Reading the Sacred Scriptures: From Oral Tradition to Written Documents and Their Reception 9781138681293, 9781138681309, 9781315545936

Reading the Sacred Scriptures: From Oral Tradition to Written Documents and their Reception examines how the scriptures

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Reading the Sacred Scriptures: From Oral Tradition to Written Documents and Their Reception
 9781138681293, 9781138681309, 9781315545936

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Illustrations
Tables
Contributors
Preface
Acknowledgements
1 The hermeneutic task
The functions of the scriptures
Reading layered texts
The allegorical method
The literalist method
The hermeneutic task today
Conclusion
Note
References
Part I
2 Zoroastrian narrative: From the Avesta to the Book of Kings
The Iranians
The Avesta
The Achaemenids
The Sasanians
Transmission
Orality
The Indo-European roots
Iranian mythoepic narratives
The heroic era
Era of the kawis
Eastern connections
Kawi Vishtāspa and Zarathustra
Zarathustra, Semiramis and Babylon
Reception in western scholarship
Notes
References
3 How the Hebrew Bible came to be
Introduction
What is the Hebrew Bible?
Structure of the TaNaK
The Bible’s “originating event”
How old is the Hebrew Bible?
How does one access the text of the Hebrew Bible?
How the text of the Hebrew Bible came to be
Phase one: oral/written units
Phase two: the earliest attested text
Phase three: the consonantal Hebrew text of approximately 100 ce
Phase four: the great Masoretic manuscripts of ± 1000 ce
The contribution of the early versions
Hebrew Bible textual studies today
Notes
References
4 Mishnah and midrash as process: The evolution of post-biblical Jewish Scriptures
Introduction – the evolution of Judaism
Academy and synagogue, mishnah and midrash
From Bible to mishnah
Extra-biblical literature
The history of the Oral Torah
Hillel and the development of Oral Torah
The Mishnah
First mishnah passage: the time for evening prayer
Second mishnah passage: the economic claims of a wife upon her husband’s estate
The Midrash
First midrash: Torah as Logos
The compassion of God
Who is in the Jewish communion with God?
Conclusion
References
5 How the early Christians read the Hebrew Scriptures
The Hebrew Scriptures
The early Christians
Paul’s own use of the Hebrew Scriptures
Matthew
Hebrews
The second century and beyond
Conclusion
References
6 Reading the Sacred Scriptures: Some evidence from early Christian Ireland
Setting the scene
Scope
Excavations
Reading the codices of the Scriptures
Liturgy
Canon law
Teaching
Exegesis
Imagination
Conclusions
Notes
References
7 Reading The Song of Songs: A Jewish and Christian love affair
Introduction
The Song of Songs in the Christian Church
The origins of the Song of Songs
The Middle Ages
More recent readings
Notes
References
8 Mis-reading the Qur’ān: A non-Muslim pitfall?
Introduction: mis-reading the Qur’ān?
Islam
The beginning of revelation
Chapter, verse and other divisions
Some Islamic doctrines on the Qur’ān: inimitable, unclassifiable and untranslatable
Muslim interpretation of the Qur’ā n: the science of Tafsīr
The Qur’ān: key themes
The Qur’ān as a physical object: etiquette and respect
Conclusion
Notes
References
9 Modern approaches to the Qur’ān
Introduction: interpreting the Qur’ān
Early Islamic modernists in the nineteenth century: Sayyid Ahmad Khan and Muhammad ‘Abduh
The Qur’ān and political Islam in the twentieth century: Abu Al-A’la Mawdudi and Sayyid Qutb
Liberal approaches to the Qur’ān
Feminist interpretations of the Qur’ān
Conclusion
Note
References
10 The reading of Scripture: A Baha’i approach
Basic facts about the Baha’i Faith
The claim of Baha’u’llah
Reading the Scriptures
An example of Baha’u’llah’s reading of Scripture
The place of scriptural commentary in the writings of Baha’u’llah
The conversation of scriptures
Conclusion
Notes
References
Part II
11 Hinduism and its basic texts: The Vedas, Upanishads, Epics and Puranas
Hinduism’s main principles
Principal texts
The Vedas
The Rig Veda
Yajur Veda
Sama Veda
Atharva Veda
Brahmanas, Aranyakas and Upanishads
Associated literature
Later developments
The Epics and Puranas
The Mahabharata
The Ramayana
The Puranas
Other trends in Hinduism
Notes
References
12 The Buddhist reading of Scripture
The Baskets
Evolution
The Sutra of the Lotus
References
13 Reading the Scripture from the Sikh tradition: The Guru Granth Sahib
Intimacy with the sacred text
Historical process
Reading the singular divine
Reading is praxis
Platter of truth, contentment, and reflection
Feminist hermeneutics
Familiarizing with the other
Scriptural passages
Notes
References
14 Confucianism and its texts
Early times, early texts
The Han dynasty 206 bce – 220 ce
The Middle Ages
Modern China
Conclusion
Notes
References
15 The Daodejing as a sacred text
How the DDJ came into being
The DDJ: testifying to the way of sacrality
The DDJ’s spiritual authority
Notes
References
16 Sacred texts of the Shinto tradition: Historical sources of myth and ritual
The study of Japanese mythology
The classical Japanese texts
The Kojiki (古事記: “Records of Ancient Matters”):
The Nihonshoki (日本書紀: “Chronicles of Japan”):
The mythology of creation
Distinctive aspects of the mythology
The relationship between kami and humanity
Life, death, purity, and impurity
The Engishiki (延喜式 the Book of the Era of Engi, 901–23 ce)
Succeeding eras
Conclusion
References
Part III
17 The Book of Isaiah and its readers: The exegetical value of reception history
“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow” (Isaiah 1: 18)
Lucifer (Isaiah 14:12)
An oracle concerning Moab (Isaiah 16–17)
The Destruction of Sennacherib (Isaiah 36–37)
“Here I am, here I am” (Isaiah 65: 1–2)
Notes
References
18 The madness of King Saul: An interpretation of I Samuel 9–31 in music
Introduction
King Saul in Christian tradition
The person of Saul
Insiders and outsiders
Saul’s dysfunctional relationship with his children
Merab
Michal
Jonathan
Saul’s mental illness
The evil spirit and the mystical effect of music therapy
The story of David’s combat with Goliath
Saul’s search for David
The priests of Nob
The reception of Psalm 52 in music
David spares Saul’s life on two occasions
Saul’s night visit to the Witch of Endor
Le Roi David
In Guilty Night
The Battle of Gilboa: Saul’s suicide
Tsar Saul: Pes’n Saula pered boyem
The ambiguity over Saul’s death
The desecration of Saul’s body
The Chronicler’s account
David’s lament over Jonathan and Saul
Conclusion
Notes
References
19 Parallel narrative methods: Ramayana in the arts of Southeast Asia
Strategies of storytelling in India
Transmission of Indian culture to Southeast Asia
Early renderings of the Ramayana in coastal and insular Southeast Asia
Localization of the Ramayana in Java and Bali
Transformations of the Ramayana in mainland Southeast Asia
Epic as a performance today
Notes
References
Index

Citation preview

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READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES

Reading the Sacred Scriptures:  From Oral Tradition to Written Documents and their Reception examines how the scriptures came to be written and how their authority has been constructed and reinforced over time. Highlighting the measures taken to safeguard the stability of oral accounts, this book demonstrates the care of religious communities to maintain with reverence their assembled parchments and scrolls. Written by leading experts in their fields, this collection chronicles the development of the scriptures from the oral tradition to written documents and their reception. It features notable essays on the scriptures of Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, Confucianism, Daoism, Christianity, Islam, Sikhism, Shinto and Baha’i. This book will fascinate anyone interested in the belief systems of the featured religions. It offers an ideal starting point from which undergraduate and postgraduate religious studies students, teachers and lecturers can explore religious traditions from their historical beginnings. Fiachra Long is a philosopher and Senior Lecturer in Education at University College Cork where he is Head of School. Siobhán Dowling Long is a Lecturer in Education at University College Cork.

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READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES From Oral Tradition to Written Documents and their Reception

Edited by Fiachra Long and Siobhán Dowling Long

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First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 selection and editorial matter, Fiachra Long and Siobhán Dowling Long; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Fiachra Long and Siobhán Dowling Long to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Long, Fiachra, editor. Title: Reading the sacred scriptures : from oral tradition to written documents and their reception / edited by Fiachra Long and Siobhán Dowling Long. Description: 1 [edition]. | New York : Routledge, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017001655| ISBN 9781138681293 (hardback) | ISBN 9781138681309 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781315545936 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Sacred books–History and criticism. Classification: LCC BL71 .R433 2017 | DDC 208/.2–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017001655 ISBN: 978-​1-​138-​68129-​3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​138-​68130-​9 (pbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​315-​54593-​6 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Out of House Publishing

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CONTENTS

List of illustrations List of Tables List of contributors Preface Acknowledgements 1 The hermeneutic task Fiachra Long

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PART I

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2 Zoroastrian narrative: from the Avesta to the Book of Kings P. Oktor Skjærvø

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3 How the Hebrew Bible came to be Carmel McCarthy

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4 Mishnah and midrash as process: the evolution of post-​biblical Jewish Scriptures Rabbi Stephen Wylen 5 How the early Christians read the Hebrew Scriptures Seán Freyne 6 Reading the Sacred Scriptures: some evidence from early Christian Ireland Thomas O’Loughlin

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7 Reading the Song of Songs: a Jewish and Christian love affair Margaret Daly-​Denton

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8 Mis-​reading the Qur’ān: a non-​Muslim pitfall? Jonathan Kearney

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9 Modern approaches to the Qur’ān Oliver Scharbrodt

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10 The reading of Scripture: a Baha’i approach Moojan Momen

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PART II

11 Hinduism and its basic texts: the Vedas, Upanishads, Epics and Puranas Roshen Dalal 12 The Buddhist reading of Scripture John D’Arcy May 13 Reading the Scripture from the Sikh tradition: the Guru Granth Sahib Nikky-​Guninder Kaur Singh

155 157 171

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14 Confucianism and its texts Lee Dian Rainey

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15 The Daodejing as a sacred text Ronnie Littlejohn

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16 Sacred texts of the Shinto tradition: historical sources of myth and ritual Stuart D.B. Picken PART III

17 The Book of Isaiah and its readers: the exegetical value of reception history John F.A. Sawyer

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247 249

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18 The madness of King Saul: an interpretation of I Samuel 9–​31 in music Siobhán Dowling Long

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19 Parallel narrative methods: Ramayana in the arts of Southeast Asia Jukka O. Miettinen

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Index

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ILLUSTRATIONS

6.1 Map based on folio 171r of the Book of Armagh. 6.2 The Book of Joshua in a single image? 18.1 David Before Saul. Jusepe Leonardo (c. 1601–​52) © Christies Images Ltd/​ SuperStock. 18.2 Glyndebourne Tour 2015 © Glyndebourne Productions Ltd. Photograph: Richard Hubert Smith. 18.3 Ahimelech Giving the Sword of Goliath to David (c. 1680s) Arent de Gelder © J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles/​SuperStock. 18.4 The Suicide of Saul (1562) Peter Bruegel the Elder © Kunsthistorisches Museum,Vienna/​SuperStock. 19.1 Prince Rama as archer, Prambanan temple complex, Central Java, ninth century. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen. 19.2 Wayang style epic relief, Candi Jago, East Java, thirteenth to fourteenth centuries. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen. 19.3 Princess Sita and Prince Rama, Javanese wayang kulit puppets, twentieth century. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen. 19.4 Abduction of Princess Sita by the demon king Ravana, a twentieth-​century Balinese glass painting. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen. 19.5 Nang yai performance. Photograph: Marja-​Leena Heikkilä-​Horn. 19.6 A battle scene on a modern khon stage. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen.

89 90 265 267 274 278 286 288 289 289 291 293

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TABLES

12.1 The first Buddhist councils 15.1 The DJJ: an illustration of c­ hapter 15 by D.C. Lau and Michael LaFargue

173 218

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CONTRIBUTORS

Roshen Dalal is a full-​time writer, living in Dehradun, India. Her many books include The Puffin History of India, vol. 1, 3,000 bc  –  1947 (3rd edn, 2014), The Puffin History of India, vol. 2, 1947 to the present (new edn, 2014), Religions of India:  A  Concise Guide to Nine Major Faiths (2006, 2010, 2014), Hinduism:  An Alphabetical Guide (2010, 2014), The Compact Timeline History of the World (2010), The Puffin History of the World, vol. 1 (2014), The Vedas: An Introduction to Hinduism’s Sacred Texts (2014) and The Puffin History of the World, vol. 2 (2014). Margaret Daly-​Denton’s earlier career as a church musician, composer, liturgist and monastic has resourced her more recent work as a biblical scholar. She is the author of David in the Fourth Gospel:  The Johannine Reception of the Psalms (Leiden: Brill, 2000), Psalm-​Shaped Prayerfulness: A Guide to the Christian Reception of the Psalms (Dublin:  Columba, 2010; Collegeville:  Liturgical Press, 2011)  and Supposing Him to Be the Gardener: An Earth-​Conscious Reading of the Fourth Gospel (London: Bloomsbury/​T&T Clark, 2017). John D’Arcy May is Emeritus Professor of Ecumenics at Trinity College Dublin, a Fellow of Trinity College Dublin, and former head of the Irish School of Ecumenics. Author of several books in German and English, including numerous journal articles and book chapters, he has tirelessly promoted interfaith dialogue through conferences and presentations. Notable books include After Pluralism:  Towards an Interreligious Ethic (2000), Transcendence And Violence:  The Encounter of Buddhist, Christian and Primal Traditions (2003) and [ed.] Converging Ways? Conversion and Belonging in Buddhism and Christianity (2006). Siobhán Dowling Long is a lecturer in Education at University College Cork. A specialist of the reception of the Bible in music, she is a contributor to scholarly

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journals, edited collections, and to the thirty-​volume Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (De Gruyter). She is author of The Sacrifice of Isaac:  The Reception of a Biblical Story in Music (2013), and with John F.A. Sawyer, The Bible in Music. A Dictionary of Songs,Works and More (2015). Seán Freyne was Emeritus Professor of  Theology at Trinity College Dublin until his death in August 2013. He was a member of the Royal Irish Academy, President of the International Society for the Study of the New Testament, a fellow of  Trinity College Dublin and a trustee of the Chester Beatty Library (Dublin). His books include Galilee and Gospel. Selected Essays (2000), Texts, Contexts and Cultures. Essays on Biblical Topics (2002), Jesus, a Jewish Galilean. A  New Reading of the Jesus Story (2004) and The Jesus Movement and its Expansion: Meaning and Mission (2014). Jonathan Kearney has lectured in Islamic Studies and Jewish Studies in Dublin City University since 2015. Prior to that he lectured in Religious Studies in St Patrick’s College, Drumcondra (2012–​2015). He also lectures in Islamic Studies, Jewish Studies, Biblical Hebrew and Classical Arabic in University College Dublin, Trinity College Dublin, and St Patrick’s College, Maynooth. His main scholarly interests are the textual bases of Judaism and Islam; mediaeval Jewish biblical interpretation; religions and language; religious minorities in Muslim-​majority countries; authority and liminality in religions. Ronnie Littlejohn is Professor of Philosophy and Director of Asian Studies at Belmont University. He is author of eight books, co-​editor of two others, and has published over forty scholarly articles and book chapters. He was image editor for “China’s Sacred Sites” in the special edition of National Geographic magazine entitled “Sacred Journeys: Earth’s Holiest Places” (January 2011). Fiachra Long is a philosopher and Senior Lecturer in Education at University College Cork where he is Head of School. He is author of Educating the Postmodern Child:The Struggle for Learning in a World of Virtual Realities (2013), The Idealist Illusion and Other Essays (2000) as well as numerous peer-​reviewed journal articles in English and in French. Current research interests include the Philosophy of Religion, Philosophy of Education: particularly postmodernism and transhumanism. Carmel McCarthy is Emeritus Professor of Hebrew and Syriac in University College Dublin. She is a member of an international team of biblical textual critics, collaborating in the production of a new critical edition of the Hebrew Bible (BHQ), with responsibility for editing the books of Deuteronomy and 2 Kings. Her other research interests include Syriac language and literature, with special focus on fourth-​century Syriac authors. She has published widely in these fields, most recently an essay “Textual Criticism and Biblical Translation”, in The Hebrew Bible, A  Critical Companion (ed. John Barton, Princeton University Press, 2016, pp. 532–​56).

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Jukka O. Miettinen holds a Doctorate of Dance from Theatre Academy Helsinki, where he is presently a senior lecturer on history and theory of performing arts. He is the co-​founder and artistic director of the Asia in Helsinki Festival and he has taught history of Asian arts and performing arts in several universities in Finland and at the Mahidol University in Bangkok. His many publications include Asian Traditional Theatre and Dance (online book, Theatre Academy Helsinki 2010), Dance Images in Temples of Mainland Southeast Asia (Acta Scenica 2008) and Classical Dance and Theatre in Southeast Asia (Oxford University Press 1992). Moojan Momen is a medical doctor and a leading authority on Baha’i thought. A Fellow of the Royal Asiatic Society, he has authored many books, among them Introduction to Shi’i Islam (1985), The Phenomenon of Religion: A Thematic Approach (1999), Islam and the Baha’i Faith (2000), Baha’u’llah:  A  Short Biography (2007), Understanding Religion: A Thematic Approach (2008) and The Baha’i Faith: A Beginner’s Guide (Oxford: Oneworld, 2012). Thomas O’Loughlin is Professor of Historical Theology in the University of Nottingham. His work concentrates on how Christian theology evolves through new imaginings of its origins and the reception of its tradition; for him historical theology is using the actual experiences of Christians as a guide to how they make sense of their religion today. He has written widely on how Christians have related to their scriptures (e.g. his Gildas and the Scriptures (2012)) and he is currently engaged in a study of Eusebius of Caesarea and the Gospels. He is the Director of Studia Traditionis Theologiae and the Library of Christian Sources. His most recent monograph is The Eucharist: Origins and Contemporary Understandings (2015). Stuart D.B. Picken was considered one of the foremost scholars on Japan, China and Globalization in East Asia when he died in 2016. Author of a dozen books and over 130 articles and papers, he devoted more than thirty years to scholarship in Japan, notably as Professor of Philosophy at the International Christian University in Tokyo, where he acted as International Adviser to the High Priest of Tsubaki Grand Shrine (Mie prefecture). In November 2008 he was awarded the Order of the Sacred Treasure by the Government of Japan. Lee Dian Rainey is an associate professor in the Department of Religious Studies at Memorial University of Newfoundland, Canada. She has taught Chinese philosophy and Chinese studies for over twenty-​five years and has published widely in the area. Her publications include Confucius and Confucianism: the Essentials (2010) and Decoding Dao: Reading the Dao De Jing and the Zhuangzi (2014). John F.A. Sawyer is Emeritus Professor of Religious Studies at Newcastle University and of Biblical and Jewish Studies at Lancaster University. His numerous publications include among others The Fifth Gospel, Isaiah in the History of

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Christianity (1996), A Concise Dictionary of the Bible and its Reception (2009) and Sacred Texts and Sacred Meanings: Essays in Biblical Language and Literature (2011). Oliver Scharbrodt is Professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Chester. He is the author of Islam and the Baha’i Faith: A Comparative Study of Muhammad ‘Abduh and ‘Abdul-​Baha ‘Abbas (London:  Routledge 2008)  and co-​authored Muslims in Ireland: Past and Present (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press 2015). He is also the editor-​in-​chief of the Yearbook of Muslims in Europe (Leiden: Brill). Nikky-​Guninder Kaur Singh is the Crawford Family Professor of Religious Studies at Colby College. Her interests focus on sacred poetics, art, and feminist issues. Dr Singh has published extensively in the field of Sikh religion, including, among others, The Feminine Principle in the Sikh Vision of the Transcendent (1993), The Name of My Beloved: Verses of the Sikh Gurus Metaphysics (1995) and The Guru Granth Sahib: Physics of the Guru Granth Sahib (1996). Her views have also been aired on television and radio across America, Europe and South Asia. P. Oktor Skjærvø, Norwegian by birth, is Aga Khan Professor of Iranian Emeritus at Harvard University. He has taught and published on Old and Middle Iranian languages and modern Iranian dialects, as well as Zoroastrianism and Manicheism. His introductions and translations in these fields are available online at www.fas.harvard. edu/​~iranian/​. Rabbi Stephen Wylen was born in Philadelphia, USA in 1952. He was ordained by the Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion in 1980. He has served congregations around America and is now serving as an Interim Rabbi. Rabbi Wylen is the author of five books, including The Seventy Faces of Torah (Paulist Press).

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PREFACE

The contribution of so many writers in this volume who have learned to represent widely differing accounts of the origins of the human is testimony to a degree of tolerance for difference that needs to find political expression in our globalized world. This plural assembly of writers on the topic of the scriptural origins of their traditions extends from oral into written form and ongoing reception. Nevertheless the issue of origins and original historical grounding of the world religions has always appeared to us just as important as their contemporary manifestations. Accordingly, this collection of chapters sets out not to neglect the scriptural origins of these traditions. At a time when religion manifests itself as a potent political force across the world, we would find it short-​sighted for educational systems to neglect, undermine, or abolish accounts of them in school curricula. Indeed the publication of this collection is bound to confront a form of secularism that is deceptive in its lack of tolerance for the documents described here. These documents attest to the establishment of humanity itself.They declare a forward vision for the human reality and for this reason, if no other, they are worth noticing. The term “Scripture” itself caused the editors several difficulties.We decided that the word in its singular form “Scripture” would retain its capital letter in deference to those traditions for whom the scriptures are the special place of divine revelation. The upper case is also appropriate if the term refers to the documents of a named group of documents such as the “Hebrew Scriptures” or the “Christian Scriptures” but in some other situations the term “scriptures” generally appears in the lower case. Some faith communities support divine revelation while others do not. There is also the need for further nuance. O’Loughlin, in this volume, makes an important distinction between accepting the idea that the Scriptures contain the Word of God while rejecting the claim that they contain the Words of God. While the monotheistic traditions toy with this nuance, many of the oriental traditions

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prefer to see their scriptures as an especially enlightened wisdom discourse. There is also an argument to consider Shinto a case apart from even these examples of wisdom literature.Whatever the context, modern readers should not make the mistake of breaking these texts into propositional statements because then there is a tendency to attribute a truth claim to individual sentences. These texts cannot be read successfully using such a method. We need to agree, however, with John D’Arcy May that “Scripture” in the sense of sacred books is a relatively late occurrence in the history of these ancient texts and may even be not particularly applicable to the oriental traditions of the Great Books. Similarly, in the great monotheistic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam), a certain borrowing has occurred and along with this, almost as an antidote, a certain assertion of independence and particularity. The paradox is that where these traditions meet essentially in monotheism, they each defend their independence of insight by making reference to an original language or to particular requirements for their ritual presentation. This collection of essays also examines how the scriptures came to be written down as well as what claims to authority they made. Highlighting the measures taken to safeguard the stability of oral accounts, traditions demonstrate the care of their base communities to maintain with reverence their assembled parchments and scrolls. They show how a concern to adapt to technical and cultural change operated as a leitmotif in the preservation of their scriptures. This collection serves as an excellent introduction for undergraduate and postgraduate students on the topic of the scriptures of the world religions. It also helps non-​specialist readers learn about a topic that is relevant for contemporary global society. In addition to a discussion of the scriptures of the world religions, the collection contains readings on the Hebrew Scriptures, which will be of interest to teachers of the Bible curriculum in US public schools using the textbook The Bible and Its Influence (2005) by Cullen Schippe and Chuck Stetson. It will be of interest also to teachers of Religious Education in Ireland who are teaching Section H of the Leaving Certificate Syllabus The Bible: Literature and Sacred Text, as well as Section C: World Religions where pupils are required to examine two living traditions, either Christianity or Judaism, and either Islam or Buddhism or Hinduism, including a special study of the Baha’i faith and the Sikh religion. This volume will be of interest also to teachers of Religious Studies at GCSE and A Level who want to know how the world religions managed the progression of a text from oral to written and other forms. Fiachra Long and Siobhán Dowling Long December 2016

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Honan Trust supported a series of public lectures on the theme of “Reading the Sacred Scriptures” from 2005 to 2008 and following this series a number of supplementary contributions were invited, resulting in the idea for this book. I would like to thank the Governors of the Honan Trust for supporting these public lectures. It is a fitting mark of this support that these chapters leave our desks a little over one hundred years since the Trust was established following Isabelle Honan’s death in 1913. We would like to thank a number of people who helped us greatly by endorsing this project, particularly professors Maureen Junker-​Kenny (Trinity College Dublin), Martin O’Kane (Trinity St. David, Lampeter Campus, UK), Eamonn Conway (Mary Immaculate College, University of Limerick) and Gabriel Flynn (Mater Dei Institute of Education, Dublin City University). We wish to thank Prof. Dr. Joseph Verheyden from the Faculty of  Theology KU Leuven and staff of the Maurits Saabe Library for facilitating our visit in July 2016.We would also like to thank our good friends, Ehsan and Ashraf Reyhani for their steadfastness in supporting the project.Their encouragement has been one of the main reasons this book became a reality. We would also like to acknowledge the 2013–​17 Strategic Plan of the College of Arts, Celtic Studies and Social Sciences, UCC, which endorses “the right and responsibility of academics to bring ideas at the frontier of knowledge to bear on teaching, and to make the results of inquiries known to scholars internationally”. The authors also would gratefully like to acknowledge a contribution from the College of Arts, Celtic Studies and Social Sciences, University College Cork publishing fund towards publishing costs. Two of our contributors died during the assembly of these texts and we would like to acknowledge with thanks the contributions of Gail Grossman Freyne and Hongwen Picken for releasing their husbands’ texts to this collection.

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1 THE HERMENEUTIC TASK Fiachra Long

The process of defining hermeneutics is fundamentally complicated. Taken as a general rule of thumb, hermeneutics is “the science of interpretation” but this definition is already ambiguous because hermeneuein alternately means “to mean” and “to interpret”. Who means? Who interprets? Who understands? Who explains? These are processes naming a common event. It is difficult even to arrange them in chronological order. Does meaning come before interpretation, does understanding come before explanation, or vice versa? Is there an initial baseline, as it were, and something built on top of it? Our initial guess about a meaning-​making event implies a circle, a hermeneutic circle, by which is meant that relevant witnesses to such an event (e.g. the audience at a reading, a performance, a dance, a song) are invited into this meaning-​making circle and play an ill-​defined role in the maintenance of meaning itself. Participants in this circle are encouraged to regenerate the meaning that is invoked by means of this event. It might be possible to break down this process, to present it in a more linear geometrical form, pointing to the evidence of the transfer of a message from here to there, for instance, from prophet to listeners, but this would be to analyze the event in over-​simplified terms. For this reason, the Homeric model must be rejected. The Greek god, Hermes, who may have been fleet of foot and hugely competent in his essential work of communicating the wishes of Zeus to humankind, is not a very good model to explain the more ambiguous context of human meaning-​making – not to mention the more complicated process of reading and re-​reading the scriptures. Homer models his idea of message transfer on a linear logic, invoking a general asymmetry between the gods and humankind where the message, originating in a separate domain (Mount Olympus), is then communicated without distortion to a messenger (Hermes), before being translated by means of Hermes’s consummate skill into the mind of a human recipient. It is logical then for the whispers of the gods to translate into ideas for action much as the Muse is thought to inspire the poet.

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Human ideas, both creative and destructive, can then be understood as having literally “crossed a border” – namely, the border separating the spheres of the divine from the human, the Muse from the artist; a prior superior source of understanding from an order of being that not only needs this instruction but also needs it to be delivered in a transparent manner. How wonderful then to benefit from the work of a skilled (even divine) interpreter! In such a case, the translation is doubly certain, untouched by human misunderstanding on two counts, it being perfectly clear in itself and, second, perfectly translated. The listener, as a result, has no desire to do anything else but to be patently enlightened by the message handed over. Human interpreters, however, are not favoured by such a set of circumstances. Human interpreters are not so polished in the skills required. This is because they themselves are creators of meaning, and if they are required to enact the text or perform the dance or recital so that a translation happens between originator and receiver, the result can be dramatic, inspirational, even if the original meaning is clearly out of reach. Humans have always been implicated as deceptive as well as revelatory players when they engage in the meaning-​making circle. The upshot of this is that when a text gives something over to be understood, it does so with more hope than certainty and without any clear formula for analysing the elements of the event itself. Even if we perform an exegesis on whatever materials are presented and use a refined Auslegungskunst, or “art of laying something out”, even if this requires of us a learning preparation of many years, involving “preaching, interpreting other languages, explaining and explicating texts” (Gadamer 2006, p. 29), it is clear that no human interpreter can ever be as efficient as Hermes but is just as likely to be the active originator of content, the creator of a new layer of text, a deceiver as well as a reporter. In the attempt to bring a text or ritual alive so that its meaning can once again be seen, this human interpreter is always likely to be a distorter of the original. Lost in a babbling world and without the gift of transparency, human understanding has been either enhanced or dulled, and the double certainty that made the Greek model so easy to understand no longer applies. In sum, to embrace the hermeneutic task means to acknowledge the realities of a babbling culture. The interpreter can only understand what along with other humans comes to be understood within an active linguistic community, whether sympathetic or hostile to the text or event under consideration. He or she will make the rough paths smooth, and what may once have been revealed as a puzzle or a question to be pondered can be taken as a solution and an answer to be savoured. And vice versa. The clarities can be muddled as well as the muddles clarified. We are now two steps removed from Hermes’s fortunate position due to the imperfection both of the message itself and the means of communicating it. To add to our difficulties, our receivers are not only technically imperfect listeners but are often prejudiced and closed to the message communicated because of their own learning. Learning is often the bane of philosophers because what we know can sometimes prevent us from learning anything new. Closed learning confirms us in our ignorance. For this reason we can easily interpret a text in a manner that is quite at variance with the one originally intended. Indeed most listeners/​readers

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are already compromised by the social operation of language itself and the many cultural codes and ideologically inspired mind frames that have taught them to resist learning a different set of coordinates. Following Gadamer, it seems important not to link learning to a process of simple revelation or the ability to convey something by means of simple intuitive tricks but to link it to the more confusion-​filled engagement in a conversation that tries to allow “the object to come into words” (Gadamer 2004, p. 390). This form of listening/​reading is synonymous with coming to an understanding of what is said but not necessarily with the reception of its message. Another significant difference between modern writers and ancient reciters/​writers is the use of rhetoric. Where modern writers use their own rhetorical powers to communicate with an imagined audience, modern readers learn to decode these rhetorical devices in order to establish the original authored meaning. How texts perform on listeners (their illocutionary effect) (Austin 1976) is of considerable interest to modern writers. However, scriptural writings are layered affairs as a general rule and are not written to persuade but to express, and so the rhetorical concern of a single author does not apply to the layered texts of the scriptures whose authors are often deliberately obscure and generally irrelevant, even in their own eyes. The effect of the final (canonical) text is a complex pattern of interwoven pieces. The upshot of this consideration is that worthy texts in the ancient world demand a more complex hermeneutic than the rhetorical decoding of modern texts. A historical vulnerability seems to be built into this process of engagement between creator and receiver. There is one serious obstacle, however. In oral cultures, once a text, sacred or otherwise, is taken to be the very words of God then the hermeneutic task has assumed the contours of Homer’s Hermes and a different set of reading conditions are invoked. Hence, to cast hermeneutics as a kind of re-​ presentation of an original verbal utterance opens a line of inquiry that is different from the one I am familiar with. I prefer to grapple with the dynamic features of a live reading, performance or presentation, its essential confusions and ambiguities. The hermeneutic task, as I understand it, has to confront inevitable historical inconsistencies, due partly to the imprecisions of language, the vagaries of memory, the personal inhibitions of speakers and readers, and a whole range of further confusions relating to translation.

The functions of the scriptures Jean Grondin (1994, p. 1) has identified three aspects that might be considered as functions applying to all scriptures. First, they have a philosophical aspect which, contrary to what might appear at a cursory glance, enables a cultural group to critique its own cultural assumptions. This means that scriptural documents are not simply cultural identity documents but contain a definite twist that induces reflection on this identity. Second, they offer a vision or a prospect of a higher meaning in such a way that we can glimpse this meaning rather than grasp it firmly; and last, they offer a legal account that expresses the identity of a group; an identity

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marked often by rules of behaviour and sometimes even by codes of dress that manifest the way a group forms around an oral or written tradition. These aspects of scriptural texts are further deepened through debates about the orthopraxis of ritual, the appropriate presentation of oral texts, rules concerning the manipulation and maintenance of physical documents with the hands, or the orthodoxy of texts themselves, their inclusion or exclusion from a canon. These three aspects (critique, vision and legal identity) provide the basic framework within which the hermeneutic task is set. They reflect a historical essence by means of the events, leaders, prophets, political upheavals, as well as moves from oral to written culture and the development of artefacts relating to this change. They apply equally pointedly to Christendom’s divisions, particularly the development of philosophical, theological and legal concerns; but they also apply with equal energy to Judaism and Islam and to many of the other world religions. The problem is to know what function any particular text might fulfil.

Reading layered texts It must be remembered that for ancient readers, hidden meanings were often considered necessary to show the importance of a text. If we need to understand anything from the start, then it is that these texts were not teaching documents, designed to communicate a clear message to the uninitiated: they were rather documents held in reverence by a group and designed to be hidden from the uninitiated. A worthy text demanded subtlety of mind and a proper disposition towards that depth would be necessary in order to reveal what otherwise remained hidden. The hermeneutic task therefore had to focus on unlocking the underlying meaning of a text, which almost by definition had to be kept secret and thus sacred to the identity and well-​being of the group. In the west, as in the east, young monastic clerics would be weaned on such conventions. For them the underlying or hidden meaning pointed beyond itself to a richness that did not reflect the privilege of the literate world but rather the sacredness of the text itself, its centrality and importance in terms of the identity of a group, and, in some cases, the separate sphere of the divine. Ancient readers were therefore less likely to accept straight-​talking text as deep because, as Frederick Ahl (1984, p. 176) suggests, “emphasis” in the ancient world meant almost the opposite of its contemporary definition where it means the “force or firmness of expression” (Chambers Study Dictionary, p. 244). Instead Quintilian (35–c.100 ce) defined emphasis as “the process of digging out some lurking meaning from something said” (Institutio Oratoria 9.2.64) suggesting almost the inverse and intellectually challenging art of searching for what is hidden. Only on condition that something is hidden is there any need for emphasis.

The allegorical method Once the distinction between the hidden and the surface meaning of a text is generally accepted, then in what sense can the deep meaning be constant across

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variations? When the pseudo Heraclitus defined allegoria as the possibility of saying one thing and meaning another (Grondin 1994, p.  25), this traditional presentation left open the question of the constancy of the text. While the surface could remain the same, the underlying deep meaning could change and vice versa. If everything changed, both surface and depth, the task would become extremely complex, if not impossible. In scriptural hermeneutics, allegory presents a method that explains away surface contradictions, repetitions, juxtaposed versions of the same event, alternative endings and many other repetitive features evident in the text. Historically, one key example of the value of the allegorical method was the way it enabled new religions to benefit from older scriptures. Indeed Frances Young, reflecting on the Christian reception of the Hebrew Scriptures, notes how “in the Hellenistic world, the prophetic books of the Jewish scriptures were treated as collections of oracles. The riddles were to be interpreted in order to understand the reference and discover the prophetic prediction” (2002, p. 204). Allegory then opened the theme of sacramentality announced by Gregory the Great (540–​6 04ce) and formulated in the later middle ages by Peter Lombard (1096–​1164) who spoke of the Hebrew Law announcing “in a veiled manner the sacraments of Christ and the Church”. Hence typology or figurative allegory (seeing Christ prefigured in the Hebrew Scriptures) allowed Christians to look backwards, as it were, from Christ to the Hebrew Law, so that, in the words of Gregory, the Church could learn the Law “through the holy Gospel, not the Gospel through the Law”. This renaming of the Hebrew Scriptures as well as its reordering, while annoying Jews, enabled Christians to avoid Marcion’s heretical attempt to split Christianity from Judaism entirely, to maintain respect and indeed reverence for the Torah, and to claim direct lineage from it to the Beatitudes. Reflecting on later debates, De Lubac noted a tension between the reading “which consists in the history of the letter” (favoured by Marcion) and the other reading “which is more generally named spiritual, or allegorical, or mystical”. Already John Cassian in the fourth century had organized the cenobitic life around three functions, namely, proper conversion to Christ through mortification and self-​denial; the engagement in moral works in a manner that imitated the life of Jesus (tropological); and finally mystical (anagogical) engagement, which would be evidenced through long periods spent in quiet prayer. Indeed the Scriptures by this stage had been asked to perform all these functions even though it was the saints who particularly seemed able to use the Scriptures in the latter ultimately mystical sense. Merging with views of superiority and inferiority enshrined in feudal structures, it was frequently assumed that those who had reached the highest rank were best placed to read and interpret the Scriptures well and hence, in a sense, the higher you were on the scale of temporal authority, the more likely you were to have insight into God’s mind. Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century finally listed these allegorical functions as “special allegory, tropological allegory, and special anagogical allegory” (see De Lubac 2000, p. 38). It stands to reason that because of the predominance in the western Judeo-​ Christian tradition of an allegorical and sometimes strictly typological reading,

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Moses or Abel turned up all too readily in medieval mystery plays as Christ figures (Woolf 1957), thus becoming dramatic enactments of this same sacramentum, an exteriority standing in relation to an interiority through which the arcanum or core of God’s own self-​revelation through Christ could play itself out. In a move that would later be taken up by Calvin, Christian orthodox interpretation thus linked Hebrew Scriptures to the Christian experience and to the reality of Christ. Allegory could then enable a scriptural text to maintain its authority despite radical meaning changes. This approach is also compatible with a view common across traditions that only those holy enough could be trusted to understand the depth meaning of the Scriptures. Most of the world religions could use allegory to link an older tradition to an emergent one, or to link a current prophet or leader to earlier prophets or leaders. This happened as a matter of course within Christendom and between Christianity and Judaism, but it also occurred in the Islamic claim that fundamentally we are all Moslems and in the Baha’i belief in the cumulation of scriptures; while in the east, first Hinduism and then Buddhism have continually incorporated earlier texts and whole traditions within their own organic compass. Allegory, therefore, can be viewed as a method that even encouraged the subsequent layering of texts, as each tradition drew sustenance from earlier traditions. The western and middle-​eastern tradition would have posited a relation between the human community and God as another reason for the ongoing relevance of their scriptures, qualifying them as sacred and mystical as a result of this association. The eastern traditions would have presented an immanent path to human enlightenment and well-​being as their recurrent leitmotif, most notably evidenced in monastic practices of service and humility. A further aspect is evident when the liturgical rituals expressing this relation/​ journey offer communities an important means of physical or mystical healing. Where religious systems could develop based on the notion of one deity, the importance of a place or an action could be reinterpreted using this transcendent scheme. Similarly, the Kami or local spirits of springs or forest areas in Shinto, just like the springs, holy wells and wooded areas of Celtic religion, could link local geographical features to spiritual atmospheres and offer pilgrims the promise of healing and long life. Such religious systems by means of translation processes managed to redefine the meaning of these sites, usually giving them a status that made sense within a new conversation, while neopaganism today is busy stripping these areas of theological meaning and returning them to the spirit worlds of uniquely superstitious relevance. The fact that Celtic Christianity could make this transformation so successfully in both directions from pagan Healing Wells to Christian Holy Wells and back again shows how translation has always operated as a mechanism for reflecting the historical relevance of generally ill-​defined religious expression.

The literalist method In general the allegorical approach to the Scriptures also had its drawbacks. It led to an early form of the hermeneutic of suspicion within Catholicism where the

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number of authentic interpreters needed to be limited to the properly educated and well disposed. The holiness of readers became a recurrent theme in the Catholic Church while more literal approaches to the reading of the Scriptures yielded different (usually schismatic) results. And literalness had certain advantages. Luther proposed that the very word of God could infuse the humble individual soul with grace and lead it to salvation and, on this reading, the scriptures to Reformers became the means whereby the Holy Spirit could speak directly to the individual. Scripture alone, sola scriptura, could lead the humble soul to God. Suddenly, what had seemed impossible before – a text with a bewildering array of interconnections, subtle references, impenetrable allusions, signs for the initiated, barred to the sinful and uneducated soul who remained in constant need of sacramental mediation – had now been opened to everyone as a direct source of grace, a prelapsarian window in which the individual could once again sense the voice of God directly. Deep resentment about regal or religious privilege, added to Enlightenment calls favouring individualism, effectively began to undermine the allegorical approach among the commoners, as Protestantism (Luther) effectively reversed the reading preferences operative in the epoch of saints, luminaries and feudal God-​kings. The idea that only the ritually cleansed could touch the scrolls of scripture or that only the literate, educated or holy could speak, now began to encounter the notion that every individual is a reader of the scriptures and may be elected by God directly through His Word. Indeed the hermeneutics of Calvin (1509–​64) reflected this insight when it pointed to the role of the Holy Spirit as the interpreter of texts and argued that these texts should not be swept off the historical map altogether by means of a purely typological reading (Frei 1974, pp. 22ff.). And so Gadamer summarizes this transformation: We do not need tradition to achieve the proper understanding of Scripture, nor do we need an art of interpretation in the style of the ancient doctrine of the fourfold meaning of Scripture, but the Scripture has a univocal sense that can be derived from the text: the sensus literalis. Gadamer 2004, p. 176 Not only the Hebrew tradition but also the Islamic and Sikh traditions might take issue with this proposed “irreverence” for the physical collection of scrolls or parchment referred to here or even the ritual cleansing required lest readers “defile the hands”. But expressed positively, Luther exposed and indeed proposed an ideally democratic but in reality more elective route into the scriptures, subject to the grace of God poured into the individual soul, and the power of this freely offered grace to sanctify even the most unworthy reader or community. Luther’s cry that the scriptures spoke to the heart effectively re-​invoked the monastic tradition of Cassian, but took this tradition out of monasteries and placed it in the ordinary community. Once again the scriptures were put to work to sanctify a people but in a slightly different sense. Matthias Flacius, who Melanchthon appointed professor of Hebrew at Wittenburg, developed a pedagogical hermeneutics in Clavis scripturae

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sacrae (1567) based on the method Augustine had proposed in De doctrina christiana where reality is opposed to sign and where the “meat” available for adults is contrasted with the “milk” required for children. The thrust of this pedagogy was to make all text available but vulnerable to the maturity of the reader; however, it is not clear how holiness is related to this maturation process. And yet a double certitude is invoked by this approach. The first is a certitude of experience where the listener/​reader of the word of God remains fascinated by a “feeling”, a “tasting”, a “sweetening” situated in the heart of the believer (Schreiner 1996, p. 193). For Luther, the Holy Spirit caused this experience of faith and prompted the feeling of certitude in the believer’s heart. He termed it a certitude of election because Galatians 5: 22 explains, “the very existence of faith is due to the inner presence of the divine Spirit”. Schreiner’s argument is that the infusion of grace in the individual soul brings about a type of certitude that overlaps with the affective language of experience and thus that common emotional terms can authentically describe the experience of faith. In general, the certitude of subjective experience coupled with the certitude of election marked off the Reformer’s reading of the scriptures from the earlier allegorical approach where a presumed darkness, murkiness or even deliberate concealment separated the commoner from the expert, the unholy from the holy and the authorized from the unauthorized. A rift between Protestant and Catholic readers could be clearly discerned. And yet both needed what the other proposed. The literalist tradition predictably ran into difficulty, as it was not clear how any tradition could withstand the pressures towards individualism and fragmentation that this new pedagogy generated. Nor was it clear how a literalist reading could maintain focus on the core issue of revelation. Grenz and Franke have chronicled this rift between liberal and conservative Protestantism, between the liberal tendency to bypass the centrality of the message in favour of more rational and scientifically describable accounts of the stories and events of Bible (2001, p. 59) and the conservative trend to revisit and refresh the sola scriptura claim in terms of religious experience. Reformers needed to avoid the dangers of individualism mentioned in the Westminster Confession of Faith 1.10, which speaks about the authority of the scriptures coming not “from the opinions of ancient writers, doctrines of men, and private spirits” but from the “Holy Spirit speaking in the Scriptures”.1 This avoidance of individualism, however, would not be easily accomplished because of the prevailing culture of Enlightenment and the new scientific methods in vogue everywhere in the west. These pressures highlighted once more the need for a method of reading where the reader was not the originator but rather the witness of a text that spoke for itself, that followed the principle of sui ipsius interpres (i.e. that scripture is its own interpreter). The paradox here could be seen in the heightened contrast between the action of human understanding and the passivity induced by divine inspiration. Ultimately, however, it has not been the liberal lapse into anarchic individualism that has plagued the hermeneutic task in recent times, but rather the conservative lapse into depersonalized knowledge and its removal from the human orbit

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as precipitated by the Cartesian distinction between subject and object; that is, between the sphere identified as the interior life of the human and the sphere identified as objective extension common to all beings. Melanchthon, Luther’s associate, favoured the experimental method in his curriculum at the University of Wittenberg, making use of Aristotle for this purpose. Resisting Luther’s remonstrations about Scripture alone, he sought another avenue to the truth, especially marked by the study of nature and the stars above.These were texts that with proper method could not lie, did not bear the weight of traditional disagreements and would effectively mirror the divine plan. The heavens, standing outside the realm of humanly corrupt actions, texts, interpretations and authorities, now became a virgin text capable of reflecting more accurately the intentions of the Creator. It seemed that nature could be a new prelapsarian scriptum. If humans too gained insight into this original script written in the heavens they would manage to avoid the corruptions of Church and society and receive knowledge from the same light that illuminates the heavens (Methuen 1996). Methuen recounts how Melanchthon in his Preface to the Theory of the New Planets (CR, II, 815) spoke of natural philosophy’s (i.e. science’s) role in “inflaming their souls with love and enthusiasm for the truth and rousing them to understanding of the noblest things” (1996, p. 392, n.38). As a culture that supported experimental reason and cherished the patent clarities of astronomy, science responded exactly to the aspirations of the Enlightenment and presented an antidote to religious tensions operative across the Christian divide. A new natural philosophy reflecting a godly text inscribed in the natural laws could become the new scriptures. A new sense of progress could become palpable in this reading, now linked to the work of science as well as its empirical methods, but also, as one might hope, to a godly world view. The sustained victim for this way of thinking was not the scriptures themselves but rather the allegorical method, which had now become associated with sloppy science and superstition. By Victorian times it did not seem to matter much on which side of the reform divide one found oneself because the technologies supported by telescopes, lenses and cameras had demonstrated their methodological value and had exposed in an incontestable way the beauty of creation, the order of the cosmos and, to believers in God, the goodness of the world. As an example one could refer to the work of Agnes Clerke, a Catholic, who proposed using a camera obscura as a scientific tool that offered a clear way of representing the heavens. Her Carte du Ciel project involved the cooperation of astronomers across Europe and the USA. It set out at the end of the nineteenth century to present the ultimate map of the stars. The designer herself claimed that “it would give the astronomer a God’s eye view of the entire universe” (Lightman 2000, p. 675). Photographs could largely dispense with human observation, field notes, deduction or argument and they could ultimately reflect the mind of God more accurately, since they would follow the principle of sui ipsius interpres –  the principle of self-​interpretation. Results could be sent east and west for verification to scientific laboratories; findings could be corroborated or disputed on the basis of objective evidence − a black box imprint on a hardened gelatine surface. At last, objective knowledge, God’s

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knowledge, could prevail as a guide for human beings and a method, allying itself to the experimental method of the sciences had been supposedly found to open the scriptures to “contemporary” analysis. Supposedly. But the presumption of a godly hand in the design of the cosmos did not last very long. The stars could be studied by atheists as well as theists, with no layers of interpretation in place to protect a given reading, a given tradition, or at a deeper level, its critical space, its identity statement, its vision of the world. And what about the egology of subjective knowledge? In the modern epoch, the theme of author has become central because of the prevailing appetite to centre all spiritual experience in the individual conscience (i.e. the subject). It is no accident that the concern for hermeneutics becomes acute in modern times. Schleiermacher (1768–​1834) needed to respond to the objective methods of science with its dismissal of other, properly human, avenues to the truth. But his efforts seem unduly constrained by Descartes’ desiccated template, separating the richness of human experience from the relative externalism of scientific knowledge. In Gadamer’s view, Schleiermacher never entirely deconstructs the autonomous subject and is compromised by a romantic notion of universal experience. Nothing happens to question the appetite for authorship that Cartesian identity proposes, and that genius is still able to re-​enact. Nothing happens to prevent works of art, painting or performance from becoming important focal points inevitably marked by the subjective conditions of their own composition, because it is this subjectivity that guarantees its universal appeal. For Gadamer, this style of hermeneutic is still marked by a psychological particularity (2004, p. 189) and needs to be deconstructed. One should not be surprised to see this division between subjective and objective becoming more pronounced as the twentieth century advanced.The separation of the natural from the human sciences only highlighted further the vulnerability of the human sciences to charges of methodological inadequacy. Could the answer be to ground the human sciences on a strictly scientific method, in keeping with the general anxiety at the end of the nineteenth century? But no, perhaps there is another way. Even though Gadamer accepts the importance of human experience in coming to an understanding of scriptural text, he avoids the focus on subjective experience by arguing that our identity is already compromised by the text being read. We read in function of our changing selves. To understand any great text, one cannot stand over against it as subject observing an object, but must allow the text to change our reality and to impact on our experience (Erfahrung). The same principle surely must hold for theories of nature as for art.

The hermeneutic task today At the start of Truth and Method, Gadamer declares that hermeneutics is not “what we do, or ought to do, but what happens to us” (Gadamer 2004, p. xvi). For this reason, the hermeneutic reading of the scriptures is not limited to an engagement with the text alone but is a function of the way a group comes to understand the

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world itself and its relation to it. Here we return to the point made earlier about learning, but this time recognizing the circularity involved in already knowing what one sets out to learn in a certain sense: A person who is trying to understand a text is always projecting. He projects a meaning for the text as a whole as soon as some initial meaning emerges in the text. Again, the initial meaning emerges only because he is reading the text with particular expectations in regard to a certain meaning.Working out this fore-​projection, which is constantly revised in terms of what emerges as he penetrates into the meaning, is understanding what is there. Gadamer 2004, p. 269 If we recall some of Piaget’s work, we remember that initially every infant normally relates to the world by reaching out to grab anything it can. After about three months these outreach movements become more purposeful. Once the child has reached the stage of reaching out to grab the rattle deliberately, it engages with the world, not as an observer but as a participant who comes to know both the element in the world and itself in the same action. This is not an experience of an “I” standing over against the world but of “being” in a new way as a rattle waver or soother. The intimate use of the rattle prevails initially over any observation from a distance. Referring to an adult context, Gadamer gives the example of machine operators. When machine operators work, they know the machine in their very being: they know both how the machines work and how they handle them, which is the same being, leading Gadamer to say that understanding of this kind is also always a type of self-​understanding. Grabbing the rattle to put it in the mouth is a project made possible by finding oneself with a rattle ready-​to-​hand (Heidegger’s term is zuhanden). Reading a text, which is considered worthy for particular reasons by those around you, enables you to find yourself with a text that is ready-​to-​ hand and simultaneously brings about a change in orientation and self-​awareness. Understanding is related therefore to a type of motion, the metapherein principle that is not the identity-​static individualism of modernity, that is, Cartesian thinking but rather a form of relation with what is “ready-​to-​hand”. We can try to get our minds around a text like the child getting his mouth around the rattle but only on condition that we include it in the substance of ourselves and are prepared to be what we read, hear and see. Only then can we remain open to the type of ontological change necessary to become an accurate interpreter of these texts. Is this not exactly what Luther and Cassian before him had proposed? Mimicking the Zuhandenheit of the child’s rattle, which has the power to transform the child’s being, the Darstellung of a work of art (“its presentation”) similarly refers to the ability of a work of art to transform the being of the person confronting it. The key thought in Truth and Method – but one that seems peculiarly banal – is that we are humanized by the traditions that humanize people in general and that we are de-​humanized by the traditions that de-​humanize. There is no method other than the truth itself. This circularity points to the importance of a proper

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reading of culture and tradition. We need to be delivered over to the legacy of language, custom and culture that have sustained humans in their grouped associations over the centuries. We are these memories and these customs rather than beings who stand apart from them and store them in our memories. A theory of hermeneutics promotes a zuhanden-​type of learning. The ingredients, which bring humans together as historical beings must be included among the interpretative tools used to understand the event value of each moment of life itself. The sciences as the primordial source of knowledge in the modern age have continued to claim priority over other sources of knowledge in the postmodern age, but the phenomenological movement issued a warning about allowing the scientific method too central a role. While it is now considered de rigueur for any project to be scientific and to arrange itself in terms of predictable outcomes, or at least outcomes that can be set against a certain set of measurable criteria laid out beforehand, scriptural inquiry as well as any kind of literature is poorly represented by such a method. There is a danger therefore when the exact sciences are universally applauded for their pure objectivity because “Is not the very concept of an ‘absolute object’ a contradiction in terms?” (Gadamer 2004, p. 448). The scriptures, accordingly, are not objective, for they operate, as Grondin suggests, on the level of critique, vision, identity. Similarly Gadamer summarizes his general approach: By contrast, we have endeavoured to liberate the mode of being of art and history, and the experience corresponding to them, from the ontological prejudice implied in the ideal of scientific objectivity; and, in view of the experience of art and history, we were led to a universal hermeneutics that was concerned with the general relationship of man to the world. Gadamer 2004, p. 471 The scriptures of the world are important texts because they comment on the essential openness of humans to the world and this is perhaps the key point. Because worlds that humans create are more accurately described as environments rather than worlds, they easily adopt the texture and follow the pattern of an animal’s environment. Only special texts have the power to open up these artificially constructed environments, which Peter Sloterdijk (2011) calls “spheres”, to the world itself. Even our virtual reality games, for all their vividness, are closed structures, environments designed to pander to the successes of a closed system. To have a language, on the other hand, is to open the possibility of gaining an insight into the world itself. The world has not been created by human culture but neither is it to be found in the viewfinder of a telescope. In other words, something has become graspable in cultural exchange that does not belong to one worldview or another, to one habitat or another, to one subjective view or another or to the view represented in objective science. A text is first perceived as meaningful to the extent that it resembles what we know already but its meaning is of less significance than its insights. The reader can always retire behind familiar meanings but, in paying attention to the scriptures, it is

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never the same that we seek but rather something different. Gadamer always insisted that the communicative power of language enables us to learn something new. By means of language we are enabled to operate more fruitfully in the world (Gadamer 2004, p. 440). By encountering the world, we thereby “come to an understanding” (p.  443) in association with others not on account of a common language but on account of a common commitment to the world (as distinct from our environment). What then of the scriptures? The scriptures play a special role in this collective understanding of world.They are not written to persuade or to teach but to express an insight, sometimes an insight into God, sometimes an insight that claims to present a higher vision of the human.They are not individual documents, originating in a human author and destined for a particular culture. They are in a sense universal documents, marked of course by their own particularities of language, culture and custom but open to all who have experienced the worldhood of the world.This has always been their function. Even if the sciences have continued to claim priority as the primordial source of truth in the modern age, this fact has not prevented scientists themselves from recognizing that their methods are vulnerable to many ethical blindspots. It is gradually being recognized that the sciences need a new method that embeds ethical concerns at its heart. Otherwise they simply reinforce the manufacture of environments that have no attested significance for the world itself.The beauty of the scriptures is that they point beyond the many environments and spheres humans build around themselves towards the world itself. And so we come to our paradoxical conclusion.

Conclusion Martin Heidegger actually answered the query posed at the beginning of this chapter by stating categorically that one needed understanding before one could interpret anything.This understanding, however, as he explained extensively in Being and Time (1973) and as Gadamer renewed with characteristic rigor over many years, is not simply cognitive, but a form of being whose reality depends on one’s general ability at understanding. Human beings come into a proper awareness of themselves as beings-​in-​the-​world. There is a form of pre-​understanding attached to this way of being-​in-​the-​world. But this position poses a further question in so far as it asks whether we are limited to meanings we already understand or whether we can be open to new learning; learning that requires as its condition an openness to a form of revelation that comes from outside one’s general experience. Included in the hermeneutic task is the imperative to learn something completely new and unimagined; to plot a course from the reserved spaces of an individual’s fore-​understanding of the world at large to an entirely different world view. Perhaps the key reason why the scriptures of any tradition now need to be read again comes from the possible closure of the human sphere to anything other than the predictable, the danger that the human may be lost in a self-​referencing mirror, and the ultimate collapse of human environments in on themselves.

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Quite contrary to what one might expect, the focus of the hermeneutic task when reading the scriptures is not to lift one’s eyes to another world, a heavenly sphere, an Olympus inhabited by the gods we can never become. Instead the focus is on the world itself, which we have endeavoured to replace by spheres and environments and which we are ready to ignore. Only in the world itself can things appear as themselves; only then can the deviousness and violence of humans be exposed to view; only then can the truth be spoken.The scriptures point us back to the world not made in man’s image. If we achieve a resonance with this world, we are in a position to hear what it is saying. It is then that a modern reader can repeat the words: “I will utter what has been hidden since the foundation of the world” (Matthew 13: 35).

Note 1 Westminster Confession I.10: The supreme judge by which all controversies of religion are to be determined, and all decrees of councils, opinions of ancient writers, doctrines of men, and private spirits, are to be examined, and in whose sentence we are to rest, can be no other but the Holy Spirit speaking in the Scripture. Available at: www.reformed.org/​ documents/​wcf_​with_​proofs/​ (accessed 31 March 2015).

References Ahl, F. (1984) “The Art of Safe Criticism in Greece and Rome”, The American Journal of Philology, 105, pp. 174–​208. Austin, J.L. (1976) How to do Things with Words. Oxford: Oxford Paperbacks. Chambers Study Dictionary (2002) Edinburgh: Chambers Harrap. De Lubac, H. (2000) Medieval Exegesis. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Frei, H. (1974) The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative: A Study in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Hermeneutics. New Haven, CT and ​London:Yale University Press. Gadamer, H.-​G. (2004) Truth and Method. London ​and New York: Continuum. —​ —​ —​(2006) “Classical and Philosophical Hermeneutics”, Theory, Culture and Society Gadamer, 23(1), pp. 29–​56. Grenz, S.J. and Franke, J.R. (2001) Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Grondin, J. (1994) Introduction to Philosophical Hermeneutics. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Heidegger, M. (1973) Being and Time.Translated by John MacQuarrie and Edward Robinson. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Lightman, B. (2000) “The Visual Theology of Victorian Popularizers of Science:  From Reverent Eye to Chemical Retina”, Isis, 91, pp. 651–​80. Methuen, C. (1996) “The Role of the Heavens in the Thought of Philip Melanchthon”, Journal of the History of Ideas, 57, pp. 385–​403. Schreiner, S. (1996) “The Spiritual Man Judges All Things: Calvin and the Exegetical Debates about Certainty in the Reformation”, in R.A. Muller and John L. Thompson (eds) Biblical Interpretation in the Era of the Reformation: Essays Presented to David C. Steinmetz in Honour of his Sixtieth Birthday. Grand Rapids, MI​and Cambridge, UK:Wm. B. Eerdmans, pp. 189–​215.

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Sloterdijk, P. (2011) Spheres 1:  Bubbles. Translated by Wieland Hoban. Los Angeles, CA: Semiotext(e). Woolf, R. (1957) The Effect of Typology on the English Mediaeval Plays of Abraham and Isaac, Speculum, 32, pp. 805–​25. Young, F.M. (2002) Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture. 2nd edn. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson.

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PART I

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2 ZOROASTRIAN NARRATIVE From the Avesta to the Book of Kings P. Oktor Skjærvø

The Iranians Zoroastrianism originated in the area of modern Central Asia in the second millennium bce among peoples speaking an ancient Iranian language. Its earliest forms are known from a corpus of texts which its followers much later (ninth century ce) referred to as Abestāg (Avesta). Central Asia was apparently quite populated at that time (Hiebert 1994), but, in the absence of written information, the Iranians cannot with certainty be associated with specific archaeological remains (Lamberg-​ Karlovsky 2002). The language was closely related to that of the Indo-​Aryans (Old Indic), and together they made up the Indo-​Iranian branch of the Indo-​European proto-​language. This common heritage of the Indo-​Iranians left its mark on the Iranian and the Indic sacred literatures, so that, although the two corpora differ considerably in both form and content, there are enough identical and similar elements to prove they shared an ancestral tradition.1 By the time the oldest texts in the Avesta, the Gāthās, and the Indic Vedas were composed in the second half of the second millennium bce, the two communities had been separated for hundreds of years, and their religious ideas had taken different directions. Most remarkably, in Iran, the ancient daiwas (Old Indic deva, Latin deus) found themselves in the camp of evil. Among the Iranians, the ancient contrast between cosmos and chaos, good and evil, was crystalized into a dualist system, in which the two coexisted from eternity and everything in the world belonged to one or the other camp in the battle for supremacy (Skjærvø 2011b). After the supreme good deity, referred to in the Gāthās by his epithets, ahura “(ruling) lord” and mazdā “omniscient”, fashioned the good creations, including this world, his opponent, known by his epithets angra “dark” [?]‌and mainyu “spirit”, fashioned its evil counterparts. Note that, in post-Gathic literature, the epithets have become simple

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names: Ahura Mazdā and Angra Mainyu (referred to here as the Evil One), Old Persian Ahuramazdā, Pahlavi Ohrmazd and Ahrimen (on the terms, see below). At a certain point in time, the Evil One attacked, and the good and evil creations were mingled, resulting in what was later called the Mixture, where we are now and in which the good creations fight evil. According to the post-​Avestan texts, the process of permanently removing evil and returning to the origins began with the appearance of Zarathustra, who, by means of his rituals, fought the Evil One and his minions (Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 136–​38). He will be followed at 1,000-​year intervals by three sons, the last of whom, the saoshyans, “he who will revivify (the world)”, will lead the final battle and return the world to its primordial state (ibid., pp. 164–​72). The Iranian tribes may have begun migrating south on to the Iranian Plateau and into the area of modern Afghanistan around 1000 bce, taking two routes. By the ninth century, the Assyrians on their campaigns recorded encounters with Parsuwas and Mātai, the later Persians and Medes, in north-​western Iran (Waters 1999, 2011). On the other hand, the Young Avesta (see below), which contains texts that reached their present form presumably in the first half of the first millennium bce, lists among Iranian territories Choresmia, Sogdiana and Margiana (approximately Uzbekistan today), Arachosia (area of Kandahar and east to the Indus valley), and the Helmand valley to the south-​east, as well as, probably, areas belonging to the Achaemenid province of Parthia, but not Media and Persia (Skjærvø 1995, Grenet 2015; on the dates of the Avestas, see Skjærvø 2005–​2006, pp. 1–​2, 30). The Parsuwas eventually reached what became the province of Persia (Greek Persis, OPers. Pārsa, Persian Fārs), when Cyrus the Great ousted the last Median king and established the Achaemenid dynasty (c. 558 bce), during which Iranian domination spread from Ethiopia and Libya in the west to Kashgar and the Indus Valley in the east, an empire that survived in large part under the Parthians (c. 247? bce – 224 ce) and Sasanians (224–​651 ce). Thus, the Iranians always found themselves at the crossroads between ancient civilizations, Mesopotamia and Anatolia to the west and Inner Asia, the Indus Valley and, later, Indo-​Aryan territories to the east. What later became known as the Silk Road, the trade route between China and Europe, must have passed through Iranian territories from its inception, and lapis lazuli was exported from Badakhshan in the north-​east of what is modern Afghanistan to Mesopotamia and Egypt long before this time. These and other trade routes could have conveyed not only merchandise, but also oral traditions, as reflected in the examples discussed below.

The Avesta The Avesta is a collection of mostly liturgical texts, known from manuscripts written between the thirteenth and nineteenth centuries.The collection represents two chronological strata, referred to as Old and Young Avestan. The Old Avesta contains the five metrical Gāthās,“songs”, said to be “those of Zarathustra”, and the “sacrifice

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in seven sections” (Yasna haptanghāiti), composed in an archaic non-​metrical poetic form known from several ancient traditions (Watkins 1995, pp. 232–​40).These texts are recited at the apex of the morning ritual in honour of Ahura Mazdā, the yasna, “sacrifice” (OInd. yajña). The Young Avesta includes the Yasna (the text accompanying the yasna sacrifice), several hymns to individual deities (the yashts), and a number of shorter liturgies. In addition, it contains the Videvdad (or Vendidad), Avestan dāta vīdaēwa “the law for discarding the evil gods (demons)”, which contains the divine Law as spoken by Ahura Mazdā to Zarathustra. This text, which was recited during a lengthy purification ritual, intercalated among the Gāthās in a modified Yasna, provides detailed rules for how to deal with pollution by the forces of evil (Skjærvø 2007). Here we shall focus on the Young Avestan tradition. On the indigenous and western reception of the Gāthās, see Skjærvø forthcoming.

The Achaemenids On the Iranian plateau and in Mesopotamia, the Iranians came in contact with writing. The Elamite state, which the Achaemenids (c. 558–​30 bce) replaced, had long used Mesopotamian cuneiform to write in both Akkadian and indigenous Elamite. Elamite was also adopted under Darius I (522–​486 bce) and Xerxes (486–​65 bce) for bureaucratic use at Persepolis, the eastern residence of the Achaemenid kings, near modern Shiraz. The non-​cuneiform Aramaic, which they may have encountered in Babylon, where there was a large Jewish community, was also used occasionally at Persepolis, and Aramaic became the bureaucratic lingua franca throughout the eastern area of the Achaemenid empire, where it was used by Choresmians, Sogdians, Parthians and Persians, whose scripts evolved from it. In Bactria, however, the Greek alphabet, used by the Greek colony left behind by Alexander, continued to be used, and, in Khotan, a Buddhist kingdom on the south-​western (southern) Silk Road through modern Xinjiang, where an Iranian language was spoken, the Indic Brahmi was used. It was under Darius that an indigenous writing system was introduced, based on the cuneiform, but which, perhaps influenced by Greek and Aramaic, was designed as a syllabic script. This script was used to record Darius’s narrative of how he came to power and how he expanded and consolidated the empire on the rock wall at Bisotun/​Behistun in western Iran (520 bce). Here, as well as in other inscriptions, he details his qualifications to be king and his religious policies (Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 176–​7, 228–​33; on the sources of Darius’s narrative, see also Skjærvø 1999; Shayegan 2012). His son Xerxes continued what his father had started, but the practice of writing soon waned, and few substantial inscriptions survive from their successors. The inscriptions are written in what we refer to as Old Persian, the ancestor of Middle Persian, spoken under the Sasanians (224 bce – 651 ce), and modern Persian (Farsi). The claim of Ctesias, a Greek physician, hostage at the court of Artaxerxes II about 400 bce, that he consulted “royal parchments” or “royal

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leather record books”, is today viewed with considerable scepticism (Schmitt 1993; see also Skjærvø 2005–​2006, p. 10 n. 3). Most of the royal inscriptions were in Old Persian, Akkadian, and Elamite, written on rock, stones, metal and other materials, as well as, in the case of Darius’s great inscription, in Aramaic on papyrus. The Aramaic copy, found at Elephantine in the Nile, together with fragments of Akkadian copies show that it was disseminated throughout the realm (presumably to be read in town squares by heralds), as Darius states at the end of his narrative: By the greatness of Ahuramazdā, this inscription that I made, was, in addition, inscribed [?]‌in Aryan, on both clay tablets and on parchment. And it was written and read before me. Afterward, I sent this inscription everywhere within the lands. The people made an effort [?].2 These inscriptions provide a look into the religious beliefs and rituals of the kings, while a large corpus of Elamite tablets recording expenses for religious activities considerably fill in the picture (Henkelmann 2008). Darius, Xerxes and their successors (or, rather, their “speech writers”) were apparently familiar with the Avesta in its Old Persian version (see below) and perhaps understood some Young Avestan, borrowing phraseology from it, even citing it seems, a phrase in Avestan (Skjærvø 1999, pp. 41–​43, 2009b). However, references to the Old Avesta, which was mostly incomprehensible at this time, must have been taken from an Old Persian version. We do not know how the Avesta reached Persia. It may have come with either of the two groups, the western or the eastern. The question is complicated by the fact that Darius’s royal relatives, Cyrus, Cambyses and Teispes (OPers. Kurush, Kambūjia, Chishpish) have non-​ Iranian names, as opposed to Darius, Xerxes and Artaxerxes, who have “good Avestan” names:  Dāraya-​vahu “upholding good (things)”, Khshaya-​rshan “ruling males”, and Erta-​khshassa “who has (royal) command according to the (divine) Order”.

The Sasanians The Achaemenids were followed by Alexander and the short-​lived Seleucid empire, characterized by Hellenistic influence, soon to be replaced by the Parthian (Arsacid) empire. It is only with the advent of the Sasanians in the third century that we have, not only numerous rock inscriptions, royal and private (in Greek, Parthian and Middle Persian) – again giving us a picture of the Zoroastrian tradition, Middle Persian dēn mazdēsn3 – but also the Manichean literature (in Middle Persian, Parthian, Sogdian, and the non-​Iranian Coptic), which to a not insignificant extent cites from the dēn. The royal inscriptions show that the kings stood by the Zoroastrian tenets, and the inscriptions of the high priest Kartīr from the late 270s ce provide precious details of the dēn (Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 181–​85, 236–​39). Not only is his discourse based on a Middle Persian version of the Yasna and Videvdad; he even refers to it explicitly with the expression “as it shows in the nask”, an early form of the later standard

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phrase “it says in the dēn” (the dēn being divided into twenty-​one nasks according to the ninth-​century Pahlavi Dēnkard). Note that “Middle Persian” is the generic term for the language spoken in the Sasanian period, while “Pahlavi” specifically denotes the Middle Persian of the books written from the ninth century on, the “Pahlavi books”.

Transmission In our manuscripts, the Avestan text is accompanied by a Pahlavi rendering with glosses, the zand. According to the Pahlavi legends, the writing down of the Avesta and the zand is said to have begun at the command of King Wištāsp, Zarathustra’s royal patron, after the battle with Arzāsp (see below), but the written copies were burned or scattered during and after Alexander’s tyrannical rule. Their reassembly began under Dārāy, son of Dārāy (whether an Achaemenid king or one of the local kings of Fars before the Sasanians is uncertain) and the Seleucid Walakhsh (Vologeses). It continued under Ardashir (224–​240 ce), a descendant of the rulers of Fars and founder of the Sasanian dynasty, and his son Shapur I  (240–​272 ce), and, especially, under Shapur II (309–​379 ce) with the help of his high priest Ādurbād son of Mahrspand. The texts thus assembled were then once more decimated and scattered after the Arab conquest, and what was still to be found was gathered by generations of “teachers of old” and finally written down (Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 39–​43). How much of this is trustworthy is highly uncertain, but it is now generally thought that the Avesta may have been written down shortly before the Arab conquest (651 ce) in a phonetic alphabet invented for the purpose of capturing the recitation in all its details. The sacred texts were, presumably, still in their pre-​ Achaemenid form and, most probably, already accompanied by a zand. See Kellens (1998) for a summary of opinions on the transmission and writing down of the Avesta. Whether the zand (if not the Avesta itself) was written down at the same time is currently impossible to determine. There is, however, the evidence of the standardized orthography of the inscriptions, which points to a long practice of writing Middle Persian, as does the later translation of the Psalms of David found in the ruins of a Nestorian monastery at Bulayïq north of  Turfan in northeastern Xinjiang. There is also the evidence of the Manicheans, who used Zoroastrian books in Mani’s days (Skjærvø 1994, p. 203; Dilley in Gardner, BeDuhn, and Dilley 2015, Ch. 5).4 Until recently, it was thought that the Pahlavi version was a translation of the Avesta made in the Sasanian period (thus still Boyce 1968, p. 34), but this is an unlikely scenario. Already by the Young Avestan period the Gāthās were no longer understood, and, by the late Achaemenid period, the priests probably had difficulties understanding the Young Avestan texts as well. By the Sasanian period the Avesta was incomprehensible, as we see from a text in book 5 of the Dēnkard, in which Bōkht-​mārī, a Christian, asks the Zoroastrian priest Ādurfarnbay son of Farrokhzād

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(Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 250–​51): “Why did god speak this dēn in the unknown and hidden language of the Avesta?” Ādurfarnbay answers: This sacred word of the dēn, the Avesta, “awareness of all,” as it is nearer the custom of the good beings in the other world, is so wondrous that it goes beyond everything people can comprehend, but the zand has been spoken in such a way that it goes more easily through the world and is better understood. And the Avesta itself is a great sign that Zarathustra brought it from Ohrmazd. Ibid. In my opinion, therefore, the extant Pahlavi Avesta is the final result of a millennium of priestly teaching – begun before the Achaemenids and continued in Fars after the fall of the Achaemenids – which existed under the Sasanians in the third century in a form similar to what we have now, as suggested by Kartīr’s inscriptions (Skjærvø 2011d).

Orality The ancient Iranians possessed a large oral sacred, “mythoepic” (Vevaina 2015, p. 169), and other narrative literature, parts of which have come down to us in various forms. We do not know whether they had adopted any of the writing systems they encountered during their migrations before this to write narratives in Old Persian (or Median, for that matter), but it is unlikely, seeing from later texts that they valued the oral tradition above any written form. Thus, Ādurfarnbay concludes: “for the many other reasons it makes sense to count the living spoken word as more fundamental than the written”. The Old Avestan texts were probably redacted towards 1000 bce and the Young Avestan texts around 600 bce, as suggested by comparison of Young Avestan with Old Persian (see Skjærvø 2003–​2004, pp. 33–​35), but from what we know today about oral transmission, we can reconstruct the transmission of the texts with some probability. What has come down to us must be the result of a long process in which traditional poetry and narratives were “recomposed in performance” before an audience and the performer was at pains to cast his song or narrative in new form, give it a new twist, as it were, to show his talent (Schmitt 1967, §§604–​06; Skjærvø 2005–​2006, pp. 14–​15). This is probably the whole story as far as epics and other narratives are concerned, which kept being recomposed until they were finally (if ever) written down and even after that. One consequence of recognizing the orality of the texts is the impossibility of ascribing all or parts, such as the Old Avesta, to an individual author, in this case Zarathustra. Such an assumption in fact faces insurmountable difficulties (Skjærvø 2005–​2006, pp. 22–​25). We have some evidence for composers and performers in Iran from Median to Sasanian times (Boyce 1957, pp. 19–​20). Athenaeus of Naucratis (†228 ce) said that the barbarians like the Greeks celebrated the acts of heroes and the praise of the

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gods and that the Median minstrel Angares was “the most distinguished of the singers”. Herodotus (1.132; 484 – fifth century bce) tells us that the Median Magi used to recite theogoniai, stories about the births or genealogies of the gods; Xenophon (Cyrupaedia 1.2.1; c. 430–​353 bce) that Cyrus (the Great) was celebrated in story and song; and Strabo (15.3.18; c. 64 bce – after 21 ce) that teachers of Persian boys would recite stories about the “deeds of gods and great men” in their teaching. The Parthian minstrel was called gōsān, the Middle Persian one huniyāgar, lit. “he who makes nice singing” (Boyce 1957, pp. 10–​12). Of special interest is a Manichean Parthian passage in which we read: “Like a gōsān, who proclaims the achievements of kings and heroes of old and himself does nothing at all” (Boyce 1957, p. 11, Skjærvø 2009, pp. 278–​79). Boyce (1957, p. 34) also cites an Arabic text according to which “the professional story-​teller … was forbidden ever to repeat himself unless at the king’s command”, which is comparable to the claim of poets and performers of old always to produce a new song or tale, one that has not been heard before. The transmission of the sacred texts reached a certain point, however, both among the Iranians and Indo-​Aryans, at which their form itself became sacred and they were no longer recomposed, but “fixed in reperformance”, or “crystalized”, in their current form and were no longer supposed to be changed (e.g. Nagy 1996, pp. 108–0​9). The Old Avesta was crystalized perhaps around 1000 bce and then incorporated in the Yasna, which continued to be updated linguistically – whether it could still be “recomposed” we do not know – until the Yasna, too, as well as all the other Avestan texts known to us, were “crystalized”, perhaps, around the mid-​sixth century bce. After this, the texts were learned by heart by a memorization process described in both the Avestan and Pahlavi texts in some detail, although not easy to understand (Skjærvø 2012, pp. 26–​42, Azarnouche 2013). The texts were exposed to numerous changes, however; first, perhaps, in the liturgical recitation from the Achaemenid to the Sasanian period, some intentional, as in the case of the Gāthās, where we observe some changes that must be due to the redactors, others to changes in the spoken languages and to decreasing familiarity with the text, causing arbitrary orthographic and grammatical changes. Finally, scribal errors occurred in the manuscript tradition, some due to local liturgical recitation, others to arbitrary mistakes (e.g. Cantera 2014, §§4.3.4, 4.6.3). The amazing strength of the tradition, however, is proved by the fact that so much of the text is orthographically and grammatically correct. It had long been known that the Avesta must have been transmitted orally, but it was only recently that Iranists began studying both it and the other ancient Iranian literature from this point of view. Mary Boyce was the first to gather all the known information about oral literature in Iran in three articles (1954, 1955, 1957). Then, from the 1970s on, scholars began noticing thematic and linguistic parallels in the Achaemenid and Sasanian inscriptions. Philippe Gignoux (1979, pp. 45–​47), comparing two passages in the inscriptions of Xerxes and Kartīr, noted that Kartīr’s style evoked singulièrement that of Xerxes. In Skjærvø (1985), I then investigated several “thematic and linguistic parallels” between the Achaemenid

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and Sasanian inscriptions and also pointed out a number of parallels between the Sasanian inscriptions and the Manichean literature. I attributed these parallels to a “local (oral) literary tradition” and concluded, a bit naively, that the Achaemenid and Sasanian kings all might have learned these formulas “in school”. It was only with an article by Philip Huyse (1990), I believe, that the work of Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord entered the discussion of orality in Iranian studies. Among other things, Huyse pointed out the remarkable parallelism in the structures of Darius’s Bisotun inscription and the inscription of Shapur I at Naqsh-​e Rostam near Persepolis. He showed that the royal inscriptions of the Achaemenids and the Sasanians exhibited the same features in terms of patterns, themes, and formulas, that is, the overall structure of the story, the smallest units of the story, and the linguistic expressions. On this background, I then explored the Avestan yashts in Skjærvø (1994), showing that, in general, the yashts and other hymns to deities follow definite patterns agreeing with oral composition as described by Parry and Lord, as well as Gregory Nagy. Thus, the standard elements of these texts are largely the same as those listed by Nagy for the Homeric Hymns (1990, p. 55). I and others have continued this approach (Skjærvø 2012, pp. 42–4​3; Kreyenbroek 1996, 2006; de Jong 2009; Shaked 2015).

The Indo-​European roots It is well known that all the Indo-​European languages share numerous linguistic expressions and poetic formulas, which must therefore have been part of the “Indo-​ European poetic language” (Indogermanische Dichtersprache; Schmitt 1967, Watkins 1995). One such formula sums up the essential aspect of oral literature – the speaker and the audience – as in the second Gāthā (Yasna 45.1): “Now I shall speak! Now listen (plur.)! Now hear!” with which compare the beginning of the Old Norse Vǫluspá: “I ask all … to hear … You (Odin) wish that I shall tell well …” Here the OAv. verb sraotā “listen!” and the ON. noun hlióð “hearing” (now “sound”) are both from Indo-​European k̑leu-​“listen” (Schmitt 1967, §48). The same goes for certain stories and themes found in the literature of several Indo-​European languages (Watkins 1995, Ch. 2). This aspect of the Indo-​European literature has been extensively investigated, suffice it to mention the monumental work of Georges Dumézil (1986) on numerous myths shared by Indo-​European peoples and Calvert Watkins (1995) on the dragon-​slaying myth featuring a hero who slays a dragon, originally associated with the release of the pent-​up heavenly waters. In Iranian literature, we find a first dragon-​slaying hero, Thraētaona (Pahl. Frēdōn, Pers. Feridun), who strikes down Azhi Dahāka, the “Giant Dragon” [?]‌ (Pahl. Azhdahāg, Dahāg, Pers. Zohhāk), and, after him, Kersāspa (Pers. Garshāsp), who slays various dragons. Later, Zarathustra is cast in a similar role as opponent of the Evil One. Still later Ardashir becomes a “dragon”-​slayer when he slays the ruler of Kerman, called Kerm, the Worm (Watkins 1995, pp. 313–​20, 522), and the theme is found even later (Skjærvø 1996, pp. 603–​07 and below). The oldest locus for the theme of the release of the waters in the Avesta is Yasht 13.77–​78, which describes

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the initial cosmic battle between the Evil One and Ahura Mazdā, whose closest associates, the Fire and Good Thought, came down and intercepted the Evil One, thus releasing the pent-​up waters (Skjærvø 2011a, p. 68).

Iranian mythoepic narratives Many of the traditions known from the Pahlavi books and the Islamic-​period literature, most importantly in the Book of Kings by Ferdousi and the Persian, Arab and Armenian historians, have predecessors in the Avesta, but we do not know how early these narratives were gathered into an epic. It is in the Young Avesta, especially in the yashts and scattered in the Yasna and the Videvdad, that we find elements matching the later epic. These are brief characterizations of mythoepic heroes and villains that are repeated in several yashts, always in the same order and most often in exactly the same form, although occasionally there are variants. Sometimes different texts contain different stories associated with the same heroes or villains. These features are typical of oral epic literature and suggest that what we have in the Avesta drew on a contemporary epic narrative. We may therefore ask: Did the longer versions of the legends exist already at the time when the Avestan hymns were composed, or were they the work of later poets? The question cannot be answered completely, but it is clear from the examples cited below that there must have existed at that time epic narratives about heroes and kings. As a matter of fact, most of the brief mentions of mythoepic figures in the Avesta contain allusions to their lives and deeds that can mostly be understood only in the light of the later traditions, as we shall see below. The Avestan mythoepic narratives cover two distinct periods, which we may term a “heroic” or “primordial” era (Pēshdādiān or Peshdadids, see below) and the era of the kawis (Kayāniān or Kayanids) and their Turian enemy Frangrasiyān (Pahl., Pers. Afrāsiāb). In the yasht narratives, only a limited number of characters are mentioned, but there must have been many more, as suggested by a list of names in Yasht 13, which covers all of history, from the creation to the end of time.

The heroic era The Book of Kings and the Islamic-​period sources begin their tales of the kings of Iran with Kayumarth, who becomes the grandfather of Hushang, that is, the Pahlavi Gayōmard (Avestan Gayō Marta, “life containing death” [?]‌), who belongs to the story of the creation of the world and whose son, Mashī (Avestan mashiya, “man”), and his twin sister/​wife, Mashyānī, become the ancestors of Hōšang, the first king of the heroic era. In the Yashts, the first part of the heroic era contains Haošiyangha (the Pahl. Hōshang, Pers. Hushang), with the epithet para-​dhāta “placed before”, Pahlavi pēsh-​ dād (Pers. pish-​dād), Takhma Urupi (Pahl. Tahmōraf, Persian Tahmurath), and Yima (with the epithet khshaēta, perhaps “radiant”; Pahl., Pers. Jam or Jamshēd, brother of Tahmurath).

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One narrative only alluded to in the Avesta, but explained (rightly or wrongly) in the later texts, concerns Takhma Urupi. In Yasht 19 to the divine Radiance (khwarnah), we have a list of heroes whom the Radiance followed, including Takhma Urupi and Yima (Yasht 19.28–​29): We sacrifice to the strong Radiance of the kawis … which followed Takhma Urupi with the fox-​hide [?]‌, so that he ruled on the sevenfold earth over daēwas and men, sorcerers and witches, false poets and teachers, so that he was able to subdue all daēwas and men, all sorcerers and witches, so that he rode the Evil One changed into the form of a horse for three hundred years around both borders of the earth. According to Ferdousi, while Ahrimen was thus bound by Tahmurath, to save their own lives, the demons taught him writing, so that he was the first to write Greek, Arabic, Persian, Sogdian, Chinese and Parthian (de Jong 2009, pp. 27–​29). Later in the story, Ahrimen thought of a ruse to get rid of Tahmurath and swallowed him. Eventually, Jamshid was able to save his brother from Ahrimen by attracting him with a song and an offer to sodomize him (which the divine Sorush told Jamshid were the two things the demon loved the most), and, when Ahrimen turned around, Jamshid reached in and pulled Tahmurath out. The importance of the story may have lain in its sequel, which provides the aetiology of the use of bull’s urine as a cleansing agent in Zoroastrianism: as a result of the contact with Ahrimen, Jamshid’s hand caught leprosy, which made people avoid him because of the foul smell the illness caused, and he therefore took to the mountains, erring like a madman. Exhausted, he fell asleep near a herd of cattle, and a cow/​bull happened to urinate on his hand, which was immediately healed (for all details, see König 2008). Yima is the first whose story is told in greater detail in the Avesta, where the second chapter of the Videvdad is devoted to him, as well as many passages in other texts. In the Videvdad it is told how Yima saved living beings from a terrible winter followed by floods by building an enclosure in which he preserved the best specimens of all species, much in the vein of Noah. In Yasht 19.33–​34, he is said to have made all creatures free from death and illness, but in the end he sinned and lost the Radiance (Malandra 1983, p. 91). This last element of the Yima story goes back to the Old Avesta, where we find an allusion to Yima’s “sin” (in Yasna 32.8), which in Yasht 19.33 is said to have been a “lying word”.Yima also has a match in Old Indic, Yama, king of the realm of the dead, who has a sister,Yamī, who tries to seduce her brother. In the Pahlavi texts, Jam has a sister, Jamag, who also tries to seduce her brother (for all details, see Skjærvø 2008). In the Pahlavi texts, the second part of the heroic era begins with the millennium reign of Azhdahāg, who was killed by Thraētaona. According to Ferdousi, Feridun had three sons: Salm, Tur and Iraj, matching the list of territories in Yasht 13: Sairimas, Turians and Aryans (Iranians). The two older sons killed the youngest, Iraj, but his grandson, Manushchihr, took revenge by killing them both and

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becoming king.The story of Afrāsiyāb (Av. Frangrasiian) then begins: Afrāsiyāb kills Manushchihr and throws Iran into confusion, which keeps the rain away, but Uzaw son of Tōhmāsp overcomes Afrāsiyāb, making it rain.

Era of the kawis In the Rigveda, the kavis were, according to Stephanie Jamison (2007, pp. 124–​36), a kind of court poets, able to “harness verbal power for good or ill”. In the Gāthās, the kawis (plural), like the daēwas, are on the wrong side of the good–​evil divide, while the Young Avestan kawis are individually named hero-​sacrificers (for all details see Skjærvø 2013). Their common origin, however, is proved also by the concept of “generations of kavis” found both in the Rigveda (3.38.2) and in the Pahlavi literature. This period is divided into two parts, dominated by two great wars:  that of the early kawis against Frangrasyan and that of Kawi Vištāspa (Pahl. Kay-​Wishtāsp, Pers. Key Goshtāsp) against the Khionians, which was fought over Zarathustra’s dēn, revealed to him by Ohrmazd. The former is reminiscent of the Indic Mahābhārata, the latter of the Song of Roland. The first of the early kawis, Kawi Kawāta (Pahl. Kay Kawād, Pers. Key Qobād) is not characterized in the Avesta, being only listed first of eight kawis. The stories of only four survive in the later literature, where Kawi Kawāta is provided with a birth story that recalls that of Moses, possibly based on his name, which was thought to mean “reed”. The next kawi of importance is Kawi Usan (Pahl. Kāy-​Us, Pers. Key Kāvus, Qābus), who is at least of Indo-​Aryan origin and probably Indo-​European. He has a parallel in the Old Indic epic, where we find a sorcerer named Ushanā Kāvya (Dumézil 1986, II, pt. 2; critiqued by Jamison 2007, pp. 124–​36). In the Rigveda this figure fashions Indra’s thunderbolt, with which Indra slays the dragon Vertra, who holds back the heavenly waters. In this capacity he appears to survive in the Book of Kings as the smith Kāve, ancestor of the Kayanid dynasty, who assisted Feridun in overcoming Zohhāk and chaining him to Mount Demāvand. The last of the early kawis, Kawi Haosrawah (Pahl. Kay Husrōy, Pers. Key Khosrow), is granted the privilege to kill Frangrasiian, concluding the first great battle and the heroic era. In two yashts, it is the Haoma (the divine ritual drink, Indic Soma), who facilitates the capture of Frangrasiian, and here we are also given a reason for the killing. In Yasht 9.18 to the goddess Druwāspā, “she who has/​provides healthy horses”, we find Haoma sacrificing to her with a request: Give me that prize, O good Druwāspā, most rich in life-​g iving strength, that I  may bind the Turian villain Frangrasiyān and (that) I  may lead him bound and I may bring him bound (before) Kawi Haosrawah (and that) Kawi Haosrawah may kill him on the shore of Lake Chaēchasta, the deep, with wide waters, by way of revenge for (his) son, Siyāwarshan, the hero killed through deceit.

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That Haoma was the one to catch Frangrasiyān was known to the later tradition, including a short narrative in the Book of Kings, where we also find the explanation of the “revenge”. According to Ferdousi, Siyāvosh was the son of Kay Kāwūs and a woman descended from Feridun. This son was desired by Kay Kāwūs’s first wife, Sudābe, and was banished and went to join Afrāsiyāb, but was killed by a Turanian. After Kay Khosrow became king he swore he would take revenge for Siyāvosh.

Eastern connections Interestingly, this story of Kay Kāwūs, his wife, and his son, with its “Potiphar’s wife” motif (cf. Dumézil 1986, II, pp. 209–​12), became connected with the story of King Ashoka’s son Kunāla in the Buddhist Ashokāvadāna, who was desired by his father’s wife and was banished. The two stories share numerous details, including a totally unexpected one: the founding of Khotan by the two princes. Siyāwosh was granted the eastern territory by Afrāsiyāb and, together with his mentor, Pirān, went off to Khotan, where he built a fortified city; Kunāla went together with his father’s minister to Khotan where he founded a city. The Kunāla story was in turn connected with a story linked to the Chinese conquest of Khotan, according to which the founder of Khotan was “Earth-​breast”, so called because he was suckled by the earth. He was protected by Vaishravana (Vaishramana), guardian deity of Khotan, whose spouse was Shrī, called Shandrāmatā in Khotanese, that is, Avestan Spentā Ārmaiti, Pahlavi “Spandārmad the Earth” (for all details, see Skjærvø 1998a). Another story from the era of the kawis involves the theme of the “frame hero”, also studied by Dumézil (1986, I, pt. I, Ch. 6), who adduced Scandinavian and Indic parallels, notably the figure of Bhīshma, grand-​uncle of the Pāndava brothers, who fight the great battle of the Mahābhārata. Bhīshma is there from the beginning; he survives throughout the generations; he watches over the royal succession; and he dies only when he himself decides. One of the most important characters in the Book of Kings not found in the Avesta and barely mentioned in the Pahlavi literature is Rostam (Pahl. Rōdestahm). Ferdousi’s work is basically the tale of Rostam, while the rest of the book, continuing the Pahlavi tradition, serves as a frame story for this one important tale. The story of Rostam begins in the heroic period and then continues through the entire period of the kawis. He serves all the Kayanid kings and is only killed during the reign of Key Goshtāsp, after killing Esfandiār, the last of the Kayanids. The main themes connecting the two are the following: Bhīshma is the son of the river Ganges and Rostam of Rudābe, “she of the River (rūd) Water (āb)”. His own name, Pahlavi Rōdstahm, also contains the element rōd,“river”. Rostam was suckled by ten nurses. Bhīshma, on the other hand, was the eighth or ninth son of Ganges, the only one to survive as his elder brothers were drowned by their mother. Similarly, in the Scandinavian parallel adduced by Dumézil, the Norse god Heimdall was born by eight plus one mothers. Finally, Bhīshma had to take an oath that he would beget no son who might want to be king. Rostam had a son, but his son died before him. In a conclusion that evokes the Arthurian legend, after the war, the Pāndava brothers depart into the mountains where they perish, but are resurrected in paradise. Kay Husrōy departs accompanied by his heroes, who all perish,

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while he himself goes into hiding, to be resurrected at the end of time to fight the final battle (for all details, see Skjærvø 1998b). See Vevaina (2015) on this story and further on orality and textuality in the “mythoepic” literature of the Pahlavi texts and the Book of Kings, as well as on the discussion of the degree of “orality” of Ferdousi’s work.

Kawi Vishtaˉspa and Zarathustra The list of Kawis concludes with figures connected to Zarathustra: Kawi Vishtāspa, his brother Zairiwairi (Pahl. Zarēr), and his counselor Jamāspa (Pahl. Jāmāsp) and their opponent, the evil Khionian Arjad-​aspa (Pahl. Arzāsp). In Yasht 13, numerous relatives of Zarathustra and Vishtāspa are listed, including Humāy, who in the Book of Kings, as mother of Dārāb, provides the link between the Kayanids and the Achaemenids, also a story with echoes of the birth of Moses. In both the Avestan and the Pahlavi tradition, Zarathustra is closely associated with Kawi Vishtāspa (Kay Wištāsp), the ruler he persuaded to aid the Mazdayasnian daēnā (Pahl. dēn mazdēsn), over which the great battle with the Khiyonians was fought (Skjærvø 2011a, pp. 134–​35). Besides being the promoter of the daēnā of Ahura Mazdā, Zarathustra is part of the myth of the origins as the opponent of the Evil One. Chapter 19 of the Videvdad contains the story of how the Evil One and his minions (among them the daēwa Indra!) tempted Zarathustra to forswear (“un-​praise”) Ahura Mazdā’s daēnā, which Zarathustra refused to do and instead chased the forces of evil back to hell. Elsewhere he battles them in the manner of the heroes of old, as described in Yasht 17.19–​20, where he wields the Ahuna vairiya and Asha Vahishta (the Ashem Vohū), the two most potent Avestan utterances (Skjærvø 2011a, p. 219): (Zarathustra) at whose birth and growth the Evil One ran away from the earth, wide, round, with distant borders. Thus he spoke, he who gives bad gifts, the Evil One full of destruction: All those worthy of sacrifice could not catch up with [?]‌me against my will, but Zarathustra, all alone, reaches me against my will. He strikes me down with the Ahuna vairiya, with as great a weapon as a stone the size of a house. He burns me with the Asha Vahishta just like metal. He makes me flee from this good earth, who alone comes against [?]‌me: Spitama Zarathustra. While this story has been shown to have a parallel in the Iliad, where Diomedes also wields large stones (Skjærvø 1997), the following texts from Yasna 9.14–​15 and Yasht 19.80–​81 evoke the antediluvial biblical narrative (Genesis 6): Famed in the Aryan Expanse you were the first, O Zarathustra, to chant the Ahuna vairiya… You made all the daēwas hide in the ground, O Zarathustra,

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who before that went about in the shape of men on this earth, (you) the strongest, the firmest, the most active, the fastest, who were the greatest obstruction-​smasher of the creations of the two Spirits. Before that the daēwas would run about in full view. (Their) pleasures would take place in full view. In full view they would drag off the women from the humans. Then the daēwas would by force debase them weeping and complaining. Then a single Ahuna vairiia of yours, which you, Orderly Zarathustra chanted … drove all the daēwas underground depriving them of sacrifices and hymns. The Pahlavi narrative of Wishtāsp’s conversion by Zarathustra also recalls the Ashokāvadāna. Both Wishtāsp and Ashoka are depicted as harsh and cruel rulers before their conversions, but a peculiar detail links them more strongly. Ashoka was converted by a certain Samudra (“ocean”), who, while imprisoned in the house of torture became an arhat and remained impassive to torture. Wishtāsp was converted by Zarathustra, who had been imprisoned and almost starved to death, but, according to a late tradition, was released because he healed the king’s horse. Before this, Zarathustra had been set up by the Evil One, who had human bones placed in his pockets to discredit him, which recalls how Ashoka’s minister Yashas tried to sell a human head in the market (Skjærvø 1998a, p. 652, 2011a, pp. 154–​56). How the Zoroastrian and Buddhist stories became thus intertwined we can only guess, but the catalyst is perhaps to be found in the Bactrian-​Kushan kingdom (first to second centuries ce), a Greco-​Indian dynasty, founded by Kanishka, whose famous Rabatrak inscription lists Zoroastrian deities together with Buddhist ones (details in Skjærvø 1998a, pp. 653–​56).

Zarathustra, Semiramis and Babylon Several stories about Zarathustra link him with Babylon. Some of these go back to an ancient tradition told by Ctesias according to which King Ninus and his wife Semiramis waged war against Bactria. The king of Bactria and Semiramis’s adversary in Ctesias’s story was Oxyartes (Auberger 1991, pp. 33–​35), but, from around 100 ce, it was Zoroaster himself who was depicted as a Bactrian king, a contemporary of Queen Semiramis of Babylon and the adversary of Semiramis’s husband, Ninus. According to the Armenian history of Moses of Khorene, Semiramis, once spending the summer in Armenia, even made the Magus and Median ruler Zradasht governor of Assyria and Niniveh, but she later became his enemy and attacked him. A single reminiscence of these legendary traditions was preserved in book seven of the Dēnkard, where Zarathustra is said to have destroyed numerous marvellous things that had been made by the tyrant Dahāg in Babylon to incite people to idol worship – a story based on Yasht 5.29 (Malandra 1983, p. 122), where Azhi Dahāka

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sacrificed to the goddess Anāhitā “in the land of babhri”, later interpreted as Babylon (details in Skjærvø 1996, pp. 607–​11). This tradition must have been widespread in the third century ce, for Mani and the Manicheans found it and used it for their own purposes. There are fragments of a Zarathustra legend in Manichean texts in various languages, which tell about a conflict in Babylon between Zarathustra and Wishtāsp on the good side and Zarēr and Jāmāsp on the bad side (Skjærvø 1996, pp.  615–​18), Mani typically making these “good guys” into “bad guys”. What the exact origin of all these stories may be we do not know. It is an interesting speculation, for instance, that the association of Zarathustra and Vishtāspa with Bactria may reflect the movement of the Aryan tribes from that area into eastern Iran. Another possible link may have been the fact that, according to Herodotus, Darius’s father Hystaspes (Vishtāspa) was the leader of the Bactrian and Saka troops in Xerxes’s army.

Reception in western scholarship In the Pahlavi tradition, these myths and legends became part of the narrative of the propagation of the dēn and then of the traditional history of Iran, and, as late as the 1930s, on the assumption that the stories about Zarathustra and Wishtāsp reflected actual history, Western scholars, who equated dānā/​dēn with (Protestant-​ like) religion, tried to work out how far back the earlier stories were also historical (Skjærvø 2013, esp. section xiv). The construction of this Zarathustra as a reformer introducing a new, revealed (!) monotheistic religion that he preached in the Gāthās, in which the ancient deities and their worship had no room, led to less emphasis on the non-​Gathic literature and its later incarnations (Skjærvø 2011c, pp. 321–​28). It is only with the new emphasis on the orality of this literature and on the fact that the Avestan texts are liturgical texts and were preserved for just this reason that it has now become possible to study them without the prejudices of the past.

Notes 1 In the simplified transcription used here, dh is voiced th (as in the), bh bilabial v (as in Spanish), kh German ch in ach, th English th, zh as in leisure; note that [?]‌means uncertain translation. 2 Unfortunately, the meaning of the verb (ham-​atakhshatā) is uncertain. 3 On Pahlavi dēn (Av. daēnā), see Skjærvø 2012, and, on its use in Manicheism, Skjærvø 2012 and BeDuhn in Gardner, BeDuhn, and Dilley 2015, Ch. 9. On the meaning of Av. daēnā see, e.g. Skjærvø 2011a, p. 31. In the Avesta, “Zoroastrian” is mazdayasna “somebody who sacrifices to Ahura Mazdā,” Pahlavi mazdēsn. Hence, for “Zoroastrian” and “Zoroastrianism” we often find “Mazdayasnian” or “Mazdean” and “Mazdaism” (and similar). 4 Shaked (2015, p. 60) mentions that the zand might conceivably also have been used for “subversive and heretical indoctrination”, an idea that has sometimes been used to explain the term zandīg meaning “Manichean” in Kartīr’s inscriptions.

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Nagy, G. (1990) Greek Mythology and Poetics. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press. —​—​—​ (1996) Poetry as Performance:  Homer and Beyond. Cambridge, UK:  Cambridge University Press. Schmitt, R. (1967) Dichtung und Dichtersprache in indogermanischer Zeit.Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. —​—​—​ (1993) “Ctesias”, in Encyclopædia Iranica, 4/​4, pp. 441–4​6. Also available at www. iranicaonline.org/​articles/​search/​keywords:Ctesias. Shaked, S. (2015) “Reflections on Modes of Transmission in Late Antiquity”, in J. Rubanovich (ed.) Orality and Textuality in the Iranian World:  Patterns of Interaction across the Centuries. Leiden: Brill, pp. 43–​62. Shayegan, M.R. (2012) Aspects of History and Epic in Ancient Iran: From Gaumāta to Wahnām. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. Skjærvø, P.O. (1985) “Thematic and Linguistic Parallels in the Achaemenian and Sassanian Inscriptions”, in Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce II, Acta Iranica 25, Leiden: Brill, pp. 593–​603. —​—​—​(1994) “Hymnic Composition in the Avesta”, Die Sprache, 36, pp. 199–​243. —​—​—​(1995) “The Avesta as Source for the Early History of the Iranians”, in G. Erdosy (ed.) The Indo-​Aryans of Ancient South Asia. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, pp. 155–​76. —​—​—​(1996) “Zarathustra in the Avesta and in Manicheism. Irano-​Manichaica IV”, in La Persia e l’Asia centrale da Alessandro al X secolo. Rome:  Academia Nazionale dei Lincei, pp. 597–​628. —​—​—​(1997 [pub. 2000]) “Eastern Iranian Epic Traditions III: Zarathustra and Diomedes—​ An Indo-​European Epic Warrior Type”, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 11, pp. 175–​82. —​—​—​(1998a) “Eastern Iranian Epic Traditions I. Siyāvaš and Kunāla”, in J. Jasanoff, H.C. Melchert, and L. Oliver (eds) Mír Curad: Studies in Honor of Calvert Watkins. Innsbruck, pp. 645–​58. —​—​—​(1998b) “Eastern Iranian Epic Traditions II. Rostam and Bhīṣma”, Acta Orientalia Hungarica, 51, pp. 159–​70. —​—​—​(1999) “Avestan Quotations in Old Persian?” in S. Shaked and A. Netzer (eds) Irano-​ Judaica IV. Jerusalem: Ben-​Zvi Institute for the Study of Jewish Communities in the East, pp. 1–​64. —​—​—​ (2003–​2004) “The Antiquity of Old Avestan”, Nāme-​ye Irān-​e Bāstān.The International Journal of Ancient Iranian Studies, 3/​2, pp. 1–​41. —​—​—​(2005–​2006) “The Importance of Orality for the Study of Old Iranian Literature and Myth”, Nāme-​ye Irān-​e Bāstān. The International Journal of Ancient Iranian Studies, 5/​ 1&2, pp. 9–​31. —​—​—​ (2007) “The Videvdad: Its Ritual-​Mythical Significance”, in V.S. Curtis and S. Stewart (eds) The Age of the Parthians. London and New York: I.B. Tauris, pp. 105–​41. —​—​—​ (2008) “Jamšīd”, in Encyclopædia Iranica 14/​5, pp. 501–​22. Also available at: www. iranicaonline.org/​articles/​jamsid-​i. —​—​—​(2009) “Reflexes of Iranian Oral Traditions in Manichean Literature”, in D. Durkin-​ Meisterernst, C. Reck, and D.Weber (eds), Literarische Stoffe und ihre Gestaltung in mitteliranischer Zeit: Ehrencolloquium anlässlich des 70. Geburtstages von Prof. Dr. Werner Sundermann 30. /​31. März 2006. Wiesbaden: Reichert, pp. 269–​86. —​—​—​ (2011a) The Spirit of Zoroastrianism. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. —​—​—​(2011b) “Zoroastrian Dualism”, in E.M. Meyers et al. (eds) Light Against Darkness: Dualism in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and the Contemporary World. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, pp. 55–​91. —​—​—​(2011c) “Zarathustra: A Revolutionary Monotheist?”, in B. Pongratz-​Leisten (ed.) Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism. Winona Lake, Ind.:  Eisenbrauns, pp. 317–​50.

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—​—​—​ (2011d) “Kartir”, in Encyclopaedia Iranica 15/​6, pp. 607–​28. Also available at www. iranicaonline.org/​articles/​kartir. —​—​—​(2012) “The Zoroastrian Oral Tradition as Reflected in the Texts”, in A. Cantera (ed.) The Transmission of the Avesta. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, pp. 3–​48. —​—​—​ (2013) “Kayāniān I-​XIV”, in Encyclopædia Iranica 16/​2, pp. 148–​74. Also available at: www.iranicaonline.org/​articles/​kayanian-​parent. —​—​—​ (forthcoming) “Gāthās”, in The Wiley ​Blackwell Companion to World Literature. Vevaina, Y.S.-​D. (2015) “‘The Ground Well Trodden But the Shah Not Found…’: Orality and Textuality in the ‘Book of Kings’ and the Zoroastrian Mythoepic Tradition”, in J. Rubanovich (ed.) Orality and Textuality in the Iranian World: Patterns of Interaction across the Centuries. Leiden: Brill, 2015, pp. 169–​90. Waters, M.W. (1999) “The Earliest Persians in Southwestern Iran: The Textual Evidence”, Iranian Studies, 32, pp. 99–​107. —​—​—​ (2011) “Parsumaš, Anšan, and Cyrus”, in J. Álvarez-​Mon and M.B. Garrison (eds) Elam and Persia. Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, pp. 285–​96. Watkins, C. (1995) How to Kill a Dragon:  Aspects of Indo-​European Poetics. New  York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Other articles in the Encyclopædia Iranica online at www.iranicaonline.org/​: Achaemenids, Aramaic, Aśoka, Aždahā, Bisotun, Bulayïq, Cyrupaedia, Daiva, Darius, Dēn, Dualism, Elam, Goštāsb, Khotan, Pahlavi Psalter, Persepolis, Persepolis Elamite Tablets, Turfan Expeditions and many more.

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3 HOW THE HEBREW BIBLE CAME TO BE Carmel McCarthy

Introduction The coming into being of the Hebrew Bible might be compared to the trek of a group of hill walkers undertaking a very long journey into an unknown destination, and without a map. We might allow them a primitive compass for occasional use, but nothing more. They are not sure where they are going, but, when they eventually arrive at what seems like an appropriate destination point, they look back over the journey and realize in hindsight that this is where the path must have been leading all along. The journey of the Hebrew Bible, from its earliest oral units possibly some four millennia ago to its final written form in the last centuries before the common era, would have had its moments of light and moments of darkness, its times of steady progress and times of apparent stagnation. There would have been uphill struggles, swampy marshes to be negotiated, and sometimes even a sense of going round in circles, traversing the same territory more than once. Any intimations of divine guidance or intervention would have been more like the relative assurance provided by an antiquated compass in a fog, as contrasted with the certainty guaranteed by the precision tools of satellite navigation. The reflections that follow will focus chiefly on the textual formation and transmission history of the Hebrew Bible, rather than on its content, and will fall into five main sections. Beginning with a simple question of definition regarding what is implied by the term Hebrew Bible, we will then seek to determine which are the oldest sections of that Hebrew Bible. The third section will explore the degree to which access to the “original” text of the Hebrew Bible is feasible. This in turn will lead to a more in-​depth analysis of the coming into being of the Hebrew text of the Bible within the framework of four main phases. A fifth and final section will briefly comment on some current developments in the field of textual studies of the Hebrew Bible.

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What is the Hebrew Bible? In the broadest of terms the Hebrew Bible can be described as the Bible of the Jewish faith community. In historical terms one could say that the Hebrew Bible is the text of the Scriptures recognized as more or less definitive by a group of Jewish leaders towards the end of the first century of the common era, and which has been carefully preserved and handed down through the centuries. Many, though not all, scholars suggest that this recognition can be linked with Jamnia, or Jabneh as it is known in Hebrew, situated near the coast, west of Jerusalem.1 The reasons underlying the move towards a more formal definition would have come about as the result of at least two significant pressures.The first of these concerns the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple by the Roman legions in 70 ce under the leadership of Titus. This was the culmination of Rome’s total suppression of the First Jewish Revolt, which had begun in 66 ce. Consequently, there was a critical need for the survivors to regroup after this near-​fatal blow when they were left without priesthood or temple. Since Jamnia had become an important Jewish cultural centre in the decades immediately preceding 70 ce, it was an obvious location in which to gather in order to pick up the pieces. The second pressure would have arisen out of the growing threat to Jewish traditions and identity, which the emerging Christian faith communities were posing. Because the earliest Christians were Jewish by birth and upbringing, and understood themselves to be heirs to the traditions of the Bible in a very particular way, there was need for Jewish Jews to be very clear on what constituted their Scriptures as distinct from those used by the Christians. This was especially so according as these latter were increasingly citing the Bible in order to demonstrate how Jesus was the fulfilment of these same Scriptures. To add even further to this pressure, Christians were citing the Bible in its Greek form, which occasionally differed from the text of the Hebrew Bible in relatively small but sometimes significant respects. And Christians were also reinterpreting the Bible to show how its promises were no longer referring to the “old Israel”, but to them. Although the Hebrew Bible is by definition written in Hebrew, a small section of approximately two per cent, consisting of parts of Ezra and Daniel, is written in Aramaic – a more widely spoken north-​west Semitic language which had become the lingua franca of the region in late Babylonian and early Persian times. We do not have a lot of information as to how the debates in the Jamnia academy might have been conducted. One issue for them revolved around which books “defiled the hands”.This was a way of marking out those books that needed special care in their handling because of their holy status. All those books containing the divine name, the Tetragrammaton YHWH, automatically “defiled the hands”, and consequently could be called holy – that is, Scripture. Another key benchmark that evolved as to what could be called Scripture, and what could not, was that the scriptures had to be written in Hebrew (and/​ or Aramaic). This was by way of reaction to the early Christians, who were mainly Greek-​and Aramaic-​speaking, and who, for the most part, tended to use the Greek

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translation of the Bible, or, as it is usually called, the Septuagint, by reason of the traditions concerning its translators, seventy-​two in number – six from each of the twelve tribes.2 For that reason, one of the rules that eventually emerged was that no texts written in Greek could be part of the Hebrew Bible. Thus, a first initial answer to the question, “what is the Hebrew Bible?” can be given as follows: it is a collection of writings in Hebrew and Aramaic which was regarded as normative for the Jewish faith community. This eventual formalization of the criteria for the acceptance of biblical books as Scripture had far-​reaching consequences, but its most notable effect resulted in the elimination of a number of books, Jewish in origin, which were either composed entirely in Greek (such as the book of Wisdom), or which, even if originally written in Hebrew, were accessible only in Greek at that period to the decision-​makers (such as Ben Sirach). Other excluded writings included Judith, Tobit, Baruch, 1 and 2 Maccabees, as well as the letter of Jeremiah, and the additions to Daniel.

Structure of the TaNaK In terms of the arrangement of the contents of the Hebrew Bible, its threefold division into Torah, Prophets and Writings, reflects closely the way in which the Hebrew Bible came to be assembled into its final written form.The acronym TaNaK, which is often used as a name for the Hebrew Bible, comes from this threefold division in Hebrew: Torah, Nevi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings). The most important section of the Bible, the Torah, was the first to be shaped into its final form, with that of the Prophets (both Former and Latter) coming next. Finally the Writings, consisting of the poetic books of Psalms, Proverbs and Job, the Megilloth or five scrolls, Daniel and the historical collection of Ezra-​Nehemiah and Chronicles, represent the most recent block of Hebrew biblical texts. It is not surprising therefore that it is in this third and final section that the texts in Aramaic are to be found. Thus, it should be clear by now that the terms Hebrew Bible and Old Testament are not strictly interchangeable, even if they both cover much the same territory. Two chief differences can be highlighted. First, the order of books in the Hebrew Bible reflects the way in which it came to be gradually formed, and then finalized:  in three stages as described above, beginning with the Torah, followed by the Former and Latter Prophets, and ending with the Writings. Second, the Old Testament is a term which is specifically Christian, and points to the Christian faith conviction that Christ is the fulfilment of the entire movement and message of both the Hebrew Scriptures, and of those books of the Scriptures written in Greek, but excluded by the Jewish scholars towards the end of the first century ce.These latter are called deuterocanonical in Catholic circles, and are usually included in Catholic translations – it was only during the Reformation that these books were demoted from full canonical status by the Reformers.They have always been fully recognized as Scripture by Orthodox Christians. The title of Old Testament only makes sense when taken in conjunction with the New Testament. The more neutral terms of First and Second Testaments are sometimes used in interfaith circles.

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The Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures was begun about 250 bce, with the Torah being translated from Hebrew to Greek, by Jews for Jews. In this process a number of things happened, one of which concerned the rearrangement of the sequence of the books (or rather scrolls) of the Hebrew Bible into a more “coherent” or logical regrouping. This rearrangement has had some rather interesting consequences, for, although Jewish in origin, it was this same order, more or less, that was followed by the Vulgate, and by all modern translations used today by Christians, even if these latter translations are actually based on the Hebrew text.

The Bible’s “originating event” The Hebrew Bible’s kernel is the Torah, and Torah’s kernel is summed up in two words: exodus and covenant, both linked with the person of Moses. How this first layer of the Hebrew Bible came into being can be understood in many different ways. One of these would be to see its nucleus or kernel as the “originating event” around which ripples moved out in ever widening circles, eventually finding their final form in the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. It is worth noting that the names Christians use for these books are linked with the titles given them in the Septuagint, whereas their names in the Hebrew Bible come from the first word or words of each book: Bereshith, Shemoth, Wayyikra, Bamidvar and ’Eleh Haddevarim. Moses was central to the originating event as both liberator and lawgiver. Indeed he is seen as central to the faith experience of ancient Israel.The terms covenant, law and decalogue, promised land,YHWH’s special or chosen people all come from the Torah. They were terms that came to bear a deepening theological significance, the unfolding of which was further elaborated in the next block of writings: the Former and Latter Prophets. The biblical traditions concern the practical ways in which the believing community sought to structure itself in accordance with its originating event. Any attempt to understand the coming into being of the Hebrew Bible, and its translations into Greek, Latin, Syriac and Aramaic, and other early versions, sooner or later has to grapple with its core theological message. In other words, some effort has to be made to take account of the relationship between its human dimension and the belief of the community that they enjoyed divine guidance, however remote or even contradictory this guidance may have seemed at the time. In the exploration of the respective theological dimensions to the Hebrew and the Christian Scriptures three key elements may be highlighted: (a) what Scripture says about itself – its own awareness of being “the word of God”; (b) the close relationship between the nature of the Scriptures and the faith communities out of which they grew and for whom they were written; and (c) the importance of the formation of the respective “canons” or authoritative lists of scriptural books. It was the interaction and mutual influence of these three elements that brought about the final formation of the Hebrew and the Christian Scriptures, each with their different theologies and transmission histories.

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Faith and memory are key in providing the cradle in which each new generation of the community was nurtured. It was within the context of the community and its traditions that meaning was given to the personal experiences of those in the Bible who spoke for God. The prophets, for example, continuously sought to recall that community to a way of life more consonant with its origins and its confessions of faith. Much of what we have in Scripture is the written sedimentation of the historic experiences of the community, and the resulting understanding of itself and its meaning within God’s plan. Accordingly, we might conclude this first section by stating once again that the Hebrew Bible is the Bible of the Jewish faith community, which was gradually finalized by the Jewish religious leaders towards the end of the first century ce, and preserved for succeeding generations to the present day.

How old is the Hebrew Bible? The earliest literary or textual units of what was to become the Hebrew Bible presuppose decades and often centuries of oral transmission, in which both faith and memory played central roles. It is important to distinguish between the period of oral formation and transmission, and that of the earliest written units. This pre-​ literary or pre-​textual period is beyond documentation. For example, it may sometimes come as a surprise to the modern reader that the opening pages of Genesis were not the first words of the Bible to be written down. Within the Torah as we now have it, the opening poetic lines of Genesis 1: 1–​2: 4a celebrate six days of divine creativity, followed by a seventh day of divine rest. These verses were never intended to be understood as a video-​style recording of the scientific origins of the universe – even if many subsequent readers and scholars interpreted them in very literalist ways. Rather, one of the principal aims of presenting creation in terms of a six-​day framework, followed by a divine Sabbath, was to highlight the sacred nature of the Jewish Sabbath, a preoccupation that came to the fore in the fifth century bce onwards. Given that the final form of the Torah lay in the hands of editors who were concerned for the integrity of proper Sabbath observance, it is understandable that these post-​exilic circles would have used their prerogative as final editors of the Torah to place one of their key theological insights right at the very beginning. Sabbath observance was so important for them that they poetically pushed its institution right back to the very act of creation, so much so that even God observed Sabbath rest! As already indicated above, the threefold division of the Hebrew Bible into Torah, Prophets and Writings gives some clues concerning the slow and complex process of the shaping of the Hebrew Bible. There is also evidence that this development was close to completion by New Testament times, for we have texts referring to “the Law and the Prophets” as an entity (Matthew 5: 17; 7: 12; 22: 40; Luke 16: 16; John 1: 45; Acts 13: 15; 24: 14; 28: 23; Romans 3: 21), and to the “Law and the Prophets and the Psalms” (Luke 24: 44). So, rather than ask “how old is the Hebrew Bible?” one might rephrase the question and ask an easier question instead, “how old are the earliest written sources we possess?”

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Prior to 1947 and the marvellous chance discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls by a young Bedouin goatherd,3 the earliest textual fragments of the Hebrew Bible were few and far between. After the initial finds at Qumran, and the subsequent discoveries of lesser proportions in the Judaean Desert as a whole, we are now much more reliably informed as to the variety of textual forms in circulation in Qumran from approximately 200 bce up to 70 ce. The significance of this fact needs to be highlighted, for it has given biblical textual scholars access to textual forms in Hebrew which differ in interesting ways from the text chosen by the Jewish authorities towards the end of the first century ce. From Jamnia onwards, textual evidence is scarce enough in the late antiquity period. This is partly due to the fact that once the official scrolls were no longer fit for use in synagogue prayer and study they would have been withdrawn from service, and consigned to a genizah or storage room, to be kept hidden there until they could be disposed of formally (genizah comes from an Aramaic verb, meaning “to hide”). At regular intervals the contents of a genizah would be buried in the ground with due reverence. The discovery in 1893 of a huge cache of biblical manuscripts in the genizah of the Ben Ezra synagogue in Fustat, now Old Cairo, would seem to indicate that it was through an oversight that the contents of the Cairo manuscripts escaped this fate. The synagogue dates back to 882 ce, when it was built on the foundations of St Michael’s Church, but at some stage its genizah was walled over, and its existence forgotten. The manuscripts, ranging in age from 870 ce to 1880 ce, cover a very broad range, and while interesting, are of mixed relevance for biblical textual criticism.4 The earliest of the biblical fragments in the Cairo genizah date from the fifth century ce, and shed new light on the development of Masoretic activity prior to the rise of the great Masoretes of Tiberias, about whom more will be said below. This discovery of the Cairo genizah manuscripts was important at the time, and is still very useful, but it was destined to be severely eclipsed by the discovery of the incredibly more ancient biblical Qumran scrolls in 1947. Hebrew manuscripts from the tenth and eleventh centuries are rare, the great majority of medieval Masoretic manuscripts coming from a later period. The most valuable collection of early medieval Hebrew manuscripts are in the State Public Library in St Petersburg, and the most important of these is (still) called the Leningrad Codex, dated c. 1008 ce.5 Because the Leningrad manuscript is the oldest complete manuscript of the Hebrew Bible available today it continues to be the manuscript used for the three most critical editions in the Biblia Hebraica series.6 It is no exaggeration to say that the traditions associated with the Tiberian Masoretes represent the flowering of the careful and meticulous textual transmission of the Hebrew Bible, the beginnings of which can be documented in the early centuries of the common era. The fact that the Qumran manuscripts, which predate the stabilization of the Hebrew text from Jamnia onwards, are so close in their overall content to the text of the medieval manuscripts demonstrates how the biblical tradition has been guarded with great devotion and handed down with extraordinary attention to every detail.

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Therefore, the more we understand the history of the biblical text’s transmission, the more we can appreciate the care with which the believing communities, both Jewish and Christian, preserved their sacred heritage. A  study of textual origins also helps to illuminate the processes whereby certain “books” were recognized as “canonical” or authoritative for a particular community, while others, for one reason or another, were excluded from the normative lists.

How does one access the text of the Hebrew Bible? There are various avenues of access to the text and contents of the Hebrew Bible. For the interested non-​specialist, the most immediate route is through good translations based on a reliable Hebrew text, and translated through using sound text-​ critical theory and consistent guidelines. If one wishes to go further, so as not to have to rely on translations alone, then a thorough study of Hebrew and Aramaic will permit access to the languages of the Bible. But then one will also need a good critical edition of the Hebrew text itself, since there are some few places in the Hebrew Bible where the text is corrupt, or unintelligible. In such cases, the evidence of the early versions of the Bible in Greek, Latin, Syriac and Aramaic can be of critical advantage, since they will sometimes offer an indirect route to the world behind the official Hebrew text, and attest to what, in certain circumstances, might be considered a preferable reading. In this regard, the scriptural texts of Qumran have some interesting textual variants. Such variant readings alert us to the existence of a more complex textual transmission than we might otherwise have been aware of, and attest a pluriformity of textual types in the centuries immediately preceding 100 ce. In light of these observations regarding textual variety, and alternative readings in the Qumran scrolls and the early versions, one might ask: what is the relationship between our modern Bible translations and the text of the Hebrew Bible? How significant are the variations in the early sources? Do we need new translations? An initial answer to questions such as these can only be a resounding affirmative. Reliable new translations will always be needed because our societies and cultures are always in flux, and our use of language likewise changes over time. However, at a deeper, more scholarly level, the answer must also be affirmative, because ongoing discoveries shed new light, whether this be in the field of textual discoveries in Hebrew, or in any of the other ancient versions of the Bible. These discoveries also help in deepening our understanding of the languages and world of the ancient Near East, and how this can impact on our understanding and appreciation of the Hebrew Bible.

How the text of the Hebrew Bible came to be Retracing our steps from the average Bible translation in use, whether this be the New Jewish Publication Version in Jewish circles, or the New Revised Standard Version, or New Jerusalem Bible in Christian circles, we can still ask how far back

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do we need to go to arrive at the so-​called “most original text” of the Hebrew Bible? It can often come as a surprise to learn that the Hebrew text, which forms the basis of contemporary critical editions and translations of the Bible, reached its final stage in medieval times after many centuries of careful transmission. This official text is called the Masoretic Text from a Hebrew word, masorah, meaning tradition. It is linked with a body of medieval Jewish scholars called Masoretes, who devoted their entire lives and resources to the meticulous transmission of the Hebrew text in all its dimensions, even in such minute details as counting and recording in the form of marginal annotations the number of consonants in a given chapter, book or section of the Bible. The prehistory of the Masoretic Text reaches back into ancient times. But, rather than speak of the “original” text of the Hebrew Bible, it might be more helpful to view the coming into being of the biblical text that we possess today as having occurred in approximately four main phases, the first of which is least accessible.7

Phase one: oral/​written units The earliest phase could be described as consisting of oral or written units in forms as close as possible to those which would have formed the “original” literary production of the different books of the Bible in their final form. The circumstances and length of time for the coming into being of these units would have varied considerably from book to book. In some cases there can be more than one “original” form for a given book or biblical unit – for example, the Qumran fragments appear to testify to a longer and a shorter version of Jeremiah, as indeed does the Septuagint. Literary analysis of the existing text may help in disclosing some of these units and give some clues regarding their pre-​literary history, but many such reconstructions will remain tentative in the absence of adequate evidence concerning these “original” compositions.

Phase two: the earliest attested text Moving forward from these earliest hypothetical units into the world of textual compositions that can be documented either directly (through Hebrew texts) or indirectly (through the Septuagint and the other early versions), we reach what can be called a second phase in the development of the Hebrew text. This phase is more tangible, as its name suggests: the “earliest attested text”. While there would not have been major discrepancies between the content of phases one and two as outlined above, the distinction between the “earliest attested text” and the so-​called “original” texts is both useful and necessary for the task of the biblical scholars who work as textual critics. One of the aims of biblical textual criticism is to try to establish, on the basis of existing textual evidence, what is most likely to have been the form or forms of this second phase of the textual development of the Hebrew text. To reach back further and, without supporting textual evidence, reconstruct “original” readings for those sections of the biblical text, which appear to be corrupt or

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inadequately preserved, belongs to the realm of hypothesis and conjecture. What characterizes this phase essentially is the word “attested”, whether directly through Hebrew texts, or indirectly through the evidence of the early versions.

Phase three: the consonantal Hebrew text of approximately 100 ce The third phase in attempting to measure the process of how the Hebrew Bible came into being can be described as consisting of the consonantal text as authorized by influential circles in Judaism in the decades after 70 ce. After the earlier centuries of textual plurality as documented through the Qumran biblical scrolls and fragments, a period of uniformity and stability appears to have come about at the end of the first century ce with regard to this consonantal text. However, it was not as a consequence of the processes of textual transmission so much that this relative uniformity came about.8 Rather it was due to political and socio-​religious events and developments, as already described above, regarding Roman policy after the destruction of the temple in 70 ce, and the rapid growth of early Christianity. The text is called “consonantal” because, at this stage, it contained no vowels, apart from a few conventional instances where three consonants were also used as vowel indicators.9 All the alphabets of the Semitic languages family in fact are consonantal, with vowels supplied orally and automatically in the reading of the text. This phase is often referred to retrospectively as the Proto-​Masoretic Text, since it was this particular form of the text, adopted by Jewish communities from the end of the first century ce onwards, that in due course was brought to its final form by the Masoretes in the ninth and tenth centuries ce, through the insertion of vowel signs, accents and a variety of paratextual elements. The need for the addition of vowel signs and accents gradually arose as biblical Hebrew gave way to medieval Hebrew, and with this development came the danger of losing the correct pronunciation and interpretation of the biblical text.

Phase four: the great Masoretic manuscripts of ± 1000 ce The fourth and final phase constitutes the Masoretic Text properly so called. This phase is more or less identical with the text as it subsists in the principal manuscripts associated with the Masoretes of the Tiberian schools in Galilee. As already implied above, the selection of the particular textual form, which was destined to become the Masoretic Text goes back to socio-​religious and historical factors relating to the first century ce. That it was chosen at that time by a central stream in Judaism in preference to other extant texts does not necessarily mean that it thereby contains the best possible text of the Bible in every respect. Indeed, there are certain instances where the Septuagint or some of the Qumran texts reflect a textual reading superior to that of the Masoretic Text. But, because of the meticulous attention given by the Masoretes to preserving this particular form of the text in all its detail over the centuries, it can be said to represent the most accessible, reliable and commonly used form of the Hebrew Bible.

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Thus, even if the medieval form of the Masoretic Text is relatively late, its consonantal base reflects a very ancient textual tradition, in existence for over a thousand years, and strikingly well preserved. The closeness of the better quality medieval manuscripts to the earliest attestation of the consonantal form of the Masoretic Text (in many but not all Qumran texts) illustrates just how carefully the Proto-​ Masoretic Text was transmitted through the ages. By any standards this is a remarkable achievement. It testifies to a concentrated effort to transmit the texts with the utmost precision over the centuries, reaching its zenith in the ninth and tenth-​ century Tiberian families of ben-​Asher and ben-​Naphtali. As already mentioned above, the Leningrad Codex (dated 1008 ce), from the ben-​Asher family tradition, is recognized as the oldest complete manuscript of the Hebrew Bible. It continues to be used as the basis for successive critical editions of the Hebrew Bible to the present day. Although there are other medieval Masoretic manuscripts, which come from the tenth century ce, and even earlier, they are not complete for one reason or another, and therefore cannot serve as the textual basis for a diplomatic edition.10 Some of these great codices contain only one section of the TaNaK, as in the case of the Damascus Pentateuch (c. 950 ce), or the Cairo Codex of the Prophets (c. 895 ce). In other cases they are incomplete, as in the case of the Aleppo Codex (c. 925 ce, or Codex Or. 4445 of the British Library (c. 850 ce). Because the Masoretic tradition as attested in all of these manuscripts is so relatively consistent, the siglum M is used in the new Biblia Hebraica Quinta edition to denote the Masoretic tradition as a whole, with a superscript to denote any given manuscript within that tradition. Accordingly, ML stands for the Masoretic tradition as it appears in the Leningrad Codex, while MA stands for the Aleppo Codex. This becomes one further way of highlighting the extraordinary level of agreement that exists in the major Tiberian Masoretic medieval manuscripts.

The contribution of the early versions While each of the early versions of the Bible, whether Greek, Latin, Syriac or Aramaic has its own distinctive contribution to make to the history of the transmission of the biblical text, pride of place must go to the Septuagint, or LXX as it is sometimes called.11 The legend of the seventy-​two elders from Jerusalem who spent seventy-​two days translating the Torah in their separate dwelling quarters in Alexandria, and miraculously ending up with seventy-​two translations which agreed in every detail is well known! Behind it, however, stands the memory of a very formal and authoritative decision to render the Torah in another language for Jewish worship and study. In addition to being the first official attempt to translate the first part of the Hebrew Bible into a non-​Semitic language, and into a different cultural milieu, it also provides some interesting insights into the art of translation. A study of the Septuagint’s translation techniques, not only in the Torah but also in the remaining books as they too came to be translated in due course, testifies to a variety of subtle and not so subtle ways in which texts can be reinterpreted in the process of translation. Such a study provides an understanding of how the Hebrew

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Bible was interpreted by Jews in antiquity, since it was a thoroughly Jewish translation for the Greek-​speaking Jewish community of Alexandria in the third century bce.The LXX is particularly important for helping to illuminate the textual history of the Hebrew Bible, since any reconstruction of the Hebrew text underlying the Septuagint will predate by several hundred years the earliest complete manuscript on the basis of which our Hebrew Bible can be edited. It is ironic that, according as the emerging Christian communities made increasing use of the Septuagint, the Jewish authorities at roughly the same time, and in reaction to them, gradually discontinued their use of a part of their heritage, namely the Septuagint, and even eliminated the additional books written in Greek from their Scriptures. For the early Christians, however, the Septuagint was not secondary to any other scripture – it was Scripture. It was the form in which the “Old Testament” was most widely circulated in the early Christian centuries, and is the text underlying most New Testament citations of the “Old Testament”. It provides the context in which many of the lexical and theological concepts of the New Testament can best be understood. As well as having been the literary vehicle for the preaching of earliest Christianity to the gentile world, the Septuagint has been and continues to be the Old Testament text used by Eastern Christians down through the centuries. And, as already noted above, it also contains the original text of some of the deuterocanonical books (Wisdom, Maccabees) and the basic form (in whole or in part) underlying some of the others.

Hebrew Bible textual studies today There have indeed been some amazing developments in the last one hundred years in the field of biblical textual studies. In particular, the discoveries of biblical and pre-​biblical texts have opened further windows into our understanding of ancient Near Eastern languages. Alongside a more scientific understanding of the language families of the region, and the uncovering and decipherment of numerous “libraries” of clay tablets, first in Ugaritic and later in Eblaite, it is now possible more than ever to situate some of the so-​called rare words and idioms of the Hebrew Bible within a more meaningful philological context. As already implied above, the discovery of the Qumran biblical texts over sixty years ago stunned the scholarly world. From eleven caves near Qumran, on the shore of the Dead Sea, there emerged more than two hundred biblical manuscripts, almost all in very fragmentary condition, dating between the third century bce and the first century ce. Not only have the Qumran scrolls produced new readings in Hebrew, and a very small number in Greek and Aramaic, but, perhaps more importantly, they also share numerous readings with variants in the Samaritan Pentateuch and the Septuagint, thereby demonstrating that in many places these latter accurately represent ancient Hebrew biblical texts, and that they were neither careless nor inventive in so doing. The agreements and disagreements among the Masoretic Text, the Samaritan Pentateuch and the Septuagint have taken on a new dimension in light of the Qumran scrolls, because now we must reckon with the demonstrable

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antiquity of many of these so-​called “deviations” from the Masoretic Text. The discovery of the Qumran scrolls has triggered a rebirth of interest and activity in the textual criticism of the Hebrew Bible.Thus, analysis of their contents has stimulated fresh insights in relation to already existing textual sources, while also expanding our understanding of biblical languages. Many of these insights are now finding their way into the critical apparatuses of new critical editions of the Bible. For example, in the current Biblia Hebraica Quinta edition, its critical apparatus includes all the witnesses for each textual case where variation occurs, in contrast to earlier editions, which only featured partial evidence. By having access to all the evidence in the apparatus, together with the editor’s judgement as to the nature of the variants, both commentators and translators should be better informed in their respective tasks. Moreover, the provision of a textual commentary in the individual BHQ fascicles should also be of help in understanding the editor’s judgement in the presentation of the textual evidence. The first fascicle of this project appeared in 2004, with the publication of the Megilloth, together with a General Introduction.12 As well as presenting the principles underlying the edition as a whole, the General Introduction gives an excellent background to the Leningrad Codex itself. To date, six further fascicles have appeared13 and it is expected that these will soon be followed by others. James Sanders of the Ancient Biblical Manuscript Center at Claremont, in his review of the Megilloth fascicle, has heralded its arrival as “a major step forward for the textual criticism of the Hebrew Bible”.14 The above paragraphs have attempted to give some idea of the journey through time of the Hebrew Bible from its infancy to its final form, which emerged towards the end of the first century ce. They have also noted how the significant contribution made by the Masoretic scholars from late antiquity into medieval times ensured that this text was carefully and accurately preserved for succeeding generations down to the present day. Thus, the ongoing work of editing and producing the most reliable Hebrew text possible remains an indispensable building block for the faith development of both Jewish and Christian communities respectively. Returning again and again to the Scriptures allows for ever deeper insight, and so perhaps it is fitting to end with this extract from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets: We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

Notes 1 There are various positions regarding the status of what may have transpired at Jamnia. At one end of the spectrum Ernst Würthwein makes mention of the “Council of Jamnia”, at which “the canonical status of certain disputed books of the Old Testament was defined” (Würthwein/​Rhodes, p. 13). At the other end, Emanuel Tov maintains that, apropos of

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Jabneh, “we do not possess evidence on whether during this period some sort of official meeting took place during which a decision was reached on the authoritative status of the twenty-​four books of the Hebrew Bible” (Tov 1992, p. 195). John Barton adopts a middle position, and, citing the Mishnah (Yadaim 3: 15), refers to the disputes “in the rabbinic academy established at Yavneh after the fall of Jerusalem to the Romans in 70 ce, about whether Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs ‘defiled the hands’” (Barton 1997, p. 76). 2 The number varies from seventy to seventy-​five in the traditions, but seventy-​two is probably original. For fuller details concerning the Letter of Aristeas which gives the famous legendary account of Septuagint origins, see Carmel McCarthy (2002, pp. 213–​ 16) and Jennifer Dines (2004, pp. 41–​62). 3 Of the many publications relative to the Qumran discoveries, a very useful starting point is that written by Joseph A. Fitzmyer (1992). 4 The number of fragments in the Cairo genizah finds has been estimated at 200,000. Besides biblical texts in Hebrew, and in Aramaic and Arabic translations, there are also Midrash, Mishnah, Talmud and liturgical texts, as well as lists, letters and much else. Of special importance was the discovery of a nearly complete copy of Ben Sirach in Hebrew, previously known only in Greek. For further information on the Genizah fragments, see Goshen-​Gottstein (1962, pp. 35–​44). 5 The full title for this codex is EPB. IB 19a, Russian National Library, St Petersburg. In different publications it is variously referred to as B 19A, or L, or ML. 6 The third edition in the Biblia Hebraica series, edited by Rudolph Kittel (1937) (Stuttgart, Württembergische Bibelanstalt 1937), often referred to as BHK or BH3, was the first to use the Leningrad Codex as the basis of its critical edition. Prior to this, it was the mixed and less reliable text of the Second Rabbinic Bible (1524–​25) that was featured in the first two editions of the Biblia Hebraica (Kittel 1905/​1913) (edited by Rudolph Kittel, Leipzig, J.C. Hindrichs 1905, 1913). The fourth edition in the Biblia Hebraica series, edited by Karl Elliger and Wilhelm Rudolph, Stuttgart, Deutsche Bibelstiftung, 1967–​77, and usually referred to as Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (BHS) or BH4, also used the Leningrad Codex. This is also the case for the current Biblia Hebraica Quinta edition, the first seven fascicles of which have been published in 2004–​15. 7 For fuller details on these four phases, see McCarthy (2002, pp. 208–​10). 8 See Tov 1992, p. 194. 9 The technical term for these three consonants when used as vowels is mater lectionis, “mother of a reading”. The three consonants which did this double duty in Biblical Hebrew are he, waw and yod. 10 The term “diplomatic” in this context refers to reproduction of a given manuscript in a printed edition exactly as it appears in the manuscript, including all its errors and other individual features.The role of a critical apparatus is to indicate, among other matters, any obvious errors contained in the original manuscript. 11 Among the more recent introductory books on the Septuagint, those of Dines (2004) and Jobes and Silva (2000) are especially useful. 12 Schenker et al. (eds) (2004). 13 Ezra-​ Nehemiah (David Marcus, 2006); Deuteronomy (Carmel McCarthy 2007); Proverbs (Jan de Waard 2008; The Twelve Minor Prophets (Anthony Gelston 2010); Judges (Natalio Fernández Marcos 2011); Genesis (Abraham Tal 2015). 14 Review of Biblical Literature (May 2005).

References Barton, J. (1997) Making the Christian Bible. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. —​—​—​ (2002) The Biblical World (vol. 1). London and New York: Routledge. Dines, J. (2004) The Septuagint. London: T&T Clark International.

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Fitzmyer, J.A. (1992) Responses to 101 Questions on the Dead Sea Scrolls. London: Geoffrey Chapman. Goshen-​Gottstein, M.H. (1962) “Biblical Manuscripts in the United States”, in Textus 2, pp. 35–​44. Jobes, K. and Silva, M. (2000) Invitation to the Septuagint. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. McCarthy, C. (2002) “Text and versions: the Old Testament”, in J. Barton (ed.) (2002) The Biblical World (vol. 1). London and New York: Routledge, pp. 207–​28. —​—​—​ (2007) Biblia Hebraica Quinta:  Deuteronomy (vol. 5). Stuttgart:  Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Marcus, D. (2006) Biblia Hebraica Quinta:  Ezra-​ Nehemiah (vol. 20). Stuttgart:  Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Schenker, A. et al. (eds) (2004) Biblia Hebraica Quinta: Megilloth (vol. 18). Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Tov, E. (1992) Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Würthwein, E. (1995) The Text of the Old Testament.Translated by E.F. Rhodes. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

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4 MISHNAH AND MIDRASH AS PROCESS The evolution of post-​biblical Jewish Scriptures Rabbi Stephen Wylen

Introduction – the evolution of Judaism The religion we know as Judaism has evolved substantially since its origins in the Israelite religion of biblical times. The three centuries starting with the Maccabean Revolt against the Syrian-​Greek Empire (168–​65 bce) and continuing through two Jewish rebellions against the Roman Empire (66–​70 ce, 132–​35 ce) saw a transition from the Israelite religion to a Judaism that would be recognizable to a modern-​day Jew. Israelite religion was founded upon the sacrificial service performed in the Jerusalem Temple by the cohanim – “hereditary priests” – and described in detail in the early sections of the Hebrew Bible. Judaism is a religion based upon the creative interpretation of the Bible, especially the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible. The central institutions of Judaism are the academy (yeshivah) and the synagogue (beit knesset). Both of these institutions are unknown to the writers of the Hebrew Bible. During these three centuries the Jewish Scriptures, the Hebrew Bible, reached its final form. Even while the Scriptures were still in flux, learned Jewish leaders had initiated the process of creative interpretation to make these Scriptures relevant to Jews in their own time. Most of the books in the Hebrew Bible were written while the Jews were participants in the culture of the Ancient Near East. Jews lived in the Kingdom of Judah or in the nearby empire states of Babylon and Egypt. During the era of transition Jews participated in the Hellenistic culture of the Roman Empire. Jews lived throughout the Roman Empire, and also in Babylonia – the Neo-​Persian, Parthian Empire in the territory of modern-​day Iraq and Iran. The cultural transition from Ancient Near East to Hellenism required new ways of living by old texts. A new type of Jewish leader, whose authority derived from education rather than birth, developed new methods of reading Scriptures to make the old words relevant to

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the times. These new methods ultimately resulted in additional books of scriptural authority for Jews.The Sages developed two genres of biblical interpretation, mishnah and midrash. By examining these two literary forms we will come to understand how Judaism evolved and adapted. After the Maccabean Revolt new types of leaders arose to challenge the old hereditary priesthood. One new type, the scholars of Torah, were the leader class who came to predominate in Judaism after the Roman wars. The early scholars were called by various names – Pharisees (“Separatists”), Haverim (“Associates”), Hachamim (“Sages”) and others. At some point the scholars came to be addressed as “rabbi”. The term “rabbi” means master, probably in reference to the master– disciple relationship through which a young student acquired knowledge and wisdom. “Rabbi” has a sense similar to that of the term “sensei” in modern karate. One internalizes the values of one’s teacher as one learns from his lips. The relationship between the various titles used for the early scholars is not always clear to us. We will call them all Sages, a term which encompasses all the others. Jews came to recognize that the Sages had introduced a new way of living by the Scriptures.The Jews called the early Sages Hillel and Shammai, avot ha-​olam, the “founding fathers”.They recognized that Hillel and Shammai, and not Moses, were the founders of Judaism. The often repeated idea that Moses was the founder of Judaism derives from the Enlightenment era, and was likely developed to enhance Christian recognition of Judaism. In earlier ages the Jews envisioned Moses, anachronistically, as a prototype of the rabbi.

Academy and synagogue, mishnah and midrash The Sages learned Torah at the feet of their masters in an academy. The yeshivah (literally, “place where one sits”) is the Jewish version of the philosophical schools of the Roman Empire. In the academy the students learned Torah from the masters. Children may have learned Torah verse by verse in their elementary schools, but that is not the way Torah was taught in the academy. Rather, the masters taught laws and rules by topic, as they had learned from their own masters. The authority of a ruling was not based on a verse in the Torah, but on the name of a great master from whom the current master had heard it. This was called the “Oral Torah”, which the Sages believed had been handed down from master to disciple, beginning with Moses and Joshua, all the way back to Mount Sinai (Pirke Avot 1: 1). The Oral Torah co-​exists with the Written Torah and is the basis for Jewish daily life. Contemporary historians use the term “tradent” to refer to a Sage in whose name a law or rule is taught.This form of Torah teaching, topically by subject in the name of teachers rather than verse by verse, is called “mishnah”.The word mishnah derives from the root Sha-​NaH, meaning to repeat. The disciples learned the laws and traditions of their master orally through constant repetition.The Sages playfully derived the word “mishnah” also from “SheN”, meaning “tooth”. This refers to the biting wit and sharp mind required for rabbinic debate, giving us some indication of what went on in the ancient academy.

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In the contemporary Western world, rabbis preside over prayer services in synagogues, much as priests and ministers do in churches. This model of the synagogue is only a few centuries old. In the ancient world Sages kept to their academies and were not associated with synagogues. The synagogue was the house of the folk. The synagogue is unknown in the Hebrew Bible. The earliest synagogues seem to have evolved shortly before the time of the Maccabees. By the first century ce synagogues were everywhere. The prayer service was just evolving in those times, but Jews did not gather in the synagogue to pray. They prayed wherever they stood at the time designated by the Sages for prayer. The synagogue was a public meeting place and, more important for us in this exploration, it was the place where the Hebrew Bible was recited, taught and preached in public. Most ancient Jews knew the Hebrew Bible well from hearing it recited in the synagogue, not from studying out of a written book.The ears of Jews in the ancient world were well tuned to hearing assonance, pun and double-​entendre in the words of the Scriptures, as is typical in an aural society. Hebrew is a language that lends itself easily to multiple understandings. The preachers of Scripture in the ancient synagogue used this capacity of the folk to entertain them while teaching them relevant messages. The preacher spoke prior to the public reading of the Torah and the Nevi’im (“prophets”), not after. The public knew what words of Scripture were coming, as the lectionary of Judaism was standardized. The preacher tantalized the folk by reciting a verse from elsewhere in Scripture and tying it to the weekly reading with word association and clever interpretation. This method of verse-​by-​verse interpretation of Scripture to reveal new messages is called “midrash”. The word derives from the root DaRaSh meaning “to explain”, “to interpret”, “to translate”. While mishnah is primarily a discourse of law and practice, midrash is primarily a discourse of encouragement, faith and hope. Between the academy and the synagogue, mishnah and midrash, Judaism survived Roman persecution, the Roman destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in the year 70 ce, and the radical social changes that came about in the Roman, Parthian, Byzantine, Christian and Islamic Empires in the centuries that followed.

From Bible to mishnah The process of enlarging the Scriptures through mishnah and midrash overlapped with the process of completing and closing the written Scriptures, the Bible. A seminal figure, Rabbi Akiva, who flourished in the era between the two Jewish rebellions against Rome (70 ce–​132 ce) was actively involved in both the closing of the Bible and the ultimate publication of the mishnah literature in a book of scriptural authority, the Mishnah. The first part of the Bible to be formally accepted by the Jewish people as Scripture is the five books of the Torah. According to the Book of Nehemiah (Nehemiah 8), Ezra the Scribe read the Torah aloud in Jerusalem just as the Kingdom of Judah was being restored by the Persian Empire after the Babylonian exile, around the year 500 bce. The Jews accepted the Torah as the constitution for

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the restored Jewish state. In the following centuries the books of the Prophets were canonized by a process that is not known to us. By the time of Jesus the Jewish Scriptures, the Bible, consisted of two parts, the Torah (“Law”) and the Nevi’im (“Prophets”). This is the term for Scriptures used by Jesus and the New Testament writers (often using the Greek nomos, “law”, for Torah). Many other books were circulating for which some Jews claimed divine origin. After the Roman destruction of the Jerusalem Temple at the end of the Great Rebellion in the year 70 ce, the Sages reconstituted the Sanhedrin, the Jewish High Court, in the town of Yavneh in Judea. Now the Sages were the rulers of the Jewish people. The Sages creatively restored Judaism without a temple for sacrifice. As part of this process, the Sages closed the Bible. They decided which of the books with a claim to sanctity were in, and which were out. The last books to be voted in were Ecclesiastes and Song of Songs. Ecclesiastes made it into the Bible, despite its many heretical statements, because of its attribution to King Solomon. Song of Songs made it in over the objection of many Sages because of the authority of Rabbi Akiva, the great Second Century Sage (d. c.135 ce). Akiva said: “All the books of the Writings (Ketuv’im) (the third section of the Bible) are holy, and Song of Songs is holy of holies” (Song of Songs Rabba 1: 11). Rabbi Akiva was a mystic who saw the Song of Songs as an allegory of the love between God and the people of Israel.The Jewish Bible had now achieved its final tripartite form – Torah, Nevi’im and Ketuv’im. This same Rabbi Akiva was not the head of the Sanhedrin but he was the most respected Sage within it. He apparently started keeping a set of written notes recording the various mishnah teachings of the rabbinic Sages. As the Oral Torah grew from generation to generation, it was becoming difficult to keep it all by heart, and there was perhaps a fear that valuable teachings would be lost. Akiva handed his notes to his disciple Rabbi Meir, who handed them to his disciple, Rabbi Judah the Prince (135–​219 ce). Judah the Prince was the fulfilment of the Hellenistic ideal of a ruler, the philosopher-​ king. He was an ethnarch, appointed by the Romans as ruler of all the Jews in the Eastern Roman Empire. He was a Sage, the head of the rabbinic academy. Furthermore, he was immensely popular among his subjects. Around the year 200 ce, Rabbi Judah the Prince published an encyclopaedia of the teachings of the Sages in mishnah form, organized under six main topic headings.This book was accepted within two generations as the definitive Oral Torah, the scriptural complement to the Bible. In the same era that the Christian religion was generating a new scripture which they came to call the New Testament, the Jewish people created a new scripture, the Mishnah. It is interesting that both religions accepted the view that prophecy had ceased centuries earlier, yet they gave to their new sacred writings an authority even above that of the biblical prophets.

Extra-​biblical literature Many books that were considered holy by some groups of Jews were not accepted as holy Scriptures by the rabbinic authorities. The Jews had at some point determined

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that biblical times ended with the return from Babylonian Exile under the Persians, and any books that discussed matters after that time were excluded. They had determined that any book composed after the revolt of the Maccabees in 168 bce was written too late to get into the Hebrew Bible. The Book of Daniel just barely fit that criterion. Other books were excluded, apparently, because the Sages disagreed with their content, or saw them as having human authorship, or they were rejected as sectarian literature. Many of these rejected books were preserved by various groups of early Christians. If the Christians had not preserved the two Books of the Maccabees and the writings of the historian Josephus (37 ce – c. 100 ce) we would know virtually nothing of the events of that period. Books saved by Christians include the collection called the “Apocrypha” and many other books which Christian scholars in modern times have collectively named the Inter-​Testamental literature. The modern study of these texts coincided with the growth of anti-​Semitism in Europe in the years leading up to the Holocaust. Many learned nineteenth- and twentieth-​century Christian scholars pointed to the Inter-​Testamental literature as proof that the Jews had lost the Holy Spirit after the writing of the Bible. They contended that the chain of spiritual inspiration passed from the Bible through this literature into Christianity and the New Testament. Jewish scholars, in turn, became defensive about this body of literature. A more sober and respectful evaluation of the extra-​biblical literature would say that while much of it shows a greatness of spirit and vision, it represents a series of roads not taken in the creative process that took place during late Second Temple Judaism.The two religious trends that survived and flourished, Judaism and Christianity, each published its own authoritative addition to the Hebrew Bible. For the Christians this is the New Testament. For the Jews, it is the Mishnah.

The history of the Oral Torah The Sages claimed that the Oral Torah goes all the way back to Moses, who taught Oral Torah to his disciple Joshua even as he handed him the Written Torah. Reason would suggest that this is true to some extent. An ancient people would no doubt cherish ancient traditions that were handed down through custom and teaching. On the other hand, there were eras of discontinuity between Moses and the rabbinic era, such as the Babylonian exile and the Maccabean revolt. There was a cultural revolution from the Ancient Near East to the Greco-​Roman era of Hellenism.The Roman destruction of the Temple in 70 ce created a new and even greater discontinuity. While traditional Jews revere the Oral Torah as God’s ancient word, those who take a more scientific-​historical view may see the evolution of the Oral Torah as a creative response to new conditions by visionary Jewish leaders. We can tell a lot about the evolution of the Oral Torah by counting the individual mishnah teachings that come from each generation (Lauterbach). The earliest teachings recorded in the name of a single tradent come from the time of the Hasmonean kings, after the successful revolt of the Maccabees (165 bce). The Mishnah records a few teachings and disputes of Hillel and Shammai, the

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Founding Fathers, from the time of King Herod the Great (74/​73 bce – 4 ce). The Mishnah records many more disputes between the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai, the two schools of thought generated by the legendary founders. Tradents proliferate among the Sages of Yavneh after the Roman destruction, and among the Sages who gathered in the Galilee after the second Jewish rebellion, the Bar Kochba rebellion of 132–​135 ce. This brings us up to the time of Rabbi Judah the Prince and the publication of the Mishnah book. The Mishnah that we possess is in the main a product of its time, a conclusion based on the profusion of tradents close to the era of publication.

Hillel and the development of Oral Torah The legend of the rise of Hillel, as told in later rabbinic literature (Tosefta Pesahim 4: 11; Jerusalem Talmud tractate Pesahim 39a) teaches us about the development of the Oral Torah, both in what it says and what it leaves unsaid: One year the eve of Passover (the day prior to the holiday) fell on a Sabbath, and no one knew how the Passover sacrifice was to be carried out. Hillel was a young scholar, a little noticed immigrant from Babylon. Hillel stepped forward and proved by various logical arguments that the Passover sacrifice supersedes the Sabbath rest, and is to be performed.When the Sages asked how the folk were to bring the knife to the Temple for the sacrifice, as carrying on the Sabbath is prohibited, Hillel replied, “If they are not prophets they are descended from prophets.They will ask their elders and do as they learn.”When the Sages objected to his logical arguments Hillel responded, “I have received this ruling as a tradition from my teachers.” On that day Hillel was raised up to be President of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish High Court. Hillel rebuked the other Sages, “It is because you did not listen carefully enough to our teachers, Shemaiah and Avtalyon, that you did not know what to do, while I did.” Avtalyon is the only Sage mentioned by the historian Josephus (Antiquities 15: 1:1). He calls him Pollio. The letter vocalized as V/​B typically transforms to P when Aramaic is translated into Greek. Jewish historical scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries often claimed that Pollio was a transformation of the name Hillel, but that does not follow the rules of pronunciation. Jews were as anxious to discover Hillel in Josephus’ writings as Christians were to defend the historicity of the Testimonium Flaviorum (Antiquities 18: 3), the mention of Jesus in Josephus. The Testimonium Flaviorum is clearly a later interpolation. Both Jesus and Hillel were not noted persons in their lifetime outside their circle of followers; they became important in retrospect, after the time of Josephus, as religions were built up around them. The story of Hillel’s rise to fame may be legendary but it teaches a higher truth. Many questions arise that are not specifically addressed in Scripture. The Jewish answer to these questions of ritual practice, ethics, civil and criminal law, and societal rules of conduct is to be derived in any of three ways: the interpretation of Scripture by the Sages using the rules of logic; received tradition; the teachings of

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the earlier generation of Sages which are handed down to the disciples. Hillel uses all three of these methods to teach proper practice. The story is also revealing for what is not stated. The Jewish people had existed for over 1,200 years by the time of Hillel. Surely the eve of Passover had fallen on the Sabbath many times. Why did no one know what to do? Many sectarian conflicts in that era revolved around issues of Sabbath observance on a festival. An alternative Jewish calendar discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls places all the holidays on a Sunday, a clear attempt to sidestep the issue of what to do when a holiday falls on the Sabbath. The rabbinic calendar manipulates the length of some months so that Passover never falls on a Friday. Something must have changed in Jewish observance during Roman times to make the conflict of Sabbath and Festivals into a new question. All of this hints at a transformation in Jewish observance, though we cannot know the exact details. The Oral Torah transmitted by Hillel is a reflection of new religious responses to new circumstances.

The Mishnah Let us now look at two passages from the Mishnah so that we can experience this sacred literature at first hand. Our first passage sets the proper hour for daily prayer. Liturgical prayer, not known in the Hebrew Bible, is central to divine service in Judaism. It passed from Judaism into Christianity and Islam. Our second passage speaks of a woman’s economic rights in marriage. Women had more economic rights in the Hellenistic world than in the Ancient Near East. Rabbinic law acknowledges this in granting a widow or divorcee a claim on her husband’s estate. I add my commentary after each passage to elucidate the relevant points:

First mishnah passage: the time for evening prayer From what time in the evening may the Shema be recited? From the time when the priests enter the Temple to eat of their Heave-​offering until the end of the first watch. So says Rabbi Eliezer. But the Sages say, until midnight. Rabban Gamaliel says, until the break of dawn. His sons once returned (late) from a wedding feast. They said to him, we have not yet recited the Shema. He said to them, if the dawn has not yet risen you are bound to recite it.Any time the Sages prescribe “until midnight” the duty of fulfillment lasts until dawn. … Why then have the Sages said, “until midnight”? To keep a person far from transgression. Berakhot 1: 1 The above quotation is the first entry, the first mishnah in the Mishnah.This passage well illustrates its nature: •

Following the oral nature of the material, which was taught from master to disciple for generations before it was placed into writing, there is no beginning,

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middle or end. Every mishnah assumes knowledge of every other mishnah. It is all in our heads. Because of this lack of order it is difficult to study the Mishnah without a teacher who already knows it. The orality is retained even when the material is put into writing.Thus, this opening passage presumes knowledge of all the rest. There is no introduction. We are clearly in the post-​biblical world. The authors of this mishnah know and take for granted aspects of Jewish divine service that are unknown in the Hebrew Bible but are central to later Judaism. In this mishnah the authors know that Jews recite a liturgy twice daily, evening and morning.That liturgy is called the Shema after the most significant verse with it: Shema! Hear, O Israel, YHWH is our God, YHWH is One. The Mishnah also knows that the second Jewish liturgy, the Tefilah, “Prayer”, is recited three times daily – morning, afternoon and evening. The Mishnah knows the Jewish formula for blessing, “Blessed are You,YHWH our God, Ruler of the Universe”. The Mishnah is published three generations after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, but it is still Temple oriented. The first third of the night is not described as “sundown until a third of the night has passed” but in terms of Temple practices which took place at those times. The Mishnah posits a world in which the Temple is still a living reality. The Sages quoted in this passage thrived in the first century. They were members of the Sanhedrin at Yavneh.The opinion of Rabbi Eliezer is recorded even though the law does not follow him. The traditions that have been handed down from masters to disciples are part of the divine word, the Oral Torah, even if they are rejected in practice. Typically, as in this case, minor points of law establish broad principles – in this case, that we do not wait until the last minute to fulfil a divine commandment because if we do the moment could pass us by. No reference is made to the written Scriptures.The evening and morning recitation of the Shema is based upon a verse in the Torah: “You shall repeat (these words) when you lie down and when you rise up” (Deuteronomy 6: 7b).There is no need to quote the Scripture or derive the practice from the Scripture, because the oral tradition of the Sages is Scripture. Whenever biblical verses are quoted in the Mishnah it is generally after the fact, not before the fact. The Mishnah, as divine revelation, is its own authority.

Second mishnah passage: the economic claims of a wife upon her husband’s estate Although they have said “the Ketubah of a virgin is 200 denars and of a widow one minah, if a man is minded to add to this, even a hundred minah, he may do so. If she was left a widow or was divorced, whether after betrothal or after wedlock, she may lay claim to the whole. Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah

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says, if after wedlock then the whole, but if after betrothal only the 200 denars in the case of a virgin or the minah in the case of a widow, since he assigned her the additional amount on condition that he married her”. Ketubot 5: 1 •





The written Scriptures provide no financial rights for women at the dissolution of marriage through divorce or widowhood. The Sages decreed that no man could marry a woman without providing her with a ketubah, “a marriage contract”, which is the first claim on his estate. That contract may not be less than 200 silver coins of the realm for a first (virgin) marriage, or 100 coins, one minah, for a second or subsequent marriage. The Sages decreed that the ketubah for a virgin was a scriptural obligation, even though there is no explicit biblical verse to support this claim. The Sages further decreed that the ketubah for second marriages is a rabbinic decree, obligatory though not supported by the Scriptures. The Sages were engaged in social engineering. It seemed right to them in their cultural environment that women should have certain financial rights that were not seen as necessary in the Ancient Near Eastern culture in which the biblical books were composed. Simeon bar Shetah, an early tradent who lived in the time of the Hasmonean ruler Queen Shulamit, is credited with having innovated the ketubah, and also universal elementary education for boys. Universal male literacy was a notable aspect of post-​biblical Judaism, though historians are not certain when this truly began.The attribution to Simeon bar Shetah could be legendary or a genuine historical memory.

The Midrash As we have seen, the mishnah tradition was ultimately collected into a single authoritative book, the Mishnah. Additional mishnah material was placed into another collection, the Tosefta, which never achieved the same level of authority.The oral traditions of the Academy of the Sages continued to evolve, resulting in two great compendia of rabbinic teaching – the Jerusalem Talmud in the fourth century, and the Babylonian Talmud in about the seventh century. Once the Talmuds were published they became the ultimate authority for Jewish practice, especially the Babylonian Talmud. If you want to know how to fulfil a divine commandment from the Bible, you look in the Babylonian Talmud, not in the written Hebrew Bible. Meanwhile, midrash continued as an oral tradition related to the public preaching of the Scriptures. As with the mishnah materials, ultimately Jewish people chose to place into writing midrashic interpretations of the Bible that had become standard and accepted through centuries of public preaching. The first book of midrash to be published was Bereshit Rabbah – Genesis Expanded – around the year 300 ce. The urge to publish Midrash possibly arose in response to serious

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religious challenges from Christianity or from Gnosticism, the belief in two deities that was popular at that time in the Byzantine Empire. From the fourth through the seventh centuries many classic works of midrash were published. The creation and publication of midrash continued until the high Middle Ages. The classic works of midrash focus on the weekly Torah readings in the lectionary of Jews in the Land of Israel, as well as on festival and holy day scriptural portions. A set of halachic (legal) midrash works were created to re-​connect the Mishnah to its roots in the Torah. Most midrash, though, is non-​legal. In difficult times, it taught Jewish doctrines and encouraged faith in God’s ultimate saving grace for the Jewish people. We will now study three midrash passages which will reveal to us the concerns of the authors in relation to theology, the meaning of human suffering, and the nature of Jewish community and identity.

First midrash: Torah as Logos This passage has interesting parallels in the Christian Scriptures. It illustrates how both religions were influenced by the Greek philosophical intellectual tradition, which was dominant in the world of the Roman Empire where both Christianity and rabbinic Judaism evolved. It also demonstrates the supreme value of Torah learning in rabbinic thought. “Torah” holds the place in Judaism that “Christ” holds in Christianity as the path to redemption. In the beginning [= by means of “that which came first”] God created the heavens and the earth. Genesis 1: 1 By means of wisdom YHWH founded the earth. Proverbs 3: 19 Wisdom – that is Torah. When God created the universe, God consulted the Torah. The Torah was written with black fire upon white fire, and if a single letter had been misspelled, the world could not have come into being. Tanhuma Nidpas, ad loc. •





The Logos plays a vital role in Hellenistic philosophy.The Logos is the ultimate meaning of the universe. In Neo-​Platonic thought the Logos is God’s viceroy, the active agent in the creation of the universe. Via the Logos the absolute unity of God is able to emanate into the multiplicity of the physical world. The opening verse in the Gospel of John equates the Logos with the Christ. Christ is the Logos that creates the world. At a later point in time the Logos emanates into the being of Jesus of Nazareth. In this midrash to the opening verse of the Bible we find the parallel concept in Judaism. The Torah is God’s Logos, the primordial creation. By means of

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Torah God creates the universe.Thus the Torah is the blueprint of the universe, and the life of Torah leads one to live in harmony with all the levels of being. The midrash emphasizes the importance of the proper scribal copying and transmission of the Torah text, for a single misspelling would make our Torah not the divine Torah. Torah scribes serve a vital function in Judaism. It is not necessary to presume that either the Gospel or the midrash writer are copying one from another. Both draw from the common pool of accepted ideas in the Hellenistic world.

The compassion of God Monotheistic faith must struggle with the question, why does a just God permit unjust suffering in the world? For Jews after the time of the Roman Wars this is also a communal question – if the Jews are God’s chosen people, why are the Jews powerless, persecuted and few in number? In this passage the Sages affirm a redemptive value to suffering. YHWH spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron, who came before the presence of YHWH and died. Leviticus 16: 1 They died before YHWH – Rabbi Yohanan said, “Literally? Rather, the Torah comes to teach you that it is so painful for God when the children of the righteous die in their lifetime.” Tanhuma Nidpas, parallels in Leviticus Rabba ad loc. •



Aaron, the brother of Moses, was the first high priest. His two eldest sons died while offering incense in the Tabernacle on the very day of their ordination to the priesthood. The story of the death of Nadab and Abihu becomes the focal text in the midrash for a discussion of the death of the young and innocent. How can a just God allow such a thing, which in every age including our own causes people to doubt God? The midrash discussion is launched not from where the story is told but where the death is referred to tangentially in the opening to Leviticus 16, a chapter which outlines the practices of the High Priest on Yom Kippur, the “Day of Atonement”. The biblical Yom Kippur was a busy day for the High Priest, who performed many sacrificial rites to atone for the sins of all Israel. After the destruction of the Temple the Sages transformed Yom Kippur into a day of profound introspection and private contrition for every Jew. Leviticus 16 is the scriptural reading for Yom Kippur morning. By focusing on the opening phrase, originally just a scene-​setter, and ignoring the rest of the chapter, which describes the high priestly service, the midrash moves the focus from the biblical to the rabbinic theme of Yom Kippur. What is the relationship between sin and human mortality? Why were the two sons of Aaron struck down?

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The prepositional phrase “before YHWH” refers in the Leviticus text to the location of the death, in the holy area of the Tabernacle, which the ancient Israelites considered to be the earthly abode of God’s presence. The Hebrew preposition “lifne”, “before”, can also mean “at the instance of ”.The Sages take this as the literal meaning. “They died before YHWH” literally means that God struck them down. Our midrash quote comes at the end of a lengthy section. This is a compound midrash, a literary creation of a type which evolved after centuries of the midrashic process. The author strings together a long series of midrash interpretations, which may originally have been independent, to construct a larger message.The preceding midrash texts provide a variety of reasons why God may have chosen to strike down Nadab and Abihu. They may have been drunk, or prideful, or disrespectful of their father, or negligent towards God’s holy presence. •





The final word belongs to Rabbi Yohanan, who rejects categorically all rationales for the death of Nadab and Abihu. We cannot explain why a just God allows the death of the innocent. Any attempt to rationalize is obscene. Rabbi Yohanan calls upon a basic principle of rabbinic interpretation, that when the literal meaning of a scriptural text would lead us to an unacceptable conclusion we reject the literal meaning and presume that God wants us to interpret. The meaning of “lifne YHWH”, “before YHWH” according to Rabbi Yohanan is that the death of the innocent is always before the eyes of God, causing God grief. God does not cause the innocent to die; God grieves with us. God is with us in our sorrow and our pain. Here, then, is the resolution to an inherent contradiction in the rabbinic observance of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. We repent before God in the hope of being written down in the Book of Life for the coming year, yet we know that mortality is not inherently a punishment for sin. God forgives our sins; we die anyway; God is with us even if we sin.

Who is in the Jewish communion with God? The possibility of conversion to Judaism was one of the biggest dividing points between the Pharisees and the Sadducees – the two primary schools of thought in late Second Temple Judaism. The Pharisees, whose views predominated in later Judaism, believed in conversion. The Sadducees believed that one could only become a Jew by birth. In the passage below the Pharisaic view is upheld. This debate has interesting parallels in the contemporary world, where the nature of Jewish identity is questioned in an open society with unclear boundaries. YHWH called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the Israelite people and say to them, “when a person from amongst you presents an offering” …  Leviticus 1: 1

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“a person” – to include converts. “from amongst you” – to exclude apostates. How do we know it is not the other way around, to exclude the converts and include the apostates? The text says “Israelite people” [literally “children of Israel”]. Just as the children of Israel are those who observe the covenant, so do converts, thus excluding apostates who do not accept the covenant. Sifra to Leviticus •









Sifra is one of the earliest midrash texts to be published. It belongs to a collection of works whose purpose was to confirm the teachings of the Sages found in the Mishnah in midrash form, thus satisfying a desire to tie the Oral Torah more explicitly to the Written Torah, the Bible. In biblical times the concept of religious conversion did not exist. The Book of Ruth seems to be striving towards a concept of conversion but Ruth does not yet have a word for it. In biblical times people worshipped the gods of the lands where they lived. People worshipped different gods when they moved to a new land. People changed geographic location, not religion. It is natural then that as the earliest Sages evolved the concept of religious conversion, they used the Hebrew term for an immigrant, “ger”, to describe a religious convert. The controversy that raged over this new idea of conversion is well known to readers of the Christian Scriptures. The Pharisees, who were among the early Sages, were renowned for their passion to convert gentiles in the Roman Empire to Judaism. In a Gospel text that is ironic in the light of history, the Pharisees are criticized for being evangelists (Matthew 23: 15). The Sadducees did not believe there could be such a thing as conversion. To the Sadducees Jews were born, not made. They clung to the more ancient tribal notion of the Jewish nation. Our midrash text would seem to be aimed against the notion of the Sadducees, favouring the view of the Sages that one not born Jewish could become a member of the Jewish nation through religious conversion. It is interesting to note that the biblical proof text brought by the midrash author to back up the view of the Sages would seem to point to just the opposite conclusion of the one drawn. The fact that the Jews in this verse are addressed as “b’nei Yisrael”, children of Israel, would seem to mean that birth, not faith, is the determining factor. Children are, literally, the blood descendants of their parents. The author of the midrash is surely aware of this. The use of this verse to affirm the opposite of its literal sense confirms the bedrock proposition of the Torah of the Sages – that the Oral Torah trumps the literal reading of the scriptural text. If one can enter the Jewish people by conversion, can one also exit the Jewish people by conversion? The Sages affirm in this midrash that the apostate, the Jew who practises another religion, is not in the Jewish communion.The apostate may not offer a sacrifice. The sacrificial system had long since ceased to exist when this midrash was composed, but the capacity to offer a sacrifice is

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symbolic of inclusion in the Jewish community. Rabbinic law actually takes a middle position on this. The Jewish apostate may return to the community by returning to the faith and practices of Judaism, without a full conversion ritual. Once a Jew, always a Jew, even if out of communion.

Conclusion There never was an “Old Testament Religion”. Centuries before the Hebrew Bible – the “Old Testament” – was completed, the Jewish religion had already added to the Scriptures and transformed religious practices and beliefs in response to the challenges of the times. The Jews added to the Scriptures through the two processes of mishnah and midrash. Mishnah was the oral tradition of the Sages, handed down from master to disciple. Midrash was the creative interpretation of the Scriptures as they were preached in the synagogue. Originally a process, mishnah and midrash ultimately became a literature, a written addition to the Bible. The process of mishnah culminated around the year 200 ce in the Mishnah, a book about the size of the Hebrew Bible, edited by Rabbi Judah the Prince. Jews accepted the Mishnah as the completion of the Bible, the Oral Torah that complements the Written Torah. Around the same time that Christians were canonizing the New Testament, the Jews canonized the Mishnah. The Mishnah spawned a continuing literature as the Sages continued their studies and debates in the Academies of Babylonia and the Land of Israel. The Tosefta is parallel to the Mishnah, containing additional material. The two Talmuds, the Jerusalem Talmud and the Babylonian Talmud, contain an extensive Gemara, the Hebrew term for rabbinic discussions of the Mishnah topics. The Babylonian Talmud is a massive work of 5,894 folio pages, published in twenty volumes. Once the Babylonian Talmud was completed around the year 700 ce Jews accepted it as the ultimate expression of God’s word for how Jews should live, the ultimate Scriptures. The process of midrash generated an extensive library of midrash compilations. The books themselves are not considered scriptural by Jews, but many Jews accept the midrash interpretations within these books as one with the Torah text. By the Middle Ages the creative energy of both the mishnah and midrash processes were played out. The libraries they generated were seen as complete. Medieval Jews continued to add to the Scriptures through new genres of teaching and interpretation – philosophy, codes of Jewish law, scholastic commentaries to Scripture and Kabbalah. The Torah continued to grow. But that is a story for another day.

References Bible (1988) Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Danby, Herbert (trans.) (1933) Mishnah. London: Oxford University Press.

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Josephus (1987) The Works of Josephus:  Complete and Unabridged. Translated and edited by William Whiston. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson. Lauterbach, J.Z. (trans.) (1933) Mekilta de Rabbi Ishmael (3 vols). Philadelphia:  Jewish Publication Society. —​—​—​(1915–​1916) “Midrash and Mishna: A Study in the Early History of the Halkha,”Jewish Quarterly Review, 6, pp. 23–​95, 303–​23.

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5 HOW THE EARLY CHRISTIANS READ THE HEBREW SCRIPTURES Seán Freyne

I would like to begin by clarifying two presuppositions of my title. When I began to think more seriously about the topic I  had suggested, I  realised I  needed to be more nuanced about both “the early Christians” and “the Hebrew Scriptures”. Neither are fixed and monolithic entities, it transpires. Perhaps a better title would be: “How different Early Christians read the Hebrew Bible differently?”

The Hebrew Scriptures Let us begin with the Hebrew Scriptures, since it is this collection that the first Christians inherited and used.This is the name we use nowadays in order to show sensitivity to our Jewish friends. The Christian use of the term Old Testament is open to, and has in the past led to a serious misunderstanding and demeaning of the Jewish faith, as we shall see. But what do we mean by the Hebrew Scriptures and when did a definitive collection finally emerge? That question is not so easy to answer, since it would seem that different choices were made in different contexts, and today the differences between the Catholic and Protestant Bibles in regard to what we have traditionally called the Old Testament, reflect those choices. One fixed point of reference in deciding when a list of canonical books was established comes from a Jerusalem scribe of the second century bce, named Jesus ben Sirach. After settling in Egypt about the year 132 bce this grandson translated his grandfather’s book into Greek. He tells us in a prologue to the book that his forebear was learned in “the Law, the prophets and the other writings”, thus suggesting a threefold division of what were accepted as the holy books of Judaism at the time. Indeed the likelihood is that the first two parts of that list – law and prophets – had begun to be finalised during or immediately after the exile in the sixth century bce.

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The Babylonian exile of the Jews, or at least that of their religious leaders, and the destruction of the first temple had generated the impetus for such a collection by creating the need to gather the stories and traditions that previously had been handed on orally. Not merely that, but there was also need to give the returnees and those who were left in the homeland a sense of purpose for the future. Thus, the very shape of Israel’s history, as put together in the Torah, was intended to give hope at a time of loss. Israel’s role in history was set in the context of world and global history by linking together the stories of Moses, the Exodus from Egypt and the entry into the Promised Land, with earlier traditions regarding the various Patriarchs. This national saga was then prefaced by Genesis 1–​11, where the origins of the human race, its fall and the promise of restoration to come, set the stage for Israel’s special role among the nations of the world.The account of the discovery of the Book of the Law (Deuteronomy) in the Temple in 2 Kings 17 suggests that at that time the priests in Israel, just like other places in the Ancient Near East, were responsible for the compilation and preservation of the inherited tradition. They would have continued this role in the exile as reflected in Psalm 136 “By the waters of Babylon we sat and wept”. We can see therefore that the production of sacred books was an important aspect of Israel’s communal history. In the post-​exilic period, sacred books replaced, to some extent, or at least supplemented the Temple at the centre of the Jewish symbolic system. This was particularly true for those living away from the homeland, especially from the fourth century bce onwards, when Jews availed of the new opportunities to travel, created by the one-​world culture that emerged after the victory of Alexander the Great over the Persian king in 333 bce. Remarkably, in the light of the earlier history, many Jews went to Egypt, and it was there that the second development of importance with regard to the Hebrew Bible took place, namely, its translation into Greek. Writing in the prologue mentioned above, Ben Sirach is aware of the difficulty of translation. The fact that he may seem to have failed to give an adequate rendering of this or that expression is “because you cannot find an equivalent for things written in Hebrew when you come to translate them into another language”. However, this difficulty was overcome in the translation of the Bible into Greek according to an account preserved in a document known as the Letter of Aristeas (second century bce). There a legend is told of how the Egyptian king (Ptolemy II, 283–​47) wanted to have copies of all the sacred books belonging to the various religions in the realm in his library. Help was requested from the high priest in Jerusalem, and he sent seventy men to do the translation –  hence the name Septuagint, which is Greek for seventy, and it is usually designated by the Roman numerals LXX (70).They were royally welcomed at a banquet and engaged in philosophical discussion with the king, thereby demonstrating the nobility and beauty of the Jewish law. The translation was completed in seventy days and though each worked separately they all came to the exact same translation of the original. The Jewish community approved the translation and the book was read aloud to the king, who was in awe of Moses’ intellect.

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This legend tells us a lot about the Jewish idea of the Bible. Translation was a dangerous business. In fact, a later rabbinic view saw it as an act of sacrilege, equivalent to the worship of the golden calf. At the same time, we can also see the desire to show just how much the Jewish Torah could be favourably compared with Greek philosophy, and therefore admired by the Greek world also. As we shall see, this tension between adaptation to the larger world and separation from it, already manifested in the question of language and translation, will also be an important factor in understanding the early Christian approach to the Bible. Indeed the Septuagint in its received form is quite different from the Hebrew Bible. Modern scholarship sees it as a composite work, having gone through many different editions by different hands. It also shows traces of very different translation styles and adopts varying degrees of freedom with the original Hebrew text. Even more important is the fact that it neither follows the order of the Hebrew Bible, nor does it restrict itself to the same number of books (twenty-​four according to Josephus).Whereas the order of the Hebrew Bible follows broadly the stages of canonisation (Law, Prophets, Writings), the LXX follows a literary division: Historical, Poetical and Sapiential books, and Prophetical books. As regards content, the LXX includes translations of the twenty-​four books of the Hebrew Bible, and in addition, books composed originally in Hebrew, but which were later translated into Greek (Sirach; 1 Maccabees) as well as those composed wholly in Greek, for example, the Wisdom of Solomon and Greek additions to Daniel and Esther. These additions and changes explain the differences in terms of order and content of Protestant and Catholic Bibles today. The early Christians adopted the LXX as their Bible, to the point that when disputes arose later between Jews and Christians, the Jews had new Greek translations produced, which they claimed were more faithful to the original. It was only at the Reformation with Luther’s return to sola scriptura that the Hebrew Bible came back into use in a Christian setting, whereas Roman Catholics continued to use the LXX version, explaining why there are more books in the latter Bible.These additional books are designated Apocryphal in the Protestant Bible, but Deuterocanonical in the Roman Catholic one. The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls has had an enormous impact on the study of both the Hebrew Bible and the LXX. To begin with, fragments of all the books of the former have been found in the remains at Qumran in the Judaean desert. In addition, a full Hebrew scroll of the prophet Isaiah, as well as remains of six other scrolls of the same book have been discovered. Thus, we are now in possession of a Hebrew copy of the book of Isaiah from the first century bce, whereas previously the earliest manuscripts were as late as the tenth century ce. While this discovery is mainly of interest to scholars engaged in establishing the actual text of Isaiah, it also has implications for early Christianity. It is generally accepted that the Qumran community was made up of an ascetic group known to us from other sources as the Essenes. According to their Community Rule there must be twelve men, day and night, studying the Torah. Their founder was a person known from the texts as the Teacher of Righteousness, probably a Jerusalem priest, who had been ousted from the Temple and who gathered around himself in the desert a number

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of like-​minded people who shared his view that the Jerusalem priests were not observing the proper regulations in the conduct of the sacrifices. The parallels and the contrasts with the Jesus movement are highly instructive and interesting. In particular it should be noted that in addition to studying the Torah, there are fragments of many other books found, among the Essenes, some of which seem to have had as much, if not even greater authority for the group than the canonical books which comprise the Hebrew Bible. Among these non-​canonical books found to have had a great influence at Qumran, are two of special interest: the Book of Jubilees and sections of what later came to be known as 1 Enoch. Their significance for our purposes here is that they introduce another type of Jewish writing that was based loosely on the canonical works, but which develop the tradition in quite different directions. These books are identified as the pseudepigrapha, that is, books that are falsely attributed to ancient figures but which were written at a much later time. Jubilees is a rewriting of parts of Genesis and Exodus, presented in the form of a new revelation regarding the importance of the sanctuary and the Law, in a highly eschatological setting. The intention is to relocate the Mosaic covenant into the very beginnings of the patriarchal period, and thereby give it a greater authority in emphasising the need to observe the covenant rules with greater fidelity than in the past. I Enoch on the other hand is based on the very brief mention of a figure of that name as the son of Cain (Genesis 4: 17f), who is said to “have walked with God” and to have been taken by God (Genesis 5: 22–​24). As such, he became a figure of great interest to the religious imagination of subsequent generations and was thought to have been the recipient of special revelations, rather like the figure of Elijah. Among sections of the Enochic corpus found at Qumran one makes a highly enigmatic reference to the fact that “the sons of God had intercourse with the daughters of men”, thus increasing the evil in the world that brought about the judgement of the flood (Genesis 6: 4). In the so-​called Book of the Watchers, (1 Enoch 10–​14) Enoch is taken on a heavenly journey and shown the divine throne, where God confirms his judgement on the sons of God who are clearly identifiable with the Temple priests. Thus, in the case of both books we can see how the idea of canonical scripture, as we know it from later times, did not at all inhibit Jewish religious imagination from developing the earlier tradition in ways that addressed their own concerns of a later time. Indeed in circles such as the Qumran Essenes, where there was deep disaffection with the Jerusalem Temple and its activities, such books, written probably in the mid-​second century bce, could function as canonical, even possibly superseding in importance the biblical books from which they were derived.

The early Christians Unlike the Teacher of Righteousness at Qumran, Jesus of Nazareth did not gather around himself a circle of scribal students but Galilean fishermen. Thus the earliest Christians can in no sense be seen as a scholastic community of students of Torah. Jesus himself is accused of not having been schooled according to Jerusalem-​based

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scribes (John 7: 15). Mark tells us that his own family were amazed at his wisdom (Mark 6: 2), though Luke suggests that he could read from the book of Isaiah in the synagogue (Luke 4: 15f). Nor was Jesus a teacher in the accepted sense within Judaism of his day. Jesus ben Sirach gave a description of the social role of the scribe in Judaism, which in all probability was a self-​description of his own role, since towards the end of his book he refers to his own “house of study” (Sirach 51: 47). In this description, the scribe or Torah student is contrasted with all other professions from the ploughman to the builder, the smith, the ring-​maker etc. All these are important for the life of the city, but it is only the scribe who has the leisure to plumb the depths of Scripture (Sirach 38: 24–​39: 11). In direct contrast to this elitist view, Jesus of Nazareth is described as a tekton (craftsman). While he cannot be said to be ignorant of Torah, nevertheless it does not seem to be at the heart of his thinking, at least to the extent that the scribes were devoted to its literal study, poring over every detail and seeking to plumb the hidden meaning of what was written. Jesus’ teaching is more experientially based and his reference to the biblical texts is allusive and elusive. He knows of biblical characters like Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (Matthew 8: 11); he is familiar with the story of David’s violation of the Sabbath (Mark 3: 26) and the account of creation when he talks about the Sabbath rest and deals with the issue of divorce (Mark 3: 26f; 10: 6f). He knows stories such as the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon, the destruction of Nineveh and Jonah being swallowed by a whale (Luke 11: 29–​32).Yet his own most characteristic style of teaching seems to have been that of the parable or short story. In these he shows himself to be familiar with the everyday cares and interests of ordinary people. He is at home with the proverbial wisdom of the common folk honed on their struggles to cope with life’s ups and downs. Jesus began his life in the circles of John the Baptist in the Judaean desert. If, as Luke tells us, John was the son of a Jerusalem priest of lower rank, his motives for going to the desert could well have been similar to those of the Essenes.Yet nowhere is it said that either he or Jesus were ever members of that group. However, it is interesting that both John and Jesus seem to have a predilection for Isaiah, just as we have supposed the Qumran Essenes did, based on the number of copies of the scroll they possessed. In the end Jesus breaks with John and adopts a different strategy to John’s baptism of repentance, by opting for his wandering charismatic ministry of healing and teaching to the village people of Galilee. In a recent study of Jesus, I concluded as follows: This allowed Jesus and his movement to take their place within the variegated setting of different communities of interpretation which had been generated by the reception of the Hebrew Scriptures of the Second Temple period. … This does not mean that Jesus had to conform to any of the known groups of first-​century Palestine. … Rather it implies a distinctive and personal approach that was occasioned by the circumstances of both the Galilean and Judean social and religious worlds as he encountered them in his role as a prophet of restoration during the reign of Antipas. Freyne 2004, p. 171

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It is an interesting phenomenon that, despite these beginnings, where no slavish dependence on Scripture is evident, the first Christians turned instinctively to the scriptures to reflect on the meaning of Jesus’ life. Just about twenty years after Jesus’ death, Paul, writing to the Corinthians, reminds them that he had passed on what he had received, that is, what the earliest Jerusalem community had developed. This was a brief Creed-​like statement that “Christ had died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, and that he arose on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures” (1 Corinthians 15: 3b–​4). No mention is made to which scriptures they were appealing, but in all probability it was to the passage of the suffering servant of Isaiah 53. In the study of Jesus, already referred to, I have argued that this Jerusalem-​based community of first followers of Jesus saw themselves as disciples of the servant who was ill-​treated but vindicated by God.They probably would have seen themselves in the role of the servant community of Zion of which Isaiah speaks in the latter section of his book (Isaiah 56–​66). Inevitably, such a self-​understanding of the group meant that their belief in Jesus as the messiah of Israel would have necessitated finding him in the scriptures that foretold such a figure. Yet, despite this scriptural turn among the earliest Christians, it is interesting to note how differently early Christian groups read those scriptures, despite their shared messianic horizons with regard to Jesus and his ministry. A brief overview of some of the different positions that we can trace within the New Testament itself will show that use of the scriptures was a key factor in the process of self-​determination of the Christianoi against the Iuodaioi throughout the first century. It will also prepare us for the final section of my chapter where I want to examine the various strategies of reading the Scripture that emerged in the second century and beyond when the Jesus movement had become the Christian church engaged in full-​blown polemics with the Jewish synagogue and its pagan despisers.

Paul’s own use of the Hebrew Scriptures Paul is too busy to be a systematic thinker in the manner of a modern desk-​ theologian. Often his use of a scripturally based argument will betray the rabbinical training of his pre-​Christian past. Thus, for example in 1 Corinthians, he can use the story of Israel’s exodus and journey through the desert to illustrate the demands being made on his new converts. He begins by reminding his hearers that their ancestors (that is, the Israelites of old) all went through the exodus experience, being led by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, being fed with the manna in the wilderness, drinking from the water that flowed from the rock. Paul is simply recounting the exodus and wilderness story of Exodus, and assuming that this can be used as a lesson for his gentile converts in Corinth. In 1 Corinthians 10: 1–​11, he slips readily and easily from his Jewish to his Christian mode, without any sense of abandoning his own Jewish heritage. When he comes to the story of the rock he simply says “and the rock was Christ”. From there he goes on to draw a number of moral lessons for the converts drawn from

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the Exodus story, since his assumption is that these lessons were intended for his audience now. This style of exegesis is what has been described as midrashic (from the Hebrew word darash/​to search), that is, seeking the meaning of the text for living now, and it is thoroughly Jewish in its free application of Scripture to the lives of those present. The idea that every generation was part of the Exodus experience was part of Jewish thinking – Israelites of every generation who took part in a temple festival were members of the original group from Egypt (Deuteronomy 26: 5–​6). However, when Paul came to write the Epistle to the Romans later in life, the gulf between his Christian present and his Jewish past was beginning to show. In the interim he had had bitter disputes, not with the Jewish authorities, but with other Christians who were uncertain about the free admission of gentiles into the new movement without embracing some aspects of Jewish identity – especially observance of dietary laws and circumcision in the case of males. He found himself in a deeply ambivalent position. His conviction that Jesus was the Messiah and that messianic times had dawned did not lead to a total conversion of the Jews to the new movement, as the messianic map would have told him. Instead the gentiles had come flocking in. How could Paul make sense of this experience in his own life and mission on the basis of the scriptural witness? Romans 9–​11 was his pained and often contorted way of trying to reconcile the facts with the scriptures. The introduction (9: 1–​6) gives some sense of the pain he is suffering “for his own people”. In the succeeding chapters he repeatedly turns on the gentile converts, admonishing them not to boast at their new found status. In the end he can only resort to God’s ability to do the seemingly impossible – to graft on to the one root that is Israel both the gentiles and the Jews, so that the messianic ideal can be achieved.

Matthew Matthew too was Jewish – a scribe, discipled in the kingdom of God, as he cryptically describes himself (Matthew 13: 33). However, Matthew remains much closer to his Jewish roots than did Paul, and his use of Scripture is therefore quite different. Everything in the life of Jesus was scripturally warranted so that eleven times in all Matthew uses the expression “This was done that the Scripture might be fulfilled”, followed by a citation from some part of the Hebrew Bible. This pattern is most notable in the infancy stories of Matthew 1 and 2 – so much so in fact that the undiscerning reader will be led to think that there was a ready-​made c.v. for the Messiah and that Jesus fitted it perfectly! Though you might not notice it, Matthew is actually engaged in polemic also with his non-​messianic Jewish neighbours. Unlike Paul who is desperately concerned to get everyone included under the one umbrella, Matthew’s is a much tougher, and in the end, a more judgemental stance. He has the representatives of his Jewish opponents declare “his blood be on us and our children” at the trial before Pilate, and this can only mean that in refusing to accept Jesus as the Messiah and the Matthean community as the true Israel, they are drawing down a curse rather

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than a blessing on themselves (Matthew 27: 25). Yet the Matthean Jesus remains thoroughly Jewish: “He has come not to destroy the law and the prophets but to fulfil them” (Matthew 5: 17), as a new Moses-​like figure. As the various instructions of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–​7) are discussed – “you have heard that it was said to them of old, and (not but) I say to you” – Jesus is not abolishing the old but placing a more radical ideal still for the new Israel. There is a rabbinic saying which declares: “wherever two or three are gathered studying the Torah, there the shekinah or presence of God is in the midst of them”. Matthew merely “Christianises” this saying: instead of the shekinah, it is now Christ who is present, and the disciples are gathered in his name, not studying the Torah as the Qumran Essenes were doing, but remembering Jesus (Matthew 18: 20).

Hebrews This trend towards fulfilment rather than inclusion and the use of the Hebrew Bible to make the point, reaches its climax within the New Testament in the Epistle to the Hebrews.Though this letter has often been attributed to Paul, it clearly was not written by him, but comes from a later time, most probably after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple by the Romans – an event which sent shock waves through all branches of Judaism including early Christianity. Various ways of appropriating the symbolic meaning of the Temple had to be articulated – such as the idea that Jesus is the new Temple (Fourth Gospel) or that the dividing wall between Jew and Gentile had been broken down (Ephesians), or that the Christians are the new priesthood (1 Peter; Revelation).The author of Hebrews focuses on the ceremonies associated with the Day of Atonement as described in Leviticus 16. Once a year on that day, the high priest entered the holy of holies and sprinkled the mercy seat (where God was deemed to dwell) with the blood of the sacrificial lamb.Taking up and elaborating on the earlier creedal statement that “Christ died for our sins” the author now makes Christ that high priest, entering the holy place, not once a year, but once for all time, offering not the blood of goats and sheep, but his own blood, in order to make atonement for the sins of the many (Hebrews 9: 11f). By drawing out this contrast between the old and the new covenants in such an elaborate and contrastive way, the author deliberately demeans the old in order to extol the new. This is not a question of Christ fulfilling the old covenant while replacing it. This highly argumentative position may have been prompted by the fact that some of the early Christian converts from Judaism seem to have reverted to Jewish practices again as we read in Hebrews 10, and the author sees this as betrayal and a demeaning of the sacrifice of Christ.The very opening sentence of the Epistle dealing with the scriptures sets the tone for this argument: “In many and varied ways God spoke to our ancestors in the past through the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us through a Son, whom he has appointed heir of all things and through whom he has created the worlds” (Hebrews 1:  1–​4). The author is operating throughout with a Greek notion that sees repetition as imperfection and that is why he makes so much of “the once for all” action of Christ in contrast to

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the repeated actions of the Jewish high priests. His argument is highly dangerous of course, and it means that for him the many and varied ways of God’s speaking in the past are imperfect, if not downright useless. He has sown dangerous seeds, which will create even greater problems in the next century, as we shall now see.

The second century and beyond By the end of the first century, early Christian groups were emerging from beneath the shadows of the synagogue, becoming recognisable as distinct from their Jewish neighbours. This we can see for example in Nero’s persecution of the Christians in Rome, whereas an earlier emperor, Claudius, had decreed that all the Jews, including the Jewish Christians, be banned from the city. But they had learned well and they emerged into the clear light of day with the beginnings of their own collection of sacred books. The Pauline letters were collected and presumably circulated to all the churches he had established. As mentioned already, the fall of the Jerusalem Temple was such a dramatic event that theological adjustments had to be made, even by the Christians, whereas the parent Judaism (again in all its branches) was faced with an even more critical set of problems. Where was its centre now and who would be in charge, since priesthood, pilgrimage and sacrifice were no longer possible? While individual gospels or written collections of sayings of Jesus began to emerge even before seventy, the fourfold Gospel of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John would seem to have begun to establish itself as authoritative quite early in the second century. There is a note of anxiety in Luke’s prologue which suggests that some of the many accounts in circulation were less than reliable, and that was why he undertook to write to his patron Theophilus (Luke 1: 1–​4). Presumably Luke is targeting some of what today are called the lost gospels, tinged with gnostic ideas, and attributed to lesser figures such as Thomas, Philip, Mary, Judas, as well as gospels belonging to other marginal branches of the movement such as the Gospels of the Nazoreans (100–​160 ce), the Ebionites (100–​160 ce), and the Hebrews, fragments of which have been preserved by various Church Fathers. Thus in less than a hundred years, early Christianity had become a literary movement, despite its oral foundational beginnings. This phenomenon was quite an important feature of its success outside Palestine, since it meant that it now was coming to the notice of the middle and upper class pagans. The early second century apologists, such as Tertullian (155–​240 ce), Aristeides (c. 125–​189 ce), Justin (100–​165 ce), were at pains to present the movement as a vera philosophia, not a superstitio, as the Roman writer, Tacitus (56–​117 ce), had disparagingly described it. We know that intellectual pagans must have read these works, since one of them, Celsus, about the year 170 ce wrote an attack on the new movement, targeting the Christian gospels and attempting to propagate a very different portrayal of Jesus as a sorcerer. As part of his strategy, Celsus introduces a Jew, who acts as an interlocutor in order to discredit Christian claims about Jesus and the Jewish Scriptures. The learned Christian writer, Origen (c. 185–​254 ce) from Alexandria in Egypt,

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whose response to Celsus was written some forty years later when he was living in Caesarea in Palestine, is able to counter Celsus, by claiming that he had many friendly discussions with Jewish rabbis (a claim that would appear to be vindicated in his learned textual and theological commentaries on biblical books, and other writings), and that Celsus’ Jew bore no resemblance to these learned and friendly sages. As always it is the polemics rather than the friendly relations that get reported! Clearly, the issue of the place of the Hebrew Scriptures within the emerging Christian synthesis needed to be addressed, since Celsus had astutely observed that, though claiming these scriptures as their own, Christians were failing to observe in their lives much that was written in them, especially the dietary and purity laws of the Torah. In making this charge, he was obviously putting his finger on a problem that went back to Paul, and had reached serious proportions in the movement initiated by one Marcion, a convert to Christianity from Pontus on the shores of the Black Sea, who had sought to bring the logic of Paul’s position about the Law to its proper conclusion. As mentioned already, Paul had run into the difficulties with more conservative-​minded Christians because of his admission of gentiles without their having to go through Jewish initiation and observance. In defending himself he had made some fairly rash statements about the Torah: for example, that it was merely the pedagogue that led us to Christ (Galatians 4: 24) so that he could declare rather enigmatically in Romans that “Christ was the telos (‘end’ or ‘purpose’) of the law” (Romans 10: 4). Marcion (c.110–​160 ce) carried this to extremes, not only adopting a watered down collection of Christian writings based on Paul’s letters, all suitably expunged of anything that might appear to endorse Judaism, but also declaring that the Jewish Scriptures referred to a God other than the one worshipped by Christians, and that consequently, Christianity had nothing to do with Jews or Judaism.Thus, there could be no continuity between Christianity and Judaism. For him the Jewish God was weak, capricious, bellicose, petty and cruel. Thus, Marcion adopted a highly literalist approach to the Hebrew Scriptures, unlike many of his Christian contemporaries who had begun to adopt an allegorical approach similar to that which pagans also employed in dealing with the more objectionable aspects of the Greek myths. This approach was based on the belief that some texts, though difficult to understand, harboured deep wisdom once they were unlocked. This involved abandoning the literal or obvious sense and searching for the true meaning of the text. Literalism, like that of Marcion, was a form of religious argumentation that sought to expose the absurdities of the texts which one’s opponents deemed to be authoritative. If Marcion had just been an individual he might have been more easily dismissed, but in fact he went to Rome and there obtained a considerable following, no doubt cashing in on pagan anti-​Jewish sentiment which was prevalent in the city. His arguments needed refutation if the whole Christian edifice, which went back to Jesus, was not to crumble. A Christianity that was not built on the pillars of its Jewish foundation would have been a wholly new creation of the second century. Justin Martyr, a convert to Christianity from paganism, who had been born in Palestine but had studied philosophy in Rome, gave the most thorough

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response. Marcion’s denigration of the Jewish God reflected some contemporary philosophical trends going back to Plato which saw matter as evil and unworthy of the divine, and so the doctrine of creation by a good God was endangered. Justin’s response was to introduce the Stoic notion of the Logos or reason/​spirit which was deemed to be an aspect of everything that exists, thus denying any radical dualism between matter and spirit. Applying this philosophical argument to the Bible as a whole, Justin argued that if Jesus was the Logos incarnate at the heart of the Christian Gospel who was engaged in the creation of the world, as the Logos hymn in John 1: 1–​18 proclaims, then the self-​same Logos was at work in the history of Israel also. From the very beginning Christians had seen these Scriptures as prophecies of Christ, and consequently they too had to share in the same Logos that was manifested in all its fullness with its coming into the world in the person of Jesus. In other words, Justin argued for a Christological reading of the Hebrew Bible, certainly not its abandonment. His approach was to prevail, even if it did not solve the question of what Christians were to do with those parts that no longer applied, most notably the ceremonial and dietary laws of the Pentateuch. Ironically, as these debates were going on between second-century Christians, Jewish rabbis in Galilee were constructing a new system for Judaism, namely the Mishnah or Jewish law-​book, which was to be the foundation on which rabbinic Judaism would be built through the Talmudic commentaries of later centuries. Those very sections of the Bible with which Christians were having difficulties, namely the ceremonial laws of the Holiness Code in Leviticus, were to prove the building blocks for the Mishnaic system. This system as described by Jewish scholar Jacob Neusner (1987) was utopian in outlook – a deliberate attempt to construct a form of Jewish practice and belief which ignored the effects of the two wars against Rome and the loss of the Jerusalem centre. It consisted in extending to the home and village the holiness that was associated with the priests and the Temple, which now no longer existed. It was the work of scribes, based on the ideals of priestly purity, providing householders with a view of the world that ensured stability, order and permanence, and ways of fending off disorder and danger. This system was built on the scriptural foundation, but it went far beyond it in developing laws and regulations to deal with every detail of life in the home, the village and the field. There was no longer any room for messiahs or prophets who had only brought ruin on Israel by embroiling it in two disastrous wars with Rome (66–​70 ce and 132–​35 ce). This document, the Mishnah, was produced at Sepphoris (6 km from Nazareth) about the year 200 ce in the name of Rabbi Judah ha-​Nasi (Judah the Prince, 135–​219 ce). It was almost as though Christians and Jews had shared the Hebrew Bible between them, the former adopting the prophetic strand and reading the whole prophetically, pointing to Christ, the latter building on the priestly foundation of Temple and holiness, and treating the prophetic with suspicion as dangerous. Yet after two centuries of turmoil in which the role and meaning of the Hebrew Bible played no small part, they came close to each other again, but now as total strangers.

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Conclusion What might today’s Christian take from this rather historical account of the reception of the Hebrew Scriptures within early Christianity? I  shall first summarise briefly my argument and suggest the possible implications for people who are often baffled by the Hebrew Bible when it is read in a Christian context. First, I gave a brief account of how two overlapping but different collections of writings were in circulation in the first century, both the product of Jewish people’s experiences in the homeland and the Diaspora from the Persian to the Roman period. These collections played an important part in shaping and maintaining the identity of Jews in the period. At the same time we can see a fluidity and openness in what was and was not deemed canonical with different groups, thus suggesting that despite conflicts of interpretation there was still room for difference within what was accepted by insiders and outsiders as Jewish. Second, I suggested that early Christianity, basing itself on the memory of Jesus, recognised the importance of the God of the Hebrew Scriptures from the beginning. Those Scriptures nourished their faith-​lives and assisted them in coming to a proper understanding of who Jesus was and what was the meaning of his mission. At the same time, as the movement developed and grew, tensions inevitably arose between this new movement that was claiming for itself the realisation of Israel’s hopes, and the parent grouping. To some extent, the disputes between them were disputes regarding the proper meaning of the texts they shared in common and which each cherished. We were able to trace stages of this ongoing dispute – from continuity to fulfilment to replacement in three different New Testament writings. The third step took us to the second century where now the battle of interpretation had to be fought on several fronts: with pagans, with radical Christians and with a Judaism that was once again searching for its own identity after the calamitous wars with Rome. The choices seem to have been between rejection of the Hebrew Bible or finding a way to include it together with the emerging Christian collection of writings and finding appropriate ways to read both together as one book. Today, there is a real danger that the Hebrew Bible might be ignored because, perhaps due to the scientific outlook of our time, we share the literalism of Marcion rather than the religious imagination of an Origen, a Jerome or an Augustine. This would be a great impoverishment. There are several lessons to be learned from our survey, however. In antiquity generally reading was always done aloud, and generally in public with a group. Private, personal reading is a product of the Reformation principle, that as the Word of God, the Bible should speak to each person individually. If nothing else, this approach is in danger of allowing us to read our own fears, anxieties and preoccupations into the text. I do not mean to suggest that private reading is wrong, but only to indicate that the Bible is first and foremost the book of the Church and the community. To read it in that context is to explore together the meaning for our times, and to be open to being challenged by others’ understanding of the text.

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Another aspect of the survey that has implications for our readings today is the fact that Jews and Christians have always read the Bible in the context of their own situations and beliefs. Thus, for Jews the Bible was the story of God’s covenant promises, Israel’s infidelity and yet God’s continued assurance of salvation and Israel’s role in that process. For Christians, Christ was the centre of their lives and so they read the Hebrew Bible from a Christological perspective; that is, as a pointer to Christ and as the well-​spring of their beliefs about him. The fact that their own collection of writings became part of their Bible indicates that they saw a real theological continuity between the two collections. As Jerome put it: “Novum in Vetere latet,Vetus in Novo patet.” The new is hidden in the old and the old is made clear in the new. This freedom of approach that was there from the beginning should inform our approach also. Sometimes we get taken in by the idea that the Bible is the Word of God and that we have no right to challenge it. Scholars today speak of the need for a hermeneutic of suspicion in approaching any text, and more especially in approaching an ancient text. Feminist, Liberationist, post-​Colonialist strategies are being employed to uncover the hidden ideologies of the texts we are reading from the perspective of the world we live in and the values that we take seriously. The Bible is not “a collection of proof texts” or slot-​machine religion. I like the image the Bible gives us, that of Jacob wrestling with the stranger sent to him as a divine messenger (Genesis 32: 23–​32), as an image of our own efforts to understand what this text is saying to us. Of all the books of the Hebrew Bible, the Book of Psalms has been the most treasured in Christian usage, pointing to their liturgical use for both Jews and Christians.The Psalms in particular are repositories of the faith of Israel, that should not be seen as a merely nationalistic expression of belief, but that is truly universal in its range in celebrating the creator God’s presence and ongoing creativity in the world. Our world view is very different from that of the first Christians, and their problems are not ours. We are more eclectic perhaps, but that is no bad thing, since it shows, or it should show a judgement about what does and what does not matter in the light of our memory of Jesus. We should be emboldened by both our Jewish and Christian forebears to sample and to choose what from this treasure house of new and old is best suited to our needs and the demands of our time.

References Freyne, S. (2004) Jesus a Jewish Galilean:  A  New Reading of the Jesus Story. London:  T&T Clark: Continuum. Neusner, J. (1987) Christian Faith and the Bible of Judaism: The Judaic Encounter with Scripture. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

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6 READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES Some evidence from early Christian Ireland Thomas O’Loughlin

Setting the scene Exactly when and how Christianity came to Ireland is unknown. A probable scenario is that the majority of the first Christians in Ireland were slaves whose origins lay in Roman lands. This group was, no doubt, augmented by those who were Roman traders based in Ireland or by Irish people who had become Christians through contacts of one sort or another with the provinces of Britain, Gaul, and Spain.1 These early communities would have needed copies of the Scriptures for their liturgy – listening at the liturgy was the principal place where Christians in the first millennium encountered the Scriptures (Achtemeier 1990) – but we know nothing about the form those copies took or how they were used or how what was heard was understood.2 With regard to more definite information, we only possess isolated, tantalisingly brief or incomplete scraps. However, it is worth going through these as each throws some light, indirectly, on our topic. First, we know that at the end of the fourth century the Roman theologian Pelagius came from the British Isles, and Jerome (who was sensitive to geographical details) informs us that he was Irish.3 This would indicate that the notion that there was a vibrant theological community – capable of writing commentaries on individual biblical books (de Bruyn 1993) – in Ireland in the late fourth century was not considered impossible. Second, while we know nothing about the nature and organisation of Christian groups in Ireland until well into the sixth century, we know they were numerous enough by the early fifth century to provoke interest in Rome in their pastoral welfare and we know that a Roman cleric named Palladius was sent to them as their first bishop (Charles-​ Edwards 1993; Ó Cróinín 2000). Such links suggest that we can view the attitudes of Christians in Ireland to the Scriptures as being broadly similar to those of other western Christians. Third, we have the evidence provided by Patrick: a bishop who

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saw himself as a Roman from Britain working in parts of Ireland where Christianity was still unknown. It is unlikely that he played any significant part in establishing Christianity in Ireland – despite the claims made for him in the later seventh century when all real memory of the earliest Irish Christians had been lost (O’Loughlin 2005a, pp. 28–​42). He was clearly at odds with other bishops, probably on both sides of the Irish Sea, over his views of the eschaton which made him a heretic in their eyes. From our perspective what is significant is that Patrick’s brand of apocalypticism was rooted in a particular way of reading the gospels, but the fact that he appealed to those texts as the basis of his self-​justification is indirect evidence that he could assume his readers were equally familiar with the Scriptures (O’Loughlin 2005a, pp. 79–​95). Combining these snippets of information allows us to suggest that by the early fifth century there was a sizeable group of Christians in Ireland.This group was in contact pastorally and theologically with Christians in other parts of the Roman Empire and they would probably have viewed the Scriptures in a manner little different from that of other western Christians at the time. This is a scenario that coheres with our later monastic evidence when we find a church that is Latin-​using, derives its exegetical models from John Cassian and Augustine, and engages with the Scriptures using the standard textbooks of the time (O’Loughlin 1995a). So while we must note several distinctive features of Christianity in Ireland in the period, we must also approach it as a part of that larger patchwork, which we can designate as the western, post-​imperial, Latin church.4 So what were the distinctive features? First, in Ireland, for the first time in the west, Christian life was taking place in a culture where the dominant language was not some form of Latin; and Ireland would be one of the first places in the west to produce a vernacular religious literature. Second, Christianity existed in Ireland in a non-​urban environment without those social structures common within the cultures where it evolved. For instance, Christian ministers considered themselves “the ordo sacra”– hence the term “Holy Orders” – but the notion of important people constituting “the ordo” belongs within Roman society and needed to be translated socially for a non-​Roman society.Third, from the surviving evidence it appears that monasticism played a more significant part in shaping Christianity in Ireland than elsewhere. For example, we find abbots taking on tasks, for instance at the Synod of Birr in 697 ce, that would have been the prerogative of bishops elsewhere. So any study of the approach of early Irish Christians to the Scriptures must proceed between the twin a priori positions of “clumping” and “splitting”. On the one hand it must recognise that Irish material is just another strand of the western tradition without submerging that tradition into a uniform greyness (which would not be verified for any particular region of the west at the time); while on the other hand it must acknowledge distinctive features without so highlighting them that the study becomes a pursuit of the erratic and the peculiar. We must bear in mind that the Latin west was a patchwork of local theologies bonded together by a common memory. This made those theologians recognise connections rather than differences between one another and who shared a common language which enabled easy communications in writing. These shared

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elements may, indeed, have deceived them into having a greater sense of common purpose with one another and with their sources than was in fact the case (O’Loughlin 1997).

Scope Any article-​length attempt to look at how Christians read the Scriptures over a period of centuries must inevitably be partial in the range of subjects it addresses. This is further complicated for the early medieval period by the nature of the evidence that survives which gives prominence to certain aspects of Christian living while telling us next to nothing of other areas. So, for example, it is far easier to see how someone who wrote in Latin as a teacher viewed the Scriptures than to find out how an average cleric preached. Likewise, it is those writings that had currency in later centuries outside Ireland that constitute the major part of our extant evidence: but does later popularity abroad automatically mean that these were the most popular writings in Ireland at the time of their composition? Yet again, while Ireland generated the earliest western vernacular religious literature, one can only study that after one has examined the earlier writings in Latin that form its background and intellectual foundation (Ó Corráin, Breatnach and Breen 1984). This means that the available evidence gives us a picture that is heavily skewed in the related directions of monastic and scholastic learning. This is not simply a re-​statement of the old tag of Ireland being an “island of [monastic] saints and scholars”; rather it is a recognition that when it comes to this topic, virtually all that has survived has come down to us because it was of monastic and academic interest to later scribes and librarians. Therefore, in what follows I am presenting a series of overlapping “excavations” all of which can be linked to a period of just over a century, roughly late seventh to early ninth century, when we find a mature academic culture in Ireland, but before the impact of the Carolingian restructuring of education. However, even using a wide series of “excavations”, some issues have to be left aside. First, there is no attention to vernacular materials (these are, on the whole, later than this period); no attention to preaching – we have simply too small a sample for this period (O’Loughlin 2001); no attention to the issue of the use of “biblical” apocrypha – a topic too complex to survey here (O’Loughlin 2007a, pp. 229–​33); nor does it examine incidental references to reading the Scriptures in sources such as hagiography as these are often no more than pious commonplaces and would not give us any appreciation of how the Scriptures were actually received.

Excavations What I shall now present is a sequence of six explorations, each concerned with a different aspect of the Church’s life, which taken together may form a picture of how these communities read and used the Scriptures in building their world. Under

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each heading there are many possible examples that could have been chosen for examination, so each choice is something like an archaeologist’s trench: it should reveal that there is something there, provide some outline information, and show that there is far more work to be explored.5

Reading the codices of the Scriptures Before the age of print we have to think of the Scriptures as sounds, captured by marks on a flat surface, which enables a skilled person, the lector who belonged to the clerical ordo, to decode those marks and convert them back into sounds made with his or her own voice. This is the process of reading, and it is far more akin to our attitude to a music score resting on a piano than a book lying on our desks. We admire musicians who can “hear” the music just from looking at a score without so much as humming, but take for granted that a reader of this text can scan the page extracting its information without ever “hearing” these words.This process of turning a book into the living sounds of the lawgiver Moses, the prayers of the Psalmist, the wisdom of Solomon, the oracles of the prophets, the teaching of the apostles, or, at its summit, the truth of the Christ – “truth himself speaking” in Augustine’s phrase – was seen as essentially holy and sacramental: to hear these sounds now, preserved through the medium of writing in books and now revivified through the skill of reading, was to hear the original voices and so to witness the revelation of God. When today at a liturgy a lector announces at the end of a lection “[This is] the word of the Lord”, this utterance is taken to have primary reference to the status of the book from which she has read rather than the sounds she has just caused to be heard: for us “Scripture” or “The Scriptures” or “The Bible” is the word of the Lord (and as such is problematic) and the bit just read deserves respect because it comes from that source. For the medieval listener, the phrase refers to the sounds just uttered, which are now heard as if for the first time, and these reveal the mind of God, and hence God is to be thanked for them. However, if sound is the ultimate reality of the Scriptures, then the medium had to be preserved with care (the work of the scribe, the corrector, and the textual scholar) and the various books related to one another (O’Loughlin 2014). This is the whole domain of translation, correction, and canon which absorbed an energy and care that we do not know, and which provoked endless disputes as to what books were “in” or “out” of the category of sacred texts (O’Loughlin 2012b). The issues were, at once, theological (a wrongly included text would compromise the whole edifice) and practical (given that one hardly ever had a codex with the whole of the Scriptures, one needed lists of contents to make sure one had a complete set of the sacred books), and the consequences of mistakes were seen as endangering the very authority of the texts. How, the argument ran, could these books claim to contain the word of God if they were inconsistent or incoherent with one another; if there were doubts as to what was and was not Scripture, or if there were matters in them, which were contradictory or downright wrong. This work of defending the Scriptures was, in many ways, the primary work of the

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scholar – even more urgent than the work of exposition (if one were to separate the two activities) – and nowhere was it of greater importance than with reference to the Gospels. There was one Christ, one life, one set of words and actions, and one Gospel (in the sense of “good news”) but there were four books with differing accounts, different sequence of events, and sometimes these accounts were in conflict. If these accounts could be shown to contradict one another, then the edifice of Christian faith was flawed to the core. So defending the consistency of the gospels became a primary apologetic task, and as time went on it became ever more clear that this involved defending the literal accuracy of the texts. No one was more important in this particular task than Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 260–​340 ce). What Eusebius did was to provide a mechanism that could reconcile all the various incidents in all four gospels in such a way that they appeared to complement rather than contradict one another. His method was to identify little units of text in each Gospel and then show how some were only found in one evangelist (these posed no problem), some in all four (and these four texts were read as adding to one another) and then those in combinations of two or three gospels. But the overall effect of this was that an impression was created that if one followed every unit of text and read it with its related texts, then one would see that all four came into harmony. Then into any codex containing the four gospels, this apparatus was inserted: first, each section was identified in the margins of each Gospel, and second, at the beginning of the codex was placed the series of lists showing how each section related to others.6 This news spread rapidly in both Greek and Latin, was incorporated by Jerome into his edition of the gospels,7 and played a key role in Augustine’s attempt to resolve the problem: the De consensu euangelistarum (Penna 1955; O’Loughlin 1996). It should, therefore, be of little surprise that in our earliest Gospel codices from Ireland we find this system in place. However, the variations in its use show up for us some interesting aspects of how they read the Scriptures. On the one hand we have in the Book of Durrow, a codex which not only has the basic apparatus, but which includes in the margins the parallel references designed to make the process of synoptic reading as easy and as complete as possible.While in its largely redundant canons, the material is laid out in small blocks of text which make these lists not only far less confusing than usual, but much easier for the eye to follow. Here is a codex that was prepared with the scholar in mind, but the precise needs of that scholar are revealed in the margins: he wants to be able to demonstrate at every point that the four accounts cohere and constitute the one Gospel of Jesus Christ (O’Loughlin 1999a). If the Book of Durrow makes the task so much simpler than when using a “standard” codex, then the student who had only access to such a standard copy still needed to remember the key to the system without having to look up the details every time. For just this student, Ailerán the Wise (d. c. 665), prepared his Kanon euangeliorum rhythmica (Esposito 1912, pp. 3–​5; O’Loughlin 2017). It is a little Latin poem of forty-​two lines that, when committed to memory, explains the numerical aspects of the apparatus – which canon deals with which set of Gospel relationships – and reminds the student that the four texts reveal a single message. Today such teaching mnemonics are confined to “thirty days hath September”, but

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within the world of the Scriptures in the first millennium, this little poem is a real boon in that it allows the reader to work his way through a gospel text having a sense at every point of just how this evangelist’s Gospel fits into “the one Gospel” of Jesus (Hengel 2000). Not only were students reading the Gospels “according to the four”, but their teachers such as Ailerán were ensuring that they could do this with confidence and ease. Scholars today may question the validity of the whole approach that underlies reading the Gospels as a single complementary narrative and consider the apparatus a fudge, yet this is testimony to the fundamental differences between our hermeneutic and theirs rather than being a comment on their scholarship and dedication. Indeed, it is in exploring those divergences in what we expect of the Scriptures – a task too large for this paper – that we come to grips with our relative positions.

Liturgy Until the ninth century many of the inhabitants of western Europe experienced the liturgy in their own language. For while the marks on the parchment would be recognised by us as “Latin”, what they heard would have sounded like the precursors of Old French, Old Italian, and so forth. Only in the ninth century did the “reform” come about that imposed new sounds in reference to writing. Now both the writing and the sounds were alien to the cotidian speech, which became the somewhat disparaged “vernacular”. This new formal set of sounds for what is written, which we call “Latin”, was referred to as litterae. The Irish, along with peoples who spoke derivatives of Old High German, were not part of this process. In Ireland, except possibly for early slave groups, the liturgy was always experienced in a second, learned language.This means that we have added difficulties in using the liturgy as a guide to how Scripture was understood in Ireland, and we do not know the extent that the use of Scripture in particular liturgical settings represents the work of isolated individuals or of a more widespread culture. Furthermore, since the liturgy, for all its local variations, was part of a common western inheritance, there is always the possibility that what may appear to us to be peculiar to Ireland might be something far more common but which is only extant in Irish exemplars. By the same token we must dismiss statements common in older textbooks about the distinctive affections for particular biblical books: we simply have no evidence. So, for example, one finds comments that the Irish had a “special interest” in John’s Gospel, yet there is no item of evidence that can be adduced to support this statement. With the above comments in mind, I shall now refer to just one liturgical item relevant to our topic. In the Irish libellus missae, commonly referred to as “The Stowe Missal”, we have a most interesting example of a liturgical text, a confractorium, unique to this manuscript (and so may be a text that was composed in Ireland), which is made up entirely of verses from Scripture (O’Loughlin 2000a, pp. 141–​4; O’Loughlin 2003a). The text was intended for use during the lengthy process of dividing up a single leavened loaf for distribution to the communicants at the Eucharist; and it was intended to be used in combination with a similar text

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for the time of the actual eating and drinking at Communion. Together, these texts are the functional equivalents of contemporary hymns when such are used to create a background to some other activity in the liturgy. The confractorium used verses from the New Testament relating to the Eucharist (e.g. 1 Corinthians 10: 16–​17), forgiveness (Matthew 26: 28), and a psalm text (Psalm 33). While these are so short that we cannot determine from them any particular exegetical direction, they do allow us to glimpse how Scripture was seen to relate to the worshipping community. The way Scripture is used shows, first of all, that the worshipping community have not a doubt but that it is the ideal audience of these texts: the writer, and the Spirit inspiring the writers, had just their situation and usage in mind. The whole biblical text (the books belonging to both Covenants) speak directly to them and are perceived by them in their fullness. Because they are this optimum community of interpretation, what they extract about their own liturgical situation at the Eucharist from these texts has the authority of Scripture itself.To modern ears such notions are characteristic of fundamentalists, but in the early medieval period every text could be read for what it said “de Christo” and in making the mystery of the Christ more plain, they were reacting to the text with a sophisticated, theologically driven, hermeneutic (O’Loughlin 1998). This approach to Scripture can be seen to parallel their approach to sacramentality in general. The text and the event of the Eucharist are interpreted within a complex time frame. The text speaks in its original moment in the past, but it has an immediate presence and offer of revelation, while it also anticipates a future that is “the fullness of time”. This approach has been much studied in relation to the sacramental mysteries, but it is equally true of the biblical texts used in those celebrations. Text and liturgical event are mutually overlapping in their sacral nature: neither can be understood as simply events/​artefacts in the continuum of secular experience which have simply an extrinsic link, either as a memorial or as a pointer, to some other distinct realm. In meeting text and event, the worshipper was entering into the divine presence in the midst of the creation within the last age (aetas) of human existence.8

Canon law In the Gospels, the word lex (and its forms) is used thirty-​one times, while in that even more used source of scriptural reading, the Psalms, it is used no fewer than thirty-​three times. Indeed, the psalter, viewed as the perfect body of prayers, opens with the statement that the Blessed man lives in, and meditates upon, the Law day and night (in lege Domini uoluntas eius et in lege eius meditabitur die ac nocte) (Psalm 1: 2).We immediately object that one cannot equate Torah, in the sense of its standing for the whole of the covenant between the God and the people, with a set of permissive or restrictive ordinances such as is immediately suggested by the use of nomos in Greek or lex in Latin: but that objection would have made no sense in the early medieval west. Moses had been the great lawgiver who had shown the people how to live in that age; Christ was the New Moses, the final lawgiver, who was showing the people how to live in the final age. Where were these lawgivers’

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laws to be found? In the Scriptures. They were a unique source of law which could guide the Church, be further elaborated in the canons of synods, the decretals of the popes, and the jurisprudence of episcopal courts, and which could then be sundered into its individual prescriptions, in order to be reassembled systematically in corpus of laws. Canon law may, by the late seventh century, be a recognisably distinct edifice within western Christianity, but its foundation was Scripture. This becomes significant for the understanding of Scripture in Ireland in a special way once we recall that the earliest systematic collection of canons comes from Ireland: the Collectio canonum hibernensis.9 While a full study of the role of Scripture in this work is long overdue, it is clear from even a casual glance through the text that Scripture is sought out as the basis of virtually all its categories of law and as the deciding voice between conflicting traditions. Quite often the basis of an entire legal structure is a long quotation of Scripture that is then presented as the dominant precedent that should inform actual jurisprudence. A simple example is this case in matters arising out of the duties of care that the living Christians owe towards the dead (Book 15: De cura pro mortuis) who have not yet attained heaven. The question is asked within this context if fasting is of any value in this case? The reply is in the affirmative because there are two scriptural precedents: first, that the inhabitants of Jabesh-​g ilead fasted after they had rescued the bodies of Saul and his sons as this is recalled in 1 Samuel 31: 8–​13; and second, that Rizpah cared for those bodies and fasted over them, which is a confused memory of 2 Samuel 21 combined with 1 Chronicles 10.10 While we might wish to make many comments on this use of Scripture, it is clear that any event recorded with approval in the Scriptures can, thereby, be regarded as approved in the Church. While our immediate comment on such appeals to biblical precedents is to notice that it led to the fracturing of the text into sentences as propositions – and so it has a place in the background history of modern fundamentalism – it should also be noted that these canonists proceeded on the assumption that the whole of the Scriptures had a relevance to the ongoing life of Christians (Sheehy 1987). Moreover, it would be a great injustice to the compilers of the Hibernensis to imagine that they simply went seeking either legal injunctions or exemplary events which could be used as biblical authorities for their legislation. Time and again we glimpse that their use of Scripture relates to a complex hermeneutic which set the parameters for what was and was not expected of the sacral text. Here I can take just one instance relating to their understanding of sacrifice, being discussed as part of the role of the presbyterate (Hibernensis, Book 2).Their treatment shows that they have a notion of sacrifice that is rooted in the very fabric of creation and not simply in an injunction of positive law. The text reads: De diverso sacrificio per IV leges. Melchisedech vinum et panem obtulit [Genesis 14: 18], Job holocaustomata [Job 1: 5], Aaron agnos et uitulos [Leviticus 1: 5 and 10; and Leviticus 9: 33], columbasque et tortures [Leviticus 1:14], Christus corpus et sanguinem obtulit [John 6: 52–​56].11

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What is of interest here is that the appeal to the sacred books is not simply to their text but to the complex set of divine relationships to which they testify. First, there is the distinction between the Old and New Covenants: the priest of the Old Law Aaron is contrasted with the Christ, the priest of the final covenant – this distinction should not surprise us as it can be read as the shortest possible synopsis of the Letter to the Hebrews. But there is also the case of the sacrifice of Melchizedek who belongs to the age before the Old Covenant and who meets Abraham as a “priest of God most high”. Abraham is in a relationship with God, which allows him to offer acceptable, and lawful, sacrifice although he is not part of Aaronic, Old Covenant, or Christian, New Covenant, priesthoods. Likewise, Job, although he was presumed to have lived at the time of the Old Covenant, was not part of the people of Israel – he was a man of Uz: uir erat in terra Hus nomine Iob (Job 1: 1) – and so was taken as proof that God had genuine relationships with all peoples both before and independently of the relationship that was now established between the nations and the Christ (Châtillon, 1954). This simple reference to Job indicates that the compilers of the Hibernensis could recognise that they were already within the divine ambit in prayer, albeit imperfectly, prior to their conversion to Christianity. Moreover, this history recorded in the sacred record itself, by including Job, testified to the fact that the relationship of God to humanity was more embracing than any specific relationship specified within that sacred record.

Teaching The significance of any aspect of Christianity in a particular situation can be judged by the level of resources, in the form of pastoral and scholarly time, devoted to it. One excellent example of such dedication to the understanding of the Scriptures is the work Adomnán devoted to the production of an exegetical handbook for understanding the places mentioned in the Scriptures known as the De locis sanctis (O’Loughlin 2007a). While often dismissed as a travelogue or a curiosity, this little work was designed with two distinct audiences in mind. First, to allow its ordinary monastic audience to imagine the landscape of the biblical drama; and as such it stands in a tradition that can be traced back to the De situ Hierosolymae by Eucherius of Lyons (O’Loughlin 1995c). Second, it provided scholars working on the problems within the biblical text with a tool to help in the resolution of textual conundrums; and as such it was written with the advice of Augustine on the utility of such a handbook in mind.12 It was because of its utility in these twin tasks of teaching – basic instruction and as a resource for scholars – that Adomnán’s De locis sanctis was abbreviated by Bede (who saw himself as Adomnán’s disciple), and copied and used until the Renaissance (O’Loughlin 1995b). The significance of this little text for this study is that it shows us that Irish scholars in the later seventh century saw themselves as part of an extensive tradition of learning from which they drew the inspiration and information they saw as valuable for their work as teachers, and, moreover, they were also active agents within that tradition.They built upon what they had received, recast their materials

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into forms they believed were more appropriate, and published them for their successors’ benefit.

Exegesis The extent and nature of formal exegesis that can be shown to originate from early Christian Ireland is a matter of scholarly debate (Kelly 1988 and 1989–​90; O’Loughlin 1999b). Rather than attempt a summary, I want to examine two works of exegesis that are not included in the catalogues. Each is a map, both either originated in Ireland or were used by Irish scholars, and neither is to be seen as simply a once-​off image belonging to the manuscript in which it is now found. Put another way, the actual drawings that we can see today are just single, uniquely extant, copies of maps that were being copied and used as distinct exegetical statements.13 The first map is extant in the Book of Armagh and accompanies the description of the New Jerusalem in that codex’s text of the Apocalypse (O’Loughlin 2000b and 2002b). It is a simple square diagram showing the twelve gates and their respective apostles surrounding the name of Christ who is the light of that city. As an attempt to make sense of the text of the Apocalypse, it inevitably failed; but as a testimony to a willingness to clarify obscure passages and make that attempt, literally, visible to users of this book, it is a great success. We think of visual illustrations intended to help a reader as a product of contemporary “user-​friendly” culture – a far cry from word-​by-​word medieval exposition, yet here is just such a help to readers. This is a translation of the map found on folio 171r of the Book of Armagh (now housed in Trinity College Dublin). The diagram follows the conclusion of the text of the Apocalypse and faces the text to which it was intended to act as a key. The drawing may not solve the problems inherent in the text, but it does provide a peg around which a deeper appreciation of the vision can be formed.Whether or not this drawing originated in Ireland we cannot say; but we can be certain that it was copied and valued in Ireland at the beginning of the ninth century.14 The second map, by contrast, is only found in a continental manuscript, but from some details of its content we can be as certain as is possible in historical investigations that it was produced in Ireland (O’Loughlin 2005b). It is dedicated to showing the division of the Promised Land into the areas of the tribes as this is narrated in the Book of Joshua. Because this is a thematic map similar to those that can be found in umpteen bibles, we are apt to forget that this is the earliest such map that we possess, and that the map represents an enormous amount of labour to extract the details from the narrative, to combine these details within a grid, and then give that product graphic form. Moreover, this was not produced simply as a nice little addition to the text; rather it was intended as an act of exegesis: it shows the text of much of Joshua visually. You now understand the book, because you can see what it is narrating. This might strike us as so simple as not to deserve comment: anyone can take an outline map of the Levant and locate places and then link them up drawing boundary lines – after all, do we not see such maps daily in every conceivable context? However,

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14

13 1

12

2

3

4

Jesus Christ our Lord

11

5

10

6

9

8

7 15

[NORTH] Key 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

‘angel Thomas ‘angel Matthew ‘angel James Alphaei ‘angel Thaddeus ‘angel Simon of Cana ‘angel Matthias ‘angel John ‘angel Philip ‘angel Bartholomew James ‘angel Peter ‘angel Andrew ‘angel ‘to the east’ ‘to the west’ ‘from the north’

FIGURE 6.1   Map

Zebulon Dan Naphtali Ephraim Manasseh Benjamin Gad Levir Asher Simeon Judah Reuben

Chrysolite’ Beryl’ Topaz’ Chrysoprase’ Hyacinth’ Amethyst’ Smaragans’ Sardonyx’ Saradius’ [ = Carnelian] Chalcedony’ Jasper’ Sapphire’

based on folio 171r of the Book of Armagh.

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[ NORTH ] FIGURA TERRAE REPROMISSIONIS ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dan

Mons Libani

Nepthalim

[a] [b]

[c]

Cedes

Aser

Iordanis

Dimidia tribus Manasse

Zabulon Gaulon

Dimidia tribus Manasse

Isachar

Gad Ramoth in Galaad

Ephraim Sychem Beniamin

Ruben Bosor

Rama Ioppen

Iuda

~ ~ ~ Philisthim ~ [d] ~ FIGURE 6.2  The

here was Hiericho Hierusalem Bethleem Hebron

Symeon Mare Mortuum

Book of Joshua in a single image?

the scholar that produced this map had no outline map of Palestine as his base, or anything like our familiarity with the concept of a cartographic overview. All he had was the book, other references in the biblical text referring incidentally to the location of A relative to B, and the Onomasticon of Eusebius of Caesarea giving similar information (Freeman-​Grenville et al. 2003). From this he built a grid and

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then an image, and that image was so synoptic that it could, within his hermeneutic, displace the need for any further comment on the division of the land. These two maps are rarely alluded to in histories of exegesis, but they display both originality and a willingness to leave no route to information unused and before that speaks well of the scholarly instincts of their creators and users. Moreover, they reveal an epistemology where the visual was set on a par with the linearity of text (O’Loughlin 2015). This fact alone makes them worthy of further investigation.

Imagination While direct evidence for the use of the Scriptures, for instance, guides to its use in prayer, is the usual first quarry for the historian of theology seeking to establish the place of Scripture within the tradition, it may be that works of imagination are even more valuable. We are creatures whose identity is constituted by our imaginations. Not only is it this ability that makes us human, and is the very basis for all religious thought, but if Scripture has entered the universe of our imagination, then it is constitutive of who we are. From this perspective it is worth looking at two of the most powerful imaginary texts from early Christian Ireland: the Vita Patricii by Muirchú; and the anonymous Nauigatio sancti Brendani. Both works have been – indeed, in some ways, still are – influential; and both can only be understood as deliberate attempts to idealise Christian worlds in a past which preached to the actual Christian world of their authors.15 Muirchú’s task was to present the disparate warring tribes of the island on which he lived in the late seventh century as having been established by God as a single well-​ordered gens, which had been baptised into the apostolic faith by Patrick, and which had a destiny to be one of the gentes which go to make up Christian “holy people” of 1 Peter 2: 9. To create this entire edifice he had only the same fragments of information about Patrick that we have, but he accomplished it by appealing to the structures of the liturgy (especially the Easter Vigil) and the descriptions of confrontations of believers and non-​believers in the Old Testament (O’Loughlin 2000a, pp. 87–​108; and 2005a, pp. 112–​30). In order to imagine an ideal city (Tara), an ideal pagan ruler (Loíguire), and an ideal pagan festival, Muirchú turns to the book of Daniel: here is the paradigm for an unbelieving kingdom to encounter the truth of the Gospel (O’Loughlin 2002a). Then to imagine the actual moment of encounter, Muirchú presents a test of divinities that is modelled on the Elijah cycle of stories from 1 Kings (O’Loughlin 2003b; and 2006a). Within this theologian’s imagination, the biblical landscape is more real and more immediate than his everyday experience for his purpose of setting out his understanding of a Church. The Nauigatio is an imaginary journey, made through the cycles of the liturgy (Rumsey 2007), towards the New Jerusalem, the Promised Land of the Saints, the perfect monastery (O’Loughlin 1999b). The destination is none other than the city coming down from heaven of the book of the Apocalypse but is now transposed to the north Atlantic: an island at once intimately close to the island of Ireland,

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and immeasurably distant. For this author the various eschatologies of the biblical book – Gehenna, the new temple of Ezekiel, the new city of the Apocalypse – have all been fused and presented as the several destinations of the monastic journey of prayer (O’Loughlin 2006b). As with Muirchú, the world of the Scriptures within the author’s imagination is the most real and most potent reality with which he can engage.

Conclusions This chapter is bounded in size, and that boundary has determined what can and cannot be said on this topic: for every example taken above, another score could be added. Each example would draw out yet another aspect of this complex picture, yet there would still be a lot more to be said. The serious study of early Irish written sources using the lens of historical theology has barely begun, and so this is not a time when conclusions can yet be drawn. More trenches, and much more careful trowel-​work and sifting will be needed before anything worthwhile of a more general nature can be said. However, I shall dare this statement: one cannot understand the literary remains of early Christian Ireland without recognising their constant dependence upon the Scriptures in Latin.

Notes 1 Archaeologists can demonstrate this range of trading links (Wooding 1996). 2 We cannot even infer from what was happening elsewhere (Gamble 1995) as this was not taking place within the urban environment of the Roman Empire but within groups of slaves in a dispersed rural environment. 3 The evidence was assembled by Kenney (Kenney 1929, pp.  161–​62). Many Pelagius scholars fail to give this evidence its due worth and make ambiguous statements such as “it is now agreed that he was born in west Britain around the middle of the fourth century” (de Bruyn 1993, pp. 10). It is, first, not agreed, and, second, the reference to the “west” of Britain has only entered the debate out of a desire to make him “British” but also give him Irish connections and draws on the use of the Irish language in south-​west Wales in the period (Rees 1988, pp. 116–​21).The problem is solved if one acknowledges that Christianity was in Ireland before 431, and that there was communication from Ireland with Christians on the continent, both of which are certain from the evidence of Prosper. On the acute sensitivity of Jerome to geography, see O’Loughlin 2007a, pp. 16–​28. 4 Gildas’s use of the Scriptures is a very good example of that usage from a region geographically adjacent to Ireland, see O’Loughlin 2012a. 5 It will be objected that I am not including formal, line by line, exegesis among these excavations, but this omission is deliberate as formal exegesis can be considered a stable part of the scholarly agenda of Christians throughout the period, but that alone is not a guide to how the Scriptures were viewed or used: biblical exegetes, a definitione, value and use the Scriptures; the value attached to the Scriptures is only established by noting how they play a role in other Christian concerns, activities, and endeavours. 6 This apparatus is still to be found in the most commonly used critical edition of the New Testament in Greek; see Nestle et al., 2012, pp. 89–​94. 7 See Fischer et al., 1994, pp. 1515–​26 (this is the text frequently referred to by historians of gospel exegesis and codicology as “Nouum opus”).

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8 The best expression of this comes from a complex religious allegory, the Nauigatio sancti Brendani; and on these themes see: O’Loughlin 1999b; and Rumsey 2007. 9 For the text, see Wasserschleben 1885; on its structure, see Charles-​Edwards 1998; and O’Loughlin 2000a, pp. 109–​27. 10 See Book 15, heading 5.  This text is full of difficulties, but these need not concern us here. 11 Book 2, Heading 10: “On the diversity of [kinds] of sacrifice in the four laws: Melchizedek offered wine and bread, Job burnt offerings, Aaron lambs and calves and doves and pigeons, the Christ offered his body and blood.” 12 On the nature of such handbook in the early Middle Ages, see O’Loughlin 2004. 13 Some might object that these are diagrams and not maps, but I am using the now standard definition of a map used in the history of cartography: “Maps are graphic representations that facilitate a spatial understanding of things, concepts, conditions, processes, or events in the human world” (Harley and Woodward 1987, p. xvi). 14 On certain, very distinctive links between the text of the Apocalypse found in the Book of Armagh and that found on the continent, see O’Loughlin 2015. 15 On the influence of the Vita Patricii, see O’Loughlin 2007b; on that of the Nauigatio, see Burgess and Strijbosch 2000.

References Achtemeier, P.J. (1990) “Omne verbum sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity”, Journal of Biblical Literature, 109, pp. 3–​27. Burgess, G. S. and Strijbosch, C. (2000) The Legend of St Brendan. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy. Charles-​Edwards, T.M. (1993) “Palladius, Prosper, and Leo the Great: Mission and Primatial Authority”, in D.N. Dumville (ed.) Saint Patrick:  ad  493–​1993. Woodbridge:  Boydell Press, pp. 1–​12. —​—​—​(1998) “The Construction of the Hibernensis”, Peritia, 12, pp. 209–​37. Châtillon, F. (1954) “‘Tria genera hominum:’ Noe, Daniel, et Job”, Revue du Moyen Age, 10, pp. 169–​76. de Bruyn, T. (1993) Pelagius’s Commentary on St Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Esposito, M. (1912) “Hiberno-​Latin Manuscripts in the Libraries of Switzerland (Part II)”, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, 30c, pp. 1–​14. Fischer, B., Gribomont, J., Sparks, H.D.F., Theile, W., Weber, R. and Gryson, R. (eds) (1994) Biblia Sacra iuxta Vulgatam Versionem. 4th edn. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Freeman-​Grenville, G.S.P., Chapman III, R.L. and Taylor, J.E. (2003) The Onomasticon of Eusebius of Caesarea. Jerusalem: Carta. Gamble, H.Y. (1995) Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Harley, J.B. and Woodward, D. (1987) The History of Cartography: Cartography in Prehistoric, Ancient, and Medieval Europe and the Mediterranean. Chicago, IL:  The University of Chicago Press. Hengel, M. (2000) The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Kelly, J.F. (1988) “A Catalogue of Early Medieval Hiberno-​Latin Biblical Commentaries”, Traditio, 44, pp. 537–​71. —​—​—​(1989–​90) “A Catalogue of Early Medieval Hiberno-​Latin Biblical Commentaries”, Traditio, 45, pp. 393–​434. Kenney, J.F. (1929) The Sources for the Early History of Ireland:  Ecclesiastical. New  York, NY: Columbia University Press.

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Nestle, E., Nestle, E., Aland, B., Aland, K., et al. (eds) (2012) Novum Testamentum Graece. 28 edn. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Ó Corráin, D., Breatnach, L. and Breen, A. (1984) “The laws of the Irish”, Peritia, 3, pp. 382–​438. Ó Cróinín, D. (2000) “Who was Palladius ‘First Bishop of the Irish’”, Peritia, 12, pp. 205–​37. O’Loughlin, T. (1995a) “The Symbol gives Life: Eucherius of Lyons’ Formula for Exegesis”, in T. Finan and V. Twomey (eds), Scriptural Interpretation in the Fathers:  Letter and Spirit. Dublin: Four Courts Press, pp. 221–​52. —​—​—​ (1995b) “Adomnán the Illustrious”, The Innes Review, 46, pp. 1–​14. —​—​—​ (1995c) “Dating the De situ Hierusolimae: The Insular Evidence”, Revue Bénédictine, 105, pp. 9–​19. —​—​—​(1996) “Tyconius’ use of the Canonical Gospels”, Revue Bénédictine, 106, pp. 229–​33. —​—​—​(1997) “Individual Anonymity and Collective Identity: The Enigma of Early Medieval Latin Theologians”, Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévale, 64, pp. 291–​314. —​—​—​(1998) “Christ as the Focus of Genesis Exegesis in Isidore of Seville”, in T. Finan and V. Twomey (eds), Studies in Patristic Christology. Dublin: Four Courts Press, pp. 144–​62. —​ —​ —​(1999a) “The Eusebian Apparatus in some Vulgate Gospel Books”, Peritia, 13, pp. 1–​92. —​ —​ —​(1999b) “Distant Islands:  The Topography of Holiness in the Nauigatio sancti Brendani”, in M. Glasscoe (ed.) The Medieval Mystical Tradition: England, Ireland and Wales (Exeter Symposium VI). Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, pp. 1–​20. —​—​—​ (2000a) Celtic Theology. London: Continuum. —​—​—​(2000b) “The Plan of the New Jerusalem in the Book of Armagh”, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies, 39, pp. 23–​38. —​ —​ —​(2001) “Irish Preaching Before the End of the Ninth Century:  Assessing the Extent of our Evidence”, in A.J. Fletcher and R. Gillespie (eds) Irish Preaching 700–​1700. Dublin: Four Courts Press, pp. 18–​39. —​—​—​(2002a) “Muirchú’s Theology of Conversion in his Vita Patricii”, in: M. Atherton (ed.) Celts and Christians: New Approaches to the Religious Traditions of Britain and Ireland. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, pp. 124–​45. —​—​—​(2002b) “Imagery of the New Jerusalem in the Periphyseon and Eriugena’s Irish Background” in J. McEvoy and M. Dunne (eds) History and Eschatology in John Scottus Eriugena and His Time (Proceedings of the Tenth International Conference of the Society for Eriugenian Studies Maynooth and Dublin August 16–​20, 2000). Leuven: Leuven University Press, pp. 245–​59. —​ —​ —​(2003a) “The Praxis and Explanations of Eucharistic Fraction in the Ninth Century: the Insular Evidence”, Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, 45, pp. 1–​20. —​—​—​(2003b) “Reading Muirchú’s Tara-​event within its Background as a Biblical ‘Trial of Divinities,’” in J. Cartwright (ed.) Celtic Hagiography and Saints’ Cults. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, pp. 123–​35. —​—​—​(2004) “Early Medieval Introductions to the Holy Book: Adjuncts or Hermeneutic?” in R.N. Swanson (ed.) Studies in Church History 38:  The Church and the Book. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, pp. 22–​31. —​—​—​ (2005a) Discovering Saint Patrick. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. —​—​—​(2005b) “Map and Text: A Mid Ninth-​Century Map for the Book of Joshua”, Imago Mundi, 57.1, pp. 7–​22 and pl. 1. —​—​—​(2006a) Muirchú’s Poisoned Cup: A Note on its Sources”, Ériu, 56, pp. 157–​62. —​—​—​(2006b) “The Monastic Liturgy of the Hours in the Nauigatio sancti Brendani: A Preliminary Investigation”, Irish Theological Quarterly, 71, pp. 113–​26.

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—​—​—​ (2007a) Adomnán and the Holy Places. London: T&T Clark. —​—​—​(2007b) “The Myth of Insularity and Nationality in Ireland”, in J.F. Nagy (ed.) Myth in Celtic Literatures. Dublin: Four Courts Press, pp. 132–​40. —​—​—​ (2012a) Gildas and the Scriptures:  Observing the World through a Biblical Lens. Turnhout: Brepols. —​—​—​ (2012b) “Jerome’s De uiris illustribus and Latin Perceptions of the New Testament’s Canon” in J.E. Rutherford and D. Woods (eds) The Mystery of Christ in the Fathers of the Church: Essays in Honour of D. Vincent Twomey SVD. Dublin: Four Courts Press, pp. 55–​65. —​—​—​(2014) “The structure of the collections that make up the Scriptures: the influence of Augustine on Cassiodorus”, Revue Bénédictine, 124, pp. 48–​64. —​—​—​ (2015) “The so-​called capitula for the Book of the Apocalypse in the Book of Armagh (Dublin, TCD 52) and Latin exegesis”, in P. Moran and I. Warntjes (eds) Early Medieval Ireland and Europe:  Chronology, Contacts, Scholarship:  A  Festschrift for Daíbhí Ó Cróinín. Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 405–​23. —​ —​ —​(2017) “The Eusebian Apparatus in the Lindisfarne Gospels:  Ailerán’s Kanon euangeliorum as a lens for its appreciation” in R. Gameson (ed.) The Book of Lindisfarne, forthcoming. Penna, A. (1955) “Il ‘De consensu evangelistarum’ ed i ‘Canoni Eusebiani’”, Biblica, 36, pp. 1–​19. Rees, B.R. (1988) Pelagius: A Reluctant Heretic. Woodbridge: Boydell Press. Rumsey, P.M. (2007) Sacred Time in Early Christian Ireland. London: T&T Clark. Sheehy, M.P. (1987) “The Bible and the Collectio Canonum Hibernensis”, in P. Ní Chatháin and M. Richter (eds) Ireland and Christendom: The Bible and the Missions. Stuttgart: Klett-​ Cotta, pp. 277–​83. Wasserschleben, H. (1885) Die irische Kanonensammlung. 2nd edn. Leipzig:  Verlag von Bernhard Tauhnitz. Wooding, J.M. (1996) Communication and Commerce along the Western Sealanes ad 400–​800. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports.

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7 READING THE SONG OF SONGS A Jewish and Christian love affair Margaret Daly-​Denton

Introduction Christians believe that all Scripture is inspired by God and contains lessons for living (2 Timothy 3: 16–​17). Since the vast majority of them live out their baptismal dedication in some form of committed relationship, expressed and celebrated in sexual intimacy, one would expect that the Song of Songs would be a much loved and frequently read book. A little research conducted among friends who live in committed relationships, however, shows that many have never read it. Of those who kindly agreed to read it, some found it of no relevance. A graduate in theology, told me of her son’s embarrassment when she suggested as a reading for his wedding the passage describing the man as “a young stag” (Song 2: 9). Another woman friend said she felt totally alienated from it because of the tradition of its interpretation in terms of the (institutional) Church as bride of Christ, especially in view of recent scandals. For another married friend, the Song speaks of the first flight of falling in love. “After thirty-​eight years, the relationship is not that poetic; it is different, stronger and more real.” Another friend who read it for the first time at my insistence recognized that while certain passages are “part of the folk memory”, she was coming to the Song as a whole rather late in life. Having always assumed that it is an image of God’s love, she now thinks that this is “stretching it” and that the sages who developed that interpretation were “tongue-​in-​cheek”.They must surely have recognized that it was “a blessing on the sexual”. This is astonishingly like the conclusion reached in the late nineteenth century by Elizabeth Cady Stanton who saw “no special religious significance” in the Song and regarded the allegorical reading as “rather far-​fetched and unworthy of the character of the ideal Jesus” (Cady Stanton 1885–​89, p. 100).

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The Song of Songs in the Christian Church To find out what the Christian Church officially thinks of the Song of Songs, one might turn – on the basis of the axiom, Lex orandi, lex credenda – to the Scriptures as proclaimed in the community of believers at their Sunday assembly, particularly by those traditions that use a set cycle of readings.1 The introduction to the 1969 Roman Lectionary states that the readings chosen for proclamation on Sundays “present the more important biblical passages” in such a way that “the more significant passages of God’s revealed word can be read to the assembly of the faithful” over a three-​year period. However, the Song of Songs is conspicuous by its absence. In this regard, it is interesting to look at the Revised Common Lectionary, a widely used international ecumenical lectionary, which adopts, adapts and improves the Roman model. One of the changes is the provision for Song 2: 8–​13 to be heard on two occasions in the three-​year Sunday cycle of readings. On one of these, a passage from it is even sung as a poetic reflection on a biblical betrothal story.2 So is the absence of the Song from the Roman Catholic Sunday lectionary an indication that it is not regarded as a “significant passage of God’s revealed word”? Or does it tell us less about the Song than about the preoccupations of the members and consultors of the Concilium group that produced the lectionary? Their focus on Old Testament passages that illuminate the Gospel readings goes some way towards explaining the absence of the Song from the Sunday Lectionary. Perhaps, though, this lack simply reminds us of where the Roman Catholic Church was coming from and how far it had got by the late 1960s. It would take more time and, in particular, the work of feminist biblical scholars, to reveal the extent to which the Church had suppressed not only sexuality but the texts of Scripture itself that mentioned it. The current Roman Catholic Lectionary does, however, draw upon the Song on other occasions. One of the eight Old Testament passages from which present-​ day couples can choose the First Reading at their wedding is from the Song.3 This allows the Song to speak at the level of its primary signification as a collection of ancient Israelite love poetry.4 Other occasions when the Song is read in the liturgy, however, call for a symbolic re-​signification of the Song. In fact, the very passage used for weddings can also be read at the consecration of virgins, at a religious profession or on the memorial of a female virgin saint of the Christian Church. It is the reading of the Song as an allegory that seems to have tipped the balance in favour of its acceptance as Sacred Scripture in both Judaism and Christianity, despite the fact that its text never explicitly mentions God or refers to any of the great themes of biblical history.5 That brings us to the question that exercised so many of the friends that I consulted, “How did the Song get into the Bible?”

The origins of the Song of Songs A collection of love poems, showing parallels with Egyptian compositions dating from the thirteenth to the twelfth centuries bce, and probably committed

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to writing between the eighth and sixth centuries, was preserved by Israelite sages. The title, “The Song of Songs which is Solomon’s” (New Revised Standard Version), post-​dates the poems themselves. It uses a Semitic idiom corresponding to our superlative, meaning, “The Best Song Ever”. It links the poems with Solomon, as presumed author of 3,000 proverbs (1 Kings 4: 32) and thereby as exponent of “that mystery too wonderful to understand … the way of a man with a maiden” (Proverbs 30: 18–​19).There was also the small matter of the seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines that Solomon apparently succeeded in satisfying (1 Kings 11: 3). The sages who collated and preserved the collection would have recognized in the poems the resonances with Solomon’s advice to young men: Rejoice in the wife of your youth, A lovely hind, a graceful doe. Let her affection fill you at all times with delight, Be infatuated always with her love. Proverbs 5: 15–​19 By the late Second Temple period, the title had come to be understood as referring to Solomon’s actual authorship. In fact, Solomon was credited with authorship of three books: Qoheleth, Proverbs and Song. There was a similar attribution of the Pentateuch to Moses and of the Psalter to David. As the third section of the Jewish Bible, the Writings, gradually began to stabilize at this time, the Song was included. Eventually, it was designated to be read at the spring festival of Passover.6 Its imagery resonates with the idealization of the Exodus period as the spring time of God’s love affair with Israel, a theme developed in the prophetic writings, in Hosea, for example: I will allure her and lead her into the wilderness And speak tenderly to her … And there she shall respond as in the days of her youth, As at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt. Hosea 2: 14–​15 To illustrate the kind of interpretation of the Song that flourished in rabbinic Judaism, we might note several passages from the Midrash on Psalms, a work that found written form around the eighth or ninth centuries ce, but is believed to contain much older interpretive traditions. According to the Midrash, Israel sang the Song of Songs when God gave Moses the Law at Sinai – quite an achievement when one thinks of the chronological logistics! (Midrash Tehillim 149, 1; Braude 1959, II, p. 378).7 For the rabbis, being “sick with love” (Song 2: 5) meant being “sick unto death” so much in love with God that one is willing to lay down one’s life (Midr. Teh. 116, 1; Braude 1959, II, p. 223). The passage, “What is that coming up from the wilderness, like a column of smoke?” (Song 3: 6) lent itself readily to a reading that put that question

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in the mouths of the nations as they saw the way God cared for Israel during the forty-​year “procession” through the desert, providing a pillar of cloud to guide them by day (Exodus 13: 21; Midr Teh. 22, 11; Braude 1959, I, pp. 306–​07). All of this is indicative of a profound re-​signification of this collection of love poetry. It would now be interpreted within the intertextual mesh of canon and cult. Consequently, it would be received primarily as a portrayal of God’s love for Israel. The Mishnah attributes to the first-​century ce Rabbi Akiba, (d. 135 ce) an answer to those who debated whether or not the Song “defiled the hands” (that is, whether or not it was Sacred Scripture): For the entire age is not so worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel. For all the scriptures are holy, but the Song of Songs is holiest of all (literally translated: “the Holy of Holies”). M.Yad. 3.5; Neusner 1988, p. 1127 The ancient translation of the Bible from Hebrew into Greek known as the Septuagint –  the Bible as received by the early Christians –  is, in effect, the earliest commentary on the Song that we possess. To mention just one point of interest, its translators never use the word eros (or its cognate verb eraō), normally used, mostly of the man, for sexual passion and by extension for lust, passionate or eager desire. Their favoured word for love is agape (and the cognate verb agapaō). Perhaps this is an indication that they were interpreting the Song metaphorically, rather than in the literal erotic sense. One of the most ancient manuscripts of the Greek translations of the Song that we possess is in the fourth-​century ce Codex Sinaiticus, found at St Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai. The Christian scribes who copied it added rubrics (glosses written in red letters, but printed in italics here) allocating various lines of the poems to the dramatis personae of the poems. The Song of Songs which is Solomon’s. The bride Let him kiss me from the kisses of his mouth, because your breasts are better than wine, and the aroma of your myrrh than all aromatic herbs. Your name is myrrh poured out. Because of this, the maidens have loved you. They have drawn you. We shall run after you to the aroma of your myrrh. The bride tells the maidens the things about the groom that he gave to her The king has brought me into his chamber. While the bride was talking to the maidens, they said Let us leap for joy and rejoice in you. We shall love your breasts more than wine. The maidens call out to the groom the name of the bride “Uprightness has come to love you.”

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Interestingly, there is no indication of allegorization in this translation and none of the annotations is particularly Christian in character.8 The view of the Song as a drama would eventually lead to it being received as a poetic retelling of the history of Israel, as the ups and downs of a love affair between God and God’s people.To this day, the symbolical or allegorical interpretation holds sway in orthodox Judaism. The Song is referred to only tangentially in the Jewish Rite of Marriage.9 The Prayer Book (Siddur), in its explanation of the custom of reading the Song of Songs on Sabbath Eve, to welcome in the Sabbath as a bride, insists that this “seemingly sensuous song” is an allegory. “A literal translation would be misleading – even false – because it would not convey the meaning intended by King Solomon, the composer” (Scherman 1984, p. 298). The version the Siddur uses is based on the medieval rabbi Rashi’s commentary and paraphrases the text in favour of the symbolic interpretation. For example, Song 1: 1, “O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth”, is paraphrased as: “Communicate your innermost wisdom to me again in loving closeness”. Alongside this symbolic hermeneutic which operates when the Song is recited/​ sung officially, as it were, the literal/​original meaning co-​exists in contemporary Judaism. A beautiful example of this is the translation by Marcia Falk, a widely published Jewish poet and translator of Hebrew and Yiddish poetry. One of its reviewers, Cynthia Ozick, writes, “Falk’s Song of Songs has a lasting life ahead of it in lovers’ laps, whether those lovers are lovers of the literature of the Bible, or lovers of the clear sound of an American poet in intimate embrace with a tradition, or simply lovers”. Falk’s translation begins as follows: O for your Kiss! For your love More enticing than wine, For your scent and sweet name–​ For all this they love you. Take me away to your room, Like a king to his rooms–​ We’ll rejoice there with wine. No wonder they love you! Falk hears in the Song of Songs “the voices of women and men… celebrating eros, sensuality and the beauties of nature” (Falk 1993, p. x). Song 3: 1–​4, a delightful portrayal of a woman’s initiative and risk-​taking in love is the one passage in the Song that is generally thought to have influenced a New Testament scene. A long liturgical tradition, going back at least as far as the oldest extant Christian Commentary on the Song of Songs by the early third-​century author Hippolytus, puts these words on the lips of the women approaching Jesus’ tomb on Easter morning, and in particular of Mary Magdalene, as portrayed in John 20: 11–​18 (McConvery 2005). Upon my bed by night I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him, but found him not;

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I called him, but he gave no answer. “I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves”. I sought him, but found him not. The watchmen found me, as they went about in the city. “Have you seen him whom my soul loves?” Scarcely had I passed them, when I found him whom my soul loves. I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me. Seeking for Jesus is a key motif in the Fourth Gospel, peaking in the scene, set in a garden, where Mary Magdalene searches for his body and, when she eventually meets the Risen Lord, attempts to hold on to him (Amos 1991). The Song of Songs atmosphere in this scene may well be another of the Fourth Evangelist’s hints that the Passover springtime frame for Jesus’ “hour” is important (Song 2: 10–​12). Like another paradigmatic disciple, the Samaritan woman whose encounter with Jesus is redolent of several biblical betrothal scenes, Mary Magdalene, the lover seeking the beloved, models the faith journey of the ideal Johannine disciple. The present-​day Roman Lectionary retains Song 3: 1–​4 as the First Reading on Mary’s memorial (22  July). Apparently though, the lectionary compilers were embarrassed by the all-​important verse 4 – “I held him and would not let him go” – another “lacuna” filled in the Revised Common Lectionary!10 This scene is depicted in numerous works of Christian art entitled, Noli me tangere (Do not touch me), where Jesus is shown resisting Mary’s attempt to grasp him. An engraving by the British sculptor, typeface designer and engraver Eric Gill (1882–​1940) entitled The Nuptials of God takes a refreshingly different approach. Here a standing Mary, viewed from behind, embraces the crucified Jesus in a gesture that can also be interpreted as the traditional orans posture of Christian prayer as well as a visual echo of Jesus’ own outstretched arms. Even though her long loosened hair dates this engraving to an era before feminist scholarship would unmask the stereotyping of Mary Magdalene as the repentant sinful woman, Gill shows extraordinary insight into this interpretive tradition and its roots within the Song of Songs. It is no accident that the Song was the inspiration for a good number of Gill’s engravings, many of which are preserved in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.11 There is a long tradition of Christian allegorical interpretation of the Song beginning, as mentioned, with Hippolytus. Origen (185–​254 ce), who wrote a commentary and two homilies on the Song, was the first Christian commentator to attempt to identify dramatis personae. He is known to have consulted Jewish rabbis about the interpretation of the Song. He sees it as portraying the eschatological nuptials of Christ and his bride and as a description of the alluring capacity of the Scripture to make the reader “one spirit” with the Lord. Among other commentators we might mention Gregory of Nyssa and his fifteen homilies on the Song, based on Origen but giving it a narrative framework. His allegorical approach would be typical of

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most subsequent interpretations such as those of Jerome, Ambrose,Theodoret, Cyril of Alexandria and Gregory of Nyssa who writes: Let not any passionate and fleshly person, who still gives off the deathly smell of the old humanity, drag the meaning of the divinely inspired ideas and words down to the level of brutish irrationality. No, let each depart from himself and get outside the material cosmos and ascend somehow, by way of impassibility, into paradise; and having by purity been made like to God, let him in this fashion journey to the inner shrine of the mysteries manifested to us in this book. Homily 1 on the Song of Songs, Norris 2012 In the late fourth century the Roman ex-​monk Jovinian argued for the literal reading of the Song as part of his attempt to counteract what he saw as the exaggerated appreciation of celibacy and asceticism in the Christian Church. What we know about him comes from the report of his ideas in the writings of his opponents, notably his contemporary Jerome. For example, he considered that virgins, widows and married people, baptized in Christ, have equal merit, an idea of which Jerome clearly did not approve. On Jovinian’s reading of the Song of Songs, Jerome writes, “Whereas our opponent thinks it makes altogether for marriage, I shall show that it contains the mysteries of virginity” (Against Jovinian, 30).12 Not surprisingly, Jovinian was excommunicated as a heretic.

The Middle Ages By the Middle Ages, the Song was the book of the Bible most frequently commented upon, its most famous interpreter being the twelfth-​century Cistercian abbot, Bernard of Clairvaux. Bernard’s verse-​by-​verse commentary, that never got beyond Chapter 2, is found in his eighty-​six sermons Super Cantica. Several of his other works, notably the Sermones de diversis also comment on verses of the Song. Bernard’s commentary is addressed to a community of monks who understood themselves to be a local church and whose spirituality, formed by the liturgy and the patristic writings, was profoundly ecclesiological. For Bernard, it is the Church that is the bride of Christ, addressed in the Song. Later commentators on the Song such as John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila were more inclined to read the Song as an allegory of the love between Christ and the individual soul. In this they reflected the spirit of their age, a time of liturgical decline with a consequent loss of a community ecclesiology and greater emphasis on the mystical journey of the individual soul. The allegorical interpretation of the Song, addressed primarily to monks, nuns and ascetics, was to hold sway in Christian literature until relatively recently (Turner 1995). The tendency has persisted, particularly among Roman Catholic commentators, to disparage or at least discourage the literal reading of the Song. The allegorical reading is still seen as a “religious” interpretation, with the inevitable implication that the literal reading is irreligious. For example, the

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study notes to a modern Roman Catholic edition of the Bible devote nineteen lines to introducing the Song of Songs first and foremost as “the sublime portrayal and praise of the mutual love of the Lord and his people” and a mere three lines to rather grudgingly admitting that, “While the Song is thus commonly understood by most Catholic scholars, it is also possible to see in it an inspired portrayal of ideal human love” (Hartman et al. 1971). Increasingly today such avoidance of the literal sense seems perverse. The possibility is recognized that allegorized interpretations of the Song would have frequently “plunged male Christian expositors into an eroticized relationship with the male Christ” (Moore 2000). It is also admitted that the history of Christian commentary on the Song frequently displays a highly problematic view of Judaism as superseded by Christianity.This literature abounds in such anti-​Jewish claims, as for example, the idea, based on Song 2: 11, that the winter of the Old Testament period has passed and the spring time of Christianity has come. Such ideas often found visual expression in the depictions of Synagoga as a disconsolate (even blindfolded) rejected bride and Ecclesia as a triumphant queen, in medieval churches.13

More recent readings In more recent scholarship, the physicality and eroticism of the Song is appreciated and celebrated (Pope 1993). Frequently noted is a striking contrast between Genesis 3:16 where woman is cursed – “In pain you shall bring forth your children, yet your desire shall be for your husband” – and Song 7: 10 where the woman sings, “I am my beloved’s and his longing is all for me”. For Phyllis Trible (1973), for example, paradise lost is regained in the Song of Songs which she sees as a Midrash on ­chapters 2 and 3 of Genesis, and, in fact, a joyful counterbalance to the poignancy of the Genesis myth: Born to mutuality and harmony, a man and a woman live in a garden where nature and history unite to celebrate the one flesh of sexuality. Naked without shame or fear [see Genesis 2: 25; 3: 10], this couple treat each other with tenderness and respect. Neither escaping nor exploiting sex, they embrace and enjoy it. Their love is truly bone of bone and flesh of flesh, and this image of God male and female is indeed very good [see Genesis 1: 27, 31]. Testifying to the goodness of creation, then, eroticism becomes worship in the context of grace. Phyllis Trible imagines a postlude to the poetry of the Song of Songs: In this fantasy “the cherubim and the flaming sword” appear to guard the entrance to the garden of the Song [see Genesis 3: 24]. They keep out those who lust, moralize, legislate, or exploit. They also turn away literalists. But at all times they welcome lovers to romp and roam in the joys of eroticism: Arise, my love my fair one, and come away. Trible 1978, pp. 144–​65

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One of the charms of the Song of Songs is its subtlety. The Song’s eroticism is delicately understated: sometimes by means of euphemism, but more often by references to loving glances, touches and kisses. The Song never mentions pro-​creation. In fact, it is remarkable, and quite different from its Egyptian models, for its discretion with regard to sexual intercourse, for the absence of sexual stereotyping and for its expression of mutuality in relationship between a man and a woman. Finally, the woman has much more to say than the man and she is notably courageous and uninhibited when it comes to taking initiatives. Probably we should keep both the literal and the allegorical readings in mind, as Paul Ricoeur suggests in an essay, entitled “The Nuptial Metaphor”. Ricoeur, argues that the subsequent history of a biblical text, its role within Jewish and Christian tradition, can, indeed must, be a factor in its interpretation. In his view, we should not be looking for one proper meaning of the Song of Songs. Instead we should think in terms of what he calls an “intersecting reading”, a reading that acknowledges that “the meanings of the Song are constituted by a history of reading derived from the use of this scripture to interpret different religious practices” (Ricoeur 1998). These few lines have been written by someone with some knowledge of the allegorical reading who came to the experience celebrated in the literal reading later in life, someone grateful to have that memory of the text that, as she gradually came into the experience of being a lover and a beloved, came so often into her mind. St Bernard actually talked about similar experiences in his Sermons on the Canticle, calling these little flashes of remembered Scripture verba Verbi, “words of the word” (Super Cantica 32, 4). It might be hearing the “voice of the beloved” (Song 2: 8; 5: 2) on the phone when far away, or something as simple as sharing an umbrella and finding herself “leaning on her beloved” (Song 8: 5). In such moments, the Song alerts us to the God-​g ivenness of those fleeting moments of delicate intimacy that sustain couples’ lives together. In the Song, the lover calls the beloved his friend no less than nine times. She reciprocates only once! It is to be hoped, as Enda McDonagh has suggested, that as more married people contribute to theological reflection, we will hear more about friendship in Christian marriage: as “recognition, respect and response” and as “the stuff of narrative, rather than philosophy, of story rather than analysis” (McDonagh 2004, p. 98). For this beloved lover, the Song evokes the story of how two people met, apparently by chance, and of how love blossomed between them. It is always a joy to hear the beloved telling that story to new friends. The effect is something very simple: gratitude. Surely that is exactly what those members of a eucharistic people who have been blessed with the gift of loving and being loved should specialize in. To conclude, a quotation from Christopher Pramuk: Without diminishing the riches that have been gathered from allegorical readings of the Song of Songs, one may still insist on the value of a more literal reading for Christians today. As at least one monk of ancient days (the wily Jovinian) seemed to understand, the Christian has less to fear and much more to celebrate in the God-​g iven mystery of human sex, rightly and

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reverently embraced … Especially for those of us whose calling is marriage, meditation on the Song of Songs can nurture both gratitude for the gift of love’s union now and a shimmering hope for the reign of God yet to come. Pramuk 2005

Notes 1 The axiom, Lex orandi legem credendi constituit, also found in the form, Legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi, is found in the so-​called capitula Coelestini, added to a letter of Pope Celestine I (422–​32 ce), but which are thought to be the work of Prosper of Aquitaine (c. 440). 2 Song 2: 8–​13 is read on Proper 17 [22] in Year B. The same passage is sung in response to the story of Isaac’s marriage to Rebekah (Genesis 24), on Sunday Proper 9 [9]‌in Year A. 3 Song 2: 8–​10, 14. 16; 8: 6–​7. The 1969 Lectionary provides twenty-​eight passages from which readings may be chosen, as contrasted with the pre-​1969 provision, when the only passages read at weddings were Ephesians 5: 22–​33 and Matthew 19: 3–​6. 4 The references to the voice of the bride and bridegroom in passages such as Jeremiah 7: 34, 16: 9, 25: 10, 33: 11 probably point to the original function of the poems in the Song of Songs as wedding songs. 5 The Hebrew of Esther also never explicitly mentions God. Yet while Esther was not found among the Dead Sea Scrolls, no less than four copies of the Song were found. 6 “The first evidence for the reading of the Song of Songs at Passover comes from … one of the so-​called ‘minor’ tractates attached to the Talmud and dated to the middle of the eighth century ce” (Brenner 1989, p. 95). However, the existence of homiletic midrashim on the Song from earlier centuries would indicate that the liturgical use of the Song is much older. 7 The Midrash states that they sang, “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.” In the days before chapter and verse numbering was invented, this was the normal way of referring to a biblical passage, that is, by its opening line. 8 Available at: www.codexsinaiticus.org (accessed 9 February 2016). 9 The bride (who scrupulously observes the laws of family purity) is greeted as “the rose among thorns” (Song 2: 2, Israel being the rose among gentile thorns). The Seven Blessings resonate with the Song. A blessing is pronounced over a cup of wine after each meal attended by the couple for seven days after the ceremony. ‘Gladden the beloved companions as you gladdened your creature (i.e. Adam) in the garden of Eden long ago … Blessed are you, Hashem, King of the universe, who created gladness, groom and bride, mirth, glad song, pleasure, delight, love, brotherhood, peace and companionship.” 10 The Missal of Pius V (1570), the source for the Scripture readings at the Eucharist prior to 1970 provided a composite reading for St Mary Magdalene consisting of Song 3: 2–​5 and Song 8: 6–​7. 11 Available at www.collections.vam.ac.uk/​item/​O592830/​nuptials-​of-​god-​ordination-​ card-​gill-​eric (accessed 9 February 2016). 12 Available at www.ccel.org/​ccel/​schaff/​npnf206.i.html (accessed 9 February 2016). 13 See, for example, the fourteenth-​century chapter room doorway of Rochester Cathedral and the carved heads of Synagoga (blindfolded) and Ecclesia on the West facade of St Finbarre’s Cathedral in Cork.

References Amos, C. (1991) “Love’s Labour Unlost: Women and the Word”, The Way (Supplement), 72, pp. 48–​59. Bloch, A. and Bloch, C. (1995) The Song of Songs: A New Translation. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Braude, W. (1959) The Midrash on Psalms (2 vols).Yale Judaica Series XIII. New Haven: Yale University Press. Brenner, A. (1989) Song of Songs: Old Testament Guides. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Cady Stanton, E. (1985) The Woman’s Bible: The Original Feminist Attack on the Bible. Abridged edition with Introduction by Dale Spender. Edinburgh: Polygon. Falk, M. (trans.) (1993) The Song of Songs: Love Lyrics from the Bible. Lebanon, NH: University Press of New England. Gregory of Nyssa (2012) Homilies on the Song of Songs. Writings from the Greco-​Roman World. Translated by Richard A. Norris Jr. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hartman, L.F., et al. (eds) (1971) The New American Bible. Washington, DC: Confraternity of Christian Doctrine. McConvery, B. (2005) “‘The Women at the Tomb in Hippolytus’ Commentary on the Canticle of Canticles XXIV–​ XXV”, in J. Egan and B. McConvery (eds), Faithful Witness: Glimpses of the Kingdom. Dublin: Milltown Institute, pp. 275–​84. McDonagh, E. (2004) Vulnerable to the Holy in Faith, Morality, and Art. Dublin: Columba Press. Moore, S.D. (2000) “The Song of Songs in the History of Sexuality”, Church History, 69.2, pp. 328–​49. Neusner, J. (1988) The Mishnah: A New Translation. New Haven: Yale University Press. Pope, M.H. (1993) “The Song of Songs and Women’s Liberation: An ‘Outsider’s’ Critique”, in A. Brenner (ed.) A Feminist Companion to the Song of Songs. Sheffield:  JSOT Press, pp. 121–​8. Pramuk, C. (2005) “Sexuality, Spirituality and the Song of Songs”, America:  The National Catholic Weekly, 31 October 2005, pp. 8–​12. Ricoeur, P. (1998) “The Nuptial Metaphor”, in A. LaCocque and P. Ricoeur, Thinking Biblically: Exegetical and Hermeneutical Studies. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, pp. 265–​303. Scherman, N. (1984) The Complete Artscroll Siddur:  A  New Translation and Anthological Commentary. Brooklyn, NY: Mesorah Publications. Trible, P. (1973) “Depatriarchalizing in Biblical Interpretation”, JAAR, 41, pp. 42–​8. —​—​—​ (1978) God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. Turner, D. (1995) Eros and Allegory: Medieval Exegesis of the Song of Songs. Cistercian Studies 156. Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications.

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8 ˉN MIS-​READING THE QUR’A A non-​Muslim pitfall? Jonathan Kearney

Introduction: mis-​reading the Qur’a ˉ n? Discourse on the Qur’ān in the contemporary Irish public sphere is relatively rare. However, when one does encounter references to this text, they are often superficial, inaccurate, atomistic, acontextual and even sensationalist. Indeed irresponsible reporting is all too depressingly familiar to Muslims who are understandably upset and offended by the uncritical and thoughtless images of Islam so frequently reproduced in popular media. For Muslims the Qur’ān – the primary source of Islam – is an overwhelmingly positive influence on their lives, one that enjoins upon them the necessity “to race to do good deeds” (2:148).1 It is the aim of this short chapter to shed some light on the Qur’ān and the role it plays in Islam and the lives of Muslims.

Islam With approximately 1.5 billion adherents, Islam is the religion of approximately 21 per cent of the global population – second numerically only to Christianity with its approximately 2.1 billion adherents (Hunter, n.d).2 In Ireland, Muslims constitute a small minority. According to the Central Statistics Office (2012, pp. 47–​8), 1.1 per cent of the population declared themselves to be Muslims (a figure of just under 50,000 people). However, despite its small size, Ireland’s Muslim community is rapidly growing. Twenty years ago, only 3,857 of census respondents described themselves as Muslim, a mere 0.1 per cent of the population (Central Statistics Office 1995, p. 22). So in a twenty-​year period, the Muslim population of Ireland has increased eleven-​fold.3 These figures offer ample justification for any non-​Muslim to engage with the Qur’ān.

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Such engagement will, one hopes, enrich their understanding of their Muslim neighbours and fellow citizens. However, one does not wish to reductively suggest that engagement with the Qur’ān will explain Islam or that Muslims and their actions can be understood solely in terms of their religious adherence and the contents of their sacred text. The reality is, of course, far more complex and nuanced: while the Qur’ān is the major source of Islam, it is not the sole one; and attributing the cause of everything that Muslims may do or everything that happens in Muslim-​majority countries to Islam alone is an error that Maxine Rodinson (2006, p. 104) helpfully labelled Theologocentrism.4

The beginning of revelation Muslim tradition offers a vivid and arresting description of the Prophet Muhammad’s first experience of divine revelation.5 The tradition tells us how at about the age of forty, Muhammad –  a respected merchant from the city of Mecca (in what is now Saudi Arabia) –  after having experienced a number of “true visions” in his sleep, took to isolating himself in a cave in a mountain above his home town of Mecca. Here he would engage in periods of spiritual retreat and worship of God – of whom he already had an awareness – though Muhammad was neither a Jew nor a Christian. On one such occasion, an angel – identified later as Jibrīl (or Jibrā’īl is the Arabic name of the angel Gabriel: itself the English form of the Hebrew Gavrî’ēl “God is my strength”) – came to Muhammad and uttered the first word of the revelation in the Prophet’s own Arabic language: “Iqra”! This first word of revelation is an imperative verbal form meaning “read” or “recite”. Muhammad answered the angel by stating: “I do not read”, or “I do not recite”, depending upon how one interprets the verb. However, the angel persisted and went on to reveal the first five āyāt (verses) of the Qur’ān (96: 1–​5), given here in both a transliteration of the original Arabic – so that readers may appreciate something of the sublimely beautiful nature of its sonic qualities – and the translation of Abdel Haleem (2004): (1) Iqra’ bi-​’smi Rabbika ‘lladhī khalaqa (2) khalaqa ‘l-​insāna min ‘alaqin (3) iqra’ wa-​Rabbuka al-​akramu (4) alladhī ‘allama bi-​’l-​qalami (5)’allama ‘l-​insāna mā lam ya’lam.6 (1) Read! In the name of your Lord who created: (2) He created man from a clinging form. (3)  Read! Your Lord is the Most Bountiful One (4)  who taught by [means of] the pen, (5) who taught man what he did not know.7 So began a twenty-​two year period of revelation – it was to continue until 632 ce: the year of the Prophet Muhammad’s death. The collected revelations, which were memorised and written on various materials, were eventually committed to writing and achieved a final definitive and standardised form – the Qur’ān.8

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The accounts of the Prophet Muhammad’s life inform us that he was himself unsure of the nature of what he had just experienced. In a state of fear and confusion, the Prophet ran home from the cave and told his wife Khadījah what had happened in an effort to understand what he had just undergone. Khadījah reassured her husband by what we might venture to call a sort of contextual scriptural exegesis. Having told his wife of his experience and the fear it engendered in him, Khadījah responded thus: “No, be of good cheer, for – by God – He [God] will never dishonour you: you maintain family ties, you are tolerant and forbearing, you are hospitable to your guests and you assist those who have been afflicted by calamity” (Strauch, n.d., p. 190).9 Khadījah placed Muhammad’s remarkable experience of revelation in context – the context of Muhammad’s own life and his character. Muhammad was a widely respected member of his community ever before the first revelation and his vocation as the Prophet of Islam: he was known among his peers by the nickname al-​ Amīn (“trustworthy”) and admired – among other things – for his ability to mediate in disputes and create and foster consensus.10 Following her own reassurance and interpretation of the events, Khadījah then brought Muhammad to her cousin, an elderly blind Christian scholar called Waraqah bin Nawfal, to seek his views on the matter. Having heard Muhammad describe the unusual experience he had undergone and the mysterious figure he had encountered,Waraqah replied: “This was the angel who descended to Moses. I wish that I were a young man; I wish that I would still be living when your people cast you out.” When Muhammad asks if he will be expelled by his people,Waraqah informs him that “there has not come a Messenger except that he has been opposed and if I was but present on the day, I would surely support you strongly” (Strauch, n.d., p. 190). Again, Muhammad’s experience is interpreted contextually. Using his knowledge of Judaism and Christianity, Waraqah interprets Muhammad’s experience in the light of earlier sacred history and earlier prophecy. This short and pithy narrative about the beginning of revelation is extremely useful in terms of beginning to engage with Muslim understanding of the Qur’ān. We see that Muhammad is in no way seen by Muslims as the inspired author or source of the text of the Qur’ān. The Qur’ān is divine revelation and its source is God: the Qur’ān contains his ipsissima verba – not Muhammad’s words set down under inspiration. Second, Muslims engage with the text with a clear sense of how the context of revelation can assist understanding – whether the immediate context of the life of the Prophet Muhammad or the wider context of sacred history.The Prophet Muhammad came to make sense of his mission and prophethood through sharing the text of the revelation with others. He, his wife Khadījah and Khadījah’s cousin Waraqah constitute the nucleus of a community of interpretation. It is also noteworthy that the first person to hear verses of the Qur’ān from the mouth of the Prophet himself was a woman in her mid-​fifties, the second an elderly and disabled man. This text – as well as the Qur’ān itself – is also informative in terms of how Islam sees itself in relationship to earlier prophets, revelations and “religions”. Muhammad is seen not as the founder of Islam – rather he is seen as its restorer. For

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Muslims, Islam is the primordial religion of humanity (our fitra or natural inclination): everybody is born a Muslim; it is one’s parents or environment that makes one Christian, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist and so on (it is for this reason that many of those who embrace Islam refer to themselves not as converts but as reverts – that is they are reverting to their original pristine state of Islam). It is an article of faith for all Muslims that they must believe in earlier prophets and the written revelations given to them. However, it is also Muslim doctrine that the Scriptures now in the possession of Jews and Christians are not identical to those originally revealed to these earlier prophets.11 The Islamic doctrine of taḥrīf (“distortion”) holds that the Torah now read and revered by Jews, is not the Tawrāt revealed to the Muslim Prophet Mūsā, rather it represents a distortion of that now lost original. Similarly, this doctrine sees the Christian Gospel now in the hands of Christians as not the true Injīl which Muslims believe that God revealed to the Muslim Prophet ‘Īsā.12 So just as the Prophet Muhammad was sent to restore pristine Islam – so too was the Qur’ān necessary to restore the pristine revelation. So if Muhammad is a restorer of primordial Islam, the Qur’ān can be seen as corrective text – and one that abrogates earlier distorted ones and restores the primordial revelation of God’s will to humanity.

Chapter, verse and other divisions In terms of its overall length, the Qur’ān is somewhat shorter than the New Testament (in its original Arabic, the Qur’ān consists of approximately 77,700 words while in its original Greek, the New Testament contains approximately 138,000 words).The primary and most immediately apparent division of the text of the Qur’ān is into 114 chapters known as sūras (singular: sūrah; Arabic plural: suwar). These sūras are in turn subdivided into smaller units known as āyas (singular: āyah; Arabic plural: āyāt) or verses. Neither the chapters nor the verses are of a standard length: the longest chapter (Sūrat al-​Baqarah, the second) contains 286 verses, while the shortest (Sūrat al-​Kawthar, the 108th) contains three (and a total of ten words). The lengths of the āyas or verses varies widely also. The longest āyah is 2: 282. This āyah contains 128 words, and in most contemporary editions of the Qur’ān it occupies a complete page. A number of verses consist of a single word alone (see, for example, 55: 64). The arrangement of the sūras is not chronological – something that will be apparent from our earlier noting that the earliest revelation is to be found close to the end of the Qur’ān (96: 1–​5). Instead of a chronological arrangement, the sūras are ordered roughly by descending length – with the exception of the first (Sūrat al-​Fāṭihah, on which, more below). Each of the 114 sūras has an Arabic title which often refers to a central theme, person or image found in that sūrah. Thus, Sūra 96, which we have already met, is known as Sūrat al-​’Alaq – the “Clinging Form” – a reference to the word found at the end of the second āyah. The text of the Qur’ān can also be divided into lectionary units.The most common such division divides the text into thirty ajzā’ (singular: juz’ – literally “part”), facilitating the reading or the recitation of the entire Qur’ān during the period

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of a month. This particular division is particularly important during the month of Ramaḍān, when many Muslims will endeavour to read the whole Qur’ān in addition to the fasting that is already incumbent upon them.13 Another lectionary division is that of the manzil (plural: manāzil) – the Qur’ān is divided into seven manāzil to facilitate a reading of the text over a single week-​long period. Another key division of the Qur’ān is one that classifies the suwar as either Meccan or Medinan – that is, were they revealed in the Prophet Muhammad’s hometown of Mecca, or the town of Medina to which he migrated in the year 622 ce?14 The Prophet’s career (as the Final Messenger of Islam) is sometimes divided into its Meccan and Medinan phases. For example, the classic mid-​twentieth-​century orientalist biography of the Prophet Muhammad by W. Montgomery Watt appeared in two volumes: Muhammad at Mecca (1953) and Muhammad at Medina (1956).15 One might again point to this classification of the subunits of the Qur’ān as Meccan or Medinan – itself a Muslim schema – as evidence of long-​term interest by Muslims in the particular historical and social context in which a particular verse of the Qur’ān was revealed as an aid to understanding that passage. Indeed, individual suwar can contain āyāt that are both Meccan and Medinan.

Some Islamic doctrines on the Qur’a ˉn: inimitable, unclassifiable and untranslatable Islam holds a number of beliefs about the nature of the Qur’ān, most of which serve to vouchsafe its authenticity as a divinely revealed Scripture. This authenticity is an absolutely central theme. We can get some sense of the centrality of this authenticity when we read a definition of the nature of the Qur’ān by one of the leading twentieth-​century scholars of Islam, Mahmud Shaltut, who defined the Qur’ān thus: “The corpus of Arabic utterances sent down by God to Muhammad, conveyed in a way that categorically establishes its authenticity” (Shaltut, quoted in Abdel Haleem 2008, p. 19).16 The authenticity of the Qur’ān and its divine origins also finds expression in a number of other (closely related) doctrines held by Muslims regarding the nature of the text. The first of these doctrines to be mentioned here is that of the inimitability of the Qur’ān. During the lifetime of the Prophet, opponents of Muhammad and Islam often accused him of being himself the author of the Qur’ān – thereby questioning his status as a Prophet and that of the Qur’ān as a divinely revealed Scripture. In the wake of these challenges, God revealed a number of āyāt that sought to respond to them. One such response is to be found in Sūrat Yūnus (10: 37–​38): Nor could this Qur’ān have been devised by anyone other than God. It is a confirmation of what was revealed before it and an explanation of the Scripture –  let there be no doubt about it –  it is from the Lord of the Worlds (37). Or do they say, “He has devised it”? Say, “Then produce a sura [sūrah] like it, and call on anyone you can beside God if you are telling the truth” (38).

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Needless to say, in response to this challenge, though some tried, none were able to produce anything like a sūrah of the Qur’ān: so sublime and majestic is its text that its source could only be divine. Closely related to the doctrine of the inimitability of the Qur’ān is the doctrine that the text is unclassifiable – that is, it is incomparable. While certain texts may appear poetic and others more prosaic, ultimately, the Qur’ān cannot be classified utilising human literary categories such as prose, poetry or rhymed prose: again – the text is above such human classifications. Having already quoted from what has been referred to as English translations of the Qur’ān, we come now to the seemingly paradoxical Islamic doctrine of its untranslatability. This doctrine does not mean that renderings of the Qur’ān into English (or any language other than its original Arabic) do not exist – nor does it mean that Muslims are forbidden to read such renderings. Rather, the doctrine of untranslatability ultimately means that if the text is not in the original Arabic language through which it was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad –  it is not the Qur’ān. Instead, what might more commonly be known as a translation of the Qur’ān into English will be referred to by Muslims as “interpretation of the meaning of the Glorious Qur’ān”. Indeed, Muslims rarely refer to the Qur’ān without adding an honorific epithet such as al-​Karīm (“noble”) or al-​Majīd (“glorious”); hence: The Noble Qur’ān; The Glorious Qur’ān, The Sublime Qur’ān or other variants. It might be tempting to see this doctrine as an early form of the now widely accepted maxim that “all translation is interpretation”. While this view certainly does have some merit and validity, it might be more apt to understand the doctrine of untranslatability as a statement that for the Qur’ān to truly be the Qur’ān, it must be in its original Arabic form –  translations cannot take its place. Non-​Arabic-​ speaking Muslims frequently read “translations” of the Qur’ān into their native languages in order to enrich their understanding of the sacred text, and Muslim dā’īs frequently distribute such renderings as part of their da’wah.17 However, in a ritual or sacred context, such translations cannot take the place of the Arabic original.18 So for example, Sūrat al-​Fāṭihah – the first sūrah of the Qur’ān is recited in Arabic seventeen times a day by those Muslims who perform Ṣalāt – the five compulsory prayers.19 So, by way of contrast, while Christians of the reformed churches and the Catholic Church now all use vernacular translations of their Scriptures in liturgical or ritual contexts, for Muslims (like most Jewish groups) the sacred text must be read in its original language.

Muslim interpretation of the Qur’a ˉ n: the science of Tafsıˉr Muslim interest in the particular circumstances in which individual parts of the Qur’ān were revealed has already been mentioned. The interest in what are known as the Occasions or Circumstances of Revelation (Arabic: Asbāb al-​Nuzūl) is not gratuitous: Muslims believe that a knowledge of the socio-​historical context in which āyāt were revealed will aid and enrich their comprehension of their sacred text. So, even though Muslims believe that the written text of the Qur’ān is the word of

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God verbatim in definitive written form – that word of God still requires elucidation, explanation and interpretation. The Islamic science of Qur’ānic interpretation is known as Tafsīr.20 Tafsīr is both the name of the process of interpretation and the product of that process – so, for example, the famous Tafsīr Ibn Kathīr.The Tafsīr literature is vast and varied. Beyond acknowledging that it is divinely revealed, there is no single standard interpretation of the Qur’ān that all Muslims must accept. Indeed, we might see the existence of wide variations in the interpretation of the Qur’ān as reflective of the very real (and all too frequently unacknowledged) diversity that exists now – and always has existed – in Islam. There is no single living human authority to whom all Muslims must defer in matters of religion. Authority is not concentrated in a single individual. The Qur’ān itself is the ultimate authority in Islam, followed only by the aforementioned Ḥadīth literature. Beyond these two textual sources, authority is spread very diffusely among a body of religious specialists – scholars known in Arabic as the ‘ulamā (singular ‘ālim). We could also see the Ḥadīth literature as a form of Tafsīr in that it records in great detail the Sunna (habitual practice) of the Prophet Muhammad. Given that Muslims believe that the Prophet Muhammad was the final and most important of the messengers sent by God to reveal his will to humanity, the life of the Prophet can be seen as a type of “living Tafsīr” in the sense that he lived the Qur’ān in his daily life – even in what may appear to be its most ordinary details. This is not to suggest – at the necessary risk of repeating oneself – that Muslims believe that the Prophet Muhammad played any active role whatsoever in the production of the Qur’ān. Rather, God’s choice of Prophet Muhammad as his final messenger meant that he was completely immersed in the revelation: so close was Muhammad to the revelation, and so permeated was his life by its very spirit, that his actions and words can be seen as offering Muslims practical interpretation of divine revelation. Tafsīr is an ongoing, dynamic activity. In addition to trying to understand the socio-​historic (and indeed religious) circumstances in which a particular text was revealed to enrich their understanding of the text, Muslims continue to strive to understand what the Qur’ān means for them today, in a rapidly changing world with a whole new set of socio-​historical circumstances. An example of the harnessing of this ancient and sacred text to the most up-​to-​date information technology can be seen in an initiative of the Jordanian government: a website (www.altafsir. com) which offers readers the opportunity to read the Qur’ān online in its original Arabic; read “translations” into some thirty languages; as well as translations into English from some of the most well-​known classical collections of Tafsīr literature. Those with a monolithic conception of Islam and the interpretation of its sacred text would do well to engage with any number of contemporary representatives of the still vital genre of Tafsīr. To take but one – unfortunately lesser known example – contemporary Muslim feminist Tafsīr is a highly productive genre.21 A very practical example of how the Qur’ān can be variously interpreted is the issue of polygamy (Sūrat al-​Nisā’ 4: 3). In the wider context of a group of verses that deal with the necessity of the fair treatment of orphans – particularly female

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orphans, who in the pre-​Islamic period were frequently married by their supposed guardians in order to deprive them of their rightful property (something that the Qur’ān describes as “a great sin” 4: 2) – the Qur’ān gives the following instruction:  “you [the masculine form of the pronoun is used] may marry whichever [other] women seem good to you, two, three, or four. If you fear that you cannot be equitable [to them], then marry only one” (4: 3). While what we might tentatively call more traditional and patriarchal interpretations of this text see it as divine licence for a man to be married to as many as four wives simultaneously, less traditional and less patriarchal interpreters have read the same text as a practical divine prohibition of plural marriage, citing the clause “If you fear that you cannot be equitable”, asking if it is possible for any human to be truly equitable.22 In this instance, we are looking at but two interpretations of the same short Qur’ānic text: two types of exegesis take completely opposite meanings from the same text. Although we might label one as traditional/​patriarchal and the other as modern/​feminist, both forms of exegesis are ultimately Islamic and reflective of the fact that the Qur’ān – revered as it is by the vast majority of Muslims as the codification of God’s final revelation to humanity – is a text that both requires interpretation and that can accommodate a wide range of various interpretations.

The Qur’a ˉ n: key themes It would be invidious – if not impossible – to enumerate all the themes of the Qur’ān – as well as being a highly interpretative activity. However, most readers of the text (Muslim and non-​Muslim alike) would agree that the central and single most important theme of the Qur’ān is the relationship between God and humanity (God’s creation). This relationship is initiated by God from his infinite mercy and goodness – not on the initiative of humanity. All other themes and motifs found in the Qur’ān are ultimately linked to this central theme.The Qur’ān constitutes a divine mercy and a divine guidance for humanity – it offers humanity access to the “Straight Path” (itself a synonymous phrase for Islam): a way to navigate the very real complexities and difficulties of human existence. Ultimately, Islam offers Muslims a way of being in the world. One might think of the Qur’ānic worldview as being based on two axes: one vertical, the other horizontal. The vertical axis offers Muslims instruction and guidance on how to have and maintain a right relationship with their Creator, while the horizontal axis offers instructions on how to have and maintain right relationships with their fellow creatures. Although the vertical axis takes precedence over the horizontal one, the two are inextricably linked. We might conclude this section by quoting two Qur’ānic suwar in their entirety: Sūrat al-​Fātihah (1) and Sūrat al-​’Ikhlās (112) – the former because it opens the text as whole and, in some sense offers readers/​hearers a summary of the whole Qur’ān. Abdel Haleem (2004, p. 3) introduces the sūrah thus: “This sūrah is seen to be a precise table of contents of the Qur’ānic message.”The latter sūrah is given here because we are told that the Prophet himself said that its theme was so important

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that “this sūrah, despite its brevity, was equal to one-​third of the Qur’ān” (Abdel Haleem 2004, p. 44). •



Sūrat al-​Fātiḥah (1) 1. THE OPENING 1 In the name of God, the Lord of Mercy, the Giver of Mercy! 2Praise belongs to God, Lord of the Worlds, 3the Lord of Mercy, the Giver of Mercy, 4Master of the Day of Judgement. 5It is You we worship; it is You we ask for help. 6Guide us on the straight path: 7the path of those You have blessed, those who incur no anger and who have not gone astray. Sūrat al-​Ikhlāṣ (112) 112. PURITY [OF FAITH] In the name of God, the Lord of Mercy, the Giver of Mercy 1 Say, “He is God the One, 2God the eternal. 3He begot no one nor was He begotten. 4No one is comparable to Him.”

The Qur’a ˉ n as a physical object: etiquette and respect Non-​ Muslims are sometimes surprised by the profound reverence shown by Muslims to the Qur’ān as a physical object. To many Christians, for whom Bible reading and study is a regular activity, the actual physical object of their Scriptures may not hold particular reverence for them. Many such regular Bible readers or students could own several copies of the Scriptures which they may mark, highlight, annotate, dog-​ear pages and casually leave lying around their homes – even on the floor. No disrespect to the Bible or its contents is intended by this way of treating it: if anything it may be interpreted as a sign of the readers’ deep, active level of engagement and intimate acquaintance with the Scriptures. However, such treatment of a sacred text is quite alien to the sensibilities of most Muslims for whom the very physicality of the written text of the Qur’ān is sacrosanct and requires that the Qur’ān as a physical object be treated with great respect and reverence. Indeed, Islam offers Muslims very specific instructions and guidance on how a physical copy of the Qur’ān should be treated:  from the state of ritual purity which the reader needs to possess before even touching the book to etiquette on where and how it should be stored.23 This reverence for the written text of the Qur’ān as an actual physical object may be explained in part by the helpful comparison offered by Nasr (2002, p. 23) in his introduction to Islam: Although the Qur’ān can in a sense be compared to the Old and New Testaments, a more profound comparison would be with Christ himself. In Christianity both the spirit and body of Christ are sacred, and he is considered the Word of God. The Qur’ān is likewise for Muslims the Word of God (kalimat Allāh), and both its inner meaning, or spirit, and its body, or outer form, the text is the Arabic language in which it was revealed, are sacred to Muslims.

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D. Brown (2009, p.  80), in his own introduction to Islam makes a similar point, citing Harry Wolfson (1887–​1974):  “Just as the Christians thought of the Word incarnate – the Word made flesh – so orthodox Muslim theologians, to use Wolfson’s imaginative phrase, came to believe that the Qur’ān was the Word inlibrate – the Word made Book.”

Conclusion In conclusion, one must admit that we have only begun to scratch the surface of this fascinating topic. Like any text – sacred or otherwise – the Qur’ān is open to many (if not countless) interpretations. Just as such interpretations sometimes tell us more about the interpreter than the text they purport to interpret; we must be open to the fact the world’s 1.5 billion Muslims interpret their sacred text in a vast range of ways – not in a single monolithic fashion. Qur’ānic interpretation is a vital and dynamic space – indeed at the time of writing it is a more contested space than ever. As interested non-​Muslim readers of the Qur’ān, we would do well to engage with this text and its varied interpretations with both openness and discrimination, beware of reductive misrepresentations, and remember that often the loudest voices are not necessarily the most representative (and have a tendency to drown out those of the majority).

Notes 1 The translation of the Qur’ānic text given here and throughout this chapter –  unless otherwise indicated – is that of M.A.S. Abdel Haleem (2004). 2 Accurate statistics on religious affiliation are very difficult to obtain. In addition to this, statistical data is limited in terms of what it can tell us about the level of adherents’ engagement in or identification with particular religious traditions. Those with an interest in this particular topic are referred to the website of Preston D. Hunter: www.adherents.com. 3 According to the Census of Ireland 2011, 49,204 respondents indicated that they were Muslims. If the various Christian churches, denominations and groups (which the Census of Ireland enumerates separately) were combined as Christianity, Islam would be Ireland’s second largest religion. As it stands, Muslims constitute the third-​largest religious grouping in the 2011 Census (after Roman Catholic [3,861,335] and Church of Ireland [129,039]). See Central Statistics Office (2012).The figure of 49,204 – according to anecdotal evidence at least – was itself an underestimate. Numerous Muslim (as well as non-​Muslim) residents of Ireland are reluctant to declare their religion to the state, either on principle or for fear of negative consequences. The latter is particularly true of those migrants to Ireland who have come here from countries where declaration of religious affiliation can result in discrimination, persecution or worse. 4 Rodinson (2006, p. 104) defines Theologocentrism as the tendency to hold that “almost all observable phenomena can be explained by reference to Islam, in societies where Muslims are the majority or where Islam is the official religion.” The second major source of Islam is a vast body of literature known as the Ḥadīth – a corpus of literature that contains written narratives of the words and deeds of the Prophet Muhammad. There are six canonical collections of Ḥadīth – the two most important of which are the Ṣaḥīḥ of al-​Bukhārī (d. 870 ce) and the Ṣaḥīḥ of Muslim (d. 874 ce). For those interested

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in learning more about the Ḥadīth literature, see the excellent introduction by J.A.C. Brown (2009). 5 The account of the earliest revelation is recorded in a range of early Muslim sources.The one summarised here is that found in the fourteen-​volume Tafsīr (Commentary on the Qur’ān) of Ibn Kathīr (d. 1373 CE): Muḥammad et al. (eds.) (2000, 14, pp. 397–​402). This final volume of Ibn Kathīr’s Tafsīr has been translated into English by Strauch (n.d.). 6 It is highly recommended that readers listen to a recitation of this text in its original Arabic. Despite the fact that the Qur’ān is now fixed as a standardised written text, its true aesthetic qualities are best experienced by hearing it –  just as its first audience did. Numerous recitations by reciters with many different styles can be easily accessed via YouTube or dedicated websites such as www.quranexplorer.com/​quran (accessed 16 March 2015). One does not necessarily have to understand the Arabic text to appreciate its sonic beauty. 7 Abdel Haleem (2004, p. 428) It is worth noting that the earliest revelation is to be found in close to the end of the Qur’ān (in the 96th sūrah or chapter of a total of 114). The Qur’ān, as we shall see, is not arranged chronologically. 8 The traditional Muslim narrative of the collection of codification of the Qur’ān state that the former took place during the Caliphate of Abū Bakr (632–​634 ce), the latter during that of ‘Uthmān (644–​656 ce). For more on the topic of the collection and codification of the Qur’ān, see Gilliot (2006) and Motzki (2006). 9 I have made slight adaptations to Strauch’s translation for the sake of clarity. 10 There are numerous biographies of the Prophet Muhammad available. In terms of its ready availability, brevity, scholarship and great sensitivity to its subject matter, that of J.A.C. Brown (2011) is to be highly recommended. Brown also offers a good, short but annotated bibliography for further reading on the subject (pp. 131–​33). 11 Twenty-​five prophets are mentioned by name in the Qur’ān. All prophets are known as anbiyā’ (singular nabī); however, only a small number of them are known by the higher status of rasūl (plural rusul) by virtue of their having been given a revelation that took written form. These rusul are: Ibrāhīm (Abraham), Mūsā (Moses), Dāwūd (David), ‘Īsā (Jesus) and, the final one, Muhammad. 12 ‘Īsā is the name by which Muslims refer to Jesus, whom they revere as a major prophet. A great deal has been written on Jesus in the Qur’ān and Islam. However, there is no better place to start than the text itself Sūrat Maryam (19: 16–​34) offers an excellent introduction to how Islam sees Jesus. 13 Ṣawm (or fasting) during the month of Ramaḍān (the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar) is the fourth of the Five Pillars of Islam – an authoritative list of the five compulsory practices incumbent on all Muslims as Muslims. The Five Pillars constitute a sine quibus non of Islamic praxis; however, too often they are overemphasised in non-​Muslim descriptions of Islam as somehow summarising Islam –​as if Islam is concerned only with action and not belief. The Five Pillars of Islam need to be read in conjunction with the Six Articles of Īmān (Arabic: “belief ”) – six beliefs incumbent on all Muslims as Muslims. Both authoritative lists can be found in one of the most well known of all ḥadīths: the Ḥadīth of Jibrīl. A translation of this ḥadīth along with an excellent explanation of its very concise contents can be found in Murata and Chittick (1994, pp. xiv–​xxxix). This book is itself to be highly recommended as an introduction to Islam – especially given how seriously it takes the spiritual dimension of Islam – one sadly neglected by many other introductions. 14 The Muslim calendar, which as mentioned above, is purely lunar – reckons time from this migration of Muhammad (or Hijra) hence its designation as the Hijrī Calendar. The AH abbreviation comes from the Latin Anno Hegirae. 15 A useful abridgement and synthesis of the two was published as Muhammad: Prophet and Statesman (1961). 16 Shaltut was Shaykh (rector) of al-​Azhar – the world’s second oldest university – in Cairo from 1958 until his death in 1963.

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17 Da’wah (Arabic: “invitation”) is the activity of inviting non-​Muslims to accept the message of Islam, which was and remains a proselytising religion. A Muslim engaged in this activity is known as a dā’ī (Arabic: “inviter” or “caller”). One hesitates to use the English word “mission” or “missionary” to render either of these – as both the words mission and missionary have highly negative connotations for many Muslims, largely due to the historical memory of the often aggressive Christian preaching and proselytisation that frequently accompanied or offered moral justification for the colonial occupation of Muslim-​majority lands. 18 There are today, countless “translations” or “interpretations of the meaning” of the Qur’ān. In this chapter I  have, as already noted, quoted from that of Abdel Haleem (2004). The first translation of the Qur’ān into English by a native-​language English-​ speaking Muslim was that of Muhammad Marmaduke Pickthall (1930). Pickthall’s translation is still widely distributed and read. Translations of the Qur’ān, as noted above will reflect the interpretative position of the translator. For an excellent example of two very different “translations”, see those of Muhammad Taqi-​ud-​Din al-​Hilali and Muhammad Muhsin Khan (1977) and that of Bakhtiar (2007). The former, which is widely available and freely distributed in many Sunnī mosques, reflects a quite conservative position; while the latter, which can be found in B.A. Brown (2012), reflects a much more liberal and “inclusive” position (Bakhtiar 2012 in B.A. Brown, pp. 457–​62). 19 Ṣalāt, the second of the Five Pillars of Islam, is not “free-​form” or improvised prayer – it is a ritual that consists of reciting particular texts while assuming a range of physical postures at five set times in the 24 hour day. The five times are not absolute, but vary relative to the position of the sun. Muslims must be in a state of ritual purity before prayer – ṭahārah. This is achieved through a ritualised form of ablution known in Arabic as Wuḍū’. 20 For those familiar with the exegetical pesher genre found among the Qumran writings, the Hebrew word pesher and the Arabic word tafsīr are cognate – both belonging to a semantic field of explanation. 21 For examples of this type of Tafsīr see the following, both of which have become modern classics of the genre: Wadud (1999) and Barlas (2002). 22 On this issue see, for example, the now classic work of Hourani (1983, pp. 164–​67). 23 For an example of such a treatment on the etiquette of handling and storing the Qur’ān, see the thirty-​seven rules offered by the thirteenth-​century scholar al-​Qurṭubī. These are probably most easily found in Keller’s translation and expanded edition of al-​Miṣrī’s thirteenth-​century manual of Shāfi’ī jurisprudence, the ‘Umdat al-​sālik wa-​’uddat al-​nāsik (Keller 1992, pp. 875–​78).

References Abdel Haleem, M.A.S. (2004) The Qur’ān: A NewTranslation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —​—​—​ (2008) “Qur’ān and Hadith”, in T. Winter (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Islamic Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 19–​32. Bakhtiar, L. (2007) The Sublime Quran. Chicago: Kazi. —​—​—​(2012) “Quran Text:  The Sublime Quran –  Translator’s Notes”, in B.A. Brown (ed.) Three Testaments: Torah Gospel and Quran. Lanham, MA: Rowman and Littlefield, pp. 457–​62. Barlas, A. (2002) “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretations of the Qur’ān. Austin: University of Texas Press. Brown, B.A. (ed.) (2012) Three Testaments: Torah Gospel and Quran. Lanham, MA: Rowman and Littlefield. Brown, D.W. (2009) A New Introduction to Islam. 2nd edn. Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell.

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Brown, J.A.C. (2009) Hadith:  Muhammad’s Legacy in the Medieval and Modern World. Oxford: Oneworld. —​—​—​ (2011) Muhammad: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Central Statistics Office (1995) Census of Ireland 1991 (vol. 5). Religion. Dublin: Stationery Office. —​—​—​ (2012) Census of Ireland 2011. Profile 7. Religion. Ethnicity and Irish Travellers. Dublin: Stationery Office. Gilliot, C. (2006) “Creation of a fixed text”, in J.D. McAuliffe (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 41–​58. al-​Hilali, M.T. and Khan, M.M. (1996 [1977]) Translation of the Meanings of the Noble Qur’ān in the English Language. Madinah: King Fahd Complex for the Holy Qur’ān. Hourani, A. (1983) Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age:  1798–​1939. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Hunter, P.D. (n.d.) Online. Available at www.adherents.com (accessed 26 August 2014). Keller, N.H.M. (ed. and trans.) (1992) Reliance of the Traveller: A Classical Manual of Islamic Sacred Law. Revised edn. Beltsville: Amana. Motzki, H. (2006) “Alternative accounts of the Qur’ān’s formation”, in J.D. McAuliffe (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 59–​78. Muḥammad, M.S. et  al. (eds) (2000) Tafsīr al-​Qur’ān al-​’Aẓīm li-​Ibn Kathīr (14 vols). Jīza: Maktabat Awlād al-​Shaykh li-​l-​Turāth. Murata, S. and Chittick, W.C. (1994) The Vision of Islam. London: I.B. Tauris. Nasr, S.H. (2002) The Heart of Islam: Enduring Values for Humanity. San Francisco: Harper. Pickthall, M.M. (1930) The Meaning of the Glorious Koran. New York: A.A.Knopf. Quranexplorer.com (n.d.) Online. Available at: www.quranexplorer.com (accessed 27 April 2014). Rodinson, M. (2006) Europe and the Mystique of Islam. London: I.B. Tauris. Strauch, S. (trans.) (n.d.), Tafseer Ibn Katheer (Juz’ ‘Amma – Part 30). Riyadh: International Islamic Publishing House. Wadud, A. (1999) Qur’ān and Woman:  Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective. New York: Oxford University Press. Watt, W.M. (1953) Muhammad at Mecca. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —​—​—​ (1956) Muhammad at Medina. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —​—​—​ (1961) Muhammad: Prophet and Statesman. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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9 MODERN APPROACHES TO ˉN THE QUR’A Oliver Scharbrodt

Introduction: interpreting the Qur’a ˉn Islam is a scriptural religion par excellence whose primary reference point is the Qur’ān –  according to the Islamic tradition, the collection of revelations that Muhammad received during his prophetic career from around 610 ce until his death in 632 ce. Conceived doctrinally as God’s most complete and final revelation to humanity, the Qur’ān is understood to be God’s word itself, from its first to final letter and, hence, in contrast to the Bible not just a divinely inspired book but the verbatim reproduction of God’s final will to humanity. Similar to approaches to sacred Scripture in many other religions, the Qur’ān is only the word of God in its original Arabic language, a view that elevates Arabic to the sacred language of Islam (similar to Hebrew in Judaism). A translation of the Qur’ān never holds that same status as the Qur’ān in its original Arabic language; it is merely a human approximation to the meaning of the word of God. The British Orientalist A.J. Arberry (1905–​69) acknowledged this special status by giving his influential 1955 English Qur’ān translation the title The Koran Interpreted (Arberry 1955). Despite the divine status of the Qur’ān as the word of God, traditional scholarship within Islam has always recognised the need and necessity to interpret the Qur’ān. This is acknowledged by the Qur’ānic text itself in one of its verses: It is He [God] who has sent this Scripture down to you [Prophet]. Some of its verses are definite in meaning – these are the cornerstone of the Scripture – and others are ambiguous. The perverse at heart eagerly pursue the ambiguities in their attempt to make trouble and to pinpoint specific meaning—​only God knows the true meaning—​while those firmly grounded in knowledge say, “We believe in it: it is all from our Lord” (3, 7)1

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This verse not only introduces two types of Qur’ānic utterances, distinguishing between verses with “definite” and “ambiguous” meaning, it also alludes to the “politics of exegesis”, the potential agendas, whether hidden or overt, of some exegetes in exploiting semantic ambiguities to assign specific meanings to Qur’ānic verses and to use the ultimate authority of the word of God to legitimise their own doctrinal points of view. The warning contained in this verse also invites “exegetical humility” by presenting its author, God, as the only one who “knows the true meaning”. Any novice reader of the Qur’ān will notice its “referential style” (Rippin 2001, p. 159). The Qur’ān is full of references and allusions to particular figures, events and practices without providing further detail, assuming that the reader is familiar with them. For instance, throughout the Qur’ān various references are made to biblical figures such as Abraham, Moses, Noah or Jesus. However, unlike the biblical narratives that provide full mythico-​historical or bio-​hagiographical accounts, the Qur’ān just makes brief references to particular episodes in the lives of biblical figures. While the Qur’ān can be quite detailed in defining legal and ritual practices, on other occasions it can be quite vague. The Qur’ān mentions the need to pray several times a day (17, 79), but does not specify how many times a day, at what times and how Muslims should pray, illustrating the need for understanding the minute details of this central ritual practice of Islam. On many other questions of Islamic practice, the sunna of the Prophet, which includes the teachings, statements and practices of Muhammad, constitutes the second important source of Islam and first reference point to clarify ambiguities the Qur’ān contains. Islamic exegetical scholarship has also recognised the contextual nature of divine revelation. Muslim exegetes identify “occasions of ” or “reasons for revelation” (asbāb al-​nuzūl) for Qur’ānic verses – specific events or episodes in the life of Muhammad or the early history of his community which triggered particular divine revelations. Identifying “reasons for revelation” has been an important exegetical tool to contextualise a particular revelation, to understand the immediate issues or challenges these verses address and to extrapolate specific and general implications stemming from this particular occasion and the response provided. Exegetes have distinguished between the “specific” and the “general” meaning of particular Qur’ānic verses and thereby identified a particular challenge in their exegetical work: which verses in the Qur’ān respond to very specific situations that early Muslims faced and are therefore not generalisable to other contexts; and which verses are of wider significance and contain injunctions that are universally valid. The exegetical tool of the “reasons for revelation” also illustrates the dialogical nature of divine revelation: divine revelation does not fall from heaven like a monolith but engages with and responds to particular issues and adapts its guidance accordingly. This implicit notion of a dialogue between God and humanity as part of the revelatory act is one of the elements characterising modern exegetical approaches to the Qur’ān as well. Finally, traditional exegetes have also noted the evolutionary nature of Qur’ānic revelation. Initially, this was devised to deal with the internal inconsistencies of the

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Qur’ān. For instance, on the issue of the consumption of alcohol, the Qur’ān includes contradictory statements: while certain verses commend the benefits of wine made out of dates and grapes (16, 67) or see both benefit and harm in drinking it (2, 219), other verses admonish Muslims not to come intoxicated to prayer (4, 52) – suggesting that the consumption of alcohol was not uncommon among Muhammad’s early followers – or instruct Muslims to abstain from consuming alcohol (5, 90–​91). The exegete needs to reconcile these divergent statements in order to identify the actual Islamic ruling on alcohol. For this reason, early Islamic exegetical scholarship introduced the theory of abrogation (naskh), based on the assumption that verses that were revealed later and contradict an earlier revelation, abrogate and nullify the previous revelation on this matter. This approach requires the clear identification of a chronology of Qur’ānic revelations in order to establish which verses abrogate which. Determining “reasons for revelation” and connecting individual revelations with Muhammad’s biography are crucial here. At the same time, the theory of abrogation also implies a gradual development of Islamic rulings that take the particular situation of early Muslims into account. The consumption of alcohol was so widespread, for example, that Muhammad’s followers would not have been able to cope with an outright prohibition early on but had to be gradually prepared to it by pointing at the harm alcohol causes, making sure that religious worship is done in a sober state before prohibiting its consumption. This responsiveness of divine revelation to particular circumstances and the notion that there is an implicit moral intention behind certain rulings that are not made explicit initially but unfold over time are used by modern Qur’ānic exegetes to challenge traditional interpretations. Within the rich and diverse exegetical tradition of Islam, numerous approaches to interpreting the Qur’ān have been developed based on particular denominational points of view (e.g. Sunni and Shii) or the particular intellectual vantage points and preferred sources of knowledge of exegetes, whether legal scholars, mystics, philosophers or theologians. Broadly speaking, three approaches in the exegetical tradition, known as tafsīr, can be observed: •



Exegesis by transmission:  this intertextual approach is the most traditionalist and uses either the Qur’ānic text itself to understand its ambiguous passages or the second authoritative source, the teachings and practices of the Prophet Muhammad (sunna), in order to deduce how Muhammad explained or enacted a particular revelation. This scripturalist approach emphasises the authoritative status of the two divine sources of Islam: the Qur’ān as record of divine revelations and the Prophet Muhammad as perfect role-​model and “living Qur’ān” for Muslims. Exegesis by reason: this approach was developed among rationalistic schools in early Islamic theology seeing human reason as a legitimate and necessary tool to understand divine revelation. Rationalising Qur’ānic exegesis was adopted to include the ancient Greek philosophical repertoire in the articulation of Islamic theology and to prove the very rationality of Islamic doctrines as part of early Muslim apologetics vis-​à-​vis the followers of other religions.

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Exegesis by indication: this approach has been particularly popular in Sufism, the mystical tradition of Islam, and is based on the assumption that the Qur’ān as the word of God contains multiple layers of meaning and that its verses have both an explicit, apparent or “outer” meaning (ẓāhir) and a figurative, hidden or “inner” meaning (bāṭin). No interpretation of the Qur’ān can ever claim to be exhaustive because the meanings of the Qur’ānic revelation are too manifold to be encapsulated by human efforts to understand them. Exegesis by indication which seeks to uncover the symbolic and metaphorical meaning of Qur’ānic verses is also referred to as ta’wīl to distinguish from the more scripturalist and linguistic approach, known as tafsīr.

This long and diverse tradition of Qur’ānic exegesis also re-​emerges in the modern period when modern commentators relate to this tradition and employ its approaches in their endeavour to arrive at interpretations of the Qur’ān that respond to the various transformation of the modern world. In the following, exegetical approaches to the Qur’ān of Muslim modernists, Islamists, liberal Muslims and Muslim feminists in the last 150 years will be introduced.

Early Islamic modernists in the nineteenth century: Sayyid Ahmad Khan and Muhammad ‘Abduh The Muslim world encountered Western modernity in the context of European imperialism from the late eighteenth century onwards with further momentum through the firm establishment of European colonial rule in most parts of the Muslim world from the mid-​nineteenth century. The French conquest of Algeria between 1830 and 1847, the establishment of British rule over India in 1857, French colonial rule in Tunisia from 1881 and the British occupation of Egypt in 1882 illustrated the political, economic and military weaknesses of Muslim dynasties. Ruling dynasties in the Middle East responded to this challenge by initiating modernising reforms of the state administration and the military and sent young men to Europe on educational missions to learn European languages and to acquire modern knowledge. These young men – upon return – formed the nucleus of a new Western-​educated elite that considered Europe as a role-​model and adopted a secular outlook on Islam. Another intellectual movement was led by scholars and intellectuals with a traditional educational background who were critical of traditional Islam and sought to reform Islamic theology and law by incorporating modern ideas. This movement is usually referred to as Islamic modernism. The two most influential modernist Muslim thinkers in the nineteenth century were Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817–​98) and Muhammad ‘Abduh (1849–​1905). Their efforts to reform Islam and their pioneering intellectual work in shaping modernist Islamic discourse was based on their own experiences of European, in particular British, colonialism and its various political, social and cultural ramifications. Sayyid Ahmad Khan was born into an aristocratic Muslim family at a time of the disintegration of the Mughal Empire. He experienced the volatile position

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and the loss of status of the old Muslim elite which turned Muslims in India from a minority with power to a minority without power. This loss of status and the failure of military revolts to counter British colonial expansion led Sayyid Ahmad Khan to reconsider the relationship Indian Muslims should adopt vis-​à-​vis the new British rulers. Rather than opposing them in open military conflict or withdraw into a cultural ghetto to preserve the religious identities of South Asian Muslims, he urged Indian Muslims to embrace Western education, to equip themselves with the necessary intellectual and social skills to serve in the British colonial administration and to exhibit their loyalty to the colonial rulers. For him, this was the only avenue for members of the Muslim elite to retain their position of power in British India. In order to lay the intellectual groundwork for such a socio-​political position of Indian Muslims during the British Raj, he engaged in a modernist reinterpretation of Islam which included a Qur’ān commentary (Reetz 1988). His Tafsīr Al-​Qur’ān (Commentary of the Qur’ān) is the first Muslim modernist interpretation of the foundational text of Islam and aims to prove the very rationality of Islam – a core objective of modernist discourse in the nineteenth century. Given the prevalent scientific spirit of the age, Sayyid Ahmad Khan emphasises the need to harmonise Islam with reason and science. He argues that nature is the work of God and revelation His word – as both come from the same source, there cannot be any contradiction between them (Reetz 1988). The intellectual instruments to discover the laws of nature – science – and the laws of divine revelation – religion – are therefore identical and lead to the same results. Despite the basic assumption of an essential identity between reason and revelation, he gives reason and science priority.The laws of nature were created by God for all eternity and cannot be changed, even not by Him. This also implies that miracles – the temporary suspension of natural law– do not exist and that miraculous stories attributed to prophets and saints, including Muhammad, are later attributions and did not occur. Supernatural beings such as angels and spirits, mentioned in the Qur’ān, are read metaphorically; angels are just a metaphor for intellectual capacities humans possess. Likewise, the archangel Gabriel – who, according to the Islamic tradition, communicated the divine revelations to Muhammad – is not real but just a metaphor for Muhammad’s inherent prophetic capacity, which allowed him to receive divine revelations. Further rationalising prophetic authority, Sayyid Ahmad Khan argues that rationality and moral refinement are human capacities bestowed by God among humans to different degrees. Individuals with a high rational and moral capacity become leaders of humanity, and all the prophets possess these qualities in perfection and thereby become sources of guidance. Hence, becoming a prophet is not the result of receiving a divine call, but is the actualisation of the prophetic talent certain individuals possess. Muhammad is the most supreme and final prophet because the core of this theology is the notion of divine unity (tawḥīd), the belief in a single creator of the universe, which is for him the most rational account of the origins of the universe (Troll 1978). While it is easy to identify how Sayyid Ahmad Khan was influenced by nineteenth-​century notions of scientific rationality, his approach towards the Qur’ān

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is also shaped by intellectual traditions within Islam which were part of his initial religious formation (Reetz 1988). Sayyid Ahmad Khan understood supernatural beings such as angels and spirits to be metaphors for human capacities and abilities or identified them with modern scientific discoveries. His ability to read beyond the apparent meaning of Qur’ānic terms reveals his immersion in symbolical Sufi thought, which similarly argues that behind the apparent meaning there are endless symbolic meanings. In addition, there is a strong sense of intellectual elitism that is deeply rooted in rationalistic traditions of Islamic philosophy, most prominently represented by scholars like Avicenna (Ibn Sina, d. 1037). Humans with a sophisticated rational faculty can realise God by themselves without divine revelation and identify and enact moral behaviour without the guidance of religion. Revelation is for the ignorant masses that need promises of reward and threats of punishment in the afterlife in order to be moral. Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s understanding of prophecy resembles Avicenna’s: a prophet is not somebody called by God but the perfect philosopher whose rational faculty and moral refinement is at such a perfect stage that he is capable of leading others. Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s orientation towards natural law and the identification of nature with revelation gave his school of thought its name:  neicheriyya. This Indianising of the English word “nature” denotes the followers of Sayyid Ahmad Khan. In order to train a new Muslim elite that combines Western with Islamic education, he founded the Aligarh Muslim College in 1875. The institution would be crucial in training a new generation of Muslim intellectuals and political activists in India that put forward the idea of a separate nation-​state for South Asian Muslims, Pakistan, in the early twentieth century. The Egyptian scholar Muhammad ‘Abduh had a different background but shared certain elements with Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s neicheriyya school of thought. ‘Abduh was born in rural Lower Egypt into a family of landowners and studied at Al-​Azhar in Cairo, the most prestigious institution of higher learning in the Sunni Muslim world. ‘Abduh became a student of Sayyid Jamal Al-​Din Al-​Afghani (1838/​9–​97), the prominent anti-​British Muslim activist, and turned into an ardent supporter of the nascent nationalistic movement in Egypt of the 1870s. When the British occupied Egypt in 1882, ‘Abduh and Al-​Afghani were sent to exile. ‘Abduh returned to Egypt in 1888 and became grand mufti of Egypt in 1899, the highest religious authority in the country. ‘Abduh focused on educational reforms to establish an institution that would combine a modern with an Islamic education and also undertook an extensive modernist re-​reading of Islam with his Treatise of Divine Unity (Risālat Al-​Tawḥīd) and his unfinished Qur’ānic commentary The Lightouse (Al-​Manār) (Scharbrodt 2008). His Treatise of Divine Unity provides a rationalistic account of Islamic theology, arguing that Islam – truly understood – is built on reason and encourages scientific discovery. This reading of Islamic theology intended to address traditionalist scholars who rejected any engagement with modern ideas but also the new Western-​ educated secular elite who considered Islam to be inherently anti-​modern. ‘Abduh presents Islam not only as a truly rational religion but also – in keeping with his

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apologetic works against Christian missionaries – as being more rational and more open to scientific investigation than Christianity. Pointing at the Middle Ages, he argues that clerical authorities banned the distribution of scientific discoveries and philosophical works that contravened church doctrines in Europe while in the Muslim world philosophy and science flourished (‘Abduh 1897). ‘Abduh also intended to undertake a complete commentary of the Qur’ān, but chose a very different mode of delivery. Traditional works of Qur’ānic exegesis are highly technical with strong focus on linguistics and semantics and written for religious specialists. ‘Abduh, in contrast, delivered his commentary in the form of public lectures at Al-​Azhar to reach out to a wide segment of Egypt’s educated elite. These lectures were initially written down by his disciple Muhammad Rashid Rida (1865–​1935) and then published in the journal The Lighthouse (Al-​Manār). ‘Abduh’s deliberate effort to popularise Islamic discourse among lay Muslims made non-​ scholarly approaches to the Qur’ān possible and “initiated the twentieth-​century trend of individual interaction with and interpretation of the Qur’ān” (Haddad 1988, p. 46). ‘Abduh’s premature death in 1905 prevented the completion of his Qur’ān commentary; his commentary only covers the first chapter (sūra) of the Qur’ān and less than half of the second. ‘Abduh’s interpretation of the Qur’ānic verses dealing with the question of polygamy illustrates both his accessible style and his approach to reinterpreting the Qur’ān. Sole focus is given to the Qur’ānic text without any reference to the opinions and rulings of other scholars. Public and individual welfare are the exegetical criteria that help in determining how the relevant Qur’ānic passages should be understood. ‘Abduh refers to verse 4, 3 which sanctions polygamy on condition that the husband treats his wives equitably. He then counters the conditional permission with another verse in the same chapter (4, 129) categorically denying that a husband can give equal and just treatment to all of his wives. For ‘Abduh, this implies that polygamy is only permissible under exceptional circumstances and that monogamous marriages are in reality stipulated by the Qur’ān. In the early Muslim community, the rapid increase of orphans and widows during the wars with the Meccans was the reason for the widespread practice of polygamy. However, under normal circumstances polygamy should not be sought, not only because it is discouraged in the Qur’ān but also because it has socially harmful effects (Gätje 1996, pp. 248–​61).

The Qur’a ˉ   n and political Islam in the twentieth century: Abu Al-​A’la Mawdudi and Sayyid Qutb The early twentieth century saw the rise of one of the most powerful ideological trends in modern Islam with the emergence of, what has been termed, political Islam or Islamism. The years after World War I witnessed the establishment of post-​colonial nation-​states in many parts of the Muslim world whose political and intellectual elite saw Europe as a role-​model and intended to fashion their states along similar ideological lines to achieve independence and prosperity.The political

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developments in the first decades of the twentieth century saw Islam in the defence against secularism. The abolition of the Ottoman caliphate in 1924 by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881–​1938) symbolised for many observers the ultimate victory of secularism over Islam with the end of Islam’s highest religio-​political office, which at least in theory had continuously existed since the death of the Prophet Muhammad in 632 ce. The growth of a new urban middle-​class, rural migrants from pious backgrounds who benefited from the opportunities of state-​funded public education led to the formation of new socio-​political movements and ideological discourses challenging the hegemonic position of the secular elite. In Egypt, Hasan Al-​Banna (1906–​49), a secondary school teacher, established the Muslim Brotherhood (Jamā’a al-​Ikhwān al-​ Muslimīn) in 1928 (Mitchell 1969). This movement would become the most popular social movement and political organisation in modern Egypt, often at odds with ruling governments and undergoing intermittent and extensive periods of political suppression until now. The Muslim Brotherhood also formed branches in other Arab countries extending its influence outside of Egypt. One of the most influential ideologues of the Muslim Brotherhood was Sayyid Qutb (1906–​66) who would play an important role in shaping radical and violent Islamist movements in the latter half of the twentieth century. In the context of South Asian Islam, it was Abu al-​A’la Mawdudi (1903–​79) who established the Jamā’at-​i Islāmī (Islamic Society) in 1941 to counter both the traditionalism of the religious scholars and the secular-​ nationalistic orientation of the Muslim League. Abu al-​A’la Mawdudi worked as a journalist for various Muslim newspapers in British India. While initially sympathetic to the Indian Congress, he later distanced himself from the two expositions of nationalism on the Indian sub​continent: the secular definition of Indian nationalism as promoted by Congress to create a multi-​religious independent India and the Muslim nationalism put forward by the Muslim League to create a separate state for Indian Muslims. For Mawdudi, ethnically or linguistically defined national identity is contrary to Islam and creates divisions among Muslims. Likewise, a secular nation-​state, as promoted by both political parties in British India, contradicts the comprehensiveness of Islam, which is not just a moral code or spiritual path but an all-​encompassing ideology covering all aspects of life. As the alternative to the secular nation-​state, Mawdudi introduces the concept of an Islamic state – the political entity that is based on Islamic principles. For Mawdudi, Islam rejects the notion of popular sovereignty as only God is acknowledged as supreme lawgiver. Hence, an Islamic state only recognises divine sovereignty, which becomes manifest in its constitutional set-​up, its laws and the modus operandi of its government. The legal system of an Islamic state needs to be based on Islamic law (sharī’a) as the sole source of legislation and its ruler needs to be a pious Muslim. Rejecting the notion of a representative democracy, Mawdudi only allows for a council of legal experts to extract rulings from the Islamic sources and not make laws themselves. Similar to Fascism and Communism whose rise Mawdudi observed in the 1920s and 1930s, the Islamic state becomes a totalitarian state that does not need political parties or an opposition to the government

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because all its citizens and political actors are united in their common adherence to one God (Nasr 1994, pp. 13–​14; Choueri 1997, p. 111). Mawdudi’s concept of an Islamic state has been highly influential on other Islamist movements and ideologues but has also been criticised by later, more moderate generations of Islamist activists and ideologues as autocratic, idealistic and impossible to realise (Hallaq 2012). Mawdudi’s massive Urdu translation and commentary on the Qur’ān, Tafhīm al-​Qur’ān (Understanding the Qur’ān) (1942–​72), provides “a sociopolitical reading of the Qur’ān” (Nasr 1996, p. 61).Approaching the Qur’ān as a political document that provides social and legal guidance on all aspects of the life of the Muslim community (umma), Mawdudi transfers the centrality of the Qur’ān as scripture into the political realm as the charter that guided the early Muslim community and that needs to be the sole reference point to inform Muslim political activism in the modern world. The recognition of its gradual revelation in response to particular challenges and issues, referred to in Qur’ānic exegesis as “reasons for revelation”, illustrates that the Qur’ānic revelation responded to the practical and immediate needs of early Muslims and provided them with practical instructions on how to establish an Islamic socio-​political order. Mawdudi thereby minimises the spiritual and moral significance of the Qur’ān by solely focusing on its socio-​political and legal remit. For Mawdudi, “theocracy replaces spirituality as the objective of the Qur’ānic revelation” (Nadwi cited in Nasr 1996, p. 62). Sayyid Qutb represents the radical wing of the Muslim Brotherhood that defected into militant splinter groups in the late 1960s and 1970s. Being held in solitary confinement and enduring torture in prison, Qutb came to the conclusion that the establishment of a truly Islamic society could only be established in a revolutionary struggle against the state. For Qutb, the Muslims of his time lived in a renewed state of jāhiliyya (the term used to describe the state of ignorance of Arabs before the arrival of Islam) (Shepard 2003). Like the Arabs in pre-​ Islamic times, Muslims lacked any spiritual and moral foundation in their lives and pursued purely materialist interests. Professing the belief in one God, and his overall sovereignty, implied for Qutb a rejection of any human-​made political and social order and the activist struggle for the establishment of an Islamic state (Khatab 2002, Carré 2004). Such a state could only be achieved by withdrawing from the present society and shunning its corrupting influences, and by a militant struggle to overthrow the current regimes in Muslim countries by a revolution (Moussalli 1992). While Sayyid Qutb is best known as the chief ideologue of militant Islamism and seen as the “father” of global jihād today, his own formation and approach to the Qur’ān is more complex. He had a strong interest in literature and participated in literary circles and debates in Egypt in the 1930s and 1940s. Initially with a secular outlook, his visit to the United States of America on behalf of the Egyptian Ministry of Education from 1948 to 1950 led to his disillusionment with “the secular, materialist, individualist and capitalist West” (Tripp 1988, p. 158) and his turn towards Islamism. His rediscovery of the Qur’ān, after having memorised it as a child, was triggered by his literary interests approaching the Qur’ān as “the

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first book of the Arabs” (Musallam 2005, p. 60) which is unique due to its “artistic inimitability” (Musallam 2005, p. 58). His earliest writings on the Qur’ān were clearly literary in approach investigating the imagery and narratives used in the Qur’ān. However, the commentary he wrote while in prison, Fī Ẓilāl Al-​Qur’ān (In the Shades of the Qur’ān), proved to be most influential. Unlike traditional commentaries of the Qur’ān and the political reading by Mawdudi, Sayyid Qutb’s reading is quite literary and personal, containing the author’s subjective reflections on its verses. That it is described as a “commentary of the heart” (Musallam 2005, p. 152) explains its appeal and popularity among contemporary Muslim readers outside of Islamist circles. Sayyid Qutb’s commentary addresses his immediate religio-​political concerns; the identification of contemporary Muslim societies with the pre-​Islamic Arabs and the need to engage in a militant struggle (jihād) to fight against current rulers as the early Muslims fought against the Arab polytheists. In light of his own experience of state oppression, Sayyid Qutb presents Islam as the ultimate liberating force bringing tyranny to an end and seeking justice. Qur’ānic verse 2, 256 (“There is no compulsion in religion”) is read in light of his own encounter with an autocratic state. For him, the verse encapsulates the centrality of freedom of religion and the notion that belief in God cannot be forced on human beings. In addition, he presents the secular nation-​state and its coercive powers as the ultimate force undermining freedom of religion: This is the actual meaning of human liberation –  a liberation denied by tyrannical ideologies and oppressive regimes in the 20th century.They do not allow human beings whom God has honoured with freedom of religion to develop and shape their own identities and lives other than by what the state has imposed on them with its entire apparatus, its laws and regulations. Either human beings accept the ideology of the state – which outlaws the belief in God as the creator of all existence – or they face death by the state. Qutb [1967], p. 355

Liberal approaches to the Qur’a ˉn Nineteenth-​century Muslim modernists sought to reconcile Islamic theology with modern science, presenting Islam as the most rational religion.The latter half of the twentieth century saw the rise of several intellectuals who stand in the tradition of Islamic modernism. However, their aim was not to reconcile Islam with modern scientific rationality but to counter theocratic readings of Islam by Islamists and the autocratic tendencies of most political regimes in the Muslim world by rooting pluralism, democracy and human rights in Islam (Kurzman 1998, pp. 3–​26). Following the overall intellectual agenda of Islamic modernism, these liberal Muslim intellectuals suggest that a true understanding of Islam will show that it is flexible in its socio-​political teachings and capable of embracing modern ideas. Of the various representatives of liberal Islam, two examples will be introduced: the approach of

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the Pakistani-​American academic Fazlur Rahman (1919–​88) and of the Sudanese intellectual and politician Mahmud Muhammad Taha (1909–​85). After completing his PhD at Oxford University, Fazlur Rahman taught in Britain and Canada. In 1961, he returned to Pakistan to lead the Central Institute of Islamic Research, a state-​sponsored research institute to develop a modernist and liberal interpretation of Islam and to counter the influence of traditional and Islamist intellectual and ideological trends. Given the controversial nature of the Institute’s work and the general political instability of Pakistan, he moved to the United States in 1968 and became Professor of Islamic Thought at the University of Chicago in 1969. While not writing a comprehensive commentary on the Qur’ān as such, his approach to the Qur’ān and his interpretation of its legal injunctions proved to be quite influential. Rahman’s approach is characterised by three features. He first argues against the atomistic verse-​by-​verse approach in traditional Qur’ānic exegesis which is heavily based on linguistic and semantic analysis. In contrast, the Qur’ān should be approached as “a coherent whole” (Rahman 1982, p.  143) to distil the universal theological and ethical values that inform the Qur’ānic worldview. Second, Islamic scholars need to distinguish between “normative Islam and historical Islam” (Rahman 1982, p. 141) – those aspects that have accumulated in the Islamic tradition, that are contextual and therefore conditioned by historical circumstances and those central elements that are universal and can only be considered normative. For Rahman, this distinction can be achieved by studying the Qur’ān’s social pronouncements and legal enactments in the light of its general moral teaching and particularly under the impact of its stated objectives (or principles, if one prefers this expression) on the one hand and against the background of their historical-​social milieu on the other. Rahman 1982, p. 141 This approach also utilises traditional sources and methods, in particular the concept of “reasons for revelation” (asbāb al-​nuzūl) to contextualise Qur’ānic injunctions and to extract their general doctrinal or ethical implications. Third, Rahman’s approach suggests “a clear distinction between Qur’ānic ethics and law” (Rahman 1982, p. 154). Traditional Qur’ānic exegesis – when reading the Qur’ān to formulate Islamic law – has been more concerned with legal specificities rather than with identifying the wider moral principles informing legal rulings. For instance, the Qur’ān adopts the pre-​Islamic Arab custom that murder requires a private settlement between the perpetrator and the family of the victim; the family can either demand the payment of “blood money” or the murderer to be executed, while the Qur’ān also suggests that forgiveness is better. Murder and its punishment are seen as a private matter between the murderer and victim’s family. However, other verses in the Qur’ān make it very clear that murder is a social crime, as verse 5, 32 indicates: “if anyone kills one person – unless for retribution for murder or spreading corruption on earth – it is as if he kills all mankind” (quoted by Rahman 1982, p. 144).

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Fazlur Rahman uses this approach to extract underlying moral principles from specific legal provisions in the Qur’ān, which can only be considered authoritative for all times and constitute the moral foundation of Islamic law. One example are the ḥadd (Arabic for boundary) penalties of the Qur’ān for criminal offences which are seen as boundaries that God himself has set. The penalties include capital and corporal punishments that contravene modern human rights discourse on proportionality and human dignity (for instance, stoning for adultery, beheading for murder, cutting off the right hand for theft etc.). Taking the example of the punishment for theft, Rahman argues that the moral intention of the law is to prevent the thief from committing the crime again. In seventh-​century Arabia, this meant cutting off his right hand and – in case he commits another theft – his left hand as well. While this punishment was appropriate for that particular time, in the modern context other punishments should be sought that fulfil the same moral intention but are in line with human rights. Slavery is another example. Traditional Islamic law allows it, but the Qur’ān contains passages that encourage Muslims to free their slaves. The Prophet Muhammad did the same and even adopted one of his former slaves. Hence, while slavery remained legally permissible, various Qur’ānic pronouncements and Muhammad’s own actions suggest that it is a moral obligation to abolish it. Rahman’s contextual approach to interpreting the Qur’ān does not see Islam as an ideal in the past that needs to be literally relived. Following the example of Muhammad and his first followers rather means to take the spirit of Islam and to apply it to contemporary circumstances (Shepard 1987, p. 312). Finding a balance between contextual injunctions in the Qur’ān and its universal moral and theological principles characterises liberal approaches to Qur’ānic exegesis. A more radical step was taken by the Sudanese politician and intellectual Mahmud Muhammad Taha. Taha was trained as a civil engineer and was active in the Sudanese independence movement. He founded the Republican Brotherhood to counter the extension of Egyptian monarchic rule to Sudan. After Sudanese independence in 1956, Taha and his party opposed the Islamisation of Sudan and the introduction of Islamic law. Taha’s The Second Message of Islam (Al-​Risāla Al-​ Thāniyya min Al-​Islām), published in 1967, introduces the most radical re-​reading of the authority of the Qur’ānic text in modern times. Classical Qur’ānic exegesis distinguishes between the two periods of Muhammad’s prophecy in Mecca (610–​22 ce) and in Medina (622–​32 ce). Accordingly, exegetes have identified certain chapters to have been revealed in either Mecca or Medina. Given that in both cities, Muhammad’s prophecy had different priorities, there is an understanding that the Meccan and Medinan chapters differ in tone, style and content. Meccan chapters tend to be shorter, more poetic and introduce the basic theological doctrines of the Qur’ān.The Medinan chapters had to address the very specific issues the early Muslim community had to face: the warfare with the Meccans and the social, political and legal structure of the new community. Therefore, Medinan chapters are longer, more prosaic and cover questions of law and rituals in more detail. Based on the theory of abrogation, traditional exegetes also uphold that in

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case of any contradictions in a particular matter, later revelations (such as those from Medina) supersede and abrogate earlier revelations (such as those from Mecca). In The Second Message of Islam, Taha turns the concept of Qur’ānic abrogation upside down.The Qur’ān introduces a vision of what true Islam is, and Muhammad is the embodiment of this vision. However, this true and complete understanding of Islam could not be fully grasped by Muhammad’s followers and therefore had to be communicated to them in accordance with their level of comprehension. The Prophet Muhammad himself said in a tradition attributed to him: “We the prophets have been instructed to address people in accordance with the level of their understanding” (quoted by Taha 1998, p. 271). For Taha, the original vision of Islam is contained in the Meccan chapters which introduce the fundamental theological and ethical principles of Islam while the Medinan chapters contain specific instructions given to early Muslims to find practical solutions to their challenges and to introduce ways to secure the survival and expansion of this young community. For instance, jihād, as Taha argues, was not part of the original message of Islam. In Mecca, Muslims were only allowed to engage in peaceful proselytism. As these peaceful approaches ultimately failed and the very existence of Islam was threatened, Muhammad and his followers had to leave Mecca and to engage in warfare with their opponents. Based on the concept of abrogation, traditional commentators argue that the earlier verses teaching Muslims to use peaceful means to spread their religion have been abrogated by later verses that instruct them to fight their opponents until they either accept Islam as their religion or at least Islamic political supremacy. Taha reverses this logic by arguing that the intention to spread Islam through peaceful means, which is part of the original core of Islam as evident in the Meccan chapters, was only temporarily abrogated in light of the severe challenges early Muslims faced. In this sense, Taha concludes that “many aspects of the present Islamic sharī’a are not the original principles or objectives of Islam. They merely reflect a descent in accordance with the circumstances of the time and the limitations of human ability” (Taha 1998, p. 276). The Islam made in Medina constitutes for Taha the “First Message of Islam”, while “the Second Message calls for a return from the subsidiary verses to the original verses, which were temporarily abrogated because of circumstances and material and human limitations” (Taha 1998, p. 283). By arguing for the supremacy of the Meccan verses over those revealed in Medina, Taha counters the traditional connection between the chronology of the Qur’ānic text and its authority, which bestows more authority to later revelations than to earlier ones. Taha also limits the authority of the Qur’ān to the chapters revealed in Mecca and thereby truncates the overall sanctity of the Qur’ān. For many contemporary Muslims, even those within the liberal camp, this was a step too far. Taha was accused of apostasy several times in his lifetime and executed by the Sudanese state in 1985.

Feminist interpretations of the Qur’a ˉn The objective to contextualise specific injunctions in the Qur’ān in order to minimise their authority and validity and to extract general moral principles from these

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injunctions, which characterises liberal Qur’ānic exegesis, is central to the ways Muslim feminists re-​read the Qur’ān. Muslim feminist scholarship is one of the most vibrant intellectual trends in contemporary Islam and engages in a variety of activities. Political activism focuses on the reform of Islamic law and its legal enshrinement in many Muslim-​majority countries to counter patriarchal elements that disadvantage Muslim women. Other feminist authors engage in sociological and historical studies to examine how patriarchal worldviews embedded in Islamic history and Muslim societies have shaped Islamic discourses and minimised the actualisation of Islam’s egalitarian potential. Muslim feminists have also engaged in re-​interpretations of the Qur’ān (Badran 2009; Ahmed 1993). Among them, the African-​American convert and academic Amina Wadud (b. 1952) is one of the most prominent. Wadud lays out her exegetical approach to the Qur’ān in her book Qur’ān and Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective. First of all, Wadud acknowledges the subjectivity of any interpretation of the Qur’ān – in her case, as a Muslim woman she intends to read the Qur’ān in a way that counters patriarchy and creates gender equality (Wadud 1999, pp. 1–​3). In addition, her understanding of the authority of the Qur’ānic text is very much shaped by Fazlur Rahman. She argues against the fixation of the meaning of the Qur’ān within a specific historical or cultural context – even that context of the early Muslim community at the time of the Prophet Muhammad, as such an understanding contradicts the belief that the Qur’ān possesses authority beyond space and time. Like Rahman,Wadud’s approach is based on the notion that behind specific legal and social injunctions introduced in the Qur’ān lie general theological and ethical principles that aim to achieve a certain objective. This general principle and its concurrent objectives need to be reapplied in different circumstances (Wadud 1999, pp. 3–​10). Both the Qur’ān and the traditional exegetical tradition in Islam acknowledge its embeddedness in a particular historical context with the concept of the “reasons for revelation” (asbāb al-​nuzūl). Hence, historicising the Qur’ānic text as such is part of traditional Qur’ānic exegesis. However, conservative interpreters fear that the emphasis on the historicity of the Qur’ān by modernist or liberal Muslims undermines the universal authority of the revelation. For Wadud, identifying the specific reasons for revelation is not meant to restrict the applicability of a particular verse to a specific context but to derive a general moral or theological principle out of the revelation and its context, and to distinguish general and specific statements, with preference given to the former (Barlas 2004). Wadud suggests to contextualise and then re-​contextualise the Qur’ān in the contemporary world. While the Qur’ān was revealed within a particular historical context, for Muslims it is not just a historical document but the repository of a universal divine moral message that needs to be made relevant to different circumstances. Apart from the different historical contexts that shape the Qur’ān as a text and its interpretation, the Qur’ān as a text itself provides the context for its understanding. The Qur’ān contains a holistic and complete message which any interpretation needs to take into account. For Wadud, a valid interpretation of the Qur’ān needs to adhere to the ethos and spirit of the Qur’ān and not necessarily to each of its letters (Barlas 2004).

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Wadud recognises that not only has the male-​dominated tradition of Qur’ānic exegesis further enshrined patriarchy in the Islamic tradition but that the Qur’ān was revealed in the context of a patriarchal society whose values are reflected in its text. At the same time, as the examples of alcohol or slavery illustrate, very often the Qur’ān does not abolish existing practices and institutions immediately but lays out a direction to achieve a moral good over time. In terms of gender equality, the Qur’ān contains conflicting narratives. On the one hand, it acknowledges the spiritual equality of men and women. In response to a complaint by one of Muhammad’s wives of the male bias of the Qur’ān, verse 33, 35 was revealed: Surely, men who submit themselves to God and women who submit themselves to Him, and believing men and believing women, and obedient men and obedient women, and truthful men and truthful women, and men steadfast in their faith and steadfast women, and men who are humble and women who are humble, and men who give alms and women who give alms, and men who fast and women who fast, and men who guard their chastity and women who guard their chastity and men who remember God much and women who remember Him − God has prepared for all of them forgiveness and a great reward. As this verse indicates, God does not discriminate against women on the Day of Judgement and will offer pious men and women the same reward. On the other hand, the Qur’ān contains various legal and social injunctions that are based on gender inequality. The testimony of a woman has only half the value of that of a man (2, 282); women inherit less than men (4, 11); men can marry up to four wives (4, 3); and men possess guardianship over women (4, 34).Wadud’s first response is to argue that the universal egalitarian message of the Qur’ān overrides the very specific legal inequalities it introduces. For her, a core Qur’ānic value is justice. While the Qur’ān provides specific guidelines to achieve this at the time of Muhammad, Muslims now need to formulate the Islamic tradition in a way to achieve justice and equality. As a second step, Wadud contextualises these socio-​legal inequalities and intends to distil a rationale out of these injunctions. When the Qur’ān states that “men are the guardians of women” (4, 34), then their authority is based on the condition that they as husbands are the economic providers for their families. If a husband ceases to be the economic provider or this role is shared by both spouses, then the power relations within marriage change as well. In addition, Wadud understands “guardianship” as referring to the moral and financial support husbands and society at large need to provide for women, in particular in relation to their child-​bearing role. As the Qur’ān emphasises that women should not be overburdened with various responsibilities and then be forced to neglect this duty, society and its male members need to support women in their role as mothers (Wadud 1999, pp. 69–​74). Verse 2, 282 states that the testimony of a woman has only half the value of that of a male witness. First, Wadud points out that the Qur’ān recognises

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the right of women to act as witnesses at courts in the first place which was a major advancement compared to other legal traditions at that time. Wadud then contextualises this verse.The case this verse refers to limits the authority of women in financial matters.The Qur’ān assumes here not a general unreliability of women as witnesses at court, but their inexperience in financial matters as compared to men, which limits their legal authority. Hence, if women become as experienced in financial matters as men, their testimony at court has the same value as that of men. Furthermore, Wadud reads the implication that two women need to give testimony against the testimony of one man as an encouragement of female solidarity. In a patriarchal context, a woman might be forced by her husband, father or other male relations to make a particular statement. The presence of a second woman provides the opportunity to deliver an account that is made without male coercion (Wadud 1999, pp. 85–​86).

Conclusion This overview of modern approaches to the Qur’ān and the discussion of various case studies illustrates that the foundational sacred scripture of Islam is part of a living tradition which has yielded a diversity of interpretations in the modern world. Modernist interpreters in the nineteenth century intended to prove the rationality and scientific nature of the Qur’ān, while Islamists have read the Qur’ān as a socio-​ political document. Liberal and feminist exegetes emphasise universal theological and ethical principles over social and legal injunctions. Traditional commentaries are still produced by religious scholars. While many of their conclusions challenge traditional interpretations, modern exegetes do not necessarily discard the tradition of Qur’ānic exegesis entirely but utilise it eclectically and creatively to provide at times radically new interpretations. In addition, modern and contemporary interpreters have taken Qur’ānic exegesis out of scholastic circles and encouraged lay Muslims to read and interpret it.

Note 1 The Qur’ān: A New Translation (2004) by Abdel Haleem, M.A.S., Oxford: Oxford University Press is used throughout this chapter.

References Abdel Haleem, M.A.S. (trans.) (2004) The Qur’ān:  A  New Translation. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. ‘Abduh, M. (1897) Risālat al-​Tawḥīd. Cairo: al-​Maṭba’a al-​Kubrā al-​Amīriyya. Ahmed, L. (1993) Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern Debate. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Arberry, A.J. (trans.) (1955) The Koran Interpreted. London: Allen & Unwin.

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Badran, M. (2009) Feminism in Islam: Secular and Religious Convergences. Oxford: Oneworld. Barlas, A. (2004) “Amina Wadud’s Hermeneutics of the Qur’ān: Women Rereading Sacred Texts” in S. Taji-​Farouki (ed.) Modern Muslim Intellectuals and the Qur’ān. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 97–​124. Carré, O. (2004) Mystique et politique, le Coran des Islamistes: Commentaire coranique de Sayyid Qutb (1906–​1966). Paris: Éditions du CERF. Choueri,Y.M. (1997) Islamic Fundamentalism. London and Washington: Pinter. Gätje, H. (1996) The Qur’ān and its Exegesis: Selected Texts with Classical and Modern Muslim Interpretations. Oxford: Oneworld. Haddad,Y.Y. (1988) “Muhammad ‘Abduh: Pioneer of Islamic Reform”, in A. Rahnema (ed.) Pioneers of Islamic Revival. London and New Jersey: Zed Books, pp. 30–​63. Hallaq, W. (2012) The Impossible State:  Islam, Politics, and Modernity’s Moral Predicament. New York: Columbia University Press. Khatab, S. (2002) “Hakimiyyah and Jahiliyyah in the Thought of Sayyid Qutb”, Middle Eastern Studies, 38, pp. 145–​70. Kurzman, C. (ed.) (1998) Liberal Islam:  A  Sourcebook. New  York and Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Mitchell, R.P. (1969) The Society of the Muslim Brothers. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Moussalli, A.S. (1992) Radical Islamic Fundamentalism: The Ideological and Political Discourse of Sayyid Qutb. Beirut: American University of Beirut. Musallam, A. (2005) From Secularism to Jihad:  Sayyid Qutb and the Foundations of Radical Islamism. Westport, CT: Praeger. Nasr, S.V.R. (1994) Vanguard of the Islamic Revolution:  Jama’at-​i Islami of Pakistan. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. —​—​—​ (1996) Mawdudi and the Making of Islamic Revivalism. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Qutb, S. (n.d. [1967]) Fī Ẓilāl Al-​Qur’ān: Sūra Al-​Baqara, [n.p.]. Online. Available at: www. tafsirzilal.wordpress.com/​(accessed 22 July 2016). Rahman, F. (1982) Islam and Modernity:  Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Reetz, D. (1988) “Enlightenment and Islam: Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s Plea to Indian Muslims for Reason”, The Indian Historical Review, 14, pp. 206–​18. Rippin, A. (2001) “Literary Analysis of Qur’ān, Tafsīr, and Sīra: The Methodologies of John Wansborough”, in R.C. Martin (ed.) Approaches to Islam in Religious Studies. Oxford: Oneworld, pp. 151–​63. Scharbrodt, O. (2008) Islam and the Baha’i Faith: A Comparative Study of Muhammad ‘Abduh and ‘Abdul-​Baha ‘Abbas. London: Routledge. Shepard,W.E. (1987) “Islam and Ideology: Towards a Typology”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 19, pp. 307–​36. —​—​—​(2003) “Sayyid Qutb’s Doctrine of Jāhiliyya”, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 35, pp. 521–​45. Taha, M.M. (1998) “The Second Message of Islam”, in C. Kurzman (ed.) Liberal Islam: A Sourcebook. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 270–​83. Tripp, C. (1988) “Sayyid Qutb: The Political Vision”, in A. Rahnema (ed.) Pioneers of Islamic Revival. London and New Jersey: Zed Books, pp. 154–​83. Troll, C.W. (1978) Sayyid Ahmad Khan: A Reinterpretation of Muslim Theology. Delhi: Vikas. Wadud, A. (1999) Qur’ān and Women:  Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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10 THE READING OF SCRIPTURE A Baha’i approach Moojan Momen

The question of the Baha’i approach to the reading of scripture is a multi-​faceted one and it is only possible here to approach one aspect of the subject. This chapter, therefore, initially presents a few facts about the Baha’i Faith, as it is still little known, and then goes on to look specifically at how Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Baha’i Faith, approaches the reading of the scriptures of other religions; how he reads, or rather re-​reads, these in a creative and innovative manner in order to set the scene for his own claims.

Basic facts about the Baha’i Faith The Baha’i Faith was founded by Baha’u’llah (1817–​92), a title that can be translated as the Glory of God.The religion began in 1844 in Persia or Iran with Baha’u’llah’s precursor, the Bab (1819–​50). Baha’u’llah appointed, as his successor, his son who had the title ʿAbdu’l-​Baha (1844–​1921), and the latter appointed, as his successor, his grandson Shoghi Effendi (1897–​1957). The present head of the Baha’i Faith is the Universal House of Justice, which is a council elected by the members of the national Baha’i councils of the different countries of the world, which in turn are elected by delegates from local Baha’i communities. The world headquarters of the religion are in the cities of Haifa and Acre in Israel. There are Baha’i communities now in almost every country of the world (the only exception being the Vatican) and there are about five million Baha’is in the world today. As far as the basic teachings of the Baha’i Faith are concerned, they could be simplified to three points. First, that Baha’is believe that there is only one God or one Ultimate Reality. This one Ultimate Reality has from time to time sent teachers to the world who have been the founders of the world religions. Second, in reality therefore, there has only been one religion that has been gradually unfolded to humanity through these teachers that have come to the world. This religion has

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been progressively revealed in accordance with the needs of humanity in each age and differences between religions are mainly due to the differing needs of each age (as well as the accretion of traditions). Third, the needs of humanity in this age revolve around the attainment of the oneness of humanity and that is therefore the central teaching of Baha’u’llah. The implication of this is that human beings must put aside everything that divides them and creates conflict. Humanity must become conscious of the fact that, in Baha’u’llah’s words: “Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch” (Baha’u’llah 1983, p.  218) and “The earth is but one country and mankind its citizens” (Baha’u’llah 1983, p. 250).

The claim of Baha’u’llah The claim of Baha’u’llah is to be the one promised or prophesied in the scriptures of all of the religions of the world. In all of these scriptures, one finds reference to a future messianic figure who will come and inaugurate a Golden Age. Baha’u’llah claims that these prophecies do not refer to different individuals who will come to the different religions of the world but rather to one individual who will come to unite the religions of the world.1 Baha’u’llah claims to be this messianic figure of the different religions of the world. The following are two short quotations that are indicative of the claims of Baha’u’llah: Verily I say, this is the Day in which mankind can behold the Face, and hear the Voice, of the Promised One. The Call of God hath been raised, and the light of His countenance hath been lifted up upon men. It behoveth every man to blot out the trace of every idle word from the tablet of his heart, and to gaze, with an open and unbiased mind, on the signs of His Revelation, the proofs of His Mission, and the tokens of His glory. Great indeed is this Day! The allusions made to it in all the sacred scriptures as the Day of God attest its greatness. Baha’u’llah 1983, pp. 10–​11 The time foreordained unto the peoples and kindreds of the earth is now come. The promises of God, as recorded in the holy scriptures, have all been fulfilled. Out of Zion hath gone forth the Law of God, and Jerusalem, and the hills and land thereof, are filled with the glory of His Revelation. Baha’u’llah 1983, pp. 12–​13

Reading the Scriptures It is precisely because Baha’u’llah made such a great claim that this question of the reading of the scriptures became important.2 As soon as Baha’u’llah started putting forward such claims, the followers of the religions with which he was in contact in the Middle East began to read their scriptures against him, saying words such as: “These are the prophecies that are recorded in our scriptures and you have not

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fulfilled them and so how can you claim to be the one that we are expecting?” Baha’u’llah therefore had to respond to such criticisms, by explaining to them what he felt was the correct way to read their scriptures and how it was that he had in fact fulfilled these prophecies. By looking at the manner in which Baha’u’llah made his interpretation of scripture, and in particular of the prophecies contained in these scriptures, five main principles for Baha’u’llah’s interpretation of Scripture emerge. These will now be stated briefly, followed by a more detailed examination, mainly through an example of how Baha’u’llah has explained one passage of Scripture. These five main principles are: 1. Each verse of scripture has many meanings and each individual will see different meanings from other individuals. One could almost say that Baha’u’llah is here anticipating the view of Paul Ricoeur (1995) that, in the world in front of the text (the world in which a text is received and understood), there is no stable fixed meaning inherent within a text, the meaning emerges from the interaction of the reader and the text.3 2. Baha’u’llah asserts, however, that, of the ways of reading scripture that exist, some are more “true” than others in the sense that they are understood by those who are more spiritually elevated and they are more beneficial to human spiritual development. To understand the scripture fully and to see its true inner meanings, an elevated and detached spiritual state is required rather than book knowledge and learning. 3. Scripture is intended primarily to be for humanity’s spiritual education and development and not for other purposes, such as, for example, a record of history or a discourse on philosophy. 4. Therefore, as a consequence of the first and third points above, what is recorded in Scripture, whether of events in the past or prophecies of the future, has primarily a spiritual meaning and intent rather than being necessarily a factual record of the past or a literal foretelling of future physical events. Prophecy is describing humanity’s spiritual future rather than future physical events. 5. This language of the text is therefore a test. Those who do not have the necessary purity and detachment reveal their spiritual state by their reaction to the text. They will not understand the scripture as it should be understood. They will only take from the Scripture the outward literal meaning. That is indeed the reason why the language is veiled and ambiguous – in order to be a test. Baha’u’llah’s manner of interpreting the scriptures of other religions is most fully expounded in what is considered by Baha’is to be the second most important book that Baha’u’llah wrote. This book is called the Book of Certitude (Kitáb-​i Íqán) and dates from early in his ministry (1861) when precisely this question of the correct reading of the scriptures and the explanation of the prophecies of the Jewish, Christian and Islamic scriptures was most pressing.4

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With regard to the first principle mentioned above, that there are multiple levels of meaning in scripture, Baha’u’llah writes: In such utterances, the literal meaning, as generally understood by the people, is not what hath been intended. Thus it is recorded: “Every knowledge hath seventy meanings, of which one only is known amongst the people. And when the Qá’im [the Promised One] shall arise, He shall reveal unto men all that which remaineth.” He also saith: “We speak one word, and by it we intend one and seventy meanings; each one of these meanings we can explain.” Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 255 With regard to the second principle, that understanding of the scriptures depends on the spiritual state of the individual, the opening passage of the Book of Certitude deals with this theme: No man shall attain the shores of the ocean of true understanding except he be detached from all that is in heaven and on earth. Sanctify your souls, O ye peoples of the world, that haply ye may attain that station which God hath destined for you … The essence of these words is this: they that tread the path of faith, they that thirst for the wine of certitude, must cleanse themselves of all that is earthly –  their ears from idle talk, their minds from vain imaginings, their hearts from worldly affections, their eyes from that which perisheth. They should put their trust in God, and, holding fast unto Him, follow in His way. Then will they be made worthy of the effulgent glories of the sun of divine knowledge and understanding, and become the recipients of a grace that is infinite and unseen. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 3 Furthermore, in relation to the second and third principles above, Baha’u’llah writes: Heed not the idle contention of those who maintain that the Book and verses thereof can never be a testimony unto the common people, inasmuch as they neither grasp their meaning nor appreciate their value. And yet, the unfailing testimony of God to both the East and the West is none other than the Qur’ān. Were it beyond the comprehension of men, how could it have been declared as a universal testimony unto all people? … Such contention is utterly fallacious and inadmissible. It is actuated solely by arrogance and pride. Its motive is to lead the people astray from the Ridván [Paradise] of divine good-​pleasure and to tighten the reins of their authority over the people. And yet, in the sight of God, these common people are infinitely superior and exalted above their religious leaders who have turned away from the one true God. The understanding of His words

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and the comprehension of the utterances of the Birds of Heaven are in no wise dependent upon human learning. They depend solely upon purity of heart, chastity of soul, and freedom of spirit. This is evidenced by those who, today, though without a single letter of the accepted standards of learning, are occupying the loftiest seats of knowledge; and the garden of their hearts is adorned, through the showers of divine grace, with the roses of wisdom and the tulips of understanding. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 210 In dealing with the other principles outlined above, towards the end of this book, Baha’u’llah divides the content of Scripture into two: It is evident unto thee that the Birds of Heaven and Doves of Eternity (that is, the divine teachers, the founders of the world religions) speak a twofold language. One language, the outward language, is devoid of allusions, is unconcealed and unveiled; that it may be a guiding lamp and a beaconing light whereby wayfarers may attain the heights of holiness, and seekers may advance into the realm of eternal reunion. Such are the unveiled traditions and the evident verses already mentioned. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 254–​55 Baha’u’llah makes it clear that these passages of “outward language” that are “unconcealed and unveiled” refer to the laws of the different religions, the ethical injunctions and social teachings contained in the scriptures of the religions of the world. He then goes on to describe the second part of this division of scripture, describing how this part of the scripture can be a test for the people: The other language is veiled and concealed, so that whatever lieth hidden in the heart of the malevolent may be made manifest and their innermost being be disclosed … This is the divine standard, this is the Touchstone of God, wherewith He proveth His servants. None apprehendeth the meaning of these utterances except them whose hearts are assured, whose souls have found favour with God, and whose minds are detached from all else but Him. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 255 Among those parts of the Scripture that are “veiled and concealed” are the prophecies concerning the coming of a Promised One, the apocalyptic prophecies concerning the end of the world and the millennialist prophecies of a Golden Age.

An example of Baha’u’llah’s reading of Scripture Baha’u’llah’s strategy in interpreting “veiled and concealed” texts is to first establish that the literal meaning would either be absurd or would have no spiritual benefit. Then he goes on to give his explanation of the verse using the principles outlined

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above. Baha’u’llah’s reading of the scripture can best be understood by considering an example of it.The example used here is from the Book of Certitude and extends over sixty pages of the total of 260 pages of the book in the English translation. It is noteworthy that Baha’u’llah, despite the fact that his immediate and direct audience were Muslims, has chosen a passage from the Christian Gospels to treat at such length. He takes a passage from the Gospel of St Matthew and explains what he considers to be the true meaning of it. The passage concerned is: Immediately after the oppression [tribulation] of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the earth shall be shaken: and then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet. Matthew 24: 29–​31; see Mark 13: 24–​27; Luke 21: 25–​27 There are several reasons that this passage is particularly interesting. First, it is typical of the sort of prophecies that there are about the coming of the messianic figure and of the Day of Judgement – the sort of prophecies Baha’u’llah needed to explain to those who questioned his claim. There are similar passages not just in the Bible but also in the Qur’ān (Qur’ān 75: 1–​10; 81: 1–​3). Second, it was becoming evident, by the nineteenth century, that a literal fulfilment of this sort of passage was not possible. Astronomy was showing that it was not possible for the stars to fall from heaven to earth when each star was thousands of times larger than the earth and the approach of just one of them would reduce the earth to a cinder.Therefore it is the sort of passage that is crying out for an explanation in this scientific age. A third reason why Baha’u’llah may have chosen this passage is because it points out to his Muslim audience that they are repeating what the Christians did against the prophet Muhammad. The Christians would have read such passages of the Bible to Muslims, denying that Muhammad could be a prophet prophesied in their scriptures, based on their interpretation of such prophecies. Baha’u’llah is here implicitly saying to Muslims: you are doing to me the same thing that the Christians did to the prophet Muhammad, and indeed that the Jews did to Christ. Elsewhere in this book, he says this explicitly. (Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 81, 132, 134, 135–​37, 213, 239). So let us look at the way that Baha’u’llah reads this passage. However, since the full text of Baha’u’llah’s reading covers sixty pages and includes multiple interpretations, only a few representative interpretations will be given here. Regarding the first statement in this passage from the Gospel of St Matthew (“Immediately after the oppression of those days”), Baha’u’llah dismisses any literal explanation of these words, saying: Were this “oppression” (which literally meaneth pressure) to be interpreted that the earth is to become contracted, or were men’s idle fancy to conceive

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similar calamities to befall mankind, it is clear and manifest that no such happenings can ever come to pass. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 29 He gives his explanation of these words thus: As to the words – “Immediately after the oppression of those days” – they refer to the time when men shall become oppressed and afflicted, the time when the lingering traces of the Sun of Truth and the fruit of the Tree of knowledge and wisdom will have vanished from the midst of men, when the reins of mankind will have fallen into the grasp of the foolish and ignorant, when the portals of divine unity and understanding – the essential and highest purpose in creation – will have been closed, when certain knowledge will have given way to idle fancy, and corruption will have usurped the station of righteousness. Such a condition as this is witnessed in this day when the reins of every community have fallen into the grasp of foolish leaders, who lead after their own whims and desire. On their tongue the mention of God hath become an empty name; in their midst His holy Word a dead letter. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 29 And he later goes on to write: What “oppression” is greater than that which hath been recounted? What “oppression” is more grievous than that a soul seeking the truth, and wishing to attain unto the knowledge of God, should know not where to go for it and from whom to seek it? For opinions have sorely differed, and the ways unto the attainment of God have multiplied. This “oppression” is the essential feature of every Revelation. Unless it cometh to pass, the Sun of Truth will not be made manifest. For the break of the morn of divine guidance must needs follow the darkness of the night of error. For this reason, in all chronicles and traditions reference hath been made unto these things, namely that iniquity shall cover the surface of the earth and darkness shall envelop mankind. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 31–​32 This then is part of Baha’u’llah’s explanation of the opening phrase of the passage from St Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 24: 29): “Immediately after the oppression [tribulation] of those days.” Baha’u’llah then goes on to give his explanation of the next phrase: And now, concerning His words – “The sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give light, and the stars shall fall from heaven.” By the terms “sun” and “moon”, mentioned in the writings of the Prophets of God, is not meant solely the sun and moon of the visible universe. Nay rather, manifold are the

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meanings they have intended for these terms. In every instance they have attached to them a particular significance. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 33 Baha’u’llah now goes on to give several alternative meanings for the words “sun”, “moon” and “stars.” In the first place he says that these words can refer to the prophets, the founders of the major religions of the world, who have been like a spiritual sun, shedding light and warmth and giving life to the earth: Thus, by the “sun” in one sense is meant those Suns of Truth Who rise from the dayspring of ancient glory, and fill the world with a liberal effusion of grace from on high. These Suns of Truth are the universal Manifestations of God [the founders of the world’s religion] in the worlds of His attributes and names, even as the visible sun that assisteth … in the development of all earthly things, such as the trees, the fruits, and colours thereof, the minerals of the earth, and all that may be witnessed in the world of creation, so do the divine Luminaries, by their loving care and educative influence, cause the trees of divine unity, the fruits of His oneness, the leaves of detachment, the blossoms of knowledge and certitude, and the myrtles of wisdom and utterance, to exist and be made manifest. Thus it is that through the rise of these Luminaries of God the world is made new, the waters of everlasting life stream forth, the billows of loving-​kindness surge, the clouds of grace are gathered, and the breeze of bounty bloweth upon all created things. It is the warmth that these Luminaries of God generate, and the undying fires they kindle, which cause the light of the love of God to burn fiercely in the heart of humanity … Assuredly the visible sun is but a sign of the splendour of that Day-​star of Truth, that Sun Which can never have a peer, a likeness, or rival … Thus, it hath become evident that the terms “sun”, “moon”, and “stars” primarily signify the Prophets of God, the saints, and their companions, those Luminaries, the light of Whose knowledge hath shed illumination upon the worlds of the visible and the invisible. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 33–​34, 36 The second meaning that Baha’u’llah gives to these terms is that they refer to the clerics and religious leaders in each religious dispensation: In another sense, by these terms is intended the divines of the former Dispensation, who live in the days of the subsequent Revelations, and who hold the reins of religion in their grasp. If these divines be illumined by the light of the latter Revelation they will be acceptable unto God, and will shine with a light everlasting. Otherwise, they will be declared as darkened, even though to outward seeming they be leaders of men, inasmuch as belief and unbelief, guidance and error, felicity and misery, light and darkness, are all dependent upon the sanction of Him Who is the Day-​star of Truth …

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That the term “sun” hath been applied to the leaders of religion is due to their lofty position, their fame, and renown. Such are the universally recognized divines of every age, who speak with authority, and whose fame is securely established. If they be in the likeness of the Sun of Truth, they will surely be accounted as the most exalted of all luminaries; otherwise, they are to be recognized as the focal centres of hellish fire. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 36–​37 In a third sense, Baha’u’llah asserts that these words mean the laws and teachings of each religious dispensation since these are a source of spiritual illumination: In another sense, by the terms “sun”, “moon”, and “stars” are meant such laws and teachings as have been established and proclaimed in every Dispensation, such as the laws of prayer and fasting. These have, according to the law of the Qur’ān, been regarded, when the beauty of the Prophet Muhammad had passed beyond the veil, as the most fundamental and binding laws of His Dispensation. To this testify the texts of the traditions and chronicles, which, on account of their being widely known, need not be referred to here. Nay rather, in every Dispensation the law concerning prayer hath been emphasized and universally enforced … It is unquestionable that in every succeeding Revelation the “sun” and “moon” of the teachings, laws, commandments, and prohibitions which have been established in the preceding Dispensation, and which have overshadowed the people of that age, become darkened, that is, are exhausted, and cease to exert their influence. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 38–​39, 41 Baha’u’llah continues his explanations of these points for a further twenty pages in the English translation before going on to consider the next phrase in the passage from St Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 24: 30): “And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven.” Baha’u’llah states this refers to the point in humanity’s spiritual history when the light of the previous religious dispensation has been quenched and a new spiritual dawn occurs. He states that at this point, a physical light can appear in the physical heavens, such as the star that appeared in the sky at the birth of Jesus: And now, concerning His words:  “And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven.” By these words it is meant that when the sun of the heavenly teachings hath been eclipsed, the stars of the divinely-​established laws have fallen, and the moon of true knowledge – the educator of mankind – hath been obscured; when the standards of guidance and felicity have been reversed, and the morn of truth and righteousness hath sunk in night, then shall the sign of the Son of man appear in heaven. By “heaven” is meant the visible heaven, inasmuch as when the hour draweth nigh on which the

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Day-​star of the heaven of justice shall be made manifest, and the Ark of divine guidance shall sail upon the sea of glory, a star will appear in the heaven, heralding unto its people the advent of that most great light. Baha’u’llah 1989, 61–​62 Baha’u’llah asserts, however, that as well as this physical meaning, the phrase has a spiritual meaning referring to the appearance of a person who announces the advent of the next religious dispensation, who proclaims the coming of a prophet founder of a new religion. Baha’u’llah gives several examples of this, including the figure of John the Baptist: In like manner, in the invisible heaven a star shall be made manifest who, unto the peoples of the earth, shall act as a harbinger of the break of that true and exalted Morn. These twofold signs, in the visible and the invisible heaven, have announced the Revelation of each of the Prophets of God, as is commonly believed. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 62 Going on then to the next sentence in St Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 24:  30), Baha’u’llah says: And now, with reference to His words: “And then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory.” These words signify that in those days men will lament the loss of the Sun of the divine beauty, of the Moon of knowledge, and of the Stars of divine wisdom. Thereupon, they will behold the countenance of the promised One, the adored Beauty, descending from heaven and riding upon the clouds. By this is meant that the divine Beauty will be made manifest from the heaven of the will of God, and will appear in the form of the human temple. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 66–​67 Baha’u’llah then goes on to consider what the word “heaven” means in the phrase “the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven”: The term “heaven” denoteth loftiness and exaltation, inasmuch as it is the seat of the revelation of those Manifestations of Holiness, the Day-​springs of ancient glory. These ancient Beings [the founders of the major religions], though delivered from the womb of their mother, have in reality descended from the heaven of the will of God. Though they be dwelling on this earth, yet their true habitations are the retreats of glory in the realms above. Whilst walking amongst mortals, they soar in the heaven of the divine presence. Without feet they tread the path of the spirit, and without wings they rise unto the exalted heights of divine unity.With every fleeting breath they cover

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the immensity of space, and at every moment traverse the kingdoms of the visible and the invisible. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 67 Baha’u’llah also discusses the meaning of the word “clouds” in “clouds of heaven”, In discussing this point, he deals with the central question that was being asked of him, that of why he does not appear to be fulfilling the prophecies of the Scriptures in their outward literal sense: And now regarding His words, that the Son of man shall “come in the clouds of heaven.” By the term “clouds” is meant those things that are contrary to the ways and desires of men … These “clouds” signify, in one sense, the annulment of laws, the abrogation of former Dispensations, the repeal of rituals and customs current amongst men, the exalting of the illiterate faithful above the learned opposers of the Faith. In another sense, they mean the appearance of that immortal Beauty in the image of mortal man, with such human limitations as eating and drinking, poverty and riches, glory and abasement, sleeping and waking, and such other things as cast doubt in the minds of men, and cause them to turn away. All such veils are symbolically referred to as “clouds”. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 71–​72 As can be imagined, Baha’u’llah dwells at length on these “clouds” that veil human beings from the truth. He states that it is these clouds that have caused the sufferings of the prophets of the past: Even as the clouds prevent the eyes of men from beholding the sun, so do these things hinder the souls of men from recognizing the light of the divine Luminary… Other Prophets, similarly, have been subject to poverty and afflictions, to hunger, and to the ills and chances of this world. As these holy Persons were subject to such needs and wants, the people were, consequently, lost in the wilds of misgivings and doubts, and were afflicted with bewilderment and perplexity. How, they wondered, could such a person be sent down from God, assert His ascendancy over all the peoples and kindreds of the earth, and claim Himself to be the goal of all creation. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 72–​73 Among the “clouds” that Baha’u’llah describes that prevent human beings from acknowledging the new divine teacher who comes to them is that he appears to be an ordinary man who has grown up among them and also the fact that he is trying to overturn the customs and traditions that have endured for centuries: It is evident that the changes brought about in every Dispensation constitute the dark clouds that intervene between the eye of man’s understanding and

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the divine Luminary which shineth forth from the dayspring of the divine Essence. Consider how men for generations have been blindly imitating their fathers, and have been trained according to such ways and manners as have been laid down by the dictates of their Faith. Were these men, therefore, to discover suddenly that a Man,Who hath been living in their midst,Who, with respect to every human limitation, hath been their equal, had risen to abolish every established principle imposed by their Faith – principles by which for centuries they have been disciplined, and every opposer and denier of which they have come to regard as infidel, profligate and wicked, – they would of a certainty be veiled and hindered from acknowledging His truth. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 73–​74 Such things are as clouds that veil the eyes of those whose inner being hath not tasted the Salsabil [a river of paradise] of detachment, nor drunk from the Kawthar [a spring in paradise] of the knowledge of God. Such men, when acquainted with these circumstances, become so veiled that without the least question, they pronounce the Manifestation of God an infidel, and sentence Him to death.You must have heard of such things taking place all down the ages, and are now observing them in these days. Baha’u’llah 1989, p. 74 In considering the next phrase of this passage from St Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 24: 31), Baha’u’llah considers the meaning of the word “angel”: And now, concerning His words:  “And He shall send His angels…” By “angels” is meant those who, reinforced by the power of the spirit, have consumed, with the fire of the love of God, all human traits and limitations, and have clothed themselves with the attributes of the most exalted Beings and of the Cherubim … And now, inasmuch as these holy beings have sanctified themselves from every human limitation, have become endowed with the attributes of the spiritual, and have been adorned with the noble traits of the blessed, they therefore have been designated as “angels”. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 78–​80 Baha’u’llah continues with this passage from St Matthew’s Gospel for a total of sixty pages of explanations but this much gives some indication of the manner in which Baha’u’llah reads the scriptures of the religions of the world. At the end of these explanations, Baha’u’llah writes of the fact that the language in which these prophecies are written is veiled and concealed and that this is a test for the people. Those who do not have the necessary purity of heart cling to the outer meaning and raise objections against the prophets of God: Such objections and differences have persisted in every age and century. The people have always busied themselves with such specious discourses, vainly

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protesting: “Wherefore hath not this or that sign appeared?” Such ills befell them only because they have clung to the ways of the divines of the age in which they lived, and blindly imitated them in accepting or denying these Essences of Detachment, these holy and divine Beings. Baha’u’llah 1989, pp. 81–​82

The place of scriptural commentary in the writings of Baha’u’llah Scriptural commentary plays an important part and constitutes a sizeable proportion of the writings of Baha’u’llah. It has a number of functions: 1. It explains the fulfilment of prophecies by Baha’u’llah. It answers the question as to why the prophecies were not fulfilled in a literal manner. It lays down general principles that can then be applied to any scripture. Indeed other Baha’i writers have taken up the methodology of the Book of Certitude and applied it to those scriptures about which Baha’u’llah has not written.5 2. It itself is regarded as a fulfilment of prophecies. One prophecy that one can find about the messianic figure that religions are expecting is that he will explain the scriptures.Thus for example Baha’is believe that Baha’u’llah’s Book of Certitude is the unsealing of the meaning of the words at the time of the end that was prophesied in the Book of Daniel where it says: “And he said, Go thy way, Daniel: for the words [are] closed up and sealed till the time of the end” (Daniel 12: 9; Shoghi Effendi 1974, p. 139). 3. This type of scriptural commentary also establishes Baha’u’llah’s authority as the master of the scriptures that preceded him and asserts his right to give the true meaning of those scriptures. 4. In the process of this scriptural commentary, Baha’u’llah is also explaining the workings of the spiritual world.Thus for example, as indicated above, he writes that these prophecies can be a test for those who say they believe. 5. These texts also explain how to read Baha’u’llah’s own writings, which are, of course, considered scripture by Baha’is. Commentary on the scriptures of other religions can, however, also be a distraction. Baha’u’llah spent a great deal of time in the early years of his ministry writing such commentaries on Jewish, Christian and Islamic scriptures and prophecies because people would ask him questions about such matters (the Book of Certitude belongs to this early period of his ministry). He did not, however, consider that his mission was to explain the scriptures of other religions; his claim was that he had been sent by God to present the teachings that were needed by humanity in this age. And so as his ministry developed, he did less and less of this writing of commentaries and more of setting out his teachings. Thus those people who insisted on sending him question after question about passages in various scriptures became more and more of a distraction from what Baha’u’llah considered to be his main task. Given the vast quantity of the

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scriptures of the religions of the world, Baha’u’llah could never have answered all of the questions that different people might have about them and he had, in any case, already laid down the general principles for the reading of Scripture in the Book of Certitude. An example of how Baha’u’llah dealt with repeated questions for scriptural exegesis can be found in the case of Manekji Sahib, who was the agent sent by the Zoroastrian community of Bombay to try to improve the condition of their co-​religionists in Iran. Manekji Sahib sent Baha’u’llah several letters asking about the interpretation of Zoroastrian and Hindu scriptures and theology. After answering a number of such questions, Baha’u’llah writes to the person who had forwarded Manekji Sahib’s questions, saying: Indeed, the answer to all that his honour the Sahib hath asked lieth enshrined within this all-​embracing, this weighty and incomparable utterance, hallowed and exalted be His word: “As to thy question concerning the heavenly Scriptures: The All-​Knowing Physician hath His finger on the pulse of mankind. He perceiveth the disease, and prescribeth, in His unerring wisdom, the remedy. Every age hath its own problem, and every soul its particular aspiration. The remedy the world needeth in its present-​day afflictions can never be the same as that which a subsequent age may require. Be anxiously concerned with the needs of the age ye live in, and centre your deliberations on its exigencies and requirements.” Baha’u’llah 2006, pp. 18–​19 In other words, Baha’u’llah was politely saying: that is enough of scriptural interpretation, let’s attend to the needs of this age and the teachings needed to solve its problems.

The conversation of scriptures Although Baha’u’llah did less commentary on scripture in the later stages of his ministry, even his later writings can be seen to be in conversation with the scriptures of other religions and in particular with the prophecies of those scriptures. These prophecies can be said to be of two broad types.The first are those that speak of the destruction of the world and these can be labelled apocalyptic prophecies. The second are those that speak of the coming into being of a new world and these can be labelled millennialist prophecies. And so for example there are apocalyptic prophecies such as the following from the Gospel of St Matthew: And you will hear of wars and rumours of wars … For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom … And then many will fall away, and betray one another, and hate one another … And because wickedness is multiplied, most men’s love will grow cold … For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be.” Matthew 24: 6, 7, 10, 12, 21

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And Baha’u’llah when he is writing about the present state of the world harks back to such apocalyptic passages: Witness how the world is being afflicted with a fresh calamity every day. Its tribulation is continually deepening. From the moment the Súriy-​i-​Ra’ís [Tablet to Ra’ís] was revealed until the present day, neither hath the world been tranquillized, nor have the hearts of its peoples been at rest. At one time it hath been agitated by contentions and disputes, at another it hath been convulsed by wars, and fallen a victim to inveterate diseases. Its sickness is approaching the stage of utter hopelessness … Baha’u’llah 1983, p. 39 The winds of despair are, alas, blowing from every direction, and the strife that divideth and afflicteth the human race is daily increasing. The signs of impending convulsions and chaos can now be discerned, inasmuch as the prevailing order appeareth to be lamentably defective. Baha’u’llah 1983, p. 216 There are also millennialist prophecies in the New Testament such as the following from the Revelation of John: And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea. And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God [is] with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, [and be] their God Revelation 21: 1–​3 Baha’u’llah harks back to such passages when he writes, concerning the present day and his own claims: This Day all the signs have appeared. A  Great City hath descended from heaven, and Zion trembleth and exulteth with joy at the Revelation of God, for it hath heard the Voice of God on every side. This Day Jerusalem hath attained unto a new Evangel … Baha’u’llah 1988, p. 145 Say: O well-​beloved ones! The tabernacle of unity hath been raised; regard ye not one another as strangers.Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. Baha’u’llah 2006, p. 9 This millennialist vision of peace was not just put forward by Baha’u’llah as a set of aspirations, but rather he gave a very detailed outline of how this could be achieved

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in the social teachings that he gave. He wrote, for example of the need for reaching agreements on universal peace supported at first by collective security (an agreement between nations that they will guarantee the peace); followed by a need for binding international treaties and institutions to regulate relations between nations; and, at the level of society, he wrote of the need for a radical restructuring of society such that it is built on the basis of cooperation and consultation rather than competitiveness and hierarchies of power. Furthermore, Baha’u’llah structured the Baha’i community in such a way as to be a model or an embryonic form of such a society, utilizing consultative decision-​making and removing hierarchies of individual power.6 In all this, however, Baha’u’llah still writes in conversation with the scriptures of other religions. Apart from quoting frequently from these other scriptures, he also alludes to them in the vision that he sets out.Thus for example, when he states: “He Who is your Lord, the All-​Merciful, cherisheth in His heart the desire of beholding the entire human race as one soul and one body” (Baha’u’llah 1983, p. 214), he may well have in mind such passages as the following from the Gospel of St John (10: 16): “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” Baha’u’llah clearly sees his own mission as being the fulfilment of the prophecies in the scriptures of all of the world religions about the coming of a Golden Age and sees the teachings and the structure of the community that he laid out as being the means to bring about that state. To continue the quotation given earlier: The time foreordained unto the peoples and kindreds of the earth is now come. The promises of God, as recorded in the holy scriptures, have all been fulfilled. Out of Zion hath gone forth the Law of God, and Jerusalem, and the hills and land thereof, are filled with the glory of His Revelation. Happy is the man that pondereth in his heart that which hath been revealed in the Books of God, the Help in Peril, the Self-​Subsisting. Meditate upon this, O ye beloved of God, and let your ears be attentive unto His Word, so that ye may, by His grace and mercy, drink your fill from the crystal waters of constancy, and become as steadfast and immovable as the mountain in His Cause. Baha’u’llah 1983, p. 12–​13

Conclusion In summary, this chapter is about the reading of Scripture: how Baha’u’llah read scripture and how he used commentary on scripture (and particularly commentary on apocalyptic and millennialist prophecies) to state the claim he was making and to set out his vision of the future. Baha’u’llah’s reading of scripture can be said to have been based on the proposition that Scripture is intended for the spiritual education of humanity therefore it needs to be read as a spiritual text dealing with the spiritual history and future of humanity. Thus the apocalyptic and millennialist prophecies found in every religion refer to the destruction or abrogation of the previous religious order and the emergence of a new spiritual order which in turn

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results in a new social order.This indeed is what Baha’u’llah claims: that his coming has brought about the inauguration of an era which will see the emergence of a new spiritual and social order.

Notes 1 And Baha’is claim that this is indicated in such scriptures as John 10: 16 which speaks of the shepherd having many folds which will be brought into one fold: see for example, Sears 1992, pp. 91, 207. 2 The Baha’i scriptures and authoritative texts referenced in the article can be consulted and downloaded from www.bahai.org/​library (accessed 9 February 2016). However, these online texts have no page numbering. 3 For the work of other scholars on this subject of reading the text and scriptural interpretation in the writings of the Bab and Baha’u’llah, see Brown 2005, Lawson 1988 and 2011, and Lambden 1997 and 1999–​2000. 4 The most important book is the Kitab-​i Aqdas (The Most Holy Book), which contains Baha’u’llah’s laws and teachings. This ranking of Baha’u’llah’s books is given by Shoghi Effendi (1974, p. 138). For more on the Book of Certitude, see Buck 2004 and 2007. 5 These general principles are discussed in more detail in Momen 2003. 6 These social teachings and community structures are described at greater length in W. Momen (2006) and M. Momen (1999). On the specific question of the removal of contention from human society, see Karlberg (2004).

References Baha’u’llah (1978) Tablets of Baha’u’llah Revealed after the Kitáb-​ i-​ Aqdas. Translated by H. Taherzadeh with the assistance of a committee at the Baha’í World Centre. Haifa, Israel: Baha’i World Centre. —​—​—​ (1983) Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u’llah. Translated by Shoghi Effendi. Wilmette, IL: Baha’i Publishing Trust. —​—​—​ (1988) Epistle to the Son of the Wolf.Translated by Shoghi Effendi.Wilmette, IL: Baha’i Publishing Trust. —​—​—​ (1989) Kitab-​i-​Iqan: The Book of Certitude. Translated by Shoghi Effendi. Wilmette, IL: Baha’i Publishing Trust. —​—​—​ (2006) The Tabernacle of Unity. Haifa, Israel: Baha’i World Centre. Brown, V. (2005) “Textual Resurrection:  Book, Imam and Cosmos in the Qur’an Commentaries of the Bab”, Baha’i Studies Review, 13, pp. 59–​73. Buck, C (2004) “Symbol and Secret:  Qurān commentary in Baha’u’llah’s Kitab-​i Iqan”, Studies in Babi and Baha’i History (vol. 7). Los Angeles, CA: Kalimat Press. —​—​—​(2007) “Beyond the ‘Seal of the Prophets’:  Baha’u’llah’s Book of Certitude (Ketab-​ e Iqan)”, in C. Pedersen and F. Vahman (eds), Religious Texts in Iranian Languages. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab, pp. 369–​78. Karlberg, M. (2004) Beyond the Culture of Contest: From Adversarialism to Mutualism in an Age of Interdependence. Oxford: George Ronald. Lambden, S. (1997) “Prophecy in the Johannine Farewell Discourse:  The Advents of the Paraclete, Ahmad, and the Comforter (Muʿazzí)”, in M. Momen (ed.) Scripture and Revelation. Oxford: George Ronald, pp. 69–​124. —​ —​ —​(1999–​ 2000) “Catastrophe, Armageddon and Millennium:  some aspects of the Babi-​Baha’i exegesis of apocalyptic symbolism”, Baha’i Studies Review, 9 (1999–​2000), pp. 81–​99.

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Lawson, B. Todd (1988) “Interpretation as Revelation: The Qur’ān Commentary of Sayyid ʿAlī Muhammad Shīrāzī, the Bāb”, in A. Rippin (ed.) Approaches to the History of the Interpretation of the Qur’ān. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 223–​53. —​—​—​ (2011) Gnostic Apocalypse and Islam:  Qurʾān, Exegesis, Messianism, and the Literary Origins of the Babi Religion. London: Routledge. Momen, M. (1999) The Baha’i Faith: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Oneworld. —​—​—​(2003) “The Baha’i Approach to Other Religions:  the example of Buddhism”, in M.  Momen (ed.) The Bahá’í Faith and Other Religions. Oxford:  George Ronald, pp. 167–​88. Momen, W. (2006) Understanding the Baha’i Faith, Edinburgh: Dunedin Academic Press. Qur’ān,The Holy Qur’ān (1946). Translated and commentary by A. Yusuf Ali. Durban, South Africa: Islamic Propagation Centre International, 1946. Available at: www.quranbrowser. com (accessed 9 February 2016). Ricoeur, P. (1995) Figuring the Sacred: Religion, Narrative, and Imagination. Edited by D.Wallace. Translated by D. Pellauer. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Sears, W. (1992) Thief in the Night. 18th Reprint, Oxford: George Ronald. Shoghi Effendi (1974) God Passes By. Rev. edn. Wilmette, IL: Baha’i Publishing Trust.

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11 HINDUISM AND ITS BASIC TEXTS The Vedas, Upanishads, Epics and Puranas Roshen Dalal

Nine major religions as well as numerous folk, tribal and local religions and cults are practised in India. Out of these, Hinduism is the religion of over eighty per cent of India’s population of 1.28 billion and has more followers across the world. Hinduism has evolved over centuries, and has no founder nor any religious head who acts as the supreme authority, though there are several gurus and religious leaders. It has innumerable texts, among which some can be considered more important. There are also sects, sub-​sects and different ways of worship, yet all have certain common aspects and similar belief systems. The religion can be studied not only through its texts but also through other literature, as well as inscriptions, paintings, sculptures, coins, seals and temples. Hindu, the term for those who follow Hinduism, is the early Persian version of Sindhu, the Sanskrit name of the river Indus, which flows through Pakistan and northern India.1 The term Hindush is known in Persian inscriptions of the sixth to fifth centuries bce, found at Hamadan, Naqsh-​e Rustam and Persepolis, as a province of Darius I (r. 523–​486 bce) of the Achaemenid dynasty (Curtis 2010, p. 520). It indicated not just the river but the region near it. The Hapta Hindava (the same as the Sanskrit Sapta Sindhava, meaning “the land of the seven rivers”) is one of the regions mentioned in the Vendidad, a Zoroastrian text.2 From the eighth century ce and later, al-​Hind was a term used in Arabic for the people living to the east of the Indus, thus all the inhabitants of India. In Persian, the term Hindustan came to be used for India. Gradually, the term Hindu began to be used more specifically for those who both lived beyond the Indus, and who did not claim to follow any other religion. Until the nineteenth century the term “Hindu” was used mainly by those of other religions, though some Hindu writers did use the word. Mostly, Hindus defined themselves as belonging to a particular caste or village, or as followers of Vaishnavism, Shaivism or of other sects and deities.The attempt at an umbrella group called Hindu was partly in response to Western approaches to India. The

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term Hinduism was introduced by the British in the nineteenth century, and today is commonly used.The religion is also referred to as Sanatana Dharma, meaning “the eternal religion”. The early texts were probably all orally transmitted and written down later. This brings us to the question of writing in India. An ancient city-​civilization known as the Harappan civilization, or alternatively as the Indus or Indus-​Sarasvati civilization, existed from 2600–​1900 bce in Pakistan and northern and western India, covering an area of almost 1.3 million sq km (Sharma 2005, p. 75). Apart from baked-​brick structures, graves and complex artefacts, the civilization had a script that still remains undeciphered. With the decline of the civilization, the script too declined and disappeared. The next evidence of writing appears by the third century bce and is known as Brahmi. It is the script from which almost all later scripts in India evolved and was already fully developed, hence it must have existed earlier. Kharoshthi was a script contemporary with Brahmi, that existed in the north-​west, in the region of present Afghanistan and north Pakistan, and had developed from Aramaic. However, Kharoshthi declined by the third to fourth centuries ce. Despite many conjectures, the language of the Harappan civilization is unknown.The Vedas, Epics and Puranas are written in Sanskrit, though Vedic Sanskrit differed from later Sanskrit. Prakrit and Pali languages were also known around the same time, while Tamil was the language used in south India. Later, many regional languages developed, of which twenty-​two are recognized today in India’s constitution.

Hinduism’s main principles Hinduism has many gods, goddesses and minor deities, but texts recognize that these are aspects of one god, that is, an eternal principle known as Brahman. Brahman is the source of everything, past, present and future, the essence of all existence, including the world. Everything emerges from and returns to it. Brahman is beyond time and space. Time is cyclical, hence the world changes over vast periods of time of yugas, manvantaras and kalpas.The four yugas are the Satya, Treta, Dvapara and Kali, which together are known as a maha (great) yuga, and last for 12,000 years of the gods, equal to 432,0000 human years. In the Satya Yuga, the world is almost perfect, but it deteriorates in succeeding yugas. The worst is the Kali Yuga, the present age, after which the Satya Yuga will begin again. Seventy-​one mahayugas make up one manvantara, and fourteen manvantaras form one kalpa. Every living being has an eternal soul, which does not die when the body dies. After death, the soul is reincarnated in a new body. Stories in texts indicate that people can be reincarnated as animals, and animals as people. Plants too have souls. The atman or soul is part of Brahman, and in some philosophical systems is considered identical with it. In other theories, each soul, though derived from Brahman or from God, is unique. It can rise to the same level, but is not exactly the same. As worlds and lives have no beginning or end, the ultimate goal for an individual is moksha or mukti, that is, “liberation from this and all other worlds”. In Hinduism, all religious paths lead towards this ultimate goal. Ethics are prescribed, but at the

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same time there is the concept of karma, the idea that “as you sow, so you reap”, and an awareness of this regulates people’s actions. The results of actions could even manifest themselves in the next life. There are, however, other views such as that of Sri Aurobindo, that suggest that karma is not about reward and punishment, and that whatever happens in life provides an opportunity for spiritual progress. Traditionally, there were four stages in life: that of the student, the householder, the ascetic in the forest, and the sannyasi who had totally renounced the world. Each had their own role; for example, the householder’s was to maintain social norms, protect others and preserve the social fabric. His role is often summed up as dharma, artha and kama. Dharma is a complex term, variously translated as truth, religion or duty. In daily life it implies performing the right actions based on one’s position and role in society. Artha includes the pursuit of wealth, to be used for taking care of oneself and others. Kama, love and sex, is also part of a householder’s life, within reasonable limits and according to social norms. The division of people into castes, originally based on occupation, form an important part of Hinduism. There are four main castes of brahmanas (“priests”), kshatriyas (“warriors”), vaishyas (“traders, merchants and agriculturalists”) and shudras (“those who serve others”), as well as thousands of sub-​castes. The “highest caste”, the brahmanas, became the preservers of the sacred texts, and the officiators at all rituals. They resisted all attempts to reduce their power, and all challenges to the caste system. In addition, there are those outside the four castes, today known as Dalits. Once known as “untouchables”, and later as “Harijans”, Dalit is a name they have chosen for themselves. Discriminated against by the other castes, there are now special schemes for Dalits, as well as reservation in educational institutions and in government jobs. There are also various tribal groups, who, along with the Dalits, get preferential treatment in government institutions, though both groups continue to face social discrimination. Although no longer rigid in urban areas, caste still influences social life, particularly marriage. Rituals, while not essential, form a major part of Hinduism. Rituals include those related to birth, marriage and death, as well as festivals, pujas (specific forms of worship) and fasts, visits to temples and pilgrimages (Dalal 2014a, pp. vii–​xii).

Principal texts The principal texts of Hinduism are the Vedas and related literature; the Mahabharata and Ramayana, the two Epics of north India; and the eighteen major Puranas. All these texts are composed in Sanskrit. Some of the aspects of Hinduism can be traced even to pre-​Vedic times.

The Vedas Veda comes from the Sanskrit root “vid”, meaning “to know”. Vedic literature is quite vast, but the most important texts are the four Vedic Samhitas (“collections”). Closely related to these are the Brahmanas, Aranyakas and Upanishads. In addition,

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there are other explanatory texts. The four Samhitas are the Rig Veda, Sama Veda, Yajur Veda and Atharva Veda. These are said to be “shruti”, literally “that which is heard”, that is, texts that are conveyed from some divine source. The Samhitas and other texts have different recensions, but only a few of these are known today. The Vedas were once studied across much of India in various shakhas or schools led by different teachers. Gradually, their study became confined to members of the brahmana caste, and this began to change only in the nineteenth century. According to traditional accounts, Vyasa, an ancient rishi (“sage”), arranged the Vedas in their present form. These most sacred and divine texts are surrounded by controversies. Where did the people originate? What was the date of the texts? Are any of the translations correct? As Sanskrit is part of the group of languages known as Indo-​Iranian, which is a sub-​group of languages known as Indo-​European, it is suggested that the Rig Vedic people migrated to the region of the river Indus either from the Caspian Steppes, Anatolia or some other area in Asia or Europe. Others hold that these people originated in the region where they lived and composed the text, identified with north-​west India-​Pakistan. Archaeology is used to support or disprove conflicting claims. However, an in-​depth objective analysis of all available sources indicates that there is insufficient evidence to prove migration, and little evidence to identify the exact date. Possible dates for the Rig Veda extend between 4000 and 1000 bce, the most accepted date being between 1500 and 1000 bce, though it could be earlier (Dalal 2014b, p.  110). No archaeological culture has been satisfactorily identified with that of the Rig Veda. However, there have been many suggestions, including a Pre-​ Harappan culture, the Harappan civilization or a later culture typified by Painted Grey Ware. The three other Vedas are dated between approximately 1000 and 600 bce but again could be earlier. Some of the associated texts also belong to this date, while others are later. Sacrifices are mentioned in the Rig Veda, but it is with the Yajur and Sama Vedas that a whole system of formalized ritual developed. These rituals, correctly performed, were believed to lead to certain results, such as wealth, progeny or success in battle. There were priests specialized in each text for the performance of these. The hotr was the priest for the Rig Veda, the adhvaryu for the Yajur Veda, the udgatr for the Sama Veda and the brahman (not the same as the brahmana) for the Atharva Veda. These priests were assisted by others, and elaborate rituals involved sixteen priests, each with a specific role. Rig Vedic Sanskrit is different from later classical Sanskrit, and is therefore difficult to interpret. The accepted translations, which are mainly based on the work of Sayana, a commentator of the fourteenth century, do not provide any indication of why the Vedas should be considered eternal, supreme, and the most sacred of all texts of Hinduism.3 Swami Dayananda, Sri Aurobindo,4 and some later spiritual leaders suggest that all accepted translations are wrong. One example is “ashvamedha”, translated as “horse sacrifice”, which these scholars interpret differently, as a ritual to gain knowledge or as homage to the sun.

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The Rig Veda The Rig Veda, the earliest of the four Vedas, based on language and content, contains 1,028 hymns, which together have 10,552 verses. The text is divided into ten mandalas or sections. The hymns were composed in poetic metres by rishis (“sages” or “ascetics”), kings and others but are said to be revealed to them by a divine source. It is not known when the Rig Veda was first written down, and the hymns were transmitted orally for generations. The earliest available written text dates to the eleventh century ce. Birch bark and palm leaf were often used for writing but texts written on these may not have survived. The Rig Veda is primarily a religious text, with prayers to various deities, usually for success, health and wealth. Some hymns have a concept of one supreme being, as well as speculations on the origin of the world,5 but most of them are addressed to individual deities. The largest number of hymns are addressed to Indra, god of war, followed by Agni, god of fire. Among the other deities are Surya, the sun;Vayu, the wind; personified rivers of which the Sindhu and Sarasvati are the most important; Prithvi, the earth; and Soma, a divine drink, along with many more. In the Rig Veda Deva is the term for a god, but the word Asura is often used interchangeably with Deva. Later, Asuras were usually the enemies of the Devas. The Rig Veda also refers to semi-​divine beings, wise and powerful rishis or “sages”, as well as divine and mythical animals. The people refer to themselves as “arya”, meaning “noble”, leading to the term “Aryan” in English. Other groups in the text are dasas and dasyus, though the old theory of the dasas/​dasyus being the original inhabitants, and the aryas invaders, no longer has relevance. The Rig Veda refers to a number of kings or chieftains, and describes battles, wars and conflicts. There are references to plants and animals, and of the domestic animals, cows and horses are the most important. Socio-​economic data indicates a pastoral/​agricultural lifestyle (Dalal 2014b).

Yajur Veda The second Vedic Samhita, the Yajur Veda includes verse and prose passages arranged for the performance of sacrifices (known as yajnas in Sanskrit). Many of its verses are taken from the Rig Veda, with some variations. There are a number of different schools for this Veda; two main versions are known as the White or Shukla Yajur Veda and the Black or Krishna Yajur Veda. New and full-​moon sacrifices, offerings for ancestors, Soma sacrifices, fire sacrifices and several others are described in the text, along with the prayers to be offered with each. There are also descriptions of how the altar for sacrifices should be built.

Sama Veda The Sama Veda is usually placed third among the four Vedic Samhitas. Its main purpose is to convey the method in which the verses should be sung and chanted in sacrifices or rituals. It had several different recensions but only three are known

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today.The Sama has two parts, the Archika and Uttararchika, comprising about 1,800 verses including some that are repeated. Most of the verses are from the Rig Veda but are modified and arranged differently. Indra, Agni and Soma are the main deities in this text. Originally, the melodies were taught orally but later Ganas, or song-​books indicating the notes, were added. The Ganas are important in the history of music in India.

Atharva Veda The Atharva Veda is the fourth Vedic Samhita and has hymns on a number of different topics.The Shaunaka recension, the one that is most commonly known, consists of 731 hymns, with about 6,000 verses, divided into twenty books or sections. Some of the Rig Vedic hymns are repeated in the Atharva, though there are several original hymns to Rig Vedic deities. Others deal with the healing of diseases. Diseases are sometimes personified and hymns are addressed to them. There are prayers to curative herbs or to other healing substances. There are chants for health and long life, for harmony within the family, and for protection.There are even some to enable one to win at dice and others to grow one’s hair long! This fascinating text does not have the same sanctity as the first three; it is believed to have been added to the other Samhitas at a later date.

Brahmanas, Aranyakas and Upanishads The Brahmanas6 are a category of texts that were probably composed after the three later Vedas and before 600 bce. They are attached to the Vedic Samhitas, that is the Rig, Sama, Yajur and Atharva Vedas, and provide explanations of the rituals and guidance for the priests in conducting them. Stories, legends, creation myths and some philosophical concepts are incorporated.There are several Brahmanas; among them, the Aitareya Brahmana is appended to the Rig Veda. Additional texts are the Aranyakas or “forest texts” (aranya meaning “forest”) and the Upanishads. The contents of the Aranyakas indicate that they form a bridge between the Brahmanas and Upanishads.They include descriptions of special sacrifices, usually practised outside the town area, along with comments on the mystical symbolism of sacrifices. There are philosophical sections, as well as techniques of focusing on various symbols in order to attain the Absolute. They are also believed to have provided instructions for the third stage of life, when the householder’s life had been renounced and the person had retired to the forests. The Upanishads are important philosophical texts. The word “upanishad” is said to mean “sitting near the feet of a master” from “upa” meaning “near”, and “nishad” meaning “sitting down.” Another interpretation takes “shad” as “destruction” and “upanishad” as “that which destroys ignorance”. The original meaning, however, was “secret doctrine”. The earliest Upanishads in their present form date back to the sixth or seventh century bce while altogether fourteen have been dated to before the third century bce. The earliest are said to be the Aitareya, Kaushitaki,

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Taittiriya, Brihadaranyaka, Chhandogya and Kena, while slightly later are the Kathaka, Shvetashvatara, Mahanarayana, Isha, Mundaka, Prashna, Maitrayaniya and Mandukya (Radhakrishnan 2004, p. 22). Many more Upanishads were composed later, and have diverse contents, including both philosophy and worship of deities. Most of the early Upanishads try to understand Brahman and seek it as the supreme goal.The philosophy derived from them is known as Vedanta, literally, “the end of the Vedas”, both because they form the last part of the Vedas and because in them, the Vedas reach the ultimate or highest philosophy. At the same time five other schools of philosophy were emerging:  Nyaya, Vaisheshika, Samkhya, Yoga and Mimamsa.7 Vedanta continued to develop and includes philosophical systems such as Advaita or “Monism”, Dvaita or “Dualism” and Vishishtadvaita or “qualified Monism”. Shankara of the ninth century ce, considered the greatest philosopher of India, propagated the system of Advaita.

Associated literature Apart from these texts there is a huge body of further literature associated with the Vedas. They are referred to as “smriti”, or “those that are remembered”, and do not have the same sanctity as shruti texts. Among them are padapathas or “word texts”. These texts repeat the words in different ways aiding memorization. Anukramanis, another group of texts, indicating a list, catalogue or index, provide details that are not available in the Samhitas and associated texts. Finally the Vedangas consist of six groups of texts considered essential for understanding the Vedas. These are shiksha, meaning “phonetics”, or “methods of pronunciation”; vyakarana or “grammar”; chhandas or “explanations of metres”; nirukta, “etymology” or “glossary”; jyotisha, “astronomy and astrology”; kalpa, “ritual”. Each of these groups has several texts. Kalpa texts, broadly called Kalpa Sutras are subdivided into three categories of Shrauta Sutras, with instructions for special sacrifices, Grihya Sutras, for domestic sacrifices, and Dharma Sutras, explaining laws and customs. There are even more texts on the Vedas, including commentaries and interpretations (Dalal 2014b, pp. 32–​54).

Later developments The Vedas may once have been popular texts but gradually they became the preserve of the few. The brahmana caste used them in rituals, while others were not allowed to read or recite them. Instead it was the two Epics of north India, along with the Puranas, that laid the base for popular religion. By the second century bce images in stone began to be made, and deities were represented on coins. From the first century ce, deities who were not very important earlier, replaced the Vedic deities, who now had a secondary position. The main deities now were Shiva with his wife Parvati and sons Karttikeya and Ganesha;Vishnu, his wife Lakshmi and his various avataras or “incarnations”, particularly Rama and Krishna; the creator god Brahma; and the sun god, Surya. Durga was another important female deity, who had several different forms and aspects. Brahma gradually declined in importance,

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and was replaced by the feminine principle, which could be represented by a variety of female deities including Shakti, Durga, Kali and others. Sarasvati, the wife of Brahma, gained importance as an independent deity of music and learning. Vedic mantras continued to be part of birth, marriage and death ceremonies and later in all rituals of the Arya Samaj. They are still used in the same way, as well as in rituals for health, well-​being, prosperity and for cleansing the environment. Rituals such as the ashvamedha are recreated, based on their reinterpretation in which no animal sacrifice is performed.

The Epics and Puranas The Epics incorporated both Vedic traditions and the newly important deities and trends. The Vedas were passed on unchanged, through memorization, but the Mahabharata and Ramayana formed part of an oral tradition. Multiple versions exist, modified to suit local conditions. Once again there are no early manuscripts available, the earliest dating to about the ninth to eleventh centuries ce. Versions from various parts of the country were collated, and critical editions of both Epics have been prepared. The earliest available manuscripts of individual Puranas, are also of about the same date.

The Mahabharata The Mahabharata, an epic composed in Sanskrit, has 100,000 verses in its longest version. It has eighteen Parvas or “sections”, centred around a main story, with innumerable subsidiary stories.The Mahabharata also contains prayers, philosophy, advice on ethics, and a lot more. Vyasa, who, according to tradition arranged the Vedas in their present form, is also said to have compiled the Mahabharata. The central story is about a series of conflicts between the Kauravas and Pandavas, descendants of Kuru, an ancient king. Shantanu, a later Kuru king, was the grandfather of Dhritarashtra (who was born blind), Pandu and Vidura. Pandu ruled from Hastinapura, the capital city, and had five sons known as the Pandavas, though they were actually sons of gods through Pandu’s two wives, Kunti and Madri. One hundred Kaurava brothers were the sons of Dhritarashtra. Duryodhana was the eldest Kaurava, while Yudhishthira was the eldest Pandava. After Pandu’s untimely death Dhritarashtra became the king and treated the Pandavas like his own sons. He even named Yudhishthira as his successor. Always rivals, this increased the ill-​ feeling between the Kauravas and Pandavas. Games of dice between Yudhishthira and Duryodhana led to Yudhishthira losing his kingdom and all he possessed, and going into exile with his brothers and their joint wife, Draupadi. After years of conflict between the two groups, a great war took place, in which practically all the kings of Bharata (India) took part, either on the Kaurava or the Pandava side. The god Krishna, an incarnation of the god Vishnu, supported the Pandavas, and acted as the charioteer of the third Pandava brother, Arjuna. As Arjuna’s courage failed him on the verge of battle, a great philosophical dialogue

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took place between him and Krishna, later known as the Bhagavad Gita. The war led to massacres on all sides. The Kauravas were all killed, and so were Draupadi’s children, though the Pandavas survived. Yudhishthira, at first filled with grief at the destruction caused by the war, was persuaded to take over the Kuru kingdom, which he ruled for many years, ensuring peace and prosperity. This powerful epic, with its sub-​plots and stories and a vast cast of characters, is believed by scholars to have been composed around the fourth century bce, with additions being made up to 400 ce, though it refers to earlier times. The war and some events described are thought to have actually taken place. Based on different calculations, the Mahabharata War is said to have occurred some time between 3102 bce and 900 bce, and attempts have been made to identify the places mentioned with an archaeological culture. The Bhagavad Gita, which forms part of the Mahabharata, is also used as a stand-​ alone text. It is considered one of the most sacred texts of India, and has eighteen chapters with approximately 700 verses. Its main theme is that each person has an immortal soul that is indestructible. It does not die when the body dies, but only moves on to a new body. It has been translated into several languages and has a vast number of commentaries.

The Ramayana The Ramayana is another important Sanskrit epic, which tells the story of Rama, who is both a king and a deity.The earliest available Ramayana is said to be composed by Valmiki. There are several later Ramayanas, both in Sanskrit and in other languages.Valmiki’s Ramayana contains 24,000 verses in seven kandas or “sections”.The story begins with the childhood of Rama and his brothers in Ayodhya, which was ruled over by their father, King Dasharatha. Dasharatha had three wives, Kaushalya, Kaikeyi and Sumitra. Rama was the son of Kaushalya, Bharata of Kaikeyi, and the twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna of Sumitra. By winning a contest and breaking a huge bow of the god Shiva at the court of King Janaka in the nearby kingdom of Mithila, Rama gained Janaka’s daughter, Sita, in marriage. Rama, the eldest son who is described as being cheerful, tranquil, controlled, upright, caring and with an excellent understanding of administration and politics, was named by Dasharatha as his successor. However, ambitious and beautiful Kaikeyi wanted the throne for her son Bharata. Taking advantage of a promise Dasharatha had once made, Kaikeyi forced him to send Rama into exile for fourteen years. Lakshmana and Sita decided to accompany Rama. After Rama left, Dasharatha died of grief. Bharata was away at the time this happened, but when he returned he was angry with his mother, and refused to become king. He failed in persuading Rama to return, but placed Rama’s sandals on the throne, and ruled on his behalf. In exile, Rama, Sita and Lakshmana lived in forested regions, also the home of rakshasas. Rakshasas were a different group, often considered demonic. Ravana, a powerful rakshasa king of Lanka, abducted Sita in his aerial chariot, and took her to his capital city. He did not forcefully violate her, but tried to win her over. Sita

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remained loyal to Rama. Rama and Lakshmana were helped in rescuing her by the bears and vanaras (“monkey tribe”) led by Sugriva. Hanuman, the minister of Sugriva, provided the greatest help. After a tremendous battle, Ravana was killed and Sita rescued. Rama did not accept Sita immediately, but asked her to prove her purity through an ordeal by fire. After this they both returned to Ayodhya, the years of exile were over, and Rama ruled as king. The last section, probably added later, extends the story further. Rama was troubled by gossip in his kingdom regarding Sita’s time in Ravana’s capital, and sent her out of his kingdom. She reached the rishi Valmiki’s ashram, (a hermitage, literally, “a resting place”) where she gave birth to twin sons, Lava and Kusha. Valmiki composed the Ramayana in verse, based on a story told to him by the rishi Narada, and taught it to Lava and Kusha, who sang it to Rama at Ayodhya. They were recognized as Rama’s sons. Rama wanted to take Sita back, declared his love for her, and asked her once again to take an oath regarding her purity. Sita arrived and called upon Madhavi, the earth goddess, to receive her, if she had indeed always been loyal to Rama. A divine throne emerged from the earth, and the earth goddess welcomed Sita, who, seated on the throne, disappeared beneath the ground. Rama was filled with grief, but ruled righteously for many more years, before being reunited with Sita in heaven. According to tradition, Rama lived in the Treta Yuga, which would place him several thousand years ago. Obviously the text was written later, but some date it as far back as 3000 bce, while most historians place it in the first century ce. While historians, anthropologists and scholars analyse the Mahabharata and Ramayana in different ways, devout Hindus view the stories and characters as real. Places associated with the Mahabharata are located both in the northern plains and in the mountain regions, where traditionally the Pandavas are revered. However, it is Krishna rather than the Pandavas, who is worshipped across India. Krishna is recognized as an incarnation of the god Vishnu, and his story too is narrated in the Mahabharata, and later in the Puranas, and recreated in devotional literature, poetry, art and music. Krishna janamashtmi is a festival that celebrates his divine birth, and Krishna temples are numerous. The Mahabharata has been translated and retold, but because of its vast size, sections and stories from it are more common than complete translations. The Mahabaharata is also well known in Nepal, Indonesia, Bali and other countries. Traditionally Ayodhya of the Ramayana is identified with the place of the same name in Faizabad district of Uttar Pradesh in India, and Ravana’s Lanka with Sri Lanka. All other places mentioned in the text are located along the way. In succeeding centuries, right up till today, the Ramayana has not only been translated, but retold and recreated in various ways, in Sanskrit, in regional languages and in English. Among the most popular is Tulasidasa’s Ramacharitamanasa, composed in Avadhi Hindi in the sixteenth century. Some Ramayanas are written from the point of view of Sita, others celebrate Ravana. Some have a symbolic interpretation of the entire text, revealing an inner meaning.There are songs based on the Ramayana, folk and puppet plays, and depictions in art and sculpture. Before the Dashahara festival

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that usually takes place in October, the Ramayana is enacted for nine nights in cities, towns and villages all over north India.The Divali festival held twenty days later celebrates Rama’s return to Ayodhya after his exile. There are different versions of the Ramayana not only in Hinduism, but in Buddhism and Jainism, and in Southeast Asia. There are Rama temples in several parts of India, in which Rama, Sita, Lakshmana and Hanuman are worshipped, as well as separate temples for Hanuman. Both Epics are also enacted in theatre, television and films.

The Puranas The Puranas are a group of sacred Sanskrit texts that establish the worship of Shiva, Vishnu and other deities in place of the Vedic gods. Purana literally means “old”. Some Puranas provide a legendary account of their origin. They state that in the beginning there was only one Purana that was created by the god Brahma even before the Vedas. Another story states that once there was only one Veda. Vyasa divided this into four and added to it stories, and other ancient material, thereby compiling the Puranas.Vyasa is thus also considered the composer of all the Puranas. In some Puranas, he is considered an incarnation of Vishnu or of Shiva. Each Purana contains an account of how it came into being. They are usually narrated by a suta (“bard”) called Lomaharshana (or Romaharshana) or his son Ugrashravas to the rishis gathered in the Naimisha forest. The suta himself has heard it from Vyasa, who has heard it from one of the gods. The Puranas known today probably originate before the first century ce, but in the form available date from the second to fourth centuries ce and later. According to tradition, they have five main topics:  creation; re-​creation (after the periodic destruction of the worlds), or further creation; genealogies of gods and rishis; an account of the manvantaras or “great periods of time”, each headed by a Manu; and the history of dynasties, whose mythical origins are traced back to the sun or the moon (Suryavamshi and Chandravamshi dynasties). There is actually a lot more in the Puranas, and these five topics can be considered the framework or base of a Purana. These texts include numerous stories about gods and through these place the Vedic deities in a secondary position. They also provide information on rituals and customs, and the duties of the four stages of life. Popular myths and legends, and stories of local cults are included. The new gods, and their images are described, along with rules for erecting them, and for setting up temples. Sacred places and sacred sites in cities or along rivers, are extensively described in some Puranas. Eighteen of the most important Puranas are listed as Mahapuranas or “great Puranas”. These are:  1. Brahma Purana; 2.  Padma Purana; 3.  Vishnu Purana; 4. Vayu or Shiva Purana; 5. Bhagavata Purana; 6. Brihannaradiya or Naradiya Purana; 7. Markandeya Purana; 8. Agni Purana; 9. Bhavishya Purana; 10. Brahmavaivarta Purana; 11. Linga Purana; 12. Varaha Purana; 13. Skanda Purana; 14. Vamana Purana; 15. Kurma Purana; 16. Matsya Purana; 17. Garuda Purana; 18. Brahmanda Purana.8 There

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are also eighteen upapuranas or minor Puranas. Out of these, the Shiva Purana and Devi-​Bhagavata Purana are often considered major Puranas.Various later accounts of sacred places or temple records also use the name Purana but are different from the traditional Puranas. Puranas on various themes continued to be composed through the centuries, and there is even a Krista Purana on Jesus.The Bhavishya Purana (bhavishya means “future”) claims to predict the future, but actually additions were made to it even in the nineteenth century. The Puranas too gave rise to a vast number of texts which include:  translations or re-​creations of Puranas or of sections of them; commentaries; literary works based on stories in the Puranas. Art, sculpture and dance also utilized themes from the Puranas. Although the Puranas contain much miscellaneous and historical information they are essentially religious texts.

Other trends in Hinduism While these can be considered the main religious texts of Hinduism, there are innumerable other religious and philosophical texts, both in Sanskrit and in all regional languages, which reflect the continuous evolution and diversity of the religion. New trends in philosophy, new texts and new sects developed in both Vaishnavism and Shaivism centred around the gods Vishnu and Shiva respectively. In Shaivism, for instance, texts included twenty-​eight Shaiva Agamas, each with subsidiary Agamas. Bhakti,9 the concept of worshipping god through loving devotion, became increasingly popular. Religious saints emerged in south India, Maharashtra and the north, propagating bhakti in different ways. Texts of the Tamil Siddhas are another important category, siddhas being those who have attained super-​human powers. Shankara, the great philosopher referred to earlier, later known as Adi Shankaracharya, also established Hindu mathas or “religious centres”, and chose five or six main deities to be worshipped, of which one could be chosen as the Ishta devata or “personal deity”. His work and ideas still form the basis of Hinduism today. Southern India initially had different traditions, but gradually north Indian deities spread to the south, though local gods remained popular. Northern myths were modified to suit southern traditions, and northern gods were given southern names. The Mahabharata and Ramayana seem to have been known in south India at least by the second century ce. Another trend from around the eighth century was the growth of Tantrism,10 and the corresponding importance given to Shakti, or “female power”. There were also many new sects across India that by-​passed the caste system. Some of them, for instance the Mahanubhava,11 maintained a secret literature, fearing repercussions from the brahmanas, who were a threat to all such movements (Feldhaus 1984). Islam, particularly Sufi doctrines, the emergence of the new religion of Sikhism in the fifteenth century, and the spread of Christianity, also influenced Hinduism, as had Buddhism and Jainism earlier. As Europeans began to translate Sanskrit texts and provide their own versions of the religion, Indians too responded. Social and

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religious movements in the nineteenth century, such as the Brahmo Samaj,12 Arya Samaj,13 Mahima Dharma,14 Radhasoami,15 Ramakrishna Mission16 and others brought in new ideas. The politics of the first half of the twentieth century, and the partition of India into the two countries of India and Pakistan in 1947, led to a further heightened consciousness of being “Hindu”, with new organizations affirming a broad-​based Hindu identity. Though some basic aspects of Hinduism date back to ancient times, at the same time Hinduism is a dynamic, living religion. Most Sanskrit texts are now available and translated but the oral tradition continues to play a major role in Hinduism. Listening to speeches and discourses of gurus based on texts, ritual recitations of prayers and texts, singing bhajans or “songs in praise of god”, and recitation of Vedic chants, are the main ways in which texts are used. Stories from the Mahabharata and Ramayana and Puranas are familiar to everyone, and are frequently quoted as examples in daily life. Philosophy, though vast and complex, has a limited role. Texts in southern Indian and regional languages are important for the study of the religion but are less widely known, while the Sanskrit texts described above have diffused all over India.

Notes 1 India, Pakistan and Bangladesh were together known as India until independence and partition in 1947. 2 The Vendidad probably dates to the time of the Parthian dynasty, which ruled Persia and surrounding areas from the third century bce to the third century ce. The Sapta Sindhava, the land of the seven (sapta) rivers, refers primarily to the Indus and its tributaries. 3 Max Muller, H.H. Wilson, R.T.H. Griffith, A.B. Keith, Rudolf Roth, H.  Grassman, Alfred Ludwig and J. Stevenson were some of the early translators. Newer translators of some parts of the texts include Wendy Doniger and Arlo Griffiths. Despite having a more modern style, the newer translations are not substantially different. 4 Swami Dayananda (1824–​83) was the founder of the Arya Samaj. He reinterpreted the Vedas and provided his own understanding of them. His motto was, “Back to the Vedas”. Sri Aurobindo (1872–​1950) wrote on the Vedas and other texts, but later formulated a new philosophical and spiritual way of life. 5 For instance: They call him Indra, Mitra, Varuna And Agni; He is the heavenly bird Garutmat; To what is One, the poets give many a name They call it Agni,Yama, Matarishvan. (Rig Veda 1.164.46, in Winternitz 1991, p. 100). Then even nothingness was not, nor existence There was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it. What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping? … He, who surveys it all from the highest heaven He knows, or maybe even he does not know. (Rig Veda X.129, trans. A.L. Basham 2004, pp. 249–​50). 6 In this article, Brahmana, with a capital B refers to the texts, and brahmana to the priestly caste.

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7 Along with Vedanta, these are known as the six classical systems of Indian philosophy. Nyaya provides a logical analysis of religious concepts and methods of attaining knowledge; both Nyaya and Vaisheshika believe that the natural world is made up of atoms. Samkhya discusses the nature of the world in the context of two principles, Purusha and Prakriti; Yoga provides methods to unite with the divine; Mimamsa builds its philosophy on the ideas in the Vedas. 8 Translations of most of these are available. 9 Bhakti had many different forms including loving god in the form of a child, or as a consort. 10 Tantrism is a path to the divine with certain esoteric practices. It can be used to gain special powers. Some Tantric sects use sex, meat and wine under specific conditions; others focus on meditation. 11 The Mahanubhava sect, founded in the thirteenth century composed many of their texts in code, which only initiates knew how to read. Some of these have been deciphered as late as the twentieth century. 12 The Brahmo Samaj was founded in 1828 by Ram Mohan Roy as an organization for social and religious reform. It tried to make the Vedas and Upanishads better known, and worked to end sati (the voluntary or forcible burning of a wife on her husband’s pyre), child marriage and polygamy. The Samaj underwent many changes over the years and still exists. 13 The Arya Samaj (see n. 4) remains a popular organization with a large following. 14 The Mahima Dharma, a religious sect founded in the present state of Odisha (one of twenty-​nine states in India) in the nineteenth century, focuses on the worship of a supreme deity, without any form. It is against caste, rituals and the role of brahmanas.The sect has evolved over time, but still has a large following. 15 The Radhasoami or Radhaswami is a sect founded in 1861 that today has several branches and hundreds of thousands of followers. It focuses on uniting with the divine through the inner mystical sound, and is open to people of all castes and religions. 16 The Ramakrishna Mission was founded in 1897 by Swami Vivekananda, a follower of Sri Ramakrishna Paramahansa. It welcomes all castes and religions, and emphasizes spirituality along with humanitarian services.

References Aurobindo, Sri (1993) The Integral Yoga:  Selected Letters of Sri Aurobindo. Pondicherry: Sri Aurobindo Ashram Publication Department. —​—​—​ (1998) The Secret of the Veda: with Selected Hymns. Reprint, Pondicherry: Sri Aurobindo Ashram Publication Department. Basham, A.L. (2004) The Wonder that was India. 3rd rev. edn.London: Picador. Curtis, J. et al. (2010) The World of Achaemenid Persia. London: I.B. Taurus. Dalal, R. (2014a) Hinduism: An Alphabetical Guide. 2nd edn. New Delhi: Penguin Books India. —​—​—​ (2014b) The Vedas: An Introduction to Hinduism’s Sacred Texts. New Delhi: Penguin Books India. Feldhaus, A. (1984) The Deeds of God in Riddhipur. New York: Oxford University Press. Gonda, Jan, (1975) Vedic Literature (Samhitas and Brahmanas). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Griffiths,A. and Schmiedchen,A. (eds) (2007) The Atharvaveda and Its Paippaladashakha: Historical and Philological Papers on Vedic Tradition (vol. 11 of Geisteskultur Indiens). Aachen: Shaker Verlag. Radhakrishnan, S (2004) The Principal Upanishads. 14th impression. New Delhi:  Harper Collins India. Sharma, R.S. (2005) India’s Ancient Past. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Winternitz, M. (1991) History of Indian Literature (vols 1–​2). 3rd edn. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.

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12 THE BUDDHIST READING OF SCRIPTURE John D’Arcy May

“Scripture” is a rather specialized term. The way we understand it is heavily influenced by its status in the “Religions of the Book” (Judaism, Christianity, Islam), and even here its usage varies greatly. The emergence of “scriptures” as the consciously intended basis of a new religion was, in fact, quite late. The first to have assembled scriptures for this purpose were probably the followers of the third-​century heresiarch Mani, who in the fourth century – possibly in direct competition with the process of canonization going on within mainstream Christianity – formalized as their canon the seven books that their founder had declared compatible with his doctrine of God (Smith 1993, pp. 50–​53). By the time of Muhammad, it was imperative that the new and definitive revelation from God take the form of a book, though even it was initially a “recitation” (Qur’ān) of what the Prophet had heard from the mouth of the Archangel. Scripture, then, in the sense of sacred books whose possession and mastery is essential for salvation, is a relatively late form of religious communication. Even where writing existed in the ancient world, it was used primarily for mundane tasks like keeping accounts or recording victories. The really important things – the secret meanings of rituals or the teachings of spiritual masters – were committed to memory, and in the age of libraries, archives and electronic storage systems we have no conception of the feats of memory of which the ancients were capable. Even today, those who have memorized the entire Qur’ān have a privileged status in Islam; but in the ancient world enormous bodies of religious teaching were transmitted from generation to generation down the centuries. This applies to the origins of the Hebrew Bible as much as to the sprawling collections of spells, hymns and cosmogonies known in ancient India as the Vedas (from vid, “know”, embracing both “things heard”, shruti, by the ancient seers, rishi, and the not quite as authoritative “things remembered”, smriti), passed down as secret lore – but not as “books” – by the Brahmins well into the nineteenth century, thereby establishing the superiority and indispensability of their caste (Smith 1993, pp. 136–​38).

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Gautama Shākyamuni, the “Wise One of the Shākyas” who became known as Buddha, the “Enlightened One”, like Jesus, is not known to have written anything; in fact, writing was probably unknown in India till long after his lifetime (most likely 563–​483 bce). His polemic was directed not against scriptures as such but against what he called “views” (ditthī), doctrines that purported to explain the world in such a way that acceptance of this “truth” was deemed necessary for salvation. The “silence of the Buddha” refers to his refusal to answer questions about such matters (Panikkar 1990), and his final teaching to his followers is recorded in the Mahāparinibbāna-​Sutta (the story of his “Great Passing into Nirvāņa”, i.e. death) as having been: “Decay is inherent in all component things! Work out your salvation with diligence!” (Dīgha-​Nikāya XVI, 7), implying that his followers are to rely not even on the Buddha himself, let alone scriptures, but on their own appropriation of his oral teaching and their own efforts to follow it: And whosoever, Ānanda, either now or after I am dead, shall be a lamp unto themselves, and a refuge unto themselves, shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the truth as their lamp, and holding fast as their refuge to the truth, shall look not for refuge to any one besides themselves – it is they, Ānanda, among my bhikkhus, who shall reach the very topmost Height! Dīgha-​Nikāya XVI, 2: 26 The irony, of course, is that we only know this because it was eventually written down, some four centuries after the Buddha’s death, and became part of the only complete canon of Buddhist scriptures to have survived intact, written in a regional language or Prakrit known as Pāli. The paradox, which was to play an important part in later Buddhism, is already clear: the teaching to be assimilated, the dhamma or dharma, transcends all external supports such as scriptures and even the person of the Buddha himself. Its authority, nevertheless, derives from its being Buddhavācana, the authentic word of the Buddha, though its warrant is experience, not words, explanations or writings. There would never have been any such collection, of course, if the monks who formed the sangha or monastic order had not diligently systematized and memorized the teachings, subjecting them to the particular doctrinal interpretations of their various schools in the process but preserving the story with remarkable accuracy. The story itself is built around the two poles of the Buddha’s enlightenment (bodhi) and death (parinibbāna), and its primary geographical locations later became pilgrimage sites: Place of birth (Lumbinī) Place of enlightenment (Bodh Gāyā) Place of the first teaching (Isipatāna near Sarnāth, modern-​day Benares) Place of death (Kushinārā) Pye 1979 The Buddha’s death precipitated an immediate crisis: without a teacher to guide them, were all agreed about the teachings (dhamma) and the discipline (vinaya) to

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The Buddhist reading of Scripture  173 TABLE 12.1 The first Buddhist councils

(samgīti) Historical numbering

Traditional numbering

?

1

1

2

2

3

3

4

Rājagŗaha: immediately after the Buddha’s death, 499 Arahants (+ Ānanda!) recite or chant (gīti) the teaching (dhamma, led by Ānanda) and the discipline (vinaya, led by Upāli); Purāna comes late, prefers his own version! Vaishālī: 100 years later, ten points concerning mitigation of discipline are debated. Pātaliputra: 50 years later, Mahādeva raises the question whether Arahants are subjected to temptation; Mahāpadma Nanda establishes Majority   Minority Mahāsamghika  sthavira (‘elders’) Putative origins of: Mahāyāna  Theravāda Pātaliputra: c. 250 bce, Emperor Ashoka calls assembly to clarify developing differences in teaching.

be followed? The sources record a series of “councils” (samgīti, literally “chanting together”) at which attempts were made to reach a consensus and which may be represented schematically as above (Table 12.1). Even if the first council is not “historical” in the sense that it can be independently verified, the narrative that records it is extremely significant. The monks, assembled by Mahākāsyapa, choose from their midst the two who are regarded as having memorized the Buddha’s legacy most reliably: Ānanda for the dhamma and Upāli for the vinaya.The intriguing paradox is, however, that Ānanda, up to this moment, was not fully enlightened (not an Arahant), although he was the Buddha’s “beloved disciple”; moreover, he had neglected to ask the Buddha which were the indispensable teachings and which could be regarded as of lesser importance (thus combining some of the attributes of John and Peter in the Gospel narrative). The entire vinaya is therefore declared to be binding.When the chanting is complete, the monk Purāna arrives late and is invited to accept the teachings on the council’s authority, but he declines, saying: Your reverences, well chanted by the elders are dhamma and discipline, but in that way that I heard it in the Lord’s presence, that I received it in his presence, in that same way will I bear it in mind. Cullavagga XI, 11 One relies, in other words, on one’s own memory of what one has heard, either from the Buddha or, in later ages, from a teacher whose authority derives from having had the experience of enlightenment, conferring on him an authority akin to that of a Buddha.

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Nevertheless, roughly in the centuries before and after the time of Jesus, the memorized texts were committed to writing, thus forming a canon about 1,000 times greater in extent than the Christian Bible and with something resembling its “scriptural” authority. It is conventionally divided into three “baskets” (pitaka), probably recalling the baskets in which the strips of dried palm leaf bearing the sacred text were stored (Coward 2000, Ch. 6).

The Baskets Sutta-​Pitaka (Dhamma,“Basket of the Suˉtras”): • • • • •

Dīgha-​Nikāya (Collection of Longer Sayings); Majjhima-​Nikāya (Collection of Middle-​length Sayings); Samyutta-​Nikāya (Collection of Shorter Sayings); Anguttara-​Nikāya (Collection of Sayings of Gradually Increasing Length); Khuddaka-​Nikāya (including collections such as the Dhammapada, the Udāna, the Itivuttaka, the Suttanipāta, the Thera-​ and Therīgāthā or “Songs of the Brothers and Sisters”, and the Jātaka or “Birth Stories” of the Buddha’s previous lives).

Vinaya-​Piţaka (“Basket of the Discipline”): • • •

Mahāvagga and Cullavagga, making up the Khandhaka collection; Suttavibhańga, including the Pārājika and Pācittiya, which apply casuistry to the monastic rules; Parivāra.

Abhidhamma-​Pitaka (“Basket of Abhidhamma” or scholastic elaborations of what is “beyond” the Dhamma): •

Numerous Theravāda suttas, including the Mahāvastu, Niddāna-​kathā, Divyāvadāma etc.

These writings contain a wide variety of genres, from ancient verses in a primitive form of Pāli to narratives reconstructed by the monks in easily memorizable forms, and from legal casuistry to psychological and epistemological analysis (despite the Buddha’s admonition not to become enmeshed in “views” or theories of the world!). Somewhat later works such as the Milindapanhā (“Questions of King Milinda”, i.e. the Greek ruler Menander, to the monk Nāgasena in north-west India) and still later commentaries and treatises, especially those written to refute the criticisms of Buddhism’s Brahmin rivals, eventually achieved quasi-​scriptural status. The resulting body of Buddhist literature is so immense that we can only touch on a very few examples here.

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The name sutta derives from the Sanskrit term sūtra for the “thread” on which the strips of palm leaf were strung through two holes between the decorated end-​pieces which formed the “covers” of the book (Mizuno 1982). The word came to mean “teaching discourses”, and these have a characteristic form designed to emphasize their authority. They usually begin: “Thus have I heard: On a certain occasion…”, followed by a description of the setting, the story of someone’s encounter with the Buddha, and the teaching he gave. An alternative punctuation is: “Thus have I heard on a certain occasion: …”, which brings out the direct line of transmission from someone who heard the Buddha deliver the teaching in question (Brough 1949–​50). The Mahā-​Satipatthāna-​Sutta, for instance, the “Greater Discourse on the Foundations of Mindfulness” (Dīgha-​Nikāya 22), begins: Thus have I heard. At one time the Blessed One was living among the Kurus, at Kammāsadamma, a market-​town of the Kuru people. There the Blessed One addressed the monks thus: “Monks,”and they replied to him “Venerable Sir.” And the Blessed One spoke as follows: This is the sole way, monks, for the purification of beings, for the overcoming of sorrow and lamentation, for the destroying of pain and grief, for reaching the right path, for the realization of Nibbāna, namely the Four Foundations of Mindfulness. Nyanaponika 1962, pp. 117 The Buddha then goes on to expound the breathing practices, bodily postures and contemplations fundamental to “setting up mindfulness” (sati-​patthāna), including the Seven Factors of Enlightenment, the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path, which are also expounded elsewhere in the canon. The suttas, indeed, are full of repetition, betraying their origin as blocks of narrative arranged for easy memorization. In determining the rules of discipline, too, the Second Council at Vaishālī stipulates the occasion on which each rule was promulgated. Here, for example, is how the ruling was arrived at on whether the monks should be allowed to carry salt with them in order to season the food they were given on their alms round: “Honoured sir, is the practice concerning a horn for salt allowable?” “What, your reverence, is this practice concerning a horn for salt?” “Honoured sir, is it allowable to carry about salt in a horn, thinking, ‘I will enjoy whatever may be unsalted’?” “Your reverence, it is not allowable.” “Where was it objected to?” “In Sāvatthī, in the Suttavibhanga.” “What offence does one fall into?” “An offence of expiation for eating what has been stored” Cullavagga XII, 8

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The ruling hangs on someone’s being able to determine where it was first delivered by the Buddha. Although these are no more “historical” texts (in the modern sense of factual reporting) than any other ancient document, the names of places and persons referred to in these scriptures allow us to reconstruct a vivid picture of north-​east India (present-​day Nepal) in the time of the Buddha.

Evolution Quite unlike Islam and more like Christianity, Buddhism saw no problem in translating the texts, whether written or oral, into other languages; indeed, this was encouraged. The Buddha himself may have spoken a dialect known as Magadhi, but various other Prakrits were in use in ancient India and eventually the Buddhists developed what came to be called Hybrid Buddhist Sanskrit, although it was a Pāli version of the canon that was the only one to be preserved intact. Pāli thus became the “sacred language” of Buddhism in the Theravāda countries Sri Lanka, Thailand and Burma. Just as in present-​day Sri Lanka the suttas are chanted in Pāli followed by a sermon in Sinhala, so also in the past preaching in the vernacular was the norm. It is estimated that the texts themselves were preserved in oral form in northern India well into the fifth century ce, and Chinese monks who travelled to India in search of authentic scriptures often had great trouble finding written texts that they could take home with them. When, in the course of time, the Buddhist teachings began to permeate central Asia and arrived in China, there began a veritable epic of translation as the Chinese, whose religiosity was more cosmic in nature and pragmatic in orientation, struggled to understand the highly abstract and deliberately paradoxical Buddhist teachings in the sophisticated languages of India. As a highly cultivated people in their own right, for whom calligraphy was a form of ritual art, the Chinese needed “texts” they could copy onto paper – one of their inventions – and in the tenth century the first book ever known to have been printed was a portion of the Buddhist scriptures. Falling back on pre-​existing transcription systems that assigned foreign phonetics to the Chinese characters as developed to facilitate administration, a method of translation known as “matching the meanings” or “reaching meaning” (ko-​i) was developed. The very earliest translations seem to have been those of Lokakshema (who in the years 168–​188 made the “Perfection of Wisdom” literature and thus the Mahāyāna accessible for the first time) and Dharmaraksha (whose highly specialized team translated the all-​important Lotus Sūtra in 286). As the Chinese gained some knowledge of Sanskrit and their Indian guests began to master Chinese, techniques were developed involving teams of translators who checked and cross-​checked one another’s work, a far cry from the crude “matching of meanings”. The Buddhist converts, many of whom belonged to the educated gentry, were thus enabled to make some sense of these important Buddhist texts which articulated in highly paradoxical language the insubstantiality or “emptiness” (shūnyatā) of all things (May 2003, Appendix II). Among the great translators were Kumarajīva, at the beginning of the fifth century, and Hsüan-​tsang

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in the mid-​seventh century (Mizuno 1982, ch. 4). Many Chinese monks undertook the arduous journey to India, either across the Gobi desert and the Himālayas or by sea, to bring back sūtra texts for translation. They went to especially great lengths to obtain authentic versions of the vinaya or monastic rules, in order to be sure they were following the way of life laid down by the Buddha.The monk Fa-​hsien in the early fifth century has left a valuable record of his travels in his Record of Buddhist Kingdoms. Meanwhile, in India itself, for reasons and in ways that are still not perfectly understood, there began to emerge in the period 100 bce – 400 ce new sūtras purporting to be more authoritative than those of the traditional schools, which now began to be referred to disparagingly as the Hīnayāna or “lesser vehicle” in contrast to the “great vehicle” of the Mahāyāna. The fact that many of these were produced in writing, as “scriptures”, at a time when literacy was still the prerogative of the Brahmin class, was an act of emancipation in itself, suggesting that the origins of these new movements were in part lay rather than monastic. Not only that, these writings recommended themselves as scriptures, and copying them was – and still is – regarded as a great virtue. They invoke a concept known as “skillful means” (kaushalya-​upāya, from upa-​ī, based on the verb “to go” and perhaps better rendered as “effective avenues”, Smith 1993, pp. 162–​63; Pye 1979) to establish their claim to authenticity. Here were the teachings that the Buddha was forced by the limited capacity of his contemporaries to deliver indirectly, in attenuated form, but which could now be revealed in their entirety. Although they were composed half a millennium after the Buddha’s death, these scriptures thus have an inbuilt mechanism for establishing their own legitimacy. Their style and content, however, are radically different from those of “early” Buddhism, whose texts were being committed to writing at about the same time, no doubt to preserve their “orthodoxy”. In the Mahāyāna the ideal shifts from becoming an enlightened one (Arahant) by following the teachings of the Buddha to becoming a Buddha oneself. One of the inspirations for this movement was a vast body of writings in Sanskrit known as the “Perfection of Wisdom” (Prajñāpāramitā).The classical Buddhist teaching of “not-​self ” (anātman, anattā), that none of the observable constituents of reality or dharmas amount to a permanently existing “self ” like the eternal ātman of the Brahmins and the Upanishads, already pointed in this direction. In the exquisite poetic summary of the teaching, the Dhammapada or “Path of the Dhamma”, the “three attributes” (tilakkhana) are carefully differentiated: All compounded things are transitory (sabbe sankhārā aniccā) All compounded beings are involved in sorrow (sabbe sankhārā dukkhā) But: All states are without self (sabbe dhammā anattā) Dhammapada 277, 278, 279

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No matter how much reality is analysed into its constituent parts, in other words, they are always without substance, always interdependent with all the other interdependent constituents.This teaching is now radicalized to apply to the fundamental concepts of Buddhism itself: whatever is conditioned, even the Unconditioned (nirvāna), is without substance. The Lord: Bodhisattvas, great beings have no notion of a dharma, Subhuti, nor a notion of non-​dharma. They have no notion or non-​notion at all. For if these Bodhisattvas should have the notion of a dharma, then they would thereby seize on a self, on a being, on a soul, on a person. A Bodhisattva should therefore certainly not take up a dharma, nor a non-​dharma. Therefore this saying has been taught by the Tathagata in a hidden sense: “Those who know the discourse on dharma as a raft should forsake dharmas, and how much more so non-​dharmas”. Conze 1968, pp. 80–​81 Again,The Lord:  Here, Subhuti, one who has set out on the career of a Bodhisattva should reflect in such a wise: As many beings as there are in the universe of beings, comprehended under the term “beings” … as far as any conceivable universe is conceived; all these I should lead to Nirvana, into the realm of Nirvana which leaves nothing behind. But, although innumerable beings have thus been led to Nirvana, no being at all has been led to Nirvana. And why? If in a Bodhisattva the perception of a “being” should take place he would not be called a “Bodhi-​ being.” He is not to be called a “Bodhi-​being,” in whom the perception of a self should take place, or the perception of a being, or the perception of a living soul, or the perception of a person. Conze 1968, p. 79 The very terms “Perfect wisdom” and “Bodhisattva” are said to be “mere words”, corresponding to which no such thing can be apprehended in actual reality; and that word “being” is a mere concept, is a conceptual dharma, has the status of a concept; except insofar as it is conventionally expressed by means of a mere conventional term, there is no production or stopping of this conceptual dharma (Conze 1968, pp. 79–​80). These are scriptures, in other words, in which the logical basis for having “scriptures” at all is being systematically undermined.

The Sutra of the Lotus One of the most famous, influential and characteristic of Mahāyāna sūtras is the Saddharma-​Pundarīka-​Sūtra, “The Sutra of the Lotus of the True Law”, which leaves us in no doubt as to what the Mahāyāna ideology was asserting.The Buddha is now portrayed as a luminous, omniscient, transcendent being who only appeared to take

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on a human existence and who now addresses a vast assembly of monks, nuns and enlightened Bodhisattvas: When he had thus spoken [i.e. the disciple Sāriputra, pleading with the Buddha to “explain the paramount law”], in the assembly of some five thousand bhikshus, bhikshunis, upāsakās and upāsikās straightway rose from their seats and, saluting the Buddha, withdrew. Wherefore? [Because] the root of sin in these beings was so deep and their haughty spirit so enlarged that they imagined they had attained what they had not attained and had proved what they had not proved. In such error as this they would not stay; and the World-​ honoured One was silent and did not stop them. Thereupon the Buddha addressed Shāriputra: “Now in this congregation I am free from [useless] twigs and leaves, and have nothing but all that are purely the true and real. It is good, Shāriputra, that such extremely haughty ones as those are gone away. Now carefully listen and I will expound [the matter] for you.” Lotus Sūtra, Chapter XI The Theravādins, in other words, have now finally discredited themselves and will remain in ignorance of the transcendent and universal truth about to be revealed. As for the sūtra itself, I, attaining the Buddha-​way: By tactful methods [i.e. ‘skilful means’] Preach this sutra to them That they may abide in it… This sutra is pre-​eminent Among all the sutras. I have always guarded And not prematurely revealed it. Lotus Sūtra, Chapter XIV Thus, If anyone, hearing this Law-​Flower Sutra, either himself copies or causes others to copy it, the limits of the sum of merit to be obtained cannot be calculated [even] by the Buddha-​wisdom. Lotus Sūtra, Chapter XXII Buddhism, in other words, had now become a “Religion of the Book” with its own “sacred scriptures”, some of which became objects of veneration in their own right. Buddhism may thus be counted as one of the great scripture-​producing religions. In China, each school tended to proclaim its favoured scripture as the final flowering of the dharma for which all the others were mere preparation. The Lotus Sūtra

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therefore regards itself as containing the “One Vehicle” (ekayāna) which includes Hīnayāna, Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna (the “Diamond Vehicle” of Tantric Buddhism), which Chih-​i took to be irrefutable proof of its superiority.The Indian Avatamsaka-​ Sūtra (“Flower Garland”), on the other hand, was regarded by the Hua-​yen School as the definitive expression of the doctrine of interdependence (pratīya-​samutpāda, the “mutually dependent co-​origination” of all things), and was therefore superior to all the others, which by comparison merely employed “skilful means” (Schmidt-​ Leukel 2006, p.  143). These two schools, T’ien-​t’ai and Hua-​yen, each claiming allegiance to a central Scripture, were to become the enormously influential Tendai and Kegon schools of Japan. Paradoxically, however, the act of emancipation implied in producing scriptures was radicalized by some to the point of questioning the need for scriptures at all. The Meditation School came to regard them as merely a distraction from what really matters. The monk Bodhidharma brought to China a tradition that recognized a special transmission “outside the scriptures”, one that did not depend on “words and letters” but pointed directly at the human mind, enabling its adepts to attain Buddhahood by seeing into their true nature: A special transmission outside the scriptures; Not founded on words and letters; By pointing directly to [one’s] mind It lets one see into [one’s own true] nature and [thus] attain Buddhahood. Attributed to Bodhidharma, Schmidt-​Leukel 2006, p. 145 By another twist in the development of doctrine, this gave rise to the idea of a universal “Buddha Nature”, the Tathāgata-​garbha (“seed” or “womb” of the Buddha), which even those inanimate or incorrigible beings possess. The important innovation is that we already possess the Buddha Nature; enlightenment consists in discovering it in ourselves. The concept was in danger of becoming ontologized to the point where it began to resemble the immutable ātman of Brahmanism, and it has been criticized for this by contemporary Japanese Buddhists. A corrective to this tendency was supplied by the master dialectician Nāgārjuna (third century ce). In his Mūlamadhyamakakārikā or “Root Treatise on the Middle Way” he refined the negative dialectic advanced by the Perfection of Wisdom by deconstructing concepts, language and reason itself, refuting every conceivable counter-​position by showing that the terms in which each is expressed refer only to other terms and never to anything outside themselves (Schmidt-​Leukel 2006, pp. 118–​24). He found his inspiration in the Meditation (dhyāna) School – later known in China as Ch’an and in Japan as Zen. His aim was to secure the place of emptiness (shūnyatā) as the very principle of Buddhist transcendence. The way was thus opened to make pure experience of the emptiness of all forms the centre of Buddhist meditation, thereby transcending all dualism: all is svabhāva-​shūnya,“empty of independent existence”; form (rūpa) is equivalent to emptiness, emptiness to

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form; there is no ultimate difference even between nirvāņa itself and the endless round of rebirth (samsāra). The practice of struggling to “solve” logical surds (Chin. kung-​an, Jap. kōan) until the mind bursts through the barrier of ratiocination and is liberated from all attachment, even to reason and imagination, takes precedence over the “meaning” found in sūtras. The stories in which this tradition is embodied have become famous: it is the moon that matters, not the finger pointing to it; the moon reflected in the lake is not the moon. In the Platform Sutra the Buddha, instead of preaching, merely raises a flower; while others try to respond, Mahākāshyapa simply smiles, thereby gaining the Buddha’s approval: it is understanding that matters, not the words that express it.When the time comes for the Fifth Patriarch of Ch’an to hand on his mantle to a successor, the most gifted monk in the monastery composes a verse which implies that the meditator’s aim is to purify the mind: The body is the Bodhi tree, The mind is like a clear mirror. At all times we must strive to polish it, And we must not let the dust collect. The lowly servant Hui-​Neng, though illiterate, composes a poem which reveals just how radical the Ch’ang tradition already was: The mind is the Bodhi tree, The body is the mirror stand. The mirror is originally clean and pure; Where is there room for dust? Other versions are even more radical: Bodhi originally has no tree, The mirror also has no stand. Buddha-​Nature is always clean and pure (or: From the first not a thing is). Where is there room for dust? Schmidt-​Leukel 2006, p. 146 The paradox, once again, is that these stories, too, became “scripture”. Authoritative texts in Pāli, composed centuries after the Buddha, such as the Visuddhimagga or “Path of Purification” by Buddhaghosa (fifth century ce), also attained the equivalent of scriptural status as Buddhavācana, the word of the Buddha himself.The works of the great Japanese reformers Shinran (1173–​1262), who advocated the cult of Amida-​Buddha (Amitābha, the “Buddha of Infinite Light”) and founded the “True Pure Land School” (Jōdo-​shinshū), and Nichiren (1222–​82), who

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venerated the Lotus-​Sūtra, also became scriptures for their respective sects. For the powerful Zen thinker Dōgen (1200–​53), nature itself is our sūtra, and entire landscapes came to be regarded as the “enmountained text” of the Lotus Sūtra (Grapard 1989). Modern Buddhist movements such as Rissho Kosei-​kai are entirely centred on scriptures such as the Lotus Sūtra. Scripture, then, despite its origins in oral tradition and later attempts to relativize it, has played an extremely important part in the development of Buddhism in all its forms. It is meditated upon, ritually chanted and preached; it is copied reverently, illuminated with the finest artistry and preserved with the greatest care. At the same time, the conviction that even scripture, in the end, is not the most important thing is strong in most Buddhist traditions, except those for which it does not simply relate the story of liberation but is itself the means of liberation. The final paradox, perhaps, is that it was the urge to preserve the Buddha’s teaching in written form that not only inspired the art of calligraphy but also stimulated the development of printing.

References Brough, John (1949–​50) “Thus Have I  Heard…” in Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 13, pp. 416–​26. Conze, Edward (ed.) (1968) Selected Sayings from the Perfection of Wisdom. London:  The Buddhist Society. Coward, Harold (2000) Scripture in the World Religions: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Oneworld. Grapard, Allan G. (1989) “The Textualized Mountain – Enmountained Text: The Lotus Sutra in Kunisaki”, in G.J. Tanabe Jr. and W.J. Tanabe (eds) The Lotus Sutra in Japanese Culture. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, pp. 119–​41. May, John D’Arcy (2003) Transcendence and Violence: The Encounter of Buddhist, Christian and Primal Traditions. New York and London: Continuum. Mizuno, Kogen (1982) Buddhist Sutras: Origin, Development,Transmission. Tokyo: Kosei. Nyanaponika Thera (1962) The Heart of Buddhist Meditation. London: Rider. Panikkar, Raimundo (1990) The Silence of God:  The Answer of the Buddha. Maryknoll: Orbis Books. Pye, Michael (1979) The Buddha. London: Duckworth. Schmidt-​Leukel, Perry (2006) Understanding Buddhism. Edinburgh: Academic Press. Smith,Wilfred Cantwell (1993) What is Scripture? A Comparative Approach. London: SCM Press.

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13 READING THE SCRIPTURE FROM THE SIKH TRADITION The Guru Granth Sahib Nikky-​Guninder Kaur Singh

Scriptures are the quintessence of every religion. They express the deepest moral and philosophical values of their respective community. Reading itself is complex, comprising the visual, perceptual, syntactic, and semantic processes.Therefore “reading scripture” – especially another’s – can be daunting. Often even those within a tradition hold such reverence for their holy book that they begin to fear any intimacy with it. Priests, along with scholars and exegetes, officiate as readers and thus intermediate between devotees and their sacred literature. Some may unnecessarily fear that by reading another’s holy book they may lose faith in their own.The result clearly leaves everybody alienated and impoverished. As I have been saying all along it is urgent that we in our divided and polarized world learn about our own sacred text, as well as that of others.1 Our aspirations to make the world a secure place for ourselves and for our children will materialize through exchange and engagement with one another. So we must all actively try to build bridges of understanding. What better way to do so than to reach out for texts that are profoundly important to our neighbors? When we read scriptures from other religions, not only do we experience their imagery, symbolism, and metaphysics, but we will also end up getting a better sense of ourselves, of our neighbors, and of the globe we inhabit. In their own and different ways, the various scriptures provide us with kaleidoscopic glimpses into the beyond, and simultaneously make us feel much more at home on our planet Earth. There is something timeless and timely about them.

Intimacy with the sacred text For the 25 million Sikhs across the globe, their holy book is the living Guru. The Hebrew Bible, the Vedas, the New Testament, the holy Qur’ān are absolutely significant in their respective traditions. But in no case do they embody the Jewish

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Prophets, or the Rishis, or the Evangelists, or the Prophet Muhammad. In the Sikh instance the granth (text) is literally the guru (enlightener.) Intersecting both space and time, it is the very body of their ten spiritual prophets, and is therefore given supreme reverence. It is called the Guru Granth Sahib (sahib is the Arabic term for “respect”). The centrality of the Guru Granth Sahib (GGS) in the life of the Sikhs is a unique phenomenon in the history of religion. The sacred text presides at all their ceremonies and rituals, opens them to the transcendent One, sustains their personal and moral values, and links them socially with their community members. Most Sikhs aspire to have a room in their house to enshrine the GGS. At home or in formal places of worship (gurdwara).2 the GGS is draped in silks and brocades. Each morning it is ceremoniously installed (prakash) and closed at night for repose (sukhasan). It rests on a pedestal and a canopy hangs above it, and when the volume is open, a person holding a whisk attends to it. Attending to a sovereign with a whisk in hand has long been a cultural gesture of reverence on the Indian subcontinent. The sacred volume has acquired the status of a juristic person even by the Supreme Court of India (McLeod 2005, p. 2). Devout Sikhs open the GGS at random and read (or hear) the passage on the top left of the page as their personal message for the day from the Divine One. In Sikh weddings no vows or rings are exchanged, nor anything legal recorded; the bride and groom circumambulate the GGS four times, and after each circle they simultaneously touch their foreheads to the ground in front of the holy book as their acceptance of and commitment to each other. For their children, families choose a name beginning with the first letter from the page that the GGS fortuitously opens at. For special occasions – be it death in the family or birthday or purchase of a new house – an unbroken reading (akhand path) is organized.3 The primary devotional practice of the religion is kirtan, the singing of the scriptural hymns in the accompaniment of musical instruments. From rural Punjab to metropolitan centers around the world, Sikh celebrations include processions with colorful floats displaying the GGS. Its melodious lyrics reproduce an ineffable togetherness among readers/​ hearers, something that the anthropologist Victor Turner categorized as “spontaneous communitas” (1969, p. 132). The GGS serves as the centripetal force that joins congregations across the world – be it India, Africa, UK, or the New World. It was through the sacred verse that “Sikh” subjectivity came into being, and through its melodious lyrics it is being sustained.

Historical process The origins of the GGS are traced back to the founder of Sikhism, Guru Nanak (1469–​1539). In his autobiographical references, recorded in the GGS, Guru Nanak calls himself a divinely inspired “poet” (sairu/​shair) or a “singer” (ḍhadi). His words flow out intuitively: “As comes to me the Husband’s word, that is what I say O’ Lalo!” (GGS, p. 722); “I only spoke when You made me speak” (GGS, p. 566); and “Nanak speaks just as that One makes me speak” (GGS, p. 1331). Throughout his verse, he acknowledges the Divine as the source of his voice, his sensibility, his

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very being. The GGS was to become the repository of Guru Nanak’s revelatory experience. Other sources such as the Janamsakhi narratives,4 and the writings of the eminent theologian Bhai Gurdas (1551–​1636, the original scribe of the GGS), also associate Guru Nanak closely with sacred verse, foreshadowing the canonization process. Guru Nanak, we learn, was born and brought up in a multi-​religious and multiethnic Punjab – the gateway to India. With his Muslim rebeck player companion Mardana, he traveled far and wide, impacting people with his sacred songs. He visited Hindu temples, Muslim mosques, Buddhist viharas, and Sufi khanaqahs. He attended a multitude of fairs and festivals. He conversed with people of different faiths and genders. In an early Janamsakhi painting, he is seen in dialogue with a dark-​bearded Sufi, Sheikh Sharaf, dressed up as a woman in a red sari with heavy jewels.5 In a watercolor from the late nineteenth century (at the Government Museum and Art Gallery in Chandigarh), the Guru is wrapped in a robe spun with verses from the holy Qur’ ān and the GGS, which cover his entire front and sleeves (Goswamy 2000, pp. 38–​39). In its visual hermeneutics, the diverse threads of his dress powerfully weave the Divine who is beyond all external designs and forms. The leitmotif is Nanak’s melody of the infinite One, which tore asunder the prevalent confines of caste, gender, class, religion, and ethnicity. Some of the narratives depict him with a small volume (pothi) that is either held by him or placed beside him (Goswamy and Smith 2006, pp. 19, 23, 32). We cannot identify its script or its contents but we can tell the first guru was holding on to a sacred volume. When he settled in the village of Kartarpur established by him on the banks of the River Ravi, people from different religious and societal backgrounds gathered around to hear and recite his sonorous rhyme. Engaged in ordinary occupations of life, these first “Sikhs” (meaning “disciples” or “seekers”) affirmed a new sense of family with the person of Guru Nanak as their center. Bhai Gurdas describes the daily patterns of this first Sikh community: “in the morning Jap was recited, and in the evening, Arati and Sohila (1977)”.6 These three hymns – Jap, Arati, and Sohila – were subsequently collected in Sikh scripture and continue to be part of the daily regimen. Guru Nanak’s successors continued on his spiritual legacy. They used the pseudonym “Nanak”, and reiterated his vision each in his own voice. They added their individual contribution to the development of the canon. It was the fifth guru who produced the authoritative collection, the GGS in 1604 and installed it in what is popularly known as the Golden Temple today. The fellowship of Sikhs had increased numerically and spread geographically, so there was a need for a central canon for their spiritual and moral life. With his extraordinary mystical insight, Guru Arjan started the process, soliciting Bhai Gurdas as the scribe. Messages were sent to Sikhs to gather the hymns of the preceding gurus. He utilized two manuscripts that had been created under the supervision of his grandfather Guru Amar Das in the town of Goindval.7 These “Goindval Pothis” included the compositions of the first three Sikh gurus along with the works of several medieval saints. Guru Arjan maintains their profound inclusivity. The 1,430-​paged canon he compiled

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includes the voice of his predecessor Sikh gurus, and that of the Hindu and Muslim holy men, many of whom were harshly discriminated against only because of their biological birth into a low class. Guru Gobind Singh (Nanak 10) ended the line of personal gurus and transferred the succession of guruship to the holy volume. Just before he passed away in 1708, he identified the sacred book as the living Guru, and so the Guru Granth Sahib has been venerated for generations. In the context of his own departure and the politically precarious situation of his community, the appointment of the granth as the guru would have empowered his Sikhs. Their historical and spiritual past was embodied in the granth. The guruship of the granth would also resolve any problems of succession posed by schismatic groups. His widow Mata Sundari strongly pronounced the identity of the guru and the granth: “the Guru is lodged in the Word”.8 Containing the divine-​human encounter of their ten gurus, Sikhs henceforth were to derive their guidance and inspiration from their sacred text. Ever since, the GGS has unequivocally been their sole sovereign. An important development took place in the first part of the twentieth century when members of the Sikh renaissance movement (the Singh Sabha) systematized the 1,430 pagination of the GGS.9 Ever since, this standard text has been universally accepted, and uniformly used both in worship and in scholarship. Printing technology has had a major impact, for wherever Sikhs may be settled they use the same text – with the same content in all 1,430 pages. The GGS continues to be published in Amritsar by the representative body of the Sikh community, the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbhandak Committee.10 Copies too fragile or deemed unfit to be read from, are cremated, following the pattern of the Sikh death ceremony.

Reading the singular divine At the very outset Sikh scripture celebrates the singular ontological reality – Ikk Oan Kar – “One being is”. The mathematical numeral One is formless. With its soaring geometric arc, the One reaches out infinitely, so anybody and everybody can feel its expanse. In this fundamental Sikh intuition of absolute Oneness, there are no borders, no images male or female, no concepts, no designations. Guru Nanak then goes on to articulate Ikk Oan Kar as sat (“Truth” or “Reality”). His verbal approach indicates his inclination to bring Being into language. By giving the name (nam) – sat – a participle of as (to be), he identifies Truth as “existing”, “occurring”, “happening”, “being present”. Guru Nanak categorically states that this One cannot be imaged or shaped in any exclusive form (GGS, p. 1). The entire GGS is an expression of this quintessential unity. Its monotheistic vision, however, is different from that of the West. As a continuation of the Abrahamic traditions, Islam penetrated India with the concept of the “One God”, which conflicted with the polyphonic imagination of the diverse schools of Indic thought. In Sikh scripture there is no opposition between the One and the many, nor is there any dualism between unity and plurality.The GGS claims “from the One issue myriads and into the One they are ultimately assimilated”

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(GGS, p. 131). Rather than an exclusivist monotheism, an inclusive Oneness of Being is reiterated in the GGS. The visible world is regarded as an expression of that One: “Itself Truth creates but Truth; all creation comes from that One” (GGS, p. 294). This phenomenal world is regarded good. Body is good. Rather than shift attention to a heaven or eternity after death, Sikh scripture draws attention on actualizing the spiritual potential within this ordinary temporal and spatial world. Ultimately, the infinite One dwells in the individual itself: “there is a light in all and that light is That One” (GGS, p. 13). The utterly transcendent is intimately within. Whatever is in the transcendent beyond (brahmandai) that itself is the body (pinde) –​ ”jo brahmandai soi pinde” says Guru Nanak categorically (GGS, p. 695). By designating the Divine as numeral “1” the GGS creates a space for the Divine to be read in new and important ways. Across the pages of the GGS the One is imagined in countless ways. No religious worldview is excluded from the perception of the Divine One. Hindu, Buddhist, Tantric, and Islamic views that were current at that time come together in its wide-​ranging scriptural spectrum. Binaries between “Islamic Monotheism” and “Hindu Incarnation” are transcended: “Some call it Rama, some call it Khuda; some worship it as Vishnu, some as Allah” (GGS, p. 885). Even the Buddhist Nirvana is not omitted from the vision of the singular divine: “Itself Nirvana, It itself relishes pleasures” (GGS, p. 97). “God” or “gods” or “no god” alike are recognized as part of the infinite One. The GGS embraces the Divine in manifold ways. It is father, mother, brother, friend; it is night, it is day; it is the lotus, it is the waters; it is fragrance, it is color; it is music, it is the juice; it is the bride in her wedding dress, it is the groom on the nuptial bed; it is the fisherman, it is the fish, it is the lost ruby swallowed by the fish … In a speedy tempo, the textual similes and paradoxes free the mind from narrow walls. The literary tropes parallel natural phenomena: just as in nature new qualities can be engendered by the coming together of elements in new ways, so too, new semantic juxtapositions and combinations can produce a new reality. The GGS offers readers myriad possibilities of recollecting the infinite One – without letting the mind halt on any. It is also noteworthy that nothing in the cosmos is polluted or deemed too low for the Divine to sparkle through. Humans are not the only ones endowed with the spiritual treasure – the fish has swallowed the ruby too. The GGS is all written out in the “language of infinite love” as enunciated in the text itself (GGS, p. 2), and so we find the various authors expressing it passionately. Scriptures across religions draw attention to the emotion of love. In the Gospels Jesus says, “The greatest commandment of all is this – love your God with all your soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself ”. In the holy Qur’ān, Allah expresses love for humanity through the analogy of the jugular vein: “We are closer to him than his jugular vein” (50: 16). In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna reveals a new way of reaching the Divine as he conjoins bhakti (“love”) with the traditional paths of jnana (“knowledge”) and karma (“action”). Yet, in spite of it, all across the globe humans are trapped in hate and conflict. Those who claim to lead normal lives find themselves utterly devoid of this emotion. The GGS strongly urges us to assess our loss: “without love inside, we are but dust and ash” (GGS,

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p. 62).This love is not a selfish obsession; it is a realization of that infinite One which produces positive energy within the individual, and which then reaches out from one body to the other to everything around. Divine passion leads to compassion for all the beings in the world. As the GGS says, the enlightened are “those who view everyone equally, like the air touching king and beggar alike” (GGS, p. 272). Love takes the person beyond semantic categories of east or west, Hindu or Muslim, Black or White, Brahmin or Shudra, male or female, rich or poor. The scriptures therefore must be read with love not fear.

Reading is praxis Reading is no different from doing, as the text must practically impact the reader’s personal situation. Gadamer has abundantly shown how understanding, interpretation, and application together constitute the hermeneutic process.11 The Divine One enunciated at the outset of the GGS has a subjective significance; it supplies existential meaning and lived praxis. In fact, immediately after naming the One as truth, the opening hymn asks how to become truth? How to break the walls of falsity?” (GGS, p. 1). There is a quick shift from the Divine ideal to the everyday attitudes, behavior, and actions. Truthful mode of existence is deemed higher than the conception of truth: “Higher than everything is truth but higher still is true living” (GGS, p. 62). Caught up in artificialities and appearances, the true self is ignored which only brings tension, anxiety, unhappiness, and frustration.The GGS urges people to see beyond superficial blemishes and wrinkles, to the intrinsic reality. People who live with the recognition of truth radiate with truth for “Truth is in their hearts, Truth is on their lips, Truth is in their sight, Truth their form, Truth is their way, Truth their revelation. They who discern the Divine as truth, says Nanak, they themselves merge with truth” (GGS, p. 283). Sikh scripture resonates with the goal of liberation theology: truth is something that is done. The aim for truth becomes the path itself. And so ethics and religion integrate into a singular venture, a life fully lived with the knowledge and experience of the Divine. Over and over the GGS reminds readers of their collective human responsibility. It rejects the traditional fourfold division of Indic society into Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Shudras along with its different duties at different stages of life, that of brahmacarin, grahastha, vanaprastha, and sanyasin (varna-​ashrama-​dharma). In contrast to the fourfold societal hierarchy and its corresponding privileges, duties, and responsibilities, the GGS underscores the same moral obligations. Everyone is equally impelled to perform their ethical duty throughout their entire life. Sikh scripture loudly affirms that ultimate freedom is attained in active engagement in everyday tasks. Elaborate forms of worship, rituals, and ceremonies are denounced. We read pungent criticisms of hypocritical actions and rites that were empty and oppressive, and all kinds of austere and ascetic practices. Instead a symbiosis of the secular and sacred aspects of life is reinforced. The GGS lists five psychological propensities that harm the human race – lust, anger, greed, attachment, and pride. These are so-​called robbers residing within,

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who steal the precious morality with which humans are equally endowed. Their root cause is haumai, literally, “I-​myself.” By centering on the selfish “I”, “me”, and “mine”, individuals are split from their Divine core; they are split from people around them. This is when inequities and hostilities take over. Such an existence is measured through competition, malice, ill-​will towards others, and a craving for power. Blinded, the individual lives for himself or herself alone. Such selfish people are called manmukh, literally facing the ego/​the “me”, in contrast with those who face the Divine gurmukh. The manmukh-​gurmukh antithesis flows across the GGS. How are the five robbers caught? By hearing (suniai) the Divine One, keeping that One ever in mind (maniai), and loving that infinite One (kita bhau). This triple process enunciated by the founder Guru (GGS, p. 2) is put into effect by the GGS. Hearing is the sense that most directly connects the conscious and the unconscious realms, and therefore is the first step. Hearing the melodious scriptural descriptions of the Divine One raises human awareness. So what is heard makes the inner circuits and impacts external conduct. But in order to hear, there must be an inner silence. So the selfish ego is arrested and that One expressed in infinite ways begins to appear on the mental radar. Stanzas 8–​11 of the Japji explain the vital role of hearing.Through hearing one gains the faculties of all the gods, one gains knowledge of all the continents, one acquires the import of all the ancient texts, one learns all the techniques of meditation, one masters the experience of all the sages of Hinduism and Islam (and by implication all religions…). The breadth of knowledge breaks the fetters of ignorance. The second step is keeping the One continuously in mind (mania) – a following up on what is heard. Basically it is doing actions with that One ever in mind. By holding on to the universal One, the selfish “I” or “me” disappears, resulting in moral actions, thought, and speech.The third is the emotive experience of love, which opens up clogged arteries and fosters respect for and joy with fellow beings. This triple process relates to daily life, for only when humans align with that Oneness can they live responsibly, and take constructive steps towards equality, healthcare, education, and ecosystem for the larger community. The three primary Sikh institutions – seva, langar, and sangat – flow organically from the GGS. Seva, “voluntary manual service”, is an essential condition of spiritual discipline. Through volunteer service, humility is cultivated, ego is overcome, and mind and body are cleansed. Again, the service may take the form of attending to the sacred volume, cleaning, sweeping, and dusting areas around it, preparing and serving food in its vicinity, or looking after and even cleaning the shoes of the worshippers.Young and old, rich and poor, each takes on and performs the different tasks linked with the GGS. Seva also includes serving the community at large by helping them to build schools, hospitals, orphanages, and charity homes with the GGS as the driving force. Likewise, the community meal (langar) is the central practice of Sikhism. It centers on preparation and eating together, testifying to the social equality and familyhood of all people. In medieval India, the idea of different castes eating together was bold and revolutionary. During the community meal the GGS is put into effect: men and women engage in preparation and cleanup – chopping vegetables,

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kneading and rolling out dough, cleaning utensils. The meal is then eaten together without regard to caste, race, or religion.The physical act of eating and the cognitive remembrance of the Divine are symbiotically bound.The Golden Temple, the space where the GGS was first enshrined in 1604, has become “the largest free eatery in the world” serving about 80,000 meals daily.12 The third institution of sangat is the democratic gathering (without priests or ordained ministers) of members sitting together on the floor, singing hymns and listening to readings from the holy text without distinctions of gender, race, creed, or caste. It is basically joining in the company of the good: “Just as iron rubbed against the philosopher’s stone turns into gold, so we transform into brilliant light in company of the good” (GGS, p. 303). Being with fellow humans is the dynamism that inspires spiritual radiance and virtuous deeds. The goal of Sikh moral life is union with the transcendent Divine. When individuals embrace the spaceless and timeless One, they become infinite themselves. Thus all confinements are shattered, and the individual does not return into any finite form. This ultimate state is liberation from the cycle of birth and death. However, this metaphysical ideal is not apart or separate from everyday life; rather, the deeper the awareness of the Divine, the more vibrant is participation in the everyday rhythms of life. Orthopraxy takes precedence over orthodoxy. Frequently the GGS is heard (on tape) or recited while gardening, combing hair, cooking, taking a shower, on a walk … Homes and cars so often resonate with scriptural melodies. In the words of the compiler-​editor of the GGS: “liberation is attained while laughing, playing, dressing up, and eating” (GGS, p. 522).

Platter of truth, contentment, and reflection The GGS fosters aesthetics as the approach to knowledge and spirituality. Opposite of anesthetic, the deadening of senses, aesthetics is the heightening of hearing, seeing, touching, smelling, tasting. It is feeling the singular Divine immediately and intensely, and therefore living each moment with the experience of unicity. Guru Nanak inaugurated a highly aesthetic method to awaken his contemporaries and revitalize their senses, psyche, imagination, and spirit. In the first hymn of the GGS he enunciates that in the aesthetic realm (saram khand) “we sharpen consciousness, wisdom, mind, and discrimination” (Japji, stanza 36). In this dynamic sphere, wisdom (mati) along with consciousness (surati), mind (man), and the power of discrimination (buddhi), are refined. Ghariai, from the infinitive gharana, literally means to sharpen or chisel. However blunt our mental, psychological, intellectual, and reasoning faculties, they are developed and keenly chiseled in the realm of art and beauty. By honing the senses, knowledge of the infinite One is attained, which frees people from oppressive binary structures and enables them to live authentically. A heightened sensuous experience is the requisite for metaphysical knowledge and ethical development. In order to enhance its aesthetic beauty, the sacred text is set into the ancient Indian system of Ragas. This key musicological term means both “color” and

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“melody model” in Sanskrit. The thirty-​one musical measures utilized in the GGS have tone structures that bring color to feelings (ranjanam). Each Raga has a season prescribed for its singing, it has a prescribed time of the day, a special emotional mood, and a particular cultural climate as each measure evolved in a specific region. Singing and hearing of the scriptural melodies is the medium for evoking the One through specific emotions that inhere in them. The Raga structure constitutes the primary subdivision of the GGS, and in any standard version of the GGS, the Ragas appear in a specific sequence. In its structure the GGS is highly complex, and yet clearly designed with divisions and subdivisions that bring the various hymns together in a systematic manner. It has three main parts: the first (GGS, pp. 1–​13) consists of liturgical hymns – the morning Japji, the evening So-​Dar, and the late evening Sohila.The final segment of the GGS (1353–​1430) consists of miscellaneous hymns that have not been assigned to any specific Raga.The middle (14–​1353) constitutes the main body of the GGS, and all its hymns are framed within the Raga structure. While the Sikh Gurus utilized the classical Raga setting, they were also very creative. They drew upon folk musical patterns with simpler beats, as well as regional Bhakti and Sufi forms with their rhythms and melodies, and various other musical styles extending all the way from Afghanistan to the south of the Indian subcontinent. Several GGS hymns make use of popular folk poetry of the Punjab like the alahnian (sung to mourn death), and ghorian (sung to celebrate wedding). We also find tunes that were popular in various regions, and musical patterns of holy men belonging to different religious backgrounds.13 Unfortunately, much of the gurus’ vast knowledge of musicality is lost to the contemporary Sikh community and to the academic world. Guru Nanak and his successors were aware of the mnemonic power of melody to imprint the Divine on the human psyche. Music also has a communal value, so the gurus utilized it as a medium for bringing people together. Sikh congregations were created, and are being sustained with devotees singing and listening to the scriptural hymns together (kirtan). The performance of kirtan generates the evocative power of the scriptural verse (called bani). So intense is its beauty that “by hearing mind and body are invigorated” (GGS, p. 781). Once drenched in its passion, its color never leaves or fades (GGS, p. 427). The ears hear the divine word. The tongue tastes its deliciousness. Every pore of the body bathes in its brilliant color. The scriptural verse (bani) is equated with ambrosia (amrita), and qualified as delicious (“amrita bani amio rasa” GGS, p. 963). The expansive musical framework of the sublime poetry is a vehicle for reaching out to diverse and distant audiences and inspiring them with the passion for the infinite One. The epilogue of the GGS discloses the objective of the compiler guru: “On the platter lie three things: truth, contentment, reflection…they who eat, they who savor are liberated” (GGS, p. 1429). Using the analogy of a platter, Guru Arjan presents the holy volume as a thal (large metal dish) on which are placed truth, contentment, and reflection. The identity of knowledge and food lodged in the epilogue of the GGS is prefigured in its opening hymn, “knowledge is the banquet,

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compassion the hostess” (Japji, p. 29). Knowledge is a delectable banquet, and the sumptuous array of dishes indicated by Guru Nanak is now specified by Guru Arjan as truth, contentment, and reflection. The epistemological value of these dishes is not intellectually conceived or logically argued; it is swallowed and digested by the body. Eating is a most creative act: we take something from the external world and turn it into ourselves. A tiny morsel makes a circuit in the body, and through the bloodstream becomes a cell, a muscle, a neuron, a thought, an emotion, an embrace. The authors in the GGS repeatedly wish that the Divine be remembered in every “morsel of food – sas gras” (GGS, p. 961), making alimentary canals elementary to spiritual progress. But as the epilogue distinguishes, “eating” (khavai) is not enough; the aesthetic heightening, “savoring” (bhuncai) is absolutely crucial. The compiler guru intended his community to gain supreme enjoyment from the literary volume. The words of the GGS are to be fully absorbed, literally made a part of the blood stream. Literature, like all art, has profound influence in shaping worldviews, attitudes, and behavior. In order to bring about a moral transformation in their discordant society, the Sikh gurus offered the GGS as the source to reach the very consciousness of the masses. It offers a sumptuous variety of images, symbols, and metaphors that have the potential to help readers digest the countless resources of their intrinsic affinity.

Feminist hermeneutics Sikh scripture breaks centuries-​old images of male dominance, and opens the way to experiencing the Divine in a female modality.14 The transcendent One is identified as both male and female: “ape purakh ape hi nar – itself male, itself is female” (GGS, p. 1020). Female is an essential part of the Sikh theological imaginary. The male gurus repeatedly identify with the female person, and appropriate the feminine tone, psyche, and syntax to express their mystical yearning. Here we encounter a woman whose sexuality is healthy and wholesome. She is the scriptural model who incarnates physical beauty and spiritual awakening, and rapturously makes love with her transcendent Beloved. The Sikh gurus were aware of the sexism prevalent in their society and denounced conventional taboos against female pollution, menstruation, and sexuality. They spoke against purdah (the customary veiling) and sati (the cremation of the wife at the death rite of her husband). Menstrual bleeding is regarded as an essential, natural process. Life itself begins with it. Those who stigmatize the garment stained with menstrual blood as polluted (GGS, p. 140) are reprimanded in the GGS (p. 140). The imagery of conception, gestation, giving birth, and lactation is unambiguously and powerfully present. The primal home is the mother’s body, the ontological base of every person. The mother’s milk is acknowledged as full of biological and spiritual nutrients. In a tender passage, “Says Nanak, the child, you are my father and my mother, and your name is like milk in my mouth” (GGS, p. 713). Sikh scripture celebrates the female in its theological, ethical, spiritual, and aesthetic dimensions.

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Familiarizing with the other The GGS holds together the love for the Divine belonging to the mutually exclusive categories of medieval India – Hindu and Muslim. Of course neither was a neatly classified system for each consisted of a whole array of schools of thought. Yet some clearly emerged from a “Western” monotheistic framework with Arabic/​ Persian as their formal languages. Others belonged to the polyphonic indigenous Indian subcontinent with Sanskrit as their linguistic matrix. By including both, the GGS serves as a vital confluence of eastern and western perspectives. Extending over several centuries and distant geographical regions, this sacred text brings together a range of authors, religions, cultures, ethnicities, and languages. As a result of the various Sikh Gurus, Hindu Bhagats, and Muslim Sufis expressing their respective worldviews, the GGS works out as a comfort zone: readers need not be afraid or threatened by the other. Effacing fearful divisions and insecurities, the text offers a plurality of concepts, ideologies, and literary styles. It enlightens readers with the vision of both Allah and Vishnu. It familiarizes us with the eschatology of the last Day of Judgment and that of Reincarnation. We are introduced to the Messenger of Death; we are introduced to Lord Yama. We come across burial customs; we come across cremation.We learn about the Five Pillars of Islam; we learn about the precepts of dharma, karma, puja, and tiratha. We become familiar with the Qur’ān; we become familiar with the Vedas, the Mahabharata, and the Ramayana. We hear the praise of both Vedas and Qateb: while the Vedas connote Indic texts like the Puranas, Shastras, and Smritis, the “Qateb” connote the Semitic texts, the Torah, the Zabur, the Injil, and the Qur’ān. In the making of the canon, voices of Sikh, Muslim, and Hindu holy men from different social classes were consciously included with full acknowledgment of and respect for their distinctiveness and difference. Each author is clearly distinguished. Since it records the voice of some of the founding fathers of the Indian religious traditions, the GGS serves as an important historical archive. Some of the modern-​ day Ravi-​Dasis, Kabir-​Panthis, and Namdev-​Panthis acknowledge their debt to Guru Arjan for preserving the works of their foundational saints that might have been lost otherwise (Novetzke 2008).15 Rather than irreconcilable differences, we recover equality and convergence among the various religious traditions practiced in medieval India.

Scriptural passages Overall, its inbuilt poetic exercise shifts attention from the individual and insularity to something far larger. Passages from the GGS heighten the reader’s awareness for the beauty and vastness of the multiverse around. For instance, the Japji, the inaugural hymn in the GGS, reminds us of our human responsibilities in conjunction with the lunar and solar cycles. Our daily calendars with their limited standards of measurement acquire a much larger vista as we become temporally conscious of the billions and billions of years behind us and the billions and billions yet to come.

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Simultaneously, readers are inspired to imagine a spatial horizon that can never ever be quantified. Here are some of the opening and concluding stanzas of the Japji: Japji (the morning hymn, GGS, pp. 1–​13): Prelude There is One Being Truth is Its Name Primal Creator Without fear Without enmity Timeless in form Unborn Self-​existent The gift of the Guru. Japu Truth before time Truth within time Truth here and now Says Nanak, Truth is evermore. Thought cannot think it, nor will a million thoughts, Silence cannot silence it, nor will seamless contemplation, Greed is not made greedless, not by the wealth of the whole world, Though a thousand mental feats become a million, not one can go with us. How then to be true? How then to break the wall of lies? By following the Will, Says Nanak, this is written for us. 2 By the Will, all forms were created; what the Will is, no one can say. By the Will, all life is formed and by the Will, all are exalted. The Will determines what is high and what is low; the Will grants all joy and suffering. Some are blessed by the Will others migrate from birth to birth. All are within the Will, none stand apart. Says Nanak, by recognizing the Will, we silence our selfish ego.

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3 Those who are filled with might, sing praise of Its might; Those who recognize the signs, sing praise of Its bounty, Those who perceive Its virtues, sing praise of Its glory. Some sing praises through high philosophy; Some sing praises of Its powers to create and destroy; Some sing in awe of Its giving and taking of life. Some sing of Its distance, Its utter transcendence; Some sing of Its proximity, Its close watch over all. Stories and stories add one to another, Preaching and preaching lead nowhere. The Giver gives, the receivers tire of receiving; Age upon age they eat and eat Its gifts. All are directed by Its Will; Says Nanak, the Carefree is ever in bliss. 4 The True Sovereign, Truth is Its Name, infinite love Its language. Seekers keep seeking gifts and the Giver gives more and more. What can we offer for a glimpse of the Court? What can we say to win Its love? In the ambrosial hour, exalt and reflect upon the True Name. Through actions each is dressed in a body; but liberation comes only from Its Gaze. Says Nanak, know the Absolute thus. 5 It cannot be molded or made, Itself immaculate and self-​existent Those who serve, receive honors. Nanak says, sing of the treasure of virtues. Sing, listen, and hold love in the heart, So sorrow is banished, joy ushered in. By the Guru, comes the sacred word, By the Guru, comes the scripture, By the Guru, It is experienced in all; The Guru is Shiva, the Guru is Vishnu, the Guru is Brahma the Guru is Parvati, Laxmi, and Sarasvati. Were I to comprehend, I’d still fail to explain, for It is beyond all telling. Guru, let me grasp this one thing: All creatures have one Provider – may I never forget!

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34 Amid nights and seasons, dates and days, Amid air, water, fire, and netherworlds, The earth is placed, the place for righteous action. In it are colorful beings and lifestyles Infinite are their names and infinite their forms. We are judged on every action performed; The One is True and Its verdicts are truly just. Those accepted become radiant, They glow with the mark of the Gaze; The raw and the ripened, Nanak says, reaching there, become known. 35 Such is the order of the realm of Duty, Now tell us about the realm of Knowledge. How many airs, waters, and fires! How many Krishnas and Shivas! How many Brahmas, and in what variety of forms, colors, and guises they are created! How many earths and mountains to live and act on, How many saints, like Dhru, and their sermons! How many Indras, moons, and suns, how many continents and universes! How many ascetics, enlightened ones, and yogic masters, How many goddesses! How many gods, demons, and sages, how many jewels and oceans! How many species, how many languages, and how many rulers and kings! How many revelations, how many devotees! Says Nanak, there is no end to their end! 36 In the Realm of Knowledge, knowledge blazes forth, Here reign mystic melodies and myriad sports and joys. Now the Realm of Beauty is beauty itself: Here the faculties are honed in unmatched splendor; Words fail to describe, They who try regret their lack. Here consciousness, wisdom, mind, and discernment are sharpened, Awareness sharpened like that of the gods and mystics. 37 The Realm of Action is full of force: Here is the One, with no other. Here heroes and mighty warriors dwell Inspired by Ram Here are Sita and women of her fame and virtue, Their beauty beyond words;

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They do not die, they are not beguiled, For Ram is in their hearts; Saints from many worlds live in this Realm of Action: They know bliss, for the True One is imprinted on their minds. In the Realm of Truth, the Formless One is at home Gazing upon Its creation. Here are continents, constellations, and universes, Whose limits cannot be told Here are people of various forms –​ All acting according to the Will. It watches, rejoices, and contemplates Its own creation, Nanak says, to describe this is as hard as iron. 38 Let continence be your smithy, and patience your goldsmith; Let wisdom be your anvil, and knowledge your hammer; Let awe be the bellows, and inner control the blazing fire; In the crucible of love, let the ambrosia flow; In this true mint, forge the Word. Such fulfillment comes to those blessed with the Gaze; Says Nanak, happy are they who are gazed upon. Epilogue Air is our Guru, water our father, The great earth is our mother; Day and night are the female and male nurses –​ The whole universe plays in their laps. Good and bad deeds are all disclosed in the presence of righteousness Our actions take us near or far. Those who remember the Name leave Having labored successfully Nanak, their faces shine, and they take with them Many more to liberation.16 Like the morning “Japji” the evening hymn “Arati,” celebrates the cosmic choreography of the planets, and as it emotionally expands the inner circuits, it connects readers with one another across cultures and religions. Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Jewish or Christian, everybody is invited to worship that transcendent One. The evening hymn Arati The sky is our platter; the sun and moon, lamps, It is studded with pearls, the starry galaxies, The wafting scent of sandalwood is the incense, The gentle breeze, our fly whisk, All vegetation, the bouquet of flowers we offer to you. What a worship!

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This truly is your worship, you who sunder life from death. The unstruck sound within is the drum to which we chant. You have a thousand eyes yet without an eye you are, You have a thousand faces yet without a face you are, You have a thousand feet yet without a foot you are, You have a thousand noses yet without a nose you are. I am enchanted by your wonders! There is a light in all, and that light is you; By your light we are all lit. Light sparkles from knowledge, Whatever pleases you is your worship! My mind is greedy as a bumblebee, Day and night I long to drink the ambrosia of your lotus-​feet Nanak says, grant nectar to this thirsty bird –​ Grant me a dwelling in your Name. GGS, p. 663 The magic of infinity has tremendous physiological impact: it releases anger, jealousy, hatred, and other such poisonous stuff. The mystery and thrill of scriptural passages dissolves the “isms” around – be it racism, classism, sexism, or religious fundamentalism. And so we readers are free to realize our shared humanity.

Notes 1 For instance, see my “Keynote:  Shaking Off the Silence” 2008, pp.  5–6, and “Guru Granth: The Quintessential Sikh Metaphor” 2008, pp. 157–​76. 2 Gurdwara (literally, “door to the guru”) is the Sikh space for worship. Its focal point is the GGS. Most gurdwaras have areas for communal meal (langar), and some even have libraries and residential area for pilgrims. 3 The entire GGS is read in forty-eight hours. The reading goes on continuously day and night, by a sequence of readers who take turns. 4 Shortly after Guru Nanak’s passing away, mythic narratives (sakhis) about his birth and life (janam) came into circulation and have been very popular in the collective Sikh imagination. 5 See Surjit Hans (1974), # 50. 6 See Varan Bhai Gurdas, I.38 published in Amritsar by the Khalsa Samachar in April 1977. 7 For the formation of Sikh scripture see Pashaura Singh 2000 and Gurinder Singh Mann 2001. 8 Quoted in the original by Harbans Singh 1983, pp. 108–​9. 9 The Singh Sabha issued from the deliberations of leading Sikhs such as Thakur Singh Sandhanwalia, Baba Sir Khem Singh Bedi, and Kanwar Bikrama Singh of Kapurthala who met in Amritsar in 1873.This movement begun in colonial Punjab aimed to recapture the original message of the Gurus and recover Sikh identity, and give prominence to Punjabi, the language of their Gurus with its Gurmukhi script. 10 The Sikh Shromani Gurdwara Prabhandak Committee (S.G.P.C.) was constituted on November 15, 1920 with 175 members to manage and reform Sikh shrines. 11 Hans-​Georg Gadamer (1989).

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12 Lydia Polgreen (2010) “Sikh Temple Where All May Eat, and Pitch In.” New York Times, 29 August. Page A7. 13 In Marie Joy Curtiss’s informative article on “Gurmat Sangit” in Harbans Singh 1992, pp. 157–​79. 14 For more details see my Feminine Principle in the Sikh Vision of the Transcendent 1993. Also “Contesting Subjectivities: Feminist Hermeneutics of Sikh Scripture” in Reilly and Scriver (eds.) 2014, pp. 83–​96. 15 For instance, see Novetzke 2008. 16 These translations are mine from the original Punjabi verses. See Nikky-​Guninder Kaur Singh 2012, pp. 34–​48.

References Curtiss, Marie Joy (1992) “Gurmat Sangit”, in Harbans Singh (ed.), Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Patiala: Punjabi University, pp. 157–​79. Gadamer, Hans-​Georg (1989) Truth and Method. New York: Crossroads. Goswamy, B.N. (2000) Piety and Splendour:  Sikh Heritage in Art. New Delhi:  National Museum. Goswamy, B.N. and Smith, C. (2006) I See No Stranger: Early Sikh Art and Devotion. New York: Rubin Museum of Art. Kaur Singh, Nikky-​Guninder (2012) Of Sacred and Secular Desire: An Anthology of Punjabi Lyrics. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Mann, Gurinder Singh (2001) The Making of Sikh Scripture. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. McLeod,W.H.(2005) Historical Dictionary of Sikhism.Lanham,Toronto,Oxford: Scarecrow Press. Novetzke, Christian Lee (2008) Religion and Public Memory: A Cultural History of Saint Namdev in India. New York: Columbia University Press. Singh, Harbans (1983) The Heritage of the Sikh. New Delhi: Manohar Publications, 1983. —​—​—​ (1992) Encyclopedia of Sikhism. Patiala: Punjabi University. Singh, Pashaura (2000) The Guru Granth: Canon, Meaning and Authority. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Surjit, Hans (1974) B-​40 Janamsakhi Guru Baba Nanak.Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University. Turner, Victor (1969) The Ritual Process:  Structure and Anti-​Structure. Chicago, IL:  Aldine Publishing Company.

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14 CONFUCIANISM AND ITS TEXTS Lee Dian Rainey

Confucian texts are not the word of God or gods; their status lies not in a divine origin. Their importance comes from their ancient sources, their attachment to Confucius himself, and the ways in which Confucian scholars and successive dynasties in China promoted the texts, making them both the gold standard for career advancement in government and for the Chinese culture at large. The texts themselves are radically different in what they cover, some discussing history, some ritual, some contain poetry and some philosophy. Their history, well over 2,500 years old, is a remarkable one.

Early times, early texts We can begin with a simple enough statement: during the long period of constant warfare in China, called the Warring States era that lasted from 475 to 221 bce, certain books became associated with Confucians. This statement has two major problems: it is not always clear what these books were and it is not always clear what we mean by “Confucians”. The first set of problems centres around these books. The content of ancient books fluctuated because, over time, the texts were edited and changed by having material taken away from, and added to, them.This is the case with all ancient books from the Bible to the Upanishads to the Confucian classics.1 We can see this in the first Confucian text, The Book of Poetry, a collection of 305 poems and songs.2 Some of these poems or songs may date back to early Zhou in the tenth century bce, while some poems may be as late as the spring and autumn period in the seventh century bce. The poems range from delicate love songs, to criticism of rulers, to odes in praise of the Zhou dynasty ancestors. The text was meant to be chanted, or sung aloud, which is why it is also called The Book of Songs. By the time of Confucius (551–​479 bce), it was memorized by upper class men

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who quoted from it to show their education and noble status. This meant that the poems and the book were shared by the entire noble class. Confucius taught his students these poems and, over time, it came to be believed that Confucius edited the text by choosing the 305 poems out of 3,000.3 The Book of History claims to describe the history of events from the times of the mythical sage-​kings to the 600s bce.4 The sage-​kings, like Yao and Yu, were said to have invented everything from irrigation systems to writing. The Book of History then goes on to describe the histories of the Xia, Shang (sixteenth to eleventh century), and Zhou (eleventh century to 256 bce) dynasties. The text’s descriptions of early periods are considered quite unreliable, but some of the later material is better. The theme of the Book of History came to be understood as one where history teaches us moral lessons: good rulers and government ministers prosper while bad ones are punished. The Book of History also introduces the idea of the mandate of Heaven: it is Heaven that chooses a good man to be ruler and overthrows a bad ruler. Another important political idea in the text comes from the story of the sage-​ king Yao who passed over his own son and made an upstanding commoner, Shun, his successor. Confucians will read this story as endorsing their idea that moral and intelligent men should be chosen for government. Confucians also regarded the stories of the early Zhou dynasty as a kind of golden age of peace and social harmony. Like the Book of Poetry, the Book of History circulated in a number of versions among the upper classes during the Warring States era (475–​221 bce). Again, this was a text that Confucius taught to his students and it was believed that Confucius himself had written, or at least edited, it. Each small state produced journals or annals of the events and activities of their history, divided into seasons. The Spring and Autumn Annals is one of these annals describing the history of Confucius’ home state of Lu. Its full title is the Spring-​ Summer-​Autumn-​Winter Annals. The Spring and Autumn Annals has traditionally received a great deal of attention as Confucius is reputed to have said, “If I am to gain recognition it is because of my work on the Annals, if I am to be condemned it is because of my work on the Annals”.5 The difficulty with this is that there is very little in the way of moral teaching in the text. We do not find any of Confucius’ basic teachings and the text is very dry and not very informative. Because of the lack of information the Spring and Autumn Annals is usually read with its commentary, the much more gossipy, Zuo Zhuan. The Zuo Zhuan is a much more dramatic account of what was happening; it has been dated to the fourth century bce and is the work of a number of authors.6 The Book of Changes or Yi Jing is a book of divination (that may be more familiar in its older transliteration as the I Ching).7 Yi means “change”, and the text is meant to be a description of the process of change in the universe and in one’s life. Divination is based on two lines, solid _​_​_​_​_​_​ and broken _​_​_​ _​_​_​. These lines are arranged in groups of three, trigrams, beginning with the two basic trigrams, one of which is three solid lines the other three broken lines. The solid and broken lines can be interchanged to make a total of eight trigrams.These eight trigrams are

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then multiplied by themselves to make up the final sixty-​four hexagrams or six line symbols. Each of these hexagrams is thought to represent, through the arrangement of solid and broken lines, the way in which the universe and human life changes.8 The system of the basic eight trigrams was believed to have been invented by a sage-​king, Fu Xi. The Confucian connection comes with the section “The Ten Wings” and commentaries and explanations of the text that were said to have been written by Confucius himself. Modern scholarship has shown that these connections to Confucius are not the case. All the accepted connections of Confucius to these ancient texts have been shown to be mistaken. In the Yi Jing, for example, these commentaries supposedly written by Confucius, have now been dated to the early Han dynasty (c. 220 bce) at least 300 years after his death. What we see with these four books, the Poetry, the History, the Spring and Autumn Annals, and the Yi Jing is that these were all books used by people in the general culture. Over time, Confucians began to claim them as their own using the argument that Confucius had written or edited all of them. In part that is because they believed that in terms of strategy it meant that connecting Confucius to the ancient texts allowed them to appeal to the authority of the past and to place themselves in the mainstream of ancient Chinese culture. After the death of Confucius in 478 bce, we are told that his students collected what they had recited from memory of Confucius’ sayings in a text called the Analects, meaning “conversations”. This has remained our primary source for the life and teaching of Confucius, though it is a work of many authors over a period of time.9 This is where we find basic Confucian teachings: the importance of education, that is a study of the ancients, their texts and rituals; putting oneself in the other’s shoes; filial piety, respect for one’s parents and obedience to their wishes; the way in which ritual ensures a safe and harmonious society; the ideal person, the gentleman, who embodies moral behaviour and ritual; and that a government exists for the benefit of the people. The second text of that sort that became part of the Confucian canon comes from Mencius (371–​289 bce), the great defender of Confucius’ ideas. The Mencius is, like the Analects, a collection of what students remembered of Mencius’ teachings. Mencius expands on Confucius’ teachings, arguing that human nature is good and that morality is natural to human beings and connected to the cosmos itself. Confucius certainly taught ritual, but the Book of Ritual that we now have is not a text he used because it was written after his death.10 The text is, in part, a ritual manual that describes anything a ritual master in one of these small states would need to know: how to properly run a funeral, a wedding, rituals of ancestral veneration, and so on. Given that both Confucius and Mencius spent a lot of time talking about ritual, it is no surprise that this book became important to later Confucians. But it is not just the instructions for ritual that we find in this ritual text. It contains a great deal of material from Xunzi (340–​245 bce), the next great defender of Confucius after Mencius. There are two chapters in the Book of Ritual that will later become recognized as texts on their own. The first of these chapters is The Great Learning, a work

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tradition attributed to Confucius’ grandson. It is a condensed version of Confucian ethical and political thought. It begins with the idea that the aim is moral self-​ cultivation. We come to moral self-​cultivation by “investigating things and extending knowledge”. Once we do that, we become sincere in our thinking and set our minds straight. This, in turn, leads to a family that is properly set up, a state that governs well, and finally to a world that is in harmony. Like a great deal of early Confucian thought, politics and personal ethics are closely related. In the Middle Ages, Confucians will give this text a prominent place. There is a second chapter from the Book of Ritual that went on to be seen as a text in itself and that is the Doctrine of the Mean. It discusses the mean, the middle course, the balance one should achieve personally and cosmically. Personal balance is the same as the balance and harmony of the universe and so this is one of the few early Confucian texts that deals with the transcendent.The Doctrine of the Mean was given prominence by later Confucians to infuse Confucian thought with a personal connection to the universe not generally found in the early texts. Warring States Confucians also wrote the Classic of Filial Piety that describes the central Confucian virtue of filial piety, respect for, and obedience to, one’s parents. It is a very short work that shows Confucius in conversation with one of his students on the topic of filial piety. Modern scholarship has linked this to the Book of Ritual and dates the work about 239 bce.11 As time went on Chinese scholars began to refer to these texts as “classics”. Mencius uses the word “classics” (jing 經) to refer to texts containing the teachings of the ancient sage-​kings and of Confucius. Later Xunzi and other writers of his time began to refer to these books as a set, a canon. Writing developed early in China. By the Shang dynasty (c.1600–​1046 bce), in the thirteenth century bce, a writing system was in use and so its roots are even older.12 It is hard to tell just what the oral roots of Confucian texts are, given the long history of writing in China. It is likely that the Book of Poetry or Book of Songs was, at least in part, an oral tradition before being written down. These poems or songs were meant to be sung or chanted even in their written form. Divination and its interpretation is at the basis of the Yi Jing and this also is likely to have had an original oral basis. Parts of the ritual and historical texts may have had an original oral tradition too. Texts that are the presentation of the teaching of Confucius and of Mencius, the Analects and the Mencius, were memorized, recited and passed on before being written. Before the invention of the printing press, people memorized whole books and recited them to a younger generation, so this too is an oral component to the texts. However, there is little known about the very early oral component of Confucian texts or any early Chinese texts.13 Books were originally written on long strips of wood, particularly bamboo. Each strip was wide enough to have a single Chinese character written on it followed by another and another down to the end of the strip. Traditionally, these strips are generally ½ inch (1 ½ cm) wide and 10 ½ inches (25 cm) long. Holes were punched in the top and bottom and the strips bound together by thread, often silk. Once these strips were bound together, they were rolled up as a scroll. Many of these strips

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have proven very durable and now archaeologists have discovered whole caches of texts written on these bamboo strips. The earliest texts are from the Shang dynasty (sixteenth to eleventh century bce) and this method of writing on strips carried on throughout the Warring States period and into the Han dynasty where they were replaced when the Chinese invented the use of paper. In early times, a form of paper was also used, as were shell and silk mediums. Now that we have looked at the texts, the second problem we began with is to look at the terms “Confucian” and “Confucianism” and deal with the many problems these words raise.There is a great deal of scholarly debate over what constitutes “Confucianism” and just who the Confucians were.14 The first issue is with the English words “Confucian” and “Confucianism”.They come from early Christian missionaries who assumed that any tradition is named after its founder. In Chinese, however, these people are not called “Confucian”, but are called “Ru” and their teaching is “Ru jia” or “Ru jiao” with no reference to Confucius (Chinese name Kongzi) at all. We know that during the Warring States era there were teaching lineages flowing from Confucius and some of his students who, in turn, taught other students. Does that make them all “Confucians”? Some went on to government careers, never putting into practice what they had learned from Confucius; some became “literati” interested in the arts; others became teachers in their own right, emphasizing different areas like ritual, music or politics. So, only a small number might be considered “real Confucians”. They themselves bickered over who was a real Confucian (a real Ru) and by about 250 bce there were at least eight groups of “Confucians” who understood themselves as the proper, right and real Ru.15 On the other hand, during the Warring States era, the enemies of the Confucians had no trouble identifying someone as a Confucian.They were described as loyal to the teachings of Confucius and the ancient sage-​kings. They were associated with certain texts, the same texts we have looked at above.They talked about many of the same things: morality, ritual, government that works for the benefit of the people, and how to become a gentleman. The foundation of the problem in defining Confucianism is that there is no Confucian organization. There is no head person, no governing body, no membership card, no rite of initiation like Baptism, no congregation or organization of followers. Confucianism is not set up like religions you might recognize with a pope or accredited ministers. The texts, and their orthodox interpretation by the scholars of the day are the only things that determine how Confucian some person or some idea may be.

The Han dynasty 206 bce –​ 220 ce When the Warring States era finally ended, the Han dynasty ruled a unified China from 206 bce to 220 ce, roughly contemporary with the Roman empire. In 136 bce the Han emperor established government-​sponsored seats of learning in the “Five Classics” (the books of History, Poetry, Ritual, Changes, and the Spring and

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Autumn Annals).These texts were, by the time of the Han dynasty, referred to as “classics” (jing 經) and collectively called the “Five Classics” (wu jing 五 經) or canon. In 124 bce, Emperor Wu established a government academy so that students could study these texts. If successful in their examinations, they would be eligible for a job in the government. The establishment of this government-​ sponsored academy may sound like Confucianism has become the dominant voice of Chinese culture. Confucian texts were being studied and Confucians, trained in these texts, were moving into government. However, many of these scholars were ignored by their government. Most of the students at the academy were simply looking for civil service jobs and had no real allegiance to Confucian ideals.16 Nor is it clear that the government promotion of these five texts made them “Confucian”. They may just as well be called “official”.17 As well as working with the government in this academy and in these government-​sponsored teaching positions, scholars of the Han dynasty believed that the textual tradition had been broken and books had been lost or destroyed. So they set about restoring the texts and not just Confucian texts. Sima Qian (145–​86 bce) wrote the Shi Ji, the Records of the Historian, a history meant to restore what had been lost in earlier periods and to divide thinkers into schools of thought. Liu Xiang (79–​78 bce) and his son, Liu Xin (46 bce –  23 ce), imperial librarians, rewrote the texts in the imperial library into the standard characters of the time. They took the material they had and divided it into books, further subdividing these books into chapters.They also deleted some material.The result was the form of the texts that we use today.18 Confucians of the Han dynasty were essentially scholars of the classics who saw their job as interpreting these classics and that was, in itself, a monumental task.The Spring and Autumn Annals is a good example of their problems. Confucius had said that his reputation would stand or fall based on the Annals. The Annals, however, consists of brief notes on the events in the state of Lu. There is no mention of the usual Confucian ideas of morality, ritual, the gentleman or good government. The commentary on the Annals, the Zuo Zhuan, is not much better. As a result, Han dynasty Confucian scholars had to deal with a “classic”, the Annals, and its commentary, the Zuo Zhuan, which seemed to have no connection to Confucius’ ideas and teachings and yet was supposed to be the crowning work of Confucius. In the Han dynasty, scholars disagreed about what versions of the classics to use and how to understand them. The dominant group is called the “New Text School”. Their name is based on their use of the new style of writing begun in the Qin and used by the Han dynasty. Their versions of the classics were written in the new style of writing and they used the yin-​yang and five phases theories to interpret the classics. They also understood Confucius to be a very special kind of person. The New Text School was the dominant interpretation of the five classics in the Han dynasty. They argued that everything can be divided into either yin or yang. Yang things are hot, dry, heaven, ruler, male, father and superior. Yin things are cold,

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wet, earth, government minister, female, son and inferior.Yin and yang are meant to be complementary and, like winter and summer, part of a larger cycle. This system can be applied to a text to show that the text is really talking about the relationships and flow of all things. One can use the yin-​yang system to explain how everything from human beings, to history, to the universe works. New Text School Confucians believed they had found the key to unlocking the secret meaning of the Annals and the other Confucian classics. They did not change the body of the texts but brought a whole new system of unlocking the hidden mysteries of the texts. Opposing the New Text School and its interpretations was the Old Text School that based itself on versions of the classics written in the old style of Chinese characters. They were wary of the use of the yin-​yang system to explain the classics and the growing, almost supernatural status of Confucius. It was the outnumbered Old Text School versions of the classics that gradually won out and it is those versions that we use today. However, use of the yin-​yang theory, as well as the idea that there are secrets to the classics and that the texts hold more than they say at first glance, continued. It is in the Han dynasty that we first see a constellation that we will see again in the Middle Ages. The government sponsors the study of what have come to be called Confucian texts by hiring scholars who are expert in them. The government also sponsors an academy where young men go to study these texts and, on graduation, are eligible for civil service jobs. Scholars of these texts use systems to find the real meaning of the texts and so begin to establish a proper reading of the texts, an orthodoxy. When the Han dynasty collapsed in 220 ce, China entered a period of divided rule and foreign invasion. In these unsettled times large extended families tended to have more success economically and in defence. How to govern these large extended families became an issue as adult sons needed to be subordinated to the needs of the dominant father of the group. These patriarchs found the Confucian Classic of Filial Piety to be very helpful in maintaining their authority and they could organize the family around gender and age. It was not just the text that became popular, but stories of feats of filial piety grew from it along with imperial rewards for filial piety, art work and tomb inscriptions. Quotations and teachings from the Classic of Filial Piety spread and this was the first of the Confucian texts to work its way throughout the general population.19

The Middle Ages When China was unified once again under the Sui dynasty (581–​618 ce), the civil service examination system began and developed in later dynasties. The imperial government held local, provincial, and national examinations open to all men. If successful in these examinations, scholars were able to take a job in government. The examination system changed over time, with certain texts and commentaries being added and subtracted. The last examination was held in 1906.

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Boys began studying at five years old and memorized the Confucian classics and then the commentaries on the classics. What books they read and the kinds of questions asked in the exams changed over time, as we shall see.20 It is this examination system that cemented Confucianism’s place in Chinese culture. Confucianism and its texts became the mark of the educated and the powerful. These educated men then wrote manuals for rituals such as funerals and weddings, and books that explained basic Confucian ideas. This was one of the ways that Confucian values percolated through the culture at large. As well, the prestige that went with these texts made them valued. It was the rich and the powerful who learned the Confucian texts. The examination results became a matter of wide speculation and, sometimes, wagering. This meant that ordinary people valued the texts and learned portions of them. Gradually Confucian values and the sayings of Confucius percolated through the culture at large and were seen as an important part of life. The examination system was sponsored by a ministry of the central government. Similarly, Confucian temples, found in any town or city, were built and maintained by the government and titles bestowed on Confucius came from the emperor. In the eighth century ce, Tang dynasty emperor Xuanzong established the Hanlin Academy. As it grew, it was restricted to the elite of scholars who decided on the interpretation of the Confucian texts and who also acted as secretaries to the court, tutors to the emperor’s children, and advisers to the emperor. Only those who had done superlatively well in the civil service examinations were chosen as members. It became clear that the examination system did not produce many “real” Confucians. For most, learning the Confucian classics was just a way to get a powerful civil service job. In the Song dynasty (960–​1279 ce) the great thinker Zhu Xi (1130–​1200 ce) set about reforming Confucianism. As other scholars in the Song dynasty had done, he emphasized some of the texts, singling out the Analects, the Mencius, the Great Learning, and the Doctrine of the Mean.21 These were published as the “Four Books” in 1190 and Zhu Xi’s commentaries on them gave them the highest standing among the Confucian texts. For Zhu Xi, these texts best expressed Confucian thought. He saw them as more accessible to the beginning reader and more interested in psychology (as were the Buddhists). For him, the Four Books carried a coherent message of Confucian teachings. By the early 1300s, the Four Books were given official status as the basic texts of the civil service examinations. The invention of printing using moveable type in the eleventh century in China and Korea meant that these texts and their commentaries were widely available. Zhu Xi argued that the Great Learning was the key to beginning to understand Confucian teachings. It teaches self-​cultivation and shows how this then leads to a good society. In its description of how we can improve ourselves, it describes how this leads to an ordered family, a harmonious state and a peaceful world. The Great Learning is the starting point. The Analects contains the basic teachings of Confucius. It is concerned with the term “gentleman”, the ideal person. A gentleman is educated in the ancient texts; a gentleman practises honesty, moral courage, sincerity and filial piety all of which

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culminate in humanity, a moral stance towards anything that happens in life. The Analects is also concerned with ritual, not just formal rituals of, for example, funerals or ancestral veneration, but the everyday ritual by which we show respect to others. A gentleman, having cultivated humanity and learned ritual, can take his place in government and advise a ruler to rule for the benefit of the people. The Mencius, Zhu Xi argued, also deserves a special place. Like the Great Learning and the Analects, Mencius argued that moral behaviour is acted out in society. He defended Confucius’ ideas by connecting a good human nature to its source – Heaven. Mencius also added to Confucius’ ideas that government should be run by gentleman and always for the public good. For Zhu Xi and other Confucian scholars of his time, what really made Mencius special were passages where Mencius talks about a cosmic connection. Mencius said, “I am good at nourishing my vast and overflowing qi … This qi is unlimited and unmoving. If it is nourished with integrity and not harmed, it fills the space between heaven and earth. This qi unites with rightness and the way”.22 There is an intimate connection between a moral individual and the universe. Mencius also says, “Wherever the great gentleman passes there is transformation. Wherever he stays there is a spiritual influence flowing above and below with Heaven and Earth”.23 This points to a relationship between inner morality and the universe, Heaven and Earth. It is not just Mencius’ extension of Confucius’ thought that Zhu Xi appreciated, but the mystical connection between a proper human being and Heaven leads directly into the fourth book, The Doctrine of the Mean. As we have seen, this had originally been a chapter in the Book of Ritual, but some Confucians had pointed out its particular emphasis on a connection with the universe and it is this part of the text that so interested Zhu Xi. The Doctrine of the Mean says: To have no emotions of pleasure and anger, sorrow or joy surging up is called being in a state of balance/​mean. To have these emotions surging up but all in due time is called being in a state of harmony. The state of balance is the supreme foundation of the world and the state of harmony is its universal path. Once balance and harmony are achieved, Heaven and Earth maintain their proper positions and all things are nourished.24 Once achieved, the balance and harmony in ourselves matches the balance and harmony in the universe. The Doctrine of the Mean raises the virtue of sincerity to these cosmic heights. When our sincerity is complete, we lose the distinction between ourselves and the universe. Sincerity had originally been defined as having no distinction between what is internal to oneself, what we think, and what we do. It is to be completely non-​self-​interested. In the Doctrine of the Mean, the virtue of sincerity is expanded: Sincerity is the way of Heaven, to become sincere is the way of human beings. To be sincere is to hit the balance without effort, to possess it without

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the processes of thought, and to be centered in the way with a natural ease – this is to be a sage. To be sincere is to choose the good and hold to it.25 Here the distinction between the moral person who can cultivate sincerity to such a high level, and Heaven, the universe itself, is lost. The other Confucian texts, earlier referred to as the “Five Classics”, remained part of the official Confucian canon, but Zhu Xi and his followers considered them too difficult for beginners to understand. They promoted the Four Books as the Confucian teachings that describe the process of becoming a true human being and describing our relation to the universe – something seen as more relevant by the Neo-​Confucians, particularly in the face of the great popularity of Buddhism. This orthodoxy, founded and expressed by Zhu Xi, became the orthodox expression of Confucian thought and the orthodox list of texts in the canon and the orthodox interpretation of the canonical texts down to today. Chinese governments, in successive dynasties, continued the establishment and maintenance of Confucian temples and held civil service examinations. The relationship among texts, orthodoxy, civil service examinations, scholars and government lasted down to 1906 when the last civil service exams were held. The Hanlin academy buildings were badly damaged in 1900 during the Boxer Uprising and the academy disbanded in 1911. In 1912 the emperor abdicated and the Chinese Republic was established.

Modern China When it all came crashing to an end, vocal critics of Confucianism and imperial China became part of what is called the May 4th movement. This was not an organized group but a movement of novelists, journalists, students, poets and academics.They attacked Confucianism as the source of all of China’s troubles, arguing that Confucianism was anti-​democratic, deeply sexist, biased against the young, and the reason China had not developed science and technology. One of the authors of the May 4th movement was Lu Xun (1831–​1936). In A Madman’s Diary he claims that careful reading of the Confucian classics will allow one to find the phrase “eat people” throughout. Confucianism is a cannibal tradition where the old devour the young and male devours female.26 The dominance of Confucianism, he argued was what was responsible for the sad state of China in the 1920s. Lu Xun was not alone and many writers of the May 4th movement condemned Confucianism and its texts. After Japanese invasions in World War II and a civil war, the Chinese Communist Party emerged victorious by the end of the 1940s. It had no interest in Confucianism or its texts; many Confucian temples were pulled down or used for other purposes. During the Cultural Revolution (1966–​76), Confucianism became a target of outrage as the symbol of old thinking and old habits. It began to look like Confucianism was truly dead, particularly in China.

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By the 1980s, however, this began to change. A group of mostly academics began to grow and to call themselves the “New Confucians”. They pointed out the economic success of Confucian societies outside of China in Hong Kong, Singapore, Taiwan, Korea and Japan.The New Confucians began to reassess Confucianism and to argue that much of what had been labelled as “Confucian” in the past was nothing of the sort. Real Confucianism, they say, leads to democracy, science, gender equality and progress. The false Confucianism of the past had stifled the orthodox or real Confucianism that they have rediscovered. Most New Confucians also argue that, when this real Confucianism is properly understood, it can clearly be seen to be religious. Passages from the Mencius as well as the Doctrine of the Mean show that Confucianism is a spiritual experience. In the past, Confucian texts had been a means to an end, passing the civil service exams and landing a good job. However, what the texts really teach is spiritual transformation and self-​cultivation. The other text that New Confucians emphasize is the Yi Jing (I Ching) that they read as a way for a person to find their proper place in the eternal transformations and currents of the universe. In order to truly understand the Confucian texts we must approach them with reverence and seriousness and let them teach us a spiritual transformation. While academics were rethinking the Confucian tradition and its texts, the government of China was experiencing problems. The new capitalist wave in China was extremely successful and the economy grew astonishingly but, as a result, it was clear to most Chinese people that the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) was practising the opposite of communism. In addition, the CCP wanted a way to stem what it termed “Western spiritual pollution”.This is the fallout from enormous and fast economic changes: corruption, dishonesty, pornography and drugs. As a result, the government of China began to promote Confucianism as an antidote to these problems, seeing Confucianism as natural to Chinese culture. So began the teaching of Confucianism in the schools. The Confucian ideas taught in schools and the ones the government promotes are primarily filial piety, loyalty, hard work, education and duty. There is little to no mention of any Confucian ideal that might upset the totalitarian government of China – this is true in other places as well such as Korea and Singapore. This version of Confucianism has been described as “stripped down Confucianism”,27 a version of Confucianism boiled down to a preferred essence. So, once again, we have a government sponsoring the teaching of Confucianism: the printing of the Confucian classics; hiring scholars who will teach Confucianism in schools and universities; setting up conferences; rebuilding Confucius’ family home; and establishing Confucius Institutes around the world.

Conclusion Confucian texts and their teachings were always of interest to a few scholars. What made them important to Chinese culture at large was, and is, government

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sponsorship and backing. In the Han dynasty the emperor sponsored scholars who were expert in five classics that, in time, came to be called “Confucian”. The Han dynasty government also set up an academy where the Five Classics were taught. Success in learning these books led to a government job. Government and scholars, working together, also came to an official or orthodox reading of these texts. In the Middle Ages, this relationship between texts and government was revived. Scholars in the Hanlin academy were paid by the government to, among other things, study the classics and come to an official understanding of their meaning. Civil service examinations in the Confucian classics led to civil service jobs for graduates. The intimate connection between scholarship and government once again established the official or orthodox understanding of the texts, in this case, Zhu Xi’s interpretation of the Four Books. The relationship between government and texts broke down in the early twentieth century with the end of the Hanlin academy, the civil service examination system and the abdication of the emperor. We can see the way in which the texts had status when we look at how thoroughly they ended when the political will that promoted them was gone. It was not until the 1980s that the government of China copied some of the ancient and imperial practices by promoting Confucianism again, extolling their official version of the Confucian classics, supporting scholars, and teaching Confucianism and its texts in some schools. The history of Confucian texts is intimately linked to their promotion by governments through the centuries. They retain a special place in Chinese culture to this day, still seen as the pinnacle of ancient scholarship, inscribed in stone and quoted by ordinary people every day.

Notes 1 Another problem involves the term “classic”. In the Analects, Confucius does not refer to “classics” (jing). He says that texts are important; but it is later Confucians who call them classics. Confucius did say that one should study the Book of Poetry and that it is important to do so, but only because it was useful, not because it was a classic. 2 The Book of Poetry, the Shi Jing is also called the Book of Odes, the Book of Songs or just the Songs (See Waley 1996). There were other versions of the text’s poems or songs that circulated down to the Han dynasty. 3 For a description of the Book of Poetry, its history, versions and transmissions, see Nylan 2001, pp. 72f. 4 The Book of History, the Shu Jing or Shang Shu, is also called the Classic of Documents, Classic of History, Book of Documents or just the Documents. For a full description of the text, see Nylan 2001, pp. 120f. In 1993, archaeologists excavated a tomb in the town of Guodian, Hubei, near the capital of the Warring States state of Chu, finding 804 bamboo strips of texts, mostly philosophical texts. The tomb is dated to 300 bce so these are the earliest versions of texts that are extant. For the Book of History, see Liao Mingchun 2001. 5 Mencius, 38.9. All the translations here are mine. The Annals cover a period of history in the state of Lu from 722 to 481 bce. 6 For a full description of the text and its transmission, see Nylan 2001, pp. 253f. 7 The Book of Changes is also called the Classic of Change, Zhou Yi or Yi. For a more full description of the text, see Nylan 2001, pp. 202f. For a discussion of the ZhouYi, the Book

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of Changes as found in the Shanghai Museum purchase of bamboo strips, see Edward L. Shaughnessy 2005–​2006, pp. 1–​25. 8 Because it is the source of cosmology and moral ideas for both Confucian and Daoist thinkers, Liu argues that it “is the single most important work in the history of Chinese philosophy”. Liu JeeLoo 2006, p. 26. Fascination with this book of divination continues among scholars even today. There have been recent translations and discussions of the text that look at the layers in the text and the historical development of the text; see Shaughnessy 1997 and Lynn 1994. 9 Scholars still debate the dating and authorship of the Analects, but it seems to have been compiled near the end of  Warring States era and given its title Lun Yu in the Han dynasty. See Cheng,“LunYu” in Loewe 1993, pp. 314–​15.There were at least three versions of the text. 10 The Book of Ritual, Li Ji, is also called the Book of Rites or the Record of Rites. There are a number of ritual texts in addition to the Book of Ritual, the Zhou Li and the Yi Li, compiled around the time of Mencius.The Book of Ritual, the Li Ji, is thought to have reached its present form in the early Han dynasty. For a description of the ritual texts; see Nylan 2001, pp. 168f. 11 Its authorship is now considered to be unknown but it may have been composed before 239 bce because passages from it appear in the Lu Shi Chunqiu, a text from that date. For a description of the chapters and the contents of the Classic of Filial Piety see Rosemont and Ames 2009, pp. 6–​7, and see the rest of the text for a good discussion of the issues involved and a modern translation. 12 These are the “oracle bones” of the Shang dynasty. Bones or shells of animals were heated in a divination ceremony and the cracks read as Chinese characters, forerunners of the same characters that are used in modern times. Discoveries of what might be an even earlier writing system on pottery predating the oracle bones by 5,000 years is still much debated. 13 Scholarly discussion continues, see for example, Barend J. ter Haar 2013, pp. 45–​61. 14 For two views in this debate, see, for example, Csikszentmihalyi 2004, pp.  31f. and Michael Nylan in Daniel A. Bell 2008, p. 85. 15 See, for example,“Against Physiognomy” Knoblock 1988 (vol. 1), p. 208 and “Against the Twelve Philosophers” Knoblock 1988 (vol. 1), p. 224. 16 Knapp, Selfless Offspring 2005, p. 21. See pp. 22f. for a discussion of the debate on the Confucianization of the Han dynasty. 17 See Nylan 2001, p. 2. 18 For a description of this process, see Edward L. Shaughnessy (2006). 19 See Knapp 2005, pp. 4f. Extraordinary service including making life-​saving medicines for one’s parents from pieces of one’s own flesh. 20 Miyazaki China’s Examination Hell 1981, pp. 36f. 21 It was claimed that Zengzi, one of Confucius’ best students had written the Great Learning. Zisi, Confucius’ grandson was accepted as the author of the Doctrine of the Mean. This gave these two, now independent, texts an orthodox pedigree as descending almost directly from Confucius himself. For a full discussion and translation of the Four Books, see Gardner 2007. 22 Mencius 2A.2. 23 Mencius 7A.13. 24 Doctrine of the Mean, the Zhong Yong part 1. Compare Gardner 2007, pp. 111–​12. 25 Doctrine of the Mean, part 20. Compare Gardner 2007, p. 121. 26 Lu Xun (1918) “A Madman’s Diary” in New Youth magazine. 27 Joseph B. Tamney and Linda Hsueh-​Ling Chiang 2002, p. 74.

References Cheng, A. (1993) “Lun Yu”, in Michael Loewe (ed.) Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographic Guide. Berkeley, CA: The Society for the Study of Early China, pp. 321–​28.

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Csikszentmihalyi, M. (2004) Material Virtue: Ethics and the Body in Early China (vol. LXVI). Leiden: Brill Sinica Leidensia. Gardner, D.K. (2007) The Four Books:  the Basic Teachings of the Later Confucian Tradition. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Knapp, K.N. (2005) Selfless Offspring:  Filial Children and Social Order in Medieval China. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai Press. Knoblock, J. (1988) Xunzi: A Study and Translation of the Complete Works (3 vols). Stanford, CT: Stanford University Press. Liao, Mingchun (2001) A Preliminary Study on the Newly-​unearthed Inscriptions of the Chu Kingdom: An Investigation of the Materials from and about the Shangshu in the Guodian Chu Slips. Taipei: Taiwan Guji. Liu, JeeLoo (2006) An Introduction to Chinese Philosophy. Oxford: Blackwell. Loewe, M. (ed.) (1993) Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographic Guide. Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China. Lynn, R.J. (trans.) (1994) Confucius: The Classic of Changes: A New Translation of the I Ching. New York: Columbia University Press. Miyazaki, I. (1981) China’s Examination Hell: the Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China. Translated by Conrad Schirokauer. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Nylan, M. (2001) The Five “Confucian” Classics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. —​—​—​(2008) “Boundaries of the Body and Body Politic in Early Confucian Thought”, in Daniel A. Bell (ed.) Confucian Political Ethics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008), pp. 112–​35. Rosemont, H. Jr. and Ames, R. (2009) The Chinese Classic of Family Reverence: A Philosophical Translation of the Xiaojing. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press. Shaughnessy, E.L. (1997) (trans.) Confucius:  I  Ching:  The Classic of Changes. New  York: Ballantine. —​—​—​(2005–​06) “A First Reading of the Shanghai Museum Bamboo-​Strip Manuscript of the Zhou Yi”, Early China, 30, pp. 1–​25. —​—​—​ (2006) Rewriting Early Chinese Texts. Albany, GA: SUNY Press. Tamney, J.B. and Hsueh-​Ling Chiang, L. (2002) Modernization, Globalization, and Confucianism in Chinese Societies. London: Praeger. ter Haar, B.J. (Spring 2013) “Toward Retrieving Early Oral Traditions: Some Ruminations on Orality and Textuality in Early Chinese Culture”, in New Perspectives on the Research of Chinese Culture. Singapore, pp. 45–​61. Waley, A. (trans.) (1996) Confucius:The Book of Songs. New York: Grove Press.

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15 THE DAODEJING AS A SACRED TEXT Ronnie Littlejohn

The Daodejing (DDJ) also known as the Laozi must be ranked as one of the most important spiritual classics of world literature; and as a sacred text, a document of religious practice and reflected belief. This claim is not without objection. Not all users of the Daodejing, whether in China or elsewhere, share the opinion that the DDJ is a religious text. Some think of it exclusively as philosophical in intent; or as principally a work of literary interest. This is an important issue, but its resolution emerges by considering not only how the text is used in the modern or contemporary period, but also its compilation, use, and authority throughout Chinese history. For centuries, this text functioned as an important guide for religious communities and even before that for lineages of teachers who looked to it as a means for opening a gateway to illumination and biospiritual transformation for their students. It is both a repository of the remembered experiences of numinal consciousness which are fundamental to the sacred and a manual for adepts who sought such experiences.

How the DDJ came into being The “received” version of the DDJ is divided into eighty-​one “chapters” consisting of slightly over 5,000 Chinese characters as edited by Wang Bi (pp. 226–​49) for a commentary he wrote on the work. Although Wang Bi was not a Daoist, his version became the standard DDJ for use in Chinese history and most translations of the text into other languages. Generally speaking, even today, scholars depart from it only when they can make a compelling argument for doing so. The long standing traditional belief in China based on the biography of Laozi in Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) is that the DDJ was written by a single author, named Laozi; or more accurately, that it was dictated by him to a person named Yin Xi upon the occasion of Laozi’s leaving China to go to the

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western territories (i.e. India). According to this tradition, Yin Xi was “guardian of the pass” through which persons passed on their westward journey. However, recent archaeological finds in tombs at Mawangdui in 1973 and Guodian in 1993, along with the application of textual and form critical studies of the DDJ, have all but certainly dismantled any belief that there was some pristine text that could be traced to a single author. The Mawangdui and Guodian versions of the DDJ, which are older than the one passed down from Wang Bi, also have content differences from his text. The oldest version of the DDJ currently in our possession is represented by three bundles of bamboo slips simply called Laozi A, B, C, or The Bamboo Laozi (Zhujian Laozi) found at Guodian within the Jishan complex of about 300 tombs with extant earthen mounds. Tomb Number One contained 730 inscribed bamboo slips, seventy-​one of these in three bundle rolls contain material that is also found in thirty-​one of the eighty-​one “chapters” of the DDJ and corresponding to ­chapters 1–​66 of the received text. The three bundles of slips containing the DDJ texts may well have been bound independently. Even so, taking them all together, the text still represents only about one-​third of the received Wang Bi DDJ. Sarah Allan has demonstrated that the sections of text in the DDJ bundles do not all correspond to complete chapters in the received version, while several chapters in the received version are not marked off separately on the slips (Allan and Williams 2000, p. 136). The slips do not include any dates and there is no other dated material in the tomb.Thus the dating of the tomb relies on a comparison of burial practice style and the artifacts in it. Lacquer ear cups, a pottery ding vessel and bronze mirror are essentially the same in design, patterning, shape, and decoration as those excavated from Jingmen Baoshan in tombs that can be accurately dated to the mid-​Warring States period, that is, from the mid-​fourth to early third century bce (c. 320–​290 bce). The tomb structure and artifacts support dating the slips approximately to 300 bce (Liu 2006, p. 32). If this is correct, we can be sure that versions of the DDJ materials were already in circulation in the period of the Jixia Academy (c. 318–​284 bce) and at, or before, the earliest parts of the other prominent Daoist text, Zhuangzi. Who was the occupant of the tomb and what role could he have played in the formation and/​or use of the DDJ? An interesting feature of Guodian tomb Number One in which the bamboo slips of the DDJ were discovered is that it contains only philosophical texts. There are none of the usual divination texts or burial inventories found in other tombs in the complex. Donald Harper, Liu Zuxin, and Xu Shaohua have all made arguments based on the number of coffins used for the occupant, as well as the provenance and contents of the tomb that the occupant was a male noble of the state of Chu (Allan and Williams 2000, p. 123). Li Xueqin holds that the inscribed phrase (donggong zhi shi) on the bottom of the lacquer cup in the tomb means that the occupant was a teacher at the Eastern Palace, which was the residence of a prince of Chu, and where shi means “teacher” or “tutor”, suggesting this man was the teacher of a Chu prince. In support of this conclusion, there is also the evidence that some of the texts in the tomb were in the style of one-​line

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statements known as yu cong – a form used in instructional textbooks and teacher guides (Allan and Williams 2000, p. 124). A concern with this hypothesis is that if the occupant was the teacher of a prince, we should expect that the standard classical literati texts such as the Classic of Poetry (Shijing) and Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) would also be in the tomb, although they are not. For example, tomb Number Three at Mawangdui, where silk versions of the DDJ were discovered, was the burial chamber of a military general who may have been the unnamed son of Lady Dai, wife of the Marquis of Dai of the ruling family of Changsha. In this tomb, in addition to the DDJ, there was also the Spring and Autumn Annals. There may be an answer to this puzzle that literati texts are absent from the prince’s teacher’s tomb at Guodian. The very absence of these texts may tell us something about the kind of teachers the Chu court was seeking. Chapter 17 of the Zhuangzi may reinforce this line of reasoning. In that chapter, the King of Chu is reported to have sent two representatives to ask whether the Daoist master Zhuangzi will come and assist with the administration of the realm. This narrative may be evidence for the preference at the Chu court in the 300s bce for teachers who were pursuing an alternative way to the traditional education of the literati. There is both physical and textual evidence suggesting that the texts on the Guodian slips did not come from the same source. The slips in each bundle themselves are of different length, there are different numbers of characters per slip in each bundle, and there are variations in the style of the writing among the three bundles. Moreover, Harold Roth has done a comparison of two versions of the received DDJ, c­ hapter 64 with those found in both Guodian bundle A and bundle C. He found at least thirty-​three textual variations, suggesting these passages could not have been taken from each other, nor could they have had a common source. Bundle A and C could not have been based on each other and it is possible that their common ancestor may be several generations earlier (Roth 2000, p. 78). Robert Henricks has laid out the two broad options for the relationship between the Guodian DDJ and the received version. One possibility is that the received DDJ already existed and the Guodian slips represent selections copied from it, probably for specific instructional interests. The other possibility is that the Guodian DDJ represents sayings chosen from a larger group of oral or written materials, and that they were gathered and compiled by the tomb’s occupant for teaching purposes. Mawangdui is the name for a site of tombs discovered near Changsha in modern Hunan province in 1973. The tombs contain many fascinating materials including the earliest manuscript of the Classic of Changes (Yijing) in our possession and two DDJ manuscripts. The DDJ texts have been dated to before 195 bce and consist of two incomplete editions on silk scrolls (boshu) now simply called “A” and “B”. These versions have two principal differences from that of  Wang Bi: (1) Some word choice divergences are present, although these seem not to change the meaning of the text. (2) The order of the “chapters” varies considerably.

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The two silk versions of the DDJ in this tomb differ from the received text and from each other, providing sure evidence that at this early date there was more than one version of the DDJ already in circulation (Henricks 1993, p. viii). Nevertheless, there are no chapters in the Mawangdui versions that are not found in the received text.While the Mawangdui versions divide the text as a whole into two parts, reversing the order of the received text (Dedaojing not Daodejing), they lack any chapter divisions and read as continuous wholes. If one follows the “chapter” divisions of the received text, then ­chapters 38–​81 in the Wang Bi version come before ­chapters 1–​37 in the Mawangdui versions. More precisely, the order of the Mawangdui texts takes the traditional eighty-​one chapters and sets them out like this: ­chapters 38, 39, 40, 42–​66, 80, 81, 67–​79, 1–​21, 24, 22, 23, 25–​37. Henricks has published a translation of these texts with extensive notes and comparisons with the Wang Bi under the title Lao-​Tzu,Te-​tao Ching (1993). Interestingly, if D.C. Lau is correct that the division of the DDJ into two main sections was probably done to conform to the traditional story that upon leaving China a person named Laozi wrote a work in “two books” and presented it to Yin Xi, then it is possible that this tradition and the association of the DDJ with a figure named Laozi predates 195 bce and resides in oral tradition about a hundred years before Sima Qian’s Records of the Historian version of the tale (Lau 1963, p. vii). Individual units (logion) of all DDJ versions from Guodian, Mawangdui, and that of Wang Bi are often set off with markings. On the Guodian slips this is a dark square mark. The Guodian practice allows us to isolate some units composing “chapters” in the received text. A study of these reveals that many of the units consist of metered and even rhymed verse, indicative of a period of earlier oral transmission in which memorization was facilitated by carrying the ideas in poetic form and displaying little interest in the concept of an author (Roth 2000, p. 82).William Baxter has demonstrated that these rhyme-​schemes are also shared by the Inner Training (Neiye) sections of the larger and older work, Guanzi (Allan and Williams 2000, p. 83 n. 23). Even if these other texts did not win out as the DDJ did, a study of them may surely clarify the transition from oral tradition to written text. With respect to the received text, although few scholars question the idea that the DDJ is composed of many discrete units and that “chapters” often contain several such pieces, there is much less agreement over what actual units exist in a chapter. For example, consider this illustration of the way in which D.C. Lau and Michael LaFargue atomize DDJ ­chapter 15. Lau believes ­chapter 15 contains two originally separate units. LaFargue thinks there are more text units in the chapter. He also tries to indicate certain editorial transitions designed to smooth the connections between the units by placing lines he attributes to the editor in italics. We are now in a position to work backward from the earliest versions of our DDJ into the oral period and make some comments about the sources and purposes of the aphorisms and teachings that came to be embodied in this sacred text. About these things we can be quite confident based on the content and structure of the text.

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218  Ronnie Littlejohn TABLE 15.1 The DJJ: an illustration of ­Chapter 15 by D.C. Lau and Michael LaFargue

Lau (1963)

LaFargue (1992)

15a. Of old he who was well versed in the way Was minutely subtle, mysteriously comprehending, And too profound to be known. It is because he could not be known That he can only be given a makeshift description: Tentative, as if fording a river in winter; Hesitant, as if in fear of his neighbors; Formal like a guest; Falling apart like thawing ice; Think like the uncarved block; Vacant like a valley; Murky like muddy water.

15a. The excellent shi 士 of ancient times penetrated into the most obscure, the marvelous, the mysterious. They had a depth beyond understanding.

15b. Who can be muddy and yet, settling, slowly become limpid? Who can be at rest and yet, stirring, slowly come to life? He who holds fast to this way Desires not to be full. It is because he is not full That he can be worn and yet newly made.

15b. They were simply beyond understanding, the appearance of their forceful presence: Cautious, like one crossing a stream in winter timid, like one who fears the surrounding neighbors reserved, like guests yielding, like ice about to melt unspecified, like the Uncarved Block all vacant space, like the Valley everything mixed together, like muddy water. 15c. Who is able, as muddy water, by stilling to slowly become clear? Who is able, at rest, by long drawn-​out movement to slowly come to life? 15d. Whoever holds onto this Tao does not yearn for solidity. 15e. He simply lacks solidity, and so what he is capable of: Remaining concealed, accomplishing nothing new.

(1) The DDJ was created by individuals who were seeking illumination and transformation of their consciousness, even their entire biospiritual being. (2) The DDJ’s component units, many of which are identifiable by form and textual critical methods are remembered experiences, records of illuminated insights and teachings offered to disciples, and admonitions to adepts and seekers.

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(3) The DDJ may be thought of as a collected reservoir of narratives, aphorisms, and rhymed teachings. We cannot be certain whether the earliest versions of what we now have as the received text were more like random collections or whether redaction always took place according to the interests of a specific editor, master, or teacher. (4) The units of the various “chapters” were gathered by practitioners and meant to be used by them with those seeking similar experiences and knowledge. So, the DDJ was never intended to be a book of history, a political treatise, or a repository of philosophical speculation. It is the record of experiences and teachings of practitioners, thus the title sometimes used of the text, the Laozi is not a bad fit. Here Laozi is not a personal name but means simply what the Chinese characters represent: lao “ancient” and zi “teacher(s)”.

The DDJ: testifying to the way of sacrality Once the realization sinks into the interpreter’s consciousness that the origin of the DDJ units is traceable to experiences of illumination and transformation of biospiritual being, then a second follows. There is much in the text that cannot be understood, or can only be grasped intellectually at a distance, unless one is also practicing as the work invites one to do. A considerable amount of the DDJ’s meaning is not so much hidden in some esoteric manner, as it is inaccessible to a reader who keeps the work at a distance from actual practice. The goal of the practice of unity with the Dao as represented in this text is something no less than the biospiritual transformation of one’s being. It is to this end that the text contains material concerned with navigating through life by being moved by the Dao (ch. 56), the cultivation of one’s life energy (qi, ch. 10), and emptying oneself of the moral and social distinctions and discriminations which entangle one and are the sources of the view that life is problematic of some sort, like a puzzle to be dissolved or full of dilemmas to be negotiated (chs 38, 57). Quietude, stillness, emptiness (ch. 28) are all practices in the DDJ which play a role similar to prayer, meditation, study of scripture, listening to proclamation, and the like in other spiritual traditions. These are gateways to opening the consciousness of numinal realities and thus they are instruments of spiritual transformation (ch. 10). It is this experience that is the source of being able to move through life free of the distinctions of this “dusty world”, and live effortlessly and naturally (wu-​ wei, chs 3, 55, 63). Living in this manner is free from the directives of morality or social construction, which Confucians called rites or rituals of social interaction (li). The DDJ does not blame desire alone for the cause of anguish, poor health, violence and immorality as one might find being done in Buddhism. It is instead the distinctions that humans make which are the roots of desires that are the problem. Desire in itself is not an impediment to walking the Dao, although once we empty ourselves of discriminations and distinctions, desires change, diminish, and some

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even melt away. But in the DDJ itself, we do not find the asceticism and monastic life as an ideal. Such practices, even in later forms of Daoism, are interpreted into it, or imposed upon the text. In Daoist history, such a reading of the text coincided with and followed upon the interaction between Daoism and Buddhism, and some later Daoist lineages (e.g. Lingbao and Quanzhen Daoism) formed to express just such readings. What is important to note is that in doing so, these lineages also found the need to create new scriptures of their own because textual support from the DDJ is so sparse. Who created and transmitted the units of the DDJ that were compiled into the text? Michael LaFargue is among the small number of recent scholars to offer a theory of the original historical context of the component DDJ logia. He thinks most units (logia) can be traced to a group he calls the Laoists. According to LaFargue, the Laoists were a class of persons made up of downwardly moving, dispossessed nobility, and upwardly mobile ambitious peasants. He believes some of the DDJ units began as polemical statements against views, assumptions and tendencies these thinkers opposed, while others were conversations and teachings given by Laoist teachers to their students (LaFargue 1992, pp. 196–​98). My own view is that the units that make up the DDJ had their origin in a religious context.1 Kristofer Schipper says, The whole philosophy of this book of the Old Master – and in this respect the work is entirely different from the other classical philosophies – is born out of the situation of the adept of the Mysteries, and of his search for long life. Schipper 1993, p. 191 Although we are still reconstructing the movements and groups of the formative period of the DDJ, I believe we can be confident that persons practiced in divergent arts and variously called masters of techniques and esoterica (fangshi), perfected persons (zhenren) and spirit persons (shenren) were active in transmitting teachings and skills to their disciples. I shall group these various names under the general term of “master”. These persons can be traced in the Records of the Grand Historian to the states of Yan and Qi predating the third century bce (Robinet 1997, p. 37). They passed their teachings and practices along to their own disciples, and when these adepts moved among teachers the result was the creation of family resemblances in concepts and observances, but seemingly no institutionalized structure. So, in this sense Roth guides us well. There is no philosophical school of Daoism in the period of the DDJ’s formation, but there are lineages and these eventually grew sinew between them and also become individually more robust (Roth 1999, pp. 181, 193). This recognition may serve as a reminder to us that the DDJ is not to be seen merely as a document expressing particular perspectives, but it is itself an actor in its own formation. It was not merely created by a stream of teaching and practice; it also recreated the ongoing transmission of beliefs and observances. I suspect that this is the truth that lies in the story of its delivery to gatekeeper Yin, who himself

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becomes a major figure in the transmission of its teachings. My contention is that the DDJ is the visible and tangible evidence of the sort of materials passed along in these lineage transmissions. Elsewhere I have compared the source masters of the DDJ units to Epimenides, Pythagoras, Parmenides and Empedocles (Littlejohn 2015, pp. 38–​44). Of these persons, the DDJ says, The ancient Masters were subtle, mysterious and far-​reaching. Their wisdom was unfathomable. Only with difficulty can we try to describe them: They were careful as someone crossing an iced-​over stream. Alert as a warrior in enemy territory. Courteous as a guest. Fluid as melting ice. Shapable as a block of wood. Receptive as a valley. Opaque like muddy water. (ch. 15)2 Actually, the Zhuangzi is currently our most vivid early source for understanding what these masters looked like. We can develop a composite picture of them that looks something like this. (1) The masters had profound experiences of numinal consciousness. Without multiplying examples of this characteristic, I  refer the reader to only these two:  Laozi’s comment in ­chapter  13 on the insufficiency of materiality to convey full truth and Cheng of North Gate’s experience in ­chapter  14 on the shore of Dongting lake. In ­chapter  7, Tian Gen is seeking out a master along the south of Yin Mountain on the banks of the Liao River when he met “Nameless Man” whom he identified as the person being sought by what he said: I’m just about to set off with the creator. And if I get bored with that, then I’ll ride off on the Light and Lissome Bird out beyond the six directions, wandering in the village of Not-​Even-​Anything and living in the Board-​and-​ Borderless field … Let your mind wander in simplicity, blend your spirit with the vastness, follow along with things the way they are. (ch. 7) (2) The source masters of DDJ units possessed remarkable abilities for navigating life’s fortunes (e.g. from ch.1, Liezi and the spirit man of Gushe). (3) Adepts did apprenticeships and then became teachers themselves, and other masters referred their students to new teachers well practiced in various areas of wisdom or arts. Chapter 23 concerned with Gengsang Chu and his relationship to Laozi is an excellent example of this process.

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(4) Masters often lived in similar areas and had friendship and teaching groups (i.e. the sets of friends Masters Si, Yu, Li and Lai; Zi Sanghu, Meng Zifan and Zi Qinzang; and Yu and Sang, all in ch. 6). (5) Their spiritual experiences often occurred in mountain caves where they practiced stillness (the masters of the Cinnabar caves in ch. 28). This practice of stillness was rewarded with moments of alternative consciousness (i.e. Yan Hui’s comment to Confucius in ch. 6: “I can sit down and forget everything. I smash up my limbs and body, drive out perception and intellect, cast off form, do away with understanding, and make myself identical with the Great Dao)”.3 In another passage, Confucius goes to call on Lao Dan (i.e. Laozi). Lao Dan has just finished washing his hair and has spread it over his shoulders to dry. Utterly motionless, he does not even seem to be human. Confucius, hidden from sight, stands waiting, and then after some time presents himself and exclaims, Did my eyes play tricks on me, or was that really true? A moment ago, Sir, your form and body seemed stiff as an old dead tree, as though you had forgotten things, taken leave of men, and were standing in solitude itself! (ch. 21) (6) Of these persons, Confucius is made to say in ­chapter 6:“they roam beyond the dust and dirt, they wander free and easy in submitting to wu-​wei”. Kenneth DeWoskin has studied lineages of such masters during the Han and calls them “outsiders” because they were not a part of the official Confucian literati; a circumstance that seems likely true of the teacher of the Eastern Palace prince at Guodian. Isabelle Robinet has shown that these teachers studied the principles of phenomena also described in the Yin-​Yang school and practiced manipulations of the Five Elements (wu-​xing) to produce biospiritual transformations. She provides this description. They dedicated themselves to astrology, magic, medicine, divination and geomancy, as well as to the methods of achieving longevity and to ecstatic wanderings. … They were the possessors of a parallel wisdom, transmitted from master to disciple, either orally or by means of secret texts. Various lines of transmission can be traced, but these do not really constitute separate schools because the lines intersect: a single disciple did not hesitate to work under several masters and to follow various disciplines. Robinet 1997, p. 37 Robinet notices that there are evidences of connections between the tradition these “outsiders” transmitted and the Zhuangzi both in terms of recurring concepts and narrative plot contexts (Robinet 1997, p. 36). One of the concepts in the DDJ that has an obvious connection to the sacrality of its content is the use of “spiritual vessel (shen qi)” in ­chapter 21:

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Those who would gain the world (qu tian xia) and do something with it, I see they will fail. For the world is a spiritual vessel (shen qi) and we cannot put it to use. Those who [try to] use it ruin it. The characters 神器 refer to the objects used in the performance of rituals. Today, these objects are usually made from paper. In the period of the formation of the DDJ they were usually made of straw. They were in the shapes of gods, horses, persons, houses or palaces. Physically speaking, they are empty. When they are “activated” by a master, either by means of an incantation, reading of a talisman, and/​or the application of blood, they became full of numinal presence, captured in the use of the term shen (i.e. numinous, spiritual). Even though to the eye they still look empty, they were not so regarded. The use of such objects in this manner is as old as we can reconstruct rituals in the popular religion of China, and references in the DDJ and the Zhuangzi aid us in establishing this claim (DDJ, ch. 5, Zhuangzi, ch. 14). If we use what we know about these vessels to aid our interpretation of the DDJ we can see that the text means that the world is an activated spiritual vessel. And this parallels well with DDJ ­chapter 62 where Dao is to nature, as the ao is to a house. The ao was located in the south-​west corner of a house, where the household gods were lodged and venerated in the family altar. This suggests that the Dao is to natural order as this kind of numinal reality is to the household. Some units of the DDJ may have had confessional uses, some didactic, some admonitionary, and some may have had initiatory uses. I  offer these as possible examples. Confessional: If I know anything at all, it is that in following the Great Dao, there is but one concern: the Great Dao is without tangles and effortless; It is people who love the side paths wandering astray. (ch. 56) The form of profound virtue [kongde] comes from the Dao alone As for the Dao’s nature it is trance-​like [huang hu] Hu! Huang! There is an image within it. Huang! Hu! There is something within it. Deep! Mysterious! Within is numinal energy [jing]. This numinal energy is undeniably real, Experiencing it is its own proof. (ch. 21) Look for it [Dao] and it cannot be seen; Listen for it and it cannot be heard;

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But use it and it will never run dry! (ch. 35) Didactic: The perfected person [zhenren] knows the male but preserves the female, and is a canyon for the whole world. If you are a canyon for the whole world, constant virtuous power [de] will never leave you, and you can return to being an infant. If you are a valley for the world, you will have constantly sufficient virtuous power (de) and you can return to being uncarved wood. (ch. 28) When the best scholars hear about the Dao, they put it into practice and become perfected persons [zhenren]. When average scholars hear about the Dao, they sometimes practice it and sometimes forsake it. When the worst scholars hear about the Dao, they laugh at it! If they did not laugh at it, it would not really be the Dao. (ch. 41) When the Great Dao was abandoned, there arose human virtue; When human virtue was lost, there was benevolence; When benevolence was lost; appropriateness arose. When appropriateness was lost, there arose rules, The rules are the beginning of chaos and disorder. (ch. 38) Admonition: Cultivate the Dao in your person, and the virtuous power [de] you develop will be genuine. Cultivate the Dao in your family, and the family’s de will be more than enough. Cultivate the Dao in your village, and the village’s de will long endure. Cultivate the Dao in your state, and the state’s de will be abundant. Cultivate the Dao throughout the world, and the world’s de will be pervasive. (ch. 54) Manifest plainness. Embrace simplicity. Do not think just of yourself. Make few your desires. (ch. 19) Hold on to the great image [of the Dao] and the whole world will come to you. They will come and suffer no harm; They will be peaceful, secure, and prosperous. (ch. 35) Initiation: Those good at traveling leave no tracks or traces.

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Those good at speaking are free of slips or flaws. Those good at numbers need not count or reckon. Those good at closing up need no bolts or locks, Yet what they have tied cannot be undone. This is why sages are good at saving people and so never abandon them. They are good at saving things and so never waste. This is called inheriting enlightenment. The person of skill is looked up to by the one who lacks it. The person who lacks skill is material for the one who possesses it. Those who do not honor their teachers or who fail to care for their material, though knowledgeable are still profoundly deluded. This is a fundamental mystery. (ch. 27) In the pursuit of learning, one does more each day; In the pursuit of the Dao, one does less each day; One does less and less until one is able to do nothing [wu-​wei]; One does nothing [wu-​wei], yet nothing is left undone. Gaining the world always is accomplished by following this path. As soon as one actively ties [to gain the world], one will fall short of gaining the world. (ch. 48) Some units of the DDJ seem to be guiding an adept through the process necessary for having a certain sort of experience. They pose questions that are not actually intended to be answered discursively, although they should be answered performatively. Let us take simply DDJ ­chapter 10 which poses this question to the seeker: “When the portal of Heaven opens and closes, can you play the part of the feminine? Comprehending all within the four directions, can you reside in wu-​wei?” “When the portal of heaven opens and closes” is a way of expressing that state of consciousness in which one is ready and open to an awareness that is not limited merely to the five senses; to a presence which is a mystery and inexpressible in language (cf. DDJ, chs 1 and 21). If, when Heaven’s gate opens, one can be receptive and supple, as the feminine is, then a profound virtue (kongde, ch. 21) will empower one to act in wu-​wei.

The DDJ’s spiritual authority The earliest uses of the DDJ are impossible to reconstruct completely. However, if we go to the most ancient examples of the text and consider the venue of its discovery, some interpretations are possible. The DDJ slips from Guodian and the silk manuscripts from Mawangdui were both used as instructional manuals. In the case of Guodian, the slips were used by the teacher of the Eastern Palace in working with his students, including perhaps the Prince of Chu. In Mawangdui, the silk manuscripts seem to have been used as instruments of self-​cultivation at the very least.

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The ascending authority of the DDJ comes into view not only through its role in instruction, but also from its use in other important ancient Chinese texts. The Zhuangzi makes scattered use of either direct quotes or close parallels to the DDJ, with ­chapters 8–​10 being very close in sentiments to many text units from the DDJ, even speaking often of the right approach to “the Dao and De”. These chapters in Zhuangzi made a consistent argument in what may well be a unified essay written by a single author. In that essay, the author argues against the use of discriminations such as benevolence (ren) and appropriateness (yi) which are likewise much criticized in units of the DDJ (chs 18, 19, and 38). Some logia of the DDJ are quoted in Zhuangzi ­chapters 8–​10 including components of DDJ ­chapters 36, 45, and 80. The ways in which expressions of Laozi in the seventeen passages in which he occurs in the Zhuangzi sound like sentiments in the DDJ represent collectively another basis for the traditional association of Laozi as author of the DDJ. For example, at Laozi’s funeral in Zhuangzi ­chapter 3, Qin Shi valorizes Laozi by saying that he accomplished much without appearing to do so, which is a reference both to the Laozi’s rejection of pursuit of fame and power and also praise for his conduct as wu-​wei in oneness with Dao. Qin Shi’s praise of Laozi is also consistent with Laozi’s teaching to Yangzi Ju in ­chapter 7 not to seek fame and power. Such conduct and attitudes are encouraged strongly in DDJ ­chapters 2, 7, 22, 24, 51, and 77. Moreover, in Zhuangzi ­chapter 5, when Laozi tells Wuzhi to return to Confucius and set him free from the disease of problematizing life and tying himself in knots by helping him to empty himself of making discriminations this same teaching shows up in the DDJ in many places (e.g. chs 5 and 18). Likewise, in Zhuangzi ­chapters 13 and 14, Laozi criticizes Confucius for trying to distribute the literati classics (twelve in number in ch. 13 and six in ch. 14) instead of valuing the wordless teaching, which is impressed on one when the gate of Heaven and Earth is open. The DDJ has a ready parallel to this argument in c­ hapter 56. Additionally, while Confucius is teaching his disciples to put forth effort and cultivate benevolence (ren) and appropriate conduct (yi), Laozi tells him that he should be teaching wu-​wei instead in Zhuangzi ­chapters 13, 14, and 21. This same teaching also shows up in the DDJ (chs 2, 3, 20, 47, 48, 57, 63, and 64.) Asking whether the use of these materials by the Zhuangzi reflects the rising authority of the DDJ is not so simple a question as it first appears. It takes us into the deep waters of disputes about whether the DDJ predated the Zhuangzi, or if the Zhuangzi is using a common oral or written traditions of logia that circulated in complete or partial proto-​versions of the DDJ. Noticing the place given to DDJ logia in two other works falls under the same concern. The Huainanzi (168 bce) is strongly indebted to logia that appear in the DDJ, especially in ­chapters 1 and 11. This is not so surprising because under the rule of Emperor Jing, the DDJ was enjoying imperial favor. In fact, a great deal of content of the Huainanzi is either directly quoted or closely paraphrased from earlier sources, with ninety-​nine references to the DDJ. While Hanfei raises a number of cautions against the values and strategies of the Confucians, in ­chapter 65 of the Hanfeizi, “the dao of the Ruler”, he makes use of a vocabulary taken from the DDJ

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but gives it a quite unique meaning. For example, Han Fei instructs the ruler to be “empty” and “still”. But these are not disciplines designed to put him in touch with the Dao and enable him to move in wu-​wei as they are understood to do in the DDJ. Instead, these concepts are interpreted as political strategies to be used by the ruler. Be empty and reposed and have nothing to do [i.e. wu-​wei], then from the dark see defects in the light. See but never be seen. Hear but never be heard. Know but never be known. If you hear any word uttered, do not change it nor move it, but compare it with the deed and see if word and deed coincide with each other. Place every official with a censor. Do not let them speak to each other. Then everything will be exerted to the utmost. Cover tracks and conceal sources. Then the ministers cannot trace origins. Leave your wisdom [i.e. do not state your views] and cease your ability [i.e. do not recommend policies or acts yourself]. Then your subordinates cannot guess at your limitations. Van Norden 2011, p. 196 Han Fei is intentionally quoting from the conceptual repository of materials that found their way into the DDJ, but interpreting the concepts in his own way. The ruler should be “empty” means the ruler should not reveal his opinions or policy desires. He should “be still” by not handing down a policy or taking any action himself (i.e. let others do it). While it may yet be arguable that Zhuangzi, Huainanzi, and Hanfeizi are authorizing the DDJ by citing it directly or in close paraphrase, we can be sure that Han Emperor Jing Di (188–​41 bce) drew inspiration from some version of the DDJ for his understanding of the spirituality of the ruler and its political effectiveness, having been influenced by his mother Empress Dou, wife of Emperor Wen, who practiced Daoist teachings. The fact that Emperor Jing gave the DDJ the formal title of jing (classic, scripture) suggests that he was making use of a substantial body of compiled material and not merely small pieces or scattered logia, and that he meant to elevate its authority. However, just whether this honorary became widely accepted or not can be disputed, because when Wang Bi wrote his commentary and fixed the “received text”, he still spoke of the DDJ by the title Laozi zhu (i.e. Laozi Comments or Notes). This situation obtained down to the time of Wang Bi even though Emperor Jing issued an edict recommending the regular recitation of the DDJ throughout the empire (Seidel 1969). Recitation of a text was the favored method of learning in a culture that had a very limited literate population. To elevate a text to this status is part of what it meant for it to become a classic (jing). Recitation alone was not what mattered. Ultimately, the recitation of a text was an expression of its authority and wisdom, and sometimes even of the talismanic power of the actual words of the text themselves. There were other uses of the DDJ prior to Wang Bi’s commentary. Yan Zun (59–​24 bce), a first-​century practitioner of divination arts, gave talks explicating

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the DDJ and even wrote a commentary, a version of which survives in the Daoist Canon (DZ 693). Anqi Sheng, a practitioner of the arts of immortality also taught the text to local officials (Seidel 1969, p. 27). The philosopher of the later Han, Xiang Xiu, recited it to still his spirit and enable him to act in wu-​wei (Kohn 1998, p. 144). Such uses of the DDJ continued right through the Han period. In his overview of the ordination and service of the leaders of the Celestial Masters movement called libationers, Terry Kleeman reminds us that these persons led rituals, but also that they were ruling officials in the local community. Initiatory practices for these leaders included conferring upon them scrolls of secret scriptures (wei jing) and that all such persons possessed the DDJ (Kleeman 1998, pp. 68–​69). In fact, by the time of the emergence of the Celestial Masters Daoist movement in the mid-​second century, the text was regarded as a revealed emanation of the pure Dao. It was a part of ritual community recitations led by Celestial Masters leaders. Reciting it was a way of gaining the power of the Dao. With the emergence of the text, “Classic on the Transformation of Laozi (Laozi bianhua jing)” as preserved in Dunhuang manuscript S. 2295, the DDJ is given a prominent position as the text of 5,000 words. Day and night you must remember me, And I will not suddenly let you go. Waking and dreaming you must think of me, And I will appear to prove your faith …. Be upright and guard your self, And I will know you as one of the good. I have given you a text. If you wish to know me, Recite the “Five Thousand Words” (DDJ) ten thousand times, Then you can see my head and know my body [the Dao], Come softly to be one with me. Kohn 1998, p. 147 One work that stresses the religious importance of the DDJ is the Xiang’er commentary which survives now in a Dunhuang manuscript (S. 6825) dating perhaps to 500, although tradition associates its authorship with one or the other of the two prominent leaders of the Celestial Masters movement, either Zhang Daoling or Zhang Lu, pushing its original production date perhaps as early as the first quarter of the 200s.The commentary accepts without question the status of Laozi as a spirit being. It interprets the DDJ’s purpose to be providing the common person with a way of attaining the transformation necessary to become an undefiled spirit-​like being of remarkable lifespan. The commentary offers a set of practices to nourish one’s qi energy and to possess long life and the formation of a new spirit body devoid of perishability, all of which is strains to derive from the DDJ. Along with

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disciplines from meditation to sexual arts, the accumulation of moral merit by following precepts is one of the major stresses of the commentary, even though the DDJ seems clearly to eschew moral rule making. The value of the DDJ for spiritual development as used in the Celestial Masters and other movements was also one of the main reasons behind Wang Bi’s edition of the text and his commentary. In his commentary, however, there is no deified Laozi, nor any immortal spirit beings. Wang Bi does not see in the DDJ any passages concerned with longevity or immortality. He tends, instead, to emphasize the transcendent nature of the Dao and the principles (li) by which it governs the universe. Wu-​wei, the most fundamental concept used of the appropriate conduct of a perfected person (zhenren) is “an expression of the ultimate”, or more precisely, “the ultimate expressing itself through a person”. By the fifth century, recitation of the DDJ held a prominent place among the practices of seekers of immortality. According to “A Bag of Pearls from the Three Caverns,” (CT 1139, c. 680) – an encyclopedia of practice offering narratives of exemplary masters – the account of Yin Xi (the Guardian of the Pass) tells that he gained immortality by reciting the DDJ ten thousand times. (9.10b). The section known as “Laozi Converts the Barbarians of the West” contained within the “A Bag of Pearls from the Three Caverns” in 9.8b–​20b says that while trying to convert the Western barbarians, Laozi and Yin Xi were captured by a King of the West and sentenced to be burned alive: They burned them for over forty days. Then the wood was exhausted and the fire went out. But Laozi and Yin Xi were unharmed. They sat calmly on the glowing embers and recited the scripture (DDJ) as they had done continuously. 9.18b–​19a The Declarations of the Perfected CT 1016, compiled by Tao Hongjing (c. 499) offers a story about Laozi instructing members of the Zhou family to recite the DDJ and after reciting the text ten thousand times they flew off as celestial beings (5.6a). In the Tang dynasty work, Precious Scripture on the Female One and Five Elders (CT 1313,) reciting the DDJ three times is a practice used to enter into a state in which one’s name will be inscribed on the Heavenly Registers. Such recitation enables the practitioner to untie the embryonic knots that are the causes of death. From roughly the same period, Dunhuang manuscripts S. 75 and P. 2370, entitled “Introductory Explanations to the DDJ”, record Laozi’s detailed instructions on how to venerate the DDJ by entering into a meditation chamber, burning incense, bowing, visualizing Laozi, praying, and only then opening the text. Among the Highest Clarity (Shangqing) masters the DDJ was used in meditation to enable visualization. After reciting a passage, closing one’s eyes and holding one’s breath, visual images of celestial beings and objects would manifest themselves. Additionally, by the fifth century ce when we have documentation of ordination

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practices in this lineage of Daoism, the instructional use of the DDJ in the initiatory process was important. Kohn tells us practitioners became known as “Daodejing followers” (Kohn 1998, pp. 154, 156, 159). While space does not permit continuing to trace uses of the DDJ as an authoritative sacred text, we can conclude with some observations about the text’s ongoing use. Researchers into contemporary Zhengyi Daoist rituals in a Fujian province have documented that the DDJ plays a significant role in many strategic rituals. John Lagerwey makes use of modern ritual texts to show that quotes and paraphrases of the DDJ are in the liturgical texts read during contemporary rituals (Lagerwey 1987, p. 197). An example of such usage may be taken from how DDJ ­chapter 10 is used in ritual. The passage admonishes the person to comprehend all four directions, but reside in wu-​wei. As is well known in classical Chinese cosmology, there are four directions plus the center. In contemporary ritual performances Daoist masters stand in the center of the ritual space in front of the main altar, also known as the cave-​table between Heaven and Earth. In ritual action, the master spins himself as a means to ritualize his transformation. An incantation used during this ritual is: Heavenly Worthy of the Primordial Beginning, pray transform my body that it be no longer the body of an ordinary mortal: my head is like a cloud of ink, my hair like the scattered stars. My left eye becomes the sun, and my right the moon. My nose is like a mountain; my mouth is the Gate of Heaven. My teeth are like a forest of swords; my tongue is the Golden Bridge … These ten fingers of mine are like the ten officers of merit who snag [wrongdoers] … My spinal column is Mount Tai. My body is transformed and purified. Ofuchi 1983, p. 249a This center place is thought of in the words of the DDJ as like a bellows; empty yet inexhaustible (ch. 5). Their training and apprenticeship has taught contemporary Daoist masters that an experience of the presence of the Dao is just as DDJ ­chapter 14 says, it may be looked for, but it will not be seen. It may be listened for, but not heard. It may be grabbed for, but not gotten. The end result of this experience is that the contemporary master possesses a state of calmness of heart (xin jing) necessary to wu-​wei. Making use of the DDJ a present-​day daoshi will say that listens with his qi (氣) and not with his reason, because rationality strives to guide life and force things, just as DDJ ­chapter 55 teaches, whereas wu-​wei is the effortless and spontaneous movement with the Dao. Stilling the heart is called a fast (zhai). In one of the Laozi logia of the Zhuangzi ­chapter 22, Laozi teaches Confucius that he must still his heart in the fast. “Confucius said to Lao Dan [i.e. Laozi], ‘Today you seem to have a moment of leisure—​may I venture to ask about the Perfect Way?’ Lao Tan said, ‘You must fast and practice austerities, cleanse and purge your mind, wash and purify your inner spirit, destroy and do away with your knowledge’”. One

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contemporary Zhengyi ritual song says, “The smoke rises from the burner on the cave-​table: flowers spread. Incense of wu-​wei of the Way (dao) and its power (de) ascends: the altar fills” (Ofuchi 1983, p. 250b). In his place before the cave-​ table the Daoist master in the state of xin jing, forgets distinctions, his qi is unimpaired and enabled to wu-​wei. In this way, the DDJ continues to function as a guide to the experience of the sacred.

Notes 1 Kristofer Schipper (1993, p. 15) shares this view. See also Norman Girardot (1983) and Livia Kohn (1992). 2 My modifications of the translation by Philip J. Ivanhoe (2002). All translations from the DDJ in this chapter are from Ivanhoe. 3 This translation is by Watson (1968) as are all other passages from Zhuangzi in this chapter.

References Allan, S. and Williams, C. (eds) (2000) The Guodian Laozi: Proceedings of the International Conference, Dartmouth College, May 1998. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. DeWoskin, K. (1983) Doctors, Diviners and Magicians of Ancient China: Biographies of Fang-​Shi. New York: Columbia University Press. Girardot, N. (1983) Myth and Meaning in Early Taoism: The Theme of Chaos (Hun-​tun). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Henricks, R. (1993) Te-​Tao Ching, Lao-​Tzu. New York: The Modern Library. Ivanhoe, P.J. (2002) The Daodejing of Laozi. New York: Seven Bridges Press. Kleeman, T. (1998) Great Perfection:  Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Kohn, L. (1992) Early Chinese Mysticism:  Philosophy and Soteriology in the Taoist Tradition. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kohn, L. (1998) “The Tao-​te-​ching in Ritual”, in L. Kohn (ed.) Lao-​tzu and the Tao-​te-​ching. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, pp. 143–​65. LaFargue, M. (1992) The Tao of the Tao-​Te-​Ching:  A  Translation and Commentary. Albany, NY: State University of New York. Lagerwey, J. (1987) Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History. New York: Macmillan. Littlejohn, R. (2015) “The Ancient Masters were Profound and Subtle”, Journal of Shangqiu Normal University, 31, pp. 38–​44. Liu, Z.  (2000) “An Overview of Tomb Number One at Jingmen Guodian”, in S. Allan and C. Williams (eds) The Guodian Laozi: Proceedings of the International Conference, Dartmouth College, May 1998. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Ofuchi N. (1983) Chugokujin no shukyo girei (Chinese Religious Ritual). Okayama: Fukutake Shuten. Robinet, I. (1997) Taoism: Growth of a Religion, translated by Phyllis Brooks. Stanford, CT: Stanford University Press. Roth, Harold (1999) Original Tao:  Inward Training and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism. New York: Columbia University Press. Roth, Harold (2000) “Some Methodological Issues in the Study of the Guodian Laozi Parallels”, in S. Allan and C. Williams (eds) The Guodian Laozi:  Proceedings of the International Conference, Dartmouth College, May 1998. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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Schipper, K. (1993) The Taoist Body. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Seidel, A. (1969) La divinisatino de Lao-​ tseu le Taoisme des Han. Paris:  Ecole Francaise d’Extreme-​Orient. Van Norden, B. (2011) Introduction to Classical Chinese Philosophy. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing. Watson, B. (1968) The Complete Works of Chuang-​Tzu. New York: Columbia University Press.

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16 SACRED TEXTS OF THE SHINTO TRADITION Historical sources of myth and ritual Stuart D.B. Picken

Almost all of the world’s principal religions have sacred text to which they can refer and debate on matters of belief and behaviour. Muslims have the Qur’ān, Buddhists have sutras, Jews have their Scriptures that they share with Christians who also have their own New Testament. Chinese Daoists have the Dao de Jing (道德經) perhaps not quite a holy book, but a text full of wisdom with a spiritual background, or at least a cosmic backdrop. The indigenous tradition of Japan, Shinto (神道) literally the way of the kami or divine beings, which live throughout the country’s mountains, rivers, fields, winds and volcanoes, has no formal texts of a similar nature. Shinto has survived from primitive times within the conscious and subconscious levels of the culture, has evolved, expanded and retained a powerful and influential role in spite of having no official texts. That fact alone raises questions for those interested in the evolution of religion. Shinto grew out of a mixture of year-​round agricultural ceremonies and ancestral rites. It was the product, primarily, of a culture based on rice – the Japanese staple diet. It was also promoted by leading families in communities or regions who eventually erected buildings to which they often attached their names. However, little of this amorphous reality could be set out in language until the introduction of the Chinese writing system from the eighth century onwards. Buddhism brought cultural sophistication that the older tradition could not match. From this a unique symbiosis gradually took place. Shinto found a means of literary expression and some of the orally transmitted myths were committed to texts, not sacred texts, but simply records of the past. Buddhism on its part began to recognize the centrality of both agricultural and ancestral rites, which by then had been expanded to include rituals of purification, divination and shamanism. As Joseph Kitagawa observed: religious vitality was maintained not by the ecclesiastical dignitaries in the court, but by the crude and superstitious shamanistic Buddhists who

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undertook an austere training in the sacred mountains and presented to the masses a doctrine of simple and direct faith in the kami and the Buddha. It was from this tradition, the Buddhist fusion with primitive shamanism and divination that the creative impulse was elicited in the Heian period as well as in the subsequent history of Japanese religion. Kitagawa 1966, p. 43

The study of Japanese mythology Western thinkers certainly until the post World War II period tended to use terms such as “primitive” to describe any thought, mythological or otherwise that did not conform to western style of discourse. In the late nineteenth century, and even into the early twentieth, the tradition of Shinto was dismissed by some scholars as “rudimentary on the grounds that it lacked a Supreme Deity, a moral code, its hesitant grasp of the concept of spirit, its non-​recognition of life after death and its general lack of deep and earnest faith” (Aston 1905, Preface I). Mircea Eliade (1907–​86), the Romanian born scholar of religions, in his Le Mythe de l’éternel retour, The Myth of the Eternal Return, (also translated as Cosmos and History), far from wishing to discard myths, claimed to recognize in them what he referred to as an archaic ontology. He made an intriguing comment in this regard concerning certain unhealthy tendencies in western thought: Western philosophy is in danger of “provincializing” itself (if the expression be permitted): first by jealously isolating itself in its own tradition and ignoring, for example, the problems and solutions of Oriental thought; second by its obstinate refusal to recognize any “situations” except those of the man of the historical civilizations, in defiance of the “primitive man”, of man as a member of the traditional societies. Eliade 1959, p. xii The extremist position he criticized has certainly become less widespread with the growing interest in the archaic ontology and the wider study of world religions and philosophies. This became a strong challenge, for example to the work of the German theologian Rudolf Bultmann (1884–​1976), who represented the more dogmatic face of the western school, and who tried to rid Christian thought of all mythology through his programme of Entmythologisierung, or “demythologising” (Bultmann 1958). In a broadcast debate between Bultmann and Karl Jaspers (1883–​1969), the existentialist philosopher, Jaspers made the point that myth was an essential ingredient of all historical and cultural traditions that claimed to explain aspects of life and the world. He thus represented a position closer to Eliade although not with the cosmic sweep of Eliade’s thought. The Japanese classics would appear potentially to fall within Eliade’s category of archaic ontology. Subsequently, sociological, and other approaches have made both possible and interesting the discussion of Shinto as a seriously authentic tradition. The approach

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to the texts of Shinto has moved a long way since the mid-​twentieth century. The following discussion represents the more recent and considered views of Shinto that have emerged and that have been the basis of my work, even before their wider acceptance had been gained. In addition, it should not be forgotten that Japan was not colonized in the nineteenth century and therefore its social, cultural, political, and religious development continued to be independent of any foreign influences. A national way of thinking was established by the Meiji government after 1868 that survived into the modern period, because it offered a sense of identity in a world that was changing with dramatic speed. It also helped to restore stability in the nation after the disastrous Pacific War by looking back to Japan’s ancient roots. Nor has it been absent from the era of economic development. New things may be added into the Japanese tradition, but what is already in place cannot be changed, or so the common sense has it. The dynamics of social change in Japan function according to their own laws.With these prefatory thoughts stated, we can proceed to survey the texts.

The classical Japanese texts The three principal texts that came to incorporate the central traditions of Shinto are the Kojiki, the Nihonshoki, and the Engishiki. Others such as the more poetic Manyoshu and the historical records known as the Shoku Nihongi, the Kogo Shui, and the Sendai Kuji were supplementary but also later in their composition. There is also the Shojirokuku (dated 815). In my earlier Essentials of Shinto (1994), I drew a parallel synopsis of the narratives in the two principal texts. Here, I shall discuss only the basic narratives that are common to them and indicate the significance of their combined weight of influence. To simplify, or as some might claim to oversimplify the importance of the classical texts, it seems safe to affirm that while they were intended to perform numerous functions, three in particular are extremely basic. They were intended to confirm the ancestral lineage of the Imperial Household from the first Emperor Jimmu whose reign is dated to 660 bce. Their narratives were intended to provide the basis for the transmission of ceremonial rituals from the Imperial Household to the regions of the emerging nation. In addition, they provided the form and the language for liturgies, all of which, like the rituals, remain in use.The two principal source texts for these are:

The Kojiki (古事記: “Records of Ancient Matters”): Dating to around 600 bce it is the oldest text of the Japanese tradition composed by a courtier called O noYasumaro at the command of Empress Gemmei (r. 715–​707 bce). It presents the ancient mythology of the creation of the Japanese archipelago.

The Nihonshoki (日本書紀: “Chronicles of Japan”): The Nihonshoki dates to around 712 bce, although later in composition than the Kojiki, it is considered unquestionably authentic and remains the principal source of

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the origins of ancient Japanese culture. One of the difficulties in the way of a clear exposition of either document is that the composition used Chinese characters because the Japanese had not created a written language.

The mythology of creation The Chinese style of expression is found at the beginning of the Nihonshoki which commences by referring to a time when heaven and earth had not yet been separated, nor the In and Yo (the Chinese ying and yang), that were still undivided. Together they formed a mass like a cosmic egg that was amorphous and undefined. While this form conveys one image, there is another that refers to the kami that appeared and were participants in the formation of the world, and the ultimate progenitors of the Japanese archipelago. According to both texts, when heaven and earth came into being, there were five kami who were born in Takamahara, the High Plain of Heaven. It was from the floating bridge of heaven, Ame-​no-​ukihashi that the two creative kami discovered the island of Onogoro-​jima, which has been taken traditionally to mean the Japanese islands. The kami were led by the Master of the August Centre of Heaven, Ame-​no-​minakushi, the kami of absolute beginnings, the very first kami. There were also Takami-​musubi-​no-​kami, the August Producing Kami, and the Divine Producing Wondrous Kami, Kami-​musubi-​no-​kami. The concept of musubi means binding together or bonding. Along with these three known as the zoka-​sanshin, (the three central creative kami) were the Pleasant Reed Shoot Prince Elderly Kami, Umashi-​ashikabi-​hikoji-​no-​kami, and The Heavenly Eternal Standing Kami, Ame-​ no-​tokotachi-​no-​kami. The world comes into being through the work of the kami and their union. The idea of “uniting”, that is to say of balancing or harmonizing, is also a part of the idea of creation.The process of creation is such that the universe gradually becomes defined through the union of pairs of kami who represent opposite extremes. After these, ten more kami of Heaven are born and following them the Male-​who-​Invites, Izanagi-​no-​mikoto and the Female-​who-​Invites known as Izanami-​no-​mikoto. The role of Izanagi-​no-​ikoto and Izanami-​no-​mikoto may now be examined in more detail. After receiving a jewelled spear from heaven, and standing on the floating bridge, they thrust the spear down and stirred. As they lifted the spear from the ocean beneath, drops of brine hardened and formed the island of Onogoro. Izanagi and Izanami descended to the land that they had found and created, and discovering their respective sexual identities, made love. The description of the act of love was considered by Chamberlain, the early translator, too inappropriate for Victorian readers and so he rendered Section IV into Latin. The same Section IV also makes reference to the erection of a hall of eight fathoms that has been considered by some scholars to refer to Izumo Taisha, although there is no final agreement on this. Archaeological remains found at the end of the twentieth century in Izumo were rendered into computer graphics, indicating a building of considerable height that it has been argued could be the original palace referred to as Izumo Taisha.

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Section V narrates the return of the pair to discuss the matter with the heavenly kami, who in turn order them back to their work of love. They produce fourteen further islands and thereafter a succession of kami, last of whom was the kami of fire. Izanami became ill after this last birth and as she lay dying, kami sprang from her vomit, faeces, and urine. Before her death, fourteen islands and thirty-​five kami had come into being. Izanami’s death after giving birth to the kami of fire, from an anthropological point of view, refers, presumably to the stage of civilization where the utility of fire as well as its dangers came to be understood. Izanagi, in a touching way, grieves for Izanami, and he follows her to the underworld, known as Yomi-​no-​ kuni where he is ordered not to look at her. He disobeys and sees her decomposing form covered with maggots. A group known as the ugly hags of the underworld are set upon him and he flees to the border of the land of Yomi-​no-​kuni. He draws up a “thousand-​draught rock”, and in the closing scene, they finally part, with Izanami threatening to kill one thousand people every day if he should return. He in turn insists that he can cause to be born fifteen hundred, which has been taken as an affirmation of the power of life over death, a strong consistent theme in Shinto thought. The awareness of death as natural, but the polluting effect of the physical aspect of death, remain motifs of Japanese culture. Izanagi himself then proceeds to a river mouth where he washes and purifies himself completely, providing the origin of the practice of ritual purification to remove tsumi, impurity. Before entering the Tachibana River, he throws off his jewellery and clothing and from each object a kami is born. He then plunges into the middle of the river, enacting the generic form of the later ritual of misogi. As he washes his face, three final kami appear, namely the kami of the stars, Susano-​no-​mikoto, the kami of the moon, Tsuki-​yomi-​no-​mikoto and the primal kami of the sun, Amaterasu-​o-​kami. The kami of the stars, Susano-​no-​mikoto, was in accordance with the meaning of his name, inclined to be impetuous and to perform acts which affronted the other kami. After a series of misdeeds, the sun kami hid in the rock-​dwelling known as Ame-​no-​iwato. The world was plunged into darkness and the kami, using a sakaki branch (found in most Shinto rituals) tried to induce her to return. At this point, Ame-​uzume-​no-​mikoto performed a rather ribald dance, which makes the other kami laugh and on hearing the noise, the kami of the sun, Amaterasu, emerged. The other kami quickly threw a rope over the mouth of the cave to stop her returning, and the world again had light. Thereafter takes place the descent of the grandchild of the kami of the sun, Ninigi-​no-​mikoto. The appearance of a massive kami called Sarutahiko-​o-​kami, at the point where heaven and earth meet, causes fear in the heavenly kami. Ame-​ uzume-​no-​mikoto, whose trick had brought out the sun kami, is asked to go and meet this huge earthly kami. She meets him and they settle on the earth with Sarutahiko-​o-​kami becoming the head of the earthly kami and his wife Ame-​ uzume-​ no-​ mikoto becoming the primal kami of entertainment, marriage and defence, in keeping with her principal activities. Thereafter, the grandson of the sun kami descends and the culture of rice is begun. From the descent of the August

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Grandson, the Imperial Family has claimed its lineage, with Jimmu Tenno being the first emperor dating to the seventh century bce. The August Grandson finally descends to the Mifune-​no-​iwakura, bringing the imperial line into being, and simultaneously founds the Japanese nation. There are various claims as to where the Mifune-​no-​iwakura is located. One is somewhere on the southern large island of Kyushu. Another is to be found within the grounds of Tsubaki Grand Shrine in Mie Prefecture, listed as the first shrine of Ise Province, not far from the Grand Shrines of Ise where Amaterasu-​o-​kami is enshrined.

Distinctive aspects of the mythology I would like now to draw attention to some of the features of the mythology which should illustrate how fundamentally different it is from Indo-​European mythology and therefore how difficult it is to interpret it in an analogous manner. While the academic desire to conduct exercises in comparative mythology is justified, the simplest meaningful parallels are drawn almost entirely from within traditional cultures that share some common heritage. It is perhaps not surprising that the Japanese myths do not readily fit into categories devised for myths from different types of archaic society. Parallels may be discussed where the basic differences in worldview are identified and defined.

The relationship between kami and humanity Humanity is descended from the kami, not created by them. This puts the Japanese mythology into a unique category and shows just how different it is from the Judaeo-​Christian myths for example. It is not a mythology of creation in the western sense. The ancient kami are born and they too die. Kami even have graves, in some instances, but with one exception: never in shrine grounds. There are kami with a creative role but their relationship to the creative process is extremely complicated and not at all consistent as a cursory reading of the narrative shows. It is more like a theory of the evolution of humanity from the kami, symbolized supremely by the kami origins of the Imperial House. Professor Jean Herbert (1897–​1980) the eminent French scholar of languages and cultures, close to the spirit of Eliade, said that he had, after prolonged study: come to believe that the cosmogony outlined in the Shinto scriptures is the product neither of the fanciful imagination of poets, nor of the intellectual fumblings of a primitive people, as has been almost uniformly alleged by western scholars. Like those found in other authentic scriptures of different religions, it is a faithful description of truths which great sages, in close touch with the laws of nature, have seen and understood. Herbert 1967, p. 228

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While sympathetic with his idea of nature as a guide, I think that his poetic imagination has somewhat overtaken the rational basis of what is probably a useful insight into one aspect of how mythology takes shape. That in itself leads into the general question of methodology which is beyond the scope of this discussion. Anyone reading the outline of the Japanese creation myths can judge on these issues for themselves.

Life, death, purity, and impurity The creation of Japan begins, as has been noted, with the kami, with Izanagi-​no-​ mikoto and his wife, Izamani-​no-​mikoto, who became procreators of the Japanese archipelago. From these kami and the myriad kami the islands emerge. Izanagi-​no-​ Mikoto’s great grief when his wife dies giving birth to the fire kami leads him to follow her to the land of the dead, Yomi-​no-​kuni, the land of pollution. Here more developed thought is in evidence. The status of the dead in Yomi-​no-​kuni and the polluting aspects of death are identified here and provide the basic view that death is a form of pollution, a view that remains characteristics of Japanese culture. The first important insight to note is that it seems to have been believed that there was a boundary or point of transition between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Second, the living would appear to have access to the dead and they can communicate with each other (Herbert 1967, I: 20, 26). The death of Izamani is touchingly related and has parallels in the later poems of the Manyoshu where husbands mourn the passing of wives and lovers. The idea of the living divorcing the dead, even symbolically, is a concept remote from the Hebrew prohibition of any connection, or any attempted form of communication, between the living and the dead. After Izanagi’s visit to Yomi, he washes himself as follows:When Izanagi-​no-​mikoto had returned, he was seized with regret, and said, “Having gone to Nay! a hideous and filthy place, it is meet that I should cleanse my body from its pollutions”. He accordingly went to the plain of Ahagi at Tachibana in Wodo in Hyuga of Tsukushi, and purified himself. The liturgy of the Obarae later discussed in the Engishiki refers to this incident and highlights the importance of ritual purification. Some further points of significance are to be found in the version of the creation Nihongi that begins with the death of Izanami and Izanagi-​no-​mikoto’s pursuit of her to the land of the dead. In it, she asks him not to look at her, but he lights a torch and sees her body in an advanced stage of decomposition. As he runs away she pursues him, assisted by the ugly females of the land of Yomi. While they were preparing to cross this river, Izanagi-​no-​mikoto had already reached the Even Pass of Yomi. So he stood face to face with Izanami-​no-​mikoto, and at last pronounced the formula of divorce. Upon this, Izanami-​no-​mikoto said: “My dear Lord and husband, if thou sayest so, I will strangle to death the people of the country which thou dost govern, a thousand in one day”. Then Izanagi-​no-​mikoto replied, saying: “My beloved younger sister, if thou sayest so, I will in one day cause to be born

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fifteen hundred” (Nihonshoki 1958, I: 19, 25). A comment is added: “Some say that the Even Pass of Yomi is not any place in particular, but means only the space of time when the breath fails on the approach of death”. The account of this incident provides the historical origin and precedent of the practice known in earlier eras of ritual purification after attending a funeral ceremony. Chinese Wei Dynasty records noted that Japanese would bathe in a river after a funeral. While this point belongs to a separate discussion of funeral rites, it is relevant here to note the belief that the land of the dead is a place of pollution. The physical aspect of death (the corpse) is distinguished from the spiritual (the soul) that may be consulted freely and naturally. This perspective is perpetuated in the modern Japanese practice of providing mourners with salt to sprinkle in their entrance halls before entering their homes. This should protect the entry of impurity of being in the proximity of death from entering their homes. The other defining narrative involves the central incident of the Ame-​no-​Iwato that leads to the eventual descent of the Heavenly Grandson, the progenitor of the Imperial line. Reference has been made to these in the Kojiki narrative of these incidents already discussed. The kami of the Sun, Amaterasu, hid in a cave after the problematic kami Susano-​o-​no-​mikoto engaged in some bad behaviour, plunging the world into darkness. In response to this, Ame-​uzume-​no-​mikoto, whose role then became defined, performed a ribald dance that created amusement and enticed her out of the cave. The cave was then roped off to prevent her returning to it and there was once again light in the world. Amaterasu decided that it was time for the descent of the Heavenly Grandson, but he found a huge kami called Sarutahiko-​no-​ mikoto at the crossroads of heaven and earth. Ame-​Uzume-​no-​mikoto solved the problem by descending herself and charming Sarutahiko. They marry and settle in what became the province of Ise. The Kojiki, the oldest collection of Japanese mythology contains several distinctive features of note. It starts with the period known as Kamiyo (“The Age of the Kami”) and an account of the myths of creation. Izanagi and Izanami’s creation of the islands of Japan and the myriad deities that populated the heavens and this world, Izanagi’s journey to Yomi-​no-​kuni (the Underworld) in an attempt to bring back Izanami after her death, Susano-​o’s battle against the eight-​headed, eight-​tailed serpent Yamata-​no-​orochi, the adventures of Okuninushi as he rose to become the deity charged with turning the land of Japan into a true nation, and the descent of Ninigi (grandson of the sun deity Amaterasu), who came from the heavens to rule Japan. These myths share similarities with mythology from around the world, particularly well-​known tales from Greek mythology, and this provides an added layer of interest to them. The exploits of the gods included in the Kojiki lead ultimately to a record of the lineage of the Imperial Family up to Empress Suiko (593–​628 ce) and events that happened during each emperor’s reign. In doing this, the Kojiki traces a path that could be taken as leading from mythology into historical record, to perhaps effect a connection between cults and politics.

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The Engishiki (延喜式 the Book of the Era of Engi, 901–​23 ce) This text is the next in importance after the two classic texts already discussed. The core consists of a collection of rituals that were designed and approved by the Imperial Household. The era of Engi was important within the reign of Emperor Daigo (r. 897–​930 ce) and part of the Fujiwara family’s principal period of dominance (897–​1086 ce). The separate phases within the era of Engi are referred to collectively as the Heian period (794–​1185 ce). It was the high-​water mark of Chinese influence and a period of massive cultural creativity. For example, the world’s first novel Genji Monogatari (“The Tale of Genji”) written by Murasaki Shikibu appeared in 1008. It left behind unique insights into the style of court life in Kyoto and provides evidence that Japan had reached the cultural levels of China in numerous areas. The text, dating to 927 ce, contains rules and laws, and defines practices. The first ten volumes deal with worship, and were the foundation of the Jingi-​kan, the body that supervised the worship of the kami. It is from this institution and its work that the definition of Shinto and its rituals came into being. It survived into the seventeenth century and was revived at the Meiji Restoration of 1868 after the formal separation of Buddhism and Shinto (shinbutsu bunri) as ordered by the Meiji government. It was formally abolished after 1945, but continued with the title Jinja Honcho (“The Voluntary Association of Shinto Shines”) that still has the power to license priests and ensure that kami worship is properly conducted. The most famous of the liturgies, or norito, created during that period is the Obarae-​no-​kotoba (“The Words of the Great Purification”). The liturgy is read twice a year in the Imperial Palace on behalf of the nation. However, it is also used by large shrines at their chohai, or morning ceremony that commences after the opening of the main doors of the honden (“principal worship hall”). While various English renderings exist to provide a literal translation, they offer little access to the heart of its meaning and its emotional sensitivity. To hear twenty or more priests intoning the norito creates an atmosphere of a sense of spirituality that can be said to be unique to Japan.The surroundings of the Japanese cypress building, the hinoki and its distinctive smell, the large drum and the harai-​gush, the stick with white paper streamers used in purification ceremonies, and the formal Heian period robes worn by the priests are all part of the unique blend of Japanese aesthetics central to ritual and that is definitive of Japanese religious culture. It would not be incorrect to say that the liturgies of the Engishiki probably brought together former expressions of reverence for the kami and united them with the more sophisticated language and style of the Heian court. The content of the Obarae-​no-​kotoba will sound as alien to modern Japanese as it would be non-​ Japanese. While it would be superfluous to quote the entire text, I will quote from the list of offences for which purification is required. Two kinds of impurities are distinguished: heavenly and earthly. In a peacefully governed land such as this people who are born every year in increasing numbers are liable either on purpose or through carelessness to err and

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commit offences (tsumi, “offences” or “sins”) which may be divided into two categories. First, those that may be called the heavenly tsumi – so named because they have been committed in heaven, in Takama-​no-​hara, the High Plain of Heaven –  such as breaking down the fences in the rice fields … sowing seed over and over again on the same ground in the same year … flaying alive a piebald colt, backward flying of piebald colt … This group is followed by a quite different kind of tsumi. “Secondly, there are what may be called earthly tsumi, as distinguished from the heavenly tsumi such as hurting the skin when it is alive, hurting the skin when dead, … incest between parents and children, copulation with horses, copulation with cows, copulation with fowls, copulation with dogs” and so the list goes on. The liturgy of the Obarae then should be recited after which the kami of Heaven “pushing open the heavenly rock door, and pushing open mightily the clouds in layers in the sky will deign to hear the purification ritual, and then by the kami, ascending to the summits of high and low mountains … will deign to hear the purifying words”. The act of purification is then explained. When they thus hear, the tsumi and the defences of the whole land, including the Court, will altogether disappear just as the wind blows away the piled up clouds …. The process leads to a total absolution of the nation’s improprieties. The tsumi are carried away to sea by the kami Seoritsu Hime and finally destroyed in the depths of the ocean by the kami Haya-​akitsu Hime. Since more detailed discussion would require a lengthy commentary on the text, three simple points should be enough to offer guidance as to the recitation and use of the norito. First, the distinction between heavenly and earthly tsumi is difficult to rationalize. Does it mean that they belong to separate realms? That interpretation is cancelled out by the reference to rice fields and agricultural concerns. More likely is the view that the tsumi of heaven are less serious than those of earth. Although there is no possible certainty about intention, the question remains. A second point is that there are no moral issues raised, and the concept of forgiveness is totally absent. I am not suggesting that it should be. I simply note that such is the case, something which takes far from western categories. Finally, the concept of purification itself does call for further study. It accords with the Japanese view of washing away what has been a source of difficulty.The Japanese translation of the Christian writings uses tsumi to speak of sin. In the New Testament text in Acts 22: 16, the washing away of tsumi could sound as much like Shinto as Christianity. The concept of oharai is central to all acts of purification, ranging from protection against car accidents to rituals for new house building. Ground-​breaking ceremonies are conducted by Shinto priests as are rituals for opening new businesses. Newly commissioned aircraft are purified for safety, as are ships and even assembly lines. Appropriate norito are intoned closing usually with a statement including the date, location, organization, and the purpose of the event. In that sense, the gap between the spiritual and the factual/​empirical is eliminated. The two worlds meet and merge.

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Succeeding eras There is little space to develop the theme of how the concept of kami was developed in the post-​classical age. Each era produced writers who attempted to elaborate upon what was meant by the term kami and who tried to expound some aspect of its meaning. None of these can be called sacred texts, but their views threw a complexion on the mythology that developed in different ways. The traditional liturgies such as the Obarae continued to be observed nationally in the Imperial Household, as were local rituals, festivals, and other seasonal events. Alongside this continuity of tradition, the understanding of the term kami in the minds post-​ Heian period (794–​1185 ce) of scholars developed by various prominent thinkers clearly leaning towards a quasi-​nationalist view of the nation and its kami.The amenability to abuse by nationalist groups of a later period was far from the goals of the scholastic agenda, which were simply to articulate the place of kami in Japanese culture. While there were numerous schools and traditions, my selection is limited to those that I see forming a kind of progression in understanding of kami and country. One of the earliest in the tradition was Watarai Ieuyuki (1256–​1356? ce) who was a priest of the Outer Shrine of Ise. He produced the Ruiju jingi hongen (1320 ce) from a collection of assorted sources on the kami. His Shintō kan’yō (“The Essence of Shinto”) offers a compact interpretation of the ultimate essence or teachings (ōgi) of kami. “Sincerity” and “purity” are key words in his writings. For the kami to give blessings to people, honesty is the priority. The foundation of honesty is purity. Only when human beings are honest and pure will the spiritual light of the kami shine upon them so that the amazing spiritual power of the divine maybe experienced. Watarai’s influence extended to a second important figure in the development of Shinto thought, who was known to him personally as a friend and ally at court. Kitabatake Chikafusa (1293–​1354) wrote the Jinno Shotoki (“Record of the Legitimate Succession of the Divine Emperors”). He opens his essay by stating the proposition that: Japan is the land of the kami. The kami Kunitokotachi no mikoto laid the basis and foundation of the country. Since the time of Amaterasu Omikami, a single line of emperors, her descendants, has continued to transmit through imperial line. This can be said only of Japan. Since other countries do not have such a tradition, Japan is therefore the divine country. This was an affirmation that linked kami to national identity. It can be regarded as a seminal politico-​historical treatise about the nationalist doctrine that saw Japan as uniquely superior among the nations because of its unbroken succession of divine rulers. Again overt political purposes were not in evidence, but it is not difficult to see how the doctrine expanded into the full-​blown nationalism it became. During the Edo period (1600–​1868) the Watarai family continued to write. Watarai Tsuneakira (1675–​1752) composed the Shinto Meiben (“A Clear Exposition

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of Shinto”, 1737). Two important intellectual strands were influential for the future development of Shinto thought. One was purely philosophical or cosmological, and that was in its search for a primordial creative kami, which takes it close to a type of monotheism. The school identified Toyouke with Ame-​no-​minakushi-​no-​mikoto, the kami at the Centre of High Heaven. By a combination of Chinese cosmological ideas and the argument that the other name of Toyouke, namely Miketsukami was derived from mi, meaning water, (mizu), the Watarai school claimed that Toyouke was therefore the primal kami, even over Amaterasu. The second but more important idea that was a step towards a clear link between Shinto and national identity was its explicit rejection of the then contemporary understanding of the honji-​suijaku theory that Shinto kami were simply manifestations of Buddhist deities. It argued, on the contrary, that Buddhist figures were in fact simply manifestations of Shinto kami. Just over a century later, there emerged, during the eighteenth century, a group of scholars known as the Kokugakusha (The School of National Learning) principal among whom was Motoori Norinaga (1730–​1801). His major work was the Kojiki-​den (“Commentaries on the Kojiki”), composed over a period of thirty-​five years. It can be regarded as a later stage in the development of the concept of kami. He argued that the true heritage of classic Japan was derived from natural spontaneity in feelings and spirit. He rejected imported Confucianism as counter to such natural feelings. Of interest is his doctrine of the imperial country: The imperial country [Japan] is the land which gave birth to the august divine ancestress, Amaterasu Omikami, with the heavenly symbols in her hands, proclaimed that her sons should be the sovereigns of this land for ever and ever. Later he says: This great land and empire is the august and magnificent land where the divine ancestor Amaterasu Omikami was born. Her very name should be uttered only with reverence and awe. She consecrated with her own hands, the imperial regalia, and in her own words, established the country: ‘So long as time endure, for ten thousand autumns, this land shall be ruled by my descendants’. In accordance with her divine pleasure, this land was by decree to be the country of the imperial descendants, from the ends of the land beyond the clouds to the secret regions where the toad creeps, and without disturbance from unruly kami or subversive human activity. It was to be a place where for ten thousand autumns, to the end of time, emperors descended from Amaterasu Omikami would have the same mind as the kami of heaven so that the land might continue to enjoy peace and tranquillity, unbroken from the age of the kami to the present. The ancient period was so well governed that there was no need to speak of a Way, because the Way was simply following the guidance of “nature”. It is not

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difficult to see how thoughts such as these might be used to engender a nationalist way of thinking. A generation later, Hirata Atsutane (1776–​1843) was the link between the National Learning style of Motoori and what came to be known as Restoration Shinto (also known as Fukko Shinto). He stressed the divine nature of the emperor, a concept that exerted a powerful influence on those who led the Meiji Restoration of imperial rule in1868. Atsutane was a complex figure. On the one hand he held a strong belief in Japan’s natural superiority as the land of the kami, who transmit the “True Way” to Japan through the Japanese imperial line. But despite the strong xenophobic nationalism with which he was associated, he was not unwilling to appropriate some aspects of Christian theological thought from Jesuit missionaries in China for his Shinto ideology. He was willing to use anything that would make his case stronger. His thinking was influential in the minds of the leaders of the Meiji Restoration.

Conclusion It is obvious that while sacred texts as such do not exist, a sense of the sacred pervades the tradition. It escalates towards the climax of nineteenth-​century nationalism of the blood and soil variety that was rampant in Europe of the same era.There are also sacred texts written by the founders of the new religions that date from the late Edo period to the Meiji period (1868–​1912) and beyond. None of these are traditional in their orientation, and tend to reflect the concerns of the day. Dealing with these would be a vast theme calling for a substantial separate chapter devoted to it alone. I would close with a question that perplexes me.While none of these texts could be referred to as “sacred” in a comparative context, could it not be argued that their cumulative development and the survival of the institution they define forms a kind of religious aura, albeit of a distinctive type? They would be texts with a religious theme, but not sacred texts. A thought to ponder.

References Aston, W.G. (1905) Shinto; the Way of the Gods. London: Longmans Green. Bultmann, Rudolf (1958) Jesus Christ and Mythology. London: SCM Press. Eliade, Mircea (1959) Cosmos and History. New York: Harper Torchbooks Edition. Eliade, Mircea (1969) Le Mythe de l’éternel retour: Archétypes et répétition. Paris: Gallimard. Herbert, Jean (1967) Shinto: At the Fountainhead of Japan. London: George Allen & Unwin. Kitagawa, Joseph (1966) Religion in Japan History. New York: Columbia University Press. Nihonshoki (1958) Translated by W.G. Aston. Tokyo: Charles Tuttle. Picken, Stuart D.B. (1994) Essentials of Shinto:  An Analytical Guide to Principal Teachings. Westport, CT, London: Greenwood Press.

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PART III

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17 THE BOOK OF ISAIAH AND ITS READERS The exegetical value of reception history John F.A. Sawyer

What people believe a text means may often be more important than what it originally meant. In discussing how a text is to be interpreted, it may be less a matter of what it originally meant or which interpretation is more ancient or more convincing or more beautiful, and more a matter of how it has affected people’s lives. Clearly this applies particularly to sacred texts in the context of the study of religion. Yet until comparatively recently most commentaries on the Book of Isaiah said little or nothing about the nativity (Isaiah 1: 3), the sacrament of Baptism (1: 16), the Sanctus (6: 3), Lucifer (14: 12), Byron’s Sennacherib (37: 36), Handel’s Messiah (40: 1), the Holocaust (56: 5), anti-​Semitism (65: 2–​3) or hellfire (66: 24). It would have been unscholarly to include that kind of material: it should be left to theologians, musicologists, art historians, literary critics and others. Until recently the Old Testament scholar’s chief role in biblical studies was to say: “That’s not what the original Hebrew meant”. For more than 200 years, archaeological discoveries, comparative philology, palaeography, textual criticism and the like, made it possible to get ever nearer to the original author’s intention, and it was the task of commentators to present one meaning for every text, the correct meaning, the one nearest to the original author’s intention. Nowadays that has changed.Texts have many meanings, and if you ask the experts to tell you what a particular phrase or passage means, they are more likely to say: Well, originally it probably meant this, but the Church Fathers and the Rabbis understood it differently; it was frequently portrayed with another meaning in medieval Christian iconography; it was a favourite text of the Reformers who added their own interpretation; there is a well-​known interpretation of it in a painting by Raphael (Isaiah 26: 2–​3) or in a chorus in Brahms’ German Requiem (Isaiah 66: 13); it played a distinctive role in African-​American music

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(Isaiah 40: 9) or in Zionism (Isaiah 2: 5), or in post-​Holocaust Jewish writings (Isaiah 45: 15) or at the Second Vatican Council (Isaiah 32: 17). The Bible has always had more than one meaning. That was appreciated already by the Church Fathers and the Rabbis. So to understand what it means, expertise in Hebrew philology and ancient Near Eastern archaeology is no longer enough: one has to know something about the reception history of the texts as well. The last ten years have seen an explosion in biblical reception history. Several major reference works have appeared including the first eleven volumes of a thirty-​ volume Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (Allison et al. 2010–​) and The Oxford Handbook of the Reception History of the Bible (Lieb et al. 2012). There are now at least three journals, Biblical Reception (Sheffield Phoenix), Journal of the Bible and its Reception (de Gruyter) and the online Relegere. Studies in Religion and Reception, while the new journal Hebrew and Ancient Israel devoted a special issue to reception history, edited by Carol Newsom (HeBAI 3.1 2012). In addition to the fifteen volumes of the Wiley Blackwell Bible Commentary series published so far,1 the first volume of the new Eerdmans Illuminations series (Seow 2013) boasts an interest in the “history of consequences”. More and more studies of the afterlives of single books or passages are being published, such as Joseph in Egypt. A Cultural Icon from Grotius to Goethe (Lang 2009), After Ezekiel. Essays on the Reception of a Difficult Prophet (Joyce and Mein 2011) and The Sacrifice of Isaac. The Reception of a Biblical Story in Music (Dowling Long 2013). Still more recently a pioneering Bible in Music dictionary was published (Dowling Long and Sawyer 2015). There have been many studies of the Wirkungsgeschichte (“impact history”) of the Bible by art historians, musicologists, experts in literature and other disciplines. What is new is that now it is the biblical experts who are taking an interest in it as well. A senior biblical scholar at Emory University Atlanta recently said: “All Biblical Studies students must be taught how to handle reception history. This is not negotiable” (Sawyer 2012, pp. 321–​22). But while art historians, literature experts, musicologists and others in their studies of reception history are primarily concerned with art, literature, music and the like, we biblical experts are concerned with the meaning(s) of the biblical text. I believe that it is as much the exegetical value of reception history that contributes to biblical studies, as what it tells us about patristic theology or mediaeval iconography or the Reformation or Milton or romanticism or Benjamin Britten. The authors of a recent commentary on the Book of Lamentations coined the phrase “reception exegesis” to describe what they saw themselves as doing (Joyce and Lipton 2013, pp. 17–​19). For them reception history is the handmaid of exegesis, not an end in itself. Rather than seeking to provide a comprehensive history of the reception of the text, they present a selection of examples chosen primarily because they help us to understand it, and this brings a whole new dimension into the modern study of the Bible. At one time it had been normal for interpreters of the Bible to take account, more or less systematically, of the views of their predecessors. This was a primary

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function of Rashi’s commentaries, the Glossa Ordinaria and the biblical catenae such as St Thomas Aquinas’ Catena Aurea on the Four Gospels. But since the Reformation, Christian scholars tended to turn their backs on such material, partly because of Protestant suspicions of Catholic tradition, which of course had always depended more on Greek and Latin versions than on the original text. The tendency to sideline such material, whatever its relevance or exegetical value, was reinforced in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries by a fascination with archaeological discoveries and a variety of modern scientific methodologies designed to get back as closely as possible to the original meaning. Now thankfully that situation has changed. Alongside the fruits of two hundred years of historical critical research, biblical scholars are once again taking seriously the insights of preachers, poets, artists, musicians and all kinds of people down the ages who have been captivated, puzzled, challenged and inspired by the biblical text. Biblical studies has always been an interdisciplinary enterprise, but never more so than today. The gulf that once separated us from literary critics, art historians and musicologists, not to mention theologians and Church historians, is increasingly being bridged, and we are able to listen in on the dialogue that has taken place between the Bible and its readers for two thousand years. In all this the Book of Isaiah undoubtedly holds a special place, in both Jewish and Christian tradition. From the very beginning his readers clearly regarded him as of exceptional importance. The Qumran community had no less than twenty-​ two copies of the book in their library (Blenkinsopp 2006, pp. 89–​94) and Isaiah is cited more often in their sectarian writings than any other book apart from Psalms and Deuteronomy (Lange and Weigold 2011). In Jewish lectionaries as far back as we can trace them there are far more haftarot (“readings from the prophets”) from Isaiah than from any other book, including the seven “Consolation readings” (haftaroth nehamah) which begin with ­chapter 40 (Elbogen 1993, pp. 143–​49). Isaiah is more than anything else the “Prophet of Consolation” in Jewish tradition. Already in Ben Sira he is the one who “comforted those who mourned in Zion” (Ben Sira 48: 24), and there is a rabbinic tradition that if you see Isaiah in a dream, you can expect consolation (Babylonian Talmud Berakhot, 57b). The mediaeval Jewish poets found in Isaiah a rich source of language and imagery, like the image of angels weeping when they saw the suffering of the Jews at the hands of the Crusaders (Carmi 1991, p. 113; Spiegel 1979, p. 149), and he was a battleground for Jewish-​Christian debate, as in the great Disputation in Barcelona in 1263 (Maccoby 1982). From the nineteenth century the language and images of Isaiah frequently crop up in journals, organizations and place names associated with Zionism and the establishment of the State of Israel (Sawyer 2003, pp. 246–​69). He also contributed to the language and theology of post-​holocaust Judaism (Isaiah 45: 15; 56: 5) as well as to the iconography of world peace (Isaiah 2: 4; 11: 6–​9). Isaiah inspired a number of popular Hebrew songs including much of Lekha dodi (“Come, my beloved”) by the sixteenth-​century kabbalist Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz (see Isaiah 40: 5; 51: 17; 52: 1–​2; 54: 3; 60: 1; 62: 5), and the more recent Mayim be-​sasson (“Water with joy” Isaiah 12: 3). He also supplied the libretto for a number

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of larger Jewish compositions such as Alexandre Tansman’s oratorio Isaie le prophète (1950) and Robert Starer’s cantata Ariel (1963). His role in Christianity from the beginning is no less prominent. His name occurs over twenty times in the New Testament; far more than any of the other prophets apart from Moses and Elijah, and in his Letter to the Romans Paul shows a unique interest in Isaiah by twice introducing quotations with a reference to the prophet’s feelings: “Isaiah cried out…” (Romans 9: 27) and “Isaiah is so bold as to say…” (Romans 10: 20) (Sawyer 1996, pp. 21–​24). Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho (c. 160 ce) contains over twice the number of proof texts from Isaiah as from all the other prophetic books taken together. The great Eusebius of Caesarea, “Father of Church History”, only wrote two commentaries – one on Psalms and one on Isaiah (Armstrong 2013, p. xxxiv) – while Jerome’s 18-​volume commentary makes it clear from the start that for him, too, Isaiah was exceptional (Wilken 2007, p. 6). Cyril of Alexandria puts it this way: it seems to me that the blessed Isaiah is awarded the crown, not only of Old Testament grace, but also of New Testament privilege: he here acts as both Old Testament and New Testament author, and will deliver words of his own composition that are not bereft of the splendour of evangelical proclamation. Hill 2008, p. 20 The same goes for Isaiah’s readers from the Middle Ages right down to the present. The Wycliffe Bible (c. 1397)  introduces him, following Jerome and Cyril, as “not oneli a profete but more a Gospellere”. In Matthew Poole’s commentary (1700) he is “the fifth evangelist”. Some of the most familiar Christian images like the ox and the ass (1: 3), the six-​winged seraphim (6: 2), the Jesse tree (11: 1) and the peaceable kingdom (11: 6–​8) all come from Isaiah, as do numerous words and phrases such as Immanuel, Prince of Peace, Lucifer, a voice crying in the wilderness, a light to the nations, good news to the poor, and a new heaven and a new earth. The language and imagery of Isaiah are particularly evident in Milton, Herbert and Pope. Handel’s Messiah (1741) contains numerous memorable settings of texts from Isaiah. He was a “particular friend” of William Blake who, in one of his “memorable fancies” recounted in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790), tells how Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with him. Even the atheist Shelley acknowledged his love of the Bible, especially Job, Psalms and Isaiah (Roston 1965, p. 192). More recently Isaiah has been much quoted by liberation theologians (Isaiah 1:  17; 11:  3–​4; 58:  6–​8; 61: 1) and feminists (Isaiah 42: 14; 49: 15; 66: 13). One final comment by way of introduction concerns accessibility. Thanks to all the new reference works and other publications referred to above, locating such material is easier than it has ever been. But even more significant are the new facilities provided by the Internet. Commentators can now consult authors such as Isidore of Seville, Rashi, Nicholas of Lyra, Calvin,Vitringa and Luzzatto, free online. They can have Macaulay’s Battle of Naseby on the screen beside them as they read Isaiah 63, or Wilfred Owen’s The Next War as they read Isaiah 28: 15–​18. They can

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look at some of Edward Hick’s Peaceable Kingdom paintings as they read Isaiah 11, or Van Gogh’s Still Life with Bible (1885) when they are working on Isaiah 53. They can listen to Palestrina’s setting of the Rorate on YouTube as they read Isaiah 45: 8, or Brahms’ “Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit” from his German Requiem as they read Isaiah 66: 13 (with John 16: 22). Many of us have occasionally introduced such material into our lectures, but very much as an extracurricular option. Now let us hope that, as the material becomes more and more readily accessible, it will increasingly become an integral part of biblical exegesis. No longer need we choose between studying what the original meaning of the text was in ancient Israel, on the one hand, and what it has meant to many of its readers down the centuries on the other. Both are exercises in the critical analysis of the meaning of the text in a variety of contexts, and provided no one claims exclusive authority for any one context – the original mind of the author, the original listeners or readers, the Early Church, the Church Fathers, the Reformers, modern historical critical scholarship or the like – then we shall be able to listen to the individual voices of a vast array of readers of the text, many of them closer to us in a variety of ways, and more accessible, than the original author. With these brief words of explanation, let us look at five short examples from my forthcoming volume for the Wiley Blackwell Bible Commentary series.2 I hope they will illustrate not only the importance of reception history for the study of a sacred text, but also its exegetical value.

“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow” (Isaiah 1: 18) We begin with a familiar verse from Isaiah, ­chapter 1. Taken with the call to “wash yourselves, make yourselves clean…” in a previous verse (v. 16), it was cited by the Church Fathers, sometimes alongside Ezekiel 36: 25–​27, as scriptural authority for the sacrament of Baptism (Jerome, Eusebius). Clement of Rome, paraphrasing Isaiah and Ezekiel, says that the repentance of a sinner is what God wants, not his death: Even if your sins reach from earth to heaven and be redder than scarlet and blacker than sackcloth, if you turn to me with your whole heart and say, “Father”, I  will heed you as though you were a holy people (Ezekiel 33: 11–​20). Wilken 2007, pp. 24–​25 In modern times the popular evangelical notion of being washed in the blood of the Lamb (Revelation 7: 14) also finds biblical expression here, as in a hymn by the American singer and publisher E.O. Excell (1851–​1921) with the refrain “I’ve washed my robes in Jesus blood/​And he has made me white as snow” (Sawyer 1996, p. 151). Some modern commentators argue that verse 18 does not follow on from the preceding verses but begins a new section with a question, challenging the audience

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to an argument and asking them ironically whether they think a serious sin can just disappear: “if your sins are coloured scarlet, can they become white like snow?” (Blenkinsopp 2006). As the great German commentator Bernhard Duhm points out, “a murder is a murder even when it is forgiven” (Duhm 1914, p. 10). Thomas Aquinas in his commentary on the verse, also separates it from what precedes, and observes that the verse is about sins, not sinners. He interprets it as an analysis of two different types of sin and how they can be cured. The “scarlet” sins are caused by burning desire (amore incendente) which can be cured by putting snow on them (see Job 9: 30), while those that are red like “crimson” (Lat. vermiculus “worm, crimson dye”) are caused by mortifying fear (timore mortificante) and can be cured by applying pure wool to them (see Daniel 7: 9). This brings us to an intriguing interpretation of the verse by the English Catholic writer and suffragist Alice Meynell (1847–​1922). Her short poem entitled Beyond Knowledge (1901) was inspired by Isaiah 1: 18, and in it she too notices that it is not about washing away sins and making the believer white as snow, or about challenging sinners to face up to their responsibilities. On the contrary, what the words actually say is that, however scarlet the sin, it can be changed into something white and pure, but, unlike Aquinas, she envisages this as something that happens after death: Into the rescued world newcomer, The newly-​dead stepped up, and cried, “O what is that, sweeter than summer Was to my heart before I died? … O the success of His redeeming! O child, it is a rescued sin!” Meynell 1927, p. 93 It is not about the redemption of human beings, but the redemption of sins. Perhaps thinking of Paul’s description of the resurrection of the dead, when “we shall all be changed …” (1 Corinthians 15: 51), she imagines a time when, what is an abomination in this world, will be transformed into a thing of great beauty in the next. There will be no hell where evil is disposed of, but rather a new heaven and a new earth where even sins can be “rescued”. Whatever its theological implications, Meynell’s interpretation takes the text of Isaiah literally and, at the very least, suggests an intriguing way of understanding the relationship between frail mortals and their moral weaknesses.

Lucifer (Isaiah 14:12) The famous description of the “fall of the day-​star [Vulgate, Lucifer], son of dawn” is one of the best-​known and most influential passages in Isaiah. Part of the “taunt against the king of Babylon” (14: 4), it contrasts his own arrogant boasts (“I will ascend to heaven …”) with his present humiliating condition as a recent arrival in Sheol (v. 9). From a king boasting that he was like a god, he is now an unburied

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corpse, dragged out of its tomb and hidden away like an aborted foetus (v. 19; Tg.; RSV). Ibn Ezra tells us there was a tradition that this is what happened to Nebuchadnezzar. He is compared to the “day-​star”, that is, the planet Venus which is brighter than all the other stars, not because he was greater than all the other kings of the world, but because he thought he was (Cyril, Theodoret, Calvin). Despite objections from the Reformers (Luther; Calvin) and modern scholars (Lowth, Duhm, Childs), verse 14 has regularly been applied to Satan, a fallen angel, who got his name “Lucifer” from the Latin version. The passage is already alluded to in Satan’s account of his expulsion from heaven in the first century bce Life of Adam and Eve (12–​17; see 2 Enoch 29; Andersen 1983), and probably also in Jesus’ words “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven” (Luke 10: 18; see Revelation 12: 7–​9). Origen cites the passage to explain how the devil, “a being of darkness came to be called ‘light-​bearer’ (Latin, lucifer; McKinion 2004, pp. 121–​2). Modern Christian writers such as C.S. Lewis use it to highlight the contrast between Satan and Christ: Satan says “I will ascend to heaven … I will set my throne on high … I will make myself like the most High …” (v. 14); Jesus says in Gethsemane, “Not my will but thine be done …” (Matthew 26: 39) (Filmer-​Davies 2007, p. 664). Many interpret the passage as being capable of both interpretations, one with reference to Nebuchadnezzar and the other with reference to the devil (Eusebius, Jerome, Theodoret, Aquinas). It was one of the biblical sources for the tale of the “Fall of the Angels” which begins all the mediaeval English cycles of mystery plays (Twycross 2006, p. 346). In some Lucifer boasts that he is “a thowsand fold, brighter then is the sun” (Wakefield Cycle) and that he will “go sit where God should be! Above sun and moon and stars in the sky” (Town Cycle) (Isaiah 14: 13–​14). For Dante the creature that “fell like lightning from the sky” (Purgatorio 11: 25–2​6) was Nebuchadnezzar, not Satan; but Milton certainly had Isaiah 14 in mind when he described how Satan was “hurl’d headlong flaming from th’ethereal sky” at the beginning of Paradise Lost (1, 43), as did Gustav Doré in his famous engraving of the Fallen Angel (1866). Isaiah’s Lucifer is also the subject of a sonnet by the Victorian poet George Meredith (1828–​1909). In Lucifer in Starlight there is no place for him in the universe. Meredith is clearly dependent on Milton but, where in Paradise Lost, Lucifer comes up against the “perfect ranks” of angelic forces ... “over many a track of heaven they marched” (Paradise Lost 6: 68–​77), for Meredith there is no God and there are no angels (Hiemstra 1992, pp. 123–​33). Lucifer is defeated by the stars which represent the laws of nature, “the brain of heaven”, compared to an army on parade: With memory of the old revolt from Awe, He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank. Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank, The army of unalterable law. The original biblical passage is about Lucifer and “the stars of God” (v. 13), not angels, and Meredith, perhaps unconsciously, stays more closely with Isaiah. Indeed,

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he may be alluding to another verse from Isaiah about the starry heavens: “Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name” (Isaiah 40: 26).

An oracle concerning Moab (Isaiah 16–​17) These are two chapters not found in the lectionaries and little quoted, but a quick look at their reception history reveals some very interesting material. Similar in many respects to a long prophecy “concerning Moab” by Jeremiah (48: 1–​47), the description of Moab’s fate contains some difficult Hebrew and some obscure place names. The meaning of some of them may be more important than their location or even their existence. Eglath (v. 5) and Eglaim (v. 8), for example, from the Hebrew egel “calf ”, remind us that the Moabites were idol-​worshippers (Jerome, Cyril), while Nimrim (v. 6)  recalls wild leopards (Hebr. nemerim) and the river Dimon (v. 9 MT, AV;Vg.; RSV; Dibon) suggests blood (Hebr. dam) (Rashi). It is impossible to date the prophecy or to relate it to any specific historical event or events though there have been many attempts to do so (see Sweeney 2006). Rashi suggests that Isaiah was predicting another Assyrian invasion in three years’ time (16: 14), and that later Nebuchadnezzar and the Babylonians would come like a lion for “those who escape, for the remnant in the land” (15: 9). Eusebius points out that it does not matter whether it refers to Assyrians, Babylonians or Arabs (15: 7, 9 LXX) since nothing is left of ancient Moab today. What is remarkable about this prophecy, and the Jeremiah parallel, is that the prophet is moved to sympathy by the plight of the Moabites (15: 5; see Jeremiah 48: 36; Jerome). The prophet wept like Jesus weeping over Jerusalem (Luke 19: 41) or “like God who desires not the death of sinners” (see Ezekiel 33: 11; Henry 1960). Luther, Calvin and others think this is “prophetic irony” (see Jones 1996), but Rashi and others maintain that it distinguishes Israel’s prophets from the “gentile prophets”, recalling the King of Moab’s attempt to get Balaam to curse Israel (Numbers 22–​24). Isaiah 15: 6 beginning “the waters of Nimrim shall be a desert, the grass withers…” recalls the very much better known comment on the transience of human existence in Isaiah 40: 6–​8, and is quoted in full, along with Ecclesiastes 9: 12, by the Argentinian writer Eduardo Mallea (1903–​1982), at the beginning of his novel Todo Verdor Perecerà (“All greenery will perish”), published in 1941. This is a deeply pessimistic study of a woman’s isolation, her vain search for happiness and her ultimate despair, in which the last words of 40: 8 (“but the word of the Lord shall stand for ever”) are conspicuous by their absence, and the Isaiah passage is given a chilling relevance. The abrupt change of style and difficulties in the Hebrew text at the beginning of ­chapter 16 have prompted many different interpretations of the first passage (vv. 1–​5). The simplest is to read it as a call to the Moabites to “Send the lambs of the ruler” (MT) to Jerusalem in the hope of buying help against the invader. Rashi points out that the King of Moab was a sheep-​breeder (2 Kings 3: 4). The plight of the Moabite women is highlighted in a graphic simile (v.  2) and contrasted with the

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“Daughter of Zion” addressed in v. 3.The Moabites’ prayer to Jerusalem for protection ends with a vision of the establishment of the throne of David in faithfulness and loving kindness (vv. 3–​5), according to Rashi,Theodoret and others, a reference to Hezekiah who, after his victory over Sennacherib, showed exceptional generosity towards refugees from other lands (2 Chronicles 30: 24–​5). The Syriac version has “I will send the son of the ruler …” which would be an even more desperate attempt to buy help from Judah (Lowth). Other suggestions such as “They have sent lambs …” (RSV) or “They will send tribute” (Tg.), make reasonably good sense but are less dramatic. The Vulgate of verse 1 stays closer to the original Hebrew than most of the other versions and inspired a popular mediaeval Christian interpretation. It may be rendered as follows: “Send forth a lamb, a ruler of the earth, from a rock in the desert to the mountain of the daughter of Zion”. Jerome tells us that this prophecy is fulfilled in Ruth the Moabitess, and is a prophecy that should bring some comfort to the suffering Moabites: for out of you, he says to them, will come a Lamb that will take away the sins of the world, from a rock in the desert (that is, descended from Ruth the Moabitess; see Isaiah 51: 1–​2), to Mount Zion: to the city of Jerusalem, whether literally when the Virgin Mary brought Jesus to the Temple (Luke 2; Nicholas of Lyra), or, in a spiritual sense, to the Church (Jerome, Eusebius). This was celebrated by the mediaeval Church in the Latin antiphon beginning Emitte Agnum Domine “Send forth the Lamb”, and the passage was read during Advent as regularly as other more familiar messianic prophecies (e.g. Isaiah 9: 1–​7; 11: 1–​9; 42: 1–​4). It features in a prayer recited by Isaiah, along with the Rorate (45: 8), in John Bale’s religious drama The Chief Promises of God unto Man (1538). It also figures in a thirteenth-​century illustration of the verse in the Bible Moralisée showing Isaiah pointing at the Virgin Mary who stands in a rocky wilderness tenderly holding the Lamb in her arms. Maybe the Catholic image of “Our Lady of the Rocks” owes something to this passage, and perhaps also Leonardo’s two famous paintings of the Virgin of the Rocks. Finally, there is an important modern context in which this passage operates. In the late twentieth century, liberation theologians found in it a succinct expression of their concerns for good counsel, justice and the protection of the rights of immigrants and refugees – aspects of social justice highlighted by the prophets in more familiar passages elsewhere (Isaiah 1: 17; 11: 1–​5; 32: 16–​17; 58: 6–​8), but present here in a very distinctive context. In the eyes of the Moabites, Jerusalem and the Davidic Messiah are a source of “steadfast love” or “interhuman compassion” as well as “justice and righteousness” (Miranda 1977, p. 47). This is one of the few places in Isaiah where “steadfast love” (Hebrew, ḥesed) is mentioned (see Isaiah 54: 10: 55: 3; 63: 7) and is cited by the rabbis to show that not only the world (Psalm 89: 2), but also the throne of God is founded on it (Montefiore and Loewe 1938, pp. 89–​90). The language and imagery in these two chapters are striking, not least in regard to the prophet’s response to Moab’s fate. Dante appears to allude to verse 9 (Vulgate, inebriabo lacrima mea) in the description of his eyes as so “intoxicated” (inebriate) that they made him weep. His horror when he recognized someone he knew among

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the tortured souls in Hell (Inferno, 29:  1–​3) was like Isaiah’s as he watched the destruction of Moab. Again in verse 11 the prophet is physically sickened by what he sees, reading “my bowels” with AV (Hebrew, me’ay; Vulgate, venter “belly”; see Rashi; Tg.) rather than “my soul” (RSV). Luther says the prophet is “putting on an act”, but Jeremiah uses similar language in the same context (Jeremiah 48: 36) and Isaiah’s reaction to his vision of the destruction of Babylon is perhaps the closest parallel, despite Luther’s comments (Isaiah 21: 2–​4).

The Destruction of Sennacherib (Isaiah 36–​37) The biblical account of the Assyrian invasion of Judah in 701 bce and their miraculous defeat is the subject of a dramatic painting by Rubens, similar in style and content to his better known Conversion of St Paul, painted at about the same time. The Destruction of Sennacherib (1616) has been described by an art historian as “a wild and raging tumult of flight caused by heavenly apparitions, with men, mostly mounted, fighting against an unearthly enemy; even the horses are beside themselves, and over the whole there pour streams of light and night” (Burckhardt 1950, p. 84).This is in striking contrast to Lord Byron’s equally dramatic poem Sennacherib (1815), which makes no mention of men on horseback, either fighting or fleeing from the battle field, and the exegetical question arises as to which is a closer reading of the text of Isaiah (Isaiah 36–​37). We know from Sennacherib’s own account, together with a reference in the parallel version in 2 Kings (18: 14–​16; omitted from the Isaiah passage), that probably what actually happened was that Hezekiah submitted to the Assyrians and they withdrew without a blow being struck. The biblical account of the event takes up two long chapters of the text (Isaiah 37–​8; see 2 Kings 19–​20), but this is mainly taken up with threatening speeches by the Assyrian general, a prayer by King Hezekiah and an extended prophecy by Isaiah.The miraculous destruction of his army is described in just one verse near the end, as a fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy that the King of Assyria “shall not come into this city or shoot an arrow … for I will defend this city to save it for my own sake and for the sake of my servant David” (Isaiah 37: 33–​35). Isaiah prophesied that the entire army would be destroyed without a blow being struck, and this is what happened: “And the angel of the Lord went forth, and slew out of the camp of the Assyrians a hundred and eighty-​five thousand: and they arose in the morning and found all these bodies dead” (Isaiah 37: 36). The brevity of this description is commented on by Luther who compares it to the equally brief account of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19: 24), but also points out that in any case enough details of Sennacherib’s fate have been given already (e.g. Isaiah 10: 16–​19; 14: 23–​4; 31: 8–​9). Parallels have been noted with the Passover legend where the “Destroying Angel” spread death throughout the land of Egypt (Exodus 13: 23) (Eusebius, Jerome, Blenkinsopp), and with the plague that smote Jerusalem in the days of King David (2 Samuel 24: 16–​17). Indeed, Josephus and others suggest that it was a plague that wiped out the Assyrian army in this story as well (Antiquities 10: 9–​21; see Duhm 1914).

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What is interesting about Byron’s poem is that it is for the most part an elaboration of that one verse.  Almost every word, every image comes from a close reading of the verse: the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast … That host on the morrow lay withered and strown … The tents were all silent, the banners alone, /​The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown … The might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,/​hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! His emphasis on silence (“for ever grew still … the tents were all silent … the trumpet unblown”) captures the chilling atmosphere of the miracle, missed by Rubens. The famous first stanza, beginning: “The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold”, and references in the last to the “widows of Ashur” and the broken idols in the Temple of Baal, give the poem a context. But otherwise the poem asks us to focus single-​mindedly on verse 36. There is no evidence that Byron had in mind a passage about Passover night from the apocryphal Book of Wisdom, but it bears a remarkably close resemblance to his reading of Isaiah 37: 36: For while gentle silence enveloped all things And night in its swift course was now half gone, thy all-​powerful word leapt from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed, a stern warrior carrying the sharp sword of his authentic command, and stood and filled all things with death. Wisdom 18: 14–​15

“Here I am, here I am” (Isaiah 65: 1–​2) Christians have long interpreted these words as spoken by Christ, the twice repeated divine “Here I am” symbolizing his closeness to those who call upon him in spirit and in truth (Athanasius). His hands are outstretched on the Cross so that he might embrace the ends of the earth (Cyril), as he says “Father forgive them” (Jerome). Sadly, the passage appears in a blatantly anti-​Semitic context on a church that once stood overlooking the Jewish Ghetto in Rome. The inscription accompanies a painting of the crucifixion and is in Hebrew as well as Latin, to make it clear that it is addressed to the Jews, describing them as “a rebellious people who walk in a way that is not good, following their own devices, a people who provoke me to my face continually”. Put up when the church was renovated in 1858, it stands as a grim monument to a time when the Church’s attitude to the Jewish people was at best patronizing, at worst fiercely hostile (Sawyer 2004). We are concerned here, however, with a very different interpretation of the text. It is the third and last divine “Here I am” passage (Vulgate, Ecce ego, ecce ego: see Isaiah 52: 6, 58: 9), in which God offers himself to humanity as Isaiah offered himself to God (Isaiah 6: 8) (Sawyer 2011). The German Jewish poet Hilde Domin (1909–​ 2006) seems to have recognized that it has a theological significance similar to

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Pilate’s Ecce Homo “Behold the man” (John 19: 5) (Sawyer 2011a). Her short poem entitled Ecce Homo ends with the words: Nur der Gekreuzigte beide Arme weit offen der Hier-​Bin-​Ich. “Only the man on the Cross, both arms wide open, the Here-​I-​Am”. Her suggestion appears to be that the true meaning of Ecce Homo is revealed only when the “man on the Cross” himself says, “Yes, Here I am. I am that Man.” Clearly the poet’s “Hier-​Bin-​Ich” recalls the responses of Abraham (Genesis 22: 1), Moses (3: 4), the boy Samuel (1 Samuel 3: 4, 5, 6, 9, 11), Isaiah (6: 8) and other servants of the Lord, to God’s call. But alongside “his arms wide open” it also seems to recall the words of Isaiah 65 where it is God who uses them in a remarkable reciprocal offer of himself to humanity. Can we interpret the words “Here I am” in Hilde Domin’s poem as addressed to us both by the man on the Cross, and at the same time, in fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy, by God? The Jewish poet would more than likely have rejected such a theology, as Elie Wiesel rejected belief in a God hanging from the gallows in Auschwitz in his novel Night (Wiesel 2006, p. 65). For Christian theologians Christ is both man and God, and the words of Isaiah, addressed to us, beautifully express this, as the Church Fathers realized. In Christ’s “Here I am”, as in Ecce Homo, “the declaration ho logos sarx egeneto (“The Word was made flesh” John 1: 14) has become visible in its extremest consequence” (Bultmann 1971, p. 659). But it was a Jewish poet who brought the Ecce Homo and the “Here I am” together.

Notes 1 Wiley Blackwell Bible Commentary series www.bbibcomm.info. 2 Isaiah through the Centuries (2017).

References Allison, Jr., D.C., Helmer, C., Seow, C,-​L., Spieckermann, H., Walfish, B.D. and Ziolkowski, E. (eds) (2012–​) Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (30 vols). Berlin: de Gruyter. Andersen, F.I. (1983) “2 (Slavonic Apocalypse of) Enoch”, in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.) The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (vol. 1). New York: Doubleday, pp. 91–​221. Bale, J. (1985) The Complete Plays of John Bale (2  vols.). Edited by P. Happé. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Blenkinsopp, J. (2006) Opening the Sealed Book. Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity. Grand Rapids, MI and Cambridge, UK: Wm. B. Eerdmans. Bultmann, R. (1971) The Gospel of John: a commentary. Translated by G.R. Beasley-​Murray. Oxford: Blackwells. Burckhardt, J. (1950) Recollections of Rubens. London: Phaidon.

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Carmi, T. (1981) The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. London: Allen Lane. Childs, B.S. (2001) Isaiah. A Commentary (OTL). Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Domin, Hilde (1987) Gesammelte Gedichte. Frankfurt: S. Fischer Verlag. Dowling Long, S. (2013) The Sacrifice of Isaac:  The Reception of a Biblical Story in Music. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Dowling Long, S. and Sawyer, J.F.A. (2015) The Bible in Music. A Dictionary of Songs,Works and More. Lanham, MA: Rowman & Littlefield. Duhm, B. (1914) Das Buch Jesaia, übersetzt und erklärt 3rd edition. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Filmer-​Davies, (2007) “C.S. Lewis”, in A. Hass, D. Jasper and E. Jay (eds) Oxford Handbook of English Literature and Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 655–​68. Henry, Matthew, (1960) Commentary on the whole Bible in one volume: Genesis to Revelation. Edited by L.F. Church. London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott. Hiemstra, A. (1992) “Reconstructing Milton’s Satan:  Meredith’s ‘Lucifer in Starlight,’” Victorian Poetry, 30(2), pp. 23–​33. Hill, R.C. (2008) Cyril of Alexandria. Commentary on Isaiah (vol. 1) Chapters 1–​14. Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Orthodox Press. Jones, B.C. (1996) Howling over Moab. Irony and Rhetoric in Isaiah 15–​16. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press. Joyce, P. and Lipton, D. (2013) Lamentations through the Centuries. Bible Commentary Series. Oxford: Wiley Blackwells. Joyce, P.M. and Mein, A. (eds) (2011) After Ezekiel: Essays on the Reception of a Difficult Prophet. LHBOTS, 535. New York and London: T&T Clark. Lang, B. (2009) Joseph in Egypt. A Cultural Icon from Grotius to Goethe. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Lieb, M., Mason, E. and Roberts, J. (eds) (2011) (consultant ed. C. Rowland) The Oxford Handbook of the Reception History of the Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lowth, R. (1857) Isaiah. A New Translation with a Preliminary Dissertation and Notes, Critical, Philological and Explanatory (15th edition). London: William Tegg & Co. Luther’s Works (1969) vol. 16. Lectures on Isaiah Chapters 1–​39. Edited by J. Pelikan. St Louis, MO: Concordia. Luther’s Works (1969) vol. 17. Lectures on Isaiah Chapters 4–​66. Edited by H.C. Oswald. St Louis, MO: Concordia. Maccoby, H. (1982) Judaism on Trial. Jewish Christian Disputations in the Middle Ages. London and Toronto: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization. McKinion, S.A. (ed.) (2004) Isaiah 1–​39. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press. Mallea, E. (1968) Todo Verdor Perecerà. Edited by D.L. Shaw. Oxford: Pergamon. Meredith, G. (1983) Selected Poems. Edited by K. Hanley. Manchester: Carcanet. Meynell, A. (1927) Poems. London: Burns Oates and Washbourne. Miranda, J.P. (1977) A Critique of the Philosophy of Oppression. London: SCM Press. Montefiore, C.G. and H. Loewe (1938) A Rabbinic Anthology. London: Macmillan. Roston, M. (1965) Prophet and Poet:  The Bible and the Growth of Romanticism. London: Faber & Faber. Sawyer, J.F.A. (1996) The Fifth Gospel:  Isaiah in the History of Christianity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —​—​—​(2003) “Isaiah and Zionism”, in P.R. Davies and A.G. Hunter (eds), Sense and Sensitivity. Essays on Biblical Prophecy, Ideology and Reception in Tribute to Robert Carroll. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, pp. 246–​69.

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—​—​—​(2004) “Isaiah and the Jews. Some Reflections on the Church’s Use of the Bible”, in J.C. Exum and H.Williamson (eds) Reading from Right to Left. Essays in Honour of David Clines. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, pp. 390–​401. —​—​—​(2011a) “Anthony van Dyck’s Birmingham Ecce Homo “Behold the Man!”, in M. O’Kane (ed.) Bible, Art, Gallery. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, pp. 122–​44. —​—​—​(2011b) “The divine ‘Here I am’ (hinneni) in Isaiah”, in Sacred Texts and Sacred Meanings. Essays in Biblical Language and Literature. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, pp. 194–​206. —​—​—​(2012) “A Critical Review of Recent Projects and Publications”, HeBAI 1, 3 Special issue on Reception History. Edited by Carol Newsom, pp. 298–​326. Seow, C.L. (2013) Job 1–​ 21. Interpretation and Commentary. Illuminations Series. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Spiegel, S. (1979) The Last Trial. On the Legends and Lore of the Command to Abraham to offer Isaac as a Sacrifice. English translation by J.Goldin. New York: Behrman. Sweeney, M.J. (2006) “On the road to Duhm:  Isaiah in Nineteenth Century Critical Scholarship”, in C.M. McGinnis and P.K. Tull (eds) ‘As those who are taught’. The Interpretation of Isaiah from the LXX to the SBL. Atlanta, GA, pp. 243–​61. Twycross, M. (2006) “The Theatre”, in J.F.A. Sawyer (ed.) The Blackwell Companion to the Bible and Culture. Oxford: Blackwells, pp. 338–​64. Wiesel, E. (2006) Night. English translation by Marion Wiesel. New  York:  Hill & Wang/​ Oprah Book Club. Wilken, R.L. (2007) Isaiah: Interpreted by Early Christian and Medieval Commentators.Translated and edited by R.L. Wilken with A. Russell Christman and M.J. Hollerich. Grand Rapids, MI/​& Cambridge, UK: Wm. B. Eerdmans.

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18 THE MADNESS OF KING SAUL An interpretation of I Samuel 9–​31 in music Siobhán Dowling Long1

Introduction Many sacred scriptures of the world religions are chanted or recited both in communal and private worship today. Indeed, before they were written down, many scriptures were transmitted orally from one generation to the next through spoken and sung recitations. When they were eventually committed to writing, the sayings, stories, hymns and legends etc. of different scriptures were later collected, selected and organized by their religious communities on the basis of their authority into a “final written form”. The “final written form” of some scriptures, such as the Bible in Jewish and Christian traditions, has also enjoyed an afterlife in liturgical celebrations, in other non-​canonical writings, and in a variety of religious and secular art forms. Within the arts, numerous episodes from the Bible have been depicted by artists, dramatized by playwrights, and set to music by composers and librettists. From the history of music alone, there is a vast corpus of work inspired by or based on the Bible in every genre, scored for every instrument and voice, and for performances in a variety of religious and secular settings, including recordings of performances on old vinyl records, DVDs, radio, television and the Internet. In this way, the Bible is kept alive, not only in religious settings where music is performed as part of liturgical celebrations, but also in secular settings, where it can be accessed by people from a wide variety of religious traditions and none. Within music, compositions inspired by or based on the Bible are noted for highlighting the pathos of a given narrative/​text both through expressive music and imaginative gap filling in the libretto, that is, in the text underscoring the music. For example, many composers and/​or librettists of biblical operas and oratorios fill in the gaps of the sparse biblical text with an array of extra-​biblical details that tell of the interior monologues and speeches of biblical characters, their

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feelings and emotions, along with explanations for certain actions or non-​actions, as well as other details about certain biblical events and happenings. Likened to the type of elaborations found within Jewish Midrash and the sermons of the Church Fathers, musical interpretations shed light on the biblical texts’ nuances and ambiguities. Settings of the Bible in music can also illuminate meaning from new and thought-​provoking perspectives. For example, some works in music place a different emphasis on the biblical narrative to the one given in traditional interpretation, highlighting for example a particular personality trait of a biblical character, reasons for their behaviour, or perhaps, another perspective on the biblical story to the one given in traditional interpretation, and so on. Such works also draw attention to certain words and phrases thorough the repetition and embellishment of these words in the music. In this way, the music provides listeners with an opportunity to reflect more deeply on the meaning of various narrative episodes and/​or portions of biblical text, and if they are members of faith communities, to ponder its relevance for their lives today in communion with others. When listeners return to reading a biblical story, having listened to its performance in music, they do so with heightened awareness of its details, and sometimes, with more searching questions that challenge the way they once thought about a particular biblical episode, biblical character, or portion of biblical text. It is only in recent times that the value of such interpretations has been realized in the domain of biblical studies, that is, within the contested area of reception history. This chapter focuses then on the musical afterlife of the first book of Samuel from the Old Testament/​Hebrew Bible, specifically on the tragic story of King Saul from I Samuel 9–​31 in operas, oratorios and songs dating from the seventeenth to the early twentieth century. The works selected were all intended for secular performances in theatres, concert halls and churches outside of liturgical celebrations. In these contexts the biblical story is brought alive through its dramatization not only on the stage, but also in the imaginations of audiences, both during and after the performance. There is no doubt that the biblical story of King Saul is biased in favour of David (see Joseph Blenkinsopp 2013, pp. 36–​41). Despite some military successes in his early career (see I Samuel 14: 47–​48), Saul is best remembered as the tragic king who was rejected by YHWH (13: 13–​14; 16: 7) following two acts of disobedience (I Samuel 13; 15), one of which was dubious as to whether or not he was actually disobedient or guilty of any wrongdoing (I Samuel 13). Indeed, there is still a general tendency among some biblical commentators to present King Saul in a negative light, “as insanely jealous, murderous in intent and irrational” (see for example McKenzie 2006, p. 65), or as one who was “ultimately responsible for his own fate and that of his house” (see Ehrlich 2006, p. 5). Musical interpretations of the story, however, are largely sympathetic of Saul, whose story retold highlights another perspective on the biblical story, which is oftentimes neglected or glossed over by biblical commentators.

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King Saul in Christian tradition David Gunn, however, rightly points out that Saul has been treated with “a large measure of hostility” in Christian tradition (Gunn 1980, p. 23). Whereas David is represented as “a type of Christ”, Saul has been represented in contrast to David as “a figure of Satan” or “his instrument”, as a type of “persecutor of the Church”, and as “a type of tyrant/​king/​magistrate who persecutes true religion” (Gunn 1980, p. 23). It is also true to say that while every aspect of David’s life and times have dominated the arts, the visual arts in particular have focused largely on the low points of Saul’s reign, most notably on his attempted murder of David who played his harp to quieten Saul’s evil spirit (See Figure 18.1). Unlike Saul’s characterization in Christian tradition (including western art), librettists and composers have been largely sympathetic to King Saul and his tragic story, highlighting not only his grief and spiral into madness as a result of his unfair rejection by YHWH, but also his heroism as a military leader, which in tradition has been largely overshadowed by David’s combat with Goliath (I Samuel 17). In music, Saul is portrayed as a tragic king whose faithfulness to his people was evidenced by his manifold attempts to hold on to his crown. Only Saul had the vision to see in David what others would eventually see following the decimation of the Saulide house in the aftermath of Saul’s death on Mount Gilboa (2 Samuel 21: 1–​14). In this episode, David killed Saul’s descendants, despite having sworn an oath promising that he would not destroy Saul’s descendants or cut off Saul’s name “out of his father’s house” (I Samuel 24: 21–​22). Saul had reason to be suspicious of David (18: 9), to see him in a different light, from the time he first stepped inside his house as his musician and amour-​bearer (16: 21–​23) to his re-​entry after his triumphant slaughter of the terrifying giant, Goliath (18: 6–​7).

The person of Saul The biblical narrator introduces Saul as the handsome, young and only son of Kish of the Tribe of Benjamin, whose ancestry is listed to highlight Saul’s importance

FIGURE 18.1   David

SuperStock.

Before Saul. Jusepe Leonardo (c. 1601–​52) © Christies Images Ltd/​

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as the future first King of Israel (9: 1–​2). Ambiguity relating to Saul’s age upon his accession to the throne, the duration of his reign, and the precise cause of his death are questions that still provoke discussion among biblical commentators to this day, and reveal much about the complex nature of Saul’s character that refuses to remain in David’s shadow. Composers and librettists, however, tend not to get caught up with such details, but agree that Saul was a man of mature means as indicated by the scoring of his voice for a baritone or bass voice part.

Insiders and outsiders Insiders and outsiders are significant in the story of Saul. Insiders comprise the king’s family whose relationship was marred owing to their relationship with Saul’s opponent, David. The biblical narrator tells that Saul was married to Ahinoam, the daughter of Ahimaaz (14: 50), who bore him four sons (Jonathan, Abinadab, Ishvi/​Ish-​bosheth, Malchishua), and two daughters (Merab and Michal). Although the narrator reveals nothing more about the king’s martial status, Saul’s insulting remark to his son Jonathan, “son of a perverse and rebellious woman” (20: 30), alludes to possible marital problems. Interpretations of this verse by Levenson and Halpern (1980, p. 34) suggest that David may have married Saul’s wife, Ahinoam, although other interpretations suggest the implausibility of this occurrence noting that David’s wife Ahinoam (25: 43) was another woman with the same name as Saul’s wife (see Edelman 1991, p. 221). While few compositions in music mention Saul’s wife (one being, Falvio’s Testi’s opera Saul) the music reveals nothing else about her character. Similarly, Saul’s concubine Rizpa (2 Samuel 3: 7; 21: 8) is generally omitted from any retellings of this story in eighteenth- and nineteenth-​century operas and oratorios. The sanitization of the biblical story by librettists is a frequent occurrence, especially among eighteenth-​century librettists who would have omitted such details for fear of misleading or offending Christian audiences. The other significant member of Saul’s family was Abner, the son of Ner and brother of Saul’s father Kish (I Samuel 14: 50b; 26: 5), who was also the commander in chief of Saul’s army. Abner features in two well-​known works in music, that is, in Handel’s oratorio Saul (HWV 53, 1739) based on a libretto by Charles Jennens (1700–​73) and in Carl Nielsen’s opera Saul og David (FS 25, 1899–​1900) based on a libretto by Einar Christiansen (1861–​1939). Notable outsiders include Doeg the Edomite who “faithfully” murdered the priests of Nob at Saul’s command; an Amakelite, who at the end of the story either assisted in Saul’s suicide at Saul’s request or took it upon himself to kill the king to win favour with David; and the Witch of Endor,2 who raised up the shade/​ghost of Samuel for Saul on the eve of Saul’s death and final battle with the Philistines. These three characters feature in various operas, oratorios and songs, along with the Philistines, who terrified Saul not only at the beginning and end of the biblical story but for much of Saul’s reign as king.

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FIGURE  18.2   Glyndebourne

Tour 2015 © Glyndebourne Productions Ltd. Photograph: Richard Hubert Smith.

Saul’s dysfunctional relationship with his children Saul’s tumultuous relationship with three of his adult children – Jonathan, Merab and Michal – is a reoccurring theme in the biblical narrative. To complicate this relationship even further, David befriended Jonathan and Michal, and split the family in two, so that the pair initially supported David over and against their father (see Figure 18.2).3 Despite the fractured relationships, the faithfulness of Saul’s sons was made visible in their presence at their father’s last battle with the Philistines (in which they lost their lives), and in Michal’s contempt for David (and in David’s contempt for Michal) when he eventually became king over Israel and brought the ark to Jerusalem (2 Samuel 6: 16, 20–​23).

Merab Readers of the biblical narrative first hear about Saul’s treatment of his unnamed daughter in I Samuel 17: 25 when she was promised to the man who killed the giant Goliath. Then, after David’s victorious slaughter of Goliath, she was promised to David (18: 17–​18). But for some unknown reason, not disclosed in the biblical narrative, Merab, Saul’s eldest daughter, was given instead to Adriel the Meholathite (18: 19). In Handel’s oratorio Saul, Merab sees in David what her father sees, and subsequently wants no part in the marriage. Her “scornful behaviour” at the beginning of this oratorio, which is not mentioned in the biblical story, is derived from her portrayal in Abraham Crowley’s epic Davideis, which underscores the retelling of the story in the libretto by Charles Jennens.

Michal Saul then promised his youngest daughter Michal to David, who he knew was in love with the young shepherd boy turned victorious warrior (18: 20). Michal is the

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only woman in the Hebrew Bible whose love of a man is declared in such terms. But David’s love for Michal is not stated anywhere in the biblical narrative. In a ruse, and not staying entirely faithful to his original promise, Saul made an additional request of David for Michal’s hand in marriage, instructing him to pay a bride price to the value of one hundred Philistine foreskins (18: 25). Hoping that David would fall victim in the line of duty, the plan failed miserably when David not only survived the battle but also returned home victorious with double the quantity of Philistine foreskins (18: 27). Librettists and composers of oratorios such as Saul by Handel, David in Specula Engaddi (“David in the Cave of Engeddi”) (1795) by Johann Simon Mayr, and the opera Saul og David by Nielson, have all magnified the love affair between David and Michal, while sanitizing the story of details such as the bride price and Saul’s secret plans to have David killed. Handel/​Jennens, however, incorporated the episode of Michal’s deception of her father, including her lie to Saul, which she told in order to save David’s life (19: 11–​17). The inclusion of this episode in the oratorio highlights not only the love affair between the couple but also the psychological control that David exerted over Michal, and the detrimental effects of this union on her relationship with her father. The staging of Handel’s oratorio Saul by the Glyndebourne opera company in 2015 highlights Saul’s dysfunctional relationship with each of his children, dramatizing as it does his rough treatment of them, in which he shouts into their faces, pulls them roughly, and throws them to the ground. Of course none of these details are recorded in the biblical narrative, and therefore, this recent staging of Handel’s oratorio superimposes an extra layer of interpretation onto Handel’s retelling of the story as well as that of the biblical story. It magnifies the negative effects of YHWH’s evil spirit on every aspect of Saul’s life, including his fractious relationships with his children.

Jonathan Saul’s poor relationship with his son Jonathan is a major theme of Handel’s oratorio Saul. In the biblical narrative, Saul makes two attempts on Jonathan’s life: first when Jonathan broke Saul’s foolish ban by eating honey (14: 24), after which time Saul’s troops intervened to save Jonathan’s life (14: 45); and second, when Saul threw his spear at Jonathan and almost impaled him to the wall (20: 33).Throughout the narrative, Jonathan recognizes David as the future king who would replace not only Saul but also Jonathan himself as King of Israel. Realizing that his son had fallen victim to David’s manipulative ways, Saul became angry with his son Jonathan whom he knew was foolishly conspiring with David in order to fast track him onto the throne. Jonathan’s allegiance to David is illustrated in his visits to David while on the run, that is, from Nai’oth at Ramah (20: 1) and the Wilderness of Ziph at Horesh (23: 16). In the oratorio, David in Specula Engaddi, Mayr brings these two episodes together as one, and includes an extra-​biblical detail by having Michal accompany

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Jonathan on one such visit.This scene emphasizes the love affair between David and Michal, rather than the love affair between David and Jonathan (18: 1, 3; 20: 17), which has been a subject of much discussion among biblical commentators down through the centuries (see in particular Edelman 1991). Whether David loved Jonathan as a close friend or as a lover, or used him to achieve the desired end, are all matters of interpretation. In the course of their friendship Jonathan made a covenant with David (18: 3–​4; 20: 16–​17 and 23: 18), and in so doing relinquished his title as heir to the throne in words and in actions. In music, homoerotic elements are alluded to in the scoring of David’s vocal part for a high voice (i.e. as a counter-​tenor) as in Handel’s Saul, and in the scoring of Jonathan’s part for a soprano in Charpentier’s David et Jonathan (H. 490, 1688). In the latter, which was written to a libretto by François de Paule Bretonneau (1660–​ 1741), much of the action, and ensuing extra-​biblical dialogues between Jonathan and David, takes place on the battlefield on Mount Gilboa. In the twentieth century, Flavio Testi also incorporated this theme in the opera Saül, based on a play by the same name by Andre Gidé (Saül, 1903). In this opera, all three members of the royal household – Saul, his wife and Jonathan – become infatuated with David, although only Jonathan’s feelings are reciprocated by David.

Saul’s mental illness Down through history, Saul is known as the king who went mad. Although the text does not specifically mention “madness”, his state of mental ill health is a stigma that has attached itself to his memory. Whether Saul became ill before his accession to the throne, or afterwards as the biblical text clearly seems to suggest, or, if he was indeed mad at all, are questions for which there are multiple answers. In music, for example, the only composer to mention Saul’s anointment as king is Hubert Parry in the oratorio Saul (1894). Saul’s anointment occurs on three different occasions, also known as three different traditions. Parry focuses on Saul’s anointment from the first tradition (9: 3–​10: 16), with allusions to the third (11–​15), and with no mention of Saul hiding in the closet from the second tradition (10: 17–​27). Parry’s oratorio highlights the change that overcame Saul prior to and after this momentous event. At the beginning, he is portrayed as an ordinary boy whose spirit soared “on wings of delight”, as sung in Saul’s delightful air “The heavens are full of radiant light”, and as noted by the maidens at the well in their semi-​chorus “See the comely youth who hither comes across the plain and hear him singing.” The delight of the people is also expressed in their proclamations of Saul as a great king and hero in their choruses “Hail Saul, great lord and leader”. But the change in Saul’s character occurs with his possession by the evil spirit, which, according to Parry, was later responsible for Saul’s acts of disobedience or so-​called acts disobedience (13; 15), for which YHWH rejected Saul (13: 13–​14; 16: 7), and later regretted making him king (15: 11, 35). In the oratorio, the “evil spirit” is personified as a creature, and scored for an alto voice, to be sung either by a high male or low female voice. It makes its presence felt in Act Two, Scene Two

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in a melody shaped like a slithery snake, “Saul, Thou art King indeed!” This air is sung after Saul’s war with the Amakelites in the chorus, “We Come, We Come”. In this recitative, and unlike the account of this episode in the biblical narrative, the evil spirit directs Saul to disregard God’s command “to utterly destroy the Amalekites” (15: 3). After some thought, as suggested by the short musical interlude, Saul commands the army to keep the flocks and herds (based on 15: 9), to a melody and accompaniment full of dissonances to suggest the influence of the evil spirit. According to this interpretation in music, YHWH’s spirit was the cause of Saul’s disobedience to YHWH’s command.

The evil spirit and the mystical effect of music therapy When the spirit of the Lord departed from Saul and transferred to David it was replaced by “an evil spirit from the Lord” (16: 14–​15; 18: 10; 19: 9). Regarded as the first story in the Bible to suggest the presence of mental illness in a principal character (Tanner, pp. 8f), it has been suggested that this episode was intended to stigmatize Saul in favour of David (Tanner, p. 21). As a result, numerous biblical commentators have suggested a litany of diagnoses, as explanations of Saul’s “illness”, including “anxiety disorder featuring panic attacks” (Esler), “psychosis – evidently, fits of depression later accompanied by paranoia” (Alter),“fits of depression” (Knowles), and “depression and paranoia, or perhaps manic depression” (Craigie) (all cited in Tanner 2010, pp. 13–​14). Other commentators, as Tanner notes, prefer to speak in terms of mental illness, and describe Saul’s condition in terms of “madness” (Gunn), “psychological illness” (Collins), “melancholia (Tsumura), and “cerebral disease” (Philbeck). To calm the effects of the evil spirit, Saul’s servants pressed their master to avail of a “man skilled in playing the lyre”, in modern terms “a music therapist”, who would bring relief to Saul’s tormented spirit (16:  15–​17). In the narrative Saul reiterates the servant’s advice and asks them to find him a man who could play well. Upon hearing a report from one of his servant boys about the son of Jesse the Bethlehemite who was: “skilled in playing”, “a valiant fellow”, “a warrior”, “prudent in speech”, “a good-​looking man” whom “the Lord was with” (16: 18), Saul sent a message to Jesse, David’s father, requesting David (16: 19) to attend Saul’s court. Upon David’s arrival, the biblical narrator recounts that Saul “loved David”, (16: 21) as so many would, and he became his armour-​bearer. At this point Saul neither knew that David was anointed by Samuel nor filled with the spirit that had previously inhabited him. He was also unaware that David was in a key position to supplant him as the next King of Israel. The first of three episodes that tell of David’s skill as a harpist emphasize David’s ability to soothe not only Saul’s mind but also his ability to enchant the evil spirit (16: 14–​23). In the other two stories of David’s harp-​playing (18: 10–​11; 19: 9), which are usually brought together as one by composers and librettists, Saul sees through David’s seduction, realizing that God has rejected him, and that David is now waiting in the wings to supplant him as king over Israel. In these two episodes, Saul hurtles his spear at David hoping to kill him.

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There is hardly a commentary that does not speak of “Saul’s jealousy of David” at this point. But the noun “jealousy”, which is embedded in our understanding of this story hardly accounts for the level of threat felt by Saul upon hearing the women’s song lauding David’s killing of ten thousands over Saul’s killing of thousands. “Given the widespread revelation and circulation of this information among friends and foes alike, Saul, who was king over all Israel, had reason to feel threatened, every hour of the day and night” (Dowling Long 2016, p. 273). The first episode of David playing his harp to soothe Saul’s evil spirit has been set to music by composers since the seventeenth century in different genres of music. One of the first composers to write music based on I Samuel 16: 14–​23 was Johann Kuhnau, in the first ever composition of program music, Musicalische Vorstellung einiger biblischer Historien/​Biblische Historien (1700), six Bible Sonatas for Harpsichord.The second of Kuhnau’s six programmatic sonatas entitled Saul malinconico e trastullato per mezzo della Musica (“Saul, who is cured by David through means of music”) based on I Sam 16: 14–​23 illustrates musically the story of the mystical effect of David’s music-​making on Saul. But one of the most dramatic retellings of Saul’s spiralling descent into madness is by Handel in his dramatic oratorio Saul. The Glyndebourne Festival Opera, which staged the work as an opera in 2015, is one of the most powerful productions whose dramatization highlights this element of the tragic tale. By the end of the oratorio, Saul is utterly depraved, as noted by his servants and children. His anger and associated “madness” are illustrated musically with faster and more frenzied music in contrast to David’s sublime singing and exquisite harp-​playing.

The story of David’s combat with Goliath The story of David and Goliath (17: 1–​58) is one of the best-​known stories about David, and one that has enjoyed a rich cultural afterlife in art, music, literature and advertising, including numerous retellings and dramatic animations in children’s Bibles from the eighteenth century right up to the present day. It highlights not only the young shepherd boy’s glorious triumph over Goliath the Gittite but Saul’s terror, vulnerability and weakness as a military leader during an episode of heightened threat to Israel’s national security by its age-​old enemy, the Philistines (17: 11, 24). The women’s victory song (18: 6–​7), proclaiming David’s greatness and superiority as a warrior, marks Saul’s realization of Y   HWH’s plan for David. Handel/​Jennens treated this story in the oratorio Saul (1738). The action begins in media res, with all principal characters involved, in the first scene, comprising five numbers, entitled “the Epinicion or The Song of  Triumph for the Victory over Goliath and the Philistines”. It begins and ends in the optimistic tonality of C major, which signifies a mood of positivity and triumph. The opening chorus of Israelites (No. 2a), which is later repeated (No. 2b) with the addition of a joyful Hallelujah, “How Excellent Thy Name O Lord”, celebrates David’s great victory over Goliath. Within this scene, a trio describes Goliath as a monster “Along the Monster Atheist Strode” (No. 4), while descriptions of David laud him as a child

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hero in Michal’s air, “An infant raised by thy Command”, and as an inspirational youth in a chorus, “The Youth Inspired by Thee O Lord”. In the staged version of the oratorio by the Glyndebourne opera company, directed by Barrie Kosky, David is portrayed as a great military hero in this scene. He appears half-​clothed, dirty, cut and bloodied alongside his trophy, a gigantic head of Goliath, while surrounded by the chorus of Israelites in an extra-​biblical scene. At the end of the first number, David collapses beside the decapitated head from exhaustion following his combat with Goliath, another extra-​biblical addition. The chorus of Israelites is dressed in costumes designed by Karin Lea Tag that resemble attire worn at a Georgian ball, that is, from the time of Handel, comprising “periwigged fops and corseted molls” (Morrison 2015). Saul, played by Christopher Purves (Bass), also appears in this scene as an onlooker (based on 17: 11, 55). As part of the staging, he takes the gigantic stone that killed Goliath into his hands, looks at it, and then stabs Goliath’s eye with David’s sling. As if to take credit for Goliath’s killing, Saul then lifts the decapitated head up and parades it before the chorus. The second reiteration of “How Excellent” includes choreography to express the delight of the Israelites over David’s victory 18: 6–​7. In Scene Two, during Michal’s air praising David, “O Godlike Youth”, Saul, Jonathan, Michal and Merab wipe the blood from David’s body. Saul offers his daughter Merab in marriage to David as a reward against her protests, which are heard in this production as a resounding “No”. In the delightful air, “O King Your Favours with Delight” sung by counter-​tenor, Iestyn Davies, David attributes victory to “God alone”. In Scene Three, the chorus “Welcome Welcome, Mighty King” includes shouts of delight from the chorus, along with the women’s song “Saul has slain thousands and David ten thousands”. This scene is choreographed to highlight the delight and festivities of the people, as David is brought on to the stage on the shoulders of the Israelite men. Scored for a carillon, that is a musical instrument made up of bells, the music paints a mood of frivolity, which abruptly changes in Saul’s accompagnatos as he reflects on the implications of the women’s song (“To him ten thousands, and to me but thousands! What can they give him more, except the Kingdom”, No. 25), based on 18: 6–​7. This song has been set to music in numerous works, including two settings by Giacomo Carissimi (1605–​74), in a sacred dramatic dialogue motet, Dialogo del Gigante (“Dialogue of the Giant”), and as a virtuosic motet for three sopranos and continuo Cum reverteretur David (“With the Return of David”). Interestingly, in a setting by Giovanni Francesco Anerio (1567–​1630) Mentre su l’alto monte (“While on the High Mountain”) based on I Samuel 17: 3–​18: 9, David gives an extra-​biblical instruction to the daughters of Jerusalem to broadcast his victorious news to everyone.The final chorus of this motet glorifies David whose “hands of pearls” and “golden feet” have brought peace to the land of Israel.

Saul’s search for David When David fled Saul’s palace for fear of his life, he escaped to the Hill Country of Judah, and lived life as a fugitive, seeking refuge in caves (I Samuel 21–​27), during

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which time Saul hunted David down “like a partridge in the mountains” (26: 20). David fled to many places and, with Saul close on his trail, he ran to Samuel in Ramah, to Naioth and then on to Gibeah, Nob, Gath, Moab, the Wilderness of Judah, Keilah, the Wilderness of Ziph, the Wilderness of Engeddi, the Wilderness of Paran and Ziklag in Philistia. During this time, YHWH protected David from Saul, answered David’s petitions, and made it impossible for Saul to find him by inducing a sleep on Saul and his men when David was nearby; by using the Philistines to distract Saul’s attention; and by making it impossible for Saul to find David. This is indicated by David’s words to Saul “The King of Israel has come out to look for a flea” (26: 20). English Renaissance composer, John Dowland, illustrated Saul’s search for David in a Lute Song “When David’s Life by Saul” (No. 15) published in A Pilgrime’s Solace (1612). The song, which highlights Saul’s persecution of David, opens with a canon to highlight the search for David, along with the inclusion of technical devices, such as suspensions and chromaticisms, to illustrate musically the grief felt by both characters. Two episodes from David’s sojourn in the wilderness, “David’s visit to the priests of Nob” and “David spares Saul’s Life in the Wilderness of Engeddi and the Wilderness of Ziph” have been depicted both in art and music, and it is to those episodes that we now turn our attention.

The priests of Nob While David sojourned in the wilderness (21–​23), he visited Nob, the seat of the Tabernacle, with a request for food (five loaves) and weapons from the Levite priests (21:  1–​6). During the dialogue, the High Priest Ahimelech trembled in David’s presence, possibly because he knew that he was now implicated in David and Saul’s raging feud. In the ensuing dialogue, David appears to tell an untruth to Ahimelech about his secret mission to Nob, saying that the king had commissioned it (21: 2). If the king to whom David refers is Saul, then one could conclude that he told an untruth, but if David was referring to another king (i.e. YHWH) then one could conclude that he was telling the truth. With no bread to give him, Ahimelech offered David the Holy Bread of the Presence, or consecrated bread, as food for the troops, and with no weapons except the Sword of Goliath, Ahimelech retrieved it from behind the Ephod and presented it to David (21: 9), laden as it was with the symbolism of power and triumph of David’s victorious defeat of the monster Goliath (see Figure 18.3). The narrative tells that the chief of Saul’s herdsmen, Doeg the Edomite, was “detained” in the company of the priests and as a consequence was positioned to witness the dialogue between David and Ahimelech (21: 7). Doeg later reported the story to Saul, after Saul blamed his men for conspiring against him with David, and for not disclosing to him Jonathan’s secret covenant with David (22: 8). Doeg then revealed to Saul, without furnishing all the details (22: 9–​10), what had transpired at Nob. This infuriated Saul and led him to blame the priests of Nob for committing an act of treason (22: 13). Although Ahimelech pleaded innocence when

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FIGURE 18.3   Ahimelech

Giving the Sword of Goliath to David (c. 1680s) Arent de Gelder © J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles/​SuperStock.

questioned by Saul, Saul ordered the priests’ brutal execution (22: 17). After his men refused to obey Saul’s orders, Doeg, the evil henchman, fulfilled Saul’s command without question, and murdered the eighty-​five priests (305 in the LXX), along with the entire city, by the sword (22: 18–​19).

The reception of Psalm 52 in music While there are no settings in music of Saul’s slaughter of the priests of Nob, there are settings of Psalm 52, which are often read in conjunction with the narrative of I  Samuel 21–​22. The psalm’s superscription, which was added later, indicates that David had written it after Doeg the Edomite betrayed Ahimelech to Saul. Although Saul is often found guilty of the priests’ murder, the psalm’s superscription points to Doeg as the one responsible. In the context of I Samuel 21–​22, the psalmist addresses Doeg whose “tongue” is “like a sharp razor” (Psalm 52: 2) that massacred the priests and people of the city. Settings of the psalm include a motet for five voices (SAAAB), Quid gloriaris in malitia by Orlando de Lassus, a motet by Claude Goudimel for four voice (SATB) in Les Cent Cinquante Pseaumes (sic) de David (1565), and the psalm setting for four voices “Why Brag’st in Malice High” by Thomas Tallis (No. 7), published in Tunes for Archbishop Parker’s Psalter.

David spares Saul’s life on two occasions As indicated by the title of Simon Mayr’s oratorio David in Spelunca Engaddi (“David in the Cave of Engeddi”), David’s encounter with Saul in a cave in the Wilderness of Engeddi (24: 1–​22) is depicted musically in the second part of the oratorio. The storyline also uses details from another similar biblical story (26: 1–​25) that tells how David spared Saul’s life in the Wilderness of Ziph at the Hill of Hachilah. Readers of the first biblical narrative know that Saul went into the cave in Engeddi to relieve himself (“to evacuate his bowels”) (Tsumura 2007, p. 565). But in the oratorio the librettist changed the story so that Saul enters the cave to take a nap,

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which is a detail borrowed from I Samuel 26: 7–​17. It is not clear in the oratorio if the sleep was induced by YHWH, as it was in the biblical narrative (26: 12). As in I Samuel 24: 3, David and his men are sitting in the back of the cave when Saul enters. According to the version of the biblical story in the oratorio, David then cuts a piece of Saul’s robe while Saul is sleeping. Saul awakens to an extra-​ biblical harp interlude played by David that alludes, no doubt, to other times when David played the harp to calm Saul’s spirits. In his recitative, Saul notices that his robe is cut, and that David has spared his life. In a similar manner to the biblical narrative, Saul is reconciled with David in a musical dialogue (24: 16–​21; 26: 25), and the work concludes with a chorus “O joyful happy day”. While the oratorio ends with the joyful reunion of Saul and David, readers of the biblical narrative know that Saul will never see David again, that Saul’s days are numbered, and that David will not keep his oath sworn to Saul (24: 21–​2). After Saul’s death, David killed Saul’s descendants, that is, his two remaining sons, Armoni and Mephibosheth, whom Rizpah bore, and five unnamed grandchildren (2 Samuel 21: 6).

Saul’s night visit to the Witch of Endor The biblical narrative opens on the eve of Saul’s last battle with the Philistines, with David’s new appointment as a personal bodyguard to the Philistine King, Achish, which the biblical narrator reports was a job “for life” (28: 2). The biblical narrator also reminds readers of Samuel’s recent death (28: 3; 25: 1) in Ramah, in preparation for the story to come, along with news of Saul’s banishment of mediums and wizards from the land of Israel (28: 3). This ban demonstrated Saul’s obedience to the Mosaic Law (Exodus 22: 18; Leviticus 19: 26, 31; Leviticus 20: 6, 27; Deuteronomy 18: 9–​14). But all would change when God refused to answer Saul “either by dreams, or by Urim, or by prophets” (28: 6). Feeling fearful of the Philistine army who had encamped at Shunem (28: 4), Saul asked his servant to seek out a medium (28: 7). Given that Saul was now in violation of Mosaic Law as well as his own ban against mediums and wizards, he travelled by night and in disguise to the Witch of Endor, possibly from the location of the Israelite encampment at Gilboa. When he arrived, and requested the witch to conjure up a spirit, the witch, not knowing who he was, reprimanded her mysterious visitor for requesting an illegal practice that had been outlawed by King Saul (28: 9). Reassured by Saul that no harm would come her way, she then proceeded to conjure up the shade of Samuel. Upon seeing Samuel appear out of the ground, she cried out with a loud voice, and reprimanded Saul for his deception for not disclosing his identity (28: 12). As the biblical narrator does not disclose who revealed Saul’s identity to the woman, this verse is open to interpretation. Saul, who could not see the shade of Samuel, knew from the woman’s description that it was indeed Samuel. After rising, Samuel reprimanded Saul for disturbing his sleep in the underworld (28: 15). Like a child to a parent, Saul asked Samuel for his advice about what he should do, since

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YWHW had refused to answer him. But Samuel coldly repeated his declaration of YWHW’s rejection of Saul from I Samuel 15: 28, and followed it with a prediction of Saul’s terrible fate, and that of his sons, the next day. Upon hearing these words, Saul collapsed to the ground, weak from having eaten no food that day and night, and from the shock of hearing Samuel’s prophetic words. The woman, like a mother, beckoned Saul to stay a while and eat (28: 22). And after some encouragement from his servants, Saul agreed, and the woman slaughtered a calf and baked some unleavened bread (28: 24). And when the meal was over, Saul and his men left the house under the cover of darkness (28: 25). In music, this episode has enjoyed numerous settings as an oratorio, opera and song by composers Charpentier, Handel, Purcell, Parry, Nielsen and Honegger, and as a setting as a one-​act ballet to music by William Schuman (1965), with choreography and costumes by Martha Graham. Two works in particular deserve particular mention for their exegetical value, the episode in Honegger’s symphonic psalm Le Roi David, and Purcell’s setting of the sacred song, In Guilty Night.

Le Roi David The witch’s colourful incantation in Honegger’s Le Roi David fills in a gap of the biblical narrative, as the biblical narrator does not provide an account of the witch’s dramatic art. Movement 12 is a wonderful piece of music theatre that expands on I Samuel 28: 11, and brings the story alive in the imaginations of audiences. Honegger scored the voice of the witch as a dramatic spoken part for an actress. The movement opens with percussion instruments to depict the witch’s gestures as she begins to call up the ghost of Samuel from the underworld. Her words of incantation (“Om Om …”) begin as a quiet whisper that crescendo to a loud roar by the end when she discovers Saul’s identity (28:  12). Samuel’s quiet words of restrained anger, “Pourquoi m’as-​tu troublé pour me faire monter?” (Why did you disturb me?) conclude the movement, and the narrator then proceeds with an account of Samuel’s prophetic words of doom and gloom to Saul. The instrumentation comprising woodwind, brass, strings, piano and percussion (snare drum, bass drum, cymbals, tambourine, tam-​tam, celesta, harmonium and harp) evokes in the imagination the sight and sound of the witch in her hovel conjuring up the ghost of Samuel. The number that follows is an instrumental, “The March of the Philistines”, to illustrate the movement of Philistine troops on the way to Jezreel (29: 2, 11) for Saul’s final battle.

In Guilty Night The other work of note is a sacred song by Purcell entitled In Guilty Night which is a paraphrase of I Samuel 28: 8–​20. Scored for three voices and continuo it is a dialogue between the Witch (soprano), Samuel (bass) and Saul (counter-​tenor, i.e. a high male voice). The beginning and end of the work are both scored in the tonality of C minor to evoke not only Saul’s melancholic mood but also the hopelessness

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of his situation. Samuel’s speech is scored in G minor, which in the eighteenth century was a tonality associated with grief and lamentation. In this rendition, Samuel is more sympathetic of Saul than his biblical counterpart.The words “guilty”,“false” and “forsaken” are repeated in this work to promote reflection on the nature of Saul’s guilt on this occasion, as well as other times when he may have been guilty, or deemed guilty when innocent. The inclusion of dissonances, syncopations and musical rests suggest Saul’s distress and deep-​seated grief, which he experienced not only at Endor but also on other occasions throughout his tragic life. In an extra-​biblical “farewell” scene at the end of the song the melodic lines of the Witch (S) and Samuel (B) supported by Saul (Ct), whose melodic line is sandwiched in the middle, in the manner of parents supporting a sobbing child, and where Saul’s sobbing is represented by ascending semitones on the word “Oh” (see Dowling Long and Sawyer 2015, p. 110). Following this episode, the next two biblical chapters treat the story of David’s exploits as a mercenary captain for the Philistines (29–​30). Since David is far away from Gilboa in Ziklag under the protection of King Achish of Gath (27:  7), he is not implicated either in Saul’s battle with the Philistines or his death by suicide. However, were it not for the intervention of the Philistine lords on the way to Mount Gilboa, David would have willingly joined them in their battle against Saul (29: 9).

The Battle of Gilboa: Saul’s suicide Saul fought his final battle with the Philistines on Mount Gilboa, the following day after his night visit to the Witch of Endor. Accompanied by his three faithful sons and heirs to the throne Jonathan, Abinadab and Malchishua, they were slaughtered by the Philistines (31: 2) along with all of Saul’s army (31: 1). Critically wounded by a Philistine arrow, and knowing that death was fast approaching, Saul implored his armour-​bearer to kill him with his sword before the approaching Philistines had an opportunity to humiliate and torture his wounded body. But fear of harming the Lord’s anointed overcame the armour-​bearer so Saul took matters into his own hands, and fell upon his sword (31: 4) in what can only be described as an honour-​ suicide. After this event, Saul’s armour-​bearer followed suit by taking his own life in the same manner as his master. Whether the armour-​bearer’s refusal to carry out the king’s last wish was an act of “cowardice” or “solidarity” (Brueggemann 1990), readers will never know. Although as Miscall points out, Saul was not supported by any of his armour-​bearers, his current one or his past one, David (Miscall 1986, p. 182).

Tsar Saul: Pes’n Saula pered boyem Compositions in music that mention Saul’s death generally play the details down, and prefer to highlight instead his heroism as a great warrior. Russian composer, Modest Mussorgsky composed the song Tsar Saul: Pes’n Saula pered boyem (“King

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FIGURE  18.4   The

Suicide of Saul (1562) Peter Bruegel the Elder © Kunsthistorisches Museum,Vienna/​SuperStock.

Saul: Song of Saul Before Battle”) scored for voice (bass) and piano (1863) to a poetic text by Lord Byron from Hebrew Melodies, which was translated into Russian by the poet/​translator Pavel Kozlov. The song represents the last words of Saul, to his army, his armour-​bearer and son Jonathan. In it, Saul is represented as a great military hero. His heroic speech, a free invention, encourages his army to “bury [their] steel in the bosoms of Gath”. His command to his armour-​bearer is recorded both in the biblical narrative (31: 4) and in the song but with some adjustment to the latter. In the song, Saul asks the armour-​ bearer to strike him with a blow “should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe”.To Jonathan, Saul’s speech reveals Samuel’s prophecy of the approaching blood bath and the revelation that the “last fearful hour [was] at hand”. This prediction turned out to be true and as the biblical narrative records, the loss of life was catastrophic –  Saul, his three sons, armour-​bearer and all his men died on that mournful day, after which the Philistines occupied the towns of those who had fled (31: 7) (see Figure 18.4).

The ambiguity over Saul’s death Ambiguity surrounds the exact cause of Saul’s death, as told by an Amakelite (2 Samuel 1: 1–​10) who, in the aftermath of Saul’s death, reported to David that he was present on Mount Gilboa when Saul had fallen upon his sword. According to this story, the Amalekite told David that Saul had beckoned him over, saying “Stand over me and kill me! I am in the throes of death, but still alive” (1: 9). According to the Amakelite, he fulfilled Saul’s request and killed him, and as proof, brought Saul’s crown and bracelet to David as evidence. While the Amalekite’s story is often regarded as a lie –  it was told by the Amalekite as a means to gaining status and prestige before David – there is a possibility that he may have told the truth, or even a half-​truth, since he might have killed Saul without Saul having requested the favour. But if he did follow through on Saul’s request, the episode points to an “outsider” who showed mercy to Saul in

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his final moments.The Amakelite’s presentation to David of Saul’s crown and bracelet was a symbolic act that paved the way for David to be crowned King of Judah. Two works that treat this story in music are Handel’s Saul and Honegger’s dramatic psalm Le Roi David. In the latter, the narrator briefly tells the story without revealing David’s killing of the Amakelite, and the work proceeds to David’s lamentation over Saul and Jonathan. Handel also treated this episode in music in a dialogue between David and the Amakelite. It is followed by a somber instrumental entitled “The Dead March”, which is still played today at State funerals both in the United Kingdom and United States of America.

The desecration of Saul’s body There is no work in music that tells of the desecration of Saul’s body by the Philistines when they came to strip the dead the next day (I Samuel 31: 8–​13), and in this respect, the music conceals the gruesome facts from audiences. The biblical narrator details how the “uncircumcised Philistines” humiliated Saul’s body by cutting off his head, stripping his armour and proclaiming the “good news” (Brueggemann 1990) of his death throughout the land of the Philistines.They placed his armour in the Temple of Ashtaroth (I Chronicles 10: 10; I Samuel 31: 10), hung his head up in the Temple of Dagon (I Chronicles 10: 10) and impaled his body on the city wall of Beth-​shan (I Samuel 31: 10). Upon hearing the terrible news, the faithful men of Jabesh-​gilead remembered Saul’s kindness to them when he rescued their city from Ammonite oppression (I Samuel 11), and so they risked their lives by reclaiming the bodies of Saul and his sons from the city wall (31: 12). Unlike others, they were “not afraid to be identified with this dead king” (Brueggemann 1990).

The Chronicler’s account The Chronicler, that is, the anonymous “author”/​”historian”/​”theologian” of the Book of Chronicles, who records only the death of Saul as the introduction to David’s reign, concludes with an evaluation of Saul’s reign (I Chronicle 10: 13–​14), citing four reasons as to why the king was “put to death by YWHW” and his “kingdom turned over to David”: the reasons given are as follows: (1) Saul was “unfaithful to the Lord”; (2) “he did not keep the Lord’s word”; (3) “he consulted a necromancer for guidance”; and (4) “he did not seek the guidance of the Lord”.Whether one agrees with the Chronicler or not, what is revealing is the Chronicler’s admission of YHWH’s involvement in Saul’s death.

David’s lament over Jonathan and Saul The reader is left to ponder the genuineness of David’s lament over the deaths of Saul and Jonathan in 2 Samuel 1: 17–​27, “How are the Mighty Fallen”, for as David Gunn points out it is “a poem perhaps more beautiful than honest” (Gunn 1980, p.  681). This is all the more true when one considers that David became King

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of Judah immediately after his recitation of these words. There are many settings in music of this text, among them compositions by Josquin des Prez (attributed), Robert Ramsey, Handel (Scene Five of the oratorio Saul), Honegger and Michael Wise. But David’s lament says more about his ability to compose an eloquent eulogy than it does about the story of his manipulative relationships with Jonathan and Saul.

Conclusion This chapter offered an interpretation of the tragic story of King Saul in music. It highlighted the terrible plight of Saul who was driven mad by an evil spirit after YHWH transferred the good spirit to the favoured son, David. Despite the manipulations of David who managed to split the Saulide family apart for a time, Saul’s male children were reunited with their father by the end of the story. One might also speculate that Saul’s daughter, Michal, who eventually fell out of love with David, finally understood what her father saw in the “humble” shepherd boy after her father’s death when David became king over all Israel. While the music highlights Saul’s spiralling descent into madness, an illness, which was inflicted upon him by YHWH, it also emphasizes Saul’s greatness as the people’s king, and as a courageous warrior, who, despite his rejection by YHWH, did everything in his power to hold on to the throne of Israel. The interpretations in music raise unsettling questions about YHWH’s violent treatment of Saul.Whatever one thinks of King Saul’s suitability for the role of king, it not clear from the biblical narrative as to why YHWH found it necessary to treat Saul with such cruelty, and without any compassion. As the answer to this question is contained neither in the biblical narrative nor in the music, it is left to readers and listeners to reflect on it for themselves.

Notes 1 I wish to acknowledge the gracious support from two research funds in University College Cork, namely, the College of Arts, Celtic Studies and Social Sciences Research Support Fund, and the School of Education Research Fund. The two sources of funding enabled me to go to the Maurits Sabbe Library, KU Leuven in July 2016, and also to fund the procurement of three images (Figures 18.1, 18.3 and 18.4) used in this chapter. 2 In the Hebrew Bible, the “woman” of I Samuel 28 is not referred to as a “witch”. She received this designation in a chapter heading of early printings of the Authorized Version of the Bible also known as the King James Version. 3 I am most grateful to Karen Anderson, Head of Publishing at Glyndebourne Productions, for graciously enabling me to use a photograph (Figure 18.2) from the Glyndebourne Tour 2015.

References Blenkinsopp, Joseph (2013). David Remembered: Kingship and National Identity in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI and Cambridge, UK: Wm. B. Eerdmans.

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Brueggemann, Walter (1990) First and Second Samuel. Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, Kindle version [n.p.]. Available at www.amazon.co.uk (accessed 5 July 2016). Coogan, Michael (ed.) (2007) The New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocryphal/​ Deuterocanonical Books. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dowling Long, Siobhán (2016) “‘Why Weepest Thou? … And Why is they heart Grieved?’ (I Samuel 1: 8). Grief and Loss in the Books of Samuel: A Musical Interpretation”, in Walter Dietrich (ed.) The Books of Samuel: Stories – History – Reception. Leuven: Peeters, pp. 271–​82. Dowling Long, Siobhán and Sawyer, John F.A. (2015) The Bible in Music:  A  Dictionary of Songs,Works and More. Lanham, MA: Rowman and Littlefield. Edelman, Diana Vikander (1991) King Saul in the Historiography of Judah. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Ehrlich, Carl S. in cooperation with Marsha C. White (eds) (2006) “Introduction”, Saul in Story and Tradition. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, p. 5. Gunn, David (1980) The Fate of King Saul: An Interpretation of a Biblical Story. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series, 14. Sheffield: JSOT. Handel, G.F. (1993) “Saul”, in Bruce M. Metzge and Michael D. Coogan (eds) The Oxford Companion to the Bible. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 679–​81. —​—​—​ (1862) Saul. Leipzig: Händelgesellschaft. Honegger, Arthur (1921) Le Roi David. Lausanne: Foetisch Frères S.A. Levenson, Jodn D. and Halpern, Baruch (1980) “The Political Import of David’s Marriages”, Journal of Biblical Literature, 99, pp. 507–​18. McKenzie, Steven L. (2006) “Saul in the Deuteronomistic History”, in Carl S. Ehrlich (ed.) in cooperation with Marsha C. White (eds) Saul in Story and Tradition. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, pp. 59–​70. Miscall, Peter D. (1986) I Samuel:  A  Literary Reading. Indiana Studies in Biblical Studies. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Morrison, Richard (2015) “Saul at Glyndebourne”, The Times, July 25, Classical Music Section. Mussorgsky, M.P. (1931) Completed Collected Work (vol. 5). Moscow: Muzgiz. Nissan, Ephraim and Shemesh, Abraham O. (2011) “King Saul’s ‘Evil Spirit’ (ruach re’ah):  Between the Bible, its Exegetes, Psychology, Medicine and Culture”, La Ricerca Folklorica, 62, pp. 149–​56. Parry, C.H.H. (1894) King Saul. London and New York: Novello. Purcell, H. (2001) In Guilty Night (A Paraphrase) (Z. 134). Richmond,VA: Green Man Press. Tanner, M.A. (2010) “King Saul and the Stigma of Madness”. Sewanee, TN:  School of Theology, University of the South, 20 August, pp. 1–​30. Tsumura, D.T. (2007) “The First Book of Samuel”, The New International Commentary on the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI/​Cambridge, UK: Wm. B. Eerdmans.

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19 PARALLEL NARRATIVE METHODS Ramayana in the arts of Southeast Asia Jukka O. Miettinen

The Indian epic, the Ramayana or the “Rama story”, is the most widespread epic story in whole of Asia. Like so many epics, the Ramayana was originally (600–​200 bce) recited or sung by generations of storytellers. It is generally believed that it was first written in approximately 200 bce –  200 ce by its mythical “original” author, the sage Valmiki. His Sanskrit version of the text is often regarded as the proto-​Ramayana. It describes the heroic deeds of Prince Rama, Crown Prince of Ayodhya. His consort, Princess Sita, is abducted by the demon King Ravana to his island kingdom of Lanka. The lengthy story recounts the ultimately successful efforts of Prince Rama and his half-​brother Lakshmana, assisted by the white monkey Hanuman and the brave monkey army, to destroy Ravana and rescue Princess Sita. Finally Rama and Sita are able to return to their kingdom where Rama takes the throne that is rightfully his. Later, several sub-​plots and even completely new chapters were added to this basic story. While the story was retold for centuries in the Hindu context, it also gained Hindu connotations. It was set at the mythical beginning of humankind, in a period when gods involved themselves in human affairs. When the world was threatened by a negative force (in this case Ravana) a powerful god, most often Vishnu, was incarnated in a human form to destroy the evil. Thus Prince Rama became regarded as an avatara, or earthly incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu. However, for centuries the story travelled widely and was retold and rewritten around the Indian subcontinent and beyond in different languages. Meanwhile, it was also embedded in various religious contexts. Thus, there exist Buddhist, Jain and even later Islamic interpretations of the text. Ramayana is known, for example in Sri Lanka, Chinese Central Asia, Nepal as well as in various Southeast Asian cultures, which is the focus of this chapter. There is a decisive difference between India and Southeast Asia. In the latter, early literary and textual material, except inscriptions, is extinct, whereas

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in India a vast body of early written material is available. That is why it may be fruitful to summarize what is known about the process of evolvement of various narrative traditions in India before turning our attention to Southeast Asia.

Strategies of storytelling in India To trace the origins of narrative strategies in the Indian arts, a group of Indian scholars delved into the roots of both visual and performing arts. As Vidya Dehajia (1998, pp. 22–​31) and Jyotindra Jain (1998, pp. 8–​21) have proposed, both theatrical arts and visual narratives in India seem to have developed from the ancient art of storytelling, or at least closely side by side. This opens up interesting prospects of understanding the process of transmitting the epic texts to predominantly illiterate audiences. Dehajia has analysed the early narrative techniques applied in the railing panels of the Buddhist Bharhut stupa, or memorial mound, from the second century bce in Central India and found several narrative methods employed in them. She has pointed out that some of the methods are rather complex and that most probably “a first-​time visitor to Bharhut was taken around the stupa by a monk who acted as a spiritual guide” (Dehejia 1998, p. 22). Bharhut was one of the first of the early stupa structures to abandon wooden construction in favour of stone.Therefore, it is rather natural to speculate about how the Bharhut reliefs developed. Early stupa railings in India imitate older wooden structures and also the style of execution of the reliefs also bears similarities to that of woodcarving. This could indicate that there was an older tradition of wooden reliefs, which preceded the stone ones. Yet another, or a parallel, line of development is possible. It is known that at the same time as the earliest stone stupas were built, various kinds of literary material, such as epics including the Ramayana, and descriptions of punishments in Hell, were narrated by picture storytellers, who used painted panels and scrolls to visualize their recitation (Jain 1998, p. 8). The narrative methods and visual styles of devices developed probably side by side with the oral tradition itself. This would suggest that the scrolls and panels may have served as prototypes for the later reliefs of the early stupas and temples, which would explain their already sophisticated narrative methods. The stories were depicted on the walls of a temple or the railings of a stupa; the “spiritual guide”, who explained the pictures to the visitors, took the role of the storyteller. Thus, the sacred building with its narrative pictures became a fixed and permanent pictorialization of an oral tradition. The temple or stupa became a kind of “storyteller’s device” for believers, who came to learn the holy stories during their pilgrimages. As discussed later, the storytelling tradition in India and in some parts of Southeast Asia, served, at least partly, as the starting point from which the theatrical performances, based on the same oral material, may have developed. Jain has pointed out, referring to both ancient texts and still extant storytelling traditions, that the storytelling performances were and are not only recitations but often:

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complement the word with the visual image and vice versa. In many cases, the composite narrative of the word and the painted image is amplified by the performance – facial and bodily gestures and postures, singing with or without the accompaniment of musical instruments, dance, theatrical rendering of scenes, and even audience participation. Jain 1998, p. 8 This affords some interesting views both in the field of art history and theatre history. From the cultural Darwinist point of view the process could be schematically outlined as follows: • •



The starting point is the act of storytelling, i.e. the act of conveying the oral literary tradition. Gradually, storytellers started to employ different kinds of visual devices to illustrate their narration (panels, scroll paintings, shadow figures, puppets and in some cases even dolls). Storytelling was enriched by gesticulation, body movements, mime, dance and music etc.

During this process, the act of storytelling became more theatrical in character and the narrative tradition and performing arts cross-​fertilized each other. However, it seems that in reality the process has been more complex, since many modes of performances have coexisted simultaneously. The above focus has been on the gradual evolvement of pictorial narration and theatrical performances from oral storytelling in India. However, both in India and in Southeast Asia, the act of merely reciting or chanting the sacred texts and listening to this has been regarded as an auspicious deed and act of worship. The same applies to the visual renderings of the same narratives. Similarly as the narration of sacred texts, such as travelling storytellers’ performances, group readings in Bali or recitations of the Buddhist stories by groups of monks in Thailand, so their executions as mural paintings or series of bas-​reliefs have also been themselves regarded as deeds worthy of spiritual merit. To function ritually, the characters presented in these narratives – in any visual media – have been bound to follow the prevailing, approved iconographical and iconometric rules, often canonized in model drawings and/​or manuals. Where these conventions were derived from, and how they evolved in Southeast Asia, is the main topic of the following pages. Studies of epic literature most often focus on its written forms. Similarly, in the field of art history, one usually concentrates on the epic series of the still existing bas-​reliefs or mural paintings. However, oral modes of communication and diffusion of knowledge existed long before the written tradition. It is widely acknowledged that epics travelled throughout Asia via several mutable forms, such as theatrical interpretations, storytellers’ recitations, picture scroll shows and dance performances, before they got their various written forms or were carved in stone on the walls of temples –  which thus became a type of “permanent storytellers’

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devices”. They visualized the epics in the particular variations they were recounted during the period when the temples were constructed.

Transmission of Indian culture to Southeast Asia As a natural junction of overland and sea routes between southern and eastern Asia, Southeast Asia had contacts with many parts of Asia even in prehistoric times. Archaeological evidence suggests that there were contacts between India and Southeast Asia in the fourth century bce (Gosling 2004, pp. 34–35). Clear Indian influence on sculpture and its iconography is evident from c. 200 ce onward. Over the following centuries a number of kingdoms flourished and incorporated Indian religions, Hinduism and Buddhism, into earlier, indigenous belief systems. As ties with India became established, the local ruling classes became familiar with Indian civilization. Over the centuries, various cultural traits were adopted including the Sanskrit and Pali languages, literature, and the new, glorified conception of royalty.1 The term “Indianization” has been applied by earlier historians to the impact of Indian culture upon Southeast Asia. These early studies emphasized the importance of Indian prototypes. Presently the process has been interpreted more as a kind of interplay of influences in which the flow was not only in one direction. Thus, Southeast Asia is no longer seen only as a passive recipient of foreign influences but rather as a region, which actively selected and cultivated foreign elements for its own needs and purposes. Consequently, historians no longer talk of “Indianization” but of the “localization” of Indian influence. This localization process is clearly evident in the Southeast Asian Ramayana traditions. Below, I will give an outline of how the epic was gradually localized in Southeast Asia. I will particularly focus on the process in the islands of Java and Bali, in present-​day Indonesia, and in Central Thailand since in these two influential cultural spheres the Ramayana tradition in its various artistic expressions is still very much alive.2

Early renderings of the Ramayana in coastal and insular Southeast Asia During the first millennium ce the Ramayana arrived in various parts of Southeast Asia. Which exactly were the received versions of the epic and which were the routes of their transmission remains often uncertain. Today the epic forms part of the cultural heritage of present-​day Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Malaysia, Indonesia and partly also, Vietnam. While almost all earliest Southeast Asian Ramayana manuscripts are now lost, there still exists art-​historical evidence of the early Ramayana traditions in Vietnam, Java, Cambodia and Thailand. Among the stone inscriptions of the predominantly Hindu kingdom of Champa (c. seventh to fifteenth centuries ce in coastal regions of Central Vietnam) the name of Valmiki, the “original” poet of the Ramayana, is mentioned. Valmiki’s influence can also be traced in the earliest known vernacular rendition of the epic composed beyond the Indian subcontinent, the Javanese Kakawin Ramayana, dated to the ninth

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FIGURE  19.1   Prince

Rama as archer, Prambanan temple complex, Central Java, ninth century. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen.

century.3 This seems to indicate a fairly direct contact between India and Southeast Asia. The same can also be concluded from art-​historical evidence. The few fragments of Ramayana-​related bas-​reliefs found in the regions of the Champa principalities are dated to the tenth century (Guillon 2001, pp. 132–​33). Their iconography and style seem to relate them to India’s western coast, a region that was very significant to the trade routes connecting Southeast Asia and India in those days. Direct Indian influence is also evident in the earliest existing series of temple reliefs depicting the epic. They are carved in terraces of the central Javanese Prambanan temple complex, constructed in the mid-​ninth century (Figure 19.1). Its main temple towers are dedicated to the Hindu “trinity” of Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu. They are decorated with narrative series of reliefs, which in the temples dedicated to Shiva and Brahma tell the story of the Ramayana. These, altogether seventy-​two, Ramayana panels form the earliest known rendering of this epic on a grand scale in Southeast Asia. Stylistically the temple complex itself, as well as its sculptures, are related to the South Indian Pallava style (Dumarcay 1986, pp. 1, 31). The Prambanan reliefs demonstrate the ephemeral nature of the epics. The oldest Indonesian Ramayana text, the above-​mentioned Ramayana Kakawin, is generally believed to have been compiled at approximately the same time as Prambanan reliefs were carved. However, the version visualized in Prambanan does not exactly correspond to the Ramayana Kakawin – and neither to any other known Javanese-​ Balinese versions of the text (Levin 2013, pp. 77–​78). This may indicate that the reliefs were based on one of the variations of the epic recited by the storytellers. As the story of the Ramayana was executed on such a grand scale on the walls of Prambanan’s two temple towers, it must indicate that the epic had great importance for the rulers who built the temple. In fact, contemporaneous visual renderings of the epic in the same scale are rare even in India. Vittorio Roveda has pointed out that originally the Ramayana did not have a particular theological function. Possibly it acquired its status gradually when the story was gradually retold and reinterpreted through centuries, and its main hero, Prince Rama, was, in the Hindu context, identified with Lord Vishnu (Roveda 1997, p. 33).

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The message of the epic also became political, particularly in Southeast Asia. The Ramayana was interpreted as giving guidance to the kings by telling them their duties and privileges. This elevated concept of royalty needed its legitimization.Thus, the religious themes depicted by Southeast Asian court artists became, as Urs Ramseyer has pointed out while summarizing the nature of Balinese court art: clothed in a ruling-​class ideology whose pro-​claimers identified themselves with the divine heroes of the epics. A  whole staff of specialized artist and artisans actively co-​operated in spreading thematic material, the ultimate purpose of which was to document the ruler’s divine origins and to legitimize the consequent claims to sovereignty. Ramseyer 1977, p. 57 The above-​cited summary explains much about the circulation of themes through various media. The huge series of reliefs, like the one in Prambanan, may be only one of the many renderings of the epic of its time. In order to illustrate the religious-​ political stories to larger audiences movable means were used, such as picture panels, scrolls and shadow puppets, which were also less time-​consuming and less costly. This could explain much of the creation process of the Prambanan Ramayana panels. They do not have any extant prototypes in earlier Javanese art and yet, they, in their crystallized narrative technique and sophisticated style, are regarded as representatives of the “classical” style of Javanese art. One hypothesis of this chapter is that storytellers assisted the Hindu Brahmans and the Buddhist monks who arrived in Southeast Asia. According to an already established practice, discussed above, they often used devices to visualize the events of these texts. Their devices – still strongly influenced by Indian prototypes or even imported from India at this stage, whether they were panels, scrolls or shadow figures – could have acted as stimuli or even prototypes when the Southeast Asian artists created the narrative reliefs and murals for local sacred buildings.

Localization of the Ramayana in Java and Bali From the beginning of the second millennium, the direct Indian Hindu influence in Southeast Asia started to decline. One of the main reasons was that the sea routes were gradually taken over by Muslim traders, which heralded the arrival of Islam in Southeast Asia. In the Malay Peninsula and as faraway as in the Philippines this later led to Islamized versions of the Ramayana.4 On the island of Java, Islam, which was spread there by the fairly liberal Sufi Muslims, did not completely erase the earlier Hindu-​Buddhist belief system. Instead it formed one more layer of the religious syncretism, characteristic of most Southeast Asian cultures. From the early tenth century onward the Central Javanese kings focused their attention on East Java, and soon they seem to have almost abandoned Central Java. To a certain extent the East Javanese temples and their cult figures followed the earlier Indian-​influenced Central Javanese models. A remarkable change occurred,

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FIGURE 19.2   Wayang

style epic relief, Candi Jago, East Java, thirteenth to fourteenth centuries. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen.

however, in the style of the narrative reliefs carved on the temple balustrades. From the beginning of the thirteenth century they no longer echoed the Indian-​influenced, round and sensual and even realistic “classical style”, but were carved in the completely new wayang style (Figure 19.2). Wayang is a generic term with several meanings. It means a “puppet”; it can refer to a shadow and it also refers to a performance. Generally wayang kulit, the still thriving shadow theatre tradition, which is dominated by the dalang, a single puppeteer-​narrator accompanied by a gamelan orchestra, is seen as the origin of the whole “wayang family”. It includes several theatrical genres such as the storyteller’s scroll performances, wayang beber, the three-​dimensional wooden rod puppet theatre, wayang golek, and finally the court dance-​drama wayang wong, in which living actors take the place of the wayang puppets. All these theatre forms have much in common. Their principles of dramatic action, stylization of movement, characterization, costuming and basic role types stem from the same tradition and conventions. Like the shadow puppets, especially those from Bali, the East Javanese temple reliefs already followed the conventions of the wayang tradition. The torso is shown frontally, whereas the head, legs and feet are mainly depicted in profile. The thin arms and small hands hang down stiffly alongside the torso if they are not lifted and shown in any of the wayang theatre’s limited hand gestures.The stories depicted in this new style were based on the localized versions of the Ramayana and other Indian mythological themes found in the Old Javanese texts. The original Indian epics and other stories were, by this time, to a great extent, merged with local stories and embedded in the local cultural climate. It is generally agreed that the East Javanese wayang style was the origin of later Balinese and Javanese wayang styles. On both islands the wayang style evolved in its own direction. On Java the puppets are believed to have evolved into their extremely elongated and almost non-​figurative style during the period of Muslim rule, which put an end to the East Javanese period at the beginning the sixteenth century (Figure 19.3). It is believed that the extreme stylization of Javanese puppets reflects Islam’s negative attitude to making human figures. The present-​day Balinese puppets, in turn, have preserved a slightly more realistic style.

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Sita and Prince Rama, Javanese wayang kulit puppets, twentieth century. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen. FIGURE 19.3   Princess

FIGURE 19.4   Abduction

of Princess Sita by the demon king Ravana, a twentieth-​ century Balinese glass painting. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen.

The formulation of the parallel narrative traditions of the Ramayana and other epic texts on the islands of Java and Bali provide us with a still extant example of how the epics have been circulated for centuries.The phenomenon has been briefly discussed in early Indian and Central Javanese contexts, that is, during periods from which there is not much exact evidence of the process. From the period of the East Javanese temple reliefs onwards the process becomes clearer. Indonesian scholars agree that the East Javanese temple reliefs already reflect indigenous style and iconography that was influenced by local performance traditions (Sedyawati 1998, pp. 10–​11). This wayang style was then adapted by several artistic media, above all the wayang kulit shadow theatre and other wayang-​related theatre forms, which were effective in circulating the Ramayana among all strata of the society, in the courts, temples and villages. The style and its extremely detailed iconography was also adopted by sculptors, and particularly by Balinese and Javanese painters, who executed the same stories on palm-​leaf manuscripts, panels, cloth, and later on paper and even on glass (Figure  19.4). The key role in this process belongs, however, to the dalang, the single narrator-​puppeteer of wayang kulit, who also often makes the

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puppets himself and thus preserves the age-​old archetypes of gods, epic heroes and demons. Even today, the role of the dalang links wayang kulit to the very roots of the epic literature, that is, the ancient oral storytelling. While utilizing fixed characters known to all, wayang kulit, however, allows the dalang a certain improvisational freedom.

Transformations of the Ramayana in mainland Southeast Asia In mainland Southeast Asia, the earliest evidence of the Ramayana is mainly art-​ historical. The Khmers, who had their own, now extinct, early version of the epic from the ninth century onwards, at the latest, spread the epic wherever their empire reached. Thus, the story gradually spread to the neighbouring Thai and Lao cultures. In the Theravada Buddhist Lao tradition, the epic was interpreted as a Buddhist Jataka story, and Prince Rama was thus identified as one of Buddha’s earlier incarnations.5 However, in the Khmer tradition the interpretation of the epic reflected local Hindu-​Buddhist syncretism. Famous examples of visual Ramayana renderings can be found in the small tenth-​century Banteay Srei temple and in the large twelfth-​century Angkor Wat complex. As Angkor Wat was the state temple and the large Ramayana bas-​reliefs were located there in a very prominent place, one could assume that the epic was, just as in the Prambanan complex in Java, already connected to the devaraja or god-​king cult, which was so dominant in Khmer culture. Although some poses and gestures still echo Indian influence, the reliefs are stylistically and iconographically quintessentially Khmer. The same question arises again as in the discussion about the reliefs of the Javanese Prambanan temple: how is it possible that, without any previous models or prototypes, crystallized narrative strategies and clearly defined iconographical “language” suddenly appear? There is again a possibility that the epic was already widely known though storytellers’ interpretations, further elaborated by visual devices, such as scrolls, panels and shadow puppets. Elsewhere I have also discussed the possibility, that the reliefs perhaps depict large-​scale dance performances, which formed an important part of the temple and court rituals of the period (Miettinen 2008, pp. 133–​59). This would explain the mask-​like heads of many characters as well as their dance-​like poses and gestures, still recognizable in the classical dance-​dramas of the region. This mechanism of cross-​fertilization of different artistic media, which in the case of the Khmer reliefs is more or less hypothetical, becomes apparent when we turn to the pervasive Ramayana tradition of present-​day Thailand (formerly Siam). With the Thai destruction of the Khmer capital Angkor during the fourteenth century, the old Khmer Ramayana disappeared, but the tradition was continued in the then Thai capital of Auytthaya. The name of the city already indicates the importance of the Ramayana to the Thai, since it refers to Ayodhya, Prince Rama’s capital of the Ramayana epic. Later, in 1767 when the Burmese in turn sacked Ayutthaya,

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FIGURE 19.5   Nang

yai performance. Photograph: Marja-​Leena Heikkilä-​Horn.

they adopted the Ramayana in their own culture, while the early Thai version was lost. Other kinds of evidence of Ayutthaya’s Ramayana tradition also exist. A fourteenth-​century chronicle and the Palatial Law mention a form of shadow theatre, nang yai (“large figures”) (Figure 19.5). It is still an existing, archaic form of shadow theatre, in which large cut-​out hide figures are operated by dancing puppeteers, while narrators, accompanied by an orchestra, provide the storyline and the dialogue derived solely from the Ramayana.6 In a similar way as wayang kulit in Java and Bali, nang yai also became instrumental in spreading the epic tradition and in preserving the typology of its characters and their iconographical details for centuries. After the destruction of Ayutthaya, the new Chakri dynasty was established in Bangkok in 1782. One of the first activities of the first two kings was to let the Ramayana text be rewritten into its now approved classic form, known as the Ramakien (“Rama’s Story”) or Ramakirti (“Rama’s Glory”). The epic’s importance was further underlined by the fact that the kings were later renamed after the epic hero, as King Rama I and King Rama II.7 The origins of the Thai version and its sources are, however, not known. Frank E. Reynolds writes: Although modern Thai versions of the Rama story show definite affinities with South Indian, Javanese, and Khmer (Cambodian) versions, there is simply no basis for determining with any degree of precision when, from where, or in what form the story was introduced into the central Thai context. Reynolds 1991, p. 55 An important aspect of the Ramakien is its role in the dynastic cult, which is firmly rooted in the older conception of the devaraja or god-​king of the Khmer tradition. The King is regarded as the incarnation of Prince Rama, and thus the Ramakien is also the narration of the “Ten Kingly Virtues” of the righteous ruler (Rutnin 1993, p. 46). J.M. Cadet has written with a good reason:

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For so successfully indeed has Rama I transmuted the epic … that the majority of Thai know nothing of its Indian origin, looking upon the Ramakien less as a work of art than a history of their royal house. Cadet 1971, p. 32 The importance of the Ramakien for the dynastic cult is emphasized by the fact that the whole epic was painted by order of Rama I in the galleries of the newly built royal Wat Phra Kaew temple, the very centre of the dynastic cult. Thus an ancient, probably Khmer-​derived, but later “Buddhacized” god-​king cult and the Ramakien tradition were officially amalgamated. The murals include altogether 178 panels, each of them approximately three metres wide and some two metres high. The panels are accompanied by verses from the epic carved on marble slabs. Not much is left of the original paintings, since the murals have been restored or practically repainted several times.8 The practice of “restoration” or, in this case literally over-​painting the murals – a nightmare for a modern art historian –  is dictated by several factors. The climate of Central Thailand is extremely harsh in its humidity and, consequently, the lifespan of murals is limited. Probably the most important factor, however, is that Thai murals in general have served both didactic and iconic purposes. They were painted “as visual texts for spiritual instruction” (Nithi and Mertens 2005, p. 166). Their function was to enhance the sacredness of the building in question, and the execution of the painting was regarded as an act of merit (Ringis 1990, p. 88). Even better than preserving them in their supposed “authentic” condition has been just to keep them in good condition so that they can fulfil the ritual demands set on them. In their poses, iconographical details, and even colouring, the characters of the Ramakien murals clearly reflect the established style spread by the nang yai shadow figures. This is even more obvious in the case of the famous Ramakien marble reliefs in Wat Chetupon in Bangkok. The construction of the monastery, commonly known as Wat Po, was ordered by King Rama I. Since its rebuilding project, launched in 1839 by King Rama III, it has served as a centre of learning and is commonly called the “Siamese Peoples’ University”. By order of King Rama III, Wat Po was transformed into a kind of encyclopaedia of all the traditional knowledge of the period. Long inscriptions were engraved for those who could read and didactic murals were painted for those who could not. The basement platform of the majestic ordination hall was covered with 152 greyish marble panels showing scenes from the Ramakien. They are regarded as masterpieces of Thai stone carving. Even to an untrained eye their stylistic and iconographical affinity with nang yai figures is striking. A letter published by Mattani Rutnin seems indeed to explain this stylistic and iconographical similarity (Rutnin 1993, p. 63). The document describes how a very important artist, having created a famous set of nang yai figures for royal use, also drew the sketches for these Ramakien reliefs.

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The shadow-​figure-​like character of the reliefs becomes even more obvious if the reliefs are seen duplicated as stone rubbings. They appear as dark shadowy silhouettes against a white background. For decades, stone rubbings, made from the original reliefs, were sold on the temple premises, but for the protection of the reliefs this practice is no longer allowed. One is tempted to think that this series of marble slabs served as a kind of large archaic printing machine, which made it possible to distribute models of the official Ramakien iconography widely during the late pre-​print period.

Epic as a performance today In this chapter, I have attempted to outline the process of how the Ramayana epic also became a visual text in the cultural spheres of present-​day Indonesia and Thailand. In this process, shadow theatre seems to have had a decisive role in formulating the detailed iconography for the epic characters and to preserve this tradition for centuries.9 This visual language was also adopted by various forms of performing arts. Java’s wayang wong, or the “human wayang”, is an excellent example of this phenomenon. It was the dominant form of dance-​theatre in the Javanese courts in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. With its poses, gestures, role types and their costuming, it can be regarded as a direct offspring of wayang kulit. In the modern, predominantly Islamic Republic of Indonesia, wayang wong was modernized in the 1960s. The result, sendratari, is a grandiose combination of traditional Javanese dance styles and modern stage techniques. The most famous product of this kind, Sendratari Ramayana, can regularly be seen at a huge outdoor theatre, which is built in front of the majestic Prambanan temple complex, where the earliest Javanese Ramayana reliefs are located. In Thailand, a form of dance-​drama called khon is believed to have evolved either directly from nang yai or at least closely together with it (Figure 19.6). Khon is one of the most spectacular forms of Southeast Asian dance-​drama. It can involve over

FIGURE 19.6   A

battle scene on a modern khon stage. Photograph: Jukka O. Miettinen.

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a hundred actors, a large piphad orchestra, narrators, singers and a chorus. Khon is often described as “masked pantomime” for the khon actors do not speak their lines.They only enact their characters on stage by using shadow-​puppet-​like masks, poses and gestures, while embodying characters from the Ramakien. From the many Ramakien-​related forms of performing arts in Thailand, khon is most closely related to the dynastic cult. Until the beginning of the twentieth century to stage khon was the prerogative of royal courts only. A decisive turn occurred in 1932 when Thailand became a constitutional monarchy. This signified a break between the court and traditional performing arts, which subsequently were placed under the authority of the government’s Fine Arts Department.The old court traditions came to be regarded as national art. However, during the last years, the Thai court has again assumed its role as the protector of khon. Huge khon performances, sponsored by the Queen, are annually organized during the King’s birthday celebrations.The Ramayana, in its localized Thai version, seems to be preserving its ritual and political significance even in the twenty-​first century, in predominantly Theravada Buddhist Thailand.

Notes 1 I have discussed this complex transmission process in-​depth elsewhere (see Miettinen 2008, pp. 56–​68). 2 An excellent introduction to the variations of the Ramayana epic is Many Ramayanas: The Diversity of a Narrative Tradition in South Asia (ed. P. Richman 1991), whereas Ramayana in the Arts of Asia (Kam 2000) gives an overall view of the visual and theatrical renderings of the epic. 3 It is written in Old Javanese (Kawi) language in the literary form of kakawin or sung verse. 4 Malay versions of the Ramayana (Hikayat Seri Rama and Cherita Maharaja Wana) were compiled during the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. In the Philippines, on the island of Mindanao, among an Islamic group of Maranao people, an Islamized version of the epic (Maharadia Lawna) was also formulated. 5 The most extensive Laotian Ramayana rendering is the nineteenth-​century Phra Lak/​ Phra Ram. 6 A similar form of shadow theatre can still be found today in Cambodia. It is not known whether Cambodia’s sbaek thom was received from Thailand during its long reign over large areas of present-​day Cambodia or whether it was the origin of Thailand’s nang yai. 7 During the reign of Rama VI (1919–​25) all the previous Chakri kings were renamed as Rama. The ruler is now King Maha Vajiralongkorn or King Rama X. 8 The Ramakien murals have been repainted several times, usually in connection with important dynastic events: for the fiftieth anniversary of Bangkok in 1832 during the reign of King Rama III; in 1882 for the centenary celebrations during the reign of King Rama V; for the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary in 1932 during the reign of Rama VII; and again for the bicentenary celebration in 1982, during the reign of the present king, Rama IX. The restoration project is again in full swing. 9 Shadow puppets form an exceptional bridge between art forms. When the puppets are observed as objects, they belong to the field of visual arts, but when they are used, they belong to the performing arts.

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References Cadet, J.M. (1971) The Ramakien:  The Thai Epic. Tokyo and Palo Alto, CA:  Kodansha International. Dehejia,Vidya (1998) “Circumambulating the Bharhut Stupa” in Jyotindra Jain (ed.) Picture Showmen:  Insight into the Narrative Tradition in Indian Art. Mumbai:  Marg Publications, pp. 22–​31. Gosling, Betty (2004) Origins of Thai Art. Bangkok: River Books. Guillon, Emmanuel (2001) Cham Art:  Treasures from the Da Nang Museum. Bangkok: River Books. Jain, Jyotindra (ed.) (1998) “Introduction”, Picture Showmen: Insight into the Narrative Tradition in Indian Art. Mumbai: Marg Publications, pp. 8–​20. Kam, Garret (2000) Ramayana in the Arts of Asia. Singapore: Select Books. Levin, Cecelia (2013) “Reliefs” in V. Degroot (ed.) Magical Prambanan. Yogyakarta:  Taman Wisata Candi Borobudur, Prambanan & Ratu Boko, pp. 77–​106. Miettinen, Jukka O. (2008) Dance Images inTemples of Mainland Southeast Asia. Helsinki: Theatre Academy. Nithi Sthapitanonda and Mertens, Brian (2005) Architecture of Thailand: A Guide to Traditional and Contemporary Forms. Bangkok: Asia Books. Ramseyer, Urs (1977) The Art and Culture of Bali. Oxford, New  York, Jakarta:  Oxford University Press. Reynolds, Frank E. (1991) “Ramayana, Rama Jataka, and Ramakien: A Comparative Study of Hindu and Buddhist Traditions” in P. Richman (ed.) Many Ramayanas: The Diversity of Narrative Tradition in South Asia. Berkley, CA, Oxford: University of California Press, pp. 50–​63. Richman, Paula (ed.) (1991) Many Ramayanas.The Diversity of Narrative Tradition in South Asia. Berkley, CA and Oxford: University of California Press. Ringis, Rita (1990) Thai Temples and Temple Murals. Singapore: Oxford University Press. Roveda,Vittorio (1997) Khmer Mythology: Secrets of Angkor. Bangkok: River Books. Rutnin, Mattani Mojdara (1993) Dance, Drama, and Theatre in Thailand:  The Process of Development and Modernization. Tokyo:  The Centre for East Asian Cultural Studies for UNESCO. Sedyawati, Edi (1998) “Temple Reliefs” in E. Sedyawati (ed.) Indonesian Heritage: Performing Arts. Singapore: Archipelago Press, pp. 10–​11.

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2

INDEX

Aaron (brother of Moses) 61, 87 Abdel Haleem, M.A.S. 108, 111, 114, 115 ʿAbdu’l-​Baha 137 Abel 6 Abraham 87 Achaemenid dynasty 20, 21–​2, 25, 26, 157 Adomnán, De locis sanctis 87 Advaita 163 Afrāsiyāb 29, 30 Ahl, Frederick 4 Ahrimen 28 Ahuna vairiya 31 Ahura Mazdā 21, 31 Ailerán the Wise, Kanon euangeliorum rhythmica 83, 84 Akkadian language 22 Al-​Afghani, Sayyid Jamal Al-​Din 125–​6 Alexander 21, 22, 23 Alexander the Great 67 Alexandria 46, 47 Algeria, French colonial rule 123 Allan, Sarah 215 allegoria, definition of 5 allegorical reading 4, 5–​6, 9 Amaterasu-​o-​kami 237, 238, 240, 243, 244 Ame-​no-​Iwato 240 Ame-​no-​minakushi-​no-​mikoto 244 Ame-​no-​ukihashi 236 Ame-​uzume-​no-​mikoto 237, 240 Amida-​Buddha (‘Buddha of Infinite Light’) 181

Amritsar 186 anātman (anattā) (not-​self) 177 Ancient Biblical Manuscript Center, Claremont 48 Anerio, Giovanni Francesco, Mentre su l’alto monte 272 Angares 25 Angkor Wat 290 Angra Mainyu (Evil One) 20, 26, 27, 28, 31, 32 Anqi Sheng 228 anti-​Semitism, European 55 “Apocrypha” 55 Arabic, as sacred language of Islam 120 Aramaic language 21, 22, 38, 39 Aranyakas 162 Arberry, A.J., The Koran Interpreted 120 arcanum 6 archaic ontology 234 Ardashir 23, 26 Arjad-​aspa 31 Aristotle 9 Artaxerxes II 21, 22 Aryan tribes 22, 33, 161 Asha Vahishta 31 Ashokāvadāna 32 Ashoka 32 Assyrians 20, 256, 258–​9 Aston, W.G. 234 astronomy and science 9, 10, 142, 143, 144, 145

297

Index  297

Atharva Veda 160, 162 atheism 9, 10, 252 Athenaeus of Naucratis 24, 25 Augustine 80, 82, 83, 87; De doctrina christiana 8 Auytthaya (Thailand) 290, 291 Avadhi Hindi language 166 Avatamsaka-​Sūtra 180 Avesta 19–​33; Gāthās 20, 21, 23, 25, 29, 33; heroic era 27, 28, 29; kawis 27; Old Avesta 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25; oral transmission 24–​6; written transmission 23; yasht narratives 26, 27–​8; Young Avesta 20, 21, 23, 24, 27, 29; Azhi Dahāka 26, 32 the Bab 137 Babylon 21, 32, 33, 51, 67, 256, 258; Babylonian Exile 53, 55, 67; Babylonian Talmud 59, 64, 251 Bactria 21, 32, 33 Bactrian-​Kushan kingdom 32 “A Bag of Pearls from the Three Caverns” 229 Baha’i 137–​53; allegory 6; claim of Baha’u’llah 138; headquarters 137; Qá’im 140, 141; Ultimate Reality 137; Universal House of Justice 137 Baha’u’llah 137, 138–​52; Book of Certitude 139, 140, 142; scriptural commentary 149–​52 Bale, John, The Chief Promises of God unto Man 257 Baptism 249, 253 Bar Kochba rebellion 56 Barton, John 49n1 Baxter, William 217 Bede 87 Ben Ezra synagogue, Fustat 42 Ben Sira 251 Berakhot 57 Bereshit Rabbah 59 Bernard of Clairvaux: Sermones de diversis 102; Super Cantica 102 Bhīshma 30 Bhagavad Gita 165, 187 Bhai Gurdas 185 Bharhut stupa 283 Bible Moralisée 257 Biblia Hebraica Quinta 46, 48

Biblia Hebraica series 42 biblical reception history 250 Bisotun, Iran 21, 26 Blake, William, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 252 Blenkinsopp, J. 254, 264 Bodhidharma 180 Book of Apocalypse 88, 91, 92 Book of Armagh 88, 89 fig, 91 Book of Certitude 139, 140, 142, 149, 150 Book of Chronicles 279 Book of Daniel 55, 91, 149 Book of Durrow 83 Book of Isaiah 249–​60, 70, 71; Hebrew scroll of 68 Book of Joshua 88, 90fig Book of Jubilees 69 Book of Kings 67, 91, 98, 256, 258 Book of Nehemiah 53 Book of Proverbs 39, 60, 98 Book of Psalms 31, 78, 85, 98, 252 Book of Ruth 63 Book of Wisdom 39, 259 Book of the Prophets 39, 40, 41, 53, 54, 68 Books of Samuel 86, 260, 263–​80 Books of the Maccabees 47, 55, 68 Boxer Uprising 209 Boyce, Mary 25 Brahma 163, 164, 167, 286 Brahmanas 159, 162 Brahmi language 21, 158 Brenner, A. 105n6 Brown, D. 116 Bruegel, Peter the Elder, The Suicide of Saul (painting) 278fig Brueggemann, Walter 279 Buddha (Gautama Shākyamuni), Buddhavācana 172 Buddha Nature 180, 181 Buddhism 171–​82; Abhidhamma-​Pitaka 174; allegory 6; anātman (anattā) 177; Ashokāvadāna 30; Chinese translation of text 176; Cullavagga 173, 175; and Daoism 220; dhamma 172; Dhammapada 177; Dīgha-​Nikāya 172, 175; evolution of texts 176–​8; first councils 173t; Hīnayāna 177; Hua-​yen School 180; Mahā-​Satipatthāna-​Sutta 175; Mahāyāna 177; Meditation School 180;

298

2

298 Index

Milindapanhā 174; modern movements 182; Pāli language 172, 176; 172; and Shinto 233, 241; Sutra of the Lotus 178, 179–​82; Sutta-​Pitaka 174; Tantric Buddhism 168, 180; Theravāda 176, 290, 294; T’ien-​t’ai and Hua-​yen schools 180; Vinaya-​Piţaka 174 Bultmann, Rudolf 234, 260 Byron, Lord: Hebrew Melodies (poem) 278; Sennacherib (poem) 258, 259 Cadet, J.M. 291, 292 Cady Stanton, Elizabeth 96 Cain 69 Cairo Codex of the Prophets 46 Calvin, John 6, 7, 256 Carissimi, Giacomo: Cum reverteretur David (motet) 272; Dialogo del Gigante (motet) 272 Cartesian thought 9, 10, 11 Catholicism: and Greek and Latin scripture 39, 251; and literalism 6, 7, 8; and Old Testament 66, 68; and Song of Songs 97, 102, 103; and vernacular language 112 CCP see Chinese Communist Party Celestial Masters movement (libationers) 228, 229 Celsus 74, 75 Celtic religion 6 Central Institute of Islamic Research, Pakistan 130 Chakri dynasty 291 Charpentier, Marc-​Antoine, David et Jonathan (opera) 269 Chih-​i 180 China: Chu state 215, 216; Cultural Revolution 209; development of writing 203, 204; Han dynasty 202, 204, 205–​6, 211, 222, 228; May 4th movement 209; Ru teaching 204; Shang dynasty 201, 203, 204; Song dynasty 207; Tang dynasty 207, 209; Warring States era 200, 201; Wei dynasty 240; Xia dynasty 201; Zhou dynasty 200, 201 see also Confucianism; Confucius Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 209, 210 Christian Bible: New Testament 39, 41, 54, 55, 71, 85, 110, 151, 242; Old Testament 39, 47, 91

Christianity: emergence of 45; and Hebrew texts 38, 55; and Isaiah 252; move from oral to written scripture 74; and use of Septuagint 39, 47, 68 Christiansen, Einar 266 “Classic on the Transformation of Laozi” 228 Claudius 74 Clerke, Agnes, Carte du Ciel project 9 Codex Sinaiticus 99 Collectio canonum hibernensis 86–​7 confractorium 84, 85 Confucianism 200–​11; “classics” 203, 205, 206; Analects 202, 203; The Book of Changes (Yi Jing) 201, 202, 203, 210; The Book of History 201; The Book of Poetry/​ The Book of Songs 200; Book of Ritual 202, 203, 208; Classic of Filial Piety 203, 206; Doctrine of the Mean 203, 208, 209, 210; “Four Books ” 207, 208–​9; Heaven 201; Mencius 202, 203, 210; in modern China 209–​10; New Text School 205, 206; Old Text School 206; oral transmission 203; rejection in Japan 244; The Spring and Autumn Annals 201, 202, 205; and Sui dynasty 206, 207; and Tang dynasty 207; yin-​yang system 205, 206; Zuo Zhuan 201, 202, 205 Confucius 200, 201–​8, 210, 222, 226, 230 Conze, Edward 178 Corinthians, Letter to 71, 254 Cowley, Abraham, Davideis (epic poem) 267 Ctesias 21, 32 Cuneiform writing 21 Cyril of Alexandria 102, 252, 255, 256, 259 Cyrus the Great 20, 22, 25 Dahāg 32 Daigo, Emperor 241 Damascus Pentateuch 46 Dante: Inferno (poem) 257, 258; Purgatorio (poem) 255 Daoism see DDJ (Daodejing) Darius I 21–​2, 26, 157 David 70, 98, 257, 258; and Saul 264–​80 Day of Judgement, Bible and Qur’ān 142 DDJ (Daodejing) (Laozi) 214–​31; Five Elements 222; and immortality 229; lineages 220; and masters 220–​5, 229–​30; oral transmission 217; origin of 214,

299

Index  299

215–​19; spiritual authority of 225, 226–​30, 231; “spiritual vessel” 222, 223; units 220; unity with the Dao 219, 228; uses of 223, 224–​5; Xiang’er commentary 228 de Bruyn, T. 92n3 De Lubac, H. 5 DeWoskin, Kenneth 222 Dead Sea Scrolls 42–​8, 57, 68–​9 Dehajia,Vidya 283 Dēnkard 23, 32 Descartes, René 10 see also Cartesian thought deuterocanonical books 39, 47, 68 Deuteronomy 40, 58, 67, 72 Dhammapada (Path of the Dhamma) 177 Dharmaraksha 176 Diomedes 31 Disputation of Barcelona 251 Dōgen 182 Domin, Hilde Ecce Homo (poem) 259–60 Dou, Empress 227 Dowland, John, “When David’s Life by Saul” (lute song) 273 Dowling Long, Siobhán 271 Duhm, Bernhard 254, 255 Dumézil, Georges 26, 30 Dunhuang manuscript 228–​9 Ecclesia 103 Ecclesiastes 54, 256 Egypt: British occupation 123, 125; Judaism 51, 67; Muslim Brotherhood 127 Elamite language 21–​2 Elbogen, Ismar 251 Eliade, Mircea, Le Mythe de l’éternel retour 234 Eliot, T.S., Four Quartets 48 Enoch 69 Eucharist 84, 85 Eucherius of Lyons, De situ Hierosolymae 87 European imperialism 123–​6 Eusebius of Caesarea 83, 252, 256; Onomasticon 80 Excell, E.O. 253 Exodus 40, 69, 71–​2, 98, 99, 258, 275 Ezekiel 253 Fa-​hsien, Record of Buddhist Kingdoms 177 Falk, Marcia 100

Farsi language 21 fasting 86, 111 feminism: and book of Isaiah 252; and Hinduism 168; and Judaism 57, 58, 59; and Qur’ān 113, 114, 132, 133–​5; and Sikh GGS 192; and Song of Songs 97 Ferdousi, Book of Kings 27, 29–​31 Feridun 26, 28, 29, 30 feudalism 5, 7 Filmer-​Davies, C. 255 First Jewish Revolt 38 “frame hero” 30 Frangrasiian 29, 30 Freyne, S. 70 Fu Xi 202 Gabriel 108, 124 Gadamer, Hans-​Georg 2, 3, 7, 12, 13, 188; Truth and Method 10, 11 Galatians, Letter to 8, 75 Gāthās 19, 20, 21, 23, 25, 29, 33 Gautama Shākyamuni see Buddha Gehenna 92 Gelder, Arent de, Ahimelech Giving the Sword of Goliath to David (painting) 274fig Gemara (rabbinic discussions of Mishnah topics) 64 Genesis: and book of Isaiah 258, 260; modern interpretation 78; origins 40, 41, 60, 67; rewriting of 69; and Song of Songs 103 genizah manuscripts 42 GGS (Guru Granth Sahib): aesthetics 190–​2; collective human responsibility 188; Divine One 187, 189, 190; feminism 192; on harm 188, 189; and Hindu and Muslim inclusion 193; Oneness 186–​7; origins 184, 185–​6; reading and action 188–​90; scriptural passages 193, 194–​8; system of Ragas 190, 191; systematized 186 Gignoux, Philippe 25 Gidé, Andre, Saül (play) 269 Gill, Eric, The Nuptials of God (engraving) 101 Glyndebourne Festival Opera 267fig, 268, 271, 272 Golden Age 152 Gospels: canon law 85; establishment of 74, 83; Eusebius of Caesarea and 83; in

300

300 Index

Ireland 80, 84, 91; and love 187; and Old Testament 97 Greek language: alphabet 21; Bible 38, 39; Jewish scripture 39, 40, 43, 47, 66, 67, 68; New Testament 110; Song of Songs 99 Gregory of Nyssa 101, 102 Gregory the Great 5 Grenz, S.J. and Franke, J.R. 8 Grondin, Jean 3, 12 Guanzi 217 Gunn, David 279 Guodian 211n4, 215–​17, 225 Guru Arjan 185, 191, 192, 193 Guru Gobind Singh 186 Guru Granth Sahib see GGS Guru Nanak 184, 185–​7, 190–​2 Ḥadīth literature 113, 116n4 Ḥadīth of Jibrīl 117n13 Haddad,Y.Y. 126 Han Fei 226, 227 Handel, George Frideric, Messiah (oratorio) 249, 252; Saul (oratorio) 266, 268, 269, 271, 279 Hanlin Academy 207, 209 Haošiyangha 27 Harappan civilization 158, 160 Harley, J.B. and Woodward, D. 93n13 Harper, Donald 215 Hartman, L.F. et al. (1971) 103 Hasan Al-​Banna 127 Hasmonean period 55, 59 Hebrew Bible (TaNaK) 37–​78; consonantal Hebrew text 45; Daniel 38; dates 41–​5; early Christian reading 5, 6, 66–​78; early editions 46, 47; Ezra 38; final form 51; finding of fragments 42; Masoretic manuscripts 45, 46; multiple understandings 53; and Old Testament 39; oral/​written parts 44; precise transmission 46; Song of Songs 98; structure 39, 40; textual studies 47–​8; Threefold division 39, 41; translation as sacrilege 68; translation into Greek 40, 67–​8 see also Torah Hebrews, Epistle to 73, 74, 87 Heidegger, Martin 11; Being and Time 13 Heimdall (Norse god) 30 Henricks, Robert 216, 217 Herbert, Professor Jean 238

hermeneutics 1–​14; hermeneutic circle 1, 2 Hermes 1–​3 Herodotus 25, 33 Hill, R.C. 252 Hillel and Shammai 52, 55, 56–​7 Hinduism 157–​69; allegory 6; atman (soul) 158; Brahman 158; castes 159; Dalits 159; deities 163, 164; dharma, artha and kama 159; Epics 163, 164–​7; four stages in life 159; four Vedic Samhitas 159, 160; influence 168–​9; karma 158; oral transmission 158, 164; principles 158–​9; Puranas 164, 167, 168; Ramayana Rama avatara 282; reincarnation 158, 165; rituals 159, 160; Sri Aurobindo 159; Vedas 159, 160–​2;Vedic mantras 164; Vyasa 160 Hippolytus 100, 101 Hirata Atsutane 245 Holy Spirit, as interpreter of Scriptures 7, 8 Homer 1, 3; Iliad 31 Honegger, Arthur, Le Roi David (symphonic psalm) 276, 279 honji-​suijaku theory 244 Hosea 98 Hsüan-​tsang 176 Huainanzi 226, 227 Huyse, Philip 26 Ibn Ezra 254, 255 India: British colonialism 123–​4, 157, 158; nationalism 127; oral transmission 283; partition 169; storytelling 283–​4, 285; writing 158 individualism 7, 8, 11, 128 Indo-​Iranian languages 19, 160 Indra 29, 31, 161, 162 Inter-​Testamental literature 55 Iran 19–​21, 24–​9, 33, 137, 150 Ireland, early Christian 79–​92; canon law 85, 86–​7; codices of the Scriptures 82–​4; exegesis 88–​90, 91; features of Christianity 80; imagination 91, 92; importance of monasticism 80; liturgy 84–​5; non-​urban environment 80; Qur’ān 107–​16; “ The Stowe Missal” 84; teaching 87, 88; vernacular religious literature 80 ‘Īsā 110 Islam 107–​16; allegory 6; concept of Islamic state 127, 128; defence against secularism

301

Index  301

126, 127; divine revelation 108–​10; early Islamic modernists 123–​6; European imperialism 123; Javan 287; Indian 186; modernism 129; neicheriyya school of thought 125; polygamy 126; radical 127; rationalistic account 124, 125, 126; sharī’a 127, 132; Sufism 125; taḥrīf 110 Izanagi-​no-​mikoto 236, 237, 239, 240 Izanami-​no-​mikoto 236, 239, 240 jāhiliyya 128 Jain, Jyotindra 283, 284 Jamā’at-​i Islāmī (Islamic Society) 127 Jamāspa 31, 33 Jamison, Stephanie 29 Jamnia 38, 42 Jamshid 28 Japan: Edo period 243; Heian period 234, 241; Meiji government 235; nationalism 243; reformers 181, 182; study of mythology 234–​5; writing system 233 see also Shinto Jaspers, Karl 234 Java 285–​91, 293 Jennens, Charles 266, 267, 268, 271 Jeremiah 256, 258 Jerome 78, 79, 252, 257, 259; Against Jovinian 102 Jerusalem: destruction of by Rome 38, 76; first followers of Jesus 71; Jerusalem Talmud 59, 64; Temple 51, 53, 54, 58, 69, 73, 74 Jesus of Nazareth: Baha’u’llah on 145; Celsus on 74; community 69–​2; prefigured in Hebrew Scriptures 5; in Josephus 56; as Logos incarnate 60, 76; and Satan 255; and Song of Songs 100, 101 Jesus ben Sirach 66, 70 jihād 128, 129, 132 Jimmu, Emperor 235 Jing Di, Emperor 226, 227 Jingi-​kan 241 Jixia Academy period 215 Job 87 John Cassian 5, 7, 80 John the Baptist 70, 146, 151; Gospel 60, 74, 76, 84, 86, 100, 101, 152, 260 Josephus 55, 56, 68, 258 Jovinian 102, 104

Judah 51, 53, 258, 272 Judaism: academy 51, 52; compassion of God 61–​2; contemporary 53; evolution of 51–​2; extra-​biblical literature 54, 55; leaders’ authority 51, 52; male literacy 59; post-​biblical Jewish scriptures 51–​64; post-​holocaust 251; sacrificial system 63, 64; Sages 61; Shema 57, 58; synagogue 51, 53; Tefilah 58; Tosefta 59, 64 see also Hebrew Bible; Torah Justin Martyr 75, 76; Dialogue with Trypho 252 Kakawin Ramayana 285, 286 kami 6, 233, 234, 236–​45 Kamiyo 240 Kartīr 22, 24, 25 Kawi Haosrawah 29 Kawi Kawāta 29 Kawi Usan 29 Kawi Vishtāspa 31, 33 Kayanid dynasty 27, 29, 30, 31 Kenney, J.F. 92n3 Ketubot 58, 59 Kharoshthi script 158 Khmer tradition 290, 291, 292 Khotan 21, 30 Kitabatake Chikafusa, Jinno Shotoki 243 Kitagawa, Joseph 233, 234 Kleeman, Terry 228 Kohn, L. 228, 230 Kojiki 235, 240, 244 Kokugakusha (The School of National Learning) 244 Krishna 163, 164, 165, 166, 187 Kuhnau, Johann, Musicalische Vorstellung einiger biblischer Historien 271 Kumarajīva 176 Kunāla 30 LaFargue, Michael 217, 218t, 220 Lagerwey, John 230 Laoists 220 Laozi 214, 217, 221, 222, 226, 228–​30 Latin, use of 40, 43, 80–​1, 83–​4, 236, 255, 257 Lau, D.C. 217, 218t Lau, D.C. and LaFargue, Michael 217, 218t–​19t

302

302 Index

layered texts 3, 4–​10 Leningrad Codex 42, 46, 48, 49n6 Leonardo, Jusepe, David Before Saul (painting) 265fig Levenson, John D. and Halpern, Baruch 266 Leviticus 40, 61, 62, 73, 86, 275; Holiness Code 76 Lewis, C.S. 255 Li Xueqin 215 libationers see Celestial Masters movement liberation theology 188, 252, 257 The Lighthouse (journal) 126 Lightman, B. 9 literalist readings 6, 7–​10 Liu JeeLoo 212n8 Liu Xiang 205 Liu Xin 205 Liu Zuxin 215 Logos 60, 61, 76 Lokakshema 176 Lombard, Peter 5 Lord, Albert B. 26 Lord Yama 193 Lotus Sūtra 176, 179, 182 Lu Xun, A Madman’s Diary 209 Luke 41, 70, 74, 255, 256, 257 Luther, Martin 7, 8, 9, 68, 255, 256, 258 Maccabean Revolt 51, 52, 55 McDonagh, Enda 104 Mahābhārata 29, 30, 159, 164–​6, 168 Mahāparinibbāna-​Sutta 172 Mahāyāna 176, 177, 178 Mallea, Eduardo, Todo Verdor Perecerà 256 Manekji Sahib 150 Mani 23, 33, 171 Manichean literature 22, 23, 25, 33 Manushchihr 28, 29 Manyoshu 235, 239 Marcion 5, 75, 76 Mark (Gospel) 70, 74 Mary Magdalene 100, 101 Mashī 27 Masoretic Text 42, 44, 45–​8 Mata Sundari 186 Mātai 20 Matthew 72, 73 Matthew (Gospel): Baha’u’llah and 142, 143, 145, 146, 148, 150; and forgiveness

85; on Law and Prophets 41; modern interpretation 14, 255; on religious conversion 63 Matthias Flacius, Clavis scripturae sacrae 7, 8 Mawangdui 215, 216–​7, 225 Mawdudi, Abu al-​A’la 127–​8 Mayr, Simon, David in Spelunca Engaddi (oratorio) 268, 274 Mecca 108, 111, 131–​2 Megilloth 39, 48 Meiji Restoration 235, 241, 245 Melanchthon 7; Theory of the New Planets 9 Melchizedek 87 Menander 174 Mencius 202–​3, 208 Meredith, George, Lucifer in Starlight 255, 256 Meynell, Alice, Beyond Knowledge (poem) 254 Middle Persian 21, 22, 23 Midrash 52–​3, 59–​64, 98, 103, 264 Mifune-​no-​iwakura 238 Milton, John, Paradise Lost (epic poem) 255 minstrels 25 Miranda, J.P. 257 Mishnah 49n1, 52–​60, 63, 64, 76, 99 Moore, S.D. 103 Morrison, Richard 272 Moses: birth story 29, 31; as Christ figure 6; Jewish view of 52, 62, 67; as law giver 82, 85, 98; and Torah  40, 55 Motoori Norinaga, Kojikiden 244 Muhammad ‘Abduh 123, 125–​6; The Lighthouse 125; Treatise of Divine Unity 125 Muhammad Rashid Rida 126 Muirchú, Vita Patricii 91, 92 Murasaki Shikibu, Genji Monogatari (novel) 241 Mūsā 110 Musallam, A. 129 Muslim Brotherhood 127, 128 Muslim League 127 Mussorgsky, Modest, Tsar Saul: Pes’n Saula pered boyem (song) 277, 278 Mustafa Kemal Atatürk 127 mystery plays 6, 255

303

Index  303

Nadab and Abihu (sons of Aaron) 61, 62 Nadwi, S.V.R. 128 Nāgārjuna, Mūlamadhyamakakārikā 180 Nagy, Gregory, Homeric Hymns 26 Nang yai performance 291, 292, 293 Naqsh-​e Rustam 157 Nasr, S.H. 115, 128 nature: DDJ and 223; Dōgen and 182; GGS and 187; Herbert and 238, 239; Melancthon and 9; Meredith and 255; Sayyid Ahmad Khan on 124–​5; and Song of Songs 100 Nauigatio sancti Brendani (anonymous) 91 Neo-​Confucianism 209 Neo-​Platonism 60 Nero 74 Neusner, Jacob 76 “New Confucians” 210 Nielsen, Carl, Saul og David (opera) 266, 268 Nihonshoki 235, 236, 240 Ninigi-​no-​mikoto 237 Nithi Sthapitanonda and Mertens, Brian 292 Noli me tangere (art titles) 101 Norris Richard A. Jr 102 Nyanaponika, Thera 175 Obarae-​no-​kotoba 241–​2, 243 Ofuchi, N. 230, 231 Ohrmazd 24, 29 Old Persian language 21, 22, 24 oral transmission: Academy of the Sages 59; Avesta 24–​6; Christianity 74; Confucianism 203; Daoism 217; Hebrew Bible 41, 44; Hinduism 158, 164; India 283; Indo-​European roots 26; Iranian 24–​6; Mahabharata Ramayana 164–​5; of sacred texts as fixed 25; Torah 52, 54, 55–​7, 58, 63; trade routes and 20 Origen 74, 75, 101, 255 Ottoman caliphate 127 Ozick, Cynthia 100 Pahlavi language and dynasty 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30–​3 Pāli language 158, 172, 174, 176, 181 Palladius, bishop of Ireland 79 Parry, Hubert, Saul (oratorio) 269, 270 Parsuwas 20

Parthian empire 20, 22, 25 Passover 56–​7, 98, 101, 258, 259 Patrick, bishop of Ireland 79, 80, 91 Paul: and Hebrew Scriptures 71, 72; Letter to Corinthians 71, 254; Letter to Galatians 8, 75; Letters 74, 75; Letters to Romans 41, 72, 75, 252; on Torah 75 Paule Bretonneau, François de 269 Pelagius 79, 92n3 “Perfection of Wisdom” (Prajñāpāramitā) 177 Persepolis 21, 157 Persia 20, 137 Pharisees 52, 62, 63 Piaget, Jean 11 Picken, Stuart D.B., Essentials of Shinto 235 Pickthall, Muhammad Marmaduke 118n18 Platform Sutra 181 Plato 76 Poole, Matthew 252 Prambanan reliefs 286, 287 Pramuk, Christopher 104, 105 The Prayer Book (Siddur) 100 Precious Scripture on the Female One and Five Elders 229 Prophet Muhammad 108–​13; Baha’u’llah on 142; Mecca and Medina phases 111, 131, 132; Sayyid Ahmad Khan on 124; and slavery 131; Sunna 113, 121 Prophets (Nebi’im), Hebrew Bible 39, 40, 41, 46, 53, 54, 66 Protestantism 7, 8, 33, 66, 68, 251 pseudepigrapha 69 pseudo Heraclitus 5 Ptolemy II of Egypt 67 Puranas 158, 159, 163, 164, 166, 167–​8 Purcell, Henry, In Guilty Night (song) 276, 277 Pye, Michael 172 Qin Shi 226 Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 4 Qumran community 68, 69, 251 see also Dead Sea Scrolls Qur’ān 107–​16, 126, 127–​9; on alcohol 122; Arabic as sacred language 120; authenticity of 111–​12; as definite yet ambiguous 121–​2; evolutionary nature of 121, 122; exegesis by indication 123; exegesis by reason 122; exegesis by

304

304 Index

transmission 122; feminist interpretations 132, 133–​5; God and humanity 114, 121; inimitability 111, 112; Islamic untranslatability 112; interpretation 120, 121; in Ireland 107–​16; liberal approaches 129, 130–​2; memorization 171; modern approaches 120–​35; on murder and law 130, 131; Occasions or Circumstances of Revelation 112; as physical object of reverence 115, 116; on polygamy 113, 114; “reasons for revelation” 121–​2, 130, 133; on slavery 131; Tafsīr 112, 113–​14, 122–​3; themes 114–​15; theory of abrogation 122, 132; translations 120 Rabbi Akiba 99 Rabbi Akiva 53, 54 Rabbi Eliezer 57, 58 Rabbi Judah ha-​Nasi (Judah the Prince) 54, 56, 76 Rabbi Meir 54 Rabbi Yohanan 61, 62 rabbis 52, 53 Radiance 28 Rahman, Fazlur 130–​1, 133 Ram Mohan Roy 170n12 Rama, Prince 165–​7, 282, 286fig, 289fig, 290, 291 Rama I, King 291, 292 Rama II, King 291 Rama III, King 292 Ramaḍān 111 Ramakien or Ramakirti 291–​4 Ramayana 159, 165–​8; in arts 282–​94; early 285, 286–​7; Java and Bali 287, 288–​9, 290; as performance today 293–​4; transformations in Southeast Asia 290–​4 Ramseyer, Urs 287 Rashi 100, 256, 257; Glossa Ordinaria 251 reception theory 249–​60 Records of the Grand Historian 220 Reformation 8, 39, 68, 77, 249, 251, 255 religious conversion 5, 32, 62, 63, 64, 72, 87 Restoration Shinto (Fukko Shinto) 245 Revised Common Lectionary 97, 101 Reynolds, Frank E. 291 Ricoeur, Paul, “The Nuptial Metaphor” (essay) 104 Rig Veda 29, 160–​2, 169n5

Rippin, A. 121 Robinet, Isabelle 222 Rodinson, Maxine 108 Roman Empire 51, 52, 54, 60, 63, 80 Roman Lectionary 97, 101 Romans, Epistle to 41, 72, 75, 252 Rostam 30 Roth, Harold 216, 220 Rubens, Peter Paul, Conversion of St Paul 258; The Destruction of Sennacherib 258 Sabbath observance 41, 56, 57, 70 sacramentality 5, 7, 85 sacramentum 6 Saddharma-​Pundarīka-​Sūtra 178, 179–​82 Sadducees 62–​3 Sages 52–​9, 61–​4 Sama Veda 160–​2 Samaritan Pentateuch 47 Sanders, James 48 Sanhedrin 54, 56, 58 Sanskrit 157–​61, 164–​9, 177, 191, 282; Hybrid Buddhist Sanskrit 176 Sarutahiko-​nomikoto 240 Sarutahiko-​o-​kami 237 Sasanian empire 20, 21, 22–​6 Saul 264–​80; Christian tradition 265; family 266, 267–​9; and fasting 86; outsiders 266; person of 265, 266–​7 Sawyer, J.F.A. 250, 253, 259 Sayyid Ahmad Khan 123–​5; Tafsīr Al-​Qur’ān 124 Sayyid Qutb 127, 128–​9; Fī Ẓilāl Al-​Qur’ān 129 Scherman, N. 100 Schipper, Kristofer 220 Schleiermacher, Friedrich 10 Schmidt-​Leukel, Perry 180, 181 Schreiner, S. 8 science 9–​10, 12–​13, 113–​14, 124, 126, 129 scriptures, functions of 3, 4–​10 Seleucid empire 22 Septuagint (LXX) 39, 40, 44, 45, 46–​7, 67, 68, 99, 274 Sermon on the Mount 73 Shaivism 157, 168 Shaked, S. 33n4 Shakti (“female power”) 168 Shaltut, Mahmud 111 Shankara (Adi Shankaracharya) 163, 168

305

Index  305

Shapur I 23, 26 Shapur II 23 sharī’a 127, 132 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 252 Shinto 6, 233–​45; ancestral lineage 235; and Buddhism 233, 234, 241; classical texts 235, 236; dismissal by scholars 234; Engishiki 241–​2; kami and humanity 238, 239; Kojiki 235; mythology of creation 236–​7, 238; National Learning 245; Nihonshoki 235, 236–​7; purification ritual 233, 237, 239, 240, 241–​2; Shojirokuku 235; Watarai Shinto  243–​4 Shiromani Gurdwara Parbhandak Committee 186 Shiva 163, 165, 167, 168, 286 Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz 251 Shoghi Effendi 137 Sikhism 183–​98; “Goindval Pothis” 185; Golden Temple 185, 190; holy book as the living Guru 183, 184; Janamsakhi narratives 185; kirtan 184; singular divine 186–​7, 188; three hymns 185 see also GGS (Guru Granth Sahib) Silk Road 20, 21 Sima Qian, Records of the Historian 205, 214, 217 Singh Sabha (Sikh resistance movement) 186 Sita, Princess 282, 289fig Siyāvosh 30 Siyāwarshan 29 Skjærvø, P.O. 25 Sloterdijk, Peter 12 Solomon 54, 68, 70, 82, 98, 99, 100 Song of Roland (epic poem) 29 Song of Songs 54, 96–​105; Christian allegorical interpretation 101, 102; Exodus period 98, 99; Middle Ages 102–​3; origins of 97, 98–​102; recent readings 103–​4, 105; Roman Catholic commentators on 102, 103 Southeast Asia: “Indianization” 285; indigenous belief systems 285, 287 Sri Aurobindo 159, 160, 169n4 St Bernard, Super Cantica 104 St Thomas Aquinas 5, 254, 255; Catena Aurea on the Four Gospels 251 State Public Library, St Petersburg 42

Stoicism 76 Strabo 25 Sudan 131 sui ipsius interpres (self-​interpretation) 8, 9 Sunna 113, 121, 122 SūratYūnus 111 Susano-​o-​no-​mikoto 240 Swami Dayananda 160, 169n4 Swami Vivekananda, 170n16 Synagoga 103 Synod of Birr 80 Tacitus 74 Taha, Mahmud Muhammad 130, 131–​2; The Second Message of Islam 131, 132 Tahmurath 28 Takama-​no-​hara (High Plain of Heaven) 242 Takhma Urupi 27, 28 Talmud, Jerusalem and Babylonian 57, 58, 59, 64, 76, 251 Tamil language 158, 168 Tanhuma Nidpas 60, 61 Tantrism 168 Tao Hongjing, Declarations of the Perfected 229 Tawrāt 110 Teresa of Avila 102 Testi, Falvio, Saul (opera) 266, 269 Testimonium Flaviorum 56 Tetragrammaton YHWH 38, 40, 58,  60–62, 265, 268–71, 273, 275, 279–80 Thailand 176, 284, 285, 290–​4 Theologocentrism 108 Thraētaona 26, 28 Titus 38 Torah: Christianity and 75; constitution for Jewish state 53, 54; exodus and covenant 40; fragments of other books 69; Israel’s place in the world 67; and law 85; as Logos 60, 61; midrash 60; mishnah 52–​4, 58; Oral 52, 54, 55–​7, 58, 63; and Prophet Mūsā 110; scholars of 52, 68, 69, 70, 73; structure of Hebrew Bible 39, 40, 41, 51; translation of 40, 46, 68; written 63 Tov, Emanuel 48n1, 49n1 Toyouke 244 trade routes and oral transmission 20 Trible, Phyllis 103 Tripp, C. 128

306

306 Index

Tulasidasa, Ramacharitamanasa 166 Tunisia 123 Turner,Victor 184

Wu, Emperor 205 Würthwein, Ernst 48n1 Wycliffe Bible 252

‘ulamā (religious specialists) 113 Upanishads 159, 162, 163 Ushanā Kāvya 29 Uzaw 29

Xenophon 25 Xerxes 21, 22, 25 Xiang Xiu 228 Xu Shaohua 215 Xuanzong, Emperor 207 Xunzi 202, 203

Vaishnavism 157, 168 Vaishravana 30 Valmiki 165, 166, 282, 285 Van Norden, B. 227 Vedanta 163 Vedas 19, 159, 160–​2, 167 Vendidad 157 Videvdad 21, 22, 27, 28, 31 Vishtāspa 31, 33 Vishnu 163, 164, 166, 167–​8, 193, 282, 286 Visuddhimagga (“ Path of Purification”) 181 Vulgate Bible 40, 257, 258, 259 Wadud, Amina 133–​5; Qur’ān and Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective 133 Walakhsh 23 Wang Bi 214, 215, 216, 217, 227, 229 Waraqah bin Nawfal 109 Wat Chetupon (Wat Po) 292 Wat Phra Kaew temple 292 Watarai Ieuyuki: Ruiju jingi hongen 243; Shintō kan’yō 243 Watarai Tsuneakira, Shinto Meiben 243 Watkins, Calvert 26 Watt, W. Montgomery, Muhammad at Mecca 111; Muhammad at Medina 111 wayang style reliefs 288–​93 wayang kulit (shadow theatre) 288–​90 Westminster Confession of Faith 8 Wiesel, Elie, Night (novel) 260 Wilken, R.L. 253 Wirkungsgeschichte 250 Wishtāsp 32, 33 Wolfson, Harry 116 Writings (Ketuv’im) (Hebrew Bible) 39, 41, 54, 98

Yajur Veda 160, 161 Yan Hui 222 Yan state 220 Yan Zun 227, 228 Yangzi Ju 226 Yao 201 yashts 21, 26, 27–​9, 31, 32 yasna 21, 22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31 Yavneh, Judea 54, 58 Yima 27, 28 Yin Xi 214, 215, 217, 229 Yin-​Yang 205, 206, 222 Yom Kippur 61, 62 Yomi-​no-​kuni 237, 239–​40 Young, Frances 5 yu cong (one-​line statements) 216 Zairiwairi 31 zand 23, 24 Zarathustra 20–​4, 26, 29, 31–​3 Zarēr 33 Zhengyi Daoist rituals, modern 230, 231 Zhu Xi 207–​9 Zhuangzi 216, 221, 222, 223, 226, 227, 230 Zionism 250, 251 Zohhāk 29 Zoroaster 32 Zoroastrianism 19–​33; and Buddhism 32; deity 19, 20; “Earth-​breast” 30; Eastern connections 30, 31; Indo-​European roots 26, 27; Iranian mythoepic narratives 27–​8, 29; kawis 29–​33; “Potiphar’s wife” motif 30 see also Avesta