where multivalent images were appreciated, as Ellen Perry’s analysis of a caryatid known as the Loukou Amazon helps to demonstrate.23 This second-century caryatid sculpture belonged to Roman consul Herodes Atticus from the northeastern Peloponnese, and was first believed to be a ‘free copy’ of a famous Greek statue known as the Mattei Amazon. However, Perry shows that complex changes have been enacted, including the removal of a leg wound, the lowering of the chiton, a change in posture and the addition of implied weight-bearing properties. She argues that these alterations do not just make

18. Ridgway, Roman Copies, p. 84. 19. Perry, Aesthetics, pp. 111–49. 20. This use of the term ‘pastiche’ in ancient sculpture critique refers to works which are constructed from different parts of separate statues, viewed as poor artistic practice by Pliny (Nat. 35.4). However, it is clear these statues were demanded. 21. Ridgway, Roman Copies, p. 84. 22. Ibid. 23. For images to help inform this discussion, please consult Perry’s chapter: Perry, ‘Artistic Imitation’.

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Figure 2.1  Pastiche portrait of Marcia Furnilla, fusing her head with a Venusesque body. Image reproduced courtesy of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen. Photographer, Ole Haupt.

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the Loukou caryatid distinct ‘in antiquarian detail and motif ’,24 but reveal that it is a complex variation, dialoguing with multiple sources at once, and taking features from each. These include a figure known as the Lansdowne Amazon and weight-bearing figures showing defeated peoples. Her hairstyle and arm postures have as much in common with the Lansdowne Amazon as they do with the Mattei, indicating the possibility of more than one Amazon source and leading Perry to state: ‘It is best to interpret the Loukou caryatid as an eclectic creation of the second century a.d. that depends on several Amazon types that were already well known to the Romans.’25 The lowered chiton, change in posture and her function as a caryatid are more akin to the weight-bearing figures depicting captive peoples. However, there is a change in the expected form as the Loukou figure is a woman, and these weight-bearing figures were most often male.26 Therefore, this second-century Amazon indicates that these statues should not be read as repositories for lost texts. Rather, Perry believes: ‘We can read them as simultaneous references to several different, widely known sculptural types and recognize the multivalence of their imagery.’27 Through rereading these sculptures, eclecticism, imitation, combination and alteration are not contaminating, but are textual practices. Also, primacy of the ‘primary source text’ has been undermined, with both alterations and continuations in form being seen as meritorious. This leads Perry to conclude thus: Far from being symptomatic of creative failure, then, eclecticism provided the artist with a strategy for balancing the familiar with the innovative, with the intended result a work of art uniquely suited to a specific social, cultural or physical context. Eclecticism allowed the artist both to link with tradition and to carry it further.28

From this we can see that approaches which pinpoint ‘certain allusions’ and ‘primary source texts’ are being questioned in relation to other Graeco-Roman texts, with a more eclectic, imitative and multivocal world being discovered, as postmodernism has given scholars new lenses to move beyond a sole focus on ‘originality’ and ‘authenticity’. Therefore, we now turn to literary theory in order to further expand our field of vision.

24. Ibid. 25. Ibid., p. 169. 26. Ibid., pp. 169–70. 27. Perry, Aesthetics, p. 149. Also, these images often interacted with each other in their physical locations, producing further juxtapositions and dialogue. 28. Ibid. Her focus on authorial intent should be noticed.

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II  Literary Imitation and Combination Imitatio/Μίμησις29 in Graeco-Roman literature has been extensively studied,30 from its Platonic origins surrounding how the world of forms related to ‘reality’ through art, through Aristotle’s representations of human learning, to Dionysius of Halicarnassus’s introduction of the theme as a key notion in literary production.31 By the first century ce imitation was central to literary creation; indeed, it was ubiquitous in it, as D. A. Russell states: One of the inescapable features of Latin literature is that almost every author, in almost everything he writes, acknowledges his antecedents, his predecessors – in a word, the tradition in which he was bred. … The relationship between the Latin genres and their Greek exemplars may best be seen as a special case of a general Graeco-Roman acceptance of imitation as an essential element in all literary composition.32

Figures such as Cicero, Quintilian and ‘Longinus’33 left helpful repositories of ancient theory on the subject.34 However, in these works it appears that ‘slavish imitation’ is viewed as poor practice. For example, Quintilian shows his disregard for paintings which aim to exactly replicate others when he states: ‘Imitation in and of itself is not enough’ (Inst. 10.2.4)35; Horace says copying should be avoided: ‘Nor will you take pains to render word for word, like a scrupulous interpreter’ 29. This is not in relation to the Platonic concepts of mimesis, but rather the mimesis of imitation in objects, when imitating other objects. I shall use the term imitatio for simplicity, and also to revive the worth of imitation as a complex literary practice. 30. There has been particular emphasis on Latin literature in respect to how it used its ‘Greek predecessors’. As Perry states, ‘Creative imitation has long been a topic of debate among Latinists.’ Perry, ‘Artistic Imitation’, p. 153. For a summary of twentieth-century scholarship from a structuralist perspective, see G. B. Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets (Cornell Studies in Classical Philology, 44; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986). 31. For an exploration of the concept in texts from Plato to the second century ce with a focus on Roman-Greek literature (rather than Latin), see T. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: the Politics of Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 46–71. 32. D. A. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, in Creative Imitation and Latin Literature, ed. D. A. West and A. J. Woodman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 1. 33. The writer of On the Sublime is unknown with Longinus used pseudepigraphally, hence ‘Longinus’ to show this. 34. For a summary, see Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, pp. 1–16. Dionysius of Halicarnassus is the first to discuss literary mimesis, but much of his work is lost. ‘We have some fragments of the first, a good deal of the second … nothing of the third.’ Ibid., pp. 5–6. 35. ‘Imitatio per se ipsa non sufficit.’

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(Ars. 132).36 Therefore, modern scholarship has classed borrowing from past models as ‘secondary, non-original, non-authentic’,37 and in doing so has created a wariness of imitation and a struggle with similarities. As Tim Whitmarsh points out, ‘Impersonation of figures from the Classical past was ubiquitous in Greek culture during the period of the Roman principate. At times, the degree of identification between past and present could be embarrassingly (for modern scholarship, at least) close.’38 Does this mean that Ruiz’s and Mathewson’s concerns that Revelation is not ‘mere imitation’ are well founded, with such practices being seen as lesser in the Graeco-Roman world? Recent scholarly reassessments indicate a more complex situation. It is clear that imitation was a key part of the education system, with many of the paideia’s teaching methods focusing on imitating past texts.39 Following the appropriate models (decorum) and emulating the greatness of those from the past (ζήλωσις/aemulatio) was the way to be a great orator. Indeed, prior to his seeming derision of imitation, Quintilian explains the merits of imitatio in the learning process, expounding useful Greek and Latin models, and indicating how the concept of being ‘alike’ is important: ‘We must, in fact, be either like or unlike (aut similes aut dissimiles) those who have proved their excellence. It is rare for nature to produce such resemblance, which is more often the result of imitation.’40 As the education system focused on learning how to imitate, translate and memorize greats from the past, the highly educated were able to understand the tone of a writer and read the subtleties of imitation not just in form, but of style and content.41 However, the goal of this learning through imitation was not only to be able ‘to speak in the voice of another’ (although such practices were often praised),42 nor solely to be able to recognize the style of others, but to facilitate the next level of imitatio: compositio/σύνθεσις. This stage involved understanding past literature on 36. ‘Nec uerbo uerbum curabis reddere, fidus interpres, nec desilies imitator in artum unde pedem proferre pudor uetet aut operis lex.’ 37. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature, pp. 28–9; D. Feeney, Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and Beliefs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 22–28; 57–62. 38. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature, p. 27. 39. Although the wide-ranging education system was far from homogenous, key elements were certainly grammar, rhetoric and dialectics. For an outline of the system, see I. D. Rowland, trans., Vitruvius: Ten Books on Architecture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 7–8. For how Romans dealt with the Greek education system, see Whitmarsh, Greek Literature, pp. 5–17, and for an NT Studies perspective, see S. M. Ryan, Hearing at the Boundaries of Vision: Education Informing Cosmology in Revelation 9 (London: T&T Clark, 2012). 40. Quintilian Inst. 10.2.3. 41. D. L. Clark, ‘Imitation: Theory and Practice in Roman Rhetoric’, Quarterly Journal of Speech 37, no. 1 (1951), pp. 11–22. 42. F. Householder, ‘παρωδια’, CP 39.1 (1944), pp. 1–9 (5–8).

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a deeper level in order to create something Whitmarsh describes as ‘not simply a xerographic reproduction but also (and this applies even to the extreme case, literal citation) a transformation’.43 The copying was not to be exact, but should still signal to the past models in an open way to avoid plagiarism.44 Russell summarizes the practice through two key facets of ancient literary creation: ‘One is that the true object of imitation is not a single author, but the good qualities abstracted from many … the second point, related to the first, is that the imitator must always penetrate below the superficial, verbal features of his exemplar to its spirit and significance.’45 Imitation of this type, then, was a highly complex process, which did not involve choosing one model, but many. Therefore, Seneca (Ep. 84) could compare the writing process to a bee collecting nectar from numerous flowers and transforming it into honey,46 and Dionysius (De Imit. 6) could compare it to the way streams converge into larger watercourses,47 demonstrating that imitation and combination were certainly viewed as part of the creative process.48 This converging of different imitated components into one has often been given the term ζήλωσις/aemulatio, in order to separate it from imitatio and to show its complexity, as well as its debt owed to past models. As a result, imitation/imitatio has tended to be consigned to referring to poor slavish copying, creating a ‘merit’ divide between imitation/imitatio and emulation/aemulatio.49 This seems to 43. Whitmarsh, Greek Literature, 27. 44. This more ‘intentional’ imitation, where the resonances to past texts can be detected, differs from the preferred ‘saturated brain’ ideas which are often plucked out of Quintilian in relation to education practices: ‘[They] will carry their models with them and un-consciously reproduce the style of the speech which has been impressed upon their memory. They will have a plentiful and choice vocabulary and a command of artistic structure and a supply of figures which will not have to be hunted for, but will offer themselves spontaneously from the treasure-house, if I may so call it, in which they are stored (Inst. 2:7:3-4).’ 45. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 5. 46. ‘Seneca the Elder and Quintilian explicitly cite the inherent failure of imitatio as one reason not to pursue a single prototype.’ Perry, ‘Artistic Imitation’, p. 161. 47. For more, see ibid., p. 162. Referencing varies due to the fragmentary of the source, but these are taken from Dionysius, Dionysii Halicarnasei quae exstant. Vol.6 Opusculorum ; ediderunt Hermannus Usener et Ludovicus Radermach. Vol. 2., eds L. Radermacher and H. Usener (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1985), pp. 202–3. 48. A need to downplay eclecticism and copy, and enhance original and united – that is, aesthetically pleasing to a post-romantic taste – is shown by E. Fantham, ‘Imitation and Decline: Rhetorical Theory and Practice in the First Century after Christ’, CP 73, no. 2 (1978), pp. 102–16 (108): ‘Yet these post-classical writers were no fools, nor were their audiences; and we should not imagine the orator presenting either a carbon-copy or a patchwork quilt. The whole process of imitation clearly could not be superficial, and depended on a broad general understanding of the classical artist taken as a model.’ 49. E. P. J. Corbett, ‘The Theory and Practice of Imitation in Classical Rhetoric’, College Composition and Communication 22, no. 3 (1971), pp. 243–50 (244), highlights

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originate with Dionysius: ‘Μίμησις is an activity reproducing the model by means of theoretical principles. Ζήλoς is an activity of the mind, roused to admiration of something believed to be beautiful.’50 However, Russell uses ‘Longinus’ to show that imitatio and aemulatio cannot be separated from each other, being part and parcel of the same process: ‘It would be wrong to connect the “creative” element here with aemulatio, and the “imitative” with imitatio. The two always complement each other.’51 This shows that literary creation in the Graeco-Roman world was inherently bound up with the subtle but recognizable imitation and combination of other works. The literature was eclectic, imitative and, what is more, it reappropriated. Just as sculptures took features from the past as they saw fit and reconfigured them in light of their contemporary settings, so too did creators of literary texts (or at least they were very much inclined to). This was not a ‘scientific’ process, but instead involved re-creating past sources in new contexts, blending diverse styles and prompting the audience to become active participants as they recognized these features.52 Therefore, we see a literary world with imitation and combination rife, where education trained recognition of textual voices and the ability to probe beneath the surface. Rather than imitation being relegated to a lesser form of creation, we have seen that more recent reassessments have revealed a rather different picture. Literature and rhetoric were not processes to create something wholly original. Rather, it was about bringing together voices, altering from previous guises and creating something which interacted on multiple levels, both macro and micro, with past texts.

III  Herod’s Temple Although the above shows that imitation and combination were part of Graeco-Roman textual creation, did these practices permeate into a culture which shunned the presence of idols and had its own textual practices? Although there has been a trend in the past to keep ‘Jewish’ textual creations entirely separate from those of the ‘pagan’ world, the fact that the Jewish community existed in the wider culture is now accepted, as Steven Fine points out: Although it is important to remember the dislike of idolatry and all things idol based, Jews were part and parcel of the general visual culture, their distinctive

imitation’s negative reputation: ‘The unsavoury connotation that imitation has for many people – namely that imitation succeeds only in producing carbon-copies – I hasten to remind you that similar did not mean for Quintilian and the other classical rhetoricians identical.’ 50. Translation from Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 10; Dionysius, Usener-Radermach, p. 200. 51. Russell, ‘De Imitatione’, p. 10. 52. For more on audience reception, see ibid., pp. 1–16.

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Reading Revelation as Pastiche art unself-consciously coalescing with Graeco-Roman traditions even while creating a subcategory of distinctively Jewish art and architecture.53

Therefore, we should not be surprised to find the textual practices described above in ‘Jewish’ compositions. In light of this, the final part of our brief ‘snapshot’ of Graeco-Roman textual practices demonstrates that multivocal, imitative, eclectic practices did occur in ‘Jewish texts’, specifically in one which Revelation is directly dialoguing with: the Jewish temple. The temple as known in NT times had been, to all intents and purposes, built by Herod between 20/19 bce and 66 ce (although it was still unfinished at the outbreak of the Jewish revolt).54 Its construction was ‘the largest temple complex built in classical antiquity’,55 and although very little of the original temple remains, literary sources, surrounding edifices and Temple Mount findings provide insights into its appearance.56 The most comprehensive reconstruction is provided by the Israel Museum’s Second Temple model, and although its accuracy is debatable, it provides a flavour of the vast size and various architectural styles (Figure 2.2). Solomon’s temple is said to have been destroyed in 586 bce and to have been constructed in a Syro-Phoenician style.57 Herod’s temple was different, as it was predominantly Roman. In reality (and unsurprisingly given what we have seen above), this meant that it was an eclectic mix of styles, merging elements of the past temple with Roman concepts and influences from further afield.58 Herod’s Temple did not speak in one architectural voice or strive for originality. Rather, as Peter Richardson explains, it is an amalgamation of influences. Richardson separates these influences into six categories, giving us a flavour of just how eclectic and imitative this edifice was.59 He classes the first as ‘Indigenous’, which 53. Fine, Art and Judaism, p. 59. This would have been particularly true for those living in the Diaspora, away from Jerusalem, and to imagine a world removed from the culture around it is now proven to be unimaginable. 54. D. Jacobson, ‘Herod’s Roman Temple’, BARev (April 2002), pp. 18–27–61. 55. Ibid. ‘Herod the Great undertook to “rebuild” it. Actually, it was an entirely new structure, but it is still known in Jewish tradition and in the scholarly literature as the Second Temple.’ P. Richardson, Building Jewish in the Roman East (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2004); Jacobson, ‘Herod’s Roman Temple’, pp. 18–27–61. 56. Jacobson, ‘Herod’s Roman Temple’, pp. 18–27–61. For temple comparisons, see Richardson, Building Jewish, pp. 272–3. 57. Of course, whether it ever existed is debated. 58. These elements produced ‘complex interactions’. Richardson, Building Jewish, p. 277. Jacobson, ‘Herod’s Roman Temple’, pp. 18–27, 61, concurs: ‘The blending of local architectural and religious traditions with classical ideas was common in the East. For instance, the considerable remains of the temple of Bel in Palmyra show features of Roman Augustan architecture combined with others deriving from Egypt and the Orient.’ 59. For the full discussion, which the following draws upon, see Richardson, Building Jewish, pp. 271–98.

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Figure 2.2  Model of Jerusalem in the Second Temple Period, the Israel Museum, Jerusalem. Author’s own image, used with kind permission of The Israel Museum, Jerusalem.

covers elements that called to mind Solomon’s temple, Ezekiel’s idealized temple and the temple constructed after the exile. This also refers to resonances of the wilderness tabernacle. The next is ‘Nabatean’, occurring in the narrow stairs within the walls giving access to the roof and the naos resembling the temple of Dushara at Petra, laid out with axis at right angles to the temenos axis. ‘Palmyran’ elements can be found in a similar positioning of the sacrificial altar and lustration basin. ‘Egyptian’ influences are also found, visible in the hierarchical sequence of spaces and courtyards which resemble temples at Karnak, Luxor and Deir el-Bahri. Also, the tunnel-like access through the Huldah gates is reminiscent of tunnels to the pyramids. ‘Hellenistic’ elements are seen in the scale of the building project, including its volume and height which were late Hellenistic. Also, the use of space in the underground tunnels was similar to those at Didyma and Pergamum. Finally, the ‘Roman’ elements can be noted, including the enclosure of religious spaces with stoai and an eclectic use of varied capitals and decorative elements. Indeed, the overriding principles of the creation of the temple were Roman.60 Therefore, Richardson claims that Herod’s temple was ‘not purely one thing or another. … It was intertextual in its use of allusions that could not be easily pigeonholed.’61 This is not a structure ruled by a ‘primary’ voice, nor is it an edifice shunning imitation. Rather, it imitated and fused together various styles, creating an ultimately Roman temple, but with very Jewish flavours and 60. Speaking in relation to the first temple, Jacobson, ‘Herod’s Roman Temple’, pp. 18–27, 61, claims ‘it was not the Syro-Phoenician world but the Greek and Roman cultural sphere that was preeminent and that Herod adopted’. 61. Richardson, Building Jewish, p. 278.

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therefore in keeping with the ideas outlined in our previous two sections. This amalgamating and imitating leads Richardson to conclude that ‘the distinctiveness of Jewish architecture lay more in its way of mixing diverse influences than in anything inherent in Judaism’s own architectural traditions’.62 Therefore, it is clear that this architectural environment with which Revelation dialogues is full of imitation and eclecticism, not a ‘slavish imitation’ but at the same time not ‘a completely new reworking’.

IV  Second Temple Pseudepigrapha To conclude this ancient imitation and combination overview, we move to ancient texts closely associated with Revelation: second temple pseudepigrapha. However, we do not focus on these texts due to similarity of content, or compare their use of OT texts as others before us have done.63 Our Graeco-Roman world focus explores ancient imitation and combinatory practices, and past scholarly prejudices towards these practices. Therefore, we turn to Jewish pseudepigrapha with same aims. Jewish pseudepigraphal texts have suffered a somewhat dubious history and scholarly reputation, bound up in debates surrounding authenticity, falseness and worth.64 These debates continue, as Bart Ehrman’s Forgery and Counterforgery shows, when he labels anything which pretends to be something other than exactly what it says it is as forgery, fraudulent and, to all intents and purposes, a lie.65 62. Ibid., p. 337. For the architectural features of tombs, see ibid., pp. 299–307; 331; Fine, Art and Judaism, pp. 60–81, shows how these Jewish tombs and monuments show eclectic practices, for example, combining Egyptian pyramids, with circular Roman layouts, and Jewish motifs. 63. As already stated, a prominent feature in previous studies has been a chapter on how OT texts were used in Jewish texts contemporary to Revelation, in order to examine similarities and differences, the results of which have indicated that Revelation is not the same in its use of OT texts. 64. For a historical contextualization exploring the motivations for such accusations, see A. Y. Reed, ‘The Modern Invention of “Old Testament Pseudepigrapha”’, JTS 60, no. 2 (2009), pp. 403–36. For a discussion on the texts in relation to the cult of the author, see H. Najman, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), pp. 67–92. 65. B. D. Ehrman, Forgery and Counterforgery: The Use of Literary Deceit in Early Christian Polemics (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). He points out that the title pseudepigrapha indicates the notion of ‘inscribed with a lie’ (ibid., 32), and that ‘what we call forgeries – books with false authorial claims – were typically called deceits, lies and bastards’ (ibid., 29). Ehrman’s book is extremely wide ranging, and much of his ancient world focus is illuminating. However, he is extremely set in his classifications of fraud and forgery, and perhaps would have benefited from integrating the more subtle and complex semiotic take on the subject by U. Eco, ‘Fakes and Forgeries’, in The Limits of Interpretation

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He therefore takes issue with anything pseudepigraphal as it is purporting to be written by one figure and is actually written by another, and while his particular interest is Christian texts, his study embraces Jewish texts as well. Therefore, he argues that, despite scholarly attempts to get these authors ‘off the moral hook’, Jewish pseudepigrapha such as 4 Ezra, 1 Enoch and 2 Baruch are forgeries, written with an intention to deceive.66 This idea of deceit and intention is not our particular focus, but what is particularly interesting, and should come as little surprise, is that not only do texts with specifically ‘deceitful’ titles come under criticism, but Ehrman also subsumes ‘imitation’ into these accusations, always using the term negatively.67 Among his chosen texts to support these negative views are the oftquoted sections by Quintilian and Cicero we have already discussed above, which he uses to show how unimpressed the ancients were with slavish imitation and writing in the style of another.68 I do not dispute Ehrman’s point that there were issues in the ancient world surrounding forgery and taking on the voice of another; he shows it clearly and we have seen such concerns above. However, we have also seen that a rereading of ancient literary practices reveals that the situation surrounding imitation is more complex than these accusations and decontextualized quotes indicate. As a result, a recontextualizing of pseudepigrapha within this wider matrix is necessary, as exemplified in the work of Hindy Najman. Najman’s work, particularly her studies of 4 Ezra,69 highlights a need to redeem pseudepigraphal works from claims that they are lesser imitative creations, an (Bloomington : Indiana University Press, Midland Book edn, 1994), pp. 174–202. As Frank Arnau states, ‘The boundaries between permissible and impermissible, imitation, stylistic plagiarism, copy, replica and forgery remain nebulous.’ F. Arnau, Three Thousand Years of Deception in Art and Antiques, trans. J. Brownjohn (London: J. Cape, 1961), p. 45. 66. Ehrman, Forgery, p. 73, His focus is on authorial intent and if a want to deceive is present. 67. Imitation and its cognates are used twenty-four times (two are in the index) and each instance is used in a negative sense, often followed by ‘passed off ’, ‘forgery’ or preceded by ‘mere’, or ‘slavish’. This negative rhetoric is particularly interesting given he makes the following statement in his introduction: ‘I do not mean to imply any kind of value judgment concerning its [forged texts] content or its merit as a literary text. … In particular, I am not claiming that it is somehow inferior in these ways to a work that is orthonymous. I am not, that is, contrasting later forged texts with texts that are somehow pristine, “original”, and therefore better or more worthy of our attention.’ Ibid., p. 7. 68. Or even worse, writing in the style of another person in order to bring glory to yourself. Ehrman, Forgery, pp. 69–145. However, as we have seen, this does not mean that imitation as a whole is rendered negative. 69. She begins by focusing on portrayals of Moses in H. Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism (Atlanta: SBL, 2009), before a wider-ranging exploration of texts in H. Najman, Past Renewals: Interpretative Authority, Renewed Revelation, and the Quest for Perfection in Jewish Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2010). Her chapter ‘How Should We Contextualise Pseudepigrapha? Imitation And Emulation

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ongoing issue surrounding the texts’ ‘historical worth’, and concerns regarding the fraudulent and forged. As a result, she states: ‘For want of an alternative some Biblicists have come perilously close to accusing the ancient authors of forgery or fraudulence.’70 However, through exploring ancient textual assumptions and also uncovering the modern scholarly need to find ‘the Author’,71 Najman posits that such arguments are anachronistic, going as far as to say that ‘no such debate about authenticity and forgery survives in ancient Judaism’.72 Regardless of whether this is the case, such an approach allows her to lay aside contextualizing 4 Ezra ‘within modern practices of authorship and composition – hence as forgery, clerical deception, or plagiarism’,73 and recontextualize it within the textual practices we have been exploring, ‘practices of the emulation and imitation of the sage’.74 By viewing the text this way, she avoids the motivations of authors, and moves to focus on the figure of Ezra as presented by the text, and also his relationship with the canonical Ezra. She finds that the Ezra presented in 4 Ezra is not ‘reducible to the earlier Ezra’.75 Rather than this name being used to simply confer authority, or as a fraudulent re-creation, Najman encounters an Ezra who is complex, resonating not only with his OT namesake but also with other OT figures, for example, Daniel’s receiving visions (4 Ezra 12.10–12) and Moses taking his people from bondage to freedom (4 Ezra 14.3).76 Therefore, the figure she encounters triggers multiple textual encounters, leaving her to introduce an imitative and combined figure: ‘  “Ezra’s” transformation is described through an intricate invocation of multiple traditions. … He is characterized not only as a scribe, but also as a Mosaic lawgiver, as an Daniel-like dreamer, and as a Jeremiahic prophet.’77 In this joining of characteristics, she argues that the character is more than ‘the source text Ezra’ and cannot be reduced to his earlier self, yet at the same time he can still be identified with this earlier version.78 She uses both imitation and emulation to in 4 Ezra,’ pp. 235–42, particularly focuses on these issues, expanded in relation to moral virtues in chapters 1 and 2 of Najman, Losing the Temple. 70. Najman, Past Renewals, p. xviii. 71. Ibid., pp. 26–67. 72. Ibid., p. xviii. She goes on to say ‘we are not entitled to assume that Second Temple writers and readers had the conceptions of authenticity, whether religious or secular, that developed much later, long after the laws scriptural works had been written, and indeed, canonized’. Ibid., p. 66. In the previously mentioned article, Reed, ‘Modern Invention’, pp. 403–36, regarding the history of the documents, we see that these fraudulent claims are rooted in the fears of those reading the texts, not the ancients. Ehrman, of course, would disagree. 73. Najman, Past Renewals, p. 235. 74. Ibid., p. 236. 75. Ibid., p. 240. 76. Ibid., p. 241. 77. Ibid., p. 239. 78. Ibid., p. 240.

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describe the practices at work, and although her definitions are not sophisticated (comparing imitation to simile and emulation to metaphor),79 by choosing these notions to explore the text she can reveal a more complex figure than Ehrman’s.80. Also, by showing that this is not simply something to be dismissed as fraud, Najman rereads Ezra as a complex textual creation, combined and imitative: ‘The figure and legacy of Ezra in 4 Ezra emerges and is created out of aspects of figures of the past, far more than it is an extension of an already established reputation and legacy.’81 As a result, she can move the discussion on from who wrote the text, and whether the figure is the same as the past, to discussions of the new textual creation that nevertheless draws on the past. In light of this, she argues that the text’s function in the mouth of this transformed Ezra can be reread, as it brings figures from the past into the present to allow readers to consider their own situations, and also to recognize what has been lost/changed since then.82 Therefore, it is clear that the Ezra of 4 Ezra, when explored not through fraudulent fears but through more imitative and combined lenses, reflects the modes of imitation we have been discussing above: drawing on past models, imitating multiple features and combining them into an end product not easily reducible to one past precedent. Critics such as Ehrman may see imitation as part of an ancient framework against forgery, but Najman argues against such views, saying they are anachronistic discussions surrounding more modern concerns of authorial authenticity and persona. The categories of imitation/emulation/ combination are beginning to be drawn upon to answer these accusations and Jewish written texts, as with architecture, appear to be utilizing very similar mechanisms to the wider Graeco-Roman world. What is particularly pertinent to our discussion is that these practices are beginning to be observed in texts 79. Ibid. She later expands this discussion in chapter 2 of Najman, Losing the Temple, using terms as synonyms (imitation/simile, emulation/metaphor). As we have seen, this is an over-simplistic portrayal of the ancient situation, but her aim is different as she is focusing on moral perfection rather than textual traditions. It is also interesting to see a residual ‘less-than’ approach to imitation: ‘Sometimes, however, imitation is said to be insufficient, inauthentic or, at any rate, second best.’ Ibid., pp. 58–9. 80. John Collins argues that Najman’s use of emulation over-simplifies what is occurring in 4 Ezra J. J. Collins, Apocalypse, Prophecy, and Pseudepigraphy: On Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2015), pp. 235–50. He sees it as ‘a radical revision of the persona of Ezra’ (ibid., p. 236), and he is right. In fact, Najman does argue this, pointing out the various facets of other figures combined, and the lack of exact mapping. Ironically then, they come to the same conclusion as he argues: ‘A pseudepigraphic work, in short, can deconstruct and refashion its pseudonymous hero as well as emulate him, or, perhaps, as a pre-condition of emulating him’ (ibid.). Her overly simple distinctions between imitation and emulation lie at the heart of this misunderstanding. 81. Najman, Losing the Temple, p. 55. 82. ‘An attempt to work out the impossibility of recovering that past.’ Najman, Past Renewals, pp. 237–8.

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which are most often compared to Revelation itself. When we turn to the past it is not exact allusions and pin-pointable references that are being found, but an increasingly blended and imitated landscape.

V Summary This snapshot of diverse Graeco-Roman textual practices has demonstrated how imitation, eclecticism and an ability to read multiple sources at once was very much alive and appreciated across disparate geographical locations and social groupings. We have seen how sculptures were created which resembled past models, but also brought in subtle changes, and how new statues were created by combining pieces previously featured in different statues. The study of the Amazon caryatid showed how imitating the past and representing it in new locations brought viewers into active engagement with what they were viewing, as different texts dialogued with one another. We then saw how imitation was the key learning mechanism in rhetorical education, as gaining the ability to understand and be able to re-create the voice of others was essential to the ultimate goal of composition. We have also seen the blurring of imitation/emulation as categories, reconceptualizing previous notions that these were separate ‘lesser’ and ‘greater’ practices. We have seen how these imitative and combining principles were not limited to the Roman elite, but rather permeated into the wider cultural world, including the Jewish temple, which brought to mind its predecessor, the tabernacle, Eastern, Hellenistic and Roman features, all held together with a strong Roman flavour. Finally, we have seen that Jewish pseudepigraphal texts are themselves beginning to be reread in relation to imitation and combination, moving from questions of authorial authenticity to character construction. This is showing the rich fabric of blending and imitation that was at work in texts most often compared to Revelation due to their content and focus. Thus, we can see that the world into which Revelation was written was rife with imitative and eclectic practices. However, as we have also seen, these imitative practices have often been decried as substandard due to a post-romantic prioritization of originality and authenticity. Their imitative and multivocal textures have been subsumed into a world where merit has been awarded on a ‘most like’ basis, and value given to statues viewed as least ‘contaminated’ with secondary voices. This is remarkably similar to the way Beale approaches Revelation’s allusive surface and how he proposes Revelation’s allusive nature should be approached. However, what the above has shown is that Moyise’s call for a way of reading texts which listens to multiple voices, and the potential offered by categories of imitation sits firmly in line with what we have seen above. What is more, we have seen that the line between a ‘lacking slavish imitation’ and a ‘worthy creative reworking’ Mathewson and Ruiz were concerned with is in fact more fluid than previously believed. Imitation of past texts and creative reworkings are not separate textual endeavours, but part and parcel of the same process. The above studies, as with the work of Ruiz, Jack and Moyise have happened in dialogue with postmodernism and intertextuality, where imitation and

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combination have been reassessed. However, the above scholarship is rarely brought into dialogue with literary studies of biblical texts.83 Yet by recontextualizing Revelation among these recently reassessed Graeco-Roman textual practices, we can see that calls to read the text as multivocal, resisting harmonization and (above all) imitative echo wider scholarly discoveries. We can see that the modes of imitation and combination were wide ranging from the adding of a head onto another body to the blending of voices into one’s own unique style. Therefore, this shows that Moyise’s suggestion of imitative practices as a way of reapproaching Revelation sits firmly alongside trends in wider scholarly reading practices,84 as does listening to multiple voices without the need to harmonize. Postmodern scholarship has opened the door for these insights, by washing imitative textual practices clean of some of their derided past. They have allowed scholars to see merit in eclecticism and imitation, and to show that alterations need not be viewed as contaminating, but rather be part of a more complex multivocal text. Therefore, we now explain how this study will read Revelation in order to utilize Moyise’s imitative suggestions, affirm the above multivocal reader involving discoveries and move past post-romantic needs which have felt the need to demonstrate Revelation is a creative reworking, rather than ‘mere imitation’.

83. Indeed, I know of no work prior to this which has used these sculptural findings to reassess how we view NT texts. 84. J. Elsner, Imperial Rome and Christian Triumph: The Art of the Roman Empire AD 100–450 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 113. See Tronchin, ‘Introduction’, pp. 261–82, on how this permeated into the realm of the individual home.

Chapter 3 P astiche: I mitation and C ombination

We have seen how Revelation is clearly moving in a realm of imitation and combination, where a dialogue with past texts is established, exact quotation is lacking and a highly allusive text is encountered. Moyise suggested exploring Greene’s imitative categories in relation to Revelation as a way forward. Also, theories surrounding intertextuality have indicated that Revelation can be read as a far more multivocal text than allusion-spotting studies have indicated. Jauhiainen suggested Gérard Genette’s work on ‘hypertextuality’ may be informative, and we have seen that wider scholarly trends indicate that lenses which allow imitative and combinatory dialogues to be viewed can reveal previously unseen textual richness and audience engagement. Therefore, in light of all this, we now turn to the approach which this study will take in response to Beale’s interpretative challenge: how are such combined allusions to be studied?1 This study proposes that the way to approach the highly allusive text of Revelation is to read Revelation as pastiche. This chapter will therefore introduce pastiche in order to reveal how and why it provides a suitable lens through which to re-view Revelation, building on what we have seen above.

I  What Is Pastiche? Pastiche is a specific practice of imitation and combination that sits somewhere between original and copy, parody and homage, and collage and mosaic. While often subsumed into these terms, pastiche is a unique textual practice for which no other word except pastiche quite fits. Pastiche at its most basic level refers to an evident combination and imitation of prior works.2 However, due to its neutrality, common flavour, blending of elements and similar but ‘not the same as’ appearance, it is often difficult to pin down. Through exploring the growth of the term and its scholarly reputation we will see what pastiche is (and is not) and why it presents a particularly pertinent way to approach Revelation’s slippery text. The term has

1. Beale, Commentary, p. 79. 2. R. Dyer, Pastiche (London: Routledge, 2007), p. 9.

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already been used in relation to Revelation, with De Villiers asking whether the composition of Rev. 14.1–15.8 is ‘pastiche or perfect pattern’,3 and Aune describing John’s inaugural vision as ‘a pastiche of allusions to Jewish epiphany language’,4 while Boxall warns ‘we should beware of treating passages … as a mere pastiche’.5 These examples demonstrate pastiche’s most common usage, as a synonym for ‘substandard’ (Boxall and De Villiers) or ‘hotchpotch’ (Aune) – yet another part of a negative field of reference for imitative and combinatory works. However, although there is nothing essentially incorrect about such usage, it does not reflect how pastiche is now understood in disciplines such as music, film studies and cultural studies, as our approach of reading Revelation as pastiche will show. We begin with etymology and early definitions, indicating how pastiche’s derivative nature led to it acquiring a negative reputation. We will then see how this negative reputation moved into scholarly discourse, particularly following pastiche’s appropriation by postmodern thinkers. Next we will discuss its academic revival and reassessment, and turn our focus to the two monographs this study will work with. In doing so, we will explore pastiche’s key elements and what makes it distinctive from other derivative textual practices. We will also see the spectrum of creations encompassed by pastiche that are relevant for the study of Revelation, from textual units to whole works, and from the highly combinatory to the highly imitative (and everything in between). Most importantly, we will see that reading texts as pastiche is as much the adoption of a new lens in order to re-view the text’s interpretation, as it is a ‘relabelling’ exercise in which we argue whether a text is or is not best termed ‘pastiche’. With these new lenses reading as pastiche can lead to re-approaching the past, re-considering textual experiences and re-evaluating the historical situation of the reader. a  Etymology and Early Usage Pastiche derives from two terms for two culinary products: pasticcio and pâté. The Italian pasticcio refers to a pasty or stew, where different ingredients are brought together to create something new, but where each is still recognizable,6 and pâté is French for a mixture of different blended elements such as mushrooms, liver and fat, where their original flavours are mixed with each other but they retain some 3. P. De Villiers, ‘The Composition of Revelation 14:1–15:8: Pastiche or Perfect Pattern?’, Neot 38, no. 2 (2004), pp. 209–49. 4. D. E. Aune, Revelation 1 (WBC, 52A; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1997), p. 117. 5. I. Boxall, The Revelation of St John (BNTC; London: Continuum, 2006), p. 188. 6. See M. A. Rose, Parody: Ancient, Modern, and Post-Modern (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 73–4; Dyer, Pastiche, p. 8. Pasticcio itself comes from the Common Romance pasta. For etymological details, see M. Cortelazzo and P. Zolli, Dizionario Etimologico della Lingua Italiana 4, O–R. (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1985), p. 90; S. Battaglia, Grande Dizionario della Lingua Italiana 12. Orad–Pere. (Turin: Unione Tipografico-Ed. Torinese, 1984), pp. 790–1.

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of their past guise (think Ardennes, not Brussels).7 The first definition of pastiche in relation to art draws on these roots and is attributed to Roger De Piles in 16778 Il me reste encore à dire quelque chose sur les Tableaux, qui ne sont ni Originaux, ni Copies, lesquels on appelle Pastiches, de l’Italien, Pastici, qui veut dire Pâtez: parce que de même que les choses différentes qui assaisonnent un Pâté, se réduisent à un seul goût; ainsi les faussetez qui composent un Pastiche, ne tendent qu’à faire une vérité.9

The English version is slightly different, appearing later and with an absence of ‘pastiche’ due to an alteration of culinary terms. It now remains for me to say something of those pictures that are neither originals nor copies, which the Italians call Pastici. From paste, because as the several things that season a pasty are reduc’d to one taste, so counterfeits that compose a pastici tend only to effect one truth.10

De Piles was describing a specific contemporary practice, where paintings were being created by blending elements from different works by a famous artist into ‘new compositions’. These compositions were therefore neither originals in the sense that they were not painted by the imitated artist, nor copies, as the blending of elements involved creating the previously unseen. They were something in between, and in a world where ‘the authentic’ and ‘the original’ were becoming increasingly important, pastiche’s combined and imitative nature was problematic, often derided as forgery and fake.11 Nevertheless, pastiche proved popular, as the concept moved into eighteenth-century music where various favourite arias were   7. Although it was first used to signify these two culinary practices, the word itself is drawn from the old Provençal pastis and medieval Latin pastiticium: I. Hoesterey, Pastiche: Cultural Memory in Art, Film, Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), p. 4.   8. Writings on pastiche attribute the De Piles quotation to 1677, but it does not occur in the document it is attributed to. The earliest text I found it in is from 1706, from which I quote. For complexities of this attribution, see ibid., pp. 4–5.   9. Its earliest occurrence is found in J. Félibien Des Avaux, Conférences de l’Académie royale de peinture et sculpture (Amsterdam, 1706), pp. 197–8. Also found in R. De Piles, L’idée du peintre parfait, pour servir de régle aux jugemens que l’on doit porter sur les ouvrages des peintres (London: David Mortier, 1707), p. 78. 10. This is the English translation which occurred in R. De Piles, The Art of Painting, and the Lives of the Painters (London: printed for J. Nutt, 1706), p. 74. The absence of pastiche should be noted, as should the alteration of culinary terms. 11. A literary example is the ‘Thomas Rowley Compositions’, which were originally read as a wonderful discovery of medieval poetry. When later discovered to be imitations, their author Thomas Chatterton was derided as a forger, leading to his suicide. Since the rise in

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brought together into ‘quasi-operatic’ works.12 By the late nineteenth century, writings named ‘pastiche’ were being created as authors wrote in the style of others, blending stylistic elements into new compositions. This practice was particularly popular in France, and the most famous of all stylistic pastichers from this period is Marcel Proust. Proust created pastiches of authors and genres in order to carry out what he described as ‘literary criticism in action’.13 However, like their painterly predecessors, until very recently these literary pastiches (and pastiche as an artistic practice more generally) have been viewed as somewhat whimsical and trivial, or even as dubious.14 The practice of creating something in the style of another, and the concept of blending texts together into new works so that their ‘original’ state is altered, has been sidelined and kept from in-depth artistic discussions. Indeed, it was not until the rise of postmodernism that pastiche fell under serious scholarly scrutiny.15 However, if prior to the late twentieth-century pastiche was viewed as whimsical or even dubious, its initial resurgence made it synonymous with all that was lacking in postmodernism. b  Postmodern Pastiche Pastiche was reconsidered when a particular manifestation began to feature in postmodern architecture, as classical elements were fused with Modern,16 producing what Charles Jencks called ‘double-coding’.17 This double-coded architecture involved imitating and blending disparate elements into new creations with un seul goût. This blending created a dialogue among elements, with famous examples of this fusion including Philip Johnson’s AT&T Building the artistic ‘value’ of imitation being rediscovered, Chatterton has been reassessed as a poet of great skill in his own right. 12. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 8; Dyer, Pastiche, p. 15. 13. M. Proust, Selected Letters, ed. P. Kolb; trans. R. Manheim, T. Kilmartin and J. Kilmartin; 4 vols (London: Collins, 2000 [1983]), p. 2: 355. For examples of his pastiches, see M. Proust, Pastiche et parodie (Paris: Société d’édition ‘Les Belles lettres’, 1960); L. L. Deffoux and P. Dufay, Anthologie du pastiche; avec des textes inédits, une bibliographie et un index des noms cités. (Paris: G. Crés, 1926). Proust’s most famous pastiches were written in the style of Flaubert, as discussed in Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 52–63. Although most prolific in France, the practice was not limited to French – for example, A. Walkley, Pastiche and Prejudice (reprinted from the Times) (London: William Heinemann, 1921). 14. For a detailed examination of the overlooked merit of Proust’s pastiches, see Austin, Proust. 15. This reflects what we have seen above in Graeco-Roman statues. 16. The capitalization of Modern is due to the specific usage of elements deemed Modern in these buildings, rather than Modernism more generally. 17. For discussions, see C. Jencks, The Language of Post-Modern Architecture (New York: Rizzoli, 1977). For a contextualization within wider postmodern debates, see Rose, Parody, pp. 232–8.

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(1984) in New York and Stirling and Associates’ Stuttgart Gallery (1984).18 This blend of modern and classical elements into a new whole is apparent in the AT&T Building, as a functional and rigid block forms the main body of the building, while it is topped with a split pediment, more at home on a Chippendale cabinet.19 In Stirling’s creation, the dialogue is far more complex, with classical forms reminiscent of the Colosseum and Parthenon fused with the vibrancy of Rogers and Piano’s Pompidou Centre (1977), as grass grows from brickwork indicating a sense of the forgotten and the rigid lines of the structure reveal its connection to modernity.20 However, this postmodern imitating and blending of the past and present was not seen by all as a meritorious activity, but rather as something that negated a sense of historicity and promoted depthlessness. The key proponent of this view was Fredric Jameson, who played a pivotal role in ascribing to pastiche all that was bad about postmodernism.21 Jameson argues that a loss of realism in relation to history has led to the disappearance of the individual, a movement away from modernity and an inability to ‘feel’. This leads him to believe that ‘the disappearance of the individual subject, along with this formal consequence, the increasing unavailability of the personal style, engender the well-nigh universal practice today of what may be called pastiche’.22

18. This is in contrast to the buildings chosen by Jameson, such as John Portman’s Westin Bonaventure Hotel (1976) and Norman Foster’s Hongkong Shanghai Bank (1985), which Jencks argues are better deemed ‘late-modern’. For a summary of debates, see M. A. Rose, ‘Post-Modern Pastiche’, BJA 6, no. 1 (1991), pp. 26–38. 19. Although condemned by Jencks as superficial in its blending of elements, this building epitomized a popular understanding of postmodernism in the United States, and is brought into discussions on pastiche due to its obvious combinatory form. 20. As Jencks says, ‘Multiple language games, mixture of new and old codes pluralism – many post-modern values are realised here.’ C. Jencks, ‘What Then Is Post-Modernism?’ in The Post-Modern Reader, ed. C. Jencks (Chichester: Wiley, 2011), p. 23. 21. He first outlined his ideas about their relationship in a 1983 article, then in a 1984 article for the New Left Review, which was integrated into his seminal monograph Postmodernism, Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. F. Jameson, ‘Postmodernism and Consumer Society’, in Postmodern Culture, ed. H. Foster (London: Pluto, 1983), pp. 111–25; F. Jameson, ‘Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism’, New Left Review 146 (1984), pp. 53–64; F. Jameson, Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1991). For Jameson’s position within the ‘postmodern debate’, see Rose, Parody, pp. 198–205. 22. Jameson, Postmodernism, p. 16. For how this fits in his wider oeuvre, see F. Jameson, The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983–1998 (London: Verso, 1998). For examinations of Jameson’s matrix of dialogue partners, see A. Roberts, Fredric Jameson (London: Routledge, 2000).

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Pastiche, for Jameson, is a ‘symptom’ central to what he perceives as postmodernism.23 In this system, he believes ‘the norm’ has been eclipsed as the unique styles of Modernism fade and ‘random cannibalization of the past’ comes to the fore through eclecticism.24 It is within this wider assessment of how postmodernism relates to Modernism that he (in)famously defined pastiche as parody’s lesser successor: Pastiche is, like parody, the imitation of a peculiar or unique, idiosyncratic style, the wearing of a linguistic mask, speech in a dead language. But it is a neutral practice of such mimicry, without any of parody’s ulterior motives, amputated of the satiric impulse, devoid of laughter and of any conviction that alongside the abnormal tongue you have momentarily borrowed, some healthy linguistic normality still exists. Pastiche is thus blank parody, a statue with blind eyeballs.25

The components highlighted by De Piles can be observed in this definition: imitation (speech in a dead language) and combination (cannibalization). Yet for Jameson, the key problem with pastiche is that it is a neutral imitative practice, setting it apart from parody. Whereas parody acts from a position of criticism risibly pointing to what it imitates, pastiche imitates from a neutral standpoint thus appearing ‘blank’. For Jameson this means pastiche borrows from the past without historical depth, void of comment and void of critique.26 Thus, Jameson elevates parody over pastiche, while fusing pastiche to the postmodern and parody to the modern. These pronouncements led to pastiche being viewed as an inferior postmodern form of parody.27 However, Margaret Rose set out to redefine parody and pastiche in the wake of Jameson’s assessment, demonstrating that his framework of modern 23. The other ‘symptom’ he pinpoints is ‘schizophrenia’, not in a clinical sense, but rather as a way of standing against what he believes to be ‘paranoia’. This is influenced by J. Lacan, ‘D’Une question preliminaire a tout traitement possible de la psychose’, Écrits: A Selection, trans. A. Sheridan (London: Tavistock Publications, 1980 [1977]), in relation to semiotics in order to denote the construction of individuality, the ego and grand narratives. This use of schizophrenia denotes fragmentation and a ‘break down in the signifying chain’ and a loss of the ability ‘to organize its past and future into coherent experience’ as ‘links of the signifying chain snap’. This phenomenon is temporal for Jameson and he relates the breakdown in linguistic signification with historical signification. See Jameson, Postmodernism, pp. 26–31, for the full argument. 24. Jameson, Postmodernism, p. 18. 25. Ibid., p. 17. His 1984 definition of pastiche underwent slight alterations. 26. In essence, it is ‘bereft of all historicity’. Ibid., p. 18. This final lacking is what Jameson cannot forgive, ‘always historize!’ being his battle cry. 27. This reputation is still widespread, as a recent review of Alan Taylor’s Terminator Genisys (2015) reveals: ‘This latest millenarian retread is a plastic self-pastiche that underscores the drudgery of post-modern spectacle.’ M. Fisher, ‘Review: Terminator Genisys’, Sight & Sound,

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parody/postmodern pastiche is a false dichotomy.28 By pointing out that pastiche was not a specifically postmodern phenomenon, but rather had manifested in a specific postmodern permutation, Rose asserts that parody and pastiche circumvent temporal categorization: Both parody and pastiche are in fact devices which have been used for several centuries and which are not bound to either the modern or post-modern period. It is, as with other such devices … not the devices themselves which are either modern or post-modern, but the uses made of them which may be described as such.29

What then separates pastiche and parody for Rose is not their relationship to ‘isms’ but their relationships with the texts they imitate and combine. Therefore, she finds pastiche’s place among imitative devices ‘in describing a more neutral practice of compilation which is neither necessarily critical of its sources, nor necessarily comic’.30 This ‘neutral’ and not inherently critical or comic attitude demonstrates the difference between parody and pastiche at work in Jameson’s ‘blank parody’ prognosis, but without the derision. Blank, when it refers to a lack of inherent ridicule, does not mean ‘less than’ parody, but rather ‘different’ from parody, as the attitude to what is imitated is open rather than predefined. Therefore, pastiche was beginning to become disentangled from its negative reputation. With the above discussions surrounding postmodernism and pastiche, there arose hand-in-hand focus on pastiche in relation to intertextuality.31 As intertextuality was adopted and discussed by post-structuralists and structuralists alike, this interest in textual relationships at all levels naturally brought imitative practices into focus. The most significant volume for our purposes is Gérard Genette’s 1982 work Palimpsestes,32 in which he lays down his own theory of July 6, 2015. Online: http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/reviewsrecommendations/review-terminator-genisys (accessed 23 September 2015). 28. First in Rose, ‘Post-Modern Pastiche’, pp. 26–38, and then as part of a wider reassessment of parody, Rose, Parody, pp. 72–7, 206–74. (The first section sets out pastiche in relation to other derivative textual practices; the second positions pastiche within wider postmodern debates.) She also argues that Jameson takes all that Baudrilliard sees as problematic with modern parody and projects it onto postmodern pastiche. Rose, ‘PostModern Pastiche’, p. 29. 29. Ibid. 30. Rose, Parody, p. 72. 31. As already stated in Chapter 1, for an introduction to intertextuality, see Allen, Intertextuality. For an in-depth meditation, including reassessments of Kristeva’s original arguments, and relationships with influence, imitation and quotation, see Orr, Intertextuality. 32. The volume is part of a wider assessment of poetics since Plato carried out by a theorist who is set on renaming post-structuralist understandings of intertextuality, and

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intertextuality (which he renames ‘transtextuality’33) in relation to various types of implicit and explicit literary imitation and reference.34 His major focus is what he calls ‘hypertextuality’,35 a way of describing texts that are not related to other texts explicitly in the way that quotation and allusion are, but nevertheless signal their derivative nature – for example, parody, travesty, homage and pastiche. His study highlights pastiche’s place among these practices, as Figure 3.1 shows.36 For example, its evaluatively open stance, or as he prefers ‘lack of stylistic aggravation’ to the material it imitates, separates it from parody, travesty, homage and emulation, which is evaluatively predetermined as they offer ‘no other choice except between mockery and admiring reference’.37 Pastiche also differs from parody and travesty in that pastiche is very similar to what has been previously seen (although not the same, setting it apart from a copy, or a straight genre work), whereas with parody and travesty the difference from imitated material is enhanced over and above similarity. What this means is that pastiche’s textual signalling to its derivative nature is far more subtle than parody or travesty, but is more apparent than a copy or genre work.38 He also shows how pastiche’s similarity is often implicit, distinguishing it from more ‘obvious’ small-scale literary borrowings such as quotation and allusion, which evoke specific textual units through clear signals

creating his own system specifically applicable to literary practices. G. Genette, Palimpsestes: la littérature au second degré (Paris: Seuil, 1982). The text became more widely known following its 1997 English translation: Genette, Palimpsests. For more on his structuralist theories, see Allen, Intertextuality, pp. 97–115. 33. Genette’s use of terms is complex and fluid, altering between works and over time. However, this does not impact his analysis of pastiche. 34. He creates five transtextual categories: (1) intertextuality: most explicit as ‘the actual presence of one text within another’, for example, quoting, plagiarism, allusion; (2) paratextuality: secondary material added to texts, for example, titles, prefaces, illustrations, book covers; (3) metatextuality: commentary on a text, not necessarily citing it; (4) hypertextuality (the focus of his volume): ‘a text derived from another preexistent text without necessarily citing it’ such as pastiche and parody; (5) architextuality: ‘most implicit’ and a realm of broad generic classifications such as narrative, prose, etc. Genette, Palimpsests, pp. 2–5. These categories are fluid and are created to promote discussion rather than fix meanings. 35. ‘Any relationship uniting text B (which I shall call the hypertext) to an earlier text A (I shall, of course, call it the hypotext), upon which it is grafted in a manner that is not that of commentary.’ Ibid., p. 5. 36. This table is taken from Dyer, Pastiche, p. 24, and combines the various charts created by Genette. 37. Genette, Palimpsests, p. 98. 38. He labels pastiche ‘imitative’ and parody ‘transformative’, classifying the difference upon ‘the degree of distortion inflicted upon the hypotext’.

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Figure 3.1  Table showing pastiche in a world of imitation (R. Dyer, Pastiche [London: Routledge, 2007], p. 24). Reproduced with kind permission.

and signpost specific traceable referents.39 However, although pastiche does not overtly signpost the separate nature of the imitated and so it is more ‘concealed’, it also does not hide its derivative nature in the way that fake and forgery do. Therefore, this helps to situate pastiche in an imitative realm of its own: neutral imitation which presents a sense of similarity with slight alteration and signals to readers that it is doing so. Also, Genette makes clear that pastiche is not limited to replicating a single textual voice, but involves combination as the imitated subject is often ‘not an individual author but a collective entity (a group or a school, a period, a genre)’.40 Finally, he makes the important distinction between pastiche and intertextuality, by showing how pastiche is one of many derivative textual practices which come under intertextuality’s textual relations, or to put it another way, pastiche is, like parody, quotation, genre and commentary, a textual practice that is ‘intertextual’.41 Therefore, with increased interest in ‘reuse and the already said’ rather than ‘the original and unuttered’, imitative practices such as parody and pastiche were finding their feet in scholarly fields. Jameson’s criticism, Rose’s contextualization and Genette’s structuralist review indicated that pastiche necessitated more attention than it had previously received, when viewed with originality-focused 39. He categorizes these as ‘intertextuality’, which he defines as ‘a relationship of copresence between two texts or among several texts’ bringing a far narrower conception of the concept than previously had occurred. 40. Genette, Palimpsests, p. 130. Genette’s concept of pastiche is derived from the specific stylistic imitation made famous by Proust, which he argues could date back as far as Plato. 41. My experience of discussing pastiche has often resulted in assumptions that I am simply discussing what is better termed ‘intertextuality’. However, intertextuality is a much broader concept, pastiche being one of the many practices that can be called intertextual.

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lenses. Its unique neutral imitation and blending of elements were leading to it being classed as a device in its own right, separated from the more subsuming terms of parody, postmodernism and intertextuality. Yet, there still remained doubts over its importance, for if pastiche was not ‘necessarily critical’ or ‘comic’ but rather ‘blank’, what purpose could it serve and could it function in a critical sense? It was the arrival of two monographs which focused on pastiche primarily, rather than alongside other practices, that finally recast pastiche as an artistic practice worthy of serious critical attention and revealed its potential for reassessing texts. c  Richard Dyer and Ingeborg Hoesterey In 2001 Ingeborg Hoesterey published Pastiche: Cultural Memory in Art, Film, Literature particularly focusing on postmodern eclectic manifestations of pastiche,42 and in 2007 Richard Dyer published Pastiche focusing on more imitative manifestations from the Renaissance to present day.43 These monographs, heavy with examples and in-depth case studies from architecture, film, music, advertising, sculpture and painting, have also moved discussions on from the more benign ‘what is pastiche?’ towards the more engaging ‘what happens if texts are read as pastiche?’ They have also demonstrated that although pastiche is a ‘neutral’ practice, this does not mean that it cannot foster critique. Indeed, it is this neutrality that imbues pastiche with a unique ability to engage the audience in textual reconsideration and criticism. Hoesterey produced the first volume to focus on pastiche as a ‘principal of structuration’, and as a result much of her work involves ‘gathering together’ disparate texts and forms under the banner of pastiche in order to reveal and

42. Hoesterey, Pastiche. Her previous publications involve both pastiche and postmodernism, for example, I. Hoesterey, Zeitgeist in Babel the Postmodernist Controversy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); I. Hoesterey, ‘Literatur zur Postmoderne’, The German Quarterly 68, no. 3 (1995), p. 306; I. Hoesterey, ‘The Shape of Aesthetic Postmodernism’, Semiotica 106, no. 1–2 (1995), p. 197; I. Hoesterey, ‘Postmodern Bricoleurs: The New Syncretism in German Studies’, GSR 14, no. 3 (1991), pp. 587–96; I. Hoesterey, ‘Postmodern Pastiche: A Critical Aesthetic’, Centennial Review 39, no. 3 (1995), pp. 493–509; I. Hoesterey, ‘From Genre Mineur to Critical Aesthetic: Pastiche’, EJES 3, no. 1 (1999), pp. 78–86. 43. Dyer, Pastiche. Dyer is a key figure in film studies: R. Dyer and P. McDonald, Stars (London: BFI, new edn, 1998); R. Dyer, Gays and Film (London: BFI, 1977); R. Dyer, White: Essays on Race and Culture (London: Routledge, 1996); R. Dyer, Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society (London: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2004); R. Dyer, The Matter of Images: Essays on Representations (London: Routledge, 1993); R. Dyer, The Culture of Queers (London: Routledge, 2002); R. Dyer, Now You See It: Studies in Lesbian and Gay Film (London: Routledge, 2nd edn, 2003).

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categorize its wide-ranging manifestations.44 Therefore, after outlining pastiche’s ‘mercurial’ nature as covering the realm of both ‘imitation of a masterwork and the “pâté” of components’45 (i.e. as being both imitative and combinatory), she places pastiche among other combinatory forms. For example, pastiche is distinct from collage because in pastiche the different elements are blended together through being imbued with a common flavour, whereas the seams are still evident in a collage.46 It is also separate from photomontage and mosaic where constituent elements lose all sense of their previous guises, being wholly subsumed into the new composition, whereas in pastiche there is still some sense of a ‘multi-origin quality’.47 The volume then helps to explore pastiche through presenting examples grouped together according to medium: ‘Pastiche in the Visual Arts’, ‘Cinematic Pastiche’, ‘Literary Pastiche’ and ‘Pastiche Culture beyond High and Low: Advertising Narratives, MTV, Performance Styles’. In these she presents a mixture of ‘Short Takes’ and longer examinations, moving from the highly imitative such as the photographic ‘historical portraits’ of Cindy Sherman to the rampant eclecticism of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982). Her discussions allow pastiche study to move away from the trivial and hotchpotch into the rich and complex. The sheer variety of the material covered demonstrates how pastiche can be found in so many different locations, media and sizes, and how reading different texts and textual units through the lens of pastiche can bring new perspectives on their depth, cultural context and audience impact. Hoesterey particularly helps to demonstrate how this depth is often encountered as readers embrace the ‘multivocal’ nature of pastiche by allowing combined elements to dialogue with each other in their newly blended locations. She also challenges the concept of artistic ‘worth’, arguing that pastiche’s combinatory approach ‘levels’ its constituent elements, and that high and low culture often come together. Her pastiche case studies replicate this approach, with ‘highbrow’ literary creations such as A. S. Byatt’s Possession (1990) brought alongside the ‘high camp’ of Jeff 44. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. xii. This reflects her structuralist roots, preferring to attempt to fit each pastiche into a wider framework. 45. Ibid., p. 9. 46. Also, Dyer, Pastiche, p. 10. Hoesterey points to other ‘seam-showing’ practices such as cento and patchwork. A cento is a form of literary patchwork (its etymology lying in the stitching together of cloth), grouping together lines of poets (frequently Homer and Virgil) which retain their original form to retell a new story. Texts were selected due to their reputation, or in order to undermine (many centos were of a base nature). In this way it is closer to parody or homage than pastiche. See A. Rondholz, The Versatile Needle: Hosidius Geta’s Cento ‘Medea’ and Its Tradition (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), pp. 1–14, for a history of the cento, in relation to earlier texts he classes as ‘rhapsodies’ and ‘pastiches’, although his definition of pastiche is clumsy and lacking depth. 47. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 13. Whether a work is classed as a cento, collage, montage, mosaic or pastiche is a matter for debate. For more on pastiche’s relations to other combinatory and imitative practices, see ibid., pp. 10–15; Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 9–16.

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Koon’s Michael Jackson and Bubbles (1988) and both reassessed through the same lens of pastiche. Dyer’s work is less concerned with the postmodern and more with how approaching texts as pastiche can alter readers’ interactions.48 He particularly focuses on pastiche’s uniquely neutral imitative style, defining his focus as ‘pastiche is a kind of imitation that you are meant to know is an imitation’,49 and drawing attention to the fact that, when approaching a text through the lens of pastiche, an awareness that ‘such imitation is going on is a defining part of how the work works, of its meaning and affect’.50 He draws some lines between its highly eclectic and highly imitative manifestations (the latter being the primary focus of his study), before moving into engaging in-depth studies, giving readers a way to practically grapple with pastiche’s textually signalled relationship to history, affect and a sense of awareness. He begins with ‘Pastiche called Pastiche’, discussing the ‘Proustian’ style pastiche, highlighting three key features: likeness to what they are imitating, discrepancy and deformation (hence combination always being present at some level). This can be summarized as a sense of ‘like but not the same’, as what has been seen before. It is with this perspective that he explores other cases he believes can be fruitful to approach if viewed through this ‘like but not the same’ lens. This leads him to what he calls ‘The Pastiche Within’, occurrences of pastiche sections within wider works, such as the play-within-the play in Hamlet. Next he presents ‘Pastiche, Genre and History’, which involves examining cases of pastiche which occur at a macro-generic level, and drawing lines between ‘straight genre works’ and ‘genre pastiche’ where signalled imitation and alteration occurs, as exemplified by film noir and spaghetti Westerns. Through this analysis he demonstrates that genre pastiche can bring about new perspectives on past texts when viewed from new locations, and can lead to genre perceptions being awakened. He also suggests particular historical circumstances in which the occurrence of pastiche is more likely, such as ‘periods in which a multiplicity of traditions are brought together’, ‘periods which feel themselves to be coming at the end of an era’ or where a form ‘comes to feel tired or out of date’.51 The final chapter ‘The Point of Pastiche’ moves into evaluating what pastiche can achieve politically and aesthetically, and offers

48. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 13, recalls a colleague suggesting he was ‘trying to rescue pastiche from postmodernism’. 49. Ibid., p. 1. 50. Ibid., p. 3. He points out that this is distinct from general viewing practices, where ‘most (probably to all intents and purposes all) people know that a given work is like others that preceded it and, even while transforming those, is also imitating them. However, most of the time we do not think about this and indeed it is a common experience that to think about it is to have one’s interest and attention spoilt.’ Ibid. Not so with pastiche. 51. Ibid., pp. 131–2.

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the culminating argument of his book: that pastiche at its most powerful can cause us to ‘know ourselves affectively as historical beings’.52 A key aim of both studies is to advance the case that while pastiche is not inherently critical, this does not mean it cannot lead to and facilitate critical perspectives. Rather, both show that the power of pastiche lies precisely in its ‘neutral’, ‘blank’, ‘non-critical’ imitation and combination, as through this the viewer is handed the critical position.53 It is the encounter with past textual experiences in new locations and with new dialogue partners that ‘offers considerable critical potential’.54 For example, when a highly eclectic text such as Blade Runner blends various cultural codes, architectural forms, languages, mythic resonances and filmic styles together, it creates a dizzying aesthetic landscape, all strangely blended with a ‘common flavour’. In this pastiche landscape of confusion and unity, the audience may begin to ask why these elements are combined, and what effect this combining has. Rather than focusing on constituent parts, the dialogue between them can come into focus.55 Or in highly imitative pastiches past texts can be re-experienced in new locations, be that geographically, temporally or culturally, and a reappraisal of their merit can occur. For example, in Hamlet’s ‘The Murder of Gonzago’ the experience of watching a ‘dumb show’ and listening to a long soliloquy about Hecuba may still move viewers, and yet through doing so it can remind them that the play is outdated and fustian compared to the surroundings of Hamlet into which it is embedded.56 Therefore, by pastiche inhabiting a neutral ground which is not critically preset in the way that parody and homage are, it can provide a variety of textual experiences and critical perspectives. It may be all the more slippery for it, but can at its most effective create a dialectical engagement by inhabiting a realm between past and present, likeness and difference, old and new. d Summary Pastiche awareness has come a long way since the De Piles formulation, but it has never left its moorings of the realm between original and copy, describing combination and imitation of constituent parts all united with a common flavour. Yet pastiche is not something ‘set in stone’ but rather a term to describe a spectrum of textual practices that can manifest in many media and forms, times and locations. Defining pastiche can be tricky, and as we have seen, it has more often than not been relegated to something trivial and not worthy of attention, subsumed into more explicit forms of imitation such as parody and homage. Yet although Jameson may have damaged pastiche’s reputation and fused it with the postmodern when he 52. Ibid., p. 180. 53. Proust, Selected Letters, p. 2: 355, seemed aware of this when he declared pastiche to be ‘literary criticism “in action”’. 54. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 48. 55. Ibid., pp. 47–52. 56. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 66–9.

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called it ‘blank parody’, he also revealed a form of imitation and combination that was distinct from parody, and so created a space in which the more subtle, neutral, combining, imitating and blending, ‘like but not the same’ practice of pastiche could be seen.57 As imitative and combinatory practices became more prolific, and as intertextuality reassessed the nature of ‘originality’ and ‘authenticity’, a situation arose where pastiche could be reappraised, and could eventually open up new ways of reading a wide range of texts/textual units where similarity could be affirmed, multiple sources could dialogue without the need to separate out and find ‘original meanings’, and the position of the reader could become the focus. This meant that Dyer and Hoesterey could survey literature and artistic practices afresh and read texts such as Hamlet as pastiche, demonstrating that this subtle and slippery lens could bring imitation to the fore without the fear of it being ‘less than’ other forms. Therefore, Dyer and Hoesterey have not created textbooks on what is a pastiche and how to define one, but rather, they have offered tools to approach texts in order to question whether they may be seen as operating in the realm of pastiche, and if they are, how paying attention to imitated and combined, like but not the same, textual aspects can bring the texts to life. It should now be clear that pastiche describes texts which are highly intertextual, imitative, multivocal, combined and reader involving: texts like Revelation. Therefore, we shall now discuss how reading as pastiche provides a way to approach Revelation’s highly allusive text that builds on the previous studies outlined in our previous chapter, before moving on to specify the particulars of the methodology that will be utilized in this study.

II  Reading Revelation as Pastiche: Methodology and Preview In light of all that we have seen above, this study proposes to approach Beale’s interpretative challenge of ‘how are such combined allusions to be studied?’ by reading Revelation as pastiche. The above examination has shown how pastiche touches on all of the fruitful research avenues suggested in our first chapter: intertextuality, Genette’s theories of hypertextuality, imitation, interactive reading approaches, eclecticism, listening to multivalent voices, removing the allusion/echo dichotomy, inhabiting the space between slavish imitation and creative reworking, and viewing texts afresh. In pastiche we find a lens which brings together all these elements. Also, we find a lens which encompasses a spectrum of textual practices, 57. This also reveals what pastiche is not: it is not parody or homage as it does not embody an evaluative stance. It is not parody or copy because parody thrives on difference and copy on exact replication, and pastiche is a text which is very similar to what has been seen before, but signals it is not the same. It is not cento or collage because the elements are blended together in a way where their seams are no longer obvious, and it is not mosaic because pastiche still indicates the disparate nature of its constituent parts. Pastiche is a textual practice for which no other word except pastiche quite fits.

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ranging from the highly imitative such as the ‘Murder of Gonzago’ to the highly eclectic such as Blade Runner (and everything in between). In doing so pastiche provides a more fluid and less temporally bound version of Greene’s Renaissance imitative categories (propounded by Moyise),58 while still covering the pertinent features such as combining many sources (eclectic), displaying difference from past texts (heuristic), retaining the flavour of constituent parts (dialectic) and displaying close similarity (reproductive). At the same time, although pastiche is flexible it is not subsumed into the wide-ranging notion of ‘intertextuality’, still retaining a sense of its own distinct character, with its own place carved out among other intertextual practices. However, pastiche has not been previously used or even suggested as a way of approaching Revelation.59 This is hardly surprising given the general climate of negativity towards imitation and combination, pastiche’s overlooked status, and specific field-based concerns to pinpoint allusions, find which voices dominate and declare what Revelation is ‘most like’. Yet, shifts in scholarship seen above both within and outside ‘Revelation and OT’ studies mean that approaching Revelation through the lens of pastiche is not only finally possible, but also exactly what is being called for.60 Therefore, what follows will be the first extended study of Revelation that focuses on its imitative and combinatory aspects through the lens of pastiche. Indeed, it will also present the first examination of pastiche in relation to biblical texts that I am aware of.61 In doing so, it will also be the first major study to build on Moyise’s call to explore Revelation in relation to imitation theory. Therefore, it is now necessary to explain how we will use pastiche to reapproach Revelation, starting with the broad approach before moving into defining the parameters of this study.

58. Indeed, he reiterated their potential in Moyise, Evoking Scripture. 59. At least I have certainly found no NT publications and met no NT scholars who have seen pastiche this way, until after my presenting it. 60. Indeed, Moyise’s observations about Revelation’s relationship with OT texts and their ‘meaning’ resonate strongly with pastiche-like notions: ‘I would suggest that a better analogy would be that of a fruit salad, where we no longer have nice shiny apples but pieces of apple, mixed up with pieces of pear and pieces of banana and covered in syrup.’ Moyise, ‘The Old Testament in the New: A Reply to Greg Beale’, pp. 55–6. 61. The most extensive use of pastiche in biblical studies prior to my research is W. A. Tooman, Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). Tooman’s examination focuses on Ezekiel 38–39, with the aim of explaining how these highly allusive chapters reuse scripture. The results of his examination lead him to conclude Ezekiel 38–39 are ‘pastiche’, which he defines as ‘an extreme example of a conflate text’. Ibid., p. 115. This basic explanation is not elaborated upon. Therefore, pastiche is used as part of a text focused relabelling exercise which is keen to pinpoint allusions, rather than as a reading strategy.

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a  Pastiche and this Study How do we approach Revelation using pastiche? Dyer and Hoesterey have not provided manuals for identifying pastiche or a rigid ‘criteria of pastiche-ity’ for assessing texts. Indeed, their volumes are light on methodology and heavy on practical reading via case studies. Yet, this does not mean that these volumes are lacking scholarly insight and applicability, or that we cannot construct our own methodology from their works. Instead, it means that we need to adopt a somewhat different approach and focus from those favoured in past ‘Revelation and OT’ studies. What follows then is unashamedly ‘different’ from previous approaches, because we will embrace what Dyer and Hoesterey have provided: vibrant, interpretative-findings-weighted methodologies, where textual encounters are prioritized over and above textual labels. We will therefore create our own methodological approach to pastiche, drawing on the strength of these studies. What Hoesterey and Dyer made clear was that the most significant discussions happen not when asking whether something is or is not a pastiche,62 but when reading texts as pastiche, and then examining how this effects textual engagement – a heuristic approach where the outcome often is the justification for the means, or as Dyer says: ‘My discussion of them [his chosen texts] as pastiche stands or falls by the validity of my deployment of the evidence for them being pastiche, but also by the degree to which treating them as pastiche illuminates them, how much intellectual and affective sense it makes of them.’63 Therefore, our focus will also be on active engagement with Revelation’s allusive fabric. We will not embark on a ‘relabelling’ exercise where rigid criteria are applied to Revelation in order to assess whether it is or is not pastiche. Such an exercise is unlikely to present any new interpretative insights, and would be pointlessly anachronistic in any case. Rather the remainder of this study adopts a more fluid and flexible methodology with the aim of asking how reading through the lens of pastiche can illuminate and make intellectual and affective sense of Revelation’s elusive and allusive relationship with OT texts. This approach is particularly suited to Revelation’s fluid textual fabric which resists controlling measures by source text allocation, allusion-spotting and dominant voice seeking. Approaching it with a methodology which too is fluid, flexible and shifting surely offers greater potential for textual interaction and understanding as the methodology can move with the text and respond to Revelation’s multiplicity of OT relationships. Enough studies already exist which view Revelation from the outside and tabulate findings in order to examine it alongside OT texts. Through reading as pastiche we take a more interactive approach, actively experiencing pastiche texts in order to ask what Revelation’s 62. ‘In both its shifting history and current multiplicitous use, the word pastiche is in practice extremely elastic. … I’ve often found myself drawn into generally fruitless discussion about whether such and such really is pastiche. Very often, it probably is – it all depends on what you mean by pastiche.’ Dyer, Pastiche, p. 9. 63. Ibid., p. 48.

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highly allusive fabric is actually like, and most importantly what can be discovered if we inhabit the realm between copy and original without originality/authenticity worries and with ears attuned to tensions. In essence, in order to answer Beale’s allusive conundrum we will examine ‘what it is like to read an allusive text like Revelation’.64 This organic methodology is best termed ‘reading Revelation as pastiche’. b  Focusing In Reading Revelation as Pastiche Reading Revelation as Pastiche will consist of four carefully formed yet dynamic case studies which actively combine the reading of pastiche with the reading of Revelation. The premise is simple. We begin by examining a key ‘Revelation and OT’ issue, presenting scholarly problems, current reading practices and impasses which arise. We then introduce a pastiche ‘test case’ which provides a similar interpretative/textual issue, and actively engage with this text, asking how reading through the lens of pastiche affects interpretation. We then use the interpretative insights revealed through reading as pastiche to reread Revelation, and assess what can be seen when it is viewed through a similar lens; if read as pastiche.65 However, given the fluidity of the material with which we will be working, this is not a simple case of taking Dyer and Hoesterey’s findings and applying them to Revelation – far from it. First, how do we create our pastiche lens and what will it focus on? We have seen how pastiche has a somewhat ‘mercurial nature’, ranging from the highly imitative to the highly combinatory, and yet nearly always involving some element of both.66 Therefore, even the most imitative of pastiches practise combination at some level in order to show that they are ‘like but not the same as’ other works, and highly eclectic pastiche imitate past works at some level in order to create newly combined ones. Therefore, it is inevitable that when encountering a pastiche both practices will be noticeable at some level but along the pastiche spectrum one or the other may be foregrounded, as we will see during our studies. Therefore, our lens will sometimes focus on those which foreground combination (‘highly combinatory’) and sometimes those which foreground imitation (‘highly imitative’), but the presence of both is likely to be felt. 64. The ‘question what it is like to read an allusive text like Revelation’ was posed by Moyise, Revelation, p. 23, and we shall see how answering this question can lead to effective ways to answer Beale. 65. This method of ‘reading a highly allusive text’ and then ‘rereading Revelation’ in light of findings was shown by Jack to present a fresh way of approaching the text, and this study stands in line with both her methodology and her unashamedly postmodern approach to textual interpretation. 66. Dyer wants to maintain stronger divisions in order to make his book distinct from Hoesterey’s but still admits the majority of candidates for pastiche involve both of these practices.

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However, at whichever end of the spectrum pastiche is found, key textual indicators signal entry into the realm of pastiche: neutrality to source texts, a common flavour, blending of elements, multivalency, some sense of the elements’ past manifestations, ‘like but not the same’. When parody is too harsh and emulation too positive, and when collage is too disparate but mosaic too harmonized, and when original is too distinct but copy too exact, then pastiche can enter in and fill the gap. Therefore, these are the textual features and areas of imitation/combination that our pastiche lens will be alert to in each case study, with a different emphasis depending on the specific issue being addressed. The actual ‘lens’ through which we will review Revelation will take the form of the test cases in each chapter, which will be appropriately selected from pastiche texts discussed in detail by Dyer and Hoesterey. This negates the need to spend time worrying whether or not the test cases are pastiches: Dyer and Hoesterey have already demonstrated that they are.67 This then creates a pastiche lens which can be used to focus on different features, and which can be altered according to purpose. With this lens we will be able to move along the full spectrum of pastiche in order to approach Revelation’s different imitative and combinatory aspects, moving from sections which have previously been called ‘patchworks’ through to those labelled ‘mere imitation’. We will also be able to view pastiche’s more micro-level manifestations in small textual units and adopt more wide-ranging viewpoints in order to explore macro-generic manifestations. Now we have our lens and know what it is able to examine; next we need to state how and why the specific case studies have been constructed and Revelation issues chosen. As already stated, Dyer and Hoesterey have not created textbooks, but repositories of practical theory, and so the following investigations involve selecting material that is pertinent to the study of Revelation’s allusive nature, and selecting areas of ‘Revelation and OT’ studies which are particularly apt for being read as pastiche. Therefore, we will examine four ‘Revelation and OT’ issues through our pastiche lens. These are selected because it is clear from past scholarly debates that particularly allusive realms are being moved in and that, despite allusion-spotting attempts to solve the issues raised, significant interpretative challenges still exist. They are also chosen as they facilitate the examination of different layers and sections of Revelation, and dialogue with different parts of the pastiche spectrum. These issues will be: (1) What ‘source text’ controls the portrayal of ‘one like a son of man’ in Revelation 1?; (2) Who is the whore of Babylon?; (3) How does Revelation 18 relate to OT texts? and finally, an inescapable issue which moves beyond the realm of ‘Revelation and OT’ studies but infuses every ‘Revelation and OT’ discussion: (4) What is Revelation’s relationship with the genre ‘apocalypse’? Specific pastiche test case texts will then be selected from those discussed by Dyer and Hoesterey to act as lenses. They will be matched to Revelation issues not due to their similarity in content, but to their similar textual fabric, and because they raise similar interpretative issues for audiences encountering the texts. For example, 67. Or they have at least presented convincing cases for their consideration as pastiche.

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chapter 18 is highly imitative and so a highly imitative pastiche will be used as a lens, whereas Revelation 1 is highly combinatory and so test cases of a similar fabric are selected. However, Hoesterey and Dyer were reading pastiche texts in light of their own scholarly interests, rather than in relation to Revelation, and so each pastiche test case will be moulded to create a tailored lens through which to view Revelation. Sometimes this will involve focusing on a different aspect of the text from Dyer/Hoesterey, or reading it from a different angle, and it will always involve drawing on wider scholarship surrounding the pastiche text and the issues raised.68 Therefore, the pastiches chosen and theories presented are firmly rooted in Dyer’s and Hoesterey’s discussions, but the test cases will be ‘made-to-measure’ in order to ‘ergonomically mould’ the Revelation issues – Dyer and Hoesterey provide the raw pastiche material and potential applications, and I provide readings for Revelation. Therefore, the case studies are not mapping exercises where we cross-check Revelation against Dyer’s and Hoesterey’s works, but rather the case studies are formed through a symbiotic process of examining recurring ‘Revelation and OT’ issues, and then drawing on relevant pastiche material in order to create suitable lenses. When read, this symbiosis will become clear. c Fine-Tuning We have now explained the process of reading Revelation as pastiche, the focus and scope of our lens, and some details of how and why Revelation issues and pastiche test cases will be brought together. Now we need to clarify the particulars of this approach. Although Dyer and Hoesterey will provide the major dialogue partners, in reality Dyer’s volume offers far more to work with as he covers far less material in far more depth. As a result, his work is the backbone for the study, with three of the four case studies based on his examinations and theory. Therefore, I follow Dyer’s approach to pastiche by creating chapters which present ever increasing levels of complexity and subtlety surrounding the pastiche texts examined, reading methods employed and themes scrutinized, and in doing so scale-up both our textual focus and field of vision. This will involve employing different reading strategies drawn from the body of Dyer’s work in order to actively demonstrate what it is to read as pastiche, and these will be explained in each chapter. These reading strategies will not involve pinpointing allusions or saying which voice seems ‘loudest’. Rather, the focus will be firmly on reading as holistically as possible, although at times it will be necessary to initially dismantle texts in order to facilitate this experience. Specifically, the focus will be on reading, that is, on textual encounters and the impact of experiencing imitative and combinatory texts, rather than on authorial intent, or scribal practices.

68. This was done in order to present a fully contextualized test case which provided all the necessary theory and background to enable interdisciplinary engagement.

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This focus is a key strength of our approach, but also reminds us that in bringing certain aspects which have previously remained blurred into focus, others will inevitably become less pronounced. As our pastiche lens has been created as a tool for reapproaching how we respond to imitative texts, rather than how imitative texts are created, this means that exactitude of scriptural blending, the composition process, questions of authorial motivation and how Revelation compares to other texts of the time remain in the background. The pastiche focus also means that notions of quotation, indirect quotation, allusion, indirect allusion, echo etc. will remain peripheral (although not forgotten) as pastiche is not focused on one such practice, but rather on interactions with the wider imitative textual fabric, which may or may not contain such features. Therefore, as we cannot focus on all aspects with our reading practice, the findings of scholars with strategies which differ from this study will be integrated into our discussions. The key strategies for our reading practice will include listening to the dialogue between texts, feeling the weight of the past, experiencing same yet different, essentially showing what it is like to encounter a highly allusive text like Revelation. Therefore, this study will approach Revelation as an ‘open text’, which offers maximum potential for audience engagement.69 This is in contrast to a ‘closed text’, where a work guides the audience to a single determinate meaning. Pastiche texts are by their very nature open texts because they do not create one fixed predetermined meaning, as both the past texts and the present location dialogue with each other, and in this multiple voices are heard. As we have seen, studies of Revelation’s relationship to OT texts have tended to lean towards reading Revelation as a closed text with one fixed meaning, and harmonizing multiple voices. This open-text approach will facilitate a maximum focus on reader interaction and multivalency. However, this does not mean that we will read with unlimited interpretative possibilities and lose all moorings from previous scholarly endeavours. Parameters will be set by using the arguments of previous scholars and the voices they have heard. Therefore, I will use their considered readings, not tabulating and confirming what is most common à la Paulien and Kowalski, but rather as a way of demonstrating the variety of potential voices and subjective readings that Revelation evokes, and embracing this from an open-text perspective.

69. See U. Eco, The Role of the Reader: Explorations in the Semiotics of Texts (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979). This is close to Roland Barthes’ concept of a ‘writerly’ text. For a concise summary of these concepts and the role of the reader, see G. L. Linton, ‘Reading the Apocalypse as Apocalypse: The Limits of Genre’, in The Reality of Apocalypse : Rhetoric and Politics in the Book of Revelation, ed. D. L. Barr; SBLSymS, 39 (Atlanta: SBL, 2006), pp. 24–5. Eco is clear to point out that an open text, however ‘open’ it may be, cannot afford ‘whatever’ interpretation. An open text outlines a ‘closed’ project for its model/ ideal/liminal Reader as a component of its structural strategy. Eco, Role of the Reader, p. 9; T. De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose: Eco and Narcissism’, SubStance 14, no. 2 (1985), pp. 13–29 (21).

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As a result of this heavy reliance on previous examinations, we primarily deal with OT voices because they have been the major focal point. However, following Mathewson’s and Moyise’s calls to listen to different worldviews within the text, we will not limit ourselves to OT texts, or even to the written word, drawing on relevant material from architecture, coinage, rituals, etc., when they have been heard in previous examinations. This use of past studies will also allow us to see the embedded choices in scholarship and why certain voices are preferred over others. These implicit scholarly assumptions will become more noticeable as we delve deeper into Revelation’s imitative and combined layers with our pastiche lenses, and so in our final chapter we will zoom out from ‘Revelation and OT’ relationships, and focus on scholarly approaches to Revelation and other texts more generally, as we examine the construction of the genre ‘apocalypse’ through the lens of pastiche. This will also show how pastiche is not just a useful approach for Revelation’s problematic allusions, but for Revelation more generally. Finally, a little more on the ‘why’ of test case choices is necessary. We have already stated that the test cases used are selected because of their widespread acceptance as pastiches and because of their detailed analyses presented by Dyer and Hoesterey. However, as a result they are worlds apart from Revelation, as all of those selected are from the twentieth or early twenty-first century. What is more, of the six pastiche texts discussed only one is literary, and the majority are films, and films which are diegetically unrelated to Revelation. The anachronism and difference are therefore obvious, but this is part of the point. I could select more ancient test cases,70 or compare Revelation with texts which could be considered part of Revelation’s reception history (as has often been assumed I am doing).71 This would have (as was often suggested to me) been the logical and potentially more palatable way of uniting pastiche and Revelation (it certainly would have involved less lengthy justification), but this approach would have run the risk of mapping like onto like and pinpointing similarities in textual content, rather than exploring textual substance and affect. This was precisely what I set out to avoid. Therefore, test cases are selected for the reason that they do not compare to Revelation in content, context or historical situation. Indeed, the majority of them have never been brought into dialogue with Revelation prior to this study (and probably will not be again), because the points of obvious association are simply not there.72 In this sense they are ‘non-loaded’ as they do not offer convenient mapping points. Instead, they necessitate a more in-depth and 70. As already stated in the notes at the end Chapter 1, this comparative approach to ancient textual practices such as rewritten Bible often leads to a focus on theological and scribal issues instead of examining textual encounters. 71. As already seen, this is the approach chosen by Jack, using Hogg’s Confessions to explore its use of Revelation as a dialogue partner. 72. Eco’s The Name of the Rose is the exception, being used because it does provide a more familiar Revelation flavour to begin our studies. However, its use of Revelation will not be the focal point of the discussion.

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considered approach in order to penetrate the surface and grapple with the way imitative and combinatory texts impact viewers.73 Above all, I wanted to create test cases which were just that: test cases – safe environments in which we can let ourselves engage with and enter into highly imitative and combinatory texts, free from the usual concerns that haunt our discipline. I wanted to create an environment that allowed pastiche-reading practices, rather than pinpointing allusions, to be embraced, and that facilitated experience rather than exactitude of meaning. This is further assisted through the use of contemporary and easily accessible test cases which do not present significant cultural, geographic or temporal focusing issues,74 and so avoid being weighed down with concerns about anachronism and interpretation. This allows us to engage more freely, and requires little prior knowledge other than that which this study provides. All of these factors then work together to allow for more textually relevant questions such as, how does alteration of location affect the audience? What happens when something alike but not the same is seen? How do multivocal texts resolve tensions? In essence, non-loaded test cases allow us to experience what it is to read a text which is highly allusive like Revelation, in order to turn to Revelation and read it as the highly allusive text that it is. d Clarifications No term can express all complexities and nuances, but they are necessary tools and so fields of reference are worth clarifying. Case study and test case have already been outlined above: case study refers to each chapter-length examination of Revelation issues through the lens of pastiche, and test case refers to pastiche texts within the case studies which we use to explore pastiche theory. Resonances will be used all-inclusively to cover the slippery and tired terms ‘allusion’, ‘echo’, ‘intertextuality’, ‘quotation’, ‘reference’, ‘referent’ and ‘citation’. As this study does not give primacy to allusions over echoes, resonances allow potential textual voices which can be heard in Revelation to be given equal weightage terminologically. This does not mean the terms ‘echoes’, ‘allusions’, ‘associations’, ‘quotations’, etc. will not be used, but when they are it will be in a specific contextualized sense, for example, when discussing the work of those who use such terminology. 73. We have already seen how such an oblique approach can provide new insights by selecting sculpture and architecture to review imitation and combination in the GraecoRoman world when other first-century religious texts would have seemed more logical. Such an oblique approach will continue to provide similar new insights. 74. As Jack showed, using less ‘weighted’ texts can open up new avenues of interpretation. The texts chosen in this study are even less weighted, and far more accessible than Hogg’s Confessions due to their contemporary (the earliest is from 1968, and the most recent from 2002) and often more popular nature.

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Referring to the texts Revelation may be dialoguing with is a particularly fraught enterprise as finding non-loaded terms is so difficult. Source texts has historically been used, and I would prefer not to use this loaded term due to its implied sense of traceable origins. However, as it cannot be escaped in discussions it will be used here, although more often than not in ‘scare quotes’ to present a level of distance from the principles entwined into the term. When moving more freely in test cases then intertexts and dialogue partners or even past texts will tend to be used, indicating potential textual dialogue partners rather than specific sources, and interactions on multiple levels: genre, forms, features, characters, tropes, scenes, languages, etc. When referring to Revelation’s audience, this will be done in the broadest sense, signifying to a potential group of listeners in the first century ce. However, following the stance of other ‘Revelation and OT’ studies, it assumes little about the group beyond the fact that Revelation’s audience were Jewish-Christians (or Christian-Jews) who would have had some level of familiarity with OT texts and would have heard Revelation under the rule of the Roman Empire.75 When referring to the audience in relation to test cases, it will function as a catch-all term referring to potential textual viewers (and will sometimes be used interchangeably with viewers), rather than a specific documented audience reaction. During these sections the audience – ‘us’ and ‘we’, and in the final section ‘I’ – will be used, as is often done in film criticism. This brings us to the need to clarify this study’s views on the author and dating of Revelation. The author of Revelation kindly provided his readers with his name and the location of his vision: John (Rev. 1.1, 4, 9) on Patmos (Rev. 1.9). However, he provides little else. Although early readers accredited the text to John the Apostle, the majority of scholars hold that Revelation was written by a different author from the Gospel of John and the letters of John.76 A pseudepigraphal title is unlikely due to the prominence of the name in the Graeco-Roman world, and the lack of any other details about the author.77 Therefore, this study will follow current mainstream tendencies to call the author of Revelation ‘John’ or ‘John of Patmos’ – a man who wrote Revelation and of whom little else is known – and will assume that due to the lack of explanation, it is likely that the audience of the letter was aware of his identity. However, our focus is on the experience of those receiving the letter rather than the man writing it and so ‘John’ will not be frequently invoked. The dating of Revelation has always been debated, but the late 90s ce has historically been preferred. However, the lack of persecution under Domitian has led to questioning of whether Revelation was actually written during his reign,78 and 75. Beale, Commentary, pp. 82–3. 76. For a dissenting voice, see S. S. Smalley, Thunder and Love: John’s Revelation and John’s Community (Milton Keynes: Word, 1994); S. S. Smalley, The Revelation to John: A Commentary on the Greek Text of the Apocalypse (London: SPCK, 2005). 77. On this and wider authorial issues, see Boxall, Revelation, pp. 5–7. 78. For example, L. L. Thompson, The Book of Revelation: Apocalypse and Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).

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arguments about the symbolism of the beast pointing to Nero, and indications of a still standing temple (Rev. 11.1–2) continue to be used to support mid-60s ce dating.79 The arguments are not watertight, and as the dating of the book is a fluid issue within scholarship, this study will treat the dating in a similar way. This will mean that some of the findings of the chapters will feed heuristically into discussions of pre- or post71 ce writing, as our reading through our new lens alters our viewpoint. Whether the OT text used by Revelation is drawn from LXX, MT or other translations is still debated. This study is not focused on scribal activity, or pinpointing exact references, and so this will not be a primary focus. When the topic does require attention then it will be dealt with by exploring potential resonating text forms.80 However, the underlying assumption will follow the opinion of the majority of studies this study dialogues with: ‘The likelihood is that John draws from both Semitic and Greek biblical sources and often modifies both.’81 Finally, our parameters for the success of this exercise and focus of our study need restating. As has been made clear, this is not a relabelling exercise to argue that Revelation is a pastiche, but rather a re-viewing exercise which reads Revelation as pastiche.82 It is not about arguing how the text was composed, or uncovering ancient scribal practices. The author’s intention is not our interest and remains blurry when viewed through our pastiche lens. Therefore, we evaluate our study with criteria appropriate to the active and immersive endeavour of reading Revelation as pastiche, adopting those used by Dyer to assess the effectiveness of his own case study approach: (1) ‘the deployment of evidence for them [the texts in question] being pastiche’; 2) ‘the degree by which treating them [the texts in question] as pastiche illuminates them, how much intellectual and affective sense it makes of them’.83 It is in relation to this final point that this examination stands or falls, as we focus on the affective nature of the text and what insights our studies bring as we enter into text’s allusive fabric rather than iron it out. With this in mind then, we now turn to Part II of our study, our four case studies.

79. For the history of dating, see Aune, Revelation 1, pp. lvi–lxx; Beale, Commentary, pp. 4–27; P. Prigent, Commentary on the Apocalypse of St. John, trans. W. Pradels (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), pp. 68–84. 80. The fluidity of the text form is born in mind throughout, and our reading approach assists textual issues, as we are not looking for exact references but rather moving in the realm of similar ideas, phrases, figures, etc. which are more stable. 81. Beale, Commentary, p. 78. If there is one thing Kowalski, Die Rezeption, has most certainly achieved, it is to show the complexity of Revelation’s relationship to Greek and Hebrew versions. 82. Different facets of pastiche will be introduced and focused on in each chapter, but its elastic nature should remain in the background as there is no hard and fast rule of pastiche, and to present one would remove its usefulness for covering a range of texts and textual practices. 83. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 48.

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Chapter 4 L istening to A ll the V oices: R eading P lurality in R evelation 1

The first case study concerns John’s inaugural vision of Rev. 1.12–18 which presents the image of ‘one like a son of man’. This chapter will show how textual units which are imitative and combined can be read in a way which listens to multiple textual voices, rather than foregrounding/backgrounding certain aspects. It will begin by examining the different voices at work in this section. It will then introduce three test cases – a painting, a sculpture and a novel – to demonstrate the levelling effect produced when different texts are combined together in a pastiche. We will then return to Rev. 1.12–18 in order to ask what interpretative insights can be gained if we read the section in a similar way. This will involve reading this section of Revelation 1 by listening to the disparate voices rather than silencing erroneous ones/quiet ones/echoes, or finding a dominating source text, for as Caird points out ‘to compile such a catalogue is to unweave the rainbow’.1 The figure of ‘one like a son of man’ presented in Rev. 1.12–18 is a particularly suitable place to begin any study of Revelation’s relationship with other texts.2 First, it is the opening vision of Revelation, and so is a natural scene-setter approached by scholars in order to find out how the text should be read. Second (due to the first), it is where a number of important ‘Revelation and OT’ studies  begin to

1. G. B. Caird, A Commentary on the Revelation of St. John the Divine (BNTC; London: Black, 2nd edn, 1984), p. 25. Or as Robert Venturi says, ‘I am for messy vitality over obvious unity. … Richness of meaning rather than clarity of meaning.’ R. Venturi, Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1966), p. 16. 2. Our focus, as is our dialogue partners’, is on the figure of ‘one like a son of man’ presented within this unit. However, we will examine the textual unit as a whole as this too feeds into the image’s presentation and impact. This creates some terminological tensions, and I will refer to either the section’s verse numbers, or call the text ‘the inaugural vision’. The emphasis should be clear however: we examine the text in order to see how the figure of ‘one like a son of man’ is presented and what it resonates with, regardless of terminology used.

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establish  how  the text uses ‘source texts’, most significantly Moyise and Beale.3 Third, because it is the opening vision, the rest of the text is yet to come. Therefore, it allows for tensions to be felt before material is offered which may ‘resolve’ them.4 Finally, the identity of the figure is viewed as key to interpreting the rest of Revelation as it appears to present an image of the risen Christ, and so which ‘source text’ is being used becomes an important part of discerning the text’s Christology.5

I  The Inaugural Vision of One like a Son of Man (Rev. 1.12–18) Who is the figure in the opening vision of Revelation? How do readers know? The text seems to give off mixed signals. When approaching the text the preferred way of determining the identity of the figure is to find out which previously depicted image it is ‘most like’. Therefore, OT sources are sought in order to explain the figure and determine which texts control its meaning. Particular focus will be paid to the readings of the two voices that have dominated the field of ‘Revelation and OT’ studies: Moyise and Beale. As these two scholars’ readings have represented the ‘extremes’ of OT in Revelation readings, bringing the two into dialogue in our opening test case is most appropriate for setting the scene of scholarship. To do this, we will focus on how they have read this figure in their detailed case study monographs.6 This will demonstrate how they approach the inaugural vision, what resonances they hear and what they foreground. It will also allow two supposedly ‘conflicting’ approaches to be brought into dialogue in a way they are seldom allowed. a Beale Beale’s study of Revelation 1 is the first of the case studies that make up his analysis of ‘John’s use of Daniel’ in Revelation.7 The test cases are chosen specifically, and understandably, due to their similarity to Daniel, and Daniel is the focus for Beale’s reading of the section. He begins with Rev. 1.7a which he sees as a clear allusion

3. Both Moyise, Revelation, and Beale, Use of Daniel, begin with Revelation 1. Jauhiainen is the major exception, choosing not to begin in Revelation 1, but rather catalogue material according to the order of Zechariah’s chapters. 4. Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, pp. 26–32, provides a useful perspective on this passage by examining its confusing and mixed genre signals. 5. For example, do ‘source texts’ indicate the figure is angelic or divine or priestly or regal etc.? 6. Moyise, Revelation; Beale, Use of Daniel. 7. Beale, Use of Daniel, pp. 156–77. His other case studies are Revelation 4–5; 13; 17.

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to Daniel, setting the scene for the Daniel-focused text that will follow. He then moves on to Rev. 1.12–208 which he calls ‘The Vision Proper’. His study opens with a table offering three columns: ‘clear allusion’, ‘probable allusion (with more varied wording)’ and ‘possible allusion or echo’.9 He claims that he tabulates the allusions in relation to how close they are to the exact wording, noting LXX, Theodotion and MT variations. He finds the majority of clear allusions to be from Daniel, particularly Daniel 7 and 10 (both with three certain). He also notes a ‘clear allusion’ to Ezek. 1.24; 43.2 in the voice that sounds like many waters (v.15) and Judg. 5.31 with the face like the sun (v.16). ‘Probable allusions’ are mostly from Daniel, but also come from Zechariah 4 and Ezek. 9.2 in relation to the clothing (v.13) and Isa. 11.4; 49.2 with the sharp two-edged sword coming out of the mouth (v.16). ‘Echoes’ are mainly again from Daniel, but he does also mention Ezek. 1.26 in relation to the phrase ‘son of man’ (v.12) and Ezek. 1.7 in relation to the burnished feet (v.15). His analysis only focuses on OT allusions, and he does not provide any discussion of the image’s potential connections to wider Graeco-Roman imagery. The results of this reading are overwhelmingly in favour of Daniel being the source behind the image, and other OT texts being in ‘a more secondary degree’.10 Indeed, he presents a figure which represents a real effort to bring images into harmony: ‘whereas the coming one of v.7a was not described, great pains are now taken to portray this figure according to the descriptions of Daniel 7 and 10, although other OT references play a secondary role’.11 Also, his reliance on specific manuscript variants makes his ‘results’ somewhat skewed. Hunting through three different versions of Daniel is bound to bring more ‘close’ comparisons than the two he uses for other OT sources. Therefore, he is able to claim that v.13 alludes to the Dan. 10.5 heavenly man who is clothed in a robe and ‘girded with gold’.12 It is interesting in his comparison that Beale uses the English and not the Greek, despite arguing he is demonstrating what is closest in wording. This hides, for example, that in fact girded ‘with gold’ is lacking from the LXX, which has linen instead (περιεζωσμένος βυσσίνῳ), and that the figure in Dan. 10.5 is girded around the loins whereas Revelation 1’s figure is girded around the breasts. It is therefore unclear why Ezek. 9.2 becomes ‘secondary’ in Beale’s reading, when in fact the same robe (ποδήρη) is mentioned, and the figure is also girded with a sash and stands in the ‘midst’ of the scene: εἷς ἀνὴρ ἐν μέσῳ αὐτῶν ἐνδεδυκὼς ποδήρη, καὶ ζώνη σαπφείρου ἐπὶ τῆς ὀσφύος αὐτοῦ (Ezek. 9.2).

8. We conclude our reading at v.18 as our focus is on the text’s presentation of the figure of ‘one like a son of man’. 9. Beale, Use of Daniel, p. 156. 10. Ibid., p. 160. Such a stance is supported by phrases such as ‘although the Daniel 10 portrait again dominates, the Daniel 7:9 picture has not been lost sight of ’. Ibid., pp. 160–1. 11. Beale, Use of Daniel, p. 158. 12. Ibid., p. 160.

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These Ezekiel ‘allusions’ are played down in his analysis, sometimes relegated to footnotes such as ‘Ezekiel 1:7 lies also in the background’,13 or explained as complementing the central image: ‘The word from Ezekiel has been drawn in because of the likeness of the contextual pictures and then employed of the same kind of voice metaphor as that of Dan. 10.5.’14 For Beale the presentation of one like a son of man may stray into other texts, but John is only going there because they help to build the image he is portraying: his Daniel-inspired image. When other texts are brought in, or combined, it is because they have common themes.15 Even when he believes the wording of the face shining in its strength is derived from Judg. 5.31, he nevertheless inserts the caveat that it ‘still follows the Daniel 10 outline’.16 The Isaiah reference is also explained in relation to Daniel, for although from a different prophetic text, ‘the common elements then functioned – whether consciously or unconsciously – as the associative path leading from the Daniel 10 picture of prophetic comfort to that of the three Isaiah passages concerning YHWH’s comfort of Israel’.17 I feel little needs to be said here other than it is clear that Beale is able to connect most things to Daniel. Although the body of his study focuses on ‘clear allusions’, he is later happy to find ‘unconscious connections’ to Daniel in ‘John’s mind’ when he can find single words from Daniel such as ‘stars’ and ‘heavens’.18 These are hardly ‘niche’ terms unique to Daniel, but are broad terms used throughout the OT, so the connection is tenuous at best (and I say that in a study focused on reading as broadly as possible). This ‘Daniel-discovering’ pattern continues as Beale argues that although ‘I am the everlasting’ has many parallels in the OT and apocryphal literature, it may be traceable as a ‘collective reminiscence’ of Daniel 4, 6 and 12.19 Daniel is the primary place for all thoughts, and Beale traces them back to this ‘source text’. He concludes due to the high numbers of Daniel 7 and 10 references that this is a ‘midrash’ on these two chapters: it is the Vorbild, with other texts ‘woven’ into the framework.20 Other OT passages are drawn into the picture ‘because of their parallels and, thus, their suitability to serve as supplementary material’.21 He further supports this view by stating ‘most commentators have agreed that vv.13–17 are 13. Ibid. 14. A clarifying footnote is added: ‘more precisely the “many waters” of Ezekiel have been woven into the Daniel 10:6 phraseology’. Ibid., p. 161. 15. For example, concerning the conflation of Daniel 3, 7 and 10: ‘Such an identification is natural since the descriptions of the figures in all three texts contain striking resemblances to one another.’ Ibid., p. 159. 16. Ibid., p. 163. 17. Ibid., p. 166. 18. Ibid., p. 169. 19. Ibid., p. 166. 20. He argues for a similar overarching structure between Daniel 7 and Rev. 1.4–20. Ibid., p. 173. 21. Ibid., p. 171 (my italics).

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dominated by a Danielic influence’ and ‘encompassed by a Daniel 7 and 10 Vorlage’ (emphasis mine).22 It is clear that Beale is showing what is the dominant party in this textual relationship, and what has ‘suitability to serve’. As a result, he decides that ‘the “echoes” from Daniel we observed now take on more probability’.23 If the echoes fit the picture, then perhaps they should be heard more after all because Daniel is the guide with common themes or keywords ‘controlled by the Daniel 7 and 10 picture which acted as a kind of hermeneutical “magnet”’.24 The language resounds with the rhetoric that this is a picture where ‘source texts’ are gathered together, with Daniel in charge and other texts assisting to make a harmonious picture that is ‘interwoven in a well-thought-out manner’.25 b Moyise Steve Moyise’s study of the use of the OT in Revelation begins, like Beale, with a case study of Revelation’s opening section. His exploration of the OT in the inaugural vision actually commences as an examination of the supposed ‘local allusions’ (geographically specific) in Revelation 2–3, in particular addressing Ramsay’s and Hemer’s beliefs that the imagery within the section is drawn primarily from the local situations of the letters.26 After demonstrating that the OT appears to be utilized as much, if not more than local allusions,27 he concludes that ‘John composed the vision narrative using a mosaic of Scripture’.28 He then proceeds to explore the inaugural vision to demonstrate its relationship to the OT and show that the OT was primarily in mind when this section was being constructed.29 Despite his ‘mosaic’ claim, Moyise begins with a comparison of Rev. 1.13–16 and Dan. 10.5–6, stating that ‘though a variety of texts have been used to construct the inaugural vision, Dan. 10.5–6 stands out as particularly important’.30 He reads the passage in relation to this section, showing similarities, and like Beale, draws attention to the ‘belt of gold’ and the robe and the reaction of the seer. However, he does then move on to show the differences, listing ‘further Old Testament allusions’ specifically Ezek. 9.11 with ποδήρης, Dan. 7.9 with the ‘white as snow’, Ezek. 1.24; 43.2 with the ‘mighty waters’, Isa. 11.4b; 49.2 with the sharp sword/ mouth and Judg. 5.31 in relation to the sun.31 These echo Beale’s findings, although the important difference is that Moyise does not categorize them according to 22. Ibid., p. 173. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., p. 174. 25. Ibid. He admits there are ‘exceptions’ but presents a ‘typological rationale’ for these. 26. Hemer, Letters; Ramsay, Letters. 27. Moyise, Revelation, pp. 24–36. 28. Ibid., p. 36. 29. Ibid., pp. 37–44. 30. Ibid., p. 37. 31. Ibid., p. 38.

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how ‘clear’ they are but rather brings them all in together, although secondary to the Daniel 10 framework. His argument then is that ‘John’s method was to weave them into a mosaic of Scripture’ (a phrase he repeats several times),32 arguing that the passage is rather like a ‘musician who sets off various instruments in order to produce a full sound’,33 and quoting Caird’s argument that Revelation 1 sets ‘echoes of memory and association ringing’.34 He also points out that most of these ‘echoes’ ‘reappear later in the book’, indicating that they should be listened to as they will be built upon.35 However, Daniel still rules his reading and he uses this as the source, pointing out additions, omissions and changes to this text in Revelation 1: ‘John supplements the vision of Dan 10:5–6’ (emphasis mine),36 ‘augmenting Daniel’s vision with Old Testament allusions’.37 This leads him to conclude the same as Beale: ‘Similarities with Dan 10:5–6 suggest that this was the base text or Vorbild.’38 However, he argues that the alterations and changes indicate this is not the same image: ‘The additions and changes show that John was not interested in simply copying Daniel. Rather, by the use of particular words and phrases, it appears that John was intending to create a whole host of inviting connections.’39 Nevertheless, his reading of these changes still involves bringing the image into harmony, with suitable reasons for the alterations provided. For example, ‘the change from “loins” to “breast” … perhaps he avoided reference to the trunk of the body for reasons of delicacy’,40 and the puzzling term χαλκολιβάνῳ ‘could be that John simply uses “smelting” imagery in order to heighten the impact of the words’.41 Therefore, Moyise does not categorize the text in the same way as Beale, nor does he define exactly what is and is not ‘heard’. He is more inclined to push for the ‘echoes and associations’ of the text and to argue for a ‘mosaic of scripture’. However, in all of this he still presents the passage as controlled by the Daniel image, with other texts operating in a way that complements this. In other words, while he acknowledges that ‘lots of different instruments may be set off ’ his reading of the passage is one that looks for how these work together to create harmonies and unity, explaining and smoothing alterations and omissions through focusing on John’s composition practice.

32. Ibid., p. 39. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid., p. 40. 35. Ibid., p. 41. 36. Ibid., p. 39. 37. Ibid., p. 41. 38. Ibid., p. 43. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid., p. 42.

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c Summary The above has presented the readings of the inaugural vision by the two supposedly opposing voices in ‘Revelation and OT’ studies. Yet they have a great deal in common. Each argues that the text is ultimately controlled by Daniel. This is done to varying degrees and from different initial positions (one to show how Daniel is used in Revelation, the other to show that the letters of Revelation 2–3 are influenced by OT as much as by local allusions). Each examines how John may be using OT texts to create this image. Each explains alterations/combinations in light of how it supplements the central Daniel image. Each focuses particularly on harmonizing voices and also on writerly perspectives. There are of course differences in their approaches, particularly in the fact that Moyise does not try to categorize the texts that can be heard, and does not move into explaining the mind of the author to the extent that Beale does. Nevertheless, the overriding argument is that Daniel is the ‘source text’ and other texts are brought under its controlling influence. The result is a Danielheavy reading pattern: (1) Daniel 10; (2) supplemented by OT (and more Daniel); (3) possibly resounding with local circumstances. Two readers seen to be so different, and yet in so many ways the examinations which began the argument between them are so very similar. However, there is a clear fracture forming between them, as Moyise does not classify echoes and allusions into how ‘loud’ or similar they are, but rather presents a more multivocal picture, which he will, in his conclusion, argue can be helped by being read through the lens of intertextuality.42 Ultimately, Moyise is happier to observe the ‘rainbow’ than Beale, although he too sees it as harmonious and spreading out from its core colour: Daniel. The Daniel-centric harmonized way of reading has certainly influenced subsequent scholarship, added to by Beale’s further publication of his commentary, and to date these readings still remain two of the most in-depth ‘Revelation 1 and OT’ studies, despite movements forward in the field. The result is a general trend for highlighting the ‘source text’ which this passage is most like (most frequently Daniel), and then allowing this to be given priority over other textual voices and dictate how the figure of the son of man should be interpreted. Indeed, as we have seen, such reading practices are still the most prominent way of approaching Revelation as a whole. Daniel becomes the lens through which the text is viewed.43 Alternatively, we could use Beale’s and Moyise’s ongoing ‘apple versus fruit salad’ discussion to say that whichever position is taken, when approaching Rev. 1.12–18 the apple has always been the flavour that dominates the dish.

42. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 117. 43. Moyise is as sure as Beale of a Daniel-focused view: ‘Was John’s use of the book of Daniel like a lens to view the present crisis or did the present crisis lead him to particular parts of Daniel?’ Moyise, Revelation, p. 36.

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This study now turns to pastiche in order to examine whether it can offer a new way of reading the image presented in Revelation 1 which does not begin from a point of ‘most like’ or search out dominating texts, but rather reads resonances, and allows echoes and associations to be heard in a more levelling manner.44 As outlined in our previous chapter, pastiche covers a wide range of combinatory and imitative practices, ranging from highly composite to highly derivative. The inaugural vision is highly composite, as seen above, and something described as a ‘mosaic of scripture’ indicates that this is within the textual world today covered by the term ‘pastiche’. Indeed, Aune actually goes as far as to call it ‘a pastiche of allusions to Jewish epiphany language’.45 Therefore, we now turn to three highly combinatory pastiches as a test case for how we can reapproach the inaugural vision which can provide a way of reading a ‘fruit salad text’ without the apple being acknowledged as the only flavour we taste.

II  Test Cases: Reading Combined Voices The pastiche test cases chosen for this chapter are at the most highly combinatory end of the term’s spectrum of reference, defined by Dyer as ‘pasticcio pastiche’ or ‘combination pastiche’.46 For our purposes, we shall call them highly combinatory pastiche because while they are obviously imitative, in the sense that they re-present material from other textual locations, and never in a way that is exactly the same, what is overwhelmingly striking to the viewer are their multiple parts, deriving from disparate locations. As discussed in our previous chapter we shall see that they have a common flavour: un seul goût to unite them, but they are not blended together so that their origins become totally obscured.47 The three test cases will be: a painting from the front cover of the New Yorker, a sculpture by Danish artist Bjørn Nørgaard and Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. These first pastiche test cases are intentionally ‘static’, in the sense that they can be examined, pulled apart and separated out in a way similar to the manner in which interpreters currently approach Revelation and its sources. This will show how texts which appear to behave similarly to Revelation do not have to 44. As we saw in our examinations of Graeco-Roman imitation and combination, this one guiding voice is not inherent in many texts and the dominant voice is not necessarily traceable. 45. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 117. 46. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 9. 47. ‘The central notion is that the elements that make up a pasticcio are held to be different, by virtue of genre, authorship, period, mode or whatever and that they do not normally or perhaps even readily go together. Moreover, pasticcio are mixtures that preserve the separate flavour of each element, not melting ingredients together indissolubly, nor taking bits so small that any other identity is lost (as in a mosaic).’ Ibid., p. 10.

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be read in the fragmentary way that we have seen has dominated scholarship.48 The chosen pastiches will also provide a counterpoint to Dyer’s imitative filmic studies which will be the focus of the proceeding chapters, as they are selected from Hoesterey’s more eclectic examples. Therefore, after introducing each test case, its combinatory practices will be examined, and then how it can be read as a multivocal text will be explained. The results of the examination will then be used to reread the inaugural vision. a  Bob Knox’s The New Yorker Front Cover (1993) Bob Knox’s painting from the front cover of the July 1993 edition of the New Yorker magazine (Figure 4.1) is used by Hoesterey as a way of demonstrating the levelling and multivocal effect of highly combinatory pastiche.49 It presents viewers with Rousseau, Renoir, Matisse, Picasso, Manet, Modigliani, Leger, Goya and Gauguin.50 Yet each image is not a copy. Rather, each figure is re-created and altered in some way to be combined with the other figures into something undeniably new and unique. Each figure speaks from a different cultural perspective with their ‘unique flavour’ still identifiable, yet the common flavour of the yellow beach, the fact that all the figures (bar one) are naked and all are in relaxed poses, holds it together.51 Supplementary details assist this, such as the towels they all recline on, the radio and the suntan lotion. Yet there are clear tensions created by each figure’s transformation and reappropriation. For example, Hoesterey points out a ‘somewhat androgynous’ view of Modigliani’s nude, and the Picasso figure chasing after a beach-ball has been taken to a rather masculine extreme. The addition of them reaching for the beach-ball rather than them towelling themselves is perhaps a reference to Picasso’s later work Bather with Beach-Ball (1932). However, these tensions are part of the fabric and are not to be silenced. Rather, through viewing all these figures together and re-presented, questions may be asked such as: why are these particular artists featured? Should they all be levelled and treated together in this manner? For example, all, except Goya, are Modernist. So, why include Goya? They are all part of the ‘canon’ of greats, but can and should we canonize art in 48. This will introduce ‘reading as pastiche’ through static examples before more complex filmic case studies used in the following chapters. 49. For full discussion, see Hoesterey, Pastiche, pp. 105–7. 50. Although referents are not pinpointed, leaving the viewer to track them down themselves, possible inspirational images include Goya, Naked Maya (1800), Rousseau, The Dream (1910), Léger, Three Women (1921), Matisse, Blue Nude (1907), Manet, Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, (1863), Modigliani, La Grand Nu (1917), Gauguin, Mahana no atua (Day of God) (c. 1894), Renoir, Blonde Bather (1881) and Picasso, The Bather (1922). 51. ‘The bodies borrowed from art are immersed in the yellow expanse of the beach, which unifies the mix of quotations into an alluring mood of summer and vacations: “à un seul goût”.’ Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 107.

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Figure 4.1  The New Yorker, July 19, 1993 © Bob Knox/The New Yorker Collection/The Cartoon Bank.

this way? Pastiche of a highly combinatory nature, when working at a complex level, brings the audience to a place of questioning, where they become unstable in their search for ‘one meaning’, without undermining the text’s substance.52 Thus, the text can be read in a way that does not harmonize or separate but reads all the combined parts with the tensions and the unity. 52. ‘By pastiching canonical works, the makers of commercial art exhibited the relevance of high art and at the same time their own visual sophistication.’ Ibid., p. 105.

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b  Bjørn Nørgaard’s Christian III’s Monument (1975) Bjørn Nørgaard’s Christian III’s Monument (Christian III´s gravmæle) (1975) is another example of a highly combinatory pastiche that does not produce a harmonized message, and where each element, large or small, foregrounded or backgrounded, contributes to the sense of one image containing many distinct elements. Produced in 1975, this piece stood at odds with the abstract ways of seeing prevalent at the time.53 It consists of disparate, eclectic elements with multiple resonances all combined together, none of which you would immediately expect to occur alongside each other, to the point that Hoesterey describes it as ‘off-putting in its radical eclecticism’.54 It is certainly far less united than the Knox image. A form of Michelangelo’s Dying Slave tops the piece, pierced with clothes pegs and draped with a red flag. He stands on a boulder, which is on a concrete and wood plinth, and beneath this, held in columns and on a marble plinth, is a clear box filled with porcelain, a cross with a fish on it and an egg with a fly. However, this seemingly disparate group of items is held together under the title: Christian III´s gravmæle (Christian III’s Monument). The title suggests that Danish identity is in sight. King Christian III ruled Denmark from 1503 to 1559 and is buried in Roskilde Cathedral in an enormous monument, Cornelius Floris’s Christian III’s Monument (1576), which Nørgaard has to some extent imitated. Yet Nørgaard’s monument is not the same, and is constructed from images and ideas from different times, styles and locations all combined into a new monument. Whereas a monument usually represents the life of the person it is created for, Nørgaard’s monument is created to represent Danish culture after Christian III. In the place of the Sarcophagus is breakfast, fish, a cross – the everyday points of Danish life. Therefore, there is no simple way to read this image, and the different elements can be interpreted in many ways as they interact with each other. For example, this monument to Danish culture has an imitation of Michelangelo’s Dying Slave sitting at the top. Hoesterey suggests multiple resonances with this figure, perhaps indicating external influences on Danish art and culture, and/or perhaps questioning its ‘purity’. She also notes that the Dying Slave may point to the much celebrated classicism of Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770–1844), creating further multivocal resonances. Thorvaldsen is an incredibly important figure in Danish sculpture, with a museum built to house his sculptures situated directly next to the Danish Parliament in Copenhagen. The museum is built around Thorvaldsen’s grave, which resembles the concrete plinth on the top of

53. For more discussion, see ibid., pp. 21–5. 54. Ibid., p. 21.

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Nørgaard’s sculpture, and the deathly statues he created are assembled all around this central feature.55 Thorvaldsen’s sculptures were exported throughout Europe as rulers commissioned him to create statues of them for public places. Yet this Danish export was in many ways an Italian import, as his most acclaimed pieces come from his forty-year stint in Italy.56 Therefore, the resonances with the grave and the figure may indicate a need to hold onto this classical export and an attempt to integrate it into this very Danish monument. Another famous export also haunts the top section of the sculpture, as the boulder on which the slave is set brings to mind the seat of Edvard Eriksen’s Den lille havfrue (The Little Mermaid), 1913, a statue which has its own history of ‘suffering’, having lost different body parts to acts of politically motivated vandalism.57 Hoesterey draws attention to more resonances, with the clothes pegs piercing the slave’s body recalling the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian and also vampirism.58 Is this hinting at Danish culture as a martyr, or indicating that Italian art is a vampire feeding off the rest of the Western world, or that Danish culture needs to be pinned down, or is it all of this and more? The overall eclecticism of the sculpture contributes to the slippery nature of the culture being represented, and by creating a pastiche which privileges no single element and unites disparate parts, Nørgaard is able to present a complex and multifaceted portrait of the modern Denmark to which he belongs, and the past which he has inherited. Through each element bringing its own historical identity into the piece, the way objects dialogue with each other is altered and continues to be fluid, with multiple meanings possible. The images cannot be seen as stable, but rather as Hoesterey argues they ‘construct meaning by reassembling and reappropriating pieces from the past, thereby adopting a dialectical stance toward history. They interrogate the way Western thought has dictated our ways of seeing.’59 Therefore, this image is not a one-to-one allegory to be picked to pieces and decoded, or allusions to be separated in order to find ‘original meaning’, but rather one which demands fluidity, a mindset open to multiple resonances raised by its combined elements and active audience participation.

55. It also resonates with the models which show the many stages of Thorvaldsen’s sculpture-making process, perhaps an ironic nod to the process behind Nørgaard’s work, and a hint to the ‘skeleton’ form of these prized creations. Ibid., p. 23, sees it as more generally evoking ‘the megalithic graves in the Danish landscape’. From whichever way this composition is viewed, death seems to be on the horizon. 56. On Thorvaldsen, see J. Fejfer and T. Melander, Thorvaldsen’s Ancient Sculptures in Stone in the Collection of Bertel Thorvaldsen (Copenhagen: Thorvaldsens Museum, 2003); E. Moltesen, Thorvaldsens Museum (Copenhagen: Rasmus Navers Forlag, 1927). 57. She lost her head in 1964, and was covered with paint in 1972. 58. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 23. 59. Ibid., p. 25.

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c  Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose (1983) Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose is a text which represents highly combinatory pastiche on many levels: structurally, stylistically, generically and linguistically.60 In Eco’s own words, ‘the whole novel is written in borrowed intonations’.61 This overwhelming sense of seeming ‘like’ other texts fuses high and low culture, and levels fictional and historical. For example, Hoesterey points out that the main character William de Baskerville combines the idea of Sherlock Holmes’s most famous tale, with medieval philosopher William Ockham, and added to the mix are the Franciscans Roger Bacon, Robert Grosseteste and Marsilius of Padua whose works William quotes. William is not one of these characters, but combines facets of all of them, and is also undeniably unique.62 To read him as controlled by one of these resonances loses the richness of his character and also the complexity of the conflicting ideas he represents: the science of his spectacles, the reasoning of his murder solving, the theology of ascetical living, etc. The book appears, in many ways, to be detective fiction. For example, in the opening scene William deduces what has gone before them on the path through clues and analysis.63 But to follow this lead is to become lost in the labyrinth as the text is fused with literary criticism, theological tracts, semiotics and mystic visions: Sherlock Holmes and Aquinas dialogue with Jorge Luis Borges and Aristotle.64 William may appear to be Sherlock Holmes, but ultimately he fails as a detective, unable to save the book, the library, the abbot or his order. He thinks a plot is at work, a system of sevens based on the book of Revelation, which he uses to ‘guide’ how he reads his situation. However, his ultimate discovery is that ‘“there was no plot,” William said, “and I discovered it by mistake.” … “Where is all my wisdom, then? I behaved stubbornly, pursuing a semblance of order, when I should have known well that there is no order in the universe”.’ 60. First published in Italian (1980). On its complex combinatory pastiche practices, see ibid., pp. 95–9. For discussion in relation to Eco’s oeuvre, see De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, pp. 13–29. 61. D. E. Zimmer, ‘Eco I, Eco II, Eco III’, Die Zeit, June 11, 1985, 50 edition, or as De Lauretis says: ‘It is a novel made up almost entirely of other texts, of tales already told, of names either well known or sounding as if they should be known to us from literary and cultural history; a medley of famous passages and obscure quotations, specialized lexicons and subcodes (narrative, iconographic, literary, architecture, bibliographical, pharmaceutical, et cetera), and characters cut out in strips from a generic World Encyclopaedia.’ De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, pp. 16–17. 62. Hoesterey, Pastiche, p. 96. For more on William/Adso’s Holmes/Watson relationship, see De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, p. 17. 63. This analysis leads to horse dung, perhaps indicating that detective work can only get you so far in the world of the text. 64. For a discussion of the book’s triple-layered introduction which highlights the never conquering features of literary-historical, theologico-philosophical and popular-cultural, see De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, p. 17.

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Yet this does not mean that the novel lacks anything to hold it together, far from it. Rather, it represents a highly combinatory pastiche in all its fullness, with all the disparate elements held together by a strong narrative structure. The structure is set down at the beginning of the text for the reader to refer to, and find as guidance through the confusing days which follow. Therefore, while the text may shift and change, the overriding literary structure remains the same as the novel takes place over seven days, and each day is broken down into the eight periods of liturgical hours kept by the monks,65 and this pattern is maintained until the ‘Seventh Day’. Yet there is a sense of pastiche construction within this framework, as it is revealed that the offices represent no one set of liturgical hours for one monastery.66 Also, on the ‘Seventh Day’ the structure crumbles as the liturgical hours are done away with and all action takes place at ‘Night’.67 Perhaps, as this system itself proves somewhat unsettling as the text progresses, the most overriding ‘flavour’ holding the text together is that, as Teresa De Lauretis points out, it is a book that is most obviously created by Eco, with his interests infusing it at every level.68 The Name of the Rose, like Knox’s and Nørgaard’s works, is an ‘open’ text where the audience is given maximum potential to participate in producing meaning.69 It is not within the scope of this chapter to further pursue how meaning is created in a text; it is important to realize that highly combinatory pastiche works in a way where the audience are reminded that no one textual voice has privilege, and all contribute to the overall work.70 The seemingly disparate nature of the constituent parts means that a reader cannot be sure which part to foreground and which to background, as no one part fully explains the textual activity. Thus, when reading The Name of the Rose which is set in the world of the Inquisition where the truth was sought, the novel’s constant combining principle leads to an inability to grasp at one truth, or one sense of reality. Indeed, ecstatic visions present as much ‘truth’ as scientific principle. For example, Adso has a strange dream during ‘Sixth Day Terce’, which De Lauretis describes as ‘an imposing pastiche of Voltaire, Brueghel, Bufiuel, Lyotard, and who knows who else, seasoned with comic book iconography and the liturgical cadence of litanies’.71 This vision provides a sweeping summary of the novel, a future prediction of what will unfold, and a highly composite image which brings together disparate references into a textual unit which is as confusing as it is enlightening. Therefore, if we approach the text trying to find its ‘genre’, ‘sources’ or dominating forces much is lost. The marginalized voice of comedy screams to 65. Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, Nones, Vespers and Compline. 66. (xvii–xviii) 67. (455–85) 68. De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, p. 15. 69. As already discussed above. See Eco, Role of the Reader; Barthes, S/Z. 70. Indeed, the reader may come to realize that their thought patterns are constructed from past texts which struggle for supremacy. 71. De Lauretis, ‘Gaudy Rose’, p. 19.

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be heard against the Western primacy of tragedy, and in the end neither wins out, which means as a detective novel it is ultimately disappointing. However, by reading the novel as pastiche, the reader’s ability to hear different voices is heightened and their ability to live with juxtaposition and tension massaged. Rather than feeling they are encountering a ‘false allusion’ when something out of place occurs, they can question how their understanding of the surrounding text and the reformed component is altered.72 This may lead to asking ‘where have I heard that before?’ and to a realization that readers can and should be asking such questions. Indeed, this questioning process is integral to the book, questioning memory, awareness and combinations, as comedy/tragedy, truth/ intuition, faith/science wrestle in dialogical relationships where neither the other. The above exploration of reading highly combinatory pastiche has demonstrated the way that uniting many disparate parts together creates a text where no one single part dominates or controls. For example, we can hardly claim that Knox’s picture is ruled by one artist; all add to the image and create its unique flavour. Nor is the ‘size’ of a textual element key in pinpointing ‘guiding’ sources. It is difficult to argue that the Dying Slave plays more of a role in Nørgaard’s work than the clothes pegs inserted into him. It has also shown the range of images that can be re-created and combined, and yet can still present an image with ‘a common flavour’ that does not fall into the realm of the unapproachable. Nørgaard’s sculpture may be eclectic, and eclectic even for Hoesterey’s taste, but the eclecticism works together to demonstrate the culture it is taken from, Danish culture being the seul goût. This allows for a huge range of influences to be felt under the same banner but not necessarily harmoniously. We have seen that when reading a highly combinatory pastiche, this lack of harmony can be part of what is being signalled to the audience. This also encourages reading images together, some of which on the surface would be seen as incompatible, or as erroneous voices, or false allusions. For example, to read William as ‘the great detective’ in The Name of the Rose would be to miss the philosophical side of his character, as well as his religious affiliations, his complexity and ultimate ‘unknowableness’. He is in some ways so very modern, but to view him only from this perspective is to harmonize a character that is full of tensions and resonances. Therefore, approaching these texts as highly combinatory pastiches has presented a framework to assist reading conflated texts by highlighting textual indicators to observe: tensions, juxtapositions, re-creations, alterations, disparate parts and ‘common flavours’. All sources are expected to dialogue with each other, with seemingly erroneous voices not being silenced or demoted to echoes, but rather their impact on the other components being questioned. Reading each

72. For an alternative pastiche reading, see Hoesterey, Pastiche, pp. 95–100. For influences, see U. Eco, Postscript to the Name of the Rose (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984).

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of these texts has demonstrated that smoothing tensions can confuse more than clarify, as the tension and multivocal interaction is part of the textual fabric.73 In light of the above, we now return to the inaugural vision to explore how reading it as a highly combinatory pastiche can bring fresh perspectives, as the interaction of its constituent parts becomes the focus rather than the hunt for a guiding ‘source text’.

III  Listening to All the Voices in Rev. 1.12–18 Reading the above texts has revealed that reading for one dominating textual voice is a somewhat unfulfilling experience, as different textual voices, ‘loud’ and ‘quiet’, all contribute to the overall impact. We now approach Rev. 1.12–18, re-viewing it through a similar lens. Therefore, we will read this presentation of the figure of one like a son of man through the lens of highly combinatory pastiche, not looking for what it is ‘most like’, or focusing on the mind of the author and compositional practice. Rather, we will read the text listening to all the voices together, without seeking to harmonize them. In doing so, we will listen to both OT and Graeco-Roman resonances.74 Emphasis will be on the text of Revelation, following its chronology and tracing the resonances it evokes as it is encountered, rather than reading it alongside other texts, as is the method preferred by Moyise and Beale. We have seen above that Beale believes Daniel is the inspiration for the figure of one like a son of man, stating ‘the predominant features of the Son of man are drawn from Dan 7 and especially Dan 10, with other texts contributing secondarily to the depiction’.75 Moyise also argues that ‘Dan 10:5–6 stands out as particularly important’.76 Such statements when accompanied by parallel readings show clear similarities. However, in our reading the emphasis is on the reader’s encounter with the text of Revelation, allowing these particular verses to be explored in the order they are encountered and in relation to the resonances they evoke. This facilitates movement away from searching out what the passage is ‘most like’ and towards reading it from an eclectic perspective where different voices speak with each other. The reading is not exhaustive, and it is not intended to be. Indeed, it is constructed to present a ‘nimble’ movement across the text where we do not focus on comparing textual variants or precisely pinning down resonances: some potential resonances will inevitably be unexamined, some overlooked.77 The 73. This echoes our findings in Graeco-Roman viewing practices. 74. Moyise, Revelation, demonstrated that if we do not approach the text listening for potential OT and Graeco-Roman resonances, we miss much, as Hemer and Ramsay did in their local allusion-focused readings. 75. Beale, Commentary, p. 208. 76. Moyise, Revelation, p. 37. 77. These reading practices are not shunned, but rather are not appropriate for this case study. However, they will be utilized in following chapters.

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aim is not to focus on loudest/quietest/thematically coherent, but to read in light of the potential variety and eclecticism. By doing so, we will explore how the image unfolds as the description continues, with particular emphasis on early phrases and images in order to examine how they move through the text.78 The observations of previous interpreters, Moyise and Beale included, will be utilized as evidence for what can be and has been heard within the text, creating the multivocal reading. This multivocal reading will be examined in order to ask what fresh insights can be gained as to how the inaugural vision can set echoes and associations ringing, and to see how readings which focus on Daniel as ‘primary’ miss so much of the text’s evocative nature.79 a  Reading for Resonances After hearing a voice (v.12), our seer turns to see seven lampstands and encounters a figure standing among the seven lampstands (v.13). This figure is described as ‘one like a son of man’ (ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου),80 and there are, as made clear by Moyise and Beale, resonances with the powerful figure in Dan. 7.13: ‘I saw one like a son of man81 (ὡς υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου ‫ )כבר אנש‬coming with the clouds of heaven’.82 However, although the similarity is clear, the Greek varies from LXX Dan. 7.13, using ὅμοιον instead of ὡς. What is more, ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου is not limited to resonating with the one coming on the clouds in Dan. 7.13; it also evokes the 78. I am not arguing for parallelomania, but rather that if a resonance is historically plausible, it should be listened to, even if it appears to be out of place. 79. Therefore, this is based on what previous studies have heard, as was the case with Paulien and Kowalski. 80. It is not possible here to deal with the complexity of debates surrounding the origins and significance of the son of man tradition, let alone its usage in synoptic traditions, Second Temple Literature or Aramaic roots. It suffices to say that the phrase’s relationship with Daniel makes it a key candidate for Revelation and OT studies. For an examination of ‘son of man’, see M. Casey, Solution to the ‘Son of Man’ Problem (London: T&T Clark, 2008). For more Revelation specific studies, see M. Casey, Son of Man: The Interpretation and Influence of Daniel 7 (London: SPCK, 1979), pp. 142–50; T. B. Slater, Christ and Community: A Sociohistorical Study of Christology of Revelation (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); A. Y. Collins, Cosmology and Eschatology in Jewish and Christian Apocalypticism (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 159–97. Collins explores the tension between the angelic from Daniel 10 and the divine from Daniel 7, asking ‘How is the interpreter to explain the juxtaposition of the angelic and divine attributes in the description of the heavenly being in Rev. 1.12–16?’ Ibid., p. 179. For other Daniel-focused examinations, see Casey, Son of Man; J. J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), pp. 304–11. 81. My translation. 82. This similarity is enhanced by ‘coming with the clouds’ (Rev. 1.7): Ἰδοὺ ἔρχεται μετὰ τῶν νεφελῶν.

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angelic figure of Dan. 10.16.83 However, potential resonances are not limited to Daniel, with similarities also noticeable with the one seated on the throne in Ezekiel’s opening vision, described in Ezek. 1.26: καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ ὁμοιώματος τοῦ θρόνου ὁμοίωμα ὡς εἶδος ἀνθρώπου ἄνωθεν (LXX).84 This then resonates with divine characteristics and introduces a different prophetic text. The resonances of ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου with the synoptic traditions of ὁ υἱός τοῦ ἀνθρώπου are often silenced due to the lack of the definite article in Revelation.85 Despite this change from the titular, Pierre Prigent argues that the usage of the title in early Christianity makes it difficult to believe the occurrence would not evoke Christological resonances.86 This is a debated point, but the mere potential of Christological resonances bring the image forward in time, indicating that this is not an exact copy of Daniel. Also, the ambiguity of resonances evoked by ‘one like a son of man’ blurs what exactly the phrase represents. The figure’s location perhaps gives the answer: he is standing in the middle of seven lamp stands (λυχνία) evoking cultic resonances, as similar lamps occur in cultic settings such as Exod. 25.31–40 and Num. 8.2 where they burn in the presence of the Lord. These lampstands also resonate with the cultic setting the seer encounters in Zech. 4.287: ῾Εώρακα καὶ ἰδοὺ λυχνία χρυσῆ ὅλη, καὶ τὸ λαμπαδεῖον 83. For debates surrounding whether readers would expect a conflation of the two figures, particularly due to the LXX rendering Dan. 7.13 as ‘he came as an ancient of days’, see L. T. Stuckenbruck, Angel Veneration and Christology: A Study in Early Judaism and in the Christology of the Apocalypse of John (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1995), pp. 211–21. See Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 90–3, for arguments that the figures were in the process of being conflated, and for arguments against conflation, see Casey, Son of Man, p. 144. 84. The MT resonates less: whether readers would expect a conflation of the two figures, particularly due to the eristics from these passages, c.f. C. Rowland, The Open Heaven (London: SPCK, 1982), pp. 100–3. 85. Slater, Christ and Community, p. 86, believes H. von Lietzmann, Der Menschensohn (Freiburg im Breisgau: Mohr, 1896), pp. 56–7, was the first to note the similarity to Dan. 7.13 and the ‘dissimilarity with the synoptic gospels’ due to the lack of the definite article. Boxall, Revelation, p. 42, comments on the non-titular usage: ‘John avoids the titular use of the phrase … more common place in the Gospels … as if he wishes to stress the angelomorphic nature of the vision,’ and E. Schüssler Fiorenza, The Book of Revelation: Justice and Judgement (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), p. 148, argues it is a deliberate omission due to a lack of audience familiarity. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 90, argues ‘the anarthrous phrase’ shows no ‘influence from or even any awareness of the extensive use of the title in the gospels’. 86. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 135. As stated above, Fiorenza argues that the title was familiar to John, it is just he chose not to use it. For the potential (although of course much debated) use of synoptic sayings, see Vos, Synoptic Traditions. 87. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, pp. 91–2, does not classify this as an ‘allusion’, but notes that others do, for example, Aune, Revelation 1, p. 89; A. D. Hultberg, ‘Messianic Exegesis in the Apocalypse: The Significance of the Old Testament for the Christology of Revelation’ (Unpublished PhD Diss., Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, 2001), pp. 123–25.

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ἐπάνω αὐτῆς, καὶ ἑπτὰ λύχνοι ἐπάνω αὐτῆς, καὶ ἑπτὰ ἐπαρυστρίδες τοῖς λύχνοις τοῖς ἐπάνω αὐτῆς’ (The lampstand also has a potential astral significance, where the seven lampstands may be taken to represent the seven planets).88 This figure is robed down to his feet (ἐνδεδυμένον ποδήρη) (Rev. 1.13) which furthers the cultic resonances, as ποδήρης is used a number of times in Exodus in relation to items of priestly attire, for example, Exod. 25.6–7; 28.4, 27, 31; 35.8.89 However, as well as the cultic, this can also bring to mind the angelic, as this presentation of a figure as ἐνδεδυμένον ποδήρη is similar to the figure in Dan. 10.5 who is described as ἐνδεδυμένος βύσσινα (‫ לבוש בדים‬MT). Yet, this is not the same as the angelic interpreter of Dan. 10.5, for in Rev. 1.13 the figure wears a long robe, rather than a linen robe. This resonance also brings to mind the figure that stands ‘in the midst of ’ the destroyer angels in Ezek. 9.2–4: Εν μέσω αυτών ενδεδυκώς ποδήρη,90 both in the attire of the figure and also his location ‘in the midst’. This Ezekiel resonance also introduces a new theme into the dialogue: destroyer angels. Should we silence this idea as erroneous? In only a few lines this inaugural vision of ‘one like a son of man’ calls to mind far more than simply Dan. 7.13 and its themes. Indeed, the angelic interpreter of Dan. 10.5 seen by Moyise as the primary ‘source text’, and the angel who marks the foreheads before destruction in Ezek. 9.2–4, dialogue strongly with the initial evocations of Dan. 7.13, and a priestly theme continues to be present, and resonances with synoptic traditions wait in the wings. Therefore, at this stage it is difficult to argue that Daniel 10 is the dominant voice. Rather it appears to be one voice among many. Certainly resonances of the angelic continue as this figure wears a golden sash (ζώνην χρυσᾶν v.13), and the figure in Dan. 10.5 is girded with a sash around his loins (‫ ומתניו חגרים בכתם אופז‬MT καὶ τὴν ὀσφὺν περιεζωσμένος βυσσίνῳ LXX). However, we also hear the destroyer angel again of LXX Ezek. 9.2, as they also wear a sash (although it is a sapphire one). Again, cultic resonances are evoked as a sash appears in texts dealing with the garments of the high priest in Exod. 28.4; 39, Lev. 8.7; 13.91 Another voice is also added as the sash Revelation 1’s figure wears is over ‘the breasts’ (πρὸς τοῖς μαστοῖς) rather than over ‘the loins’ or ‘waist’,

88. See Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 133 n.31, for a selection of Jewish texts attesting to this theory. See Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 88–90, for the nature of the lampstands. For our purposes it is enough to realize that these lamps are not easily traceable to one source or theme, dialoguing with several sources and themes. 89. This potential connection is much debated, due to the wide-ranging usage of the term, but it is difficult to argue that this being clothed to the feet should not evoke priestly garments, precisely because it is used to refer to a range of items. See Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 134–7, for arguments against the priestly resonances and also Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 93–4. 90. This angelic resonance is noted by Stuckenbruck, Angel Veneration, p. 213. 91. For example, Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 136.

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as in Dan. 10.5 and Ezek. 9.2.92 The distinct form of a male with ‘breasts’ in Rev. 1.13 resonates with the only OT reference to a male with breasts: Song 1.2 (LXX): ὅτι ἀγαθοὶ μαστοί to describe ‘the lover’.93 This single word sits strangely among the other resonances in this image, and also is distinct on the linguistic register, standing out to many readers.94 As we read on, there are more divine characteristics as v.14 tells us that the figure has hair like wool (ἡ δὲ κεφαλὴ αὐτοῦ καὶ αἱ τρίχες λευκαὶ ὡς ἔριον λευκὸν ὡς χιὼν), like the ancient of days from Dan. 7.9 (LXX 7.13).95 The ‘eyes like a flame of fire’ (ὡς φλὸξ πυρὸς) add to this, as in Dan. 7.9 the ancient of days is seated on a similarly fiery (ὡσεὶ φλὸξ πυρός) throne. While this can also evoke resonances of Dan. 10.6 where the figure has οἱ ὀφθαλμοὶ ωσεί λαμπάδες πυρός (LXX), it also resonates further afield. As Aune points out, the image of shining eyes is frequently used in Hellenistic literature to summarize the appearance of the gods, and to indicate god-like characteristics in humans.96 At this point we have encountered an image which is cultic, Christlike, divine, angelic (destroyer and interpreter) and a lover, who resonates with previous texts and yet is not the same. It may be tempting to focus on one primary voice to explain this complex image and argue which of the resonances are ‘correct’. However, as we have seen, each voice has its own distinctive characteristics which dialogue with the others, and each voice continues to speak as the text moves forward. Divine characteristics continue, as from beneath the robe shine burnished-bronze feet (ὅμοιοι χαλκολιβάνῳ ὡς ἐν καμίνῳ πεπυρωμένης v.15), evoking again the image of one on the throne in Ezek. 1.26–28 who has loins (not feet) shining like fire, and who has an appearance of bronze. Angelic resonances are also evoked, as the figure in Dan. 10.6 has bronze-like arms and feet. The one like a son of man’s burnished-bronze feet shine ὡς ἐν καμίνῳ ‘as in the furnace’, perhaps evoking the fiery furnace (Dan. 3.11, 23, 25).97 It also resonates with the one on the throne in Ezek. 1.26–28 and with the angel of Dan. 10.6, but is distinct in the fact that in Rev. 1.15 it is the feet which are bronze, not the arms and legs. The fact that ‘the feet’ are showing brings in more Graeco-Roman images of the divine because the gait of the deity was believed to be extremely important for revealing their divine status. Therefore, there are several examples of Augustus

92. Prigent also suggests that this may have priestly resonances as in Josephus Ant. 3.153. Ibid. 93. See J. Rainbow, ‘Male Μαστoι in Revelation 1:13’, JSNT 30, no. 2 (2007), pp. 249–53, on μαστοὶ in Rev. 1.13 and LXX. 94. Moyise, Revelation, p. 43. As noted above Moyise argues that the lack of inclusion may be due to ‘delicacy’, and Aune, Revelation 1, p. 94, believes the waist would be ‘more appropriate’. 95. This is discussed in the already cited publications on the son of man tradition. 96. For example, Il. 3.397; 13.474; Aen. 6.300; Statius Silv. 1.1.103. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 95. 97. Or the smelting industry of Thyatira. Hemer, Letters, pp. 111–17.

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depicted with bare feet to reveal his ‘divine step’.98 The feet of the divine also calls to mind Ezek. 43.7, where the Lord declares he shall make a ‘track for his feet’ (ίχνους των ποδών LXX). This resonance also continues the cultic imagery: the temple is the focal point for Ezekiel 43 as this is where Ezekiel sees the glory of the Lord coming down upon the temple. At this stage, it is clear that the audience is presented with a somewhat confusing picture. No explanation is provided and no one text or theme really gains the upper hand, despite arguments for Danielic/angelic/priestly themes being the most powerful. Our reading has demonstrated that we have encountered a Jewish Divine figure, who is in a cultic setting, yet the interpreter/destroyer angelic resonances remind us that this is not wholly the case, and the Graeco-Roman overtones indicate this figure does not ‘fit’ completely into a Jewish heavenly cultic realm. The erroneous voice of the lover also lurks in the picture, with additional potential synoptic resonances. We could carry on looking at the text in this way, seeing further Ezekiel resonances with the voice ὡς φωνὴ ὑδάτων πολλῶν (v.15) evoking again Ezek. 43.2 and Ezek. 1.24. We could also note the mixture of resonances that occur as the figure’s face is ‘like the sun shining’ (v.16), the extending of his righthand and the command ‘do not fear’ (v.17), possibly (obviously debated) evoking synoptic traditions due to its similarity to the transfiguration in Matt 17,99 and also Judg. 5.31 with the mentioning of the sun and Dan. 10.12,19 with the command not to fear. Graeco-Roman imagery also continues in v.18 with the figure holding the keys to death and Hades (τὰς κλεῖς τοῦ θανάτου καὶ τοῦ ᾅδου) evoking the Hellenistic deity Hekate, who is often credited as a keybearer (κλειδοῦχος) and as having control over Hades.100 Therefore, it is clear from the above that within only a few verses the inaugural vision presents the audience with a multivocal image where no one text dominates. Instead, the passage presents different, sometimes disparate, texts and themes, and yet we cannot deny that the image has a common flavour, one of a human form, united by John’s unique literary style, ripe with images from the first-century world and the OT. b  Reading the Rainbow How has reading this image through the lens of highly combinatory pastiche affected how we can view it, and what insights has it offered which differ from 98. For example, Sophocles Ant. 1144; Aristophanes Ran. 220–31. For more examples, see Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 95–6.   99. Whether the similarity is due to both being variant manifestations of Danielic interpretation is not our concern here. The point is that this evocation is not impossible and so, rather than silence it we are examining what effect bringing it into dialogue has. 100. For example, Orph. Frag. 316. (O. Kern, (ed.), Orphicorum Fragmenta collegit O. Kern. (Berolini: Apud Weidmannos, 1922), p. 324.) The Hades link is due to her association with Persephone: Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 97–8; D. E. Aune, Apocalypticism, Prophecy and Magic in Early Christianity: Collected Essays (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), p. 357.

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the Daniel-focused readings of Moyise and Beale? We have seen how Beale’s and Moyise’s readings viewed the inaugural vision through the lens of Daniel, and particularly Daniel 10. Alterations/combinations were explained around the central Daniel image, harmonizing potentially disparate voices through focusing on composition practices. With pastiche as our lens we have approached the text from a different perspective which did not listen for how similar the passage was to Daniel. Rather, it listened to the different and potentially disparate voices in the text in a way that gave each equal importance. The result is that an image has been seen which is far more complex than Daniel-heavy readings have claimed. As the text was read, resonance after resonance was evoked, and often a single word or phrase could evoke several different figures and textual experiences. For example, the image of the figure in a robe and sash is often connected to the angelic figure in Dan. 10.6, but this clothing in fact sets off resonances with a wide range of figures, including the priestly attire of Exodus and the angels in Ezekiel 9. This presents a figure which is not pointing to Daniel specifically, but rather to multiple figures/ texts. Cultic images may be seen, perhaps indicating a priestly figure, but then divine resonances (hair white as wool, bronze feet), and also possible evocations of synoptic traditions (Son of Man, Transfiguration imagery). The effect of reading the multiple resonances together has demonstrated that the text presents an image which appears to resist harmonization.101 It has also taken Moyise’s call for a more egalitarian approach to textual voices further, not focusing as he does on Daniel, but rather demonstrating how the passage can be read if seen as a mosaic of scripture, where no one piece is given precedence. This has shown that the image is full of tensions. What is more, it has allowed the ‘quieter’ voices of the text to be heard alongside those which are generally given primacy and subsume other voices. For example, Daniel-centric readings subsume the more ‘erroneous’ voices of the angel from Ezekiel 9, divine temple imagery from Ezekiel 43, Graeco-Roman deities and the μαστοὶ of the lover. However, although listening to these resonances might appear to lead away from the ‘well thought-out core image’, to ignore them obscures exactly what Revelation continues to present: complex, evocative and non-harmonized images (as our proceeding chapters will show). We may want to silence the ‘lover’ as erroneous or ignore the Ezekiel 9 ‘angelic’ resonances or Ezekiel 43 temple imagery, but this is to our detriment, for as we continue to read the text we find the glory of the Lord (Revelation 5), destroyer angels (Revelation 9), temple measurements (Revelation 11 and 22), people with ‘marks’ on them 101. Does this mean that all we have done is show that finding controlling textual influences is of primary importance and otherwise confusion is faced? Based on the above reading, and our exploration of highly combinatory pastiches preceding it, it appears not. Rather, reading as pastiche offers a different way to approach a text, to look not for a guiding text, but rather for a common flavour into which disparate parts are brought and all presented together and not subsumed by each other.

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(Revelation 13) and Graeco-Roman power systems (Revelation 17–18): all the resonances we have felt already are enhanced and continue to dialogue with each other as the text progresses. What is more, when we come to the final chapters of Revelation we find the lamb and a bride (Revelation 19–22)! The marginalized lover, which undermines some of the more dominant textual voices at the start, in fact refuses to stay silent as the text culminates in nuptials. Viewing the text through the lens of pastiche can allow us to hear this voice and allow it to speak as the text progresses. Beale and Moyise can be credited for being the catalysts of the study of the OT in Revelation; and reading their approaches to the inaugural vision shows the beginnings of the field as we know it today. We can see how finding ‘source texts’ becomes key to interpretation and how allusions are sought in order to categorize the text and understand what it is most like. Yet, we saw that the fissures were forming that would lead to the further separating of views: Moyise does not try to categorize the texts into ‘volume’, and does not move into explaining the mind of the author to the extent that Beale does. Rather, despite his Daniel-centric reading, he sets the seeds for viewing the inaugural vision as a ‘mosaic of scripture’ and reading for associations and evocations, rather than simply what the author intended. Our study has built on this, reading the text not as a mosaic but as a highly combinatory pastiche, which brings together disparate parts into a tensioncreating image and which, like Moyise, does not classify echoes and allusions into how ‘loud’ or similar they are. This introduces a more fluid way to read the text where specificity and exact manuscript variations are not pinpointed and tabulated, but rather the many potential images are heard in a more interactive way, where their resonances are allowed to sound: Ezekiel’s throne, Daniel’s angel, Ezekiel’s destroyer angels, Graeco-Roman deities. Therefore, reading the inaugural vision through the lens of pastiche offers a way to see the cumulative nature of the text and to feel the tensions it presents, without needing to harmonize or prioritize textual voices. Ezekiel 43, when read through a Danielic lens appears to be complementing the Daniel ‘source text’, but in fact as Revelation continues the temple imagery it evokes will be experienced more and more. This is similar to how The Name of the Rose progressed. If looking at the text through the lens of a detective novel mystic visions seem secondary in importance to the scientific methods at the start of the book. However, as it continued these visions were just as truth-telling, if not more so. Reading Rev. 1.12–18 through the lens of highly combinatory pastiche has provided an initial response to Beale’s question ‘how are such combined allusions to be studied?’ and Moyise’s call for ‘some way of describing an interaction of images or voices’102 in this ‘mosaic of scripture’.103 It has allowed us not to focus on how the image may have been created, but rather how it may be read in light of its 102. Moyise, Revelation, p. 20. 103. Ibid., p. 36.

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seemingly disparate nature, moving on from composition practices into reading effects. We have asked: Do we silence the minority voices in favour of dominant ones to form a ‘fixed plan’ or do we allow them all to speak to each other and to remain transformed forever because of their new dialogue partners? Reading this way has presented a previously unseen view of the text, and has presented pastiche as a reading lens which allows all the voices to be heard, while preventing the text from collapsing in on itself. We may find it ‘discordant’104 to be faced with a Jewish/Hellenistic/synoptic-sounding/angelic/destroyer/lover God, but this does not mean that we should not wrestle with this image. John is, after all, writing to a group of believers very much ‘in the world’ who must do battle with conflicting forces. Therefore, allowing the conflicting forces to do battle within the text is perhaps the most appropriate way to read something addressing a juxtaposed world. In doing so, we see that the previously marginalized voices become useful conversation partners in a text which is far from harmonious. It allows echoes and associations to ring, and allows us to ‘read the rainbow’ of the text, not ignoring its many parts but also not unweaving it in a way that forces it to be controlled.

104. Ridgway, Roman Copies, p. 84.

Chapter 5 O nce U pon a T ime in B abylon: R eading R evelation 17 A ffectively

The previous chapter focused on how scholars have approached the inaugural vision of one like a son of man in relation to the potential figures it evokes. We saw how guiding figures/texts had been sought in order to explain the function of the inaugural vision, attempting to find out which textual voice was ‘the loudest’ and also to remove potentially ‘erroneous’ voices. This showed that readings had tended to steer away from Graeco-Roman imagery and attempt to focus on OT texts. The notion of reading as a highly combinatory pastiche was then introduced, showing ways of approaching particularly eclectic works holistically, not looking for a controlling text, but rather listening to multiple voices at once. This revealed that the inaugural vision could be read as presenting a figure who is divine, angelic, imperial, messianic and a lover at the same time, and it also revealed the impact that viewing the figure as combined and cumulative could have on its interpretation. Therefore, quieter voices were listened to, and tensions were not forcibly harmonized. Rather they were allowed to speak to each other, and their potential impact investigated. This returned to Caird’s call to let the echoes and associations the text evokes be heard, and to approach the figure in all its fullness. We now move in this chapter to examine the provocative figure of the whore of Babylon (the whore). It will ask what echoes of memory and association have been and are set into motion by her textual creation. Reading strategies which pinpoint particular city referents will then be examined. This will show that she is a composite trope that can evoke many past textual voices, and that the echoes and associations she evokes are carefully controlled in order to prevent overly affective readings. We will then turn to a pastiche test case from Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) in order to examine how highly imitative affective images can be read, and explore the imitative and distorting techniques of pastiche. We will then reread Babylon in light of the test case in a way which allows her resonances to resound.

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I  Reading the Whore of Babylon Revelation 17 presents one of the most beguiling and troubling images in the book, and perhaps the entire NT: The whore of Babylon.1 After the outpouring of the seven bowl plagues (Rev. 16.2–17), the great earthquake (Rev. 16.18) and the declaration that ‘God remembered great Babylon’ (Rev. 16.19), the scene changes as John is invited to see the ‘punishment of the great whore’ (Rev. 17.1). This announcement of the whore’s judgement is followed by a description of the kings’ fornication with her (v.2). It then introduces the woman herself, describing how she is seated on a beast (v.3); dressed in scarlet and purple, and adorned with gold and precious stones (v.4); holding a cup (v.4); named ‘Babylon the Great, mother of whores and of earth’s abominations’ (v.5); and drunk on the blood of the saints (v.6). The beast she rides is then described and its interpretation offered (vv.7–13). The focus returns to the whore as her future destruction is described in great and gory detail (vv.15–16), as she is destroyed by the ten horns and the beast. Then, after she has been annihilated, an interpretation is offered: ‘The woman (ἡ γυνὴ) you saw is the great city (ἡ πόλις ἡ μεγάλη) that rules over the kings of the earth’ (v.18). This description is evocative, to say the least, and ever since her literary conception the whore has caused onlookers to be affected in some way.2 However, as reception studies have shown, this affective response has proved rather problematic.3 We saw in our previous chapter that allowing the ‘echoes of memory and association’ to resonate could introduce fresh reading possibilities. When approaching the whore there are plenty of ‘echoes and associations’ which sound, and many of these are highly unsettling.

1. This chapter will focus on the whore, rather than the beast. This is due to the limitations of this research project, and because the whore has so often become separated from the beast and read on her own, as shall be seen below. 2. The first person to wonder is John: Καὶ ἐθαύμασα ἰδὼν αὐτὴν θαῦμα μέγα (v.6). Adela Yarbro Collins highlights the importance of Revelation’s affective nature: ‘The Apocalypse is as evocative as it is expressive. Not only does it display attitudes and feelings; it also elicits them.’ A. Y. Collins, Crisis and Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984), p. 144. 3. For a brief overview of reception history, see J. L. Kovacs and C. Rowland, Revelation: The Apocalypse of Jesus Christ (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004), pp. 177–89. For a more reactionary summary, see D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974), pp. 7–8. For more focused studies, see C. Vander Stichele, ‘Apocalypse, Art and Abjection: Images of the Great Whore’, in Culture, Entertainment and the Bible, ed. G. Aichele; JSOTSup, 309 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 124–38; I. Boxall, ‘The Many Faces of Babylon the Great: Wirkungsgeschichte and the Interpretation of Revelation 17’, in Studies in the Book of Revelation, ed. S. Moyise (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001), pp. 51–68; Boxall, Revelation, pp. 249–50.

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This is because her affective properties have resulted in many groups appropriating her in order to depict their hated enemies, be they institutions, historical figures, countries, cities or even women.4 Therefore, the image of the whore resounds with two thousand years of often troubling readings, and the ‘echoes and associations’ she sets into motion ring loud and clear. Therefore, historical criticism has inherited a text that is alive with resonances, the majority of which are problematic at best. The passage of time has led to some becoming quietened, but some are more persistent, such as seeing the destruction directed at Catholicism, modern cities/systems and women.5 Therefore, scholarship has been left the task of ‘removing’ erroneous echoes and associations to recover what the image would have resonated with in its first-century context, finding ways to read her which are less emotive and uncovering what she represents.6 As Ian Boxall points out, this search for Babylon’s identity has dominated recent Revelation 17 scholarship: A sample survey of recent (twentieth-century) commentaries on the Apocalypse reveals the following small number of issues of common interest to commentators on Rev 17: the Old Testament background to the vision; allusions in the vision to John’s own historical setting; and, particularly, the identity of the Great Harlot.7 4. Feminist scholarship has demonstrated that women see themselves in the image: ‘Having studied the viles of Roman imperial policy in the colonies, I find the violent destruction of Babylon very cathartic. But when I looked into the face of Babylon, I saw a woman.’ Pippin, Death and Desire, p. 80. For further examinations of the whore in relation to women, see M. J. Selvidge, ‘Powerful and Powerless Women in the Apocalypse’, Neot 26 (1992), pp. 157–67; T. Pippin, Apocalyptic Bodies: The Biblical End of the World in Text and Image (London: Routledge, 1999); L. R. Huber, ‘Gazing at the Whore: Reading Revelation Queerly’, in Bible Trouble: Queer Reading at the Boundaries of Biblical Scholarship, ed. T. J. Hornsby and K. Stone (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), pp. 301–20; S. T. Smith, The Woman Babylon and the Marks of Empire: Reading Revelation with a Postcolonial Womanist Hermeneutics of Ambiveilence (Emerging Scholars; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014). 5. For example, images that appeared in a Google search (no browser history), carried out in November 2013, for ‘whore of Babylon’ included: Miley Cyrus, Beyoncé, Paris Hilton, Sarah Palin, the Pope, the Virgin Mary, Hitler, a naked woman with spikes through her body, Blake’s and Cranach’s images, the United States, the Vatican, the Church, Jerusalem and Islam. 6. For example, Schüssler Fiorenza, Justice and Judgement, argues that feminist readings should resist gendered systems in Revelation by looking past feminine images to what they represent. For an excellent examination of differing feminist views on this matter, see A.-J. Levine (ed.), A Feminist Companion to the Apocalypse of John (Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings, 13; London: T&T Clark, 2009). Notable emotive readings include Selvidge, ‘Powerful and Powerless Women in the Apocalypse’, pp. 157–67; Pippin, Death and Desire; Pippin, Apocalyptic Bodies. 7. Boxall, ‘The Many Faces’, p. 54.

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Due to the final declaration after her destruction, ‘the woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth’ (v.18), the focus now falls on finding out which historical city she represents. Her textual sources are turned to in order to pinpoint which texts she is ‘most like’, and therefore explain which city she is. This, as we shall see, is a somewhat intellectual affair, focusing on referents rather than emotions evoked,8 and pinpointing ‘valid’ resonances.9 We now turn to a selection of these readings in order to examine the wide variety of ‘source texts’ seen, the attitudes to these sources and the cities argued to be ‘Babylon the Great’. The following readings represent a range of approaches to Babylon’s sources.10 They are not exhaustive, but they do demonstrate the different resonances heard, and they are representative of the variety of opinions that exist surrounding which city she represents.11 These readings will be: 1. Jerusalem/Israel (Ezekiel 16; 23, Jeremiah 4) Barker, Ford 2. Roma (Coin from 71 ce) Aune 3. Babylon (Jeremiah 51) Prigent 4. Trope of evil choice (Proverbs 1–9) Rossing 5. Eschatological city Tyre (Isaiah 23), Babylon (Daniel 4) Beale a Jerusalem Josephine Ford (in)famously argues that the whore represents Jerusalem, and this interpretation is supported by Margaret Barker.12 Ford’s argument is based on the fact that Israel/Jerusalem is most frequently designated harlot in OT texts (Hosea

8. An exception to this is Collins, Crisis and Catharsis. 9. She becomes a puzzle to solve, with retrospective reading utilized, as Revelation 18 and 21 are used to explain what Revelation 17 represents. Here I concentrate on Revelation 17 only, presenting an ‘audience-response’ reading of the text, and facilitating a focus on how the whore is first encountered. Revelation 18 will be the focus of the next chapter. 10. For an overview of different strategies, see B. R. Rossing, The Choice between Two Cities: Whore, Bride, and Empire in the Apocalypse (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1999), pp. 1–19. 11. These readings have been selected for a number of reasons. First, they are some of the most in-depth readings of the whore’s sources. Second, each argues for a different viewpoint and concludes a different city. Finally, each presents a clear conclusion for a city based on a specific textual source. Ruiz is omitted as his reading does not conclude one city or another, and is entwined with the rest of his study. 12. M. Barker, The Revelation of Jesus Christ (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), pp. 279–87. J. M. Ford, Revelation (AB, 38; Garden City: Doubleday, 1975), pp. 276–93. K. L. Gentry, Before Jerusalem Fell: Dating the Book of Revelation (Fountain Inn: Victorious Hope Publishing, 2010), pp. 241–2 n.26, limits his argument to a footnote.

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2; 3; 5, Isaiah 1, Jeremiah 2; 5, Micah 1, Ezekiel 23)13 and so Revelation 17’s harlot is also Jerusalem.14 One source stands out for Ford: ‘The text that influences the author of Revelation most is Ezek 16’,15 because the descriptions are equally as graphic – each description presents a woman clothed and covered in ornamentation (Ezek. 16.11–13/Rev. 17.4), who went out among the nations (Ezek. 16.14/Rev. 17.18) and whose lovers uncover their nakedness (Ezek. 16.37–40/Rev. 17.16). Yet she points out that their fate is not identical as ‘Ezek 16 ends with a promise of forgiveness and establishment of an everlasting covenant’,16 which Revelation 17 does not. Ford also believes the image does not refer solely to Jerusalem, but also ‘the condition of the high priesthood’,17 as she believes that there are strong Levitical resonances as well.18 Therefore, she concludes that the whore recalls Israel’s past punishments and combines these with images of the current priesthood. Margaret Barker, following Ford, argues the harlot resembles Exodus 28’s attire of the high priest, being ‘dressed like the temple’.19 She also points out the similarity between the punishments described in Ezekiel 23 and Rev. 17.16.20 Thus, for Barker the whore represents the lewdness of Jerusalem, her killing of the prophets, the high priest’s betrayal of his role and the divine punishment unleashed because of the evil it has done.21 In essence, these readings argue that the destruction of Jerusalem in 71 ce is being justified in Revelation 17, viewing the whore as combining past accusations against Jerusalem to create a lewd priest-harlot figure. This figure is destroyed and the New Jerusalem appears at the end of Revelation as the purified city. This view 13. This relies on translating ἐπόρνευσαν as adultery, pointing towards Jerusalem more than her pagan neighbours. For the complexity of the substantive term πορνεία from Classical Greek through to the fourth century ce, see K. Harper, ‘Porneia: The Making of a Christian Sexual Norm’, JBL 131, no. 2 (2012), pp. 363–83. For the specific use of the term in Revelation 17, see M. Fletcher, ‘Flesh for Frankenwhore: Reading Babylon’s Body in Revelation 17’, in The Body in Biblical, Christian and Jewish Texts, ed. J. E. Taylor; The Library of Second Temple Studies (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2014), pp. 144–64. 14. She also uses Qumran to demonstrate similar trends due to her attributing authorship to John the Baptist, who she connects to the Qumran community. Ford, Revelation, 284–5. Such an argument has been near conclusively rebutted. 15. Ibid., p. 283. 16. Ibid., p. 284. 17. Ibid., p. 285. 18. Particularly Lev. 26.18, 21, 24, 27 in relation to a sevenfold punishment which she sees throughout Revelation, with the ‘fall of the harlot’ as the final stage. Ford, Revelation, pp. 282–3. 19. Ford, Revelation, p. 228; Barker, Revelation, p. 284. 20. Barker, Revelation, p. 281. 21. Ibid., 299. While worthy of mention, Barker’s reading will not be focused on here, as it is based on her concept of the temple, and fits into a much wider reading of the OT, NT and Revelation rather than an examination of Revelation’s relationship with other texts.

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is highly controversial, and, as we shall see, the majority of scholars try to silence these echoes and associations, before arguing that Rome and/or other ‘pagan’ cities are referred to. However, our focus is not on the validity of the reading per se, but rather on how scholars have read the image in relation to ‘source texts’. Therefore, as this Jerusalem reading is based on identifying ‘source texts’ it is important to place it beside other more ‘mainstream’ views. It is a terrifying interpretation to be sure, because it evokes echoes and associations of Jerusalem’s devastation, but it is important to consider what ‘source texts’ lead to it. b Roma David Aune sees Revelation 17 as a description of a wholly allegorical image,22 presented in the literary form ekphrasis23 which he defines as a ‘detailed description [of a work of art] ... a literary form that often occurs as a digression within a literary narrative’.24 Aune argues that such descriptions may be carried out on ‘persons, circumstances, places, periods of time, customs, festivals, statues, and paintings’,25 pointing to Homer’s description of the shield of Achilles (Il. 18.478–608) and the cup of Nestor (Il. 11.632–35),26 and to examples in Graeco-Roman literature such as Achilles Tatius’s description of a painting depicting Europa and the bull (Leuc. Clit. 1.1–2).27 He argues that ‘Jewish apocalyptic literature’ uses this technique to describe detailed metaphorical visions, although in the OT he can only find ‘detailed descriptions of the temple ... and Solomon’s palace’ such as in 22. He believes this section to be ‘thoroughly symbolic or allegorical, though such allegorical imagery is conspicuous by its rarity in Revelation (the only two examples of allegorical imagery are 1:9–20 and 10:8–10)’. D. E. Aune, Revelation 3 (WBC, 52C; Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1998), p. 919. 23. Ibid., pp. 918–28. Also see D. E. Aune, ‘Intertextuality and the Genre of the Apocalypse’ (SBLSP, 30; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), pp. 61–2, supported by B. Witherington, Revelation (NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 217–18, who takes this idea from Rossing, Two Cities, p. 25. 24. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 923. They became part of the Progymnasmata in the first or second century ce, discussed in writings attributed to: Theon (Progym. 11), Hermogenes (Progym. 10), Aphthonius (Progym. 12) and Nicolaus (Progym. 12). G. A. Kennedy, trans., Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (SBLWGRW, 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). 25. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 923. For the scope of ekphrasis, see S. Bartsch, Decoding the Ancient Novel: The Reader and the Role of Description in Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989); R. Webb, Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). 26. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 924. For comprehensive listings, see Bartsch, Decoding the Ancient Novel. Also see A. S. Becker, The Shield of Achilles and the Poetics of Ekphrasis (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995). 27. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 924.

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1 Kgs 6.14–36; 7.2–12.28 Based on the wide usage of this technique in the ancient world, Aune believes this aptly describes what is occurring in Revelation 17. The text he identifies as being described is a sestertius minted in 71 ce (Figure 5.1) depicting the goddess Roma seated on seven hills, with her foot touching the river god Tiber, and the she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus.29 On the reverse is a portrait of Vespasian.30 Aune believes this represents a larger structure, perhaps made of bronze or marble,31 and that, as the majority of cities addressed by Revelation had active Dea Roma cults, such an image would likely have been familiar to John’s audience.32 Therefore, similarities would have resonated, revealing Revelation 17 to be a description of the goddess Roma. For example, the foot touching the Tiber may describe the ‘many waters’ (v.1); the seven mountains depicted are what Babylon is seated on (v.9); the name on her forehead (v.5) may indicate Rome’s secret name33; and the sword she holds could evoke the deaths of Christians and Jews (v.6).34 However, he admits the image is altered as, unlike Rev. 17.4, there is no jewellery

Figure 5.1  Sestertius minted 71 ce showing Vespasian and Roma © The Trustees of the British Museum.

28. Ibid., p. 924. 29. Ibid., p. 920. 30. F. Castagndi, ‘Note Numistiche’, ArchC 5 (1953), pp. 104–11. 31. Aune, ‘Intertextuality’, p. 61. For more details, see Aune, Revelation 3, p. 921. 32. R. J. Mellor, ΘΕΑ ΡΩΜΗ: The Worship of the Goddess Roma in the Greek World (Hypomnemata: Untersuchungen zur Antike und zu ihrem Nachleben, 42; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975). 33. Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 926–7. Roma’s secret name is attested by the first century ce, for example, Plutarch Quaest. rom. 61; Pliny Nat. 28.4.18. 34. Ibid., pp. 925–7.

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evident, and so he argues these trappings reflect the ‘stereotypical description of prostitutes’.35 Also, he argues that as Roma is not a whore in this image, Revelation 17 may be creating a pun from the lupa (she-wolf) suckling Romulus and Remus, because lupa could also be used to describe prostitutes.36 Therefore, for Aune the whore most strongly resonates with images of the Roman Empire’s sacred goddess. He does acknowledge OT texts such as Jeremiah 51 contribute to the figure (providing a lengthy discussion of them throughout his analysis of the chapter) as well as Roma, and so states: ‘The descriptions are therefore composite.’37 However, he argues that these OT resonances provide language that the community would recognize, rather than a specific textual voice. Therefore, the source text that most guides the image is Dea Roma, as Aune sees Revelation 17 presenting a parodic portrayal of the sacred goddess where she is turned into the image of a whore. The purpose of the image in this parodyekphrasis reading is satirical, critiquing extramurally and damning the empire/its sacred goddess. This creates an exaggerated image where textual resonances heap damnation on the Roman Empire. Unlike Ford’s reading, Jerusalem is not in sight as OT resonances provide language rather than specific textual experiences. c Babylon Although noting that ‘the figure of the prostitute brings to mind numerous prophetic texts of the OT’,38 for Pierre Prigent, ‘Revelation 17 was obviously inspired by Jeremiah 51.’39 With this in mind he sees many textual parallels. To begin, in v.1 there are the ‘many waters’ on which the whore sits which are frequently noted as resonating with Jer. 51.13’s ‘You who live by mighty waters’. Prigent also sees Jer. 51.7 in vv.2–4 where the earth is made drunk with her wine, and Babylon is a cup in the hand of the Lord40; Jer. 51.26, 29, 43 in v.3 with the seer’s wilderness location41; and Jer. 51.22 in v.4 in relation to the abominations from idols declared by the prophets.42 He believes that her final destruction resonates with Ezekiel 23, Jer. 34.22, Hos. 2.5 and mentions of devouring flesh in Ps. 27.2 and Mic. 3.3. However, he argues that ‘it is not possible to affirm any 35. Ibid., p. 925. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 485. He notes Hos. 5.3; Isa. 1.21; Ezekiel 16; 23; Isaiah 23; Nah. 3.4. 39. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 498. For the full discussion, see ibid., pp. 485–97. This conclusion is partly influenced by Revelation 18 and what has gone before. Therefore, as he argues that in Rev. 14.8, 16, Babylon is Rome, so Babylon in Revelation 17 must also represent Rome. 40. Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 486, 488. 41. Ibid., p. 487. 42. Ibid., p. 489.

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direct literary dependence’,43 and so if images are spread throughout the OT, or in more texts than Jeremiah 51, they become ‘stereotypes’ of seductresses rather than alternative textual voices. Indeed, Prigent asks whether the appearance of the whore was not inspired by OT texts as much as it was by such literary stereotypes.44 Therefore, he reads the text as aligning itself with the OT oracles against Babylon, while relocating it in ‘current history’,45 indicating that as God punished Babylon for her behaviour towards Israel, so he will punish Rome. Thus, for Prigent the affective properties of Revelation 17 are found in experiencing a past text relocated in the present, where it would have a clear mapping of one image onto the other.46 However, when images do not map (e.g. where in Jer. 51.7 Babylon is compared to a cup in the hand of the Lord, in Rev. 17.4 Babylon holds a cup in her hand), Prigent argues this demonstrates the author struggling to make the prophecy of the past adhere to present-day circumstances.47 Therefore, for Prigent Babylon is a stereotypical seductress constructed from one primary text: Jeremiah 51. If the images appear not to connect together, then this is because the author is struggling to update the prophecy in a way which exactly maps. Thus, Prigent presents a text which calls to mind what has already been done against Babylon, and it is the seeing of the destruction of Babylon played out again which is affecting. Rome is revealed as the ultimate Babylon, the fulfilment of what has happened before, and as violence has been poured out on Babylon in the past, so it will be poured out on ‘Babylon’ again. d  Evil City Barbara Rossing examines Babylon’s relationship with the New Jerusalem, aiming to remove some of the whore’s more troubling associations.48 She believes that the whore should be read as a literary trope: the ‘choice of two women topos’, which was used in literature from the sixth century bce.49 In such tales two women appear to a young man, one appeals visually through gaudy ornamentation, the other 43. Ibid., p. 496. 44. Ibid., p. 488. 45. Ibid., p. 486. 46. He goes further, arguing ‘Rome is the perfect trope for which Babylon was only the prophecy’. Ibid. 47. Ibid., p. 488. Writing to fulfil past scriptures is, of course, well attested in first-century Jewish writings. Cf. Jauhiainen, ‘Revelation and Rewritten Prophecies’, pp. 177–97; M. M. Zahn, ‘Rewritten Scripture’. in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. T. H. Lim and J. J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 323–37. 48. Rossing, Two Cities. 49. She argues it is first used by Prodicus in a now lost document quoted by Xenophon Mem. 2.1.21–22. This original version involves Heracles faced with two roads to choose from: one of vice, and one of virtue. This moral choice fable is taken up by numerous writers into different choices including which career, whether to go to war etc.: Cicero

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is modest, sometimes dressed in rags.50 Of the two, the less visually appealing is the one he should choose.51 Rossing argues that such tropes were also common in Jewish literature where they offered the audience an ‘ethical choice’,52 her key example being the wisdom of Proverbs 1–9 and the strange woman. Therefore, she surmises that there is a similar use of the binary either/or form at work in Revelation,53 offering the audience a choice of two women, and then exhorting them to choose the virtuous Jerusalem instead of the vice-ridden Babylon/Rome.54 However, she does note that Revelation takes this binary further than any of her examples, becoming ‘hard hitting economic and political critique’.55 For Rossing, the Proverbs 1–9 topos functions as the major source for the description of the prostitute,56 and her clothing and attire are taken from the more general ‘two woman topos’.57 Other OT resonances contribute to affirm this identity, either as tropes, such as a cup of wrath used to demonstrate punishment of cities, or as pointers to ‘foreign powers’ (i.e. not Jerusalem/Israel) and trade indictment. For example, she believes the accusation of prostitution is firmly based on Isa. 23.15–18 against Tyre.58 Other OT resonances may contribute to affirm this identity, but she rejects any associations with Ezekiel 16; 23, and Jeremiah 4 because these passages do not ‘map fully’ onto Revelation.59 In particular, she points out that the vantage point of the reader has altered, with Jeremiah and Ezekiel addressing oracles to the audience ‘in the female role of the harlot Jerusalem’, whereas in Revelation 17 ‘the prostitute is the foreign city of Babylon/Rome. The audience is scripted in a male or spectator role, viewing and being warned against the dangerous prostitute

Off. 1.32.117–18; Maximus of Tyre, Or. 14:1; Lucian Somn. 6; Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 6.10; Clement of Alexandria Paed. 2.10.110; and Justin Martyr 2 Apol. 11. Ibid., pp. 17–40. 50. For example, Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 6.10, Justin Martyr 2 Apol. 11. 51. Like Aune, she believes the description is an ekphrasis and also synkrisis, where the reader is asked to judge between two images. Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 21–5. This idea is applied directly to Revelation in light of her work by Witherington, Revelation, pp. 216–17. 52. Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 41–53. For example, Sir. 15; 24; Wis. 8; Philo Sacr. 20–21; 24; Cong. 24–31; 4Q184; 4Q185. 53. She argues that despite no mention of ‘the way’ in Revelation, which is the standard motif for describing the ‘two choices’ as ‘two paths’, each woman represents the either/or. Rossing, Two Cities, p. 53. 54. The idea of literary trope is used by other scholars, particularly when one OT ‘source text’ cannot be found, and female qualities of the subject are minimized, for example, Collins, Crisis and Catharsis. Rossing presents one of the most in-depth examinations. 55. Rossing, Two Cities, p. 59. 56. Ibid., pp. 76–7. 57. Ibid., pp. 77–8. The Heracles traditions have women dressed in purple and gold, for example, Silius Italicus Punica 15.25, Dio Chrysostom Or. 1.81. 58. Ibid., p. 71. 59. Ibid.

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Rome.’60 She also argues that the rhetorical appeal is different, with Ezekiel informing Jerusalem of her immediate destruction, and proving her guilt before her imminent destruction.61 Added to this is the fact that Rome was often referred to under the Jewish code name Babylon.62 Finally, for Rossing the whore cannot be connected to Ezekiel 16 and 23 because these texts portray violence against women, not against a city.63 Therefore, for Rossing the whore is taken from ‘well known biblical and classical traditions’,64 particularly Proverbs 1–9, and constructed to ‘warn his [John’s] readers of Rome’s danger and call them to come out of the city’.65 The binary divide of Babylon/Jerusalem functions as a rhetorical device to urge the audience to choose one city, and leave the other behind. OT texts are brought together into this trope to enhance this message, but unless they map exactly they fall into the realm of generalities. Most importantly for Rossing, although the whore may resonate with several images, it does not and should not resonate with Jerusalem-focused texts which do not map exactly enough. Therefore, the audience are affected by the fact that they will know this is the evil woman who they should reject, although the image evokes broad sweeping textual motifs, not specific textual experiences. e  Economic-Religious Powers Beale reads the whore as a ‘transtemporal’ image representing ‘the World’s Idolatrous Economic-Religious System’,66 and consisting of a number of OT texts.67 For example, he believes that v.1’s description of judgement is taken from Jer. 51.13,68 and that v.2’s prostitution indictment is economic due to ‘an allusion 60. Although the audience ‘becoming male/spectator’ may ring alarm bells, for Rossing the image is wholly city based, going as far as translating the destruction in Rev. 17.16 as ‘they will make it a wasteland and bare; they will devour its flesh and burn it up with fire’. Ibid., p. 87. 61. Ibid., pp. 73–6. 62. She examines how each section’s OT motifs connect Babylon to Rome, as Babylon symbolized Rome in texts including 1 Pet. 5.13; Sib. Or. 5.143, 159; 4 Ezra 3.1–2, 28–31; 2 Bar. 10.1; 11.1; 67.7. 63. For Rossing this ‘city only’ reading is key, arguing that although initially the whore is both a woman and city (17.3–4), afterwards the terms point solely towards a city. This leads her to conclude that Revelation 17 does not represent any form of violence to a female body, and so past female associations the whore has evoked should be silenced. Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 61–97. For a rebuttal, see Fletcher, ‘Babylon’s Body’, pp. 144–64. 64. Rossing, Two Cities, p. 61. 65. Ibid. 66. Beale, Commentary, pp. 847, 853, 882. ‘She expresses herself through the ages in ungoldly economic-religious institutions and facets of culture.’ Ibid., p. 859. 67. For discussion, see Beale, Commentary, pp. 847–90. 68. Ibid., p. 848.

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to Isa 23:17b: Tyre’.69 Although he notes that other mentions of ‘harlotry’ are made in the OT, he sees the reference to Tyre as the dominating voice, as it is ‘closest verbally’, and is further supported by supplementary references to Ezekiel 26–28: Among all the harlot metaphors of the OT, most of which refer to Israel, the one referring to Tyre in Isaiah 23 is the closest verbally to Rev 17:2. That Tyre is in mind here in the Apocalypse is clear from the repeated reference to the Ezekiel 26–28 pronouncement of Tyre’s judgement in Revelation 18 and the specific allusion to Isaiah 23:8 in Rev 18:23. At the least, this shows that a pagan identification, even if not exhaustive, should be included in the interpretation of the harlot.70

The cup for him is a ‘partial allusion to Jer 51:7–8’.71 Unsurprisingly, Beale sees Daniel in the image, with ‘Babylon the Great’ as an allusion to Dan. 4.27MT/4.30 LXX,72 the use of μυστήριον which ‘also occurs in Dan. 4.9 (Theod.)’,73 and the seer’s amazement (Rev. 17.6) similar to Daniel 4.74 Indeed, he believes that Daniel is the text behind the chapter as a whole: ‘Well over half of the OT allusions in ch.17 are from Daniel ... with a significant number from Daniel 4 conceptually supplementing those from Daniel 7. Daniel 7 provides the overarching framework for Revelation 17, not only of the structure but also of thought.’75 Therefore, Beale sees the many parallels with OT economic powers, particularly Babylon and Tyre, indicating the first-century referent to be Rome.76 However, he does not limit her reference to Rome, viewing the whore as an eschatological figure representing all economic powers. Indeed, he also sees Israel/Jerusalem as part of the image. For example, he notes that Isa. 1.15–22 and Jer. 4.30 present Israel as prostitutes who resemble the whore,77 and argues that ‘the portrait of the whore throughout 69. Ibid., p. 849. He cites Fekkes, Isaiah, pp. 211–12, as agreeing. For Beale: ‘The “harlot” metaphor has the essential idea of an illicit relationship,’ citing Isa. 23.15–18, Nah. 3.4.5 and Daniel 4. Beale, Commentary, p. 885. 70. Beale, Commentary, p. 850. 71. Ibid., p. 855. 72. Ibid., p. 858. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 442, supports this view. 73. Beale, Commentary, p. 858. 74. Ibid., pp. 860–1. 75. Ibid., p. 890. 76. ‘She is the symbol of a culture that maintains the prosperity of economic commerce. In the first century that culture was Rome.’ Ibid., p. 854. He also notes Roma/Magna Mater could have influenced the image, but believes ‘even if they do, they contribute merely one of the many possible backgrounds for the harlot’. Ibid., p. 848. At the same time, he also notes the potential of the coin image as presented by R. Beauvery, ‘L’Apocalypse au risque de la numismatique: Babylone, la Grande Prostituée et le sixième roi – Vespasien et la déesse Rome ‬’esRB 90, no. 2 (1983), pp. 243–60. 77. Beale, Commentary, pp. 854–5.

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Revelation 17 draws also from the depiction of Israel as a harlot in Jer 2:20–4:30’.78 Beale also believes her destruction in v.16 is ‘sketched’ according to Ezek. 23.25– 29, 47,79 viewing the section as ‘supplemented by similar OT descriptions of Israel’s coming judgment’ such as Hos. 2.3, and Jer. 10.25, fulfilled when Babylon destroyed Jerusalem and now ‘reapplied to the desolation of the Babylonian harlot’.80 Therefore, as Beale sees both foreign trade powers and descriptions of Israel in the whore, he concludes that ‘Babylon refers both to the pagan world and the apostate church that cooperates with that world’.81 The texts which refer to economic powers such as Daniel 4 and Isaiah 23 guide the image, but it represents all who are allied to the economic-religious power, be they Roman, ‘pagan’ more generally or parts of the church/Israel which are against the ‘faithful remnant’.82 Thus she is not representative of Jerusalem alone, and so the text was not ‘fulfilled’ when it fell, just as she is not representative of Rome alone, and so was also not fulfilled when it fell.83 He further argues for this as she is the eschatological allencompassing image: ‘She includes the entire evil economic religious system of the world throughout history.’84 The texts she evokes all work towards this image, adding to the impact, and controlled by the idea of economic-religious power as found in Daniel 4 and Isaiah 23. f  Combining the Readings: A Composite Trope in Need of Control Each of the above readings reveals the diversity of interpretations and ‘source texts’ seen in the whore, ranging from coins depicting Roma, to literary tropes and OT trade indictments. The echoes and associations the text evokes are many, and farreaching. However, there are some trends in interpretation which can be observed across these diverse readings. We have seen how each reading sought to foreground a particular ‘source’ to guide interpretation, including literary tropes (Rossing), OT texts (Prigent, Beale and Ford) and Roman imperial propaganda (Aune). However, we have also seen that no one image maps exactly. For Prigent this was due to the author struggling to relocate the image, and for Rossing it was the fact that the ‘two paths topos’ was 78. Ibid., p. 884. 79. Ibid., p. 883. 80. Ibid. 81. Ibid., p. 885. 82. ‘Apostate Israel of the first and following centuries also composes Babylon but does not exhaust it by itself. Nevertheless, unbelieving Israel’s partial inclusion in Babylon also accounts for some of the OT references to Israel as a harlot and its impending judgment. Furthermore, apostate Israel performed her share of persecution together with past and present pagan oppressors of the faithful remnant (Matt 21:33–42; 23:29–35; Acts 7:51–52).’ Ibid. 83. Beale, Commentary, p. 887. 84. Ibid., p. 888.

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altered to represent economic critique. For Ford it was the lack of redemption offered in Revelation 17, and for Aune it was the prostitute designation assigned to Roma. Beale saw past texts as pointing not to specific economic-religious cities, but to the eschatological city. Therefore, although each reading may argue for a primary source text, each has also seen alterations of their chosen texts and sought reasons for this. We have also seen how all of the readers see OT texts involved in the image, but with varying degrees of interpretative impact and importance: Ford saw Ezekiel 16 as the major referent, and also heard Levitical resonances; for Prigent the image was guided by Jeremiah 51, with other OT resonances acting as ‘stereotypes’; for Beale allusions to Daniel 4 and Isaiah 23 indicated illicit trade relationships, and the destruction of the whore evoked Ezekiel 16 and 23; for Aune the language of the OT was used in a more general sense, as ‘familiar language’; and for Rossing the trope of the evil woman in Proverbs 1–9 was the text closest to the whore, with other OT resonances acting as tropes. As well as these multiple OT resonances, Aune makes a convincing case for seeing Roma, which Beale too does not deny, and Rossing sees wider Graeco-Roman literary influences. In light of this, surely it is logical to view the whore as composite. Indeed, Prigent declares that ‘the figure of the prostitute brings to mind numerous prophetic texts of the OT’,85 and Aune observes ‘the artificial composite literary character of this vision [ch. 17]’.86 Each reading may have sought out one guiding text, but what reading these searches together shows is that many texts can be heard within the image. What is more, the image described is itself a familiar figure: a prostitute, a woman who leads astray. Rossing particularly highlighted the widely known two woman topos, and Aune and Prigent believed that the whore has features drawn from ‘stereotypical description of prostitutes’.87 Also, Beale and Ford demonstrated that the OT frequently uses similar images. Therefore, the whore can be viewed as a literary trope: a familiar figure, made from familiar texts. This examination has shown how far readings have come from seeing modern enemies going to destruction, and how the ‘literal female’ aspects of the texts have fallen silent, with the city referents ringing loudly. The violence enacted on the whore has been seen through lenses such as satirical parody (Aune), evil choices (Rossing) and eschatological fulfilment (Beale). These provide a viewpoint of the evil first-century ‘other’ going to destruction which is less emotive by focusing on an image which is symbolic, and somewhat removed. However, of all the emotive echoes and associations the whore evokes the Jerusalem associations are the most persistently troubling.88 Therefore, we have seen that readings play down 85. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 485. 86. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 925. 87. Ruiz, Apocalypse, argues that there are so many similar motifs in the OT that there is no need to look outside of it. 88. As we have seen many scholars do admit this, despite their explanations around the subject.

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Jerusalem evocations, fearing that these readings see a Christian audience enjoying the destruction as Jerusalem becomes the enemy, the anti-Christian city,89 and the punishment is read as directed at the Jewish people by the God of the Christians. Thankfully, we now know that such a reading is simply wrong: the audience and author of Revelation were clearly intimately connected with Judaism,90 and to offer the harlot as something ‘other’ to the readers if she is Jerusalem ignores all we know about the text. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that although Ford and Barker argue Jerusalem-focused texts are primary, the remaining readings attempt to minimize the importance of these resonances. Prigent notes similarities to Ezekiel 16; 23 and Jeremiah 4, but asserts that direct literary dependence is unclear, whereas for Aune they are part of the general OT language used to describe the Roman target. Beale does argue that Rev. 17.16 brings to mind Jerusalem, but is clear it does not refer to its fall. Rather, it is part of the all-encompassing eschatological image that includes everything which is not the faithful remnant. Rossing is adamant that Ezekiel 16 and 23 are not part of the image in any way. In light of this it is clear that resonances heard are carefully controlled, so as to keep them from evoking ‘wrong readings’. Ford’s reading is seen as erroneous, and the image is held to evoke Rome primarily. g Summary Examining five readings in detail has shown that the whore can be read in vastly different ways, guided by different source texts and with different affective properties. Yet bringing them together has revealed trends: Babylon does not replicate any one text, requiring ‘explanations’ of alterations; she is composite, bringing together multiple resonances; she is a familiar trope figure who has appeared in many guises; and her first-century referent would have been Rome, with Jerusalem-focused texts subordinate to the all-consuming Roman Empire. What is more, interpretative history shows how affecting she can be if resonances are allowed to run amok, and so she must be controlled, with textual experiences evoked kept broad and ‘stereotypical’, or very specific in order to silence erroneous voices. How then can we read such a text, and what does she refer to? Is she Dea Roma? Or Babylon Redivivus? Or the economic-religious system? How should she affect the audience? 89. For example, ‘Since the woman represents the anti-Christian city’. G. R. Beasley-Murray, The Book of Revelation (London: Oliphants, 1978), p. 252. 90. Obviously the complex nature of Jewish-Christianity/Christian-Judaism cannot be discussed at length here. It suffices to say that we should assume the audience of Revelation would have been connected to the Jewish faith, and that it would not have represented something ‘other’. For summaries of Revelation and Judaism research, see Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 22–46. For an argument that John of Patmos is defending Judaism from Pauline teachings, see E. H. Pagels, Revelations: Visions, Prophecy, and Politics in the Book of Revelation (New York: Penguin Books, 2013).

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We now turn to a pastiche test case which presents a very similar scenario but from a very different location in order to offer a fresh viewpoint on this perplexing issue. The text is chosen because it has much in common with the whore’s complex textual fabric, but is ‘non-loaded’ in the sense that it has not been read with the same hermeneutical worries. Therefore, we now turn our attention to a composite tropic masterpiece – Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) – to reassess how past texts replayed in composite tropes can be affecting,91 and, what is more, can lead to our reflecting on the emotions they evoke.

II  Test Case: Once Upon a Time in the West In the 1960s Italian filmmakers turned their gaze to the American West, creating what is now known as the spaghetti Western.92 In doing so they often turned to pastiche as a way of providing new perspectives on ‘the old west’.93 For example, Edward Buscombe believes that ‘the “spaghetti Western” of the 1960s was a highly self-conscious pastiche of the Hollywood original’.94 In these pastiches the ‘known formulas’ of Westerns were particularly focused on, as Dyer points out: ‘They [spaghettis] mostly pastiche general tropes of the Western rather than specific films, such as the entry of the cowboy hero and the shoot-out.’95 The master of these techniques was Sergio Leone. a  Creating the ‘Ultimate Western’: A Western about Westerns Leone approached Westerns when their popularity had waned. Young Leone had been inspired by Westerns, by their heroes and the way of life they presented, but he became disenchanted by what they had become, or as Christopher Frayling says: ‘Hollywood was no longer creating for him [Leone] the magic he remembered from his youth. Westerns had become too formulaic and talky ... Leone sensed that the old fairy tales were slipping away and felt that “their loss would be irreplaceable.”’96 Therefore, onto this dying stage stepped an Italian director who had grown up in 91. In film scholarship this often falls under genre studies, but the focus here is a particular trope rather than the trope’s function within the genre. We examine genre in our final chapter ‘Apocalypse Noir’. 92. C. Frayling, Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981). On spaghetti Westerns and Leone, see Martin Scorsese’s interview in Frayling, Sergio Leone: Once Upon a Time in Italy (London: Thames & Hudson, 2008), pp. 201–7. 93. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 94. For an examination of spaghetti Westerns as pastiche, see ibid., pp. 102–13. 94. E. Buscombe, Stagecoach (BFI Film Classics; London: BFI, 1992), p. 75. 95. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 104. 96. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 26.

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the tradition of ‘the American west’ as presented by John Ford, Robert Aldrich, Fred Zinnemann and George Stevens.97 His ‘Dollars’ trilogy made great use of past filmic texts, characters and sentiments, and were box office successes.98 However, these past images were relocated, altered and frequently subverted as they were approached from a new cultural background: an Italian one. This culminated in Leone’s masterpiece Once Upon a Time in the West (Once Upon a Time from now on) a ‘pastiche sublime’99 which is undeniably ‘Western’, and yet its ‘Western-ness’ is created through exaggerating, combining, altering and reflecting upon other texts. Leone was a mind ‘steeped’ in Westerns and their cinematic language,100 and the writing of Once Upon a Time’s script was heavily influenced by great past Westerns, particularly those of John Ford (although to limit it to Ford does an injustice to the range of filmic sources, as we shall see).101 Indeed, Frayling’s interviews show that Leone, Bernardo Bertolucci and Sergio Donati spent a great deal of time watching Westerns prior to and during writing.102 The product of such textual reflection is a masterpiece of film-making, a meditation on the concept of violence and its role in the Western landscape, and the place of masculinity in a new world. This meditation means that for Buscombe ‘Once Upon a Time is more about other Western movies than it is about the west itself ’.103 Leone prefers to describe it as giving ‘a kaleidoscopic view of all American Westerns put together’.104 Indeed, the use of past filmic material supports this claim as Once Upon a Time built on a huge foundation of past cinematic experiences, with John Fawell believing ‘a review of the Leone bibliography for other films suggests approximately 97. For discussions on the influence of Westerns on Leone, see conversations and interviews spread throughout C. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Something to Do with Death (London: Faber and Faber, 2000); Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy. For example, Bertolucci recalls that working with Leone was like playing cowboys and Indians when growing up. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, pp. 14–15. 98. For a Fistful of Dollars (1964), For a Few Dollars More (1965), The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966). For a detailed discussion on these films and their use of other texts, see Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, pp. 42–53. 99. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 103. 100. J. W. Fawell, The Art of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West: A Critical Appreciation (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2005), pp. 31–2. 101. For Leone’s indebtedness to Ford, see Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, pp. 167–70; Fawell, Art, pp. 41–55. 102. See the interviews in Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, pp. 247–301; Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy. 103. E. Buscombe, 100 Westerns (BFI Screen Guides; London: BFI, 2006), p. 142. 104. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, pp. 256–27; Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 78. However, memories of exact citations/allusions/resonances prove elusive, and Frayling reflects that ‘some citations they could remember; some they were no longer certain about’. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 59.

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40 to 50 films’.105 It is a film which refers to Western directors, known tropes and specific films, ‘a mosaic made up of references to individual Westerns’.106 Yet, Leone makes it clear that ‘you must be careful of making it sound like citations for citations’ sake’,107 and it is clear from watching the film that the referents are not being re-filmed; they are never used in ‘exactly’ the same way as in previous guises. Indeed, Leone points out that the film is not to be watched in order to ‘spot’ and ‘pinpoint’ allusions/citations/quotations,108 as its fabric is far more complex: ‘The “references” aren’t calculated in a programmed kind of way, they are there to give the feeling of all that background of the American Western to help tell this particular fairy tale.’109 For example, this pastiche uses familiar characters and scenarios that have been seen in various other films and had become tired.110 Yet Leone reinvigorated these tropes: I wanted to take all the most stereotypical characters from the American west – on loan! The finest whore from New Orleans; the romantic bandit; the killer who is half businessman, half killer, and who wants to get on in the new world of business; the businessman who fancies himself as a gunfighter; the lone avenger. With these five most stereotypical characters from the American Western, I wanted to present a homage to the Western at the same time as showing the mutations which American society was undergoing at the time.111

Although he describes the film as a homage, as we have seen above, pastiche is an apt way of describing much of its substance for, as Buscombe points out, ‘Sergio Leone and his epigones set out to construct works that deliberately play with the conventions of the American Western, rather than slavishly imitate them’.112 What is more, Leone is not presenting Ford as ‘worthy’ in a way which is beyond criticism. As we shall see, Once Upon a Time may be like other films, very many other films, but it is not the same, and is not afraid to alter what has been previously created. We shall now examine how these Western conventions are ‘played with’ when the classic trope of the shoot-out is pastiched. 105. Fawell, Art, p. 34. An attempt to tabulate ‘source texts’ can be found in Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, pp. 59–63. 106. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 266. 107. As stated by Leone when interviewed by Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 78. 108. Ibid., pp. 33–4. Although it is clear that it can, and has been, watched this way. Ibid., p. 31. 109. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 256. 110. Scorsese sees Leone as using different masks to reveal the many layers of characters, and in doing so creating new ‘archetypes’. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 202. 111. Ibid., p. 78. ‘The film is so full of “quotes” from all the Westerns I love’ (Bertolucci); ‘references, maybe quotations or references, some from me and some from Zinnemann and … others’ (Argento) or ‘references to individual Westerns’ (Leone). Ibid., p. 37. 112. Buscombe, Stagecoach, p. 75. As already discussed, these are fluid categories.

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The opening scenes of Once Upon a Time are awash with resonances, pointing the viewer to previous textual experiences.113 The scene that we shall focus on is known as the McBain Massacre, a scene which will represent the rich complexity of Once Upon a Time’s relationship with other texts, demonstrating the way that the film signals its similarity and difference from intertexts. The resonances discussed are far from exhaustive, but rather represent a selection of the many that construct the film.114 Once Upon a Time opens with the most iconic feature of a Western: the shootout.115 Indeed, the opening shoot-out is one of the most critically praised in cinema history.116 Shoot-outs involve distance, tension, masculinity, speed and accuracy; generally two men, both with a mark to make (Leone opens with three-to-one) and with a debt to settle.117 Manly restraint is the name of the game and Westerns make great use of this trope (Fred Zinnemann’s High Noon (1952), George Stevens’s Shane (1952), Robert Aldrich’s Vera Cruz (1954) and The Last Sunset (1961), John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), to name a few). However, after this opening shoot-out the film shifts to a very different but equally iconic Western scene: the homestead. b  The McBain Massacre: Reading Trope as Pastiche The homestead was the backbone of the American West, and the subject of many Westerns (Shane, John Ford’s The Searchers (1959), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance), and the scene which plays out in this location resonates with many films on different levels. 113. The most thorough discussions of Once Upon a Time’s intertextual relationships are found in interviews and reviews in Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, pp. 247–301. 114. A variety of viewing experiences are used: my own, Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy; Frayling, Spaghetti Westerns; Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death; Fawell, Art; P. McGee, From Shane to Kill Bill: Rethinking the Western (Malden: Blackwell, 2007). 115. For the supernatural speed of spaghetti shoot-outs achieved through editing, see Dyer, Pastiche, p. 105. 116. It also resonated with Leone’s ‘Dollars Trilogy’, as Leone wanted to draw a close on these past films, envisaging Eli Wallach, Lee Van Cleef and Clint Eastwood being gunned down. However, Eastwood refused to participate. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 245. This dialogue with Leone’s previous films could easily be discussed at length, but as our focus is on imitation and pastiche we will examine Once Upon a Time’s dialogue with other nonLeone texts, as one can hardly pastiche oneself. Even if ‘re-creating’ one’s earlier work this is more likely to fall into self-plagiarism or stereotype than pastiche. For a discussion on the difference between Ford’s self-reflective Western Liberty Valance and Leone’s pastiche reflection on Westerns in Once Upon a Time, see Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 95–7. 117. The need for Westerns to show that ‘a man is a man’ through restraint and the shoot-out is discussed in L. C. Mitchell, ‘Violence in the Film Western’, in Violence and American Cinema, ed. J. D. Slocum (New York: Routledge, 2001), pp. 176–91.

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Brett McBain and his family are preparing a party (another typical feature such as the Fourth of July party in Shane), to celebrate the wedding of McBain to his new wife. The family are Irish, accentuated by their auburn hair and the girl singing Danny Boy (also sung by Robert Mitchum in Raoul Walsh’s Pursued (1947)). The youngest child Timmy wants to shoot a gun like his father,118 and runs around shouting ‘bang, bang’ (evoking Joey in Shane). However, the crickets stop their sound, the birds fly and an eerie moment occurs (similar to a scene in The Searchers). Then a gunshot is fired and the scene turns into a bloodbath, the family killed by unseen shooters. Only Timmy is left, running out of the dark of the house into the light (a camera shot particularly reminiscent of The Searchers). An electric guitar begins to blare out over the sound of strings and a harmonica. Out of the desert dust (such as in the final shoot-out of John Ford’s My Darling Clementine (1946) and the final chase in John Ford’s Stagecoach (1939)) and scrub appear the shooters; five white men wearing dusters (sported by the hijackers at the start of Liberty Valance, and by Wyatt and his brothers in My Darling Clementine).119 The men descend on Timmy (Figure 5.2) (an exaggerated version of the one man against many shooters, such as Ringo at the end of Stagecoach, High Noon), walking past and subsuming with their coats a stump (famous in Shane for bringing the gunfighter into the homestead). Frank, the leader (resonating with Frank Miller, the enemy in High Noon), steps up to the boy and a ‘classic’ one-on-one shoot-out scene is created, participants staring at each other, bodies showing the strain, music blaring. We have seen above how many times this scene has been played and in many different ways. However, this time it is a fully grown man staring down a small boy.

Figure 5.2   The men bearing down on Timmy in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran).

118. On how the family circle resonates with the subject of death, and how it dialogues with other Westerns, see McGee, From Shane to Kill Bill, pp. 178–90. 119. Leone claimed the dusters were inspired by historical research; see Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 81. However, watching Liberty and My Darling show other influences, again revealing the fluidity of ‘traceable’ intention.

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Figure 5.3   Joey pretending to shoot in George Stevens’s Shane, 1953 (Paramount).

Figure 5.4  Timmy, clearly not Joey from Shane, in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran).

Hints to this scenario have been seen before, such as in Shane when the gunslinger tries to teach Joey to shoot. However, Timmy has not been taught to shoot, nor does he have a gun in his hand. This is the real thing. Frank sweats in the heat whereas Timmy’s eyes are filled with tears. Frank holds a gun; Timmy hugs a bottle of drink (recalling the soda-pop famous for provoking the fight in Shane). The electric guitar reminds the viewer of the temporal distance. This is not a film of the past. This is not Shane teaching Joey, but something altogether more terrifying, as a man aims at a small boy. Bang! goes the gun, as Frank smiles. This scene demonstrates the art of pastiche: combining, exaggerating, altering, yet creating one fluid scene with a style of its own. What is more, it is affecting, disturbing even. However, what makes it so affecting is that it signals to and from past cinematic experiences.120 As demonstrated above, the scene evokes a myriad of past textual memories, and is alive with echoes and associations: the stump representing triumph and a community working together (Shane), a family facing destruction in their homestead (The Searchers), five men taking on one (Gunfight/ High Noon/Stagecoach), dust flying (My Darling Clementine). In doing so, as the shoot-out scene unfolds it provides Leone’s ‘kaleidoscopic view of all American 120. For this effect throughout the film, see Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, pp. 247–301.

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Westerns put together’,121 with past cinematic experiences re-presented. Yet this scene is not the same as we have seen before. It is altered, cut and exaggerated. Timmy, evoking Joey, is not blonde but auburn (Figures 5.3 and 5.4). His father is not the loving father in Shane, but a man who beats his children and who wants to get rich, not just till the land.122 The killers who emerge out of the scrub are not Native Americans as in The Searchers, but white men.123 The West has changed since we last saw it. c  Exaggerating the Past: Highlighting Difference Not only has the past changed, but some of its aspects have been exaggerated. The violence is exaggerated as they do not take the female away as in The Searchers, but kill her, and it is not done out of sight, but in full view. The killers do not just kill the father as in John Ford’s Iron Horse (1924), but instead kill the entire family in a manner described by Frayling as ‘Leone’s most extreme take on what really must have happened to “the dream of a lifetime” and the utopian community which supported it in the films of John Ford’.124 The final ‘man-on-man’ showdown, the most tropic of Western tropes involves five-on-one, and the one is not a righteous man of law, or even a young inexperienced man, but a child.125 Also, while Joey watches the gunfight at the end of Shane, he is ultimately protected by the soda-pop-buying gunslinger. However, Timmy’s gunfight is on a whole new level, as an unprepared young boy faces down a man in a shoot-out which he cannot win, whatever the odds, with only the soda-pop to protect him. The final sting in this tale is who Timmy is facing. As Frank sweeps into view and raises his head, we are not greeted with dark eyes, but with baby-blue ones; those of Henry Fonda.126 Fonda is famed for his portrayal of heroic saviour roles, such as Wyatt Earp in My Darling Clementine, Lincoln in John Ford’s Young Mr Lincoln (1939) and the emotive Tom Joad in John Ford’s Grapes of Wrath (1940). He is renowned 121. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 78. 122. This has a money-making edge which tends to be lacking in homestead scenes, which centre on continuity of line, land rights and building an America for families. 123. For a similar reading, see Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 261. 124. Ibid., p. 260. 125. These ideas are hinted at behind closed doors in Vera Cruz, when Joseph orders the children be taken captive. 126. Fonda explained when interviewed in 1975 that he could not view himself in this role as a bad guy: ‘I had myself fitted for contact lenses that would make my eyes dark, because I didn’t think my baby blues would be the proper look for this heavy character. … Sergio took one look at me and said “Off!” He wanted the baby blues, he wanted the Fonda face. If you remember my first scene … the camera comes around very slowly until you can recognize the killer – and Sergio Leone was waiting for the audience to gasp ... it’s Henry Fonda!’ Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 115.

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Figure 5.5  The famous dance scene in John Ford’s My Darling Clementine, 1946 (Twentieth Century Fox).

Figure 5.6  Frank (Fonda) right before he shoots Timmy in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran).

for dancing scenes, gracious on his feet such as in the famous red dress sequence in William Wyler’s Jezebel (1938), the haunting church dance in My Darling Clementine and the precision military dancing of John Ford’s Fort Apache (1948) (Figure 5.5).127 In Anthony Mann’s The Tin Star (1957) he plays a ‘good’ bounty hunter, and teaches the inexperienced young marshal how to shoot. Therefore, in this scene his appearance evokes so many past cinematic experiences, as ‘someone who had always represented “the good.”’128 He is smiling at a young boy with the same reassuring smile of the past. It is like Shane smiling at Joey. Perhaps this is the Henry Fonda we know after all, even if he is a little unshaven. However, it becomes clear it is not as he pulls his gun out of his holster and aims it at Timmy, and the same reassuring smile appears on his face (Figure 5.6).

127. ‘Fonda embodies the classic Hollywood Western’. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 103. 128. Leone discussing Fonda in Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 269. For more on his wanting Fonda for this reason, see ibid., pp. 269–72.

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d  Reliving Experiences and Reassessing the Excitement As stated above this trope, the shoot-out has been seen time and time again: one versus three, two versus four, inexperienced versus experienced, three-way and so on. Seeing another shoot-out reminds us of the excitement that the waiting for killing has brought, wanting to see whether good can outdo evil and knowing that evil should be killed. It awakens the memory of the tension felt as a man hovers over his gun, ready to take another man’s life where the outcome of the shoot-out is always death – the excitement is in whose death it will be. However, as we have seen in this shoot-out the idea of good versus evil and righteousness versus injustice is taken to the extreme as five men face down a child (Figure 5.2). There is no tension about who will live and die: the fate is written. It is death for Timmy, and no other outcome can occur. And who is it rolling this leadweighted die? Henry Fonda. The idea of the violence of the Western and the need for each film to culminate in death for one party is brought before our eyes. We are faced with so many feelings evoked from our cinematic past, all combined and held in a familiar trope that is uncomfortably exaggerated, altered and recombined. The many feelings past texts have created are blended and played out together. However, this trope culminates in us finding ourselves not in our typical viewpoint safely watching from the sidelines. We take on the view of Timmy and a new and terrifying perspective on the tropic shoot-out is experienced: what it is actually like to stare down the barrel in a ‘point of view’ shot (POV) and see the flash of the gun as it shot (Figure 5.7). What is more, because this is Henry Fonda we experience what it is like to be shot by our hero. While this recalls the excitement of similar scenes of the past, reliving these textual experiences through this pastiche surely causes us to question our own part in wanting such violence, and in needing it for entertainment. When taken to the extreme in Once Upon a Time it transforms the shoot-out into a scene which is not exciting, but disturbing, not tension-creating but terror-creating. The image of man-on-man shooting becomes perverse, unappealing and downright ugly: Can Henry Fonda really be about to kill a child? The electric guitar reminds us that this is not the old West, nor the ‘classic Westerns’ of Zinnemann or Ford. This is the West viewed from a later date, in a world where atom bombs do the dirty work, not the gun and the knife.129 Although the excitement of past viewing experiences may be felt, the tension of watching clearly demarcated good versus evil no longer resonates with this shoot-out as the ideals which these characters stand for have become too extreme and too confused. The good Henry Fonda has become the bad and the ugly. The innocent facing down the guilty has never looked less appealing, nor the shoot-out’ as a show of masculinity looked less like something suitable for modern society.130 129. On the rise of violence in Westerns in the 1960s, particularly regarding Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969), see Mitchell, ‘Violence in the Film Western’, pp. 186–91. 130. For masculinity’s role in the Western, see McGee, From Shane to Kill Bill; H. Hughes, ‘Stagecoach’ to ‘Tombstone’: The Filmgoers’ Guide to the Great Westerns (London:

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Figure 5.7   The flash as Frank (Fonda) shoots directly at us (POV shot) in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran).

Indeed, it appeared this was the case as Once Upon a Time is today described as ‘the end of the line’ for the Western.131 The film reminded audiences that the world of the West was a fairy tale,132 something that could not be recovered, and perhaps should not, for if the shoot-out played to the extreme is a man shooting a child, then maybe our ability to find pleasure and excitement in such situations should be killed off as well. e Summary Therefore, the McBain Massacre has shown the art of pastiche, combining, altering, exaggerating and evoking past textual experiences. Presenting a trope image which resonates with many different texts engages viewers and brings before them what they have previously seen and felt. The scene’s similarity evokes many echoes and associations which all contribute to the image. There are so many resonances evoked that the text is alive with past experiences, not just a particular guiding source text, but many different versions of the Western acting as intertexts: Shane, Fort Apache, The Searchers, My Darling Clementine, High Noon, Vera Cruz, Stagecoach, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Pursued, Iron Horse and more. What is more, these resonances are held in a recognizable trope of the shoot-out that has been seen in various texts and situations. In doing so it causes viewers to reflect on past feelings and attitudes, as they are reminded that although this may feel like the past, it is not. As Frayling says: Although it was assumed throughout the film ... that the paying customers would recognize many of the citations in at least a vague way, the point of the exercise

I. B. Tauris, 2008); M. Landy, ‘Way Is West? Americanism, History and the Italian West’, in Cinematic Uses of the Past (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), pp. 67–106. 131. Leone described it as ‘a dance of death’. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 78. Mitchell, ‘Violence in the Film Western’, p. 188, sees this excess of violence as ‘the end of an era’. 132. Hence the Italian title: C’era una volta il West: ‘Once upon a time there was a West.’

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was to create the impression that the audience was watching a film they’d seen somewhere before, only to jolt them with the realization that they’d never seen the story told in quite this way before. There was the mix of recognition and surprise, visual clichés and trompe l’oeil.133

This was not done through tying the text to one source text, but through feeling a web of intertexts which are the same and yet different, familiar and unsettling: pastiche. We now turn to reconsider the image of the whore in light of the above examination. The sample readings showed that while there is little consensus about the ‘source text’ the whore was most like, agreements could be seen across the group, including her composite nature, her stereotypical/trope-like appearance and a need to read her in a controlled, intellectual manner. Once Upon a Time has presented a text which is composite and trope-featuring. However it was not controlled by one particular text. Reading it as pastiche, and responding to its combined and ‘like but not the same’ nature revealed the complexity of the viewing experience. These insights will now be used to explore how the whore can be read if viewed through a similar lens.

III  Rereading the Whore

a  Re-viewed, Unleashed and all-Encompassing Although readings of the whore revealed that she resonated with different source texts, her composite nature was subsumed into discussions about ‘most like’. In the same way as our examination of the inaugural vision, we saw that a guiding source was sought, be it a trope (Rossing), ekphrasis (Aune) or OT text (Prigent, Ford). The reasons for seeking a text to control the whore stemmed from concerns to silence her past echoes and associations, particularly readings which saw her as the evil Jewish ‘other’. Therefore, the readings focused on intellectual approaches to the text, searching out ‘exactly mapping source texts’, and stating what should and should not be heard. If more than one similar source was found they were safely relegated into the realm of ‘generalities’: Aune arguing for ‘familiar’ OT language; Rossing seeing the whore’s appearance from the realm of trope; Prigent arguing her appearance was drawn from ‘stereotypical’ language to describe prostitutes. This approach helped to silence many of the troubling echoes and associations she had acquired over the past two thousand years.134 133. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 33. 134. As in Revelation 1, this figure resonates with multiple texts, but the whore is more complex as she represents both a trope and a composite image, and is very like other texts, yet evades exact mapping.

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Figure 5.8   The slow camera movement out into the plains in the opening scene of John Ford’s The Searchers, 1956 (Warner Bros/Whitney).

Figure 5.9  The fast camera movement from a POV perspective in as Timmy runs out in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968 (Paramount/Rafran).

Once Upon a Time presented a text alive with resonances, as demonstrated by reading McBain Massacre. However, this was not, as Leone pointed out, citation for citation’s sake, but was rather a technique best termed pastiche that produced a complex textual fabric. It was also not a scene that could be ‘explained’ through noting its ‘source text’. Many resonances were felt, from many different films, but none of these controlled the text. Indeed, this was not possible as each resonance is just that, a resonance rather than an exact quotation/citation/extended replay. For example, we noted that Timmy running from dark to light evoked the famous opening camera shot from The Searchers (Figure 5.8). However, it is not the same: it is actually shot from a different point of view (Timmy’s), off-centred rather than centred and the camera moves far faster (Figure 5.9). Yet it does evoke a feeling of this past textual experience when watched. It is one of the many resonances with other Westerns that work together to draw the viewers into experiencing what they have seen before in past cinematic viewings. The resonances are many, bleed into each other, defy specificity and also work on different levels.

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For example, if The Searchers is evoked in the camera’s movement/shot, the very next camera shot shows Timmy holding the soda-pop, with the use of the prop nodding to Shane. The men wearing dusters come out of the scrub, the costuming resonating with robbers in Liberty Valance and protectors-of-the-law in My Darling Clementine. No one resonance is a ‘certain allusion’, or ‘exact mapping’ but each can be said to be fairly close to elements of other scenes – close enough to be seen by viewers, and close enough that the text is within the realm of pastiche, rather than remake or parody. Therefore, unlike the readings of the whore, specificity is not required, nor is generalization if ‘not identical’. This relationship to other texts does actually reflect what we saw in readings of the whore: Each reading demonstrated that multiple resonances could be heard including Isaiah 23, Jeremiah 51, Jeremiah 4, Proverbs 1–9, Daniel 4, Hosea 3 and Dea Roma. The composite nature of the text was indeed affirmed by Prigent and Aune. The issue was whether they should be heard, and this moved readings into the polarity of ‘most like’ or ‘stereotypical descriptions’. However, the whore is actually very similar to Once Upon a Time as different texts can be heard in a way that is not mere stereotype and yet also not ‘exact mapping’. For example Jeremiah 51, as argued by Prigent, has much in common with the whore: that she is seated on ‘many waters’ (Jer. 51.13/Rev. 17.2), is called Babylon, has a cup in a hand (Jer. 51.7/Rev. 17.4), is judged (Jer. 51.9/Rev. 17.1) and is abandoned (Jer. 51.9/Rev. 17.16).135 Babylon was a golden cup in the Lord’s hand, making all the earth drunken; the nations drank of her wine, and so the nations went mad.8 Suddenly Babylon has fallen and is shattered; wail for her! Bring balm for her wound; perhaps she may be healed. 9 We tried to heal Babylon, but she could not be healed. Forsake her, and let each of us go to our own country; for her judgement has reached up to heaven and has been lifted up even to the skies.10 The Lord has brought forth our vindication. (Jer. 51.7–10 Babylon)

However, as Prigent himself admits, this is not the same for the cup is in the Lord’s hand not Babylon’s. Also, it should be noted that her punishment does not reflect the whore’s. It is like, but not the same. Also, if we stop here it would be similar to stopping at The Searchers-like camera shot, and then only looking for resonances from that film. The whore’s description evokes other texts such as Isa. 23.17, which refer to prostitutes: ‘At the

135. English is used to facilitate examining similarities in concepts and images, rather than focusing on strict linguistic parallels. This enables us to concentrate on the way that the whore dialogues with a number of texts, and that when recalling past textual experiences a long passage similar in content may resonate just as much as a short sentence or phrase which is near exact in wording. This also allows us to sideline textual variant issues and focus on images and narrative sequences, rather than verb tenses.

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end of seventy years, the Lord will visit Tyre, and she will return to her trade, and will prostitute herself with all the kingdoms of the world on the face of the earth.’ Her description was seen by Aune and Rossing to come from stereotypical descriptions of prostitutes. However, in a text which signposts the reader into the world of other texts and evokes Jeremiah, Jeremiah 4’s description of Israel/ Jerusalem does seem to share a lot with the whore, even if it is not identical: And you, O desolate one, what do you mean that you dress in crimson, that you deck yourself with ornaments of gold, that you enlarge your eyes with paint? In vain you beautify yourself. Your lovers despise you; they seek your life.31 For I heard a cry as of a woman in labour, anguish as of one bringing forth her first child, the cry of daughter Zion gasping for breath, stretching out her hands, ‘Woe is me! I am fainting before killers!’ (Jer. 4. 30–1 Jerusalem) 30

We find yet another destruction that has this distinct feeling of similar but not the same: She did not give up her whorings that she had practiced since Egypt; for in her youth men had lain with her and fondled her virgin bosom and poured out their lust upon her.9 Therefore I delivered her into the hands of her lovers, into the hands of the Assyrians, for whom she lusted.10 These uncovered her nakedness; they seized her sons and her daughters; and they killed her with the sword. Judgement was executed upon her, and she became a byword among women. (Ezek. 23.8–10 Samaria) 8

Another text also appears to resonate just as much as the others do: Therefore, I will gather all your lovers, with whom you took pleasure, all those you loved and all those you hated; I will gather them against you from all around, and will uncover your nakedness to them, so that they may see all your nakedness.38 I will judge you as women who commit adultery and shed blood are judged, and bring blood upon you in wrath and jealousy.39 I will deliver you into their hands, and they shall throw down your platform and break down your lofty places; they shall strip you of your clothes and take your beautiful objects and leave you naked and bare.40 They shall bring up a mob against you, and they shall stone you and cut you to pieces with their swords. (Ezek. 16.37–40 Jerusalem) 37

These texts are more similar than ‘generalities’. They may not map exactly, but different parts of the texts do resonate: items, colours, descriptions, destruction, punishment, the feeling of despair. Let us also not forget Aune’s rather convincing reading that images of Dea Roma were in existence which would have been familiar to a first-century audience.136 136. As already noted, this was also seen by Beale.

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Therefore, difference does not preclude the evoking of past texts. We still feel the resonance with The Searchers despite the differences (POV shot, faster, offcentred).137 In the same way, despite the differences, the whore has evoked all the above texts in scholarly interpretations because, as we have seen, the whore clearly does resonate with them. However, many of these resonances have often been silenced because the question that has haunted readings has been should they be evoked? The problem is that when we read the whore as setting echoes and associations ringing we run the risk of undoing the meticulous re-examination of the text which has carefully controlled its field of reference. In particular, it releases Jerusalem resonances. However, we have seen above that the whore does resonate strongly with a number of texts, particularly those about the destruction of women/the destruction of cities, and these include Jeremiah 4 and the troubling Ezekiel 16. The focus of this project is specifically not to argue what the author intended, or what is a clear allusion or referent. Rather the focus is, and will continue to be, what impact reading as pastiche has on how the text can be viewed. Therefore, we now turn to ask what effect does this reawakening of multiple past texts have when reading the whore if we remove this ‘controlling mechanism’ and allow the resonances to run riot pastiche style. Each reading recognized the ‘stereotypical’ nature of the whore: a familiar figure who was frequently used in the ancient world to describe cities/punishment. This led to the favouring of ‘generalities’ in reading, as if the trope is familiar then resonances tended to fade away from specifics into the realm of trope, and ‘yet again we see’. Dyer points out that tropes tended to be the major focus for pastiche in spaghetti Westerns, and it is clear from the discussion above that Once Upon a Time made the most of these tropes.138 However, this does not mean that Once Upon a Time is a poor genre remake falling into the realm of ‘same ideas yet again’, nor is it a parody, picking these tropes to pieces. As pastiche it can be seen to take tropes and re-present them as images alive with the past through being constructed in a way which is full of resonances: ‘The basic idea was to use some of the conventions, devices and settings of the American Western film, and a series of references to individual Westerns – to use these things to tell my version of the birth of a nation.’139 What was the effect of seeing these tropes resonating with multiple textual experiences? We have seen above that the result was something ‘more than’ before. Held in a familiar trope multiple textual experiences were able to dialogue with each other, resound and offer an image that was greater than any of its predecessors. As a result, it also offered something more extreme. This has been examined in relation to the McBain Massacre. The scene is a worn-out stereotype 137. If an audience had heard them before it is difficult to argue that they would not resonate again. 138. Indeed, in Once Upon a Time they are often referred to as ‘worn out stereotypes’. 139. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 252 (my italics).

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in so many ways: a homestead, a party, a shoot-out. Yet it is so much more than this. The shoot-out is not just ‘another shoot-out’. Rather it is a shoot-out which is constructed in a way which combines all the feelings of past shoot-out experiences together: the fear of the other in The Searchers, the tension of law meeting outlaw in Liberty Valance, the awe of a young boy’s dreams in Shane and the excitement of good versus bad.140 The scene has been seen so many times before, and in so many different ways. However, by setting resonances of these experiences ringing it brings to the fore multiple textual experiences and the feelings evoked. In essence, it presents Leone’s ‘kaleidoscopic view of all American Westerns’.141 The effect of this was that Wim Wenders said, ‘I felt like a tourist in a Western. ... It turned the Western into an abstraction where the images no longer signify themselves.’142 Umberto Eco recalls a similar experience: ‘Leone’s film represents the cinema of frozen archetypes. If a film contains one frozen archetype, everyone says it’s terrible. But if it contains hundreds of them it becomes sublime. The archetypes begin to talk among themselves.’143 The whore of Babylon is an image which is also ringing with past textual feelings, inherited from different locations and combined into a familiar trope: that of the whore. We have seen how finding which particular city/whore of the past Revelation 17’s whore best represents has dominated readings and limited resonances. However, when we allow those resonances to sound within this familiar figure what can be seen is a trope which, like Once Upon a Time, moves into the realm of being more than any of its predecessors. If all the resonances are allowed to be heard and echo within the familiar figure of a prostitute, then the image is no longer ‘just’ the image of an evil city or one specific city. Rather, she is many cities: Babylon, Nineveh, Tyre, Rome and Jerusalem. If we read all the resonances together she is not just Babylon the punished, Roma the prostitute or Jerusalem the stripped. She is all of these things, as her names indicate: τῆς πόρνης τῆς μεγάλης (v.1), Βαβυλὼν ἡ μεγάλη, ἡ μήτηρ τῶν πορνῶν καὶ τῶν βδε λυγμάτων τῆς γῆς (v.5). She is the great whore: all of these past whores brought together into one immense exaggerated textual presence. Just as the shoot-out in the McBain Massacre evokes so much more than one past shoot-out experience, so the whore evokes in her readers’ minds more than one OT text, more than one historical situation and far more than any one resonance with a city/prostitute can do on its own. This produces a ‘larger than life’ image which draws readers into the text and sets echoes and associations ringing loudly. Boxall and Boring show similar understandings of the text: ‘The general fluidity and polyvalence of its [Revelation 17] visions and images suggest that, even in the vision with its clear allusions to the first-century political climate, the symbolism must be allowed 140. Leone claims: ‘I wanted to make the audience feel, in three hours, how these people lived and died,’ Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 80 (my italics). 141. Ibid., p. 78. 142. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 300. 143. Ibid.

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wider resonances’:144 ‘He [John] wants rather to involve the imaginations of his hearer-readers in evocative symbolic language that resonates with several levels of meaning at once. His images are not one-to-one allegories that may be neatly “decoded” – they overlap and fade into each other with more than one meaning at the same time.’145 Therefore, through reading all the resonances within this trope we can reassess the whore not as a stereotype, and not as representing a specific city, but rather as a text which brings together many different, but similar images into a trope which is like but not the same as what has been seen before and collectively; it is more. It is perhaps surprising to find that Beale, out of all the readings, is the closest to reading the whore as we have done above. Indeed, he is the most accommodating for different textual voices, despite isolating Daniel and Isaiah 23. For him she is all evil systems of all times, hence all whores. She is the eschatological other, the apostate church, the pagan world and Rome all rolled into one image: the ultimate image of all that is anti-Christian.146 However, Beale’s reading is still carefully controlled so as to exclude the fall of Jerusalem.147 Instead, this image is everything that is against God and that will be judged at the end of time: the ultimate eschatological other who ‘includes the entire evil economic-religious system of the world throughout history’.148 Although Beale is the only one of our readings to read the whore as a larger than life embodiment of many resonances, the tendency to read her as everything that is ‘other’ is seen across the board: Roma (Aune), the evil choice (Rossing), Babylon/Rome (Prigent) and Jerusalem as the anti-Christian city (Ford/Barker). The erroneous ‘othering’ of Jerusalem has been revoked, but the concept of the whore as ‘other’ remains intact. Therefore, has our reading come to the same place as Beale’s, arguing that if all whores are seen in her, including Jerusalem, then she must be an image which is wholly about the future and embodies everything that is ‘other’?

144. Boxall, Revelation, p. 239 (my italics). 145. M. E. Boring, Revelation (Interpretation, 43; Louisville: John Knox Press, 1989), p. 179. 146. Aune sees Roma as the focus of the text, Prigent argues that Rome is the ultimate Babylon, Rossing sees Rome as the Evil city that must be rejected and Ford/Barker see Jerusalem. 147. However, he does have a ‘spiritual undertone’ where he positions Jerusalem as ‘other’: ‘Of course, the two were ultimately on the same spiritual side in their position to the church.’ Beale, Commentary, p. 887. 148. Ibid., p. 889. In fact, he reads her as part of the ‘one world Alliance’ that will form at the end of time. Ibid., pp. 887–8.

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b  Feeling the Tension and Letting the Violence Speak Reading this text in light of Once Upon a Time pastiche demonstrates that such a clear cut presentation may not be so easy to assign to the whore. We have seen above how Once Upon a Time might resemble other films, but at the same time it is distinct. What we also saw was this same but different combination led to a confusing viewing experience as different feelings were evoked within the same scene. For example, we saw how the camera shot as Timmy leaves the house in many ways evokes the opening shot of The Searchers, but with alterations. However, this is not the only possible evocation proffered by this shot. It also evokes other key moments in The Searchers: the destruction of the homestead and the famous ending where John Wayne is left outside, part of the wilderness he has sought to subdue (Figure 5.10). Therefore, this is not a resonance which gives one clear association, or that evokes one feeling; romance, terror and loneliness are all connected to this camera angle. It is the same with the dusters worn by Frank and his men as they come out of the scrub (Figure 5.2). The signal they give to viewers is not clear, having appeared in more than one film and on more than one ‘type’ of character: the righteous upholders of the law in My Darling Clementine and the lawless in Liberty Valance. This is the result of evoking so many different textual experiences in one image; the end result is not a harmonized whole, but rather an image where tension and conflict are felt. This comes to its climax when Frank appears and Henry Fonda’s blue eyes glint from his face which Leone claims ‘for so many years had symbolized justice and goodness’.149 The memories of Fonda’s past roles are evoked but he is pointing a gun at a small boy, and so the image presents what

Figure 5.10  The doorway into the scene of trauma in John Ford’s The Searchers, 1956 (Warner Bros/Whitney).

149. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 271.

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Leone describes as a ‘profound contrast’,150 and Frayling as a ‘jolt’ to the viewer.151 What is being viewed now is not the same as what has been seen before. The result of this we saw was unsettling, as the viewer realizes their own part in wanting to see clearly demarcated characters playing out their assigned roles: the bad being taken out by the righteous one-hope-in-a-million good. Yet this was not the scene Once Upon a Time gave the audience. Rather it presented something far more disturbing, where the figure who should represent the good is ‘the meanest guy you ever saw’ and is facing down an opponent who cannot possibly defend himself. In this extreme and confused setting the tension of the situation is felt as the expected elements of the text are altered, given multiple resonances and ultimately create an image which cannot be comfortably understood or enjoyed. Indeed, it appears the scene did prove too much for viewers, as commercial breaks were inserted in late-night television showings ‘just at the moment he [Fonda] draws his gun – after the McBain Massacre. The networks simply could not accept Henry Fonda killing a child.’152 Perhaps they also could not stomach looking down the barrel of the gun as it was shot, rather than enjoying the action from the sidelines. Our readings of the whore have demonstrated how an intellectual approach has been favoured, in order to control resonances and explain what she symbolizes while at the same time avoiding imbuing her with affective properties. At her most affective she may compel an audience to reject the evil city (Rossing), or act as a satirical critique (Aune). Even when Beale views the image as encompassing all prior incarnations, his description of the encounter is intellectualized in the extreme: ‘John is frightened and perplexed by the magnificent appearance of the Hostile Economic-Religious System in its alliance with the state’,153 and that ‘at the end of history God will inspire the state and its allies to turn against the economic-religious system in order to remove its security and to destroy it (17:15– 18)’. Where has the whore gone? Where are her jewels and her cup of blood? Where is her being eaten, burned and made desolate? She may be vile and ‘other’, but she is also something best kept at an arm’s length, as symbol and as something to be interpreted. Indeed, each reading argues that the image is something that the readers should distance themselves from, and in doing so assume that they are also distinct from her. For Rossing, this distinction from the image is essential for her argument that the whore cannot be connected to Jerusalem because in the past the audience were those scripted as receiving the punishment, whereas in Revelation 17 they are watching the violence happen to another.154 This lack of connection to the image 150. Ibid. 151. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Italy, p. 33. 152. Frayling, Sergio Leone: Death, p. 298. 153. Beale, Commentary, p. 853. 154. ‘Revelation’s Babylon vision scripts the audience not in the role of the prostitute herself, but rather as those who are called to resist the prostitute’s seductions. This is a

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and sideline view perspective limits affect. However, our experience of Once Upon a Time pastiche has shown that this alteration of viewpoints can actually heighten awareness of past texts as feelings ‘typically’ associated with these situations are confused. Seeing the dusters, the camera angles and the actors of past experiences evoking multiple feelings, both positive and negative, is what is so powerful: the confusion of good and bad, excitement and outrage, victory and defeat. Based on this, I wish to argue that far from the whore being presented as something removed and other, the image becomes something far more terrifying. As already seen above, OT texts referring to Jerusalem/Israel do resonate with the whore; how to deal with this has been the problem scholarship has faced. We have argued they should be heard. Indeed, we have argued that the whore should be heard as a huge textual presence encapsulating many different whores of the past: the great whore. Included in this are Jerusalem and her enemies, past and present. However, the whore is different from Israel/Jerusalem-focused texts as it scripts the audience into the spectator’s role rather than that of the punished. Rossing argues this means those texts should not be evoked. Based on our examination of Once Upon a Time I would argue that these changes in the text heighten the awareness of these past Jerusalem-focused texts. As Henry Fonda, appearing against type as the ‘bad guy’, heightens our awareness of past cinematic experiences, so too these alterations to the textual viewing point heighten the awareness that this was once Israel/Jerusalem. Therefore, past textual terrors are relived as they are stared at from a different vantage point. When read from this perspective, the image becomes far more confused. It evokes a whole range of texts dealing with Israel’s enemies including Babylon and Rome. Yet at the same time, it evokes texts which deal with the destruction of Israel/Jerusalem, texts which are not ‘lost in the mix’ of resonances, but rather are heightened due to the clearly distinct viewing point. This is not the same as these past textual experiences, where the audience are scripted in the role of the destroyed. This provides a ‘jolt’. However, the feelings of these past texts are still evoked as it is ‘very like’, and Israel/Jerusalem are reminded that they have been in that position before. The viewing point assumed by all the readings of the whore was that she is ‘other’ and distant: she must be Babylon or Rome as this is the enemy, and so she cannot be Jerusalem. If she is, she is Jerusalem as symbolic of the unfaithful church. Interpreters throughout reception history have been moved by the image of the whore as their enemies and our readings have continued this way: Roma, Babylon, eschatological anti-Christian Empire and so on.155 Through focusing on what she is most like the lens has remained blurred and has lost the wider view: that she is like lots of things. Reading through the lens of pastiche then leads us to argue something more subtle based on the range of texts evoked: that the whore significant departure from Ezekiel 16 and 23, where Ezekiel addresses the audience in the role of the prostitute city who has sold herself to client states.’ Rossing, Two Cities, p. 5. 155. This is particularly true when the text is read as parody and so negatively presenting images.

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evokes not only the image of other, but also the idea of Israel/Jerusalem; of self. She clearly resonates with the enemies past and present of the audience (for audience read Jewish), but she also resonates with the audience themselves in the sense that she evokes images of their past destruction. The altered viewpoints bring this to the fore. At the same time it reminds the audience that this is not the same as texts of the past about Israel/Jerusalem; this is something different. When viewed from this perspective the whore becomes affective and confusing because this image evokes the destruction of enemies, but also because it evokes the destruction of the people the text is addressing. They may be looking on the punishment but it does not mean that it does not evoke texts about past punishments.156 This does not mean I am arguing that we should revive Barker’s arguments for this being the destruction of Jerusalem. I am not. Rather, the point I want to argue is that the whore does evoke the affective properties of texts about Jerusalem, through imitating them and combining their fabric into the textual mix. However, through changes of location and image, the audience are shown they are not in the same position as before. Yet this change in viewpoint does not diminish the confusing nature of the text. Rather it creates tension, tension that is felt in all of our readings but explained through ‘struggling to relocate’ and ‘drawing from stereotypes’. Yet, as Once Upon a Time has shown, the blaring guitar music indicates that this is not the West of the past or historical accuracy, and as Timmy has auburn hair and is clearly not Joey, it reminds viewers that this is a different text, in a different situation when the Western was at its end rather than its heyday. The whore can be read in a similar way. The audience see that this image resonates with Rome and with present circumstances, not just texts and situations of the past. She is an updated image, rupturing the fabric of past texts, and although first-century Jewish-Christians may see their own past in this image, they also see the present and other nations’ pasts as well. Therefore, this is an image that resonates intimately with ideas of self, but also with notions of other. It involves and challenges the audience, and ultimately is an image unable to be ‘resolved’. As Ruiz observed in his reading, ‘The harshness of the texts is inescapable and undeniable. It cannot be mitigated and should not be softened.’157 Indeed, it is disturbing precisely because it does not present source texts for intellectual reflection, but because it presents an extreme combined version of past referents which elicits feelings and which affects.158 However, allowing Jerusalem texts to be re-heard is not something that should be done lightly. Yet, I believe the fear of finding these affective properties in the whore has involved overlooking a very important affect such intertexts might have on the Jewish audience. The pain of past national destruction at the hands of enemies, the suffering of their ancestors and the horror of destroyed temples (particularly if we date the text post-temple 156. Indeed, if we date the text post-temple destruction, then the idea of it evoking experiences is widened, to encompass recent events. 157. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 536. 158. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 180.

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destruction) are affecting to the extreme.159 They have been this woman being destroyed before, reminding them of the suffering of the past, of their people’s suffering. What does this rereading of the whore leave us with? We have unleashed the whore from her past textual moorings, allowing her to be read in all her fullness. We have seen that she is not controlled by one text, but rather evokes many texts dealing with harlot cities, and is most aptly described as an exaggerated combined trope. However, this exaggeration of past referents did not mean that the image became a hated ‘other’ onto which all hate and distain could again be aimed. Although reading the whore this way risked this, reading through the lens of pastiche revealed that this does not have to be the case. This is because when viewpoints are altered, texts changed and difference signalled the audience is reminded that this is not what they have seen before, and this can create a heightened awareness of this difference. Reading from this perspective allowed us to see the whore as a complex image which is both self and other. It is an image which is not described only by broad brush strokes or by specific ‘certain allusions’, but rather one that has a far more subtle fabric, but at the same time one which is no less terrifying. This has demonstrated how such a text impacts an audience, how it can be read affectively rather than intellectually and how it allows tensions to be felt. Reading as pastiche has facilitated this new experience, due to the way it evokes past textual experiences while also signalling distance. In doing so it creates a space where the feelings that texts create can be realized and reflected upon, aptly summed up by Dyer: It [pastiche] imitates formal means that are themselves ways of evoking, moulding and eliciting feeling, and thus in the process is able to mobilise feelings even while signalling that it is doing so. Thereby it can, at its best, allow us to feel our connection to the affective frameworks, the structures of feeling, past and present, that we inherit and pass on. This can lead to an awareness of past feelings, and an examination of present ones.160

Reading as pastiche reminds us that what we are experiencing is a text, and that texts evoke other texts and other experiences. This fusion can, when at its most carefully crafted, as in Once Upon a Time, facilitate an awareness of our feelings. The affective nature of the image need not be kept at arms-length, or cut to commercials in order to avoid its unsettling nature. Indeed, to do so is to miss the awareness that the text creates, because the cumulative impact of seeing the shootout to end all shoot-outs is not to become more engrossed in craving destruction, 159. Obviously dating is an issue here regarding whether it is post-/pre-temple destruction. However, past texts referring to destruction is enough to argue the affecting nature of the text. If dated post-temple destruction, then this is even more powerful, showing the destruction that has recently been enacted on Jerusalem. 160. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 180.

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but actually to step back, pause and gather the reins, as we consider how we should be reacting to such texts when we see what they look like in the extreme, when we see Henry Fonda shoot a child, and when the whore presents a figure that is both Jerusalem and her enemies. Do we rejoice over the destruction of her? This is another question for another project, but surely what this image does do for the audience is make them catch their breath and pause for thought. The affective nature of the image demands that they do this. Therefore, when in Rev. 18.4 they are called ‘to come out of her my people’, this may not be as easy as it seems when they have experienced themselves, and their people’s past as part of the textual fabric which makes up this whore. Yet this experience has not been encountered from a highly emotive standpoint; quite the opposite. Part of what defines a pastiche is its neutral imitative and combinatory nature. It does not present texts negatively like parody or positively like homage. Rather it simply presents them, in a way that allows the audience to re-experience them from their new temporal location, signalled by the fact that the text is not the same as what it imitates. This facilitates reflection on feelings, past texts and present situations. What is more, it allows us to take a step back and not try to redeem the text in a way which removes its violence. Rather, it gives us a way to allow the violence to speak, as the text is read as more than a symbol. It gives us a way to see the whore afresh, with new eyes which stare at the violence, no matter how much we do not want to, for when staring at the whore of Babylon we experience how past textual experiences are brought together, re-presented, moulded and intensified. Does ultimate masculinity lead to child killing? Does vengeance for the blood of the saints lead to the stripping naked, flesh-eating and burning of the woman who rides the beast, when in the end she embodies a little of the past of the people who are gazing on her? We should live through these questions and experiences, for the text signals us to do so by presenting us with a kaleidoscopic view of all whores.

Chapter 6 R evelation 18: F ar from the P ast?

The previous chapter explored how the whore of Babylon could be viewed as an exaggerated, combined and tropic pastiche. This demonstrated how pastiche can exaggerate and move, while retaining a level of neutrality. This was also seen in examining ‘one like a son of man’, where we saw that texts were recombined to create a figure who is divine, destroyer, priest, lover and angel. In these chapters we have seen how imitation and combination have been inherent in Revelation. We have also seen how reading Revelation through the lens of pastiche has allowed potential resonances to be noticed, and the interaction between texts in their new locations to be explored. In all of this we have been aware of the ‘same but different’ nature of Revelation in comparison to its predecessors, and in Revelation 17 this led us to see the whore as visceral and highly affective. However, we shall now see that as the text moves to Revelation 18 the tone changes somewhat, showing more textual refinement, controlled structure and increased levels of imitation. The woman turns into a city, the action turns to lament and the structure becomes more pervasive. Can pastiche offer us any new insights into how to read this passage? Pastiche is not just about textual ‘difference’ and ‘exaggeration’; it is just as much about ‘similarity’ and ‘subtleness’. Indeed, as we have seen in the first half of this study, pastiche is primarily about similarity, because although it reuses other texts in many ways it preserves the flavours of what has been seen before. We have explored this to some extent in our previous chapters, but now we will push the boundaries of studying imitation in Revelation, and focus on how Revelation functions when it is more contained, more refined and even more like what has been seen before – when similarity and subtlety outweigh difference and extremes. To do this we begin by outlining the highly literary nature of Revelation 18 and its interconnectedness with OT texts. We then move into a detailed study of how Revelation 18 relies on other texts and how similarity to OT texts permeates its phrases, phases, faces and features. This will show that although Revelation 18 is very similar to OT texts, no one text is relied upon and that it is often not specific in its point of reference. Therefore, ‘allusion-spotting’ becomes a somewhat fruitless task when a text is not indicating its similarity to one text, but to many texts, and signposting its audience towards its pervading sense of imitation. At the same time, we will see how post-romantic lenses have clearly influenced how

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Revelation 18 has been read, as this examination will reveal that while reading for similarity has been part of the scholarly process in order to track down what it is ‘most like’, this has been infused with explanations of how Revelation 18 is not ‘lacking’ in relation to its predecessors. Specifically, it will show a scholarly need to demonstrate how Revelation 18 is ‘fresh’, ‘original’ and ‘new’. As the focus of this project is to use our pastiche lens to read Revelation as a highly imitative and derivative text, this chapter will ask what happens if we read Revelation 18 not as signalling to particular identifiable texts, but as signalling to its similarity more broadly in a way that is not necessarily new or original. To do this our test case will be a highly imitative pastiche: Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven (2002). We shall see how this film is created in a realm where imitation and pastiche are free to be viewed as highly artistic outputs. In doing so, we shall examine what effect viewing a text which constantly signals to other texts has upon the audience when similarity is the fore-fronted endeavour. This will lead to reapproaching Revelation 18 from a perspective where redeeming ‘similar’ is not necessary, and where a sense of ‘lacking’ is not feared, allowing us to examine what audiences may feel when pastiche re-creates another textual world. This will then be combined with the previous chapter’s examination in order to suggest that Rome may not be the only city which comes to mind when reading this text. Ultimately, we will show that when we embrace imitation’s artifice and sense of lacking, in our most subtle and nuanced case study, the past and present can come into powerful dialogue and speak into current situations.

I  Revelation 18: Artifice After the heady experience of Revelation 17 and the whore’s brutal destruction, the declaration ‘the woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth’ (Rev. 17.18) marks a dramatic change which leads into a different text in Revelation 18. Although often grouped together as portraying the destruction of Babylon,1 the description of the whore and her destruction, and the destruction and lament for the city, are different textual beasts. a  Violence as Verse Revelation 18 is a highly poetic text, which features three intricately interwoven laments.2 Jürgen Roloff declares that ‘this artfully constructed section is composed 1. Our previous chapter noted how readings of Revelation 18 have influenced readings of Revelation 17, with Revelation 17 and 18 most frequently presented as a thematic section running from Rev. 17.1–19.10, although sometimes this stops at Rev. 18.24 or extends into Revelation 20. 2. A number of interpretative puzzles surround the section, including who is speaking when and to whom, how the lament functions, whether there is pathos in the writing about

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of four parts’,3 and Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza claims that ‘the whole is an artful literary composition with imaginative power. John achieves a powerful unitary composition’.4 Robert Mounce goes as far as warning readers to remember the poetic nature of this section: ‘It is important to note that the entire dirge is poetic in language and form. To interpret the section as prose leads to some serious misunderstandings.’5 Despite debates surrounding how exactly it functions and what forms best describe it, there is a consensus that Revelation 18 exhibits a sense of literary coherence and that the laments for the city are held in a literary framework. The go-to study for literary progression and form criticism has been Adela Yarbro Collins’s examination, in which she tries to ascertain the tone of the text through identifying the form: taunt song or dirge.6 Pieter De Villiers reads in the wake of Yarbro Collins, also wanting to uncover whether the text is actually violent or lamenting by focusing on the literary structure. In doing so he believes that Revelation 18 is a ‘carefully composed text which cannot be read chronologically’,7 arguing that the text is a complex ‘ring composition’ where features from Revelation 17 re-emerge. David Aune presents a more comprehensive account of the prophetic forms adopted, arguing that ‘in Rev 18 three different types of poetic compositions are linked together by the common theme of the fall of Babylon’: (1) the ritual lament, (2) the command to flee and (3) a symbolic action

destruction and why different tenses are used. Answers are infused with arguments about which OT passages it based upon. For a list of issues, see Boxall, Revelation, p. 254. 3. Jürgen Roloff, The Revelation of John, trans. J. E. Alsup; CC (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), p. 204. 4. E. Schüssler Fiorenza, Invitation to the Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Apocalypse (Garden City: Image Books, 1981), p. 168. She later expands the claim: ‘The whole sequence forms an artful literary composition whose nestling technique could be compared to a Russian doll. … John achieves a strong unitary composition with imaginative power, although he derives the language and imagery of this section almost verbatim from very divergent sources. His artistic skill proves itself in the interweaving of various, often contradictory, traditions into a unified composition with great rhetorical power.’ Schüssler Fiorenza, Justice and Judgement, p. 99. 5. R. H. Mounce, The Book of Revelation (NICNT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, Revised Edition, 1998), p. 323. 6. She breaks Revelation 18 into ‘a number of small units … joined into three main sections’, and then examines how these ‘units’ join together, stating that ‘at first glance, Revelation 18 seems to be a rather loose grouping of a variety of forms’. Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, p. 192. She also importantly notes that ‘originality in the strict sense is not a major characteristic of the book of Revelation’. Ibid., p. 198. 7. P. De Villiers, ‘Unmasking and Challenging Evil: Exegetical Perspectives on Violence in Revelation 18’, in Coping with Violence in the New Testament, ed. P. De Villiers and J. W. van Henten (Leiden: Brill, 2012), p. 203.

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and interpretation.8 Pierre Prigent’s structure differs from Yarbro Collins’s outline, but he still believes it is ‘relatively simple and apparent’, seeing a twofold angelic/ heavenly proclamation, followed by three lamentations ‘in which the parallelism is rather marked’.9 This threefold lament of the merchants, kings and sailors is, as Prigent makes clear, a parallel structure which shows repetition and progression. This repetition and progression leads Robert Royalty to focus on the speech’s rhetorical structure, and he believes that the boundaries of each section are so clearly marked that a rhetorical analysis is the only way to really comprehend the text.10 As well as these form and rhetoric investigations, there has been recourse to genre studies, with Barbara Rossing and Iain Provan arguing for an overriding frame/genre for the entire passage: the city lament.11 The city lament grew out of the ritual lament, which was a widespread literary and oral phenomenon in the ancient world, aimed not only at persons, but also cities.12 Therefore, Rossing and Provan argue that the best way to explain Revelation 18’s diverse elements is to read it as a lament about the city, taken primarily from the OT. Therefore, it is clear that whatever the exact forms and/or genres used, Revelation 18 is not a section that lacks artistic control. The above studies demonstrate the complexity of the passage and the embedded nature of textual units. Revelation 18 is a highly literary text, which exhibits structure, framing and a level of refinement in the way it utilizes its material. This shows that it is important to approach the text of Revelation 18 with an awareness of the fact that it does not run away with itself, but rather is a carefully constructed and highly literary text which indicates its own artifice.

8. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 72. The overriding impression, from both Aune and Collins, is that it is dialoguing with texts offering both lament and judgement. 9. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 499. 10. R. M. Royalty, The Streets of Heaven: The Ideology of Wealth in the Apocalypse of John (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1998), pp. 197–8. 11. Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 99–133; I. Provan, ‘Foul Spirits, Fornication and Finance: Revelation 18 from an Old Testament Perspective’, JSNT 19, no. 64 (1997), pp. 81–100. 12. There are records of liturgical laments for events such as the razing of temples. For studies of ritual laments, see M. Alexiou, The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition, ed. D. Yatromanolakis and P. Roilos (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2nd edn, 2002); F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible (Biblica et Orientalia, 44; Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1999); A. Suter, Lament: Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008); J. M. Wilce, Crying Shame: Metaculture, Modernity, and the Exaggerated Death of Lament (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009).

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b  Verse and OT Verses Discussions surrounding the literary nature of this section are intertwined with arguments about Revelation 18’s extreme reliance on OT texts. Indeed, the discussions barely take a step forward into Revelation 18’s composition and construction before turning to see which parts of the OT are most relied on and how OT material is used. As a result, Ben Witherington states: ‘Because the text has so many allusions to the OT, it raises the question of literary artifice.’13 As we have already seen, Revelation 18 is a literary text, which is constructed from specific textual units, demonstrating a level of coherence and unity. However, the literary nature of the text is derivative, as Revelation 18 is overwhelmingly constructed from OT forms. Indeed, for Prigent the difference between Revelation 17 and 18 is based on their dependence on OT models: ‘The dependence on the prophetic model is much closer here [Rev 18] than was the case for Rev 17,’ believing that ‘Rev 18: 9–19 is a large-scale reference to Ezek 26–28’.14 Christopher Rowland and Judith Kovacs also see reliance on OT models: ‘The prophetic critique of Babylon is rooted in Jeremiah’s dirge over the city (Jeremiah 51) and Ezekiel’s lament over Tyre (Ezek. 27–28) and reflects a common prophetic form.’15 Provan argues that ‘the very form and structure of Old Testament texts – the very manner in which they have been composed’ has influenced Revelation 18 and that ‘the language and imagery of the chapter is throughout the language and imagery of the Hebrew Scripture’.16 George Beasley-Murray agrees: ‘John composes a dirge over the city in the style of the doom-songs of Old Testament prophets,’17 as does Robert Mounce, claiming the author is clearly ‘drawing heavily upon prophetic oracles and taunt songs of Jewish scripture’.18 Richard Bauckham also sees the dependence on OT forms: ‘The whole of chapter 18 is closely related to Old Testament prophecies of the fall of Babylon and the fall of Tyre, from which it borrows phrases, images, and ideas.’19 Therefore, discussions surrounding Revelation 18’s literary nature are often subsumed into a focus on its reliance on OT texts. The fact that it has coherence and structure is integrated into arguments about which part of the OT offers the closest structural parallels in order to discover which text it is most reliant on. 13. Witherington, Revelation, p. 226. 14. Where ‘the elements from Ezekiel 27–28 are sometimes borrowed quite literally’. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 498. 15. Kovacs and Rowland, Revelation, p. 190. 16. Provan, ‘Foul Spirits’, pp. 81, 84. 17. Beasley-Murray, Revelation, p. 262. 18. Mounce, Revelation, p. 322. 19. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 342. Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 983–4, dedicates a section to the similarity between Revelation 18 and Jeremiah 50–1. Schüssler Fiorenza, Invitation, pp. 168–9, states, ‘He [John] derives his language and imagery almost verbatim from Jewish sources.’ Roloff, Revelation, p. 204, believes that ‘the entire section is filled with Old Testament quotations and references’.

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However, the discussion on OT dependence cannot be limited to prophetic forms and laments alone. The similarity is far more wide ranging than this, as a brief overview of the passage indicates. After the destruction of the whore of Babylon in Revelation 17, and the declaration that this woman is a city (Rev. 17.18), Revelation changes its tone, as chapter 18 opens with the descent of a mighty angel (v.1) who cries out in a loud voice ‘Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great!’ (v.2), repeating a declaration already heard in Rev. 14.8 and resonating with Jer. 51.8 (LXX 28.8) and Isa. 21.9.20 The angel declares the desolation of the city, and how it has become a haunt for wild animals, birds and unclean spirits (v.2), exhibiting strong associations with Isaiah 13 and Jeremiah 50–1 and in some ways Zephaniah 2. This punishment is because the nations have drunk ‘the wine of the wrath of her fornication’, the kings have committed fornication with her and the merchants have grown rich (v.3). Another voice calls out ‘Come out of her, my people’ (v.4) (a summons to flee very similar to Jeremiah 51), a warning to not be caught in her sins and forthcoming plagues, because God is going to judge her (vv.4–8). This leads to an extended threefold lament for the destroyed city, from the kings, merchants of the earth and those who work on the sea (vv.9–19). This lament details their trade with Babylon and their cries of ‘alas’ as they look from afar upon her destruction and torment, and the form taken strongly resembles Ezekiel 26–8, including a detailed trade list similar to Ezekiel 27. After this destruction and lamenting there is a command to rejoice because of the judgement (v.20), and a mighty angel casts a great millstone into the sea, declaring that this will be the fate of Babylon (again evoking Jeremiah 51), as the sights and sounds of a living vibrant city will be permanently extinguished (vv.21–3). The reason for this is the blood of the saints is found in her (v.24). The section then moves onto the Hallelujah chorus, as the actions carried out towards Babylon are rejoiced over (19.1–6).21 Therefore, we have seen how Revelation 18 is a highly literary text, how previous studies have shown similarity in form to OT texts and how Revelation 18 is not only similar because it takes on the same literary forms, or because it ‘nearly quotes’ other texts, or even because it uses familiar images. It is similar in all these ways and more: the style of writing of the chapter, the language chosen, the images used; each element that makes up the ‘text’ look very much like OT texts. Indeed, D. H. Lawrence saw Revelation 18 as so very similar to OT texts that he claimed ‘the best poetry is all the time lifted from Jeremiah, or Ezekiel, or 20. There has been some debate about whether this is the same Babylon as Revelation 17. Most commentators agree that it is but for arguments that they are separate; see H. Kraft, Die Offenbarung des Johannes (Tübingen: Mohr, 1974), p. 229. For summaries, see Aune, Revelation 3, p. 985; Beale, Commentary, p. 892. 21. The exact structure of this passage is much debated, for example, Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 192–9; Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 100–2; E. Schüssler Fiorenza, Revelation: Vision of a Just World (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), pp. 98–9; Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 973–5; Beale, Commentary, p. 891.

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Isaiah, it is not original’.22 His point is a valid one: Revelation 18 is very similar to OT texts, particularly prophetic texts, and as we shall see, this similarity permeates all levels of the text.23

II  Similarity Studies We now move to analyse Revelation 18’s all-encompassing sense of similarity to OT texts. However, when carrying out any examination of Revelation’s dialogue with other texts, it is all too easy to move into an allusion-spotting exercise. We have explored in previous chapters how scholars have done this in order to find controlling voices. The aim of the following discussion is not to continue these allusion-spotting studies, but rather to give a flavour of just how very similar Revelation 18 is to OT texts. Therefore, in order to prevent atomistically approaching the text we will examine Revelation 18 in relation to how it imitates various OT passages, texts and images, rather than tracing one particular text or theme through the chapter. Also, resonances will not be exhaustively examined, but rather a selection will be included, as the focus is not on pinpointing every possible resonance, but on showing the wide variety of different possible dialogue partners which prevents specificity of referent.24 This means the focus is not ‘form criticism’, or ‘allusion analysis’, which David Aune points out is a somewhat frustrating exercise: ‘As so often in Revelation, the formal structure imposed on the material does not cohere well with an analysis of the content.’25 Instead, in light of the overview above, this study will explore how particular ‘scenes’, ‘characters’, ‘lines’ and ‘narrative structures’ which have featured heavily in OT texts are reused in Revelation 18.26 These different textual elements are designated ‘phrases’, ‘phases’, ‘faces’ and ‘features’ to guide the reader through the micro to macro-level imitation at work in Revelation 18, and as the text is awash with reuse, examples of each phenomenon are presented in order to give a flavour of just how imitative Revelation 18 is.27

22. Lawrence, Apocalypse, p. 117. 23. The studies outlined above tend to overlook this as it is not their primary goal of research, focusing instead on books, genre, forms, themes and so on. 24. Footnotes will help emphasize the wide variety of potential partners. 25. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 976. Royalty, Streets, p. 195, also stresses the wide-ranging imitative practices at work in Revelation 18. 26. For some of the most thorough examinations of these passages, which will form the bulk of our discussion material, see Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 961–1012; Royalty, Streets, pp. 177–210; Boxall, Revelation, pp. 251–64; Beale, Commentary, pp. 890–925. 27. Obviously, due to the fluid nature of the text of Revelation this will provide a flavour of similarity rather than an attempt to pinpoint direct verbal resonances. Therefore, sometimes English, Greek or Hebrew will be quoted, or sometimes all depending on the

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a  Familiar Phrases: ‘Fallen, Fallen is Babylon the Great’ (Rev. 18.2) As Revelation 18 opens, a powerful cry comes from an angel ἔπεσεν ἔπεσεν Βαβυλὼν ἡ μεγάλη (v.2), taking up the exact declaration of Rev. 14.8 ἔπεσεν ἔπεσεν Βαβυλὼν ἡ μεγάλη.28 The function of this statement is debated, with Yarbro Collins seeing it as a statement of judgement, whereas David Aune sees it as part of a ritual lament/funeral dirge operating as a prophetic taunt song.29 Whether it forms part of a cry of judgement or prophetic taunt, the phrase itself is very close to Isa. 21.9, particularly the MT,30 with the repeat of ‘fallen’: ‫נפלה נפלה בבל‬, while the LXX offers a single εἶπεν Πέπτωκεν Βαβυλών.31 It also closely resembles Jer. 51.8 (LXX 28.8) ‫ נפלה בבל‬ἔπεσεν Βαβυλὼν, particularly the aorist as opposed to the perfect in Isa. 21.9.32 Indeed, due to its similarities Kovacs and Rowland argue that this is one of ‘several word-for-word quotations’ in Revelation 18, and Fekkes believes it directly alludes to Isa. 21.9.33 As we have seen, it is not quite a direct quotation due to the addition of ἡ μεγάλη and the change of tense. Beale argues that this addition is an allusion to Daniel as ‘Babylon the Great’ is only used in Dan. 4.30 (Theodotion, LXX; 4.27 in MT).34 However, due to the frequency of μέγας throughout Revelation situation. Textual variants will be highlighted throughout the discussion in order to show this fluidity is being considered. 28. Manuscript variations include omitting one ἔπεσεν or including a third. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 965. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 282, argues that v.2 shows a progression from Rev. 14.8 as it ‘divides what was said in the earlier announcement into the announcement proper (18.2), and a ὅτι clause that provides the reason for Babylon’s demise’. Also see Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 100–1, on how these clauses create structure in Revelation 18. 29. Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 185–204. It is also viewed as a judgement by Boxall, Revelation, p. 255. Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 976–7. The prophetic taunt song is generally agreed to have developed from the funeral lament as explained in O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: The History of the Formation of the Old Testament, trans. P. R. Ackroyd (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965), p. 91. 30. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 382–90; D. E. Aune, Revelation 2 (WBC, 52B; Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1998), pp. 829–31; Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 976–7; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 441. 31. A double Πέπτωκεν is attested in Vaticanus, following the Hebrew more literally, which Aune, Revelation 2, p. 829, believes indicates closer affinity. 32. Beale, Commentary, p. 893. The aorist is argued to function here as ‘proleptic’, or the prophetic perfect, demonstrating this will certainly come to pass. Aune, Revelation 2, p. 829; Mussies, Morphology of Koine Greek, p. 338. For an in-depth exploration, see Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 383–4. Our focus here is not on ‘John’s use of tenses’, but on the sense that this is very close to other texts. 33. Kovacs, Rowland, Revelation, p. 191. 34. ‘The Isaiah allusion is merged with another OT reference. The title “Babylon the Great” is from Dan 4:30 … occurs nowhere else in the OT.’ Beale, Commentary, p. 754. So also Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 442. However, Beale, Commentary, p. 894, notes that some variations (LXX MSS 88 and 301) of Isa. 21.9 include ‘Babylon the Great’. Royalty, Streets,

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this addition is unsurprising: the day (6.17), tribulation (7.14), dragon (12.9), eagle (12.14) city (11.8; 16.19; 17.18), river (9.14; 16.12) and whore (17.1) are all given the same definite designation.35 Nevertheless, what is clear is that this scene-setting phrase is very close to what has been seen before in a variety of OT books (and Revelation itself). Whether one fallen or two, aorist or perfect, great or not, ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’ is a saying which strongly resonates with the OT, albeit not a ‘word for word quotation’, and not entirely reliant on one text. b  Familiar Phrases: ‘Come Out from Her My People’ (Rev. 18.4) After the pronouncement that Babylon will become a haunt for unclean creatures ‘another voice from heaven’ declares ἐξέλθατε ὁ λαός μου ἐξ αὐτῆς (v.4).36 Major debates surround who this other voice is, with arguments offered for Christ, God or an angel; the text is unclear.37 Who is addressed as ‘my people’ is also debated.38 This vocative in a normative form is generally viewed as a ‘summons to flight’ or ‘exhortation to flight’ (Aufforderung zur Flucht) in the same manner as OT prophets.39 However, the phrase itself is exceptionally similar to other texts, particularly Jer. 51.45 (although not in the LXX) ‫‘ צאו מתוכה עמי‬go out of the midst of her my p. 196, believes ‘the cry of the angel in Rev 14:8 that announces the fall of Babylon, repeated in 18:2, uses bits and pieces from Isa 21:9, Isa:13:21–22; Jer 51:8; and Dan 4:27.’ So too Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 384. 35. Μέγας appears 243 times in the NT. Out of these, 80 are in Revelation, the highest number of any book. Even Luke/Acts, the second highest, only manages 64. All those noted in the main text use the same construction as 18.2. Those without the definite article but with the adjective following the noun include voices (e.g. 1.10; 6.10; 7.2, 10; 8.13), sword (6.4), wind (6.13), hail (11.19), fear (11.11), furnace (9.2), earthquakes (6.12; 11.13), mountains (8.8), signs (12.1), stars (8.10), authority (13.2) and wrath (12.12). 36. Manuscript variations revolve around (a) altering ὁ λαός μου ἐξ αὐτῆς, to ἐξ αὐτῆς ὁ λαός μου, and the absence of the definite article (b) ἐξέλθατε variants including ἐξέλθετε and ἐξέλθε. (Considering ὁ λαός as a collective noun leading to the pluralization of the verb, hence ἐξέλθατε.) See Aune, Revelation 3, p. 967. 37. Ibid., p. 990, states that ‘the identification of the speaker is problematic, though the reference in v.4b to “my people” suggests that the speaker is God or Christ’, leaning towards the voice being Christ due to the reference to God in the third person in v.5b. Boxall, Revelation, p. 256, argues it ‘may well be the voice of the exalted Christ’ due to previous occurrences. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 503, sees the voice as ‘an anonymous one’. 38. Who ‘my people’ are is often decided by who they are not. Beale is certain but with limited explanation: ‘those within the confessing community of faith whom God can already call “my people” ’. Beale, Commentary, p. 897. For a discussion of this section’s interpretative difficulties, see Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 185–204; Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 389–95. Ruiz also concludes that ‘it is unnecessary to identify the speaker … beyond noting where the voice comes from and what that signifies’. Ibid., p. 394. We shall return to this discussion later. 39. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 977; 990; Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 395–9.

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people’.40 Although this is the closest resemblance and argued by some scholars as the ‘source’,41 this phrase is also similar to Jer. 50.8 (LXX 27.8): ἀπαλλοτριώθητε ἐκ μέσου Βαβυλῶνος καὶ ἀπὸ γῆς Χαλδαίων καὶ ἐξέλθατε; and it is similar to Jer. 51.6 (LXX 28.6): φεύγετε ἐκ μέσου Βαβυλῶνος; and Isa. 48.20: ῎Εξελθε ἐκ Βαβυλῶνος φεύγων ἀπὸ τῶν Χαλδαίων; and Isa. 52.11: ἀπόστητε ἀπόστητε ἐξέλθατε ἐκεῖθεν καὶ ἀκαθάρτου μὴ ἅπτεσθε, ἐξέλθατε ἐκ μέσου αὐτῆς ἀφορίσθητε.42 All these texts focus on the idea of fleeing historical Babylon.43 This call to leave Babylon is a familiar one, reflecting a number of texts closely, and bringing to mind past textual experiences, even if not replicating one text exactly.44 This may not be identical to what has been previously encountered, but there is an overwhelming sense of familiarity. c  Familiar Phases: Throwing Stones (Rev. 18.21) As with ‘phrases’, there are many component parts of this section which are recognizable from other texts.45 I have classed the following as ‘phases’ to demonstrate that they are larger than phrases and describe consecutive narrative events with clear progression, similar to ‘sequences’ or ‘narrative’ units. Here we will focus on two examples to demonstrate the likeness. Following the threefold lament (vv.9–20), a strong/powerful angel46 appears and casts a great millstone into the sea declaring that with the same violence Babylon will be cast down (v.21) and this will lead to the silence of voices and all the sounds of the city (vv.22–4): Καὶ ἦρεν εἷς ἄγγελος ἰσχυρὸς λίθον ὡς μύλινον μέγαν καὶ ἔβαλεν εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν λέγων·οὕτως ὁρμήματι βληθήσεται Βαβυλὼν ἡ μεγάλη πόλις καὶ οὐ μὴ εὑρεθῇ ἔτι (v.21).47 The idea of a ‘symbolic act’ is seen 40. My translation. ‘What the heavenly voice says is rich in references to the prophetic literature.’ Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 395. 41. For example, Rossing, Two Cities, p. 119, claims Jer. 51.45 ‘may be the specific source for the exhortation’. 42. I have only presented LXX here as this is enough to serve our purposes. Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 990–1; Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 395–6; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 502; Beale, Commentary, pp. 897–9; Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 377: ‘The command, whose language is borrowed from Jeremiah 51:45 (cf. 50:8; 51:6, 9; Isa 48:20).’ 43. For versions of the texts mentioned and discussion in relation to their thematic situations, see Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 395–6. 44. The notion of ἐξέλθατε cities is used for Lot fleeing Sodom (Gen. 19.12–15) and Abraham’s call to leave Ur (ἐξέλθε). Beale, Commentary, p. 899; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 503; Boxall, Revelation, p. 257. 45. For discussions of thematic reuse, see Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 185–204; Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 99–133; Royalty, Streets, pp. 194–202. 46. Again the identity of this angel is debated, for example, Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 468; Beale, Commentary, p. 919. 47. There are some minor variations around μύλινον, which is attested as μυλιkόν, μύλον and replaced with λίθον (ἰσχυρὸς λίθον ὡς λίθον μέγα). Aune, Revelation 3, p. 972.

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to be the general model behind this section, but similarities go beyond formal ones.48 Specific similarity between v.20 and Hebrew prophets is widely accepted, particularly Jer. 51.63–4 (LXX 28.63-64): καὶ ἔσται ὅταν παύσῃ τοῦ ἀναγινώσκειν τὸ βιβλίον τοῦτο, καὶ ἐπιδήσεις ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ λίθον καὶ ῥίψεις αὐτὸ εἰς μέσον τοῦ Εὐφράτου 64καὶ ἐρεῖς Οὕτως καταδύσ εται Βαβυλὼν καὶ οὐ μὴ ἀναστῇ ἀπὸ προσώπου τῶν κακῶν, ὧν ἐγὼ ἐπάγω ἐπ᾽ αὐτήν. (LXX) :‫והיה ככלתך לקרא את־הספר הזה תקשר ועלי ןאב והשלכתו אל־תוך פרת‬ (MT) ‫ואמרת ככה תשקע בבל ולא־תקום מפני הרעה אשר אנכי מביא עליה ויעפו עד־הנה דברי ירמיהו׃‬

In this passage Seraiah is commanded by Jeremiah to read out the words of the scroll to Babylon, tie the scroll to a rock, throw it into the middle of the Euphrates and declare that Babylon’s fate is the same. It is clear that thematically Rev. 18.21 is very close to Jer. 51.63–4.49 It is not a ‘literal transcription’,50 as Ruiz points out, particularly regarding the specificity of a μύλος stone, the sea rather than the Euphrates, an angelic speaker rather than a prophet and the final declaration οὐ μὴ εὑρεθῇ ἔτι.51 Louis Vos argues that these changes are due to synoptic tradition influences as found in Mt. 18.6, Mk 9.42, Lk. 17.2.52 Beale also sees a synoptic tradition influence in a Matthean form.53 However, Prigent and Ruiz are more sceptical, Ruiz seeing Ezekiel 26–7 as the influence where Tyre is declared to be a rock in the sea (Ezek. 26.4; 12).54 Beale also believes Ezekiel 26 is an influence.55 The point of our exploration is not to argue which ‘source text’ is or is not present. Rather, it is to show that the text is very, very similar to texts which have been seen before. Regardless of alterations from Jeremiah 51 and the potential Ezekiel 26 resonances, it is clear that this is a familiar idea of an announcer with a stone, 48. I group this under ‘phases’ because it goes beyond a ‘form’ to a specific phase of destruction with strong linguistic parallels, as well as formal ones. For discussions on form, see for example, Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 185–204; Aune, Revelation 3, pp. 982–3. 49. ‘The picture is based on Jer 51:63.’ Beale, Commentary, p. 918. ‘The symbolic action of the angel strongly reminds us of a passage of the book of Jeremiah (51:63).’ Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 512. ‘This is part of an adaption of Jer 51:63–4 (LXX 28:63–64).’ Aune, Revelation 3, p. 1008. 50. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 465. 51. Ibid., p. 466; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 512. See Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 463–81, for arguments that this differs from Jeremiah, and uses Ezekiel. 52. Vos, Synoptic Traditions, p. 157; Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 466–8. 53. Beale, Commentary, p. 919. 54. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 468–9. This is hardly surprising given his focus, but the idea that this ‘phase’ of judgement is recognizable from previous texts stretching beyond Jeremiah 51 is worth considering. 55. ‘The Ezekiel 26–27 background has not faded from view, but is now joined with Jeremiah 51.’ Beale, Commentary, p. 918.

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casting it into water and a proclamation of it never returning, very close to what has been seen before. It is similar to both Jeremiah 51 and also Ezekiel 26, evoking texts from Israel’s past and familiar phases of judgement. It is clear that texts about cities being destroyed are being evoked, and that they are evoked through similarity, but not through exact replication. d  Familiar Phases: Yes! I Am Invincible! (Rev. 18.7–8) After the summons to flee and judgement of Babylon, the heavenly voice speaks words attributed to Babylon, and declares that because of these claims she will be destroyed through plagues, death, pain and famine: ὅσα ἐδόξασεν αὐτὴν56 καὶ ἐστρηνίασεν, τοσοῦτον δότε αὐτῇ βασανισμὸν καὶ πένθος57. ὅτι ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς λέγει ὅτι κάθημαι58 βασίλισσα59 καὶ χήρα οὐκ εἰμὶ καὶ πένθος οὐ μὴ ἴδω.διὰ τοῦτο ἐν μιᾷ ἡμέρᾳ60 ἥξουσιν αἱ πληγαὶ αὐτῆς, θάνατος καὶ πένθος καὶ λιμός, καὶ ἐν πυρὶ κατακαυθήσεται (vv.7–8)

This section is widely recognized as having remarkable similarity to OT writings, being referred to as ‘imitation’ by Prigent: ‘Once again an imitation of the prophetic texts.’61 A number of scholars see similarity to Isa. 47.7–9, which describes Babylon’s greatness:62 You said, ‘I shall be mistress63 forever (Εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα ἔσομαι ἄρχουσα)’, so that you did not lay these things to heart or remember their end.8 Now therefore hear this, you lover of pleasures, who sit securely, who say in your heart (λέγουσα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς),’I am, and there is no one besides me; I shall not sit as a widow (οὐ καθιῶ χήρα) or know the loss of children’9 both these things shall come upon you in a moment, in one day (ἐν μιᾷ ἡμέρᾳ): the loss of children and widowhood

56. Minor variations are attested regarding αὐτὴν, including ἐαυτὴν, and an omission in 046. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 967. 57. 051 omits καὶ πένθος. 58. Some variants of κάθημαι are extant: (1) καθώς (2) καθὶω (3) κάθημαι ὡς. Aune sees (3) as a conflation of κάθημαι and (1). Aune, Revelation 3, p. 967. 59. Beale, Commentary, p. 903, notes that the Ethiopic version has ‘I will reign always’ instead of ‘I sit as Queen’. 60. ‘In one hour’ is attested in Cyp Spec Prim. 61. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 504. Also, ‘John turns to yet another oracle against Babylon in 18:7 to describe that city’s self-glorification’, Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 403. 62. ‘This soliloquy is based on Isa 47:8.’ Aune, Revelation 3, p. 995. ‘Patterned after the prediction of historical Babylon’s judgement in Isaiah 47’. Beale, Commentary, p. 902. ‘Which echoes not only ancient Babylon’s boast (Isa 47:7–8), but also contemporary Rome’s self-promoted reputation as the eternal city’, Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 344. 63. Princess (ἄρχουσα LXX) or Queen (‫ גברת‬MT).

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shall come upon you in full measure, in spite of your many sorceries(φαρμακείᾳ) and the great power of your enchantments.

There are close linguistic similarities, some of which can be seen above.64 However, it is the structure of this section which is particularly imitative, referred to by Aune as a hybris soliloquy.65 It is a shorter, more streamlined version than the Isaiah text, but the similarity is clear. Structurally there are other close texts, as self-glorification and hubris leading to downfall was a widespread textual phenomenon. Aune cites six examples, one of which is the Prince of Tyre in Ezek. 28.266 Mortal, say to the prince of Tyre (τῷ ἄρχοντι), Thus says the Lord God: Because your heart is proud (Ανθ᾽ ὧν ὑψώθη σου ἡ καρδία) and you have said, ‘I am a god; I sit in the seat of the gods, in the heart of the seas’, yet you are but a mortal, and no god, though you compare your mind with the mind of a god.

Therefore, this section of Revelation 18, although not extensively exhibiting so close a linguistic dependence as some other sections, still shows remarkable similarity as a ‘phase’ of destruction, as seen in other texts: a claim of hubris is made, a speech in character said from the heart is declared, the seating of the ruler is spoken of and punishment is proclaimed. Reliance on previous textual experiences is clear on a structural level in this passage, resonating closely with other cities’ reprimands. This again is not ‘identical’ to one specific text, but it is very similar. e  Familiar Faces: Unclean Animals and Demons (Rev. 18.2) After the already discussed declaration of her fall (v.2), Babylon’s desolation is explained.67 Creatures will come to inhabit her desolate land: καὶ ἐγένετο κατοικητήριον δαιμονίων καὶ φυλακὴ68 παντὸς πνεύματος ἀκαθάρτου69 καὶ 64. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 404–5, argues it ‘clearly shows its independence from the LXX of Isa 47:7–8’ with ‘free rendering’. 65. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 995. 66. For example, Jer. 5.12; Sib. Or. 5.173; Rev. 3.17; Tg. Esth. 2.1.1; Ovid Metam. 6.170– 202. Ibid. 67. This section could easily be described as a ‘familiar phase’, as descriptions of desolate cities after its fall are common. However, we will focus on the ‘familiar faces’ which return within this well-known descriptive form to avoid generalities and focus on specifics. 68. Whether φυλακὴ should be interpreted as ‘prison’, ‘habitation’ or ‘haunt’ is much debated, but has little significance for our study. For discussions, see Beale, Commentary, pp. 894–5; Aune, Revelation 3, p. 965; F. W. Danker, W. Bauer and W. Arndt, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), pp. 1067–8. 69. Omission of καὶ φυλακὴ παντὸς πνεύματος ἀκαθάρτου is attested, as is the insertion of μεμισημένου or μησημένου after ἀκαθάρτου.

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φυλακὴ παντὸς ὀρνέου ἀκαθάρτου70 [καὶ φυλακὴ παντὸς θηρίου ἀκαθάρτου]71 καὶ μεμισημένου (v.2) The idea of a city being left desolate is a very common topos within the OT, Aune stating that such images frequently occur in ‘prophetic denunciations of nations and cities, including Judah and Jerusalem’.72 Prigent sees such announcements as ‘an apocalyptic cliché’.73 There has been particular scholarly focus on finding passages which also mention unclean creatures inhabiting Babylon: Isa. 13.21–2; Jer. 50.39; 51.37 (LXX 28.37)74 But wild animals will lie down there, and its houses will be full of howling creatures; there ostriches will live, and there goat-demons will dance. Hyenas will cry in its towers, and jackals in the pleasant palaces … (Isa. 13.21–2) Therefore, wild animals shall live with hyenas in Babylon, and ostriches shall inhabit her; she shall never again be peopled, or inhabited for all generations. (Jer. 50.39 (LXX 27.39)) And Babylon shall become a heap of ruins, a den of jackals, an object of horror and of hissing, without inhabitant. (Jer. 51.37 (LXX 28.37))75

There are also similarities with other destructions including Nineveh in Zeph. 2.14, Jerusalem in Jer. 9.11 and Edom in Isa. 34.13–15, which Beale sees as ‘virtually identical’.76 But the hawk and the hedgehog shall possess it; the owl and the raven shall live in it … It shall be the haunt of jackals, an abode for ostriches. Wildcats shall meet with hyenas, goat-demons shall call to each other; there too Lilith shall repose, and find a place to rest. There shall the owl nest and lay and hatch and brood

70. Omission of καὶ φυλακὴ παντὸς ὀρνέου ἀκαθάρτου is attested, for example, A, 025, Andreas. 71. MS evidence is split regarding omissions and insertions of καὶ φυλακὴ παντὸς θηρίου ἀκαθάρτου. For discussion, see Aune, Revelation 3, p. 965; Beale, Commentary, p. 895. 72. Aune, Revelation 2, p. 986, cites Jer. 4.26–7; 9.10–12; 22.5–6; Ezek. 6.14; Hos. 2.3; Joel 3.19; Zeph. 2.13; Mal. 1.3–4.Beale, Commentary, p. 894, points to a thematic link between the beast, devil and false prophet as they are associated with unclean spirits/demons. He brings Rabbinic sources into the discussion of Isa. 13.21; 34.11 in relation to demonic forces. He also argues potential allusions to Dan. 4.25 in relation to Nebuchadnezzar’s judgement. Ibid., pp. 893–5. 73. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 502. 74. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 986, sees the key background text as Isa. 13.21–2a. Beale, Commentary, p. 894, believes that this and Isa. 34.11 concerning Edom are both present. 75. LXX (Jer. 28.37) is shorter than MT: καὶ ἔσται Βαβυλὼν εἰς ἀφανισμὸν καὶ οὐ κατοικηθήσεται, ‫( והיתה בבל ׀ ׀לגלים מעון־תנים שמה ושרקה מאין יושב‬MT). 76. Beale, Commentary, p. 894. For Fekkes, it is a mixture of Jer. 50.39, 51.37; Isa. 13.21, 34.14. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 502, also notes Zeph. 2.14 and Bar. 4.35.

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in its shadow; there too the buzzards shall gather, each one with its mate. (Isa. 34.11–15) I will make Jerusalem a heap of ruins, a lair of jackals; and I will make the towns of Judah a desolation, without inhabitant. (Jer. 9.11) Herds shall lie down in it, every wild animal; the desert owl and the screech owl shall lodge on its capitals; the owl shall hoot at the window, the raven croak on the threshold; for its cedar work will be laid bare. (Zeph. 2.14)

As we have seen in our study of Revelation 17, too much emphasis is often put on finding texts about a specific city. Here, again, in Revelation 18 we can see a variety of texts all of which are very similar, but with none identical.77 This is not only at a linguistic or structural level but also through the use of familiar faces which always appear in the wake of desolation: when cities fall, wild animals, birds and demons move in. The characters from other texts re-emerge in Rev. 18.2 showing real likeness, but not identical repetition at another level of the text. f  Familiar Features: Trade List (Rev. 18.12–13) Revelation 18’s long trade list (vv.12–13) has proved a particular point of interest due to its historical significance and its potential for economic critique.78 The goods listed are connected via polysyndeton in a bombarding fashion, culminating in the mentioning of slaves: γόμον χρυσοῦ καὶ ἀργύρου καὶ λίθου τιμίου καὶ μαργαριτῶν καὶ βυσσίνου καὶ πορφύρας καὶ σιρικοῦ καὶ κοκκίνου, καὶ πᾶν ξύλον θύϊνον καὶ πᾶν σκεῦος ἐ λεφάντινον καὶ πᾶν σκεῦος ἐκ ξύλου τιμιωτάτου καὶ χαλκοῦ καὶ σιδήρου καὶ μαρμάρου, καὶ κιννάμωμον καὶ ἄμωμον καὶ θυμιάματα καὶ μύρον καὶ λίβανον καὶ οἶνον καὶ ἔλαιον καὶ σεμίδαλιν καὶ σῖτον καὶ κτήνη καὶ πρόβατα, καὶ ἵππων καὶ ῥεδῶν καὶ σωμάτων, καὶ ψυχὰς ἀνθρώπων. (vv.12–13)79

77. Prigent notes Isa. 13.21–2; 34.11–15 and Bar. 4.35 ‘mention demons in the middle of the wild animals’. Ibid. 78. The most comprehensive study of individual items is carried out by Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. 338–83. He enhances how the list acts as a historical record: ‘Although, of course, it lists no more than a small selection of Rome’s imports in this period, it is, to my knowledge, much the longest extant list of Roman imports to be found in the literature of the early empire.’ Ibid., p. 350. 79. Variants mostly consist of spelling alterations: λίθου replaces ξύλου in some late manuscripts. The omission of καὶ μαρμάρου, and replacement with μαμάρου is also attested, as is the omission of καὶ ἄμωμον and καnd αρμάρ For more discussion, see Aune, Revelation 3, p. 969.

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The list of twenty-nine trade items is embedded within the threefold lament structure, which is widely regarded as strongly resembling Ezekiel 26–8.80 Therefore, the similarity between this trade list and that featured in Ezek. 27.12–25 is also widely noted.81 The passage in Ezekiel is noticeably longer, designating the origin of each good and embedding each item within a narrative structure.82 However, the structure and goods mentioned bear a strong resemblance to Revelation 18. Prigent, after his explanation of the goods described in relation to those in Ezekiel 27, goes as far as to claim ‘our author takes direct inspiration from Ezek 27’.83 Beale counts fifteen of the items as resembling those of Ezekiel.84 Ruiz presents eighteen in a table of the corresponding items and verses in Ezekiel 27,85 and believes that ‘in some cases the correspondences are exact’.86 καὶ ψυχὰς ἀνθρώπων, in particular, is viewed as derived from Ezek. 27.1387: οὗτοι ἐνεπορεύοντό σοι ἐν ψυχαῖς ἀνθρώπων (LXX) ‫( בנפש אדם‬MT). However, the placing of this very similar element is different, moving to the end of the list, a new positioning often noted by scholars.88 Bauckham stresses the ‘thoroughly contextualized’ Roman nature of the list, as an ‘updated’ version of Ezekiel 27.89 Although he notes that Ezekiel ‘suggested the idea of a list of cargoes’,90 he enhances the fact that this list is different; for example, it is not arranged by origin as in Ezekiel 27 but rather by the type of cargo. 80. For a discussion of the threefold lament structure, see: Collins, ‘Revelation 18’, pp. 185–204; Schüssler Fiorenza, Vision, pp. 98–9; Rossing, Two Cities, pp. 101–2; Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 412. Boxall, Revelation, p. 254, states: ‘If this chapter has a backbone, it is Ezekiel’s proclamation and lament over the pagan city of Tyre (Ezekiel 26–27).’ 81. ‘The list of Babylon’s cargo shows Ezekiel’s influences, specifically the list of Tyre’s imports from Ezek. 17:12–24.’ Boxall, Revelation, p. 260. ‘The list of products is based partly on Ezek 27:7–25.’ Beale, Commentary, p. 905; ‘The list is not a pure invention, far from it. On the contrary, it was very closely inspired by Ezek 27.’ Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 506; ‘The Ezek 27:12–25a inspired list of goods’, Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 424. 82. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 351, points out that the structure is based on these origins as ‘the arrangement is geographical’. 83. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 508. 84. Although it is worth noting that this is actually only 52 per cent of the items, so nearly half of them have not been mentioned. Prigent counts the same. Ibid., pp. 505–9. 85. Ruiz, Apocalypse, pp. 429–30. 86. Ibid., p. 430. 87. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 1002; Beale, Commentary, p. 910; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 508. 88. For a focus on this as a key to John’s critique of empire, see A. A. Boesak, Comfort and Protest (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987); C. J. Martin, ‘Polishing the Unclouded Mirror: A Womanist Reading of Revelation 18:13’, in From Every People and Nation: The Book of Revelation in Intercultural Perspective, ed. D. Rhoads (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), pp. 81–109; Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. 370–1. 89. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. 250–371. 90. Ibid., p. 350.

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Therefore, this new list is a ‘substitute’ for Ezekiel’s accurate historical description of Tyre’s trade with an accurate historical portrayal of Rome’s.91 To demonstrate this he provides an in-depth examination of how each commodity resonates with contemporary Roman literature and trade lists.92 Prigent, like Bauckham, also shows the difference in items,93 drawing attention to those terms which have altered or been updated from Ezekiel such as the replacement of camels with cattle, lambs with sheep and the introduction of a rare word for chariots (ῥέδα),94 denoting an ‘unordinary item’.95 Therefore, the updated nature of the text becomes the key point of focus. Provan argues the opposite, stressing that only OT sources should be examined in order to explain the text’s functionality, and that any recourse to historical references is erroneous.96 For example, v.13’s chariots do not point to a firstcentury referent, but rather Provan connects them to Ezekiel 27 via a rather tenuous connection between Solomon’s famed reputation for trading with Tyre, and his amassing of horses and chariots as described in 1 Kings 4.97 Therefore, Provan states that John directs ‘us to Ezekiel 27 itself – not so much to comment on his contemporary situation as to say to his readers “read Ezekiel if you wish to understand what I am saying here”’.98 This is an extreme view, but when compared with Bauckham’s, it represents an interpretative issue when texts are seen to be derived from others: sides need to be taken. The text should either be read as being derived primarily from past texts, and as an example of transposed meaning, or the text should be proven to be an updated and altered version, stressing some levels of basic interpretative similarity but clearly demonstrating a new situation. Focusing on imitation pushes to similarity, focusing on alteration to difference. However, what is clear is that there are enough similarities between Rev. 18.12– 13 (and its surrounding structure) to argue that the idea of a trade list as a feature of the text points to other texts, and indicates a striking similarity in structure to what has been seen before. The difference cannot be the sole focus, but neither can sameness.

91. Ibid., p. 351. 92. Ibid., pp. 350–66. He draws particular attention to the fact that 13 of Revelation’s items cover 18 of 27/29 (depending on whether gold and silver are added) items from the end of Pliny’s Nat. 37.204. 93. Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 506–8. 94. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 365, points out that these were used by the Romans to travel around their country estates. 95. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 508. 96. Provan, ‘Foul Spirits’, pp. 81–100. 97. Ibid., pp. 87–8. 98. Ibid., p. 87.

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g  Strange, I’ve Seen That Face (and Phrase and Phase and Feature) Before Therefore, the above analysis has demonstrated the extent of similarity between Revelation 18 and OT (particularly prophetic) texts. We have seen how these similarities are not limited to language or structure. They stretch far wider, permeating each level of the text, from its phrases to its features, and presenting characters, phases and language previously encountered in other texts. We have also seen that these similarities are not limited to or dominated by one particular text (e.g. Ezekiel or Jeremiah) or referent (e.g. Babylon). Multiple oracles against various cities are used. Therefore, we should not pass over the fact that throughout this text a dialogue with OT texts is evoked. Nor should we deny the fact that it is created through signalling at every level. To read the text as ‘based on Ezek 26–28’ or ‘mainly reliant on Jeremiah’s oracles against Babylon’ somewhat ignores the multilayered similarities which the text exhibits.99 While this may present a ‘guiding’ principle for interpretation by pinpointing what it is ‘most like’, it also clouds the ceaseless ‘likeness’ that Revelation 18 bombards a reader with. Just as the highly literary nature of Revelation 18 becomes subsumed into discussions of OT textual resemblances, so the extreme imitative nature of Revelation 18 becomes subsumed into discussions about which text it is ‘most like’.100 Therefore, our examination has demonstrated, in ways not previously done, the palpable sense of similarity at all levels of Revelation 18. At the same time, what is also apparent from the above is that the text is not ‘exactly the same’ as the past: subtle differences do exist throughout, as no one element totally copies what has been seen before, and no one text is relied on, although there are clear dialogue partners. A level of familiarity is imbued into this combined text at all levels, but an exact copy it is not. Therefore, just its similarity to other texts cannot be exactly pinned down neither can the exact nature of what is ‘different’, despite attempts, and ‘how Rev 18 differs from its dialogue partners’ is a key element of many of the studies we have discussed above. Although the reliance on past texts is shown, a need to stress that this text is different is enhanced. Ruiz’s approach is typical. He demonstrates how Revelation 18 imitates other texts, particularly Ezekiel. Yet at the same time, showing the difference is integral to his work,101 enhancing that 99. R. Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 5, points out multitextual similarities: ‘John’s great oracle against Babylon (18:1–19:8) echoes every one of the oracles against Babylon in the Old Testament prophets, as well as the two major oracles against Tyre.’ 100. As already seen, this extensive similarity is overlooked when focusing on one aspect of the text, or how it utilizes one particular book, or the overall meaning of the passage, or how it is different. 101. As already stated, he (and Bauckham) draw attention to the difference in the trade list: an alteration of order with slaves moving to the end, and items of Roman origin replacing those of the past. They also draw our attention to the fact that the list is much shorter than Ezekiel 27, only stating items, rather than origins. Also, the goods are presented in the bombarding polysyndeton, and bar an alteration from genitive to accusative, there

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the text is refined and altered in its reuse. For example, he argues that Rev. 18.1–8 is intimately entwined with OT texts right down to word orders/choices, and yet then has a section entitled ‘the originality of 18:1–8’.102 This language of difference permeates studies of Revelation 18, as the need to enhance the originality of the text becomes a clear scholarly agenda.103 While finding what is ‘most similar’ in order to understand ‘meaning’ is a primary way of reading, at the same time arguing for extreme dependence is shied away from, and there has been a real attempt to show, as Mounce argues, that ‘John is more original than some of his interpreters would allow him to be’.104 Indeed, the language of ‘difference’ used in relation to Revelation 18 is overwhelmingly positive: ‘something new and creative’ (emphasis mine);105 ‘an artful literary composition with imaginative power’ (emphasis mine);106 ‘John has created a fresh prophecy’ (emphasis mine);107 ‘John has produced a highly effective description of his own’ (emphasis mine);108 ‘a new formulation’ (emphasis mine);109 ‘a peculiar quality of its own’ (emphasis mine);110 ‘a new, original formulation which organises a new coherence’ (emphasis mine).111 Reading these comments it is hard to believe they apply to the same passage we have explored above with its overt sense of literary dependence. Therefore, despite these scholarly attempts to argue that Revelation 18 is not ‘simply imitating’ the past, and to show that it is a unique, original and renewed reworking of its ‘source texts’, our examination indicates that to ignore just how reliant it is on many other texts is to ignore how Revelation 18 functions.112 To pin down one text or one feature, to miss out the literary nature of the text or over-enhance difference overlooks the text’s fabric.113 However Revelation 18 is approached, its similarity to other texts cannot be ignored.

is very little to break up the list. Ruiz then argues that the trade list is altered in three ways: simplification, rearrangement and reintegration. 102. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 407. 103. A brief study of Fekkes’s terms in relation to Revelation 18 shows a need for difference: ‘new context’, ‘variety of changes’, ‘substitution’, ‘rearrangement’, ‘change from second person to third person singular’, ‘combine’, ‘modifies the vocabulary’, ‘blending the elements’, ‘amalgamation’, ‘artfully constructed section’. Fekkes, Isaiah, pp. 218–19. 104. Mounce, Revelation, pp. 322–3. 105. Boxall, Revelation, p. 254. 106. Schüssler Fiorenza, Invitation, pp. 168–9. 107. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 242. 108. Ibid. 109. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 87. 110. M. Kiddle, The Revelation of St. John (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1940), p. 369. 111. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 86. 112. This reflects Ruiz’s and Mathewson’s concerns to show that Revelation was not ‘mere imitation’ but a ‘creative reworking’. 113. It also reads beyond what we can know of the text given manuscript variations and so on.

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Therefore, I now turn to the question of what exactly has been lost when difference has been foregrounded in order to justify ‘originality’, and where one text has been focused on in order to uncover ‘meaning’. Can Revelation 18 be reread in a way which sidesteps these issues? And can a different reading strategy be employed which allows for similarity rather than precision, and imitation over originality? How can we reapproach the text not focusing on exact manuscript variations, alterations of verbs and so on, but rather focusing on the sense that this is all very similar? In essence, how can our pastiche lens facilitate reading a text which is overwhelmingly similar, while also being aware it is not ‘the same’? Therefore, in order to explore our interpretative questions we turn attention to a pastiche test case which is overwhelmingly similar to other texts at every level: Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven (2002). Far from Heaven’s textual fabric closely resembles Revelation 18’s, oozing language of films gone by, using known forms/ genres and going to great lengths to re-create the world of past texts. It demonstrates a high level of artistic control, reworking and combining past textual experiences and ensuring that things are never exactly the same. This test case will allow us to see how Far from Heaven creates a viewing experience which brings the past and the present into dialogue, and in doing so brings about an awareness of location in relation to the past. This examination will then be applied to Revelation 18 in order to reread it unyoked from its imitation/originality history of interpretation.

III  Test Case: Far from Heaven If ever there was a film close to its predecessors it is Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven (2002). Pastiche is certainly a term which aptly describes much of what it does, and it represents Dyer’s notion of pastiche at its most subtle and complex.114 It is this film that he chooses as the culmination of his study of pastiche, and it is a text which does not disappoint, beloved by both audiences and critics, awash with referents, and rich, divisive and moving.115 Far from Heaven is set in the 1950s, examining the life of a middle class upwardly mobile couple Frank and Cathy Whitaker (Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore) in Hartford, Connecticut. On the surface, they appear to be the ideal couple, almost a picture-book of how the 1950s should be. However, as the film progresses it becomes clear that everything is far from perfect. Frank admits that in the past he had suffered from ‘problems’, which have returned; this euphemistically means 114. On Far from Heaven as pastiche, see S. Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue, Desire and Loss: The Colour Score in Far from Heaven’, in The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, ed. J. Morrison; Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007), p. 110; J. Morrison, ‘Todd Haynes in Theory and Practice’, in The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, ed. J. Morrison; Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007), p. 133. 115. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 174–80. It is so close to other texts that on the surface it may appear as a Jameson-esque pastiche. However, we shall see that reading this way misses the point of the film.

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he is gay. Attempts are made to ‘correct’ Frank’s ‘problems’ through therapy but this (unsurprisingly) fails and the marriage dissolves. Cathy turns to her black gardener Raymond (Dennis Haysbert) for companionship and compassion, but the relationship is as destined to fail as Cathy’s marriage, and at the end of the film Cathy is left in Hartford alone, as Frank moves in with his partner and Raymond moves to Baltimore following the failure of his business. Far from Heaven was Haynes’s first major break into mainstream Hollywood. Prior to this, he was distinctly ‘art-house’.116 For example, his first film Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (1988) tells of the Carpenters’ rise to fame and Karen’s bitter battle with anorexia, not depicted by actors, but by Barbie dolls.117 Poison (1991) involves the interplay between three different stories, told in three different genres, each of which interact, cross and, as the film progresses, transgress their boundaries, in order to represent the complex life of Jean Genet.118 Far from Heaven moved Haynes more into the mainstream, winning four Academy Awards and being received warmly by the viewing public. It is hardly surprising: the film (as with all his work) is a highly crafted piece by a skilled auteur, right down to the colours, lighting and costume being used as plot indicators to tell the story, and signal to the viewer.119 The material is so carefully controlled, the attention to every movement and gesture so overwhelming, that the scholars cannot help but suggest a level of artifice within it.120 Yet its highly stylized internal coherence is often swept up in discussions 116. For an excellent introduction to Haynes and his body of work, see J. Morrison, ‘Introduction’, in The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, ed. J. Morrison; Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007), pp. 1–6. For complex readings from these perspectives, see J. Morrison, (ed.), The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007); S. Willis, ‘The Politics of Disappointment: Todd Haynes Rewrites Douglas Sirk’, CamOb 18, no. 3 (2003), pp. 130–75; A. DeFalco, ‘A Double-Edged Longing: Nostalgia, Melodrama, and Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven’, IJCS 5, no. 1 (2004), pp. 26–39; L. Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen: Mediation and Immersion in Far from Heaven’, CamOb 19, no. 3 (2004), pp. 186–219. For the theoretical background of Haynes’s work, see Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, pp. 132–44. 117. The film was banned in the States due to its soundtrack, despite attempts to allow it to be used for educational purposes only. 118. Safe (1995) features Julianne Moore portraying an ‘environmentally ill’ woman who is unable to cure herself or be cured. Velvet Goldmine (1998) and Dottie gets Spanked (1993) show a complex movement between the past of images and the present of the viewer. 119. For explorations of each of these elements and how they convey the film’s complex layers of emotion, irony and displacement, see Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101–13; Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen’, pp. 186–219; C. Sprengler, Screening Nostalgia: Populuxe Props and Technicolor Aesthetics in Contemporary American Film (New York: Berghahn Books, 2011), pp. 117–38. 120. ‘Marking his [Haynes’s] artifice as a series of quotations of artifice’, Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 101. ‘Haynes’ formal choices become noticeably artificial to the extent that they are afield from contemporary norms,’ ibid., p. 103. ‘We experience these characters

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surrounding how much Far from Heaven resembles 1950s melodramas.121 This is because in Far from Heaven Haynes did not simply re-create a 1950s melodrama, working within a simple generic framework. He created a film which was intimately in dialogue with a number of texts, particularly the melodramas of Douglas Sirk. a  Haynes and Sirk Initially, Douglas Sirk was not seen as creating films which would later be worthy of imitation. Rather, he was received as yet another director making ‘women’s pictures’ in the 1950s which presented a commodified and overly emotional experience on screen. Indeed, Fred Camper describes Sirk’s films as ‘pornography of feeling’, so predominant were the shrieking and shattering events portrayed.122 Today Sirk is seen as a skilled auteur, with a unique worldview and critical stance in his film-making.123 Sirk’s films such as Magnificent Obsession (1954), Written on the Wind (1956) and Imitation of Life (1959) are particularly famed for their complex colour saturation and gradation, New-Look costuming, use of props, foregrounding of mirrors, emotional dialogue, all-star cast and overwhelming never ceasing soundtracks.124 They are aesthetically films of the 1950s, at its most ‘1950s-esque’, and yet they are also the 1950s at their most complex, where boundaries are transgressed, storylines undermined and seemingly happy endings present an ever-present tinge of the unfulfilled. In Far from Heaven Haynes re-creates Sirk’s world of film-making at every level: colour saturation, costume, dialogue, acting styles, characters, language, sets, mise en scène, music, props, gestures – everything within the film signals the past and is borrowed from it.125 Such a creation was made possible as Haynes, working in the twenty-first century, and events through the mediation of Haynes’s own heavy-handed formal manipulation’, T. McGowan, ‘Relocating Our Enjoyment of the 1950s: The Politics of Fantasy in Far from Heaven’, in The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, ed. J. Morrison; Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007), pp. 114–21 (115). ‘Moore’s acting style is replete with clichés in speech and gesture that are evident as such’, M. Landy, ‘Storytelling and Information in Todd Haynes’ Films’, in The Cinema of Todd Haynes: All That Heaven Allows, ed. J. Morrison; Directors’ Cuts (London: Wallflower Press, 2007), pp. 7–26 (23). ‘The film makes us acutely aware of its status as a film’, Sprengler, Screening Nostalgia, p. 122. 121. Melodramas were derided as ‘woman’s pictures’ which sold products and lifestyles, as discussed by P. Cook, Screening the Past: Memory and Nostalgia in Cinema (London: Routledge, 2004). For an introduction to Melodrama and its scholarly reception, see B. Klinger, Melodrama and Meaning: History, Culture, and the Films of Douglas Sirk (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994). 122. F. Camper, ‘The Films of Douglas Sirk’, Screen 12, no. 2 (1971), pp. 44–62 (61). 123. He is beloved by many critics, his melodramas becoming canonized as skilled workings of the ‘family melodrama’. 124. See Klinger, Melodrama. 125. For an introduction to similarities, see Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 174–6; on colour, see Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101–13; on costume, see Sprengler, Screening Nostalgia;

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moved in an artistic world which had left behind demands for ‘originality’, and a fear of imitative, derivative texts.126 He worked in the world of film which James Morrison describes as ‘an art built on pastiche’.127 Therefore, in Far from Heaven we find a text which is not afraid to refer to the past. Indeed, as we shall see, it is awash with it. b  Very, Very Similar Far from Heaven is most frequently compared to Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows (1955), a melodrama par excellence starring Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson because, in so many ways, they are remarkably similar.128 In All That Heaven Allows an older widow called Cary (Wyman) falls for her younger gardener Ron (Hudson), a man outside of her age and social sphere, and the social pressures which surround her cause their relationship to nearly crumble. Her children and friends turn against her. Cary feels the pressure to leave Ron in order to allow her family to live within the parameters society dictates, and is close to giving Ron up. Eventually, she realizes that her family is actually not affected by her relationship. She goes to find Ron, but Ron falls trying to get her attention and nearly dies. The film ends with Cary tending Ron on his sickbed.

Figure 6.1  Cathy (Julianne Moore) and Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), who is wearing a red and black shirt, in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films).

DeFalco, ‘Double-Edged Longing’, pp. 26–39; Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130– 75; Landy, ‘Storytelling’, pp. 21–3. 126. Haynes’s degree was in semiotics, and for a discussion on his place in poststructuralism and wider theoretical frameworks, see Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, pp. 132–44. 127. Morrison, ‘Introduction’, p. 2. 128. For discussions on cross-overs, see Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen’, p. 189 Also see Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101–13; Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75.

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Figure 6.2  Cary (Wyman) and Ron (Hudson), who is wearing a red and black shirt, in Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal).

Figure 6.3  Egg-shell blue and white wagon, with small-town images and autumn foliage in the opening of Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal).

Far from Heaven is so very close to All That Heaven Allows in its narrative structure, but this is not all. There are many similar elements: for example, there is the obvious nod of Ron/Raymond Cary/Cathy in their names; both films feature a particular gossipmonger with the name Mona; Raymond wears clothes remarkably similar to Ron, both in look and colour, as does Cathy in relation to Cary (Figures 6.1 and 6.2); Raymond and Ron drive a similar style of wooden-framed car; and both give Cathy/Cary a branch of autumn foliage which they display in their houses. Far from Heaven constantly signals its imitativeness, and Sharon Willis explains how from the opening of the film the closeness is palpable: ‘This film’s [Far from Heaven] credits and opening sequence feel almost “traced”, as if superimposing its frame onto that of All That Heaven Allows.’129 She points out that both films begin with shots of a clock tower and a flowering branch in the upper left-hand corner, and 129. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, 131.

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Figure 6.4  Egg-shell blue and white wagon, with small-town images and autumn foliage in the opening of Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films).

show a town with a blue and white station wagon. As the films continue, both feature the warm tones of autumn leaves against the cool blue of the car, and both portray the suburban American life (Figures 6.3 and 6.4).130 They are very, very alike. c  A Steady Downpour of References However, this is not a remake of All That Heaven Allows: its fabric is a veritable play of imitation and dialogue with multiple films by Sirk.131 For example, there are clear resonances with interracial tensions from Sirk’s Imitation of Life, Frank’s sexual ‘problems’ resonate strongly with Kyle Hadley’s ‘failings’ as a husband in Sirk’s Written on the Wind and Cathy’s costumes resemble the blind heroine Helen Philips (again played by Jane Wyman) in Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession (Figures 6.5 and 6.6).132 Also, the elements from each film are not easily unpicked, as they are blended and relocated: motifs, emotions, techniques, images, items, scenes and colours appear from various prior textual encounters. Again, Willis aptly describes the viewing experience: ‘In the almost electrifying network of condensation and displacement that structures the Haynes film, Far from Heaven also amalgamates elements drawn from Sirk’s Imitation of Life and Written on the Wind.’133 What is more, Haynes does not limit himself to imitating Sirk, or borrowing only from his

130. On the opening colour tones, see Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 109–10. 131. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75; Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen’, pp. 186–219; Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101–13; Landy, ‘Storytelling’, pp. 21–3. 132. This similarity is particularly poignant, occurring in Far from Heaven when a young black boy enters the pool leading to all the white parents getting their children out of the water, nodding perhaps to Cathy’s racial blindness. Also, this similarity is not noticed by any of the critics discussed here, indicating the rich fabric of resonances at work; seen and unseen. 133. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, p. 132.

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Figure 6.5  Cathy dressed in purple, wearing white-rimmed glasses and sat on a sunlounger in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films).

repertoire in the Proustian pastiche style. Rather, he draws on 1950s culture more widely and from texts even further afield, as Morrison points out: The film draws on a large fund of references, not just Sirk, for its evocation of the era, from the stories of John Cheever or books like The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1955) or The Organization Man (1956), to other movies of the time like Max Ophuls’s The Reckless Moment (1949) … and the film version of Peyton Place (1957).134

Dyer too notes the wider-ranging evocations, drawing out resonances to The Reckless Moment, which too tells the tale of a married woman who is left to face unbearable troubles and as a result turns to an ‘inappropriate’ emotional support, in this case an ex-criminal Irish debt-collector.135 Even acting styles resemble key actors from the time period. For example, Willis points out that when Frank belittles Cathy at their annual Magnatech party (the firm that Frank works for) his facial expressions and tone are ‘lifted directly from Paul Lynde, arguably TV’s favorite unacknowledged queer of the 1970s’.136 Indeed, the fabric of ‘seen before’ is so potent that Scott Higgins can claim, ‘For the viewer acquainted with classical Hollywood family melodrama, watching Far from Heaven (2002) is like stepping into a steady downpour of references.’137 And the resonances do not stop with the ‘Hollywood family melodrama’, as Haynes also incorporates elements from Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s New Wave films, particularly Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974). For example, Haynes’s romantic dancing scene is set in a location where minorities gather and a white women enters, unaware of her trespassing into the world of the other, and this echoes Fear Eats the Soul where Emi’s (Brigitte Mira) arrival in a bar for migrant

134. Morrison, ‘Introduction’, p. 3 (my italics). 135. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 174–6. 136. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, p. 156. 137. Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 101.

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Figure 6.6  Helen Philips (Wyman) wearing purple, with white-rimmed glasses and sat on a sunlounger in Douglas Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession, 1954 (Universal).

workers leads to a dancing scene that brings her and Moroccan immigrant Ali (El Hedi ben Salem) together.138 What is more, Fassbinder himself is working with Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, moving the story into 1970s Germany and creating a far darker, grittier version.139 Therefore, Haynes adds yet another layer to an already complex textual fabric. What is clear is that Far from Heaven is overwhelmingly similar to what has been seen before, but not in a way that is tied to one particular text and not at one particular level. Far from Heaven is highly imitative at all levels driving its audience back into previous textual experiences and worlds that Willis calls ‘a montage of memory’.140 It turns the audience’s gaze to the past, at every level, totally awash with what has been previously seen, and the similarity is unmissable. Yet, this is not done through pinpointing ‘certain’ allusions and finding their ‘meaning’, but through the entire construction of the text. However, Far from Heaven does not present things in exactly the same way as prior occurrences. For example, in the opening car scene described above, the egg-shell blue car is driven by the heroine of Far from Heaven, whereas it belongs to the heroine’s friend in All That Heaven Allows. A subtle difference, yes, but one that Willis sees as key: ‘an early signal that Haynes’s film will work through subtle condensations and displacements’.141 These slight displacements and alterations run throughout the film, with each textual encounter never ‘reading exactly the same’ as it did when first seen in previous locations. For example, the television in All That Heaven Allows features strongly as

138. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75, argues that such a scene is pure fantasy. For the ‘enjoyment of fantasy’ in the film, see McGowan, ‘Relocating Our Enjoyment’, pp. 114–21. 139. For discussions on Haynes and Fassbinder’s relationships to melodrama, see Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, pp. 132–44. 140. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, p. 134. 141. DeFalco, ‘Double-Edged Longing’, pp. 26–39. This displacement of the past is evident in all the works mentioned above.

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Figure 6.7   Sara meeting Cary clad in purple and green in Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows, 1955 (Universal).

Figure 6.8  Reversal: in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films) Cathy meets Eleanor dressed in the colours and style of Cary’s friend Sara from All That Heaven Allows.

the symbol of a single woman’s only companion. In Far from Heaven, the television is still there in the corner of the room when Cathy is photographed by a reporter, but it is the family’s money provider: Frank works for TV seller Magnatech.142 Even the costuming, which is so very alike, has slight discrepancies. Cathy’s costumes often look very much like Cary’s from All That Heaven Allows. However, she is dressed at points to resemble Sara, the disapproving friend, rather than Cary. For example, when she opens the door to Sarah after having been hit by Frank, she wears a purple outfit with a neck tie which strongly evokes Sara’s outfit when she first visit’s Cary in All That Heaven Allows (Figures 6.7 and 6.8). Also, as we have already seen, sometimes she seems more like Jane Wyman in Magnificent

142. For role of Televisions, see Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 138–43; Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen’, pp. 204–10.

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Obsession.143 This is the past re-presented, but never exactly the same as before, or as Marcia Landy states, ‘The film provides the illusion of familiarity.’144 How then do we read this film which is so very, very similar to the past, but never exactly the same? How do we react to a highly artistic re-creation of past textual encounters which never ceases to remind us of these experiences, while never actually presenting us with the same? d  Small Gestures Scream Louder than Shrieks As mentioned above, Far from Heaven forms the culmination of Dyer’s Pastiche. Having taken the reader through the sheer diversity of pastiche, Dyer chooses this ‘filmgoers’ film to summarize, highlight and challenge, often using his own personal filmic interactions as the basis for discussion in order to show how we as viewers can become part of the viewing experience.145 I will replicate this practice here, not only drawing on the work of Dyer and wider film scholarship, but also using my own viewing experiences as part of the analysis in order to explore this method of pastiche reading. In doing so we can explore how a pastiche which is overwhelmingly similar can bring the viewer to a place where they can recontextualize the past, reflect and become acutely aware of the tension between what was then and what is now. It will show how a sense of lacking, separation and distance can be triggered through the textual experience. Therefore, this next section will present a more personal tone than previous test case encounters in order to mirror Dyer’s approach to this film, and to facilitate a close engagement with the subtle material under examination by providing a raw reader-response account.146 Dyer reports that ‘the first time I saw Far from Heaven … there were moments when I could not see the screen for crying’.147 Yet he says that at the same time he was aware that these feelings were being created through mechanisms founded in imitation and recourse to the past: ‘On the other hand, I was fully conscious of the way the film was doing 1950s Hollywood melodrama, was pastiche.’148 He also 143. The vast number of resonances with past texts means that no one reader sees them all. Willis in her discussion on the importance of purple in costumes, and Cathy’s outfit in this scene does not notice that All the Heaven allows resonance. However, she does get more than enough to feel that this film is overwhelmingly similar, and also to feel the creeping tension. Indeed, many of the articles notice the unsettling experience of viewing something which is so derivative, but that does not trace the past. 144. Landy, ‘Storytelling’, p. 21. 145. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 174–80. 146. As mentioned in Chapter 3, the aim of this research is to utilize the range of reading approaches offered by Dyer, and so this chapter reflects the more intimate and personal style often present in film studies. 147. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 174. 148. Ibid.

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states that he was not aware of many of the references to other films upon his first viewing, nor the subtle differences, such as the change in editing speed.149 My own experiences were slightly different, viewing the film as part of a melodrama marathon. Having watched Imitation of Life, All That Heaven Allows and The Magnificent Obsession back-to-back I moved onto Far from Heaven. Like Dyer, I missed many of the textual similarities (there are so very many after all), but I was certainly acutely aware that there was an intense sense of similarity between the Sirks I had watched and Far from Heaven. However, I was surprised that I found myself feeling less moved by the scenes played out before me than when watching Sirk; the pain of the central female character, her isolation from the community and the issues being raised all seemed somewhat less engaging, less heady and less emotional. When watching the heart-wrenching Imitation of Life it had been all I could do to prevent myself from turning into a blubbering mess, and I nearly jumped out of my seat when Cary in All That Heaven Allows broke the Wedgewood teapot which Ron had restored, and which stands not only for their relationship and the life that they want to lead, but also her own sexuality and self. When watching Far from Heaven I felt distant in a way which watching the Sirks, despite their reflecting situations well before my birth, I had not.150 The almost unbearable tension was somehow gone, and I did not feel I was going to break if the mood did not change soon. What became apparent was a sense of loss during my watching of Far from Heaven.151 I was disappointed about the fact that Haynes had not made a Sirk and I was disappointed that the text showed me a past which was just that: past and never recoverable or inhabitable. The film I was watching was not a Sirk, but a Haynes, and the actors were not Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson, but Dennis Quaid from Joe Dante’s Inner Space (1987) and Julianne Moore of the Coen’s Big Lebowski (1998) fame. I became acutely aware that the heady emotion of Sirk’s screaming hysterics could never have been played today, for it would be laughable in a film set in present situations.152 Yet, I nostalgically longed for the ability to 149. Ibid., p. 176. On editing speed see Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 110. 150. For discussions on distancing or ‘distanciation’ in relation to melodrama more generally, see Joyrich, ‘Written on the Screen’, p. 190. The artifice at work in the film discussed above creates a distance in viewing as noticed by Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101–13; Landy, ‘Storytelling’, pp. 21–3. 151. The idea of a lost past and the sense of the unrecoverable are discussed in McGowan, ‘Relocating Our Enjoyment’, pp. 114–21; Sprengler, Screening Nostalgia; Cook, Screening the Past. 152. This is discussed in Eco, Postscript, pp. 19–20, where he points out that when opening a novel with the idea of a beautiful November morning in today’s world, it is difficult not to sound like Snoopy, but when he placed the words in Adso’s mouth, a medieval monk, it became appropriate because it provided him with a mask. He also points out that to say ‘I love you madly’ today sounds like Barbara Cartland, and so to convey the sense a speaker needs to say ‘like Barbara Cartland would say “I love you madly” ’. Ibid., pp. 67–8.

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inhabit a world where Sirks could still be made; where a teapot could move me to the point of distraction and where emotion and subjectivity did not have to be removed in order to prevent a text about love falling into camp or kitsch.153 In a sense, being presented with something so similar heightened my awareness that this was not the same. It was self-consciously past-esque in a way Sirk could not be, for they were made then, but Haynes was being made in my ‘now’.154 However, due to the overwhelming similarity, the differences could be so very subtle and yet still be felt. This allowed the film to function in a more refined way than the Sirks, and in Haynes’s representation of the past, the tiniest of movements and gestures became powerful. For example, Sirkian characters are often lucid to the point of Hallmark-style phrases, whereas in Far from Heaven the dialogue was far more reserved.155 Small bodily gestures, seemingly banal phrases and momentary glances were all there was to convey the emotional terror of the characters. For example, when Cathy’s marriage is over and Frank calls her from where he lives with his lover, her unbelievable disdain for him is conveyed through her uttering ‘you never could remember my car pool days’. Because it is evoking a past of emotion, a textual fabric of family disintegration and overblown mania, Haynes did not need to replay this heady emotion. Showing the similarity to the past was enough to remind me of past teapot-shattering experiences. Therefore, on such a canvass small gestures and subtle alterations stood out, and in the end they captured emotion and pain as well as any screaming could (Figure 6.9). Therefore, at the conclusion of the film, as Cathy says goodbye to Raymond, the tenderness of his touching her hand as her back was turned and the tiny wave she made at the station, so small and so pathetic/controlled, moved me to tears (Figure 6.10).156 The emotions of the past films had perhaps shattered my nerves somewhat, but the minutiae of the gestures stirred my present self, looking at a re-creation of ‘pastness’. After my heady immersion in Sirk, this broken down, ‘past-ed’ version of feeling was actually screaming at me through these tiny gestures. It made me realize that a story about a woman married to a gay man, in love with a black man, 153. On melodrama and camp when re-viewed in new locations, see Klinger, Melodrama, pp. 132–61. 154. Or as Landy, ‘Storytelling’, p. 23, states: ‘cast in the historical context of the 1950s but contaminated by the present’. 155. On the repressed dialogue, see Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 145, 154–6; Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 110. For a wider contextualization of the presentation of ‘nonentities’ and ‘dead subjects’ in Haynes’s films, see Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, pp. 138–9. 156. The tenderness of this scene is almost universally recognized, as is the emotive power of the film despite its artifice and pastiche: ‘presenting its main character as pure cliché, yet revealing in her situation a pathos that can still make us cry’. Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, p. 138. For a discussion on this scene in relation to how a lack of closure creates sublime fantasy, see McGowan, ‘Relocating Our Enjoyment’, pp. 119–20.It is also worthy of note that this resonates with Emi’s wave to Ali after their first night together in Fear Eats the Soul.

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Figure 6.9  Uncontrolled hysterics in Douglas Sirk’s Imitation of Life, 1959 (Universal).

a story which has so few ramifications on a large scale, would never and could not have been told in the 1950s.157 If such a subtle story was to be told, it had to move on from the past and be told by modern actors who lived in the twentyfirst century. Yet it had to be so very like the past so that I could notice the tiny modulations which created a distancing and a process of reflection. Therefore, as we experience this film which is like but not the same as this transgression between what was and what we are seeing, our own location and that of those we are seeing replayed, invokes an intense sense of historicity.158 However, Far from Heaven does not make this point through obvious anachronistic transgression, but uses subtlety and creeping emotion to do so. By being so close to what was before the difference is heightened not lessened. The ‘lacking’ of the past elements is what sets this into play as small movements appear far larger. e Summary We have seen how Far from Heaven first and foremost is a film which is re-presenting the past in the language of the past, from multiple texts and multiple textual layers. It is a text which is clearly ‘created’ in the sense that it is highly artistic and self-aware, and it is a text which provides the viewer with a total immersion in the past; into similarity. Yet, due to this, the distance between the film, the viewer and these past referents is heightened. The pervading feeling is that this is not of the past. It is not that it is ‘more than’ the past, but rather that 157. Summarized as ‘we sense the impossibility of their relationships within their historical setting at the same time as we recall the impossibility of representing those relationships within the texts to which Haynes refers’. Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 108. Cf. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75. 158. Contra Jameson’s arguments that pastiche is bereft of historicity. For a nuanced discussion of the persistence of emotion/limits of emotion in Haynes in relation to Jameson, see Morrison, ‘Theory and Practice’, pp. 132–44.

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Figure 6.10  Cathy left behind, breaking inside as the train leaves in Todd Haynes’s Far from Heaven, 2002 (Killer Films).

in so many ways it is less than past textual experiences; it is ‘lacking’ what they had: raw unashamed emotion, riches and glamour, Rock Hudson, Lana Turner and Jane Wyman, cutting-edge contemporary costuming. A distancing, therefore, creeps into the viewing experience as imitation reminds the viewer that what was in past texts is no longer accessible. This facilitates reflection, for rather than one textual experience being examined, the location of the viewer is brought into focus and they find themselves aware that they are watching a highly artistic 2002 film re-creating and ‘doing’ the 1950s, rather than an actual 1950s film. However, this is not done through obvious exaggeration, or glaring modern techniques,159 but through the fact that this is instead very, very similar.

IV  Revelation 18: Like but Not the Same Therefore, we return to Revelation 18, asking how a twenty-first-century film about repressed homosexuality and interracial love which imitates 1950s melodramas can inform how this passage may be reread. We shall now use the above examination of Far from Heaven’s complex dialogue with the past, highly artistic yet familiar form, creeping sense of ‘lacking’ through difference and the effect of reading it as pastiche, to examine how reading Revelation 18 through a similar lens can explain how the text functions. a  Reading the Whole Text We have seen in the first section of this chapter that Revelation 18 exhibits literary artifice, poetic coherence and multiple intra-textual features. Obvious examples 159. For example, Gary Ross’s Pleasantville (1998) and Sam Mendes’s Revolutionary Road (2008).

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include the repetition of phrases such as οὐαὶ οὐαί, ἡ πόλις ἡ μεγάλη (vv.10, 16, 19), which itself echoes the triple cry of woe from the eagle in Rev. 8.13, the groups of mourners all viewing from afar (vv. 10, 15, 17) and the ring composition/triptych presentation of the material. However, the literary nature of Revelation 18 is often subsumed into discussions surrounding its similarity to other texts and which text is guiding it. To pinpoint specific texts and find guiding frames is so very appealing. However, we saw how Revelation 18 is so entwined with other texts that to pinpoint one source, one level of textual control or even to tie specific parts to exact texts is a nearly impossible task. There are simply too many nods to other texts at every level to do this in any way which reveals much more than the fact that Revelation 18 looks remarkably similar to the OT. The clear structure and highly controlled material is not easily unpicked but instead provides a complex web of textual imitation which draws the reader into this sense of similarity to multiple OT texts while also guiding the reader through a clearly coherent framework and signalled literary artifice.160 Far from Heaven provided us with a highly imitative text, awash with artifice and attention to detail. It also provided a text which moves firmly and openly in the realm of imitation through pastiche. This has allowed us to explore what it is like to read a highly allusive text, and Far from Heaven has shown that engaging with carefully crafted imitative texts does not necessarily facilitate ‘spot the allusion’, and also that viewers do not approach it this way. Viewers of Far from Heaven, (scholars, critics or the public) do not approach the film in order to find the overriding reference which makes the text ‘make sense’, or which provides its ‘intended meaning’. Indeed, a detailed study of ‘Reuse of All That Heaven Allows’ mapping its features, its certain, probable and possible allusions, and plotting how material is reused in order to find out its ‘message’ is not the approach taken by scholars interested in Far from Heaven (it is unlikely to ever be the approach taken). Rather, Far from Heaven immerses its viewers in the world of other texts, particularly those from the 1950s, in a ‘downpour of references’.161 However, this is done in a signalled way, where the artifice of the material guides the reader. Therefore, the focus for Far from Heaven scholarship is not one particular text, or one particular feature, but how multiple texts and multiple features incrementally and holistically contribute to the experience, and how this intense sense of familiarity and ‘seen before’ impacts viewers.162 This way of approaching a text provides a new holistic perspective for re-viewing Revelation 18, which once again allows us to approach it as a carefully crafted passage where intertexts create a sea

160. This reflects the findings of the past two chapters, where offering the inaugural vision or the whore as guided by one figure/city/text limits the potential impact of the text. 161. Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, p. 101. 162. Of course, focusing on certain parts of the text can be useful, and comparing elements may provide insights to the underlying workings, but a more holistic approach is favoured.

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of resonances and where we focus on the effect that its entire multilayered textual fabric points to: an overwhelming feeling of ‘seen it all before’. b  Redrawing Different: ‘Similar’ Is Not the Same as ‘the Same’ During our Revelation 18 discussions, a clear tension became apparent in scholarship between finding which text guides the passage, and highlighting what was different in order to show originality. Our studies did show that despite all its similarity to other texts, difference is present. However, is this difference what it is purported to be: an injection of something ‘fresh’, ‘new’ and ‘original’? These terms indicate a positive difference, a difference which adds to prior manifestations and which focuses not on the ‘seen before’ but the unseen. They also indicate a post-romantic need to shun imitation and foreground originality. Yet, based on our similarity studies, Revelation 18 does not produce radical difference, fresh presentations or an overwhelming sense of originality. Indeed, it seems the reverse, foregrounding similarity and a sense of having ‘seen it all before’. However, this does not mean that I want to throw the different out with the derivative – far from it. Rather, in light of reading through our pastiche lens of Far from Heaven, I want to reassess the notion of difference in Revelation 18. What viewing Haynes’s re-creation of the 1950s melodrama showed was that by immersing its viewers in the past, a sense of distance and a realization that this was not a film of the past came creeping into the viewing experience. Each subtle difference, each representation of something almost the same as before (but not quite), right down to the driver of the car in the opening scene and the television in the corner of the room rather than reflecting back the female lead, gave a sense that this film was dialoguing with films of the 1950s, but was not one of these films. This sense of unease continued as the film progressed, with a realization that it was not ‘a Sirk’ but was rather ‘Haynes doing Sirk’ and that this was not a film of the 1950s but a film ‘doing the 1950s’. However, there is nothing overt in the text which signalled this. There are hints such as changes in editing speed, the use of lighting gels and the stifling script, but these alterations are not explicit enough to scream out ‘this text is different from Douglas Sirk’. Rather, this feeling of ‘like but not the same’ creeps over the viewer as they become aware of a subtle but important point: ‘similar’ is not the same as ‘the same’.163 For all the overwhelming similarity, for all the closeness to past sentiments, Far from Heaven is not the same, and in this space between so very similar but not exact replication the sense of distance can become stifling. This is pastiche working at its most imitative, where the difference between ‘like’ but ‘not the same’ is at a bare minimum, but because of this the difference becomes achingly palpable, as similarity brings you so close to what

163. See Orr, Intertextuality, p. 107, for similar vein of thinking, that comparing like with ‘alike’ are not the same as comparing ‘like’ with ‘like’.

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you have experienced before, but not quite there; and this creates an intense space where the smallest modulation of difference screams loudly.164 Therefore, when Revelation 18 presents an overriding sense of similarity, is the difference scholars pick up on generated by ‘freshness’ and ‘originality’, or is it created by experiencing how the text is not ‘the same’? This sense of ‘seen it all before’ is rife in Revelation 18 at all levels, very similar to the way that Far from Heaven operates. Yet it is not the same as its intertexts: we have seen above how no one feature is reused ‘exactly’ and nothing is a ‘copy’: every phrase, phase, face and feature never completely replicates another text image-for-image, line-for-line, word-for-word, theme-for-theme. For example, in previous texts specific beasts have been named as coming to dwell in deserted cities: ostriches (Isa. 13.21, Jer. 50.39), jackals (Jer. 51.37, Isa. 13.22, Jer. 9.11), hyenas (Isa. 13.22, Jer. 50.39) and owls (Isa. 34.13, Zeph. 2.14). In Rev. 18.2 no specific breeds are mentioned. This allows for multiple resonances with past texts as no one specific precedent is seen, but rather a wide range of texts are evoked all of which come under the notion of animals inhabiting desolate cities. The text is firmly signalling to the ‘already seen’, but a creeping difference appears. In the same way, we saw how Ruiz and Bauckham highlighted how the trade list of vv.12-13 is much shorter than that presented in Ezekiel 27, with no mention of the origins of goods and a simple list-form utilized.165 This process of textual refinement strips the list down to its basic components, in a similar way to the speech patterns of characters in Far from Heaven. Only the bare essentials are there, in some ways giving a more intense experience, but at the same time something is lost in this process when compared to Ezekiel 27: the story, the contextualization and the drama. This provides difference from the past in that this new textual experience is lacking what has been experienced in past texts. We can see a similar experience in the casting down of the millstone, sometimes read as referring to a similarity with Tyre and indicating that Babylon is like Tyre. Sometimes Jeremiah 51 is preferred, but with slight alterations: the sea is being referred to rather than the Euphrates and the angel does the action rather than the prophet. Based on our pastiche reading of how a sense of similarity breeds a feeling of difference, this section again presents something which is remarkably similar to what has been seen before, but the idea of a specific stone, a millstone, being cast down presents another alteration which again contributes to this sense of ‘this is not quite the same’. On its own none of these alterations is significant, and when focused on individually can be, and often are, explained by relocation, harmonizing a message 164. The most extreme version of this is perhaps found in Jorge Luis Borges’s ‘Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote’ in which Menard may have written the exact words of Cervantes, but when ‘truth in history’ occurs in a twentieth-century location can it ever be the same as in The Quixote? For a discussion, see Hoesterey, Pastiche, pp. 83–5. 165. For Ruiz, this was part of a threefold alteration process of simplification, rearrangement and reintegration.

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or even ‘textual variants’. Readings focused on how specific OT texts are reused breed such views. This is similar to arguing that Cathy being dressed like Sara is explained through Julianne Moore’s skin tone matching purple better, or that the television in the corner of the room rather than central makes for a more flexible acting space. However, when we read the blended elements together through the lens of highly imitative pastiche each of these slight differences is combined with all of the other slight differences noted in our similarity studies. In this situation, a sense of an altered past becomes palpable as no one variation is the focus, but it is the holistic impact of a constantly shifting textual experience that speaks to the viewers, continually sliding away from ‘the same’ and not into ‘new’, ‘fresh’ or ‘original’ but into the unsettling realm of ‘similar’.166 Therefore, by reapproaching Revelation 18 through the lens of pastiche, as played out in Far from Heaven, we can re-view ‘difference’ in Revelation 18 as something far more subtle than previously perceived. We observed difference that, rather than ‘fresh’, ‘original’ or ‘new’, is more akin to ‘it is almost the same, but not quite’ through the shortening of a lament, the relocation of a trade item, the removal of countries of origin, the generalizing of beasts. We can, therefore, read Revelation 18 as a text that speaks difference through similarity, when similarity is something that can be embraced as a valid artistic practice, even when it does not point to one specific text, or one past meaning. This is subtle difference at its peak, observed due to the intense similarity of the text to what has been seen before. This is not Henry Fonda becoming a vicious child killer. This is something dominated by a sense of aching similarity, where difference is far less obvious, but nevertheless equally present. c  Freeing Ourselves from a Fear of Imitation: Embracing Lacking and Loss Therefore, by rejecting a focus on the ‘originality’ of the text and on its ‘positive’ difference, and by refusing to pinpoint what is ‘most similar’, we can inhabit the realm of ‘very, very like but not the same’ and in doing so we can begin to ask afresh how Revelation 18’s intense relationship with other texts can be interpreted. Far from Heaven facilitated a focus on imitative practices and the viewing experience. This revealed that when faced with a sea of similarity it is not a sense of positive, original, new, fresh difference that is felt, but a sense of lacking, of loss and of ‘less than’. These seemingly pejorative terms, as we have seen throughout this examination, are integral to so many definitions of imitation, as a derivative work is deemed ‘second-rate’, or ‘below par’, a ‘failed copy’ – worthless, in other words.167

166. At a more macro-level, Revelation 18 is so much shorter than the passages it evokes, for example, more refined than Ezekiel 26–8, shorter, and more complex than Jeremiah 51. 167. For example, the Prado’s version of the Mona Lisa, similar to the original but with subtle differences, when compared to Salvador Dali’s version which has his moustache-

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However, Far from Heaven shows a way to move beyond these mindsets, presenting a highly imitative text full of artistic merit, yet at the same time wholly derivative. Through encountering such a pastiche we can learn to lose the fear that imitation and derivative texts are somehow ‘less than’ their intertexts, as reading as pastiche allows us to embrace this fact and reflect because of it. The overwhelming account of viewing experiences of Far from Heaven was that it produced a sense of distance and a sense of loss. In essence, there is a sense of ‘disappointment’ when watching the film. Yet this was not because Far from Heaven produced a substandard imitation, but rather it was because this loss and disappointment were part of its textual fabric. Titles of scholarly articles reflect this: ‘The Politics of Disappointment’, ‘Double Edged Longing’ and ‘Orange and Blue, Desire and Loss’.168 My own viewing experiences reflected this as I longed for the heady hysterics of characters, but found myself presented with bitter emotion hidden in social structures, and as I wanted to see Lana Turner and Rock Hudson, but instead saw Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore. Yet, this does not mean that Far from Heaven failed to deliver what it should, but that it failed to deliver what I had hoped for, and in doing so made me aware of my own ‘presentness’. I was made aware that the past being re-presented was just that, not the past, but a re-presented version which could not be the same, because the world we live in, the emotions that would be acceptable on film, the cars we drive and the world we inhabit make this an impossibility. The act of viewing a film which re-presents the past in a way which is so similar, but not the same, triggers an understanding that this is not actually the past, and that something has been lost. It also, at the same time, reminded me that if I wanted to watch a film about interracial love and gay relationships, the 1950s were not the place to look. Far from Heaven simply could not have been made then, and what is more, the intense feelings generated by such small gestures as Cathy’s wave would never have been noticed. I needed a re-creation, and one which reminded me that it was just that, a modernday re-creation, to show me what could never be re-created, and to allow me to experience a sense of loss and of lacking in order to reassess my present viewing experiences. As we have seen, although Revelation 18 may look like a text from the OT, it is not a text from the OT. However, this is not because of Revelation 18’s literary ‘freshness’ (although it is a highly literary creation) but rather because of its small modulations of change. It is written in the language of the OT, particularly prophetic texts, and constantly turns the gaze of the audience to the past, to the fall of Babylon, Jerusalem, Nineveh and Tyre; to the desolation of cities and destruction of Israel’s enemies. Yet, at the same time, the text does not invoke these

clad face imposed onto it, shows something so very similar is viewed as less worthy than something which flaunts its difference. 168. DeFalco, ‘Double-Edged Longing’, pp. 26–39; Higgins, ‘Orange and Blue’, pp. 101– 13; Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75.

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experiences exactly, eschewing the idea of a repetition of the past.169 Nor does it present a new and original experience compared to what has been seen before. In such an environment the smallest modulations stand out more because of this and what is no longer the same can begin to be reflected upon. Therefore, based on all that we have seen I would argue that viewing Revelation 18 through the lens of pastiche can bring into focus the notion that while resembling the OT, it is, in fact, drawing attention to the current situation. Rather than only looking to the past for answers to the present situation (as we faced in the past so we face again), I would argue that Revelation 18 can be read as indicating through its aching similarity to past texts, that the situation of the readers is not the same. d  The World Has Changed: Bringing the Present into View through the Past We have seen above that the trade list of vv.12–13 is a particularly debated section of Revelation 18, with slight alterations to the order and items being particularly focused on. It is, nevertheless, very similar, and I have argued above that it is in this similarity that a sense of movement away from the past can be felt. Two extreme views of this section (vv.12–13) were presented: that of Bauckham who argued that the text is wholly Romanized, and that of Provan who argued that the text should only be read through the OT. We have seen the tension between its resembling Ezekiel 27, and not being the same.170 Despite Provan’s attempts to dehistoricize, the trade list does not simply point to the past. Rather, this is a major point of temporal transgression within Revelation 18. The list may look like the past but, just like the presence of so many new 1950s outfits on Julianne Moore in Far from Heaven, these items point to the present bleeding into the past. The use of objects in Revelation 18 also provides a ‘tangible’ point for the audience as a bombarding polysyndetonal list of twenty-eight items running one into the other, and heaping material good upon material good, creates a huge amalgamation of ‘stuff ’ to grasp and relate to. These objects do point to the past, in the sense that so many of the items are from Ezekiel, but they also point to the present, as some of these objects standing out on the linguistic register as ‘foreign’ and ‘new’. Particularly noticeable here is the already mentioned insertion of ‘chariots’. The term used for them is a hapax legomenon: ῥεδῶν, from ῥέδη. This is not a chariot of old, but a distinctly Roman one, described by a term only used in Revelation 18 and having a distinctly

169. This transhistorical reading is often presented to explain the sense of the same, and the reason why the author is reusing so much past material. 170. Imitative labels are also eschewed by Boxall, Revelation, p. 260, who points out that ‘Revelation does not slavishly follow Ezekiel. On the contrary, John’s list of twenty-eight products specifically reflects the imports of the city of Rome in the first century.’ He also points out the excessive nature of the list, and the sheer diversity of what was evident. This is most comprehensively examined by Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. 250–371.

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Latin root (reda/raeda), standing out starkly in a Semitic sounding text.171 The same can be said for the occurrence of σηρικός,172 another hapax legomenon, and certainly an incredibly rare item.173 Indeed, Prigent draws attention to the fact that ‘clothes of silk were a very rare sign of wealth and power, and were therefore very striking’.174 Also, we have noted the fact that καὶ ψυχὰς ἀνθρώπων resonates particularly strongly with Ezek. 27.13,175 and yet is relocated at the end of the list, which has stood out to commentators as enhancing the importance of slaves.176 This alteration is often focused on as key to John’s critique of empire, but in reality is yet again a small modulation in the text, but is so much more noticeable when placed in a sea of similarity. Therefore, regardless of whether this text might or might not be functioning as a direct critique of Rome’s trade and economic policy, when read in light of the pastiche nature of Far from Heaven, the use of physical items appears to evoke past texts, and at the same time reminds the reader that they live in a different temporal location, as Julianne Moore dressed in the same clothes is still not Jane Wyman (and the clothes Wyman wore could never look so good in 2002). A temporal tension is introduced as the past is replayed, but with the present so subtly infused into it, or as Landy says, it is ‘contaminated by the present’.177 Yet this sense of a changed world is created in a signalled way by a highly literary text full of artifice and poetic structure, not through blundering anachronism, or a devaluing of the past. Each element adds little by little and no one element needs to be recognized by the audience as the cumulative weight of the text points to this alteration.178 171. Danker, Bauer, Arndt, BDAG, p. 904. According to Quintilian it was originally a Celtic word. It came into Greek through Latin authors, as reda/raeda in Cicero. F. Blass, A. Debrunner and R. W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), p. 4. 172. Danker, Bauer, Arndt, BDAG, p. 924. 173. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 355. See also Aune, Revelation 3, p. 999. 174. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 506. 175. Aune, Revelation 3, p. 1002; Beale, Commentary, p. 910; Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 508. 176. As stated earlier, for examinations of the impact of this movement, see Boesak, Comfort and Protest; Martin, ‘Unclouded Mirror’, pp. 81–109; Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, pp. 370–1. 177. Landy, ‘Storytelling’, p. 23. 178. How much awareness this assumes of an audience is obviously a contentious point. However, the fact that these terms stand out uniquely in the linguistic register and that the alteration of the list’s order is widely noticed by scholarship indicates that these movements are felt by interpreters. When all are brought together it is clear that the text is signalling alteration from past textual experiences, and the use of Latin origin words, the reordering of items and the most expensive newest imports to the Empire is likely to have stood out. Just as we have seen only I have noticed the slippage of costuming from Sara to Cathy, but this does not mean it does not add to the feeling the audience has when watching this scene, particularly when added to all the other alterations. In the same way this trade list is subtly

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This sense of a world changed, although so much is so very similar, is also indicated in Revelation 18 through the replay of Jer. 51.45’s summons to flee (as well as Jer. 50.8; 51.6), with a call ‘come out of her my people’ (v.4). When trying to pin down the allusion, scholars are quick to note that this cannot be a call to physically leave Rome (a) because the audience did not live in the city of Rome and/or (b) because the Roman Empire can hardly be ‘left’.179 For Yarbro Collins, the call is a psychological one, where the mindset of the people is to be changed.180 For Boxall, ‘there is no indication that this is to be taken literally’.181 Rather, he believes that they are meant to stay in cities to show a continuing presence, but must reject any unjust culture which can ‘permeate any city in any age’.182 For Schüssler Fiorenza, ‘the call to “come out of it” must be understood metaphorically as a call to separate from Rome’s injustice, idolatry, and murder’.183 Bauckham believes: The command, whose language is borrowed from Jeremiah … is not meant in the literal geographical sense it has in Jeremiah. None of John’s first readers lived in the city of Rome. The command is for the readers to dissociate themselves from Rome’s evil, lest they share her guilt and her judgment.184

Also, the idea that this might be a literal historical summons to flee Jerusalem to Pella in 70 ce, as outlined in Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.5.3, has gained little support.185 Therefore, we see a focus on whether the summons is metaphorical or physical, rather than asking what the effect of such a familiar call in this location has on the audience. The text sounds the same as what has been said in the past, but sets into motion the question of how very different the current situation is from what it was before. This is noticed to some extent by Caird who states that ‘when John hears the same words spoken from heaven of the figurative Babylon, they mean something

creeping in its alterations of goods from the past, and this alteration is undeniable and when added with all we have seen above is not one factor alone but one of a multitude of slippages all working together. 179. See Rossing, Two Cities, p. 120, for a selection of arguments regarding whether this is literal or metaphorical, an economic, cultic or spiritual appeal. See also Caird, Revelation, pp. 223–4. 180. Collins, Crisis and Catharsis. 181. Boxall, Revelation, p. 257. 182. Ibid. 183. Schüssler Fiorenza, Vision, p. 100. 184. Bauckham, Climax of Prophecy, p. 377. 185. L. Cerfaux and J. Cambier, L’Apocalypse de Saint Jean lue aux Chrétiens (Paris: Cerf, 1955), p. 156. However, this has gained little support, particularly given dating complexities, fpr example, Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 504.

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quite different’.186 It is a summons to leave something which cannot be left.187 The audiences receiving this text are not inhabitants of Babylon, but inhabitants of the Roman Empire, not in the world of cities and surrounding areas, but in the world of entire empire as never seen before.188 Indeed, the later occurrence of the trade list will enhance this fact by bringing together items from all corners of the empire, or as Boxall says ‘virtually every area of the known world is covered’,189 further reminding the audience just how vast the empire they dwell in is. Therefore, although this summons may speak in the language of the past, its new location in a ‘global’ empire brings to the fore the alterations which have occurred in the world. This cannot be a literal summons to flee as before because such a flight is simply impossible. Rather than simply assuming this impossibility must mean the call is metaphorical, Far from Heaven offers us a different way to understand this summons, as slippages of temporality allow us to realize that this is a text which does not deliver as the texts of the past did, and that something is inherently lacking. Through watching Far from Heaven I became aware that the past textual experience I longed for simply could not be re-created because Lana Turner has died, and the America presented in the film is crumbling in the abandoned streets of Detroit. Also, I could not have screaming hysterics because they would appear risible in a film created in 2002. Yet, at the same time, the texts of the past were no longer able to aptly speak into the world of now, as the 1950s melodrama could not deal with the issues of gay love and interracial love – it was simply too scandalous and the power systems that created such a film too oppressive. Revelation 18 uses the language of the OT, of cities that fall, of laments from far off over great cities, of barren, desolate cityscapes and calls to ‘Come out of her my people’ to speak into a world vastly different from past manifestations. The Roman Empire could not be fled. Rome may represent the heart of the Empire, but it was so much more than one city, one which could be left through exile. Therefore, in this summons to flee what is lacking is the sheer possibility of being able to flee. A summons which was called out in the past, which evokes events from Israel’s history, is simply not quite enough to solve the problems the audiences now face. The destruction of the enemy may be longed for, but the ability to run from it is no longer the same.190 Therefore, this confusing summons to flee in among so many other familiar features, just like the presentation of gay and interracial love in Far 186. Caird, Revelation, p. 223. 187. This is, according to our previous chapter, partly because ‘she’ can be read as so many cities, both self and other, meaning that separation is not so simple. 188. Although of course, the empires of the past would have appeared all encompassing to those under their rule. 189. Boxall, Revelation, p. 260. 190. As L. Morris, The Book of Revelation: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1990), p. 212, reminds us this passage ‘illustrates the way the whole world may depend on trade with one great centre’. When this becomes the case, the concept of the destruction of this enterprise may be a more challenging situation to face, even if you wish

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from Heaven, reveals the different viewing location of a first-century audience to their predecessors. It contextualizes the entire enterprise of destruction, indicating this cannot be exactly the same as the past. Things from then are lost, never to be regained, such as the ability to flee oppressive cities prior to their destruction. It is essentially a historicizing experience, intimately past and intimately present. e  Strange, I’ve Seen That Fate Before We have seen how temporal seepage refracts the viewing experience in highly imitative texts, indicating to the viewers their own relationship with the past. Within this, we have seen that the sense of lacking and of ‘less than’ can be embraced as part of the fabric of the text, rather than shied away from. I have suggested some of the ways that Revelation 18 subtly shows its audience that the texts of the past are lacking in the situation which is now faced. The transhistorical nature of the imitated texts is most frequently the focus of scholars, as we have seen, leading to arguments over how texts about past events can be reapplied to present circumstances. In this, there is again a sense of positivity, of the idea that seeing a text which is overwhelmingly similar brings about consolation and comfort as enemies are again defeated. However, our pastiche test case has shown a viewing experience that is far more complex, where in the realm of ‘like but not the same’ the reencountering of texts in a different temporal location could actually bring about regret and distancing. Seeing the image of two men kissing, or a black man and a white woman dancing in a black jazz club moves into the realm of 1950s fantasy,191 and this is a bitter viewing perspective to become aware of, as we see them replayed in an aesthetic world where they simply would not have been able to have been present, and as we realize that these events are still not wholly accepted today. Revelation 18 presents the final destruction of Babylon in language which evokes OT texts that recounted remarkably similar experiences and remarkably similar events, and have made similar declarations and promises: that Israel’s enemies would fall never to rise again. The fact that Babylon is again being destroyed is what attracts scholarly attention, leading to arguments that as God has done in the past, so he will do again: a positive reappearance of the past. Yet our Far from Heaven lens has brought another facet of the text into focus: the fact that Babylon is being destroyed again. This sense of return is something which is simply not focused on in Revelation 18 scholarship as ‘replication’ or ‘originality’ is sought.192 However, there is a bitter-loss side of these textual reincarnations, as seeing the throwing of the stone to get rid of Babylon once and for all, lists for the empire to fall and are at the bottom of the ladder. For a discussion of this interlocked conundrum, see Smith, Woman Babylon. 191. Willis, ‘Politics of Disappointment’, pp. 130–75. 192. Again, the transhistorical is seen here in the fact that as God has destroyed enemies before, so he will again. For Beale this is not historical Rome or Babylon alone, but the

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of excessive wealth held by oppressive empires and beasts making their home in deserted cities somehow appear again. Babylon is back despite her past fallen fate, and this time she cannot be fled. Therefore, within this similarity and the sense of seen before reappearing again, surely a questioning of how this can still be seeps in: Why is a situation again being faced where an enemy needs to be destroyed? Why is an even more terrifying empire being faced than ever seen before? The declarations of the past that Babylon would never rise again have not come to pass. Far from Heaven creates a bitter sense of disappointment in the growing awareness that racism and homophobia were so rife in the texts of the past that they barely featured, and yet at the same time these issues still have not gone away, even in a radically altered world where Rock Hudson is dead and a new generation of actors who have been able to be more open about their sexuality have come into the limelight. Is it not also the case that Revelation 18 can be read as a text of bitter disappointment because the faces, features, forms, phrases and phases which promised the end of enemies before are again being used, when they should no longer be necessary as the fate of enemies has been decreed. Babylon was decreed to never rise again, yet here somehow she is back, and this time she is even more terrifying. It is not the fact that she is being destroyed again that is brought to the fore, but that she ‘is’ again; the readers face a situation which they should not where enemies again need to be defeated. Reading the text this way, not as using the past in new, original and fresh ways, but in bitterly disappointingly similar ways, opens up this avenue of interpretation, which moves away from exact past textual references, and towards a place where the past and present come together, but the past is no longer quite enough to sum up the present, and seeing it replayed creates not a positive experience, but a negative one. This chapter has demonstrated the all-pervading imitative nature of Revelation 18. It has shown the textual similarity at every level, and in many different ways, held in a highly literary structure. Therefore, we have seen that Revelation 18 is, more than anything, overwhelmingly similar to OT texts. This similarity has led previous studies to a focus on which OT text it is most like, whereas our similarity studies revealed a textual fabric of extreme imitation which frustrated reading this way, as a sense of similarity to past texts was what was signalled, not similarity to a specific text. At the same time, we have also seen how Revelation scholars have infused readings with the language of originality and of positive difference, demonstrating artistic merit through moving Revelation 18 away from ‘mere imitation’ and ‘slavish copying’ into the realm of ‘fresh’ and ‘new’. However, by bringing Revelation 18 under the lens of pastiche we have read in a world where imitation can be viewed as a valid artistic production, and where a fear of similarity can be left behind. In doing so, we have seen that Revelation 18 shows its difference not through fresh injections of originality, but through a creeping sense of being almost like something else, but not the same as. In this framework, small ultimate city, the final city to be destroyed. However, he cannot see a sense of ‘lacking’ in seeing something which should no longer exist (Babylon).

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modulations have stood out. What is more, a sense of lacking has been felt in the text. This has been embraced rather than feared, and Revelation 18 has been shown to be lacking compared to its many textual partners. Reading through the pastiche lens of Far from Heaven has allowed us to examine how a text which is highly imitative can provide a sense of longing and of loss, and that this may be integral to the way the text works. Therefore, we have been able to reread Revelation 18 as lacking elements of the past and of hinting to loss in a way which brings the audience to a place of reflection. In the tense space between similar and not the same, we have seen that it can become apparent that the world has changed. Also, while the imitated texts may speak of triumph, or recall a celebrated past, a sense of disappointment can be felt as they are brought together to address issues which should not be so; where enemies return when triumph is longed for and where empires exist that can no longer be fled.193 However, based on what we have seen in our previous chapters, when reading as pastiche discovering a text which brings the audience into a place of reflection and reassessment should come as little surprise. We saw how the inaugural vision evoked many figures from the past, and how Revelation 17 resonated with the past of Israel and the past of her enemies at the same time, evoking pleasure and pain. Revelation 18 has continued this sense of a double-voiced experience in relation to past textual experiences. Indeed, the above exploration has revealed that it intensifies these feelings, but in a far more subtle way, with imitation at its most complex when the text is so very nearly a replay of the past, but not quite. This has taken us into the realm of pastiche at its most subtle and most nuanced, when alteration is barely perceptible and difference only felt through similarity. This allows us to see that Revelation 18 is indeed not an OT text. It is lacking in many ways, and that is okay. In fact, that may well be the point.

193. Such sentiments resonate with the findings of Najman Najman, Losing the Temple in relation to 4 Ezra’s relationship with the past. The ideas of loss and reviewing the past in different ways dialogue with each other, and both have been felt when looking at the text without a fear of imitation. This will be discussed more in our Conclusion.

Chapter 7 A pocalypse N oir: R ereading G enre through P astiche 1

Our examination so far has focused on specific ‘Revelation and OT’ issues surrounding images and units within the text. In these studies, we have seen scholarly attempts to pinpoint what Revelation is ‘most like’ at different levels such as language, allusions, forms and tropes. We have also seen how reading Revelation through our pastiche lens as ‘like but not the same’ as OT texts has offered a powerful answer to the interpretative challenge ‘how are such combined allusions to be studied?’ Now, in this final case study, we unshackle ourselves from post-Beale-allusion issues in order to see how reading as pastiche has even more wide-ranging potential to challenge how we view Revelation’s relationship with other texts, and to reassess scholarly assumptions. This examination will build on all that we have seen above, and will continue with the same methodology of reading Revelation as pastiche, but with broader horizons which look at how Revelation relates to other texts at its most macro-level – genre. In doing so this culminating study will show how reapproaching Revelation with our pastiche lens can not only allow us to see the text anew, but also lead to a reappraisal of scholarship about generic categorization itself. This chapter focuses on one of the most vexatious features of modern Revelation scholarship: Revelation’s relationship with apocalypse and apocalyptic.2 Beale believes that ‘studies of the apocalyptic genre have yielded diminishing returns,

1. This is a revised version of M. Fletcher, ‘Apocalypse Noir: How Revelation Defined and Defied a Genre’, in The Book of Revelation: Currents in British Research on the Apocalypse, ed. G. V. Allen, I. Paul and S. P. Woodman (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), pp. 115–34. This revised version is printed here with permission from Mohr Siebeck. 2. Apocalyptic will refer to a worldview and apocalypse to a genre/literary form. For an overview of attempts to define terms, see P. D. Hanson, ‘Apocalypse, Genre’, in Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible: Supplementary Volume, ed. K. Crim (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1976), pp. 27–8; P. D. Hanson and J. J. Collins, ‘Apocalypses and Apocalypticism’, in The Anchor Bible Dictionary A-C, ed. D. N. Freedman; 6 vols (New York: Doubleday, 1st ed, 1992), pp. 279–92; C. Fletcher-Louis, ‘Jewish Apocalyptic and Apocalypticism’, in Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, ed. T. Holmén and S. E. Porter; 4 vols (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 1569–607; R. E. Sturm, ‘Defining the Word ‘Apocalyptic’: A Problem in Biblical

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especially in terms of significant new interpretative insights into Revelation,’3 and given the quantity of scholarship on the apocalyptic/apocalypse genre issue, we should ask whether there is scope for any new insights. Yet, pastiche offers a way to re-view Revelation’s genre because it moves in the same realm of textual relations. Genre is, of course, yet another type of imitation. To say that a text is of a specific genre is a way of categorizing what it is similar to, how it connects to other texts and how it resembles what has been seen before.4 Although often taken further than this, particularly in NT studies where it is often seen as central to ascertaining ‘correct’ interpretation and meaning,5 when placed alongside other imitative practices we can see that genre is actually yet another way of texts operating in relation to other texts. The table introduced in Chapter 3 (Figure 3.1) helps to show this by situating pastiche and genre within the realm of imitative practices, but with pastiche as a more textually signalled ‘self-aware’ form.6 Dyer makes the difference clear: A straight genre work is not purposefully signalling the fact of imitation. One symphony, sonnet or Western may be like another symphony, sonnet or Western, but it is not necessarily, significantly or usually about that likeness. … Straight genre works are like pastiche in that they imitate other works and you know they do, but unlike it in that this is not the point of them.7

Therefore, to say that something can be categorized as a particular genre is not necessarily a profound or interesting comment, and says little about its textual relations except that it adopts a similar framework.8 However, when the similarity of a text to other texts at a macro-level (genre) becomes a major point of scholarly Criticism’, in Apocalyptic and the New Testament: Essays in Honor of J. Louis Martyn, ed. J. Marcus and M. L. Soards; JSNTSup, 24 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), pp. 17–48. 3. Beale, Commentary, p. 41. 4. ‘To be aware of a work as being of a particular genre is perforce to be aware of it as an imitation of an imitation – yet there is, in principle, a difference between just an instance of the genre and a pastiche of it.’ Dyer, Pastiche, p. 4. 5. This is particularly due to NT studies’ adoption of Hirsch as representing genre studies, when in fact he represents a marginal position. Hirsch believes that generic categorization affects how a reader interprets the whole text: ‘preliminary generic conception of a text is constitutive of everything that he [the interpreter] subsequently understands’. E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), p. 74. The adoption of such reading stances often revolve around theological concerns. For a wholehearted adoption of a Hirschian approach, see R. A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels?: A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 6. As seen in Chapter 3, Genette classified genre as a type of ‘architextuality’ where texts moved in the realm of other texts at their least obvious. 7. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 35. 8. ‘The fact that one work is like another does not mean that, in any interesting way, it is referring to it.’ Ibid., p. 23. For a contextualization of Dyer’s theory of genre, see ibid., pp. 92–3.

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debate, uncertainty and focus, then the discussion becomes more important. In the case of Revelation, it becomes a central scholarly issue, as how much Revelation resembles texts at this macro-genre level is still unresolved. Is it an apocalypse or is it apocalyptic?9 How does it resemble other apocalypses? And of course, Revelation’s relationship to OT texts is brought into the debate, asking how does it relate to OT prophecy and the OT more generally?10 It is clear that Revelation is far more complex than a ‘straight genre work’, and that this is yet another case of trying to pinpoint what Revelation is ‘most like’ in order to understand how it should be interpreted.11 However, the issue remains that although Revelation appears similar to texts classed as apocalypses, it does not sit comfortably beside them: it is ‘like but not the same’, hybrid and yet united by a common flavour.12 As this project has made clear, when these features appear it signals that the realm of pastiche is being approached, and so rather than focusing on genre it is to pastiche we turn in order to reapproach Revelation’s relationship with apocalypse. Where previous scholarship has focused on tracing the history of   9. For a full-out rejection of Revelation’s apocalyptic nature, see F. D. Mazzaferri, The Genre of the Book of Revelation from a Source-Critical Perspective (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1989). For a more nuanced reading, see Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, pp. 9–51, and for an interesting take on the idea of the relationship between prophecy and apocalypse, see Schüssler Fiorenza, Justice and Judgement, pp. 133–56. For a summary of apocalypse scholarship since the SBL group, see L. DiTommaso, ‘Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity (Part II)’, CBR 5, no. 3 (2007), pp. 367–432; L. DiTommaso, ‘Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity (Part I)’, CBR 5, no. 2 (2007), pp. 235–86. 10. Indeed, Beale argues that if one is to pursue Bruce Malina’s theory that Revelation is astral prophecy, ‘there should be more of an effort to analyse the OT allusions, and then discuss how they are related to the astral background’. Beale, Commentary, p. 43; B. J. Malina, On the Genre and Message of Revelation: Star Visions and Sky Journeys (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1995); B. J. Malina and D. L. Barr, ‘On the Genre and Message of Revelation: Star Visions and Sky Journeys’, BTB 26, no. 2 (1996), p. 88. 11. P. D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975); C. Rowland, The Open Heaven (London: SPCK, 1982); J. J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1998); H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic: A Study of Jewish and Christian Apocalypses from Daniel to the Revelation (New York: Association Press, 1964); D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 B.C.–A.D. 100 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964). 12. Aune, Revelation 1, p. lxxxix, goes as far as saying it ‘conforms to no known ancient literary conventions’; and Bauckham, Revelation, p. 2, describes it as ‘an apocalyptic prophecy in the form of a circular letter’; while D. A. Carson, D. J. Moo and L. Morris, An Introduction to the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1992), p. 479, prefer: ‘a prophecy cast in an apocalyptic mould and written down in a letter form’. For an examination of the confusing generic indicators in Revelation’s opening section, see Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, pp. 9–51.

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the genre apocalypse, demonstrating proto-apocalyptic features, and tracing its inception and ‘morphology’, this chapter takes a different path, tracing the history of scholarly generic awareness regarding Revelation, and asking how the scholarly construct ‘apocalypse’ came about in the first place.13 We then turn to our pastiche test case, which explores the rise in scholarly awareness of film noir through the creation of neo-noir films. This will reveal how certain pastiche texts can act as lenses which bring about a new awareness of past textual sentiments and features, and can even lead to the creation of new classifications. We will then return to Revelation, showing how reading it at a macro-level as pastiche can offer profound and insightful comments on its textual relations, and its central part in scholarly awareness of apocalyptic/apocalypse. Ultimately, we will argue that Revelation is the lens through which apocalypse was first viewed, and that this is why Revelation both defined and defied the genre apocalypse.

I  Apocalypse Awareness Our search for the beginnings of apocalypse awareness starts with the use of the term in ancient literature, both as a title and etymologically. This will outline how the ancients used the term and how documents gained the designation ‘apocalypse’. a  Titles and Etymology David Aune presents a comprehensive survey of the assigning of titles to ancient documents.14 He lists three locations for titles on papyrus rolls: (1) Written on a label or tag called the σίλλυβος;15 (2) written at the beginning of a roll (inscriptio);

13. For an overview of scholarly study and awareness, see K. Koch and J. M. Schmidt, Apokalyptik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982); W. Schmithals, The Apocalyptic Movement: Introduction and Interpretation, trans. J. E. Steely (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1975), pp. 50–67; K. Koch, The Rediscovery of Apocalyptic: A Polemical Work on a Neglected Area of Biblical Studies and Its Damaging Effects on Theology and Philosophy, Studies in Biblical Theology 2, 22 (Naperville, IL: A. R. Allenson, 1972). See Collins, Daniel, pp. 52–4, for an examples of ancient categorizations. What is clear is that each scholar brings their own set of criteria as to what exactly is entailed by these terms, and more often than not are using the terms to argue far more complex theological ideas than simply definitions, confusing the matter somewhat. 14. Aune, Revelation 1, pp. 3–4. I present a summary of his work; for his summary, see D. E. Aune, The New Testament and Its Literary Environment (Cambridge: Clarke, 1988), pp. 226–52. 15. For examples, see E. G. Turner, Greek Manuscripts of the Ancient World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), p. 34.

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(3) written at the end of a roll (subscriptio).16 The requirement for titles in these locations was simplicity: just a word and a name in the genitive. Often titles were not actually assigned because when read out loud the opening words served this purpose, and so ancient documents were frequently referred to by the first words.17 The title of Revelation follows this pattern, evolving from the first word of the book and the purported author’s name: Ἀποκάλυψις Ἰωάννου. In the surviving MSS we can see evidence of both inscriptions and subscriptions, ranging from the simple to the extravagant,18 all containing the opening word and the author’s name. This simple first word derived title is clearly in use by the second century featuring in Tertullian, Irenaeus and in the Muratorian Canon.19 The Muratorian Canon is the most significant, as it demonstrates an understanding of Ἀποκάλυψις as a title for more than just Revelation: apocalypses etiam Iohannis, et Petri, tantum recipimus (‘we also accept only the apocalypses of John and Peter’). Aune goes as far as to claim this extract ‘indicates the generic use of Ἀποκάλυψις as a designation for a literary form’.20 This is taking the evidence a little too far based on a name assigned to two documents, but it does indicate that the title assigned to Revelation from its opening words is being assigned to other works by the second century.21 16. Of inscriptio ‘very few examples have survived’, whereas a subscriptio is ‘almost always found’. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 3. Many subscriptions exist as they are situated at the most protected part of the roll whereas inscriptions are lost because they inhabit the most worn part. See R. P. Oliver, ‘The First Medicean MS of Tacitus and the Titulature of Ancient Books’, TAPA 82 (1951), pp. 232–61 (254), for a further explanation of titles in relation to specific manuscriptal evidence. 17. Bauckham, Revelation, p. 1, stresses the importance of opening lines for comprehension: ‘At least in the case of ancient books, the beginning of the work is usually the essential indication of the kind of book it is intended to be The titular forms of MSS copied into Codices have more elaborate authorial descriptions, such as the excessive ‘the revelation of the all-glorious evangelist, bosom-friend [of Jesus], virgin, beloved to Christ, John the theologian, son of Salomé and Zebedee, but adopted son of Mary the mother of God, and Son of Thunder’. MS 1775.’ 18. See Aune, Revelation 1, p. 3, for examples of inscriptions and Aune, Revelation 3, p. 1242, for subscriptions. 19. Aune, Revelation 1, p. 4, for example, Marc. 3.14.3; 4.5.2; Haer. 4.14.12; 4.30.4; Muratorian Canon 71–2, taking the date as at end of the second century. 20. Ibid. In his earlier work, Aune, New Testament, p. 248, he claims, ‘This “apocalypse” [The Apocalypse of Peter] is not an apocalypse at all.’ 21. M. Smith, ‘On the History of ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠΤΩ and ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΨΙΣ’, in ANWNE, ed. D. Hellholm (Uppsala, 1979), pp. 9, 19. Also, Collins makes an important note of the Cologne Mani Codex ‘where we read that each one of the forefathers showed his own apokalypsis to his elect, and specific mention is made of apocalypses of Adam, Sethel, Enosh, Shem and Enoch’. Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination, p. 3. For a more in-depth examination, see R. Cameron and A. J. Dewey, (trans.), The Cologne Mani Codex: Concerning the Origin of His Body, SBLTT, 15 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), pp. 36–48; for a dissenting voice,

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Therefore, we can see that the title ‘the Apocalypse of John’ derives from the document’s opening lines and is likely to be a later addition to the text when the scrolls required identification. It was in common parlance by the second century and by then it also appears to be associated with other works. However, is there any evidence of the titular designation in documents prior to Revelation? We turn to the term’s etymology to find out, exploring how ‘apocalypse’ and ‘apocalyptic’ entered into scholarly vocabulary, charting their movement from the ancient world into modern parlance, as explained by Morton Smith.22 Smith has produced a comprehensive account of all things Ἀποκάλ- in the ancient world, examining ancient usage of the verb and its cognates. He demonstrates that the adjective was not used by the ancient world to describe any works now called apocalypses or to refer to a worldview. The first example of usage appears to be in Clement of Alexandria (Paed. 1.1.23), and then it is used in relation to revealing and teaching the word,23 and it is not used to describe any works which we may call apocalypses. The history of the verb and its cognate noun is more complex, and it takes centuries to gain the meaning of anything close to ‘revealing mysteries/secrets’. It is used as early as Herodotus (Hist. 1.119.5) dealing with literal uncovering of a concealed severed head, and in Plato (Prot. 352a, b; Gorg. 455d) referring to the literal uncovering of the chest, and the figurative revealing of an opinion/the power of rhetoric. It disappears almost entirely from written record until the noun and verb appear in Philodemus (Vit. 22.15) at the end of the first century bce, still referring to a literal uncovering.24 After this it appears in a relatively wide range of Graeco-Roman texts.25 The major record of Jewish Eastern Mediterranean use is the LXX, which uses the verb with both human and divine subjects.26 Many of these are for Semitic idiomatic expressions such as ‘uncover the ear’ (e.g. 1 Sam. 9.15) or ‘uncover shame/the backside’ (e.g. Jer. 13.26, Nah. 3.5).27 The LXX usage does not reflect the modern understanding, but reflects Plato and Herodotus where things are literally

see D. Frankfurter, ‘Apocalypses Real and Alleged in the Mani Codex’, Numen 44, no. 1 (1997), pp. 60–73. For our purposes this shows that apocalypse as a title and its attachment to notable figures is still strong in the fourth century ce. 22. Smith, ‘ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠΤΩ’, pp. 9–20. 23. Ibid., p. 9 LPGL, p. 194. 24. Smith points out that just because it cannot be found in documents we should not assume it was not used. 25. LPGL, p. 194. 26. See A. Oepke, ‘Καλύπτω κτλ’, TWNT (Stuttgart, 1938), pp. 558–97. 27. Smith, ‘ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠΤΩ’, p. 10, points out that ‘the act is no doubt revelatory, but so is that of a strip-tease artist’, indicating that ‘uncovering’ is not the same as ‘apocalyptic’ in the modern sense.

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uncovered or figuratively made known. It does not reflect divine revelation.28 However, by Josephus the term is used both to literally uncover and to reveal human secrets (Josephus: War 1.297, 5.350; Ant. 12.90, 14.406).29 NT texts show progression from the classical usage. Although the Gospel uses are rare, the verb is used both in relation to revealing secrets (Mt. 10.26/Lk. 12.2, Mt. 11.25/Lk. 10.21, Mt. 16.17, Lk 2.35) and God (Mt. 11.27/Lk. 10.22), showing expansion from the literal meaning of uncovering.30 Outside the Gospels Smith states that ‘the words are exclusively Pauline and deutero-Pauline (i.e. in Ephesians and 1 Peter)’.31 The Pauline use is complex and shows a shift in meaning, but to go into Paul’s much debated usage in great detail distracts our focus here. Therefore, it suffices to say that Pauline usage of the concept of revelation has little to do with literal uncovering, although it certainly does include the idea of the revealing of secrets. The Pauline focus is internal revelation, but there are hints at external revelation.32 However, external visions are not part of the NT use of the term, and prior to Revelation Smith can find no instances of works describing itself or its proceedings with the noun or verb. Thus, Smith concludes, the first external vision to be labelled as an Ἀποκάλυψις is Revelation itself.33 After his exploration of Revelation’s title, David Aune comes to the same conclusion as Smith, stating that ‘the first occurrence of the term in apocalyptic literature is in Rev.1.1–2’, and that ‘ancient texts now called “apocalypses” that predate the Apocalypse of John neither contain the term much less use it of a particular literary genre’.34 Aune’s titular examination, combined with Smith’s analysis, indicates that the titular usage of Ἀποκάλυψις is first attested in Revelation, and it is assigned to other books after its use in the opening lines of the Apocalypse. James Blevins agrees, stating ‘it was Revelation which gave its name to the other

28. See ibid., for a detailed summary of the different usages, including his rebuttal of Oepke, ‘Καλύπτω κτλ’, pp. 558–97, including his reading of the terms referring to divine revelation, when there is no evidence of this. 29. It is also found in a similar sense eight times in The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, five referring to revealing secrets and two of these with God as the one revealing those secrets. However, how much of this is a later Christian interpolation is a matter for debate: Smith, ‘ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠΤΩ’, p. 14. 30. Luke 2.32 uses the noun, its only Gospel occurrence. He also points to a single ‘apocalyptic’ usage: ἔσται ᾗ ἡμέρᾳ ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἀποκαλύπτεται (Lk. 17.30). 31. Smith, ‘ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠΤΩ’, p. 15. 32. However, his clear separation of vision (ὀπτασία as separate from revelation in 1 Cor. 12) indicates that these are seen as separate categories. Ibid., pp. 15–18. See Ryan, Boundaries of Vision, pp. 54–60, regarding the separation of the terms in cosmology. 33. He argues for the unlikely nature of direct Pauline influence: Smith, ‘ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΠ ΤΩ’, p. 18. 34. Aune, New Testament, pp. 226–7.

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apocalypses’.35 Gregory Linton concurs, saying ‘no writing before the Apocalypse ever used the term as a generic title’,36 and Pierre Prigent wants to make clear ‘let us begin with a truism that is perhaps worth repeating: the author of the last book of the Bible was not conscious at any time of composing an apocalypse’.37 Therefore, although scholarship may posit that Revelation is not the first apocalypse or even debate whether it should be classed as an apocalypse at all, Revelation is the first known document with the title apocalypse, and the first known external vision described this way.38 This represents a new usage of the term, both in terms of what it refers to, external vision, and what it is being used as: a title. Therefore, scholarly understanding of Ἀποκάλυψις, both in relation to external visions and as a literary title, stems from the opening of Revelation, as this is where this sense of the term derives from.39

35. Blevins, ‘The Genre of Revelation’, p. 393; J. C. VanderKam and W. Adler, The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1996), pp. 8–11; Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination, p. 3, is non-committal: ‘The first work introduced as an apokalypsis is the New Testament book of Revelation, and even there it is not clear whether the word denotes a special class of literature or is used more generally for revelation.’ 36. Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, p. 27. According to Linton the term is first coined by K. I. Nitzch in 1822 as a generic designation, and the first critic to define its conventions was Friedrich Lücke. 37. Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 5–6. Less certain is Bauckham, Revelation, p. 1: ‘The word “revelation” or “apocalypse” (apokalypsis) suggests that the book belongs to the genre of ancient Jewish and Christian literature which modern scholars call apocalypses, and even though we cannot in fact be sure that the word itself already had this technical sense when John used it, there is a great deal in Revelation which resembles the other works we call apocalypses.’ L. Morris, Apocalyptic (London: Inter-Varsity, 1973), pp. 20–1, points out that it is our term, not the first-century writers’, and differences may have been more impressive than similarities. 38. There is a debated usage in Theodotion’s Daniel which may be earlier, and may refer to external revelation, but this is a contentious point. 39. It is impossible to list the range of scholarly opinions regarding how Revelation presents itself, but the following provide examples of the scope of opinion: Beale, Commentary; Beale, Use of Daniel; Beale, Old Testament. He argues that the text is a midrash on Daniel and thus sees these as the strongest references in the opening chapter and beyond; Thompson, The Book of Revelation, argues the opening verses present the beginning of a dramatic performance, in the style of Greek drama; Smalley, Revelation, argues for Johannine authorship, finding answers to Revelation’s complexity through connections to The Fourth Gospel and The Johannine Letters; Ford, Revelation, presents the opening section of Revelation at the end of her work, as she believes it to be a later addition because it does not fit with the rest of the text.

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b  Apocalyptic Recognition Based on the above it appears unlikely that the use of Ἀποκάλυψις as the opening word of Revelation is a generic title that would have been understood by readers at the time.40 This does not mean similarities to other texts would not have been noticed, but how much the word ‘revealed’ is questionable. How then has the concept of apocalypse as a genre come about? How have texts been grouped together? What criteria have been used to identify potential candidates?41 Although the title ‘apocalypse’ was applied to many works after Revelation, it was not until the nineteenth century, with the rise in historical criticism, that texts now classified as apocalypses were actually grouped together in anything which could be seen to resemble a generic understanding.42 Prior to this, texts now categorized as apocalypses were most frequently classed as prophecy.43 The rise of an awareness initially began as the similarities between Revelation and Daniel were discussed, and then the discoveries of new manuscripts of Greek Apocalypse of Ezra, The Sibylline Oracles and Ethiopic Enoch led to texts being grouped together

40. Indeed, Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, pp. 9–51, argues the opening word of Revelation is more likely to have baffled readers rather than informed them. D. L. Barr, ‘Beyond Genre: The Expectations of Apocalypse’, in The Reality of Apocalypse: Rhetoric and Politics in the Book of Revelation, ed. D. L. Barr; SBLSymS, 39 (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2006), pp. 71–90, explores how ancient readers would have reacted to ‘revelations’ including oracles, dreams, visions, astrology, necromancy, examining entrails etc. However, this is not linked to Greek usage of the term in relation to these practices. 41. The most comprehensive overview of German post-Enlightenment scholarship is presented in Koch, Schmidt, Apokalyptik. Also see P. D. Hanson, ‘Prolegomena to the Study of Jewish Apocalyptic’, in Magnalia Dei: The Mighty Acts of God : Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright, ed. F. M. Cross, W. E. Lemke and P. D. Miller (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976), pp. 389–413. Unfortunately, this scholarship is neglected in modern genre discussions, with the origins of the scholarly use of the term given only a brief nod before the SBL Genres project is mentioned as all important. 42. Sturm, ‘Apocalyptic’, p. 20, draws attention to the early grouping of ‘Apocryphal apocalypses’ by J. A. Fabricius in 1713. However, A. Hilgenfeld, Die jüdische Apokalyptik in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung: Ein Beitrag zur Vorgeschichte des Christenthums (Jena: Mauke, 1857), demonstrates that the genre awareness began in the nineteenth century and Barr, ‘Beyond Genre’, p. 78, concurs, stating: ‘The genre “apocalypse” was invented in the nineteenth century.’ 43. For example, Bauckham, Revelation, p. 5: ‘The book of Daniel, which was one of John’s major Old Testament sources, he would certainly have regarded as a prophetic book. If he knew some of the post-biblical apocalypses, as he most probably did, he will have seen them as a form of prophecy. The forms and traditions which Revelation shares with other works we call apocalypses John will have used as vehicles of prophecy, in continuity with Old Testament prophecy.’

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under the term apokalyptik.44 Friedrich Lücke in 1832 produced the first major work which connected ‘apocalyptic’ texts in a systematic way, with his central focus being Revelation, and how other texts related to it.45 He still viewed the body of literature as prophecy, albeit a late form with a distinctive outlook. Twenty years later Eduard Reuss and Adolf Hilgenfeld carried out similar surveys.46 They also saw the texts as a particular kind of prophecy, one which represented a trend during 150 bce–150 ce which they felt was best termed apokalyptik. After these studies, interest in apokalyptik/apocalyptic as a way of viewing the world exploded and the term came to refer to both texts and theological concerns.47 Studies moved away from Revelation and literary forms and towards Pauline theology and early Christian outlooks. The theological weight attached to the ideology ‘apocalyptic’ has become so entwined with the literary categorization of texts that it is nearly impossible to separate the two.48 It took two world wars before a systematic attempt was made to separate literary and theological concepts enamelled into apokalyptik/apocalyptic. In order to do this Klaus Koch traced the roots of the scholarly term, and came to the following conclusion: The adjective apocalyptic is not directly derived from the general theological term apokalypsis, in the sense of revelation, at all; it comes from a second and narrower use of the word, also documented in the ancient church, as the title of literary compositions which resemble the book of Revelation, i.e., secret divine disclosures about the end of the world and the heavenly state. The word apocalypse has become the usual term for this type of book. It is also applied to books and parts of books to which the ancient church did not as yet give this title – for example the synoptic apocalypse of Mark 13.49 44. For an overview of the early study of these slippery concepts, see Koch, Schmidt, Apokalyptik; Schmithals, Apocalyptic Movement, pp. 50–67; Koch, Rediscovery, Also see Collins, Daniel, pp. 52–4. The German term Apocalyptik which then moved into the adjectival apocalyptic has not helped bring clarity to the situation. See A. Y. Collins, ‘Apocalypse Now: The State of Apocalyptic Studies near the End of the First Decade of the Twenty-First Century’, HTR 104, no. 4 (2011), pp. 447–57. 45. F. Lücke, Versuch einer vollständigen Einleitung in die Offenbarung Johannis: und in die gesammte apokalyptische Litteratur, Commentar über die Schriften des Evangelisten Johannes (Bonn: Bey Eduard Weber, 1832). 46. Eduard Reuss, ‘Johannes Apokalypse’, AEWK 27:79–94; Hilgenfeld, Die jüdische Apokalyptik. 47. Sturm, ‘Apocalyptic’, pp. 17–48. 48. Scholarship discounted much apocalyptic literature as second rate. For example, Hilgenfeld’s work is deeply rooted in finding the historical roots of apocalyptic writing, but he, like so many German scholars at that time, saw apocalyptic literature as an ‘imitation of prophecy’. 49. Koch, Rediscovery, p. 19 (my italics).

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He demonstrates that apocalyptic, when used in academic parlance to describe literary works, began as a word to describe Revelation. It was then extended to describe works which shared prominent features with Revelation, for example, visions and divine disclosures. Thus, Koch concluded that initial categorizations of books and their features as apocalypses/apocalyptic was due to their resembling Revelation: In the last two hundred years historical scholarship has gone over to the practice of classifying Old Testament books and parts of books also as apocalypses, whenever (like the New Testament Book of Revelation) they contain visions of the events of the end-time and catechetical matters associated with these things.50

Koch reveals that the scholarly use of the terms apocalyptic/apocalypse find its roots in describing Revelation, and works which bear strong resemblance to it. However far the use of the word has come in current scholarly vocabulary, it is clear that the understanding of apocalyptic and apocalypse has grown out of a comparison of texts with Revelation.51 Pierre Prigent supports these observations: ‘It is his work [Revelation] which has served as a reference for tacitly defining the apocalyptic genre.’52 This discussion has shown that Revelation is the first known example of a visionary experience described as Ἀποκάλυψις. Koch demonstrated that apocalypse/apocalyptic entered into scholarly usage and understanding from observations centred on Revelation. Therefore, when scholars were formulating these concepts, it was through Revelation that they were always gazing. Thus, we can see that the scholarly creation of a separate genre, seen as emerging out of prophecy and termed apocalyptic (later apocalypse), centres on Revelation. The claim that something is apocalyptic finds its early roots in the idea that it resembles Revelation, just as assigning the title apocalypse only appears after it is given to Revelation,53 and the genre apocalypse entered into scholarly parlance as something that looked like Revelation. Based on the above it appears that Revelation is the apocalypse par excellence, the paradigm. We have seen above that apocalypse as genre is, in essence, created by scholars to explain how Revelation fits in with other texts and what it is ‘most like’. Revelation sits at the centre of titular designations and scholarly understandings

50. Ibid. (my italics). 51. Collins, Daniel, p. 3, says similarities were the key feature of early examinations: ‘Initially, Revelation provided the standard of comparison.’ It is clear this carried on for some time, rather than being limited to ‘initial’ examinations. 52. Prigent, Apocalypse, p. 6. 53. Contra Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination, p. 4: ‘The ancient usage of the title apokalypsis shows that the genre apocalypse is not purely modern in construct.’

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for apocalypse. Yet, as we shall now see, when a detailed genre study was carried out it was realized that Revelation was less apocalypse-like than many other texts.54 c  Genre Consolidation The turning point came with the assigning of a group of scholars by SBL to examine and define the genre apocalypse. This resulted in the publication in 1979 of John Collins’s ‘Forms and Genres project’ and led to the influential definition of apocalypse as: A genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial, insofar as it involves another, supernatural world.55

This definition has provided a benchmark ever since.56 The definition itself was created by bringing together a wide variety of texts in order to identify what features were key to an apocalypse.57 These features were then tabulated, and the number of texts/number of features shared across the texts marked. This then allowed the ‘key’ features to be highlighted, texts which had a number of key features to be recognized and a definition to be created. How were the texts chosen to be included in the study? The texts selected were those ‘called apocalypses or … referred to as apocalyptic by modern authors, and any other writings which appear to be similar to these’.58 Therefore, based on the examination so far, the texts were brought together due to their connection to Revelation. The three criteria under which they were gathered demonstrate this: (1) Those texts called apocalypses (i.e. texts which have inherited a title first used for Revelation); (2) Those texts referred to as apocalyptic by modern authors (i.e. seen by modern authors to resemble Revelation and so-called apocalyptic); (3) Other writings which appear to be similar to those texts gathered under the previous criteria (i.e. similar to texts which resembled Revelation either in title or content). Therefore, Collins et al. were inheriting a situation where Revelation lay at the heart of the historical apocalyptic/apocalypse classification process, so

54. Although it does have twenty features, only two other texts across the whole corpus having as many: Daniel 7–12 and 4 Ezra. It just happens to have slightly different more ‘peripheral’ ones. J. J. Collins, ‘Introduction: Towards the Morphology of a Genre’, Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre 14 (1979), pp. 1–20. 55. Ibid., p. 9. 56. Although it is far from universally recognized and has of course been added to, nuanced and expanded. 57. This extended across cultures and timeframes. 58. Collins, ‘Introduction’, pp. 4–5.

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it would be expected that Revelation would be a key, if not the key, apocalypse.59 However, when the group studied Revelation alongside these other texts they found Revelation lacked features many others shared such as pseudonymity, vision interpretation and narrative conclusion (see Appendix 1, Table 1).60 Therefore, it became clear that Revelation was less like the texts which had been grouped around it than they were to each other. Since this seminal project, what is and is not an apocalypse, and what features are key, has continued to be debated and this has led to further nuancing of terms, and an expanded understanding of apocalypse and apocalyptic. However, a common feature in all these post-SBL definition discussions is Revelation’s status as an apocalypse. Its relationship to other texts has continued to be questioned, despite it having many ‘apocalyptic features’. How ironic – the book which provided scholarship with the term ‘apocalypse’ is frequently seen as no longer befitting it. Instead, apocalyptic is often chosen to best describe it.61 Although the definition of apocalyptic may have moved on considerably, the fact remains that Revelation is now described by a word which originated as a way to describe something which looked like it. The above has demonstrated that Revelation is at the centre of and instigated apocalyptic scholarly discussions. Scholarship inherited the term ‘apocalypse’ from its opening word. Texts called apokalyptik/apocalyptic initially gained such designations when they were seen to resemble Revelation, and a scholarly awareness of this concept came about while looking at other texts in relation to Revelation. Therefore, when Collins et al. were working out what constituted an apocalypse, the texts they brought together were essentially grouped with Revelation as the key apocalypse/apocalyptic text. However, when categorizing the genre apocalypse, Revelation did not sit comfortably alongside other apocalypses; it was different. Texts such as Daniel and 1 Enoch were seen to have more features of the genre, and seen to be paradigms for apocalypse. Therefore, the text which was at the centre of genre awareness was decentred. How can this strange turn of events be explained? How can it be that the text that instigated generic awareness is seen to no longer fit that genre comfortably? Past attempts to explain this range from extensive subgenre categorization to

59. Indeed, for some scholars contemporary to the project it was the paradigm, for example, ‘Revelation above all others is confidently hailed as a typical example of apocalyptic’, Morris, Apocalyptic, p. 91; ‘It is preferable to sketch the typical features of the work originally designated “apocalypse” in antiquity, the book of Revelation, and then to consider which other compositions of the same era show sufficient similarity to justify extension of the term to them as well,’ Hanson, IDBSup, p. 27. 60. The full list of features can be seen in the table below. 61. Shifts in the word’s field of reference negate the fact that Revelation acted as the lens that enabled scholarship to first view apocalyptic. The fragile tension of this scholarly construction based on these terms should not be underestimated.

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multiple source theories.62 However, as stated at the beginning of this chapter, the discovery of enlightening results surrounding Revelation’s relationship with apocalypse continue to be frustrated.63 It is like these other texts, but not the same as them, having features which are similar, but also those which are distinct. It is, therefore, to pastiche that we turn in order to reapproach this situation from a new angle and examine how we can reapproach Revelation’s like but not the same macro-level structure. Revelation’s relationship to apocalypse is not easily explained through standard generic categorization. Its ‘like but not the same’ nature means that hybrid labels are often assigned or it is seen as problematic. However, in light of this study, ‘like but not the same’ indicates that this may be entering into the realm of pastiche. Pastiche is not limited to sections of text, but can function right up to the level of genre, with certain texts acting as genre pastiches. We have already seen in our previous chapters the usefulness of pastiche test cases as a way of reapproaching the complex text of Revelation, particularly in order to readdress how it appropriates, combines, imitates and redesigns OT texts. This chapter now uses a pastiche test case from Dyer to explore how a generic awareness/construction can actually come into existence through the pastiching of past texts/textual features and retrospective viewing of texts.64 The test case chosen is the film type neo-noir and its relation to film noir. This will facilitate the exploration of how a pastiche can reveal to an audience the previously unrealized features of a group of past works, while also demonstrating its distance from them.

II  Test Case: Film Noir and Neo-Noir In the post-war years, as biblical scholars were busy defining apocalyptic, Hollywood was producing films which soon created similar categorization issues. Against the grain of patriotic war films and song and dance routines came films which were different, although at the time how they were different was not consciously realized. Today they are called film noir: a group of films awash with dark streets, moody lighting, sex, violence, drifters and femme fatales.65 However, despite the fact that film noir is today a well-known genre, Dyer points out that ‘the makers of Detour, Double Indemnity, Gun Crazy and The 62. A. Fowler, ‘The Life and Death of Literary Forms’, New Literary History 2, no. 2 (1971), pp. 199–216, is often turned to, but so far his three-stage process has done little to help explain what is occurring with Revelation. For a selection of studies charting the growth of apocalyptic in the ancient world, see Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic; Rowland, Open Heaven; Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination; Rowley, Relevance of Apocalyptic; Russell, Method and Message. 63. Beale, Commentary, p. 41. 64. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 119–33. 65. I use ‘film noir’ to describe a genre and noir to signify a sensibility.

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Postman Always Rings Twice did not know that they were making film noirs’.66 This categorization was retrospectively placed upon a certain body of films to construct a genre.67 When first produced they were created under different categories: ‘mysteries’, ‘detective films’ and ‘crime dramas’. Yet, they are now recognized as film noir.68 We will now examine how this retrospective recategorization came about. a  Tangibly Noir James Naremore writes, ‘The French invented the American film noir’,69 and in many ways he is correct. The concept of film noir began when the term noir was used by French film critics to denote a sensibility present in certain films, as France, starved of Hollywood under Nazi occupation, recognized John Huston’s The Maltese Falcon (1941), Edward Dmytryk’s Murder, My Sweet (1944) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951) as departures from Hollywood conventions.70 French viewers felt the mood was darker, noticing an affective property in the films, and so they called them film noir, a term previously used to describe Gothic novels and cheap crime literature.71 Although noir began to be used to describe some films in the late 1940s, the first critical grouping of films as noir occurred in France in 1955,72 again describing the affective properties and sensations of American films felt to be noir, such as the ‘oneiric, strange (or Kafkaesque), erotic, ambivalent, and cruel’, rather than specific generic tendencies.73 66. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 128. 67. For a retrospective exploration of film noir, see J. Naremore, More than Night: Film Noir in Its Contexts (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008). The genre film noir goes against the idea of a generic contract between readers and authors, as there were no expectations when these films were made about their noir-ness, because it was an unknown property. 68. See R. B. Palmer, Hollywood’s Dark Cinema: The American Film Noir, Twayne’s Filmmakers Series (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1994). 69. J. Naremore, ‘Introduction: A Season in Hell or the Snows of Yesteryear’, A Panorama of American Film Noir, 1941–1953, trans. P. Hammond (San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2002), p. viii. 70. It is first accredited to N. Frank, ‘Un nouveau genre “policier”: L’aventure criminelle’, L’Écran Français 61 (1946), pp. 8–9. It also occurs in J.-P. Chartier, ‘Les Américains aussi font des films “noirs” ’, La Revue du cinéma 2 (1946), pp. 67–70. Translations of this and other key publications can be found in R. B. Palmer (ed.), Perspectives on Film Noir (New York: G. K. Hall, 1996). 71. Naremore, ‘Season in Hell’, pp. viii–ix. 72. R. Borde and E. Chaumeton, Panorama du film noir américain : 1941–953 (Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 1955). 73. Naremore, ‘Season in Hell’, p. xiii, lists these five terms in his introduction to the 2002 translation of Borde and Etienne’s volume. In their own words: ‘It is easy to come to a conclusion: the moral ambivalence, criminal violence, and contradictory complexity

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American critics did not notice this new sentiment until the end of the 1960s,74 despite the films being predominantly created by American studios. Therefore, as Naremore notes, film noir ‘did not become a true Hollywood genre until the Vietnam years’.75 It took even longer for it to enter into common parlance outside of film criticism.76 It is therefore clear that film noir is a retrospective construct as no films were created under this guise. Nevertheless, it does sum up the likeness of a group of films. Watching Alfred Hitchcock’s Notorious (1946), Howard Hawks’s The Big Sleep (1946) and Edgar Ulmer’s Detour (1945) back-to-back makes it obvious they can be grouped together, even if their original classifications were not the same (Romantic thriller, Mystery and Crime Drama respectively). What then brought about this retrospective recognition so that scholars can now group works declaring what is and is not film noir? Dyer argues that an awareness of film noirs came about through the creation of films now known as neo-noirs in the 1970s and 1980s: films such as Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974), Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat (1981) and Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982).77 These films were imitations of the past, reworking previous films in order to present them to audiences afresh. However, these films were not simple remakes. Rather, they were altering the past and re-presenting it through what is best described as pastiche.78 As we have seen in previous chapters, of the situations and motives all combine to give the public a shared feeling of anguish or insecurity, which is the identifying sign of film noir at this time. All the works in this series exhibit a consistency of an emotional sort; namely the state of tension created in the spectators by the disappearance of their psychological bearings. The vocation of film noir has been to create a specific sense of malaise.’ R. Borde and É. Chaumeton, A Panorama of American Film Noir: 1941–1953, trans. P. Hammond (San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2002), p. 13. 74. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 119, points out that ‘the very term “film noir” was unknown in a Hollywood context until the 1960s’, and T. Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, in Film Noir Reader, ed. A. Silver and J. Ursini (New York: Limelight, 1996), p. 370, gives 1968 as the date of the first English-language book to use the term and recognize a body of films: C. Higham and J. Greenberg, Hollywood in the Forties (London: Zwemmer, 1968). 75. Naremore, More than Night, p. 37. For a history of awareness, see Naremore, ‘Season in Hell’, pp. vii–xxi; R. J. Martin, Mean Streets and Raging Bulls: The Legacy of Film Noir in Contemporary American Cinema (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Publishers, 1999), p. 1; A. Silver and J. Ursini (eds), Film Noir Reader (New York: Limelight, 8th Limelight edn, 1996). 76. Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, p. 307, believes the first film marketed as film noir was Dennis Hopper’s The Hot Spot (1990). This starred Don Johnson, famous for playing Sonny Crockett in Michael Mann’s Miami Vice (1984–90), and although not a cinematic neo-noir, it was a prime-time American drama throughout the 1980s, with much in common with neo-noirs. 77. Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 119–30. 78. Although not every scholar would agree, Dyer’s arguments are persuasive, and are backed by Naremore, More than Night; Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, pp. 307–29; and most

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pastiche’s reworking of past texts from this neutral position provides a new viewing location, and this can highlight features previously unseen. Therefore, Dyer argues that neo-noir’s act of pastiching past films highlighted the similarities of a group of films previously ungrouped, which led ‘not only to fixing the perception of the genre … but to identifying its very existence’.79 Noir began as a sensibility inherent in certain films.80 What neo-noir pastiches did was fuse together and affirmed these sensibilities, making films which were tangibly noir.81 In doing so, Dyer points out that Chinatown, Body Heat, Blade Runner and Terry Gilliam’s Brazil (1985) made ‘the case for something whose existence is in fact problematic’.82 A sentiment previously felt became a genre with discernible features now known as film noir. Therefore, for Dyer, if there was any doubt about whether Double Indemnity and Detour were film noirs ‘neo-noir says that, all the same, they were’.83 This is because neo-noir presented the key traits of these films to the audience in a way past films had not. Such features may have been overlooked as films were viewed through very different lenses: as crime films, detective movies and melodramas. Audiences would have looked for guns, gang lords, clues, justice, victims, shooting scenes, etc. None of these are now seen as key film noir features which are: cigarettes, chiaroscuro lighting, Venetian blinds, mournful jazz tunes, sexually charged language, murder, femme fatales, etc. We now turn to see how through the pastiche techniques of alteration, exaggeration, highlighting, cutting and selecting a group of ‘essential noir’ generic features were made visible, and how this brought about a new genre categorization. b  Highlighting Time-Bound Features: Blinds and Saxophones It is hard to imagine a film noir without Venetian blinds, yet when the films were first produced blinds were not a key stylistic feature, some film noirs not featuring blinds at all. Rather, they were a fashionable window-covering which the chiaroscuro lighting highlighted and which cinematographers put to great

importantly Jameson, Postmodernism, pp. 19–21. For specific lists of how Body Heat imitates film noirs, see Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 120–3. 79. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 128. 80. Borde, Chaumeton, Panorama. 81. This is particularly true when temporal/cultural distance is factored in. The French saw something in film noir which resonated with their own post-war experience and understanding of ‘dark’. The American public did not feel this darkness in the same way until they later reapproached the subject during and post-Vietnam, and experienced the exaggerated and selected versions of pastiche. 82. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 129. Until the creation of these pastiches, the exact nature of film noir was a hotly debated topic. Was it a style? A cycle? A genre? A mood? What really constituted a film noir? Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, p. 308. 83. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 128.

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Figure 7.1   Background blinds in the train carriage in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, 1951 (Warner Bros).

effect.84 Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly (1955) features a whole wall of Venetian blinds, creating atmosphere and shadows, but it is a background feature. Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951) also presents blinds on the windows of the train carriage which create shadows, but they do not function prominently in the mise en scène (Figure 7.1). However, neo-noir Chinatown presents blinds in a way that is far more apparent. They create a ‘historical look’, positioning the film in the past.85 This is done not only through the positioning of them in the camera shot, but also through pointing to their importance in its opening line: ‘All right, Curly. Enough’s enough. You can’t eat the Venetian blinds. I just had them installed on Wednesday.’ In the next scene, all the faces in the room are held by the blinds’ shadows and the effect is obvious: all the characters in the room are trapped and united by these shadows (Figure 7.2). What was a functional window-covering is highlighted and begins to function as a plot indicator. In the same way, in Blade Runner the mise en scène of blinds and horizontals is taken so far that in one shot Rachel’s handbag even matches the lines of the blinds’ shadows, moving on from the fashion of the day to a highly self-aware presentation of a stylized past. In a similar way, the soundtracks of Brazil and Blade Runner feature mournful alto saxophones, a defining sound for those observing the past body of films

84. Of course some film noir did utilize the blinds, particularly in Double Indemnity where they are brought into the web of intrigue forming around the characters. However, this is something noticeable in particular films, rather than a key noir element. 85. For discussions on styling neo-noir in relation to its lighting and colour, see Dyer, Pastiche, pp. 123–34; Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, pp. 314–16. For wider noir style, see A. Silver and J. Ursini, The Noir Style (London: Aurum, 1999).

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Figure 7.2 The shadows of the blinds are clearly highlighted in Roman Polanski’s Chinatown, 1974 (Long Road).

through the lens of neo-noir.86 However, in reality the saxophone, and even jazz, were not predominant features in the soundtracks of film noir.87 Rather, jazz and the sax were more often found in background music in club scenes, such as in Nicholas Ray’s They Live by Night (1948) (and then still mostly sax-free). Film noir soundtracks tended to be full of strings and piano, more akin to thrillers like Alfred Hitchcock’s North by North West (1959).88 Yet, today these soundtracks are seen as ‘essential noir’. However, as John Butler states in his examination of film noir and jazz ‘the perception that jazz was a consistent feature of 1940s and 1950s film noir is the result of retrospective illusion functioning on a grand scale: It is the retrospective illusion of not just a single film, but an entire film era’.89 What these examples show is that neo-noir took marginal, often time-bound, features of past films and made them integral, unmissable and centred. What viewers may have subconsciously realized featured in past films as part of the fashion of the day was served up in full colour by neo-noir. c  Intensifying and Exaggerating: Sex and Violence Neo-noir was created in a different temporal location from its past referents: during Vietnam, after the sexual freedom of the 1960s and after the introduction

86. For examples of this false conflation of mournful alto sax and film noir, see D. Butler, Jazz Noir: Listening to Music from Phantom Lady to The Last Seduction (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002), pp. 2–3. 87. In Detour the saxophone is a ‘damn’ sound heard from another flat which haunts Roberts. The soprano saxophone features in David Raksin’s soundtrack to The Big Combo (1955) and its jazz influence is discussed in ibid., pp. 99–102. My thanks go to Jonathan Stökl for drawing my attention to the occurrence of jazz scores in radio plays contemporary to film noir, for example, in Raymond Chandler’s ‘The King in Yellow’ from the first run of the Adventures of Philip Marlowe in 1947. 88. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 124. For an in-depth examination, see Butler, Jazz Noir. 89. For a discussion particularly relating to Body Heat, see Butler, Jazz Noir, pp. 166–9.

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Figure 7.3  Ned gropes Matty in Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat, 1981 (Ladd Company/ Warner Bros).

of the ratings system. This allowed elements that were felt to be noir in past films to be presented in their fullness in a way they could not have been in the originals. For example, sexual tension is viewed as part of film noir’s essential features. However, in the post-war era sex itself was not shown. Rather, the tension was hinted at with a look, witty banter or a kiss.90 For example, in Jacques Tourneur’s Out of the Past (1947) Jeff and Kathie dry each other’s hair with a towel and then Jeff kisses Kathie’s neck. The towel is then thrown carelessly aside knocking the light over and the camera cuts away from the couple, following its motion. The door then blows open and the music crescendos as the camera moves outside into the dramatic rain, which it lingers on. Nothing is shown, but much is implied. However, in Body Heat sex infuses the film. There are frequent, graphic sex scenes, and from their first encounter nothing needs to be hinted at: it is all shown

90. Bacall and Bogie’s crackling banter is infamous in The Big Sleep (1946) and innuendo is rife within film scripts, for example, Double Indemnity (transcribed by author): PHYLLIS: My husband. You were anxious to talk to him weren’t you?

NEFF: Sure, only I’m getting over it a little. If you know what I mean. PHYLLIS: There’s a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff. Forty-five miles an hour. NEFF: How fast was I going, officer? PHYLLIS: I’d say about ninety. NEFF: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket. PHYLLIS: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time. NEFF: Suppose it doesn’t take. PHYLLIS: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles. NEFF: Suppose I burst out crying and put my head on your shoulder. PHYLLIS: Suppose you try putting it on my husband’s shoulder. NEFF: That tears it.

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(Figure 7.3). As Dyer points out: ‘That there was sexual lust and acts between characters in 1940s/1950s film noir is of course indubitable, but its physical detail is not shown. In Body Heat, as in other neo-noirs, it is very clear who is doing what to whom.’91 This indicates distance from past texts, as the steamy sex scenes of Body Heat could not have been filmed in the 1950s. It also exaggerates past sentiments and tensions so that they are not just felt, but also seen.92 In the same way, violence and brutality are today seen as key elements in film noir. However, as with sex, how much of this was actually shown is another matter. For example, Kiss Me Deadly’s opening shot is a pair of bare female legs running down the road. The camera then shows they belong to a young woman dressed only in a coat. A man picks her up in his car asking whether the young man she had been with ‘thought “no” was a three letter word.’ However, as they drive on he realizes that there is more to her than appears, and eventually she indicates she is in trouble, fearing for her future. They are run off the road by another car. The sound of terrible screaming begins, as a pair of men’s legs appears. The screams continue as the shot fades to the naked female legs again. Eventually they stop and two men’s legs appear, announcing that she cannot be brought back to consciousness because that would involve raising the dead. It is clearly a very violent event, but the actions are not actually portrayed. This heard-not-seen presentation is a far cry from Chinatown’s closing scene. After Evelyn Mulwray shoots at her father and then drives away the police shoot at her car, the sound of a horn is heard and the car eventually crashes. Bloodcurdling female screams are heard. However, the reason for these screams is not kept off camera. As the car door is opened Mrs Mulwray’s body falls out and the reason for her daughter’s hysteria is clear as the audience have a bullet-hole-andall view of Mrs Mulwray’s mutilated, dead face. Neo-noir made the sex and violence implicit in film noir explicit, showing all its reality. Sex, violence and brutality may have been part of a noir sensibility. However, pastiche neo-noir imitated these features but with exaggeration due to an altered temporal viewing location.93 This meant that simmering sensibilities were re-presented in a more exaggerated and intense way, making them integral, unmissable and centred. Therefore, after watching a neo-noir it is near impossible to return to film noirs and not see the sex and violence that simmer under the surface. In essence, once neo-noir made its viewers aware of what noir was, and drew a picture of film noir, the past texts never looked the same again.94 Yet at the same time, these neo-noirs were not the same as the past works being imitated. If they had been, they would not have allowed viewers to see what had previously not been seen nor exaggerated what had only been in the background. 91 Dyer, Pastiche, p. 124. 92. ‘By showing it, stating it [sexual explicitness], in neo-noir marks the latter’s distance from its referent, the same as but not the thing itself.’ Ibid. 93. On Chinatown as critique of the past, see Naremore, More than Night, pp. 205–11. 94. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 124.

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d  Selecting, Not Reflecting: Femme Fatales Although neo-noir may look very similar to films of the past, Dyer points out that its portrayal of film noir is not a pure reflection of that past because it is the realm of pastiche. As a result, ‘what neo-noir imitates is not straightforwardly noir but the memory of noir, a memory that may be inaccurate or selective’.95 For example, neo-noir pastiches present the audience with a glamorous femme fatale who is married, manipulative and sexually controlling (Figure 7.4). One need look no further than Matty Walker sitting on a beach with her new man while Ned sits in prison realizing he has been duped at the end of Body Heat. However, this image of the essential film noir femme fatale is not frequently found.96 Rather, it is a creation of neo-noir, playing down some characteristics of film noir females and enhancing others. Neo-noir chose to present one form of woman: a well to do, attractive, married one. It made her a genre definer, even though she sidelines other femme fatales.97 Detour’s portrayal of the character Vera as foul-mouthed, wild-eyed and wind-swept does not present the classic idea of a film noir fatale; it is expensively clad Vera after her make-over who would come to mind. Nor is Strangers on a Train’s glasses-wearing, pregnant waitress Mrs Haines held up as a classic fatale (Figure 7.5), even though in her nature (manipulative, married, smart-talking and destined to die) she is. These images were sidelined as neo-noir presented its image of film noir, and in doing so fixed perceptions, or as Dyer says,

Figure 7.4  Glasses-wearing pregnant Mrs Haines in Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, 1951 (Warner Bros).

95. Ibid. 96. Phyllis Dietrichson of Double Indemnity does fulfil all these criteria, as does Cora Smith of The Postman Always Rings Twice (although not in her diner working capacities), but these are the exceptions rather than the rule.   97. Indeed, many film noirs do not actually have a femme fatale, for example, Laura and Notorious feature strong women whose beauty, wit and intelligence, rather than their scheming, brings them into danger.

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Figure 7.5 Glamorous, rich and married femme fatale, Evelyn Mulwray in Roman Polanski’s Chinatown, 1974 (Long Road).

‘Neo-noir assures us that there was such a thing as noir and that this is what it was like … to fix moody chiaroscuro lighting, fatally glamorous women and midnight jazz scores as essential noir.’98 What the femme fatale reveals is that because film noir became seen through neo-noir, the understanding we have of film noir may not actually represent what the original films most looked like. Rather it is an image created by neonoir pastiches. Through the pastiche techniques of cutting and selecting certain elements in the imitated works gain prominence, while others are sidelined. In neo-noirs this meant a very particular kind of woman became the epitome of femme fatale, when the reality of past films indicates something else. e Summary We have seen above that film noir did not exist as a genre when the films now categorized under that heading were being made.99 The French saw something distinctive in these films, something affecting, which they called noir. Yet it was not until neo-noirs appeared that American audiences became aware of the similarities spread across a body of films. These films triggered this awareness and caused a genre to be deemed to exist, even when prior to this what exactly constituted a film noir was debated. However, once neo-noir pastiched the elements which it saw as noir a scholarly genre was born, and now every Western filmgoer could name the key elements that make a film noir.100 Indeed, for many people Chinatown is one of the finest examples of film noir. Yet when one observes it closely, pastiche is its

  98. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 129.   99. This demonstrates that film noir is a construct, as critics freely admit: A. Silver, ‘Introduction’, in Film Noir Reader, ed. A. Silver and J. Ursini (New York: Limelight, 8th Limelight edn, 2005). 100. For the way noir has entered into current understanding and vocabulary, including fashion and advertising, see Erickson, ‘Kill Me Again’, pp. 307–29.

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real nature, exaggerating, highlighting, selecting not reflecting, and yet at the same time very ‘like’ its sources.101 These films did not bring this ‘genre awareness’ about by directly replicating past films. Rather, Chinatown and Body Heat brought together certain noir elements felt in past films such as sexual tension, violence and brutality, and in doing so provided its viewers with a new textual awareness. They brought to life an affective property of past films, the feeling of noir, but at the same time were distinct from their referents through exaggeration, alteration and selection.102 This ‘similar but not the same’ allowed viewers to re-view the past and see it afresh, facilitating an awareness of film noir. In essence, once neo-noir made its viewers aware of what noir was and drew a picture of film noir, the past texts never looked the same again. This means that it is the coloured 1970s and 1980s lens of neo-noir that has shaped how the black-and-white film noirs of the 1940s and 1950s is viewed.103 Therefore, the above has shown how pastiche can function at the level of genre, taking past texts and highlighting, exaggerating, intensifying and selecting the past in a new location. In doing so a new awareness can be brought about as these texts act as lenses through which past texts are re-viewed. This examination will now be used to reread Revelation’s genre and to explain how and why Revelation functions as both a generic definer and defier.

III Neo-Apocalypse-Noir a  Sensing Apocalyptic We have seen above how the French noticed a sensibility in American films of the 1940s, with the first grouping of films together in 1955 due to this affective property, which they called noir. It took time for America to gain the same awareness. Only by having neo-noir pastiche re-portray the past through its ‘like yet not the same’ techniques could the audience really see what had been occurring. Neo-noirs

101. Other imitative productions such as parody can act as factors in ‘constructing’ a genre, and with noir we can see Carl Reiner’s Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid (1982). Fowler argues this to be a late stage of genre construction, but with film noir it represents the beginning of this generic categorization, for through these imitative practices the source texts break out of their previous categorizations. 102. Borde and Chaumeton identified sexual perversion and violence as part of the essential feeling of film noir, and we have seen above that a femme fatale and a lost drifter should be expected too: ‘She’s my sister, She’s my daughter,’ splutters Faye Dunaway as Jack Nicolson slaps her repeatedly in Chinatown until she stammers her incestuous confession ‘she’s my sister and my daughter’ after you hear her head loudly hit the table. 103. Mac Cosmetics now sell a red lipstick called ‘Film Noir’: a coloured lipstick named after films which were shot in black-and-white. What indicates that this is the colour of film noir? Full-coloured neo-noir of course.

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created a way for viewers to experience the feeling noir and declare its existence across a body of films. These films were then categorized as film noir. We have also seen how the creation of the modern scholarly categories apocalyptic/apocalypse began with an awareness of the sensibility apocalyptic. Apocalyptic sensibility, now accepted as prevalent in the ancient world, had been previously unnoticed in scholarship. It was the first element to be noticed by scholars when examining how texts such as Daniel and 1 Enoch resembled Revelation. This led Lücke, Hilgenfeld and Reuss to observe a form of prophecy in the ancient world which was distinctive: apocalyptic. Therefore, if apocalyptic as a sensibility is first named and examined as something pertaining to Revelation, then surely it is logical to argue that Revelation drew attention to this sensibility. Indeed, for Hanson and Rowland it is the sensibility that is of overriding importance in these texts.104 We have seen that Revelation clearly facilitated the understanding of a phenomenon, leading to its name being given to the literary genre apocalypse which embodies apocalyptic sensibility. Neo-noir created a generic construct by demonstrating a distinctive sensibility which had initially gone unnoticed. This means that although The Maltese Falcon may be seen as the godfather of film noir,105 it was not created as a film noir, nor was this generic categorization placed upon it until critics retrospectively examined it through the lens of neo-noir. In the same way, although Daniel may often be declared as the godfather of apocalypse/apocalyptic,106 we have seen above that its distinctive apocalyptic nature was only recognized in scholarship when it was compared to Revelation. The lens of Revelation provided an understanding of this past text previously unseen when all were viewed under the concept ‘prophecy’. The reasons why Revelation provides this distinctive viewpoint will now be explored. We shall see how it presented past texts in a fresh way, through specific literary techniques of exaggeration, sidelining and foregrounding. b  Seeing Composite A textual feature noticed early on in apocalyptic scholarship was the composite nature of apocalypse.107 Texts were viewed as mixtum compositum, featuring 104. Indeed, for Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic, it is best defined as a sensibility, as apocalyptic eschatology. This is also seen in Rowland, Open Heaven, who is against the idea of purely eschatological focus, but prefers outlook rather than literary form. 105. R. Borde and É. Chaumeton, ‘Twenty Years Later: Film Noir in the 1970s’, in Perspectives on Film Noir, ed. R. B. Palmer; Perspectives on Film (New York: G. K. Hall, 1996), pp. 76–80. 106. ‘Daniel is one of the earliest exemplars of the apocalyptic genre.’ Collins, Daniel, p. 58. 107. It is ‘made up of several constituent parts that can be formally identified as narratives, visions, prayers, and so forth’. Ibid., p. 54. See also G. von Rad, Theologie des Alten Testaments, 2 vols (Munich: Kaiser, 4th, 1965), p. 330.

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different literary forms such as ‘testaments, laments, hymns, woes, visions’,108 and using a variety of smaller textual units to make up a larger document.109 For example 1 Enoch is constructed from different literary units, such as parables, visions, narratives and prayers.110 What is more, the visions themselves are often presented as separate occurrences such as in 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra, with Aune saying that the texts ‘utilize a sequence of vision reports which are kept distinct from each other through literary markers’.111 This leads him to believe that ‘the literary segmentation used by the author of the Apocalypse of John appears generically imposed’.112 However, such segmentation in texts such as Daniel is a natural process, as visions and connected materials are grouped together by scribes. Indeed, the majority of the OT is composite in nature. Yet, very little of it is classed as apocalypse. Why then was the composite nature of apocalypse noted by scholars? We have seen above that the Venetian blinds now considered iconic of film noir were simply part of the 1940s/1950s filmic landscape. Neo-noir brought this time-bound feature to the fore through self-conscious imitation and so elements which occurred naturally in the 1940s/1950s became a central feature of the genre film noir. However, not all films which feature blinds are film noir. This can help explain the particular relationship between apocalypse and composite nature. Revelation contains many distinct textual forms, such as measurements, lists, narratives, visions, proclamations, dirges, etc. Initially, it was viewed as a collage, where many separate sections were brought together to create a new text, but with ‘clear seams’.113 Scholarship has now more or less abandoned this theory, as the linguistic, stylistic, structural and referential homogeneity of the document has been realized.114 Although Revelation may look like a mixtum compositum this is not as a result of major scribal activity. Aune, as already noted, explains this as 108. Aune, Revelation 1, p. lxxvii. 109. Koch, Rediscovery, p. 27. D. E. Aune, ‘The Apocalypse of John and the Problem of Genre’, Semeia 36 (1986), pp. 65–96 (87), points out that the visions themselves ‘utilize a sequence of vision reports which are kept distinct from each other through literary markers’. 110. For a comprehensive examination, see G. W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), pp. 7–36. 111. Aune, ‘Problem of Genre’, p. 87. 112. Ibid. 113. For a comprehensive overview of source-critical scholarship, see Aune, Revelation 1, pp. cv–cxxxiv. 114. Ibid., pp. cxviii–cxxxiv, argues for a three-stage/two edition composition process, similar to Prigent, Apocalypse, pp. 84–92. However, he still admits to the homogeneity of the majority of the text, and the majority of scholars argue that it is one complete document. For a recent rebuttal of Aune’s arguments, see I. Paul, ‘The Sources, Structure and Composition of Revelation’ (presented at the Revelation Seminar of British New Testament Conference, Manchester, September 5, 2014).

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‘generically’ imposed on Revelation. However, we have seen that it was by observing apocalyptic/apocalypse through the lens of Revelation that scholars noticed this feature in other apocalyptic texts. Therefore, in light of our neo-noir exploration, I posit that scholars have been drawn to the composite nature of apocalypses because Revelation foregrounds this feature from past texts. It so very obviously looks composite. However, due to its unified nature Revelation appears to be imitating how past texts create breaks, use multiple forms, feature various visions, etc. in a self-conscious manner. By doing so it brings to the fore a natural part of textual composition so that it cannot be missed.115 Therefore, it can be argued that through examining the concepts of apocalyptic and apocalypse, Revelation’s exaggerated and self-conscious breaks had an impact on the way that scholars viewed other texts. A natural part of past texts due to the time-bound nature of their construction becomes something which could not be missed, and is still elevated by some scholars, such as Aune, to be a key feature. As a viewer realizes through neonoir that blinds are a natural part of film noir, albeit in the background and barely noticed, so too does our reader through the imitation of past texts by Revelation become aware of the composite nature of the texts it refers to. c  Intensifying Revealing and Concealing We have seen how neo-noir intensified the sex and violence in film noir. Through this exaggeration a new awareness came about, so that when a viewer approaches a film noir, it is near impossible not to feel or search for sexual tension. At the same time, the ‘full-frontal’ portrayal of these features reminded viewers that the lens they were viewing the past through was not actually the same, but was created in a different time and place. Revelation likewise intensifies features of its past referents, and in doing so emphasizes textual difference. An example of this intensification and exaggeration is the pattern of revealing and concealing used in Revelation. A widely accepted feature of apocalypses is the presentation of visions and explanations by a mediator, creating a concealing/revealing textual fabric.116 This is not just limited to texts which are termed apocalypses but to any material which presents heavenly mysteries, such as prophecy.117 Initially, what exactly is being revealed can be difficult to grasp, as parables, oracles or symbolic visions might be used which are challenging to comprehend. However, after the proclamations, an interpretation is given by a mediator. Let us take Daniel 7–12 as an example. In this text, Daniel is presented with a series of enigmatic visions which confuse and terrify him (e.g. Dan. 7.2–15; 8.3–14). After these visions, he receives an in-depth 115. We have already seen the complexity of forms in Revelation 18. 116. This is covered by points 1, 2 and 4 in the Collins et al. paradigm, Collins, ‘Introduction’, pp. 6–8. Aune, ‘Problem of Genre’, pp. 84–7, calls it ‘The Reveal/Conceal Dialectic’. 117. Collins, Daniel, pp. 54–5.

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explanation of them from the angelic mediator who clearly assists the revealing of concealed material (Dan. 7.17–26; 8.19–25; 9.24–7). He also receives three commands to seal up his visions/book: συ σφράγισον την όρασιν (LXX Dan. 8.26; 12.4; 9). This produces a reveal/conceal dialectic.118 When we approach Revelation we discover it is somewhat more complex. Revelation takes this dialectic of revealing and concealing and intensifies it. It opens indicating that it will ‘reveal’: Ἀποκάλυψις (Rev. 1.1), signalling to the audience that this text will uncover things previously covered.119 Further commands to write and send, ὃ βλέπεις γράψον εἰς βιβλίον καὶ πέμψον ταῖς ἑπτὰ ἐκκλησίαις (Rev. 1.11), indicate that the visions are going to be expounded to the audience. The reason for this is that the time is near: ὁ γὰρ καιρὸς ἐγγύς (Rev. 1.3), distinct from Daniel’s distant focus: ‘the words are to remain secret and sealed until the time of the end’ (Dan. 12.9). However, as the text progresses this apparent focus on revealing turns into concealing.120 There is no simple vision/interpretation presentation. There are some noticeable exceptions in Rev. 1.20; 7.13–17; 17.6–18. However, even these explanations are somewhat limited or, as Aune says, these ‘explanations do not reveal much’.121 For example, in Rev. 1.20 the interpretation given is rather limited, simply declaring that the lamp stands are ‘seven spirits and seven churches’. Also, as we have seen in our examination of the whore of Babylon, the explanation ‘The woman (ἡ γυνὴ) you saw is the great city (ἡ πόλις ἡ μεγάλη) that rules over the kings of the earth’ (v.18) has proven rather challenging for interpreters. This is distinct from Daniel’s complex explanations (Dan. 7.17–26; 8.19–25; 9.24–7), and as Revelation progresses the intense feeling of reveal/conceal continues. When the lamb is declared worthy to open up the sealed βιβλίον (Rev. 5.5) and revelation appears to be on the horizon, the opening actually leads to more cryptic visions. The audience has to wait for a long time before another interpretation is given (Rev. 7.13–17), and again it is brief and enigmatic. As the text progresses it becomes even less revealing, as John is told to σφράγισον ἃ ἐλάλησαν αἱ ἑπτὰ βρονταί, καὶ μὴ αὐτὰ γράψῃς (Rev. 10.4). By this declaration the initial command to write what is seen and send it to the churches is turned on its head as part of the vision is then sealed up, never to be disclosed. This is the opposite of Daniel, where the visions are seen and explained to the audience before the sealing command. By the closing verses of Revelation, it is declared μὴ σφραγίσῃς τοὺς λόγους τῆς προφητείας τοῦ βιβλίου τούτου, ὁ καιρὸς γὰρ ἐγγύς ἐστιν (Rev. 22.10), echoing both Revelation 1 and again contrasting with Daniel: συ σφράγισον την όρασιν (LXX Dan. 8.26 cf. Dan. 12.9). Daniel follows a clear structure of coded vision 118. Ibid., p. 55, describes it as ‘a sense of mystery’. 119. As seen in our discussion on etymology, this is the most likely interpretation of the term. Also see Barr, ‘Beyond Genre’, pp. 71–90. 120. Linton, ‘Limits of Genre’, pp. 9–51, notices this on a generic level. 121. Aune, ‘Problem of Genre’, p. 85.

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and interpretation, despite its command to seal up. In Revelation, the dialectic of vision/interpretation, sealed/unsealed becomes a complex, exaggerated web of hide and seek, reveal and conceal, explain and confuse. Therefore, it is no surprise that scholars, when reading Daniel through the lens of Revelation, notice this reveal/conceal dialectic as distinctive, even though Daniel’s vision and interpretation format is far more revealing than concealing. After reading Revelation and its preference for concealing despite its revelatory promises, the commands to seal up in Daniel become more noticeable. Just as sexual tension could not be missed in film noir after it had been intensified in graphic sex scenes, so the revealing/concealing nature of past texts is highlighted through Revelation’s intense portrayal. This larger than life presentation shifted scholarly perspectives, leading to a re-viewing of its prominence in Revelation’s dialogue partners. d  Fixing Perceptions We have seen how the genre-defining femme fatale became a glamorous, impeccably dressed, married woman as neo-noir told the audience this is what she looked like, even though some film noirs featured femmes who were not fatale in this way. This led to a sidelining of other female portrayals in the previous body of works. Revelation also centralizes certain features while at the same time sidelining others. An example of this is the judgement/destruction of the world. Koch demonstrated that this was at the centre of early apocalyptic/apocalypse awareness, describing apocalyptic as texts which portrayed ‘secret divine disclosures about the end of the world’.122 In the SBL group’s research, this was indeed discovered to be an important feature of apocalypse, occurring twenty-two times across the Jewish and Christian texts observed. However, it is not something prevalent in texts prior to Revelation. The full-blown judgement/destruction of the world only occurs four times in the ‘Jewish Apocalypse’ texts examined by the group: in the Enochian material and possibly in Apocalypse of Zephaniah (see Appendix 1, Table 2).123 Rather, it is cosmological upheavals that feature most frequently. However, in post-Revelation texts this becomes a predominant feature, for example, occurring in Apocalypse of Peter, Apocalypse of Paul, Apocalypse of Esdras and Apocalypse of Mary.124 In light of our neo-noir imitation exploration, it seems apt to compare neo-noirs presentation of a glamorous femme fatale which 122. Collins, Daniel, p. 53, shows the importance of this feature in scholarly understanding, albeit in a negative way, when he claims ‘scholars have often been guilty of randomness in dubbing a work apocalyptic because it contains a particular motif that is also found in Revelation (e.g. the expectation of a new heaven and new earth)’. 123. Collins, ‘Apocalypse’, pp. 28; 104–5. They also class it as implicit in Mark 13. Of course the dating of this text is heavily debated, but I am presenting Collins’s argument, so follow his classifications. 124. I use the titles assigned by Collins for ease of cross-referencing.

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sidelined other fatale portrayals, to Revelation’s foregrounding of the judgement/ destruction of the world.125 By representing a full-blown passing of heaven and earth in Rev. 21.1 Revelation foregrounds an apocalyptic feature which became integral to apocalyptic/apocalypse perception and in doing so sidelined other cosmic events portrayed by its forebears.126 Therefore, when scholars began to approach apocalyptic/apocalypse through the lens of Revelation this feature was felt as integral to the texts and became fixed in generic perception, even though this feature only dominates in texts after Revelation.127 As saxophone music and a glamorous fatale are to film noir, so is the destruction of the world to apocalyptic/ apocalypse. This chapter has charted the history of the scholarly understanding of apocalyptic/apocalypse, and has demonstrated that this understanding centres on Revelation. It is the catalyst for apocalyptic and apocalypse as they are known today. Potential apocalypses have been studied because they have been deemed similar to it. However, we have also seen how when the SBL Apocalypse group brought apocalyptic texts together Revelation was found to be distinct, leading to a scholarly debate which still rages regarding whether it is or is not an apocalypse. Its distinct nature was highlighted through tabulating textual features, such as visions, mediators, narrative conclusion and pseudonymity.128 In doing this they came to a conclusion about central generic features, that is, those shared by the greatest number of works, several of which Revelation lacked. However, if these same tables are used to count the number of apocalyptic features each text possesses, Revelation actually has as many as the most apocalyptic of apocalypses: twenty, a claim only two other apocalypses can make (see Appendix 1, Table 1).129 Therefore, Revelation is not lacking apocalyptic features compared to other apocalypses. Rather, the features it has are different.130 As we have seen above Revelation highlights, exaggerates, cuts and foregrounds elements of previous texts in a way which presents them afresh to readers. Based on this then we should 125. This feature is not extensively defined by the group. For a thorough treatment of the topic, see E. Adams, The Stars Will Fall from Heaven: Cosmic Catastrophe in the New Testament and Its World (London: T&T Clark, 2007). 126. Earlier indications of such events also occur outside of the apocalypse used by the SBL genre group, for example, Isa. 51.6. 127. Indeed, although dating is fluid, any text dated after Revelation entitled apocalypse has this feature too, which would make sense if these texts did indeed gain the designation apocalypse precisely because they resembled Revelation. 128. Collins, ‘Apocalypse’, pp. 28; 104–5. They indicated when features were ‘not certainly present’, ‘present’ or ‘implied’. 129. This takes those features which are ‘partially present’, marked as asterisked, into account. If not then Revelation is still only exceeded by Daniel 7–12 and 4 Ezra. 130. The lack of common features such as narrative conclusion and pseudonymity are key to Revelation’s non-apocalypse classification. Revelation contains more obscure examples, such as a written form of revelation and epiphanies.

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expect Revelation to be different from its past referents, for if it was not then it would not offer a fresh viewing perspective. We have seen how neo-noir pastiche brought about an awareness of what film noir was, and yet was itself not film noir. It presented the past texts in a way which was distinct, and which drew attention to the past body of works in a new way. The prevalence of film noir is now widely accepted, just as the prevalence of apocalyptic/apocalypse is. However, it took the distinct exaggerated, intensified and selective imitation of neo-noir to bring about this awareness. Through enhancing elements of texts, the distinctive nature of a previous body of films could be distinguished. Film noir became the category that films such as Strangers on a Train and The Maltese Falcon belonged to. The sensibility noir was presented in a way that became palpable through neo-noir and as a result, the old groupings were left behind as they were viewed alongside a new group of films with similar distinctive elements. Based on our examination above, we can see how scholarship has done something very similar with texts now classed as apocalypse. Previous categorizations such as prophecy, writings, visions, etc. have been replaced with this new category apocalypse as they are seen to have distinctive elements in common with a new group of texts. However, for the creation of this new category, scholarship required the lens of Revelation. Its exaggeration, intensification and highlighting of textual features provided a new viewing perspective to reassess other texts. Yet, in order to be able to sense apocalyptic and move towards categorizing apocalypse, Revelation could not simply reflect other texts. It had to reframe them so their distinctive nature could be seen. The result is that the way apocalypse/apocalyptic has moved into scholarly consciousness has been through a view which is distorted, and this has impacted scholarly perceptions. We have seen this through the enhancing of the destruction of the world over and against cosmic upheavals, through the enhancing of the reveal/conceal dialectic far above and beyond previous textual tensions, and through the composite nature of apocalypses as seeming to be important, when in fact, this is a feature spread across the Old Testament. This was akin to the way that blinds and saxophone music are seen as essential film noir when, of course, they appear in many films of the 1940s/1950s. In essence, it is precisely because Revelation draws attention to features of the past texts through exaggeration/selecting/sidelining/signalling difference that it can never be the same as its referents. If it was the same it would not function as it does: as a text which brings about awareness through providing a new perspective. Just as Body Heat could never be a film noir because it is too sexually explicit, set in the 1980s and with a femme fatale who wins, so Revelation does not sit comfortably next to other apocalypses. Therefore, we can see that in order for Revelation to be the instigator of a generic awareness it needed to be a defier. Reading Revelation through the lens of pastiche at a macro-level has allowed us to reapproach the ‘genre’ issue that hangs over Revelation. Rather than trying to fit it into specific categories or say what it is ‘most like’, we have looked at how scholarship came to find it problematic because it is like but not the same as other texts. By then reading film noir through the lens of neo-noir, we have seen

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how genres can, when imitative and in the realm of pastiche, act as a new way of viewing films. The results of this study have provided us with a unique perspective from which to re-view Revelation’s textual features, one that focuses on how it has functioned in scholarship to bring about genre awareness and failed to be classified itself. Therefore, to conclude I would like to paraphrase Dyer’s claim about neo-noir and noir. This is a bold claim, not previously made in any scholarship I am aware of. However, in light of the above it can be convincingly argued that by reading apocalypse/apocalyptic and Revelation through the lens of pastiche we can realize that Revelation assures us that there was such a thing as apocalyptic and that this is what it was like … to fix composite documents, reveal/conceal dialectics, and the destruction of the world as essential apocalyptic/apocalypse. This means that whenever the destruction of the world, or revealing/concealing are declared key to apocalypse and apocalyptic, this is because scholarship is forever coloured by the neo-apocalypse-noir that is Revelation, and once scholarship viewed the past texts through this lens, the past never looked the same again. So too, now we have done the same through the lens of pastiche, Revelation’s relationship to apocalypse is reframed, recoloured and reinvigorated.

Chapter 8 C onclusions

I  Overview of Findings and Contributions a  Part One We began by examining previous studies in relation to Revelation and its use of OT texts, highlighting Beale’s key question ‘sometimes four, five, or more OT references are merged into one picture … how are such combined allusions to be studied?’1 We saw that previous attempts had particularly favoured authorial motive, pinpointing allusions, silencing erroneous echoes and harmonizing potentially conflicting images. Combined texts were read in order to isolate key texts and minimize potential multivalency. However, there were problems caused by this approach, with fragmented readings occurring, potentially important echoes being ignored and the impact on readers being overlooked. Therefore, we reappraised reader focused studies by Ruiz, Jack and Moyise, which led us to pinpoint imitation as a potential way of reading Revelation’s highly allusive nature which was like so many texts, but not the same. It was also clear that an interactive way of reading was being called for in order to holistically examine Revelation’s eclectic textual fabric and affirm its universally recognized multivocal nature. However, affirming eclecticism and imitation was somewhat contentious, as the concept of imitation had been shunned by past scholarship and we saw a clear need to show that Revelation was not ‘mere imitation’ or ‘hotchpotch’ but rather a ‘creative reworking’. Nevertheless, it was clear that Revelation’s ‘allusive use of Scripture is not easily contained within traditional source criticism but demands a broader approach’2 and so a new lens was necessary. The findings of our literature review led to a reappraisal of imitation and combination as textual practices, focusing on Graeco-Roman sculpture, rhetoric and temple architecture. This showed how other disciplines had only prized imitative and combined texts in relation to their similarity to ‘source texts’. Therefore, it became clear that a focus on pinpointing source texts and guiding voices had dominated scholarly approaches in disciplines outside of Revelation 1. Beale, Commentary, p. 79. 2. Moyise, Revelation, p. 139.

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studies. What also became clear was that more recent studies were showing how imitation and combination were not derided within the Graeco-Roman world, but were widely practised and valued. It was simply that they had been overlooked when being viewed as ‘less than’ by modern scholarship. What is more, we have seen that ancient audiences appeared to be able to listen to multiple voices within texts without needing to harmonize: ‘A sculpture combining diverse renderings and styles may seem discordant to us, but it was obviously meaningful to the Romans.’3 This study opened our eyes to texts far beyond Qumran and rewritten Bible in a way which has not previously been done by ‘Revelation and OT’ studies, and revealed the important insights being made by scholars from other disciplines who are utilizing more reader focused, imitation and eclecticism-affirming perspectives. This revealed that Mathewson’s and Ruiz’s concerns surrounding imitation were unfounded, and that harmonizing reading practices were not necessary, and so presented imitation and combination as potential ways to re-view Revelation. Reading as pastiche was then introduced as a way of reapproaching Revelation. This previously unexplored textual practice of imitation and combination was outlined, explaining its difference from more conventionally adopted ‘Revelation and OT’ terms such as parody and collage. This revealed that pastiche sat in the gulf between ‘copy’ and ‘creative reworking’, ‘hotchpotch’ and ‘skilled blending’. It also showed that pastiche was a more widely accepted imitative practice than Greene’s time-bound emic categories, and yet pastiche encompassed the aspects highlighted by Moyise as potentially powerful for exploring Revelation. The approach of reading Revelation as pastiche that this project would take was then outlined, specifying how it would use pastiche as a lens through which to view Revelation, and indicating a previously unattempted way forward as Revelation would be compared to modern pastiche test cases in order to see whether these could offer insights into scholarly impasses. b  Part Two Four case studies which read Revelation as pastiche were presented in Part Two. These were not exercises in exact mapping, nor were they relabelling exercises. Rather, they were asking a more engaging question: how does reading a text as pastiche effect and affect its interpretation? It is clear that these case studies were original in their contribution to Revelation studies: it is fair to say that no previous study has examined the whore of Babylon’s identity in relation to soda-pop bottles and Henry Fonda, and that Rock Hudson and egg-shell cars have not been used to explore the potential impact of the declaration ‘come out of her my people’. However, the merit of the case studies

3. Ridgway, Roman Copies, p. 84.

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obviously does not rest on their innovative nature: this was not an exercise in innovation for innovation’s sake. Rather, their merit rests on Dyer’s criteria: My discussion of them as pastiche stands or falls by the validity of my deployment of the evidence for them being pastiche, but also by the degree to which treating them as pastiche illuminates them, how much intellectual and affective sense it makes of them.4

Therefore, the findings of these case studies are evaluated in relation to what intellectual and affective sense they make of Revelation’s multivocal text, and how viewing Revelation through our pastiche lens illuminated how such combined allusions should be studied. In our first case study, Beale’s and Moyise’s readings of the inaugural vision were brought into dialogue to reveal their readings were, in fact, similar, despite their supposed differences. It was clear both had Daniel lenses firmly in place. Reading the inaugural vision through the lens of highly combinatory pastiche allowed us to listen to the diverse textual resonances that it evoked. Echoes and associations were listened to without the need to give primacy to one over the other, and the cumulative nature of the text was experienced. This levelling effect allowed us to encounter a text which described a previously unencountered image: a Priestly/Hellenistic/Christlike/ angelic/destroyer/lover God. Rather than harmonizing/prioritizing voices, pastiche showed us a way to listen to the tensions and experience the wrestling within the text. In doing so, far from encountering erroneous voices, we saw how the images encountered within the text’s presentation of one like a son of man would all return as Revelation progressed. Therefore, this reading with innovative dialogue partners allowed the eclectic nature of Revelation 1 to be seen in a way that the implicit Daniel bias which has infused approaches had caused scholars to overlook. In our next case study, we saw a widespread practice of controlling the whore of Babylon by limiting the echoes and associations that she set ringing. We also uncovered a scholarly need to quell Jerusalem texts and a universal approach of seeing the whore as ‘other’. Through reading the whore as pastiche we were able to reapproach her as the affective exaggerated trope that our initial examinations had revealed her to be. However, the neutral lens of pastiche meant that her affective nature did not need to be controlled, her OT ‘source’ did not need pinpointing and the violence did not need to be silenced. This then allowed us to read her as a text which reawakens past textual experiences and the feelings attached to them, while also signally alteration, tension and distance from these past encounters. The result of this led to reading the whore not as ‘other’ but as all encompassing: as Jerusalem and her enemies. This reading trod dangerous ground, potentially reawakening anti-Semitic readings. However, the lens of pastiche presented a more nuanced perspective, where multiple experiences were evoked creating an image which was both intimately self and clearly other. Our test case showed how 4. Dyer, Pastiche, p. 148.

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this could lead to pausing and reflecting on the situation being faced. Therefore, reading the whore as an exaggerated tropic pastiche presented a highly affective textual encounter which set echoes and resonances ablaze in a way previously unseen in the controlling approaches explored. We were able to follow Ruiz’s advice and provide a way to read where ‘the harshness of the texts is inescapable and undeniable. It cannot be mitigated and should not be softened.’5 Pastiche provided the lens to do this. Our next case study moved into a realm where our pastiche lens caused us to examine just how very, very similar to OT texts Revelation is. This led to a reading of Revelation 18 which demonstrated in a way not previously done its all-pervasive imitative nature. In doing so we saw the fear of imitation that was particularly latent in Revelation 18 studies, with a need to show that Revelation is ‘original’, ‘fresh’ and ‘innovative’. Reading through the lens of pastiche removed these fears, allowing us to examine the effect of reading a text which is similar, so similar, but not exactly the same as previously seen. This revealed that alterations do not need to be extreme to have an impact on audiences. Indeed, in a sea of similarity often the slightest alterations stand out. In light of this, I argued that the effect of seeing various textual units relocated presented a sense of historical location. ‘Come out of her my people’ was explained in a fresh way, positing that it may show readers that the past is just that: past, and that the situation faced now is not the same as has been seen before. The final push into new territory came by arguing that perhaps the fear of ‘lacking’ and ‘less than’ which had hung over studies was part of the affective experience of encountering Revelation 18’s highly imitative nature. Embracing this allowed us to move into a realm where we were able to suggest that Revelation 18 may present the audience not with an awareness of future triumph but with awareness of what has been lost, and what remains. Finally, we moved to our most macro-level study which built on all we had previously seen. Reading Revelation’s relationship with apocalypse/apocalyptic through the lens of pastiche led to a reassessment of the entire body of previous scholarship. We saw how apocalypse/apocalyptic came into scholarly parlance through using Revelation as a lens to view other texts. It was demonstrated to be at the centre of the scholarly construct and to have instigated the pursuit of finding apocalypse/apocalyptic in other texts. Revelation’s ‘problematic’ relationship with apocalypse was reassessed when viewed as a ‘genre pastiche’, arguing that it is precisely because of its distinctive categorization-defying nature that it facilitated scholarly awareness of these previously unnoticed concepts and textual sentiments. The lens of pastiche opened up this viewing perspective because it removed the assumptions that genres come into existence and then are built upon. Pastiche allowed us to see that this is not always the case. Indeed, without pastiche genres may not be seen at all. It also facilitated an awareness of the fact that Revelation is a powerful lens which has itself facilitated new viewing practices, and at the same time impacted how other texts are viewed. 5. Ruiz, Apocalypse, p. 536.

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II  The Results and Ramifications of Reading Revelation as Pastiche In light of these findings, I believe I can say that my reading of Revelation as pastiche has achieved a number of new and significant contributions to the field, and opened up future avenues of investigation. I highlight some of them below.6 First, it has shown that imitation and combination are practices which should be taken seriously in relation to ancient texts, and that in order to do this effectively (and affectively) post-romantic fears need to be overcome. Pastiche has provided us with a lens with which to do this, allowing previously overlooked, or ‘explained away’ textual features and signals to be focused on. Rather than arguing that authors are struggling to relocate past texts, or finding controlling magnets which dominate all other texts, or finding features to show this is not ‘mere imitation’, the textual impact of these features can be explored, and imitation and combination can again become part of our scholarly discourse without the need to preface them with ‘mere’.7 Continuing to view Revelation through imitative and combinatory lenses is surely a fruitful method to pursue, allowing it to become part of the only recently unearthed eclectic and derivative ancient world.8 Second, it has introduced pastiche to Revelation studies as a wide-ranging textual practice which covers the grey area between ‘copy’ and ‘reworking’. In doing so it has built on Moyise’s suggestions of the potential of Greene’s imitative categories, presenting a more established and wide-ranging mechanism. Pastiche has met the call by previous ‘Revelation and OT’ studies for an interactive, readeroriented approach that can holistically read multivocal texts, and deal with textual tensions. In doing so, it has affirmed Moyise’s belief that it is ‘more fruitful to try and find ways to describe the interaction of the OT motifs, phrases and images in Revelation than to debate whether or not John has respected the OT context of his

6. I believe that the implications are more wide ranging than those I highlight here, but as with all good pastiche encounters, the implications are often not explicitly signalled, but rather embedded in the reading experience. 7. Pastiche is one derivative practice, among many: parody, emulation, homage, fake, forgery and so on. This can also provide a new vocabulary to cover some of the rather slippery concepts which currently fall under the catch-all and somewhat exhausted term ‘intertextuality’. 8. Indeed, imitation and combination offer potentially useful approaches to Revelation’s unique Greek. Rather than arguing for thinking in one language and writing in another, reading Revelation’s language through the lens of imitation, and of writing in the style of another points to a fresh take on this perennial problem, already suggested by Caird, Revelation, p. 5: ‘Because a man writes in Hebraic Greek, it does not inevitably follow that this is the only Greek he is capable of writing. He may have adopted this style quite deliberately for reasons of his own, as Luke appears to have imitated the style of the Septuagint in his nativity stories.’

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allusions’.9 Indeed, I know of no other ‘Revelation and OT’ methodology which presents such a comprehensive ‘interactive reading strategy’. However, reading Revelation as pastiche is currently limited to four issues. Therefore, further examinations of images/sections/debates using the lens of pastiche would clearly continue this fruitful research. Third, reading as pastiche has presented a way to describe Revelation’s textual fabric. As stated at the beginning of this project, this was not a relabelling exercise, and the clearly postmodern approach taken prevented attempts to anachronistically apply modern textual understandings to ancient texts. However, as the field stands I have to ask, what term do we possess in today’s literary vocabulary which could better describe this ‘like but not the same’ text which is multivocal, multilayered, blended, amalgamated and at the same time overwhelmingly similar to previous textual experiences? ‘Highly allusive’ or ‘highly intertextual’ go some way, but they are equally as anachronistic. Also, in light of the last chapter, I only need to mention apocalyptic to demonstrate Revelation scholarship’s use of recently coined terms to describe ancient practices. Pastiche may not have been considered appropriate previously, but this is because pastiche, as we have come to understand it in this research project, is not known in Revelation studies.10 Therefore, I believe that this study certainly goes some way to presenting pastiche as a prime contender for the aptest way of describing the textual fabric we encounter in Revelation.11 Further exploration of parallel-pastiche style texts in the Graeco-Roman world is certainly a comparative study that would produce informative results. Fourth, this project has built on Jack’s approach, demonstrating the power of comparative readings. By removing ourselves from our ideologically weighted standard reading environments and adopting new viewing locations fresh interpretative horizons open up. Without encountering Henry Fonda as a child killer I would not have seen the potential impact of the whore of Babylon on a Jewish Christian audience, and without watching Todd Haynes I would not have become aware of the potentially empowering nature of encountering a text which is lacking in relation to previous encounters. These new viewing perspectives also allow reconsideration of scholarly trends, which can seem all powerful when reading under their weight. As neo-noir has shown, sometimes it is only through looking back on a text from a new position that we can focus on exactly what is there.   9. Jauhiainen, Zechariah, p. 15; Moyise, ‘Out of Context?’, p. 138; Moyise, Revelation, p. 141. 10. ‘Montage’, ‘tapestry’, ‘mosaic’, ‘collage’, ‘cento’, ‘parody’, ‘imitation’, ‘patchwork’ and even ‘pastiche’ in its most basic imitative/combinatory form have all been used to describe what Revelation appears to be but is not. This shows that scholarship is clearly searching for a term to cover this middling ground, and that term is ‘pastiche’. 11. It also calls us to revisit pre-Beale studies which were also dealing with the more mixed fabric of the text, and less focused on allusion-spotting, for example, A. M. Farrer, A Rebirth of Images: The Making of St. John’s Apocalypse (Westminster: Dacre Press, 1949).

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Connected to this is the usefulness of comparing Revelation to texts which are not ‘texts’ in the traditional written compositional sense. The visual arts-heavy perspective presented here has facilitated an experience of how texts cumulatively have an impact on their audience, and has fostered holistic encounters.12 This is in contrast to the writing-heavy approaches to ‘Revelation and OT’ voices which often sit at odds to what we know about the orality and aurality of the ancient world. The visual arts, therefore, provide texts which resist modern scholarly attempts to press the stop button,13 look up original locations, compare ‘exact’ wording or ‘pinpoint’ definite allusions. This has revealed the visual arts as providing effective dialogue partners with Revelation’s textual fabric, and more comparative studies are sure to provide engaging perspectives. This study has foregrounded the reading process, and so pinpointing Revelation’s original setting have been less in focus. However, this project has still produced relevant historical findings. The first surrounds the notion of multivocal texts speaking to audiences. This has intentionally remained somewhat abstract in our study due to the approach being utilized. However, knowing what we do about the mixed make-up of the audiences of biblical texts, reading as pastiche reveals a textual fabric able to speak to groups constructed from different backgrounds, cultures and education levels. As the need for exact allusion-spotting diminishes, so the potential for texts to be seen as speaking more broadly can grow. This calls for further consideration regarding who Revelation was written for and its potential impact. Second, we have touched upon Najman’s study of 4 Ezra, where her encounters of imitated and combined figures uncovered a text dealing with notions of an irrecoverable past. Our findings in relation to Revelation 18 clearly resonate with her study. As a result, the idea that these texts are dealing with similar situations again comes to the fore, but this time not due to genre studies but due to the discovery of far deeper textual longings. Finally, this study has produced four new readings of scholarly impasses each of which present arguments for how to reapproach ‘Revelation and OT’ issues: 12. I. Boxall, Patmos in the Reception History of the Apocalypse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), has demonstrated the effective nature of art as a medium for approaching the visionary text of Revelation, and similar arguments about film are made by L. Copier, Preposterous Revelations: Visions of Apocalypse and Martyrdom in Hollywood Cinema 1980– 2000 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2012). Indeed, although the visionary nature of John’s text is debated, with vision and literary composition seemingly separate, these studies and ours show that most truly artistic outputs prove this to be a false dichotomy. Film directors have a ‘vision’ which they then bring actors, set makers, costume designers and the whole filmic machine on-board to create. The visionary inspiration for art is clearly part and parcel of output, although when reading scholarship on scriptural usage in Revelation this is rather easy to forget. 13. Of course film can be stopped and paintings can be abandoned but we do not watch them this way, choosing instead to experience that work while considering what it may resonate with.

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read the image encountered in inaugural vision as a multivocal and inharmonious figure; reapproach the whore as a highly affective text which is both intimately self and also clearly other; reassess Revelation 18’s imitative nature, and its signalling to the loss of past situations; and, finally, readdress how Revelation’s relationship with apocalypse is viewed, and the scholarly importance put on whether it is or is not an apocalypse.14 We have presented an introduction to each of these arguments but further examination of their ramifications would be most welcome. The aim of this project was to provide an answer to Beale’s question, ‘Most of the OT reminiscences are combined into groups. Sometimes four, five, or more OT references are merged into one picture. … How are such combined allusions to be studied’?15 We have done this through proposing pastiche as a way of approaching Revelation and by demonstrating the insights reading as pastiche has brought about. However, it has done much more than this. It has reassessed key issues in ‘Revelation and OT’ studies, uncovering scholarly biases and enamelled ideologies. It has produced four fresh readings of these issues, each presenting new arguments and previously undiscovered perspectives. It has also brought serious ‘Revelation and OT’ issues into dialogue with previously unconsidered textual partners, and in doing so ventured into undiscovered territories within the field of Revelation studies. Above all, I would like to believe that it has shown the constant need for changing our lenses, shaking up our viewing perspectives and rereading the past from fresh angles; of encountering the already seen like never before.

14. Indeed, I would like to go as far as to say that as a result of the final chapter’s study the entire concept of apocalypse/apocalyptic as understood in biblical studies would benefit from a new approach. 15. Beale, Commentary, p. 79.

A ppendix I  Appendix 1: Tabulated Apocalypse Features Tables 1.1 and 1.2 are created from the results of the SBL Forms and Genres project, as laid out in Morphology of Genre.1 Table 1.1 highlights the features which are lacking from Revelation but present in many apocalypses. Table 1.2 highlights the judgement/destruction of the world across apocalypses. Collins’s project split the potential apocalypses into different groups, and below are the three most pertinent to our study: Jewish Apocalypses, Apocalypses and Related texts. These cover a range of texts pre- and post-Revelation. The titles are those used by the project, and are at the top of the table. Each row is assigned a number according to the number assigned to the feature by the project. Within the table an ‘x’ marks when the feature is present in a text. When * appears this indicates where the group saw the feature as ‘partially’ present. These features are totalled at the base of each column, showing the number of ‘apocalyptic’ features present in each text. The first row marked ‘number (full)’ does not include partial features (*). The bottom row ‘number (inc. partial)’ does include those features. The column labelled ‘Number’ shows the number of ‘apocalyptic features’ that appear across the group of texts, that is, how many times each feature appears in the texts examined.

1. Collins, ‘Apocalypse’, pp. 28; 104–5.

Visions Epiphanies Discourse Dialogue Otherworldly journey Writing Otherworldly mediator Pseudonymity Disposition of recipient Reaction of recipient Cosmogony Primordial events Recollection of past Ex Eventu prophecy Present salvation Persecution Other eschat. Upheavals Judgement/ destruction of wicked

x x

x x x

x

x x

x x

x

3 Baruch

x x x

x

x

x x x x

x x

x

Test Levi 2-5

* x x

x

x x

x x x x

x x

x

x x x

x x

x

x

x x x x x

x x x x x x

x x x

* x

x x x

x x

x

x

x x

x x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x x

x

1 Enoch 1-36

x

x x

x x

x

x

Heavenly Luminaries

x x x x

x

2 Enoch

x x x

Similitudes of Enoch

x

Apoc Abraham x x x

x

x x x

x x x

x x x x

x

x

2 Baruch x x

x x x

x x x x x x x x

x

x

Table 1.1  Apocalyptic features lacking in Revelation

x x

x x

x x

x x x x x x x x

x

x

4 Ezra

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x 9 11 13 14 18 16 15 14 16 18 20 10 11 13 15 18 16 16 14 16 18 20

x x x

x x x

x

Test Abraham 10-15

x

Apoc Zephaniah

22 *

34 14 16 29 19 9 40 38 17 29 4 13 10 15 1 16 22 37

Number

15 18 18 42 26 48 5 17 24 Number (full) Number (all)

19 Judgement / destruction of world Judgement / destruction of 20 otherworldly beings 21 Cosmic transformation 22 Resurrection 23 Other forms of afterlife 24 Otherworldly religions 25 Otherworldly beings 26 Paraenesis by Revealer 27 Instructions to recipient 28 Narrative conclusion

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Jubilees 23 x

x

Animal Apocalypse x * * x x x

x x x

x

x

x x

x

Daniel 7-12 x x

x x x

x x x

x

x x x x x

x x x x

Jacob's Ladder x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x x

x x x

Revelation x x x x x x x x

x

x x x

x

x x x * * x x

Apoc Peter x x x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x x

x

Hermas x

x

x

x

x x

x x

x x x x

Elchasai x

* x

x x

x

x x x x

x

x x

x

x * x x x x x

x

Apoc John Theol

x x x x x x x x x x x x * x 12 12 13 20 13 18 14 16 6 18 13 13 15 20 13 20 14 16 8 19

*

x x

x

x x

x

x x x

x

x

Apoc of Weeks

x

x *

x x x

x

x x x

x

Test Lord 1:1-14 13 13

x x x

x x

x

x x x

x x

x x

x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x

x

Test Jacob 1-3a x

x

x *

x

x x

x x *

Ques Bart x x x x x

x

x

x *

x

x x

x

x x

Resurr (Bart) 8b-14a x

x

x

x x

x

x x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x

x

Asc Isa 6-11

x x x x x 9 10 14 7 13 9 12 15 7 13

Test Isaac 2-3a

x

x

*

x

x x

x

8 9

5 Ezra 2:42-48 x

Apoc Paul

Apoc Esdras x x x x

x

x x

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

Apoc Mary x x x x

x

x

x x x x

x x

x x

Test Isaac 5-6 x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x

Test Jacob 5 x

x

x

x x

x

x

Zosimus x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x x x x x x x

Apoc Moth God x x x x

x

x x x x

x x

x x

x x x

x

x x x x

x x x

x

Apoc James

* x x x x x x 16 17 15 11 8 17 13 13 18 17 15 11 8 17 13 13

x x x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x x * x x

Myst John

Resurr (Bart) 17b-19b x x x

x

x x

x

x

x

x x

x

x * x

x x

Apoc Sedrach

x x x 14 8 9 16 8 10

* x x

*

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

x

x

*

x x *

x

x x x

x

x x x

x x x x

x

Sib Or 102

5 13 8 13

Mark 13 x *

x

x

x

x

*

5 6

Sib Or 7 x

x x x

x

x x

x x

9 9

Sib Or 8 x

*

x

x

x x x x

x

x x x

x

4 10 5 10

6 Ezra x x x

Apoc Elijah

Related works

x

x x

x

x

*

x

6 7

Apoc Thomas

Apocalypses

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

7 7

Test Adam

Jewish Apocalypses

x

x

4 4

Penit Adam x x

x x

*

3 4

Didache 16 x

x

x

x x

x

x

7 7

Asc Isa 4:1-18 x

x

x

x

4 4

Ques Jn Theol x

224 Appendix

Number

Visions 34 Epiphanies 14 Discourse 16 Dialogue 29 Otherworldly journey 19 Writing 9 Otherworldly mediator 40 Pseudonymity 38 Disposition of recipient 17 Reaction of recipient 29 Cosmogony 4 Primordial events 13 Recollection of past 10 Ex Eventu prophecy 15 Present salvation 1 Persecution 16 Other eschat. Upheavals 22 Judgement/ destruction of wicked 37 Judgement / destruction of world 22 Judgement / destruction of otherworldly beings 15 Cosmic transformation 18 Resurrection 18 Other forms of afterlife 42 Otherworldly religions 26 Otherworldly beings 48 Paraenesis by Revealer 5 Instructions to recipient 17 Narrative conclusion 24 Number (full) Number (all)

x

x *

3 Baruch

x x x

x

x

x x x x

x x

x

Test Levi 2-5

* x x

x

x x

x x x x

x x

x

x x x

x x

x x

x x x x x x

x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x x x x x

x

2 Enoch

x

Similitudes of Enoch

x x x

Heavenly Luminaries

x x x

* x

x x

x

x x x x

x

x

1 Enoch 1-36

x x x

x x

x x

x

x

x x

x x

x

Apoc Abraham x x x

x

x x x

x x x

x x x x

x

x

2 Baruch x x

x x

x x

x x x x x x x x

x

x

x x

x x x

x x x x x x x x

x

x

4 Ezra

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x 9 11 13 14 18 16 15 14 16 18 20 10 11 13 15 18 16 16 14 16 18 20

x x x

x x x

x x

x x x

x x

x x

Apoc Zephaniah

x

Test Abraham 10-15

x

Jubilees 23

Animal Apocalypse x * * x x x

x x x

x

x

x x

x

x x

x x x

x x x

x

x x x x x

x x x x

Jacob's Ladder x

x

x

x x

x

x

x

x x

x x x

Revelation x x x x x x x x

x x x x

x

x x x * * x x

Apoc Peter x x x x

x x

x

x

x x

x x

x

Hermas x

x x

x

x x

x x

x x x x

Elchasai x

* x

x x

x

x x x x

x x x

x

x * x x x x x

x

Apoc John Theol

x x x x x x x x x x x x * x 12 12 13 20 13 18 14 16 6 18 13 13 15 20 13 20 14 16 8 19

* x

x

x x

x x x

x

x x x

x

x

Apoc of Weeks

x

x *

x x x

x

x x x

x

Daniel 7-12

Table 1.2  Judgement/destruction of the world in apocalypses

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Test Lord 1:1-14 13 13

x x x

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x

x

Test Jacob 1-3a x

x

x *

x

x x

x x *

Ques Bart x x x x x

x

x

x *

x

x x

x

x x

Resurr (Bart) 8b-14a x

x

x

x x

x

x x x

x

x

x

x

x x

x

x

Asc Isa 6-11

x x x x x 9 10 14 7 13 9 12 15 7 13

Test Isaac 2-3a

x

x

*

x

x x

x

8 9

5 Ezra 2:42-48 x

Apoc Paul

Apoc Esdras x x x x

x x x

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

Apoc Mary x x x x

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

Test Isaac 5-6 x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x

Test Jacob 5 x

x

x

x x

x

x

Zosimus x x x

x

x

x x

x x

x x x x x x x

Apoc Moth God x x x x

x

x x x x

x x

x x

x x x

x

x x x x

x x x

x

Apoc James

* x x x x x x 16 17 15 11 8 17 13 13 18 17 15 11 8 17 13 13

x x x x x

x x

x x

x x

x x * x x

Myst John

Resurr (Bart) 17b-19b x x x

x

x x

x

x

x

x x

x

x * x

x x

Apoc Sedrach

x x x 14 8 9 16 8 10

* x x

*

x x

x x x x

x x

x x

x

x

x x * *

x

x x x

x x x x

x x x x

x

Sib Or 102

5 13 8 13

Mark 13 x *

x

x

x

x

*

5 6

Sib Or 7 x

x x x

x x x

x x

9 9

Sib Or 8 x

*

x

x

x x x x

x x x x

4 10 5 10

6 Ezra x x x x

Apoc Elijah

Related works

x

x x

x

x

*

x

6 7

Apoc Thomas

Apocalypses

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

7 7

Test Adam

Jewish Apocalypses

x

x

4 4

Penit Adam x x

x x

*

3 4

Didache 16 x

x

x

x

x x

7 7

Asc Isa 4:1-18 x x

x

x

x

4 4

Ques Jn Theol x

Appendix 225

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F ilmography Aldrich, Robert. Kiss Me Deadly, 1955. Aldrich, Robert. The Last Sunset, 1961. Aldrich, Robert. Vera Cruz, 1954. Coen, Joel, and Ethan Coen. The Big Lebowski, 1998. Curtiz, Michael. Mildred Pierce, 1945. Dante, Joe. Innerspace, 1987. Dmytryk, Edward. Murder, My Sweet, 1944. Fassbinder, Rainer Werner. Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, 1974. Ford, John. Fort Apache, 1948. Ford, John. The Grapes of Wrath, 1940. Ford, John. The Iron Horse, 1924. Ford, John. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, 1962. Ford, John. My Darling Clementine, 1946. Ford, John. The Searchers, 1956. Ford, John. Stagecoach, 1939. Ford, John. Young Mr. Lincoln, 1939. Garnett, Tay. The Postman Always Rings Twice, 1946. Gilliam, Terry. Brazil, 1985. Hanson, Curtis. L.A. Confidential, 1997. Hawks, Howard. The Big Sleep, 1946. Haynes, Todd. Dottie Gets Spanked, 1993. Haynes, Todd. Far from Heaven, 2002. Haynes, Todd. Poison, 1991. Haynes, Todd. Safe, 1995. Haynes, Todd. Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story, 1988. Haynes, Todd. Velvet Goldmine, 1998. Hitchcock, Alfred. North by Northwest, 1959. Hitchcock, Alfred. Notorious, 1946. Hitchcock, Alfred. Strangers on a Train, 1951. Huston, John. The Maltese Falcon, 1941. Kasdan, Lawrence. Body Heat, 1981. Leone, Sergio. A Fistful of Dollars, 1964. Leone, Sergio. For a Few Dollars More, 1965. Leone, Sergio. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, 1966. Leone, Sergio. Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968. Lewis, Joseph H. The Big Combo, 1955. Mann, Anthony. The Tin Star, 1958. Ophüls, Max. The Reckless Moment, 1949. Polanski, Roman. Chinatown, 1974. Ray, Nicholas. Johnny Guitar, 1954. Ray, Nicholas. They Live by Night, 1948.

240

Filmography

Scott, Ridley. Blade Runner, 1982. Sirk, Douglas. All That Heaven Allows, 1955. Sirk, Douglas. Imitation of Life, 1959. Sirk, Douglas. Magnificent Obsession, 1954. Sirk, Douglas. Written on the Wind, 1956. Stevens, George. Shane, 1953. Tourneur, Jacques. Out of the Past, 1947. Ulmer, Edgar G. Detour, 1945. Walsh, Raoul. Pursued, 1947. Wilder, Billy. Double Indemnity, 1944. Wyler, William. Jezebel, 1938. Zinnemann, Fred. High Noon, 1952.

INDEX NOTE: Page locators in italics refer to figures and tables. Achilles Tatius (Greek novelist)  104 affective pastiche  3, 99, 100–2, 107, 113–14, 132–6, 137 Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (film: Fassbinder)  162–3 All That Heaven Allows (film: Sirk)  159– 61, 163–4, 166, 170 allegorical imagery ‘whore of Babylon’  104–6 allusion Beale’s classification of  11, 15, 24 Ben–Porat’s notion of  24 Jauhiainen on  26 see also resonances; Revelation and OT allusion studies angel/s declaration of fall, judgement and desolation of Babylon  142, 144–51 resonances in ‘one like a son of man’  91–2, 93–4, 95, 96 animals  142, 149–51, 172 apocalypses apokalyptik/apocalypse  190–2, 206, 211–12 judgement/destruction of the world  210–11, 212, 225 composite nature of  206–8 as genre  3, 182–3, 190–3 definition and features of  193–5, 223, 224 and Revelation  184–5, 188–9, 192–3, 194–5, 211–13, 217 titles and etymology of  185–9 architecture AT&T Building  51–2, 52 n.19 ‘double-coding’  51–2 Stuttgart Gallery  52 see also Jewish temple

architextuality  55 n.34 and genre  183 n.6 Aristotle  36 artifice  138–43, 169–70 artistic imitation ‘double-coded’ architecture  51–2 artistic imitation in antiquity combined statues  33–5 contamination  32, 32 n.13, 33 as creations in their own right  32–3 Herod’s temple  39–45 statues  30–5 see also literary imitation in antiquity audience of ‘come out from her my people’  145, 145 n.38, 178 of Revelation  70, 113, 113 n.90 of Revelation 18  176 n.178 of ‘whore of Babylon’  108–9, 134–5, 136 see also distanciation Aune, David E.  49 on desolate cities  150 on generic use of apocalypse  186, 188, 207 reading of Revelation 18  139–40, 144, 149 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  104–6, 112, 113, 124, 127, 130, 132 authorial intention  10, 25–6 Beale on  11, 25 Fekkes on  15–16 Mathewson on  21–2 Moyise on  18–19 Paulien on  12–13 Babylon call/summons/exhortation to flee  145–6

242

Index

desolation of  142, 149–51 destruction of  101 n.4, 106–7, 138, 142, 146–7, 148–9, 179–80 fall of  141, 142, 144–5 judgement of  146–7 as ‘whore of Babylon’  106–7, 126, 130 Bacon, Roger (philosopher)  87 Barker, Margaret reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  102, 103–4, 113, 134 Bauckham, Richard on inscriptions  186 n.17 on trade list in Revelation 18  141, 151 n.78, 152–3, 154 n.101, 172, 175 Beale, Gregory allusion categories of  11, 15, 24 on audience of ‘come out from her my people’  145 n.38 on desolation of cities  150 reading of ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  144 reading of ‘one like a son of man’  76–9, 80, 90, 91, 95–6, 216 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  109–11, 112, 113, 130, 132 on Revelation and OT relationship  7, 8, 8 n.10, 9–12, 18, 23, 25, 97, 221 on trade list in Revelation 18 and OT  152 Ben-Porat, Ziva  24, 26 Bertolucci, Bernado (film director)  115 Blade Runner (film: Scott)  60, 197, 198 soundtrack of  199–200 Blevins, James  188–9 Body Heat (film: Kasdan)  197, 198, 205 femme fatale in  203 sex in  201–2 Boismard, Marie-Émile  13 Boxall, Ian  49, 101–2, 177 Brazil (film: Gilliam)  198 soundtrack of  199–200 Buscombe, Edward  114, 115, 116 Butler, John  200 Caird, George Bradford  80, 99, 177–8 caryatid Loukou Amazon  33, 35 cento  58 n.46

certain/clear allusions  11, 35 in ‘one like a son of man’  77, 78 chariots  153, 175–6 Chatterton, Thomas  50 n.11 Chinatown (film: Polanski)  197, 198, 204–5 femme fatale in  204 use of venetian blinds in  199, 200 violence in  202 Christian III’s Monument (Nørgaard)  82, 85–6, 89 Christological resonances  92, 94 Cicero  36, 43 city lament  140, 178 Babylon  142, 144 Tyre  141 Clement of Alexandria  187 collage  58, 61 n.57, 65, 207 Collins, Adela Yarbro reading of ‘come out of her my people’  177 reading of Revelation 18  139, 144 Collins, John definition and features of apocalypse  193–4 Cologne Mani Codex  186 n.21 combination/combinatory pastiche  2, 3, 29, 48, 53, 58–9, 60–1, 82, 89–90 Christian III’s Monument as  85–6 Name of the Rose as  87–9 New Yorker July 1993 front cover as  83–5 ‘one like a son of man’ as  90–1, 95–8 see also pastiche ‘come out from her my people’  145–6, 177–9, 217 audience of  145, 145 n.38, 178 speaker of  145, 145 n.37–8 copy criticism  31 n.7 creative imitation  36, 36 n.30 cultic imagery in ‘one like a son of man’  92–3, 94–5, 96 Daniel allusions in ‘one like a son of man’  76– 80, 81, 90, 91, 92, 95–6 apocalyptic nature of  206 as ‘Babylon the Great’  144, 144 n.34 as paradigm for apocalypse  194

Index resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  109, 111, 112, 126, 130 use in Revelation and apocalyptic literature  9–10, 17 n.72 visions and interpretations  208–10 as Vorbild (prototype)  10, 23, 78, 80 Danish sculpture  85–6 De Piles, Roger definition of pastiche  50, 50 n.8, 53 De Villiers, Pieter G. R.  49, 139 desolate cities  142, 149–51, 172, 178, 180 destruction of Babylon  101 n.4, 106–7, 138, 142, 146–7, 148–9, 179–80 of Jerusalem  103–4, 112–13, 133, 134–5 of other cities  150–1 of the world and apocalypse  210–11, 212, 225 of ‘whore of Babylon’  100, 102, 103–4, 108–9, 112, 127, 128, 136, 138, 142 dialectic imitation  18, 62 differences, see textual differences Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Greek historian)  36, 38–9 direct allusions  12–13 dirge, see city lament distanciation  119, 132–3, 135, 166–9, 171–2, 174–5, 201–2 see also textual differences divine resonances in ‘one like a son of man’  94–5 Donati, Sergio (film director)  115 Double Indemnity (film: Wilder)  198, 199 n.84, 200 n.90 Dyer, Richard  157 on film noir awareness  195–6, 197, 198 on genre  183 on neo-noirs  203–4 reading of Far from Heaven  162, 165–6 on sex in film noirs and neo-noirs  202 theory of pastiche  3, 57, 61, 63, 64 n.66, 65, 66, 68, 165 on tropes  128 Dying Slave (Michelangelo)  85, 86, 89 echo  12, 21, 24, 25 in ‘one like a son of man’  77, 79, 80 see also resonances

243

eclectic imitation  18 eclecticism artistic eclecticism  35 and Jewish temple  30, 39–42 and Jewish tombs and monuments  42 n.62 negative/substandard rhetoric  29 Eco, Umberto  82, 87–9 economic-religious powers as ‘whore of Babylon’  109–11, 112, 132 Edom  150 Ehrman, Bart  42–3, 45 ekphrasis  108 n.51 notion of  104 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  105–6 use in antiquity  104–5 emulation (aemulatio)  32 n.17, 38–9, 44–5, 45 n.80, 46, 65 Eriksen, Edvard (sculptor)  86 Eusebius  177 exaggeration  137, 208 in neo-noirs  200–2, 205, 208 and Once Upon a Time in the West  115, 118, 119–21, 123, 129 and ‘whore of Babylon’  106, 129–30, 135, 216–17 Exodus resonances in ‘one like a son of man’  92–4, 96 resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  103 Ezekiel  13–15, 23 allusions in ‘one like a son of man’  77, 78, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96–7 lament over Tyre  141 resonance in ‘throwing stones’  147–8 resonance in ‘whore of Babylon’  103, 108–9, 112 trade items list in  152, 153, 154 n.101, 172 Ezekiel in the Apocalypse: The Transformation of Prophetic Language in Revelation 16, 17–19:10 (Ruiz)  13–15 Ezra  43–5 ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  142, 144–5, 179–80 Far from Heaven (film: Haynes)  138, 156–8, 168–9, 180

244

Index

differences between All That Heaven Allows and  163–4, 167 as imitative pastiche  170, 171–2, 173–4 resonances to 1950s culture  162–5, 171 resonances to All That Heaven Allows  159–61 resonances to past texts  165–8 resonances to Sirk’s films  158–9, 161–2, 166 temporal transgression within  178 Fassbinder, Rainer Werner  162–3 Fekkes, Jan reading of Revelation 18  144, 155 n.103 on Revelation and OT relationship  15–16, 16 n.64, 24, 25, 26, 28 feminist scholarship on ‘whore of Babylon’  101 n.4, 101 n.6 femme fatales in film noirs vs. neo-noirs  203–4, 210 film noirs  195–6, 205 n. 101 awareness of  196–8, 204–6 features of  198, 205 n.102 femme fatales in  203–4, 210 sex in  200–2 use of saxophone soundtracks  199–200 use of venetian blinds  198–9, 200, 207 violence in  202 Fonda, Henry (film actor)  120–1, 120 n.126, 122, 123, 131–2, 133 Ford, John (film director)  115, 116, 122 Ford, Josephine reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  102–3, 112, 113 foreign trade powers as ‘whore of Babylon’  109–11, 112, 132 forgery accusation of Chatterson of  50 n.11 and pseudepigrapha  42–4 Forgery and Counterforgery (Ehrman)  42–3 Fort Apache (film: Ford)  121, 123 free copy/ies  31–2 as creations in their own right  32–3 of Mattei Amazon  33, 35 Gaugin, Paul (artist)  83 Genette, Gérard  28, 54–6

genre  183 apocalypses as  3, 182–3, 190–5, 223, 224 as ‘architextuality’  183 n.6 and interpretation  183 n.5 see also film noirs; neo-noirs; Westerns Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39 (Tooman)  62 n.61 Gospel and apocalypse  188 Goya, Francisco (painter)  83 Graeco-Roman copying  215 contamination  32, 32 n.13, 33 ‘free copies’  31–5 pastiche (combined statues)  33–5 Graeco-Roman imagery in ‘one like a son of man’  92–3, 94–5, 96–7 Graeco-Roman literature image of shining eyes  94 imitatio  36 influences in ‘whore of Babylon’  104–6, 112 Grapes of Wrath (film: Ford)  120 Greene, Thomas  18, 27, 28 Grosseteste, Robert (philosopher)  87 Hades (ancient Greek god)  95 Hamlet (Shakespeare)  59, 60 Haynes, Todd (film director)  138, 156, 157–8, 157 n.120, 161–2, 166–7, 171 Hays, Richard  13 n.13, 16–17, 21 Hekate (ancient Greek goddess)  95 Hemer, Colin  79 Herod’s temple amalgamation of influences  40–2 Herodes Atticus (Roman consul)  33 Herodotus (Greek historian)  187 heuristic imitation  18, 62 see also textual differences High Noon (film: Zinnemann)  117, 118, 119, 123 Hilgenfeld, Adolf  191, 191 n.48, 206 Hirsch, Eric Donald  10, 183 n.5 Hoesterey, Ingeborg on Bob Knox’s New Yorker front cover  83 on multiple resonances  85–6

Index on pastiche  3, 57–9, 61, 63, 65, 66, 68 on William de Baskerville characterization  87 Hogg, James  20 Hollander, John  12, 16–17, 17 n.17, 21 Homer (Greek poet)  104 Horace (Roman poet)  36–7 Hosea resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  102–3, 106, 111, 126 hybris soliloquy  149 hypertextuality  55, 55 n.34 imitation  2, 3, 27, 28, 214–15, 218, 218 n.8 in antiquity  30, 46–7, 215 creative imitation  36, 36 n.30 and emulation distinguished  32 n.17 encouragement and praise  30 Greene’s types of  18, 28 intentional imitation  38, 38 n.44 negative/substandard rhetoric  29, 46 ‘yes! I am invincible!’  148–9 see also artistic imitation; artistic imitation in antiquity; emulation; genre; literary imitation in antiquity; pastiche Imitation of Life (film: Sirk)  158, 161, 166, 168 inscriptions  185–6, 186 n.16–17 intentional imitation  38, 38 n.44 intertexuality and Far from Heaven  172 and Herod’s temple  41 Mathewson’s  21–2 Moyise’s  16–18 pastiche vis-à-vis  54–6 semiotic root of  17 n.71 see also resonances Iron Horse (film: Ford)  120, 123 Isaiah  15–16 and ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  142, 144, 144 n.34 resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  110– 11, 112, 126–7, 130 Isaiah and Prophetic Traditions in the Book of Revelation: Visionary Antecedents and Their Development (Fekkes)  15–16

245

Jack, Alison  20, 25, 26, 27, 28, 64 n.65, 69 n.74, 214, 219 Jameson, Frederic  52–3, 56, 60–1 Jauhiainen, Marko  23–5, 26, 28 Jencks, Charles  51–2, 52 n.19 Jeremiah and ‘come out from her my people’  145–6 and destruction of Jerusalem  150 dirge over the city  141 and ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  142, 144 as source text for ‘whore of Babylon’  106–7, 108, 112, 126, 127 Jerusalem desolation of  150–1 destruction of  103–4, 112–13, 133, 134–5 summons to flee  177 as ‘whore of Babylon’  102–4, 110–11, 112–13, 127, 130, 132–6 Jewish temple of Bel of Palmyra  40 n.58 and eclecticism  30 see also Herod’s temple; Solomon’s temple Jezebel (film: Wyler)  121 John of Patmos  4, 11 author of Revelation  70 originality of his work  155 use of OT  9, 13–14, 15, 19 n.85 see also Revelation; Revelation and OT allusion studies John, the Apostle, Saint  70 Johnson, Philip (architect) Josephus (Roman-Jewish scholar & historian)  188 Judah  150, 151 Kiss Me (film: Aldrich) use of venetian blinds in  199 Kiss Me Deadly (film: Aldrich)  202 violence in  202 Koch, Klaus on apokalyptik/apocalypse  191–2, 210 Knox, Bob (artist)  82, 83–5, 89 Kovacs, Judith  141, 144 Kristeva, Julia  17 n.71

246

Index

laments  142 city lament  140, 141, 142, 144, 178 form and rhetoric of  138–40 ritual lament  140, 144 trade items in  152–3 The Last Sunset (film: Aldrich)  117 learning through imitation  37–8 Leger, Fernand (painter)  83 Leochares (Greek sculptor)  31 Leone, Sergio (film director)  114–17, 120, 125 ‘Dollars Trilogy’  115, 117 n.116 Levi resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  103, 112 Linton, Gregory  189, 189 n.36, 190 n.40 literary imitation in antiquity in Graeco-Roman literature  36–9 negative/substandard rhetoric  37, 38–9, 38 n.49, 43 Second temple pseudepigrapha  42–6 ‘slavish imitation’ 36, 38–9 see also artistic imitation in antiquity literary trope  108 n.54 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’ as  107–9, 111–12 local allusions in ‘one like a son of man’  79, 80, 81 ‘Longinus’  36 lover resonances in ‘one like a son of man’  94, 95, 96 Lücke, Friedrich  189 n.36, 191, 206 LXX, see Septuagint Magnificent Obsession (film: Sirk)  158, 161, 163, 164–5 The Maltese Falcon (film: Huston)  196, 206, 212 The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (film: Ford)  117, 123, 126, 129, 131 Manet, Édouard (artist)  83 Marcia Furnilla  34 Marsilius of Padua (scholar and political figure)  87 masculinity in Westerns  117 Mathewson, David  21–2, 25, 27

Matisse, Henri (artist)  83 metatexutality  55 n.34 Michelangelo (sculptor)  85 Modigliani, Amedeo (painter)  83 mosaic  58, 65 mosaic of Scripture  79, 80, 97–8 Mounce, Robert  141 Moyise, Steve  21 on combined allusions  27 reading of ‘one like a son of man’  76–9, 90, 91, 95–6, 97–8, 216 on Revelation and OT relationship  8, 16–19, 28, 62 n.60, 97 Muratorian Canon  186 My Darling Clementine (film: Ford)  118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 126, 131 Myron (Greek sculptor)  31 Najman, Hindy  43–5 Name of the Rose (Eco)  87–9 Naremore, James  196, 197 neo-noirs  197–8 and awareness of film noirs  198–206 A New Heaven and a New Earth: The New Meaning and Function of the Old Testament in Revelation (Mathewson)  21–2 New Yorker (magazine) July 1993 edition front cover  83–5, 89 Nineveh  150 Nitzch, K. I. (scholar)  189 n.36 Nørgaard, Bjørn (sculptor)  82, 85–6, 89 North by North West (film: Hitchcock)  200 Ockham, William (philosopher)  87 Old Testament (OT) Revelation 18 extreme reliance on  141–3 Revelation 18 similarity to  137–8, 143, 217 see also Revelation and OT allusion studies The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation (Moyise)  16–19 Once Upon a Time in the West (film: Leone)  115–17 and excitement  122–3 McBain Massacre scene  117–20, 123, 128–9

Index ‘man-to-man’ showdown  120–1, 122, 135–6 as pastiche  123–4, 125–6, 128–9, 131–2, 133, 135–6 reliving past textual experiences  122, 125–6, 133 vs. other Westerns  120–1, 123–4, 131–2, 134 ‘one like a son of man’ Beale’s reading of  76–9, 80 as combinatory pastiche  90–1, 95–8, 99, 216 Moyise’s reading of  79–80 readings of  75–6, 81 resonances in  91–5 open text  67, 67 n.69 Name of the Rose  88 original meaning  25 Moyise’s notion  19 n.85 notion  10 OT, see Old Testament Out of the Past (film: Tourneur) sex in  201 paintings  50 Bob Knox’s New Yorker 1993 front cover  83–5 Palimpsestes (Genette)  54–5 paratextuality  55 n.34 parody  58 n.46, 65, 219 n.10 and generic construction  205 n.101 and pastiche  53–5, 60–1, 61 n.57, 218 n.7 pastiche as inferior form of  53 past texts  195 distanciation from  166–7, 174–5, 201–2 and Far from Heaven  162–3, 165–8 and Once Upon a Time in the West  122, 125–6, 133 pastiching  195, 197–8 and Revelation 18  172 see also textual differences; textual similarities pastiche  2–3, 48–9, 56, 60–1, 218 n.7 in ancient sculpture  33–5, 33 n.20, 34 in art  50, 50 n.8 in biblical studies  62 n.61 as ‘blank parody’  53–4, 60–1

247

in eighteenth-century music  50–1 etymology and early usage  49–51 genre vs.  183 and intertextuality  54–6 neutral imitative style  59–60 in nineteenth-century writings  51 in paintings  50 as postmodern phenomenon  51–7 as synonym for ‘substandard’/’hopscotch’  49 see also imitation; Revelation as pastiche Pastiche (Dyer)  57, 59–60, 63, 65, 66, 68 Pastiche: Cultural Memory in Art, Film, Literature (Hoesterey)  57–9, 60, 63, 65, 66, 68 Paul, the Apostle, Saint use of apocalypse  188 Paulien, Jon  23 on allusion  12–13, 25 Perry, Ellen E.  33, 35 Philodemus of Gadara (philosopher)  187 photomontage  58 Picasso, Pablo (painter)  83 Pippin, Tina  20 Plato (Greek philosopher)  187 Poison (film: Haynes)  157 possible allusions  11 postmodern/postmodernism  29 n.2 imitation within Roman copies  32–3 postmodern pastiche  51–7 Praxiteles (Greek sculptor)  31 priests resonances in ‘one like a son of man’  93, 96 resonances in ‘whore of Babylon’  103 Prigent, Pierre  92 on apocalypse  189, 189 n.37, 192 reading of Revelation 18  140, 148, 152 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  106–7, 112, 113, 124, 126, 130 on Revelation 17 and 18 differences  141 on trade list in Revelation 18 and OT  152, 153, 176 The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (Hogg)  20, 69 n.74 probable allusions  11 in ‘one like a son of man’  77

248

Index

prophecy  190–1, 191 n.48, 206 see also apocalypses Proust, Marcel (novelist)  51, 56 n.40 Provan, Iain reading of Revelation 18  140 on Revelation 18’s extreme reliance on OT  141 on trade list in Revelation 18 and OT  153, 175 Proverbs resonance in ‘whore of Babylon’  108, 109, 112, 126 pseudepigrapha  42–6 Pursued (film: Walsh)  118, 123 Quintilian (Roman rhetorician)  36, 37, 38 n.44, 38 n.46, 43 Qumran  28, 103 n.14 Ramsay, Sir William  79 reader-response approaches  25, 26–7, 28 Jack’s study  20 Moyise’s study  16–19, 27 Ruiz’s study  13–15 reading as highly combinatory pastiche  90–1, 95–8, 99 as pastiche  3, 215 see also Revelation as pastiche The Reckless Moment (film: Ophüls)  162 Renoir, Pierre-Auguste (artist)  83 reproductive imitation  18 resonances  69 and Dying Slave  85 in Once Upon a Time in the West  117– 20, 123–5, 128–9, 131 in ‘one like a son of man’  91–8 in ‘whore of Babylon’  102–13 Reuss, Eduard  191, 206 Revelation and apocalypse/apocalyptic  182–3, 184–5, 188–9, 192–3, 194–5, 206, 207–8, 211–13, 217 audience of  70, 113, 113 n.90 author of  70 dating of  70–1 deconstructionist reading of  20 ‘open text’ approach  67, 67 n.69

opening lines of  189, 189 n.39, 190 n.40 and pastiche  2, 218–19 (see also Revelation as pastiche) readings of  1–2, 29–30, 214 reveal/conceal dialectic  208–10 Revelation 18 audience of  145, 145 n.38, 176 n.178, 178 ‘come out from her my people’  145–6, 177–9 difference in  171–3, 180–1 differences between Revelation 17 and  141 extreme reliance on OT  141–3 ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  142, 144–5 originality of  154–6 as pastiche  171–3, 180–1 readings of  138–40, 169–71 similarity to OT  137–8, 143, 154, 179, 180, 217 temporal transgression within  175–9 trade list in  151–3, 154 n.101, 172, 175–6 ‘unclean animals and demons’  149–51, 172 Revelation as Pastiche  3–4, 61–4, 182, 215, 221 case studies  65–6, 69, 215–17 methodology and scope of study  64–71 ramifications of  218–21 resonances  69 source texts  70 test cases  64–6, 68–9, 70, 216–17 see also ‘one like a son of man’; Revelation 18; ‘whore of Babylon’ Revelation and OT allusion studies  7–8, 25–8, 65, 220–1 Beale’s  9–12, 23, 25 Daniel-centric reading  9–10, 76–9, 90, 91, 95–6 Fekkes’ grouping under thematic headings  15–16, 16 n.4 Jack’s  20 Jauhiainen’s  23–5 Kowalski’s  22–3

Index Mathewson’s ‘intertextual’ approach  21–2 Moyise’s ‘intertexuality’  16–19 Paulein’s objective and scientific approach  12–13 Ruiz’s “creative reworking”  13–15, 27, 28 Richardson, Peter  40–2 Roma (ancient Roman goddess) and ‘whore of Babylon’  104–6, 112, 126, 127, 130 Rome/Roman Empire as Babylon  105, 106 n.39, 107, 109, 109 n.62 call/summons to flee  177, 178 trade list  151 n.78, 153, 175 n.170, 176 as ‘whore of Babylon’  104, 108–9 Rose, Margaret  53–4, 56 Rossing, Barbara reading of Revelation 18  140 reading of ‘whore of Babylon’  107–9, 111–12, 124, 127, 130, 132–3 Rousseau, Henri (painter)  83 Rowland, Christopher  141, 144 Ruiz, Jean-Pierre  16 on audience of ‘come out from her my people’  145 n.38 reading of Revelation 18  154–5 reading of ‘throwing stones’  147 on Revelation and OT relationship  13–15, 25, 26, 27, 28, 37, 46 on trade list in Revelation 18 and OT  152, 154 n.101, 172 saxophones use in film noirs  199–200 SBL Apocalypse Group, see Society of Biblical Literature Apocalypse Group Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth reading of ‘come out of her my people’  177 reading of Revelation  139, 139 n.4 sculpture Christian III’s Monument  85–6, 89 Den lille havfrue (The Little Mermaid)  86

249

Dying Slave  85, 86, 89 see also statues The Searchers (film: Ford)  117, 118, 119, 120, 123, 125, 126, 128, 129, 131 Second temple, see Herod’s temple Seneca the Elder (Roman rhetorician)  38, 38 n.46 Septuagint (LXX) use of apocalypse  187–8 Seraiah  147 sex in film noirs vs. neo-noirs  200–2 Shane (film: Stevens)  117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 126, 129 similarity, see textual similarities Sirk, Douglas (film director)  158–61, 166–7, 171 Smith, Morton  187, 188 Society of Biblical Literature Apocalypse Group  211 Solomon’s temple  40, 41 ‘son of man’, see ‘one like a son of man’ ‘source text’  70, 97, 214–15 Daniel as  76–9, 81, 93 of ‘one like a son of man’  90, 91, 92–4, 95, 96–7 of Revelation 18  170 of ‘whore of Babylon’  102–3, 106–7, 108, 109, 110–12, 124, 126–7 spaghetti Westerns  114 see also Once Upon a Time in the West Stagecoach (film: Ford)  118, 119, 123 statues combined statues  33, 35 pastiches  33, 34 Roman imitations  30–5 see also sculpture stereotypes/ing American Western characters  116 whores  106, 107, 112, 124, 126–7, 128 Stirling and Associates (architecture firm)  52 Strangers on a Train (film: Hitchcock)  196, 203, 212 femme fatale in  203 use of venetian blinds in  199 subscriptions  185–6, 186 n.16

250

Index

Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (film: Haynes)  157 synoptic gospels/tradition  92, 92 n.85, 93, 147 test cases  64–6, 68–9, 70 film noir and neo-noir  195–6 ‘one like a son of man’  82–3, 90–1 Revelation 18  156 ‘whore of Babylon’  114, 123–4 The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs  188 n.29 Texts Reading Texts, Sacred and Secular (Jack)  20 textual differences in Far from Heaven  163–5, 167 in Once Upon a Time in the West  117, 120–1, 123–4, 125, 131–2, 134 ‘positive’ difference  171, 173 in Revelation 18  152–3, 154–5, 171–3, 180–1 in ‘whore of Babylon’  108–9, 126, 128, 130, 133–5 see also heuristic imitation textual similarities Haynes and Sirk  158–62, 166 Revelation 18 and OT  137–8, 142–3, 154, 180, 217 city lament  141 ‘come out from her my people’  145–6, 217 ‘fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great’  144–5, 179–80 ‘throwing stones’  146–8 trade list  151–3 unclean animals and demons  149–51 ‘yes! I am invincible!’  148–9 They Live by Night (film: Ray) soundtrack of  200 Thorvaldsen, Bertel (sculptor)  85–6 The Tin Star (film: Mann)  121 ‘throwing stones’  146–8 Tooman, William A.  62 n.61 trade list  142, 151–3, 154 n.101, 172, 175–6 transtextuality  55 categories of  55 n.34

tropes in Westerns  117–20, 128 homestead  117–18 ‘man-on-man’ showdown  120–1, 122–3 shoot-outs  118–20, 122, 123 Tyre fall of  141 lament over  141 as rock in the sea  147 trade  152, 152 n.81 unclean animals and demons  142, 149–51, 172 venetian blinds in film noirs  198–9, 207 Vera Cruz (film: Aldrich)  117, 123 violence exaggeration of  120, 123 n.131, 202 as verse  138–40 in Westerns  118, 120, 122, 131–2, 135–6, 205 n.102 and ‘whore of Babylon’  109, 112 Vos, Luis  147 Westerns  114–15, 119–20 homestead  117–18, 128–9 ‘man-on-man’ showdown  120–1, 122–3 masculinity in  117 shoot-outs  118–19, 122, 123, 128–9, 131–2, 133, 135–6 ‘whore of Babylon’ affective properties of  100–1, 113, 132–3, 134 and audience  108–9, 134–5, 136 as Babylon  106–7, 126, 130 composite nature of  99, 124, 126, 130 destruction of  100, 102, 103–4, 108–9, 112, 127, 128, 136, 138, 142 differences between Revelation 18 and  141 and economic-religious powers  109–10, 111 as eschatological city Tyre/ Babylon  109–11, 130 feminist scholarship on  101 n.4, 101 n.6 Google search images of  101 n.5

Index identity of  101–2 as Jerusalem/Israel  102–4, 110–11, 112–13, 127, 130, 132–6 reading as pastiche  124–30, 133–6, 216–17 readings of  100–2, 111–13 as Roma  104–6 as trope of evil city  107–9, 111–12, 130 whores stereotypical description of  106, 112, 124, 126–7, 128

251

Willis, Sharon  160–1, 162, 163, 165 n.143 Written on the Wind (film: Sirk)  158, 161 ‘yes! I am invincible!’  148–9 Young Mr. Lincoln (film: Ford)  120 Zechariah  76 n.3 allusions in ‘one like a son of man’  77 in Revelation  23–5, 92–3 Zephaniah and desolation of city  142, 150, 151, 172

INDEX OF REFERENCES Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament (OT) Exodus (Ex.) 25.6–7 25.31–40 27 28 28.4 31 35.8 39

93 92 93 103 93 93 93 93

Leviticus (Lev.) 8.7 93 13 93 Numbers (Num.) 8.2 92 Judges (Judg.) 5.31 77, 78, 95 1 Samuel (1 Sam.) 9.15 187 1 Kings (1 Kgs.) 6.14–36 104–5 7.2–12 104–5 Psalms (Ps.) 27.2 89

106 17 n.76

Proverbs (Prov.) 1–9 102, 108, 109, 112, 126 Song of Songs (Song) 1.2 94 Isaiah (Isa.) 1 1.15–22 11.4 11.4b

103 110 77 79

13 13.21 13.21–2 13.21–2a 13.22 21.9 23 23.8 23.15–18 23.17b 34.11 34.11–15 34.13 34.13–15 34.14 47 47.7–8 47.7–9 47.8 49.2 52.11

142 172, 150 n.72, 150 n.76 150, 151 n.77 150 n.74 172 142, 144, 144 n.34 102, 111, 112, 130 110 108 108 150 n.72 150–1, 151 n.77 172 150 150 n.76 148 n.62 148 n.62 148–9 148 n.62 77, 79 146

Jeremiah (Jer.) 2 102–3 2.20–4.30 111 4 108, 126 4.26–7 150 n.72 4.30 110 4.30–1 127 5 102–3 9.10–12 150 n.72 9.11 150, 151, 172 10.25 111 13.26 187 22.5–6 150 n.72 34.22 106 50–1 141 n.19, 142 50.39 150, 150 n.76, 172 50.8 146, 177 51  102, 106–7, 112, 126, 141, 147–8, 150, 172, 173 n.166

Index of References 51.37 51.45 51.6 51.63–4 51.7 51.7–8 51.7–10 51.8 51.9 51.13 51.26 51.29 51.43 51.63

150, 150 n.76, 172 145–6, 177 146, 177 147 126 106, 107, 110 126 142, 144 126 106, 109, 126 106 106 106 147 n.49

Ezekiel (Ezek.) 1.24 77, 79, 95 1.26 92 1.26–8 94 1.7 77, 78 6.14 150 n.72 9 96 9.2 77–8, 93–4 9.2–4 93 9.11 79 12 147 16  14, 102, 103, 109, 112, 113, 133 n.154 16.11–13 103 16.14 103 16.37–40 103, 127 17.12–24 152 n.81 23 14, 102–3, 109, 112, 113, 126, 133 n.154 23.8–10 127 23.17 126 23.25–9 111 23.47 111 26 147–8 26.4 147 26–7 147, 147 n.55, 152 n.80 26–8 110, 141, 142, 152, 173 n.166 26.1–28.19 14 27  142, 152–3, 154 n.101, 172, 175 27.7–25 152 n.81 27.12–25 152 27.12–25a 152 n.81 27.13 152, 176

27–8 28.2 43 43.2 43.7

253 141 149 95, 96 77, 79, 95 95

Daniel (Dan.) 194, 206 n. 106, 209–10 3 78 n.15 3.11 94 4 78, 102, 111, 126 4.25 150 n.72 4.27 110, 144 4.30 144, 144 n.34 6 78 7  77, 78–9, 78 n.15, 78 n.20, 90, 110 7–12  193 n.54, 208, 211 n.129, 223 7.2–15 208 7.9 77 n.10, 79, 92 n.83, 92 n.85, 94 7.13 91, 93 7.17–26 208–9 8.19–25 208–9 8.26 209 8.3–14 208 9 209 9.24–7 208–9 10  77, 77 n.10, 78–9, 78 n.15, 80, 90, 96 10.5 77, 78, 80, 93–4 10.5–6 79, 90 10.6 94, 96 10.12 95 10.16 91–2 12 78 12.4 209 12.9 209 19 95 23 94 25 94 Hosea (Hos.) 2 2.3 2.5 3 5

102–3 111, 150 n.72 106 102–3, 126 102–3

Joel 3.19

150 n.72

Index of References

254 Micah (Mic.) 1 102–3 3.3 106

17 18.6 21.33–42 23.29–35

95 147 111 n.82 111 n.82

Mark (Mk.) 9.42

147

Zechariah (Zech.) 4 77 4.2 92

Luke (Lk.) 2.35 10.21 10.22 10.26 12.2 17.2

188 188 188 188 188 147

Malachi (Mal.) 1.3–4 150 n.72

Acts of the Apostles (Acts) 7.51–2 111 n.82

Apocryphal

1 Peter (1 Pet.) 188 5.13 109 n.62

Nahum (Nah.) 3.5 187 Zephaniah (Zeph.) 2 142 2.13 150 n.72 2.14 150, 150 n.76, 151, 172

Baruch (Bar.) 4.35 150 n.76, 151 n.77 4 Ezra  43–5, 193 n.54, 207, 211 n.129 3.1–2 109 n.62 12.10–12 44 14.3 44 28–31 109 n.62 Psuedepigrapha Apocalypse of  Esdras 210 Apocalypse of  Zephaniah 210 2 Baruch 10.1 11.1 67.7

43, 207 109 n.62 109 n.62 109 n.62

1 Enoch

194, 207

New Testament Matthew (Mt.) 10.26 188 11.25 188 11.27 188 16.17 188

Revelation (Rev.) 1 10, 17, 65, 82, 93–4 1.1 70, 209 1.1–2 188 1.3 209 1.4–20 78 n.20 1.5 17 n.76, 70 1.7a 76–7 1.9 70 1.9–20 104 n.22 1.10 145 n.35 1.11 209 1.12 91 1.12–18 75–82, 90–1, 97–8 1.12–20 77 1.13 77, 91, 93, 94 1.13–16 79 1.13–17 78–9 1.14 94 1.15 77, 94, 95 1.16 77, 95 1.17 95 1.20 209 2–3 79, 81 4–5 10 5 96 5.5 209 6.4 145 n.35 6.10 145 n.35

Index of References 6.12 145 n.35 6.13 145 n.35 6.17 145 7.2 145 n.35 7.10 145 n.35 7.13–17 209, 209 7.14 145 8.7–12 12 8.8 145 n.35 8.10 170, 145 n.35 8.13 170, 145 n.35 8.15 170 8.17 170 9 70, 96 9.2 145 n.35 9.14 145 10.4 209 10.8–10 104 n.22 11 96 11.1–2 71 11.8 145 11.11 145 n.35 11.13 145 n.35 11.19 145 n.35 12.1 145 n.35 12.9 145 12.12 145 n.35 12.14 145 13 10, 96–7 13.2 145 n.35 14.1–15.8 49 14.8 142, 144, 106 n.39 16 13, 106 n.39 16.2–17 100 16.12 145 16.17–19.10 13–15 16.18 100 16.19 100, 145 17  10, 100–14, 105–6, 112, 129–30, 138, 139, 141, 142, 142 n.20, 145, 151 17.1 100, 105, 106, 126, 145 17.1–19.10 138 n.1 17.2 100, 109–10, 126 17.2–4 106 17.3 100, 106 17.3–4 109 n.63 17.4  100, 103, 105, 106, 107, 126 17.5 100, 105

255

17.6 100, 105 17.6–18 209 17.9 105 17.7–13 100 17.15–16 100 17.15–18 132 17.16 103, 109 n.60, 113, 126 17–18 97, 100, 102, 103, 138, 142 17–19.10 13–15 18  3, 23, 65, 102 n.9, 138–40, 141–3, 154–6, 169–71, 172, 173, 173 n.166, 174–6, 179–81 18.1 142 18.1–19.8 154 n.99 18.2 142, 144–5, 149–51, 172 18.3 142 18.4 142, 145–6, 177–9 18.4–8 142 18.7–8 148–9 18.9–19 141, 142 18.9–20 146 18.10 170 18.12–13 151–3, 172, 175 18.13 153 18.16 170 18.19 170 18.20 142, 147 18.21 146–8, 147 18.21–3 142 18.22–4 146 18.23 110 18.24 142, 138 n.1 19–22 97 19.1–6 142 20 138 n.1 21 102 n.9 21.1 211 22 96 22.10 209 Early Christian Writings Apocalypse of Peter 210 Apocalypse of Mary 210 Clement of Alexandra Paedagogus (Paed.) 1.1.23 187

Index of References

256 Eusebius Historia Ecclesiastica (Hist. eccl.) 3.5.3 177

1.297 3.153

188 94 n.92

War of the Jews (War) 1.297 188

Classical & Graeco-Roman

Philodemus

Achilles Tatius

de Vitiis (Vit.) 22.15 187

Leucippe and Clitophon (Leuc. Clit.) 1.1–2 104 Herodotus Histories (Hist.) 1.119.5 187 Homer Illiad (IL.) 11.632–5 18.478–608

Plato Gorgias (Gorg.) 455d 187 Protagoras (Prot.) 352a 187 352b 187 Quintilian

104 104

Josephus Antiquities of the Jews (Ant.)

Institutio Oratoria (Inst.) 10.2.4 36 Seneca Epistulae (Ep.) 84 38

257

258